her beautiful hair, oiled her scalp, and tried to fashion yet another intricate braid she’d found online.
They had discovered during the past year together that tasks that occupied his hands and required him to focus on learning how to do something new helped calm him. So there were quite a few photos of him braiding her hair in increasingly complex patterns, as well as of the two of them putting together five-thousand-piece puzzles while they chatted and listened to music.
He continued to scroll through the pictures until he came upon the one he sought.
Emma had taken it. She had caught him laughing, and he looked young and carefree.
THIS IS WHO YOU ARE, she’d written across the bottom.
He studied it a long moment. That is who I am.
He swiped to the next photo.
She’d taken this one as well with one of those extender things that let you take better selfies.
Emma was perched on his lap. Cliff had wrapped his arms around her and ducked his head to press his cheek to hers. Both were grinning over a joke she’d just cracked.
AND THIS IS WHO WE ARE, she’d written.
He swallowed hard, wanting desperately to believe that would always be true. But he was having a hard time today. The voices were almost deafening. And restless energy constantly plagued him.
He wished he could call Emma or Facetime her or something. But he couldn’t risk the network picking it up and learning of their relationship. Reordon and Seth were both incredibly protective of gifted ones. There was just no way they would be okay with Emma seeing a psychotic vampire whose tenuous grip on sanity weakened every day.
Rising, he returned the phone to the box of graham crackers and tucked it back in the cabinet. He needed to find something to get the voices to shut the hell up. If he slept, he wouldn’t hurt anyone. If he slept long enough, then when he woke he would only have to make it through a couple of hours before he went hunting with Bastien and loosed this aggression.
He fetched his earbuds and plugged them into the cell phone the network had given him. A quick scroll through his playlist and Disturbed began to roar in his ears, blocking out the twenty-four-hour-a-day bustle at network headquarters. Blocking out the voices. But it did little to rid him of the restless energy that soon drove him to pace like a caged tiger.
He needed a good long run on the treadmill.
Or maybe he should ask Linda to sedate him. She and Melanie sometimes gave him and Stuart diluted doses of the drug to take the edge off when they could feel the pressure building. He hated the way it made him feel—like his limbs were twice as heavy and his mind full of fog. But he did often sleep better afterward.
Swearing, he shut off the music, tossed the cell and earbuds on the sofa, and left his apartment. Melanie and Bastien had headed home shortly after he and Bastien returned from hunting. But Linda was still around.
He gave the guards at the end of the hallway a nod of greeting, then headed into the lab only to find it empty. He checked her office next.
Empty.
Maybe she was in the restroom.
Opting to pound the treadmill until she returned, he headed back out into the hallway.
The elevator dinged, drawing his attention.
His lips tightened when Dr. Whetsman emerged and headed toward the lab.
Kill him! Kill that motherfucker! the voices bellowed. Gut him! Feed him his own fucking entrails!
Cliff clenched his teeth. His hands curled into fists.
No way could he be around that bastard today. The treadmill and Linda would have to wait.
Cliff strode toward his apartment, intent on ignoring the asshole.
Whetsman’s nervous gaze fastened on him as they approached each other. A bead of sweat trailed down one temple.
Even that infuriated Cliff.
Then a scent wafted to him. Linda’s.
Damn it. Now he’d have to talk to him. “Have you seen Linda?”
Whetsman’s eyes widened slightly. His pupils shrank as he swiftly looked away and quickened his pace. “No.”
Cliff’s steps slowed. “Bullshit. I can smell her on you.”
Another bead of sweat rolled down to join the first. “I passed her when I came in just now. She was on her way out, probably heading home. That must be what you’re smelling.”
Highly doubtful. Just walking past someone didn’t imbue you with her scent. You had to come into physical contact with her for that to happen.