He was right. Dr. Reynolds didn’t seem focused on the Nightshade anymore. While what he’d said was chilling and it turned my stomach, I also believed Declan. If he’d killed Clara, he’d done so because she was a serious threat.
I took his hand and he pulled me toward the door. Lawrence stepped back so he wouldn’t come within smelling distance of me.
“You’re not even willing to apologize to me for murdering my wife?” Dr. Reynolds said softly.
Declan froze and looked over his shoulder. He let go of my hand. “You yourself admit that your wife was a vampire. One who found it difficult not to give in to her hungers.”
“And I feel her loss like a hole in my heart every day.”
Declan faltered, just a little. If I hadn’t been watching for it, I would never have seen it. A microscopic sliver of doubt slid behind his gaze, and his forehead furrowed. “To my knowledge, I’ve never killed a vampire that didn’t deserve it. It’s a war out there, one we need to protect humans from. Bad shit happens every day. But if I was the cause of your wife’s death and she didn’t truly deserve it, then yeah, I’m sorry as hell for that.”
Dr. Reynolds stared at him for so long I wasn’t sure if he’d ever speak again. A scattering of emotion played on his face—grief, sadness, doubt, pain.
I knew Declan’s life was one filled with violence. His emotion-repressing serum was actually a bonus in that respect. It kept that part of him, the part deep inside that went past the scars, past the damage, relatively pure and untouched. For all the killing he’d done, that he’d have to do in the future, it hadn’t broken him. For all the horror he’d had to face in his life, Declan’s heart wasn’t dark.
That’s why that glimmer of doubt, of regret, in his otherwise emotionless expression troubled me. Just a couple of days off his original serum last week was enough for him to experience emotion—all kinds of it. Once you experienced something you’d never had to deal with before, was that something you could just forget?
“When Jackson contacted us to meet with you,” I began, “you would have known Declan was with me, that he was protecting me. They’re friends.”
“Yes. I knew.”
My chest felt tight. “So is that what this is? A lie saying you could help me just to get us here so you could drag an apology out of Declan for what happened to your wife?”
It wasn’t that I didn’t empathize with his pain—I did. But the relief I’d felt, the hope I’d allowed myself for my own solution, was fading with every second that passed. I hated being used, no matter what the motivation was.
Dr. Reynolds’s face tensed. “I didn’t lie to you. I had—I have every intention of helping you to the best of my ability. The fact that you’re aligned with the dhampyr who murdered my wife is an unfortunate complication.”
It was difficult to breathe. “So what now?”
“I need to make my peace with what has happened and find a way to move on.” He glanced at Lawrence.
The vampire nodded. “You can do this.”
“My research has always come first. If I would have had to choose between Clara and my work, I would have had a very hard time with that decision. In the end, I think I would have chosen the research over love. She knew this. She accepted how important it was to me. It’s everything. My research is me.”
I watched him, feeling a swell of pity. “Sounds lonely.”
“It can be.”
Declan crossed his arms. “I hope you can put your feelings about me aside, even if it’s only long enough to help Jill.”
“Like I said, my research is everything.” Dr. Reynolds held his hand out to Declan. I was surprised that he seemed so ready to shake the hand of the man he held responsible for slaying his vampire wife.
Declan hesitated only a moment before he grabbed hold of Dr. Reynolds’s hand and shook it. “If there’s anything I can do for you . . .”
“There is. You can help in my research.”
“I can?”
“Yes.” Dr. Reynolds pulled a syringe out from his pocket and plunged it into Declan’s chest. I watched in frozen shock as Declan batted his hand away and immediately ripped the needle out, glaring fiercely at it before casting it to the side.
“What the f**k do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.
“Research,” Dr. Reynolds said again, backing up a step.
Declan fell hard to his knees and braced his hands against the ground. It was a tranquilizer. He’d been injected with a tranquilizer.
I’d stopped breathing. “What’s going on? Why are you doing this? Research? What does that mean?”