“You’ve got bal s of steel, Gracie,” she said through the receiver in her headpiece.
“So says the woman who takes on opponents the size of a double-decker bus.”
Suited up, they entered the sealed antechamber of the quarantine room, then stepped through to the inner room once given the green light to do so. Inside, a man lay on an exam table as if sleeping, his features peaceful in repose. Only the intravenous lines in his arms and the rapid lift and fal of his chest betrayed his il ness.
“What are you giving him?” Vash asked. “Is that blood?”
“We’re transfusing him, yes. We’re also keeping him in a medical coma.” Grace looked up at Vash through her face shield, her features weary and austere. “His name is King. When he was mortal, he went by the name of Wil iam King. He was my primary assistant until this morning, when he was bitten by one of the infected vamps we caught yesterday.”
“It takes hold that quickly?”
“Depends. According to preliminary reports from the field, some vamps are immune. Others take weeks to show symptoms. Stil more are like King and succumb within a matter of hours.”
“And what are the symptoms, exactly?”
“Mindless hunger, unreasoned aggression, and an unnatural y high tolerance for pain. We’re cal ing them wraiths.”
“Why?”
“They’re shadows of their former selves. Lights on, no one home. Their minds and personalities are shot, but their bodies are stil cruising right along with the party. The ones I’ve managed to keep alive more than a handful of days lose pigment and melanin in their hair and skin. Even their irises turn gray. And check this.”
Grace brushed the bangs back from King’s forehead with a gentle, slightly trembling hand. “Sorry, buddy,” she whispered, before reaching for a corded, handheld device that looked like a retail checkout scanner. Holding his wrist, she aimed at his forearm and activated a pale bluish glow.
Ultraviolet light.
Vash bent closer, examining the targeted skin. It rippled minutely, as if the muscle beneath it was having a spasm, but that was the only sign of irritation. “Holy shit. UV tolerance?”
“Not quite.” Turning off the device, Grace set it aside. “There’s no real immunity at work—the flesh is stil burning; it’s just healing at an accelerated rate. The damaged skin cel s are regenerating as quickly as they’re being destroyed. Ergo, no visible or lasting damage. I ran some tests on two of the other subjects we had in here. Same deal.”
Their gazes met.
“Don’t get excited,” Grace muttered. “That cel ular renewal is what’s causing al the other symptoms. The insatiable hunger comes from the need to fuel the massive energy expenditure required for regeneration. The aggression comes from the hunger, which has to feel like starving to death— al the damn time. And the high pain tolerance comes from the fact that they can’t focus on anything else but the need to feed. They can’t seem to think, period. Have you seen a wraith in action?”
Vash shook head.
“They’re like frenzied zombies. Higher brain function is subverted by pure instinct.”
“So you’re transfusing him because he’l die without a continuous intake of blood?”
“I learned that the hard way. I sedated two of the captures so I could study them—you can’t get near them when they’re ful y functional—and they liquefied. Their metabolisms are so accelerated that their bodies pretty much digested themselves. Pile o’ mush. Not pretty.”
“Is it possible that Adrian cooked this up in a lab somewhere?” The Sentinel leader had been tasked with leading the elite unit of seraphim enforcers that had severed the wings from the Fal en. Using lycans as herding dogs, Adrian prevented the vampires from expanding into more widely populated areas. The result was both territorial and financial suppression.
“Anything is possible, but I wouldn’t have made that leap.” Grace gestured at King. “I can’t see Adrian doing this. Not his style.”
Truth be told, Vash couldn’t either. Adrian was a warrior to the core. If he wanted a fight, he’d do it face-to-face and hand-to-hand. But he had a lot to gain if the vampire nation withered away to nothing. His mission would be over and he could leave the earth—and its pain, misery, and filth— behind. Assuming he’d even want to leave now that he had Lindsay, a mate who couldn’t go with him.
Softening her voice, Vash conveyed her sympathy. “I’m so sorry about your friend, Gracie.”
“Help me find a cure, Vash. Help me save him and the others.”
That’s why she’d come, the reason Syre had sent her. Reports of the il ness were cropping up al over the country, the spread so swift it was quickly becoming an epidemic. “What do you need?”
“More subjects, more blood, more equipment, more staff.”
“Done. Of course. Just get me a list.”
“That’s the easy part.” Crossing her arms, Grace shot another glance at King. “I need to know where the Wraith Virus first appeared. Which part of the country, which state, which town, which house, which room in the house. Down to the minutia. Male or female. Young or old. Race and build. I need you to find the very first person who got sick. Then I need you to find number two. How did they know number one? Did they live in the same house? Share the same bed? Or was the connection more tenuous? Were they blood relations? Then, find number three and four and five. We’re talking six degrees of separation gone wild. I need enough data to establish a pattern and point of origin.”