Seducing The Dark Prince. Jane Kindred
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by her interest, he gave her a little smile and went on. “The market for this drug is unique, as you know, and every patient responds differently. Understanding the epigenetics involved is crucial.”
Epigenetics. Now there was a term that was near and dear to Theia’s heart. The Lilith blood phenotype she’d postulated was epigenetic in nature, not caused by changes in the DNA itself, but by changes in gene expression.
“Have you been able to isolate the autosomal mutations responsible for the...condition?”
“We have, indeed. We’re well past that stage.” Lucien looked thoughtful before moving toward an isolated room at the rear of the lab. “Let me show you something.” He used his key card once more on the door. “Another access code I’ll provide you with. This one’s highly classified, since it has to do with our special research.”
He held the door for Theia and she stepped in, not realizing at first the significance of what she was looking at. Cages lined the walls of the small room, containing what seemed to be perfectly ordinary specimens—mice, rats, a snake.
Lucien closed the door behind him. “These are all animals in which we’ve been able to induce lycanthropy through gene manipulation.”
“Lycanthropy?”
“As a generic term, it doesn’t refer strictly to wolf-human forms but to any kind of trans-species shift.”
Theia moved closer to the snake—a juvenile albino ball python—to get a better look. “You mean...they all shift?”
“It makes it easier to study the triggers and suppression mechanisms when we know exactly what genes we’re dealing with.” Lucien pushed a button next to the glass of the python’s cage.
“What does that do?”
“Triggers the shift by introducing a mild toxin into the sealed environment.”
Theia bristled. “A toxin?”
“It won’t harm it. It’s more of an irritant. We’ll remove it and rebalance the environment in a moment.”
Theia was about to give him a piece of her mind about humane lab practices, but the snake had begun to uncoil, raising its head as if sensing them or perhaps just sensing the change in its air. And as it lifted its snout, the yellow and white pattern of the scales began to ripple and grow, becoming feathery, while the snout elongated into a beak. The reptile shuddered as it morphed, although she’d seen much more violent transformations. This, at least, didn’t appear to be painful.
The body shortened. Limbs grew—a pair of legs with talons. Soon it was covered in feathers, wings bursting from the flesh at its sides and a comb and wattles elongating out of the remaining scales on the head. A rooster...a cock. Theia shivered.
“Amazing, isn’t it? And just as we’ve triggered the metamorphosis, we can trigger the reverse.” Lucien pressed the button again, and in moments the creature was shuddering back into its original python form and curling up into its previous coil. “The gene manipulation is a shortcut, of course. We can’t exactly experiment with genetic modification on human subjects. Although human trials for the serum are the next phase. We’re not quite there yet, but we’re actively recruiting volunteers who already have the shifter gene.”
Theia turned to stare at him, thinking he might be pulling her leg, but his expression was serious.
“You see why we have a need for ethical oversight from someone familiar with the sensitive nature of the work.”
“You expect me to help you experiment on human volunteers?”
“Like I said, the actual clinical trial comes later. Probably at least a year away. What you would be doing is helping us map triggers based on genome. And making sure confidentiality is maintained as well as helping to establish a sensitivity protocol for screening volunteers. Which is where your special skills would come in.”
There was something unsettling about the idea of people volunteering such information to a large, profit-driven corporation, but she supposed someone with lycanthropy who was desperate to control it might be willing to sacrifice some privacy for the promise of a cure. Or at least the promise of a regimen for managing it.
The idea of mapping triggers, however—mapping them to genes—it almost made her toes tingle with giddy excitement.
Lucien smiled knowingly. “It’s a lot to take in all at once. I don’t expect you to answer right away. Take your time and think about it.”
Once he’d started talking pharmacogenomics, there wasn’t really any question of what her answer was going to be, and she suspected he knew that. But it wouldn’t hurt to sleep on it and think it over rationally. Or pretend to.
Theia held out her hand and gave him what she hoped was a businesslike handshake. Her palm felt small in his. Despite his claim that he didn’t do physical labor, his hands were surprisingly muscular. Not in an unpleasant way, but like he was used to using them for more than just writing checks from his trust. Maybe he worked out a lot and it was from gripping weights or something. As with his earlier greeting, his grasp was warm and familiar. Not businesslike at all.
Theia tried to keep from blushing at the contact. “I’ll definitely think it over. Thanks for taking the time to show me around.”
After holding her hand a moment longer, Lucien winked as he let it go. “Anytime, darling.” There was something in the way he said darling combined with the wink that seemed deliberately alienating, as though he’d realized he’d been behaving much too civilly. Like he was reminding her that he was a jackass. Well, it worked, buddy. She didn’t feel flushed or breathless anymore, just annoyed.
For some reason, the meeting with Theia had agitated him. Lucien took the company Maserati and drove south from Flagstaff with the top down, deliberately speeding, taking the switchbacks and hairpin turns down Highway 89A without slowing, just to hear his tires squeal.
He liked her more than he wanted to. He didn’t really want to like anyone. Wanting something—wanting someone—made you vulnerable, and that was something Lucien didn’t intend to be. He needed to be vigilant. The family curse might be nothing more than a legend, but he wasn’t about to be caught with his metaphysical pants down. The last time a firstborn son of the Smok family had been required to pay the price demanded by the witch in Briançon before she burned, the Smoks had only just immigrated to the New World. Every seven generations, so the legend went. The last Smok to pay it had fought against the British in the American Revolution.
Lucien wasn’t going to be the next.
At the same time, he kind of hated himself for turning on his manufactured “Lucien Smok, spoiled brat” persona just as he’d parted ways with Theia. He could see the disappointment in her face. She’d been warming up to him, and he’d yanked the rug out from under her on purpose.
When he got back to his rented suite, he found an envelope had been slipped under his door. It was a little unsettling not knowing who this “helpful citizen” was, but the source had been right on the money every time. It was better intel than he could get at Polly’s—at least not without her expecting something in return. Then again, everything had a price. He just didn’t know what it was yet. It ought to worry him more, but right now he needed to send something to hell.
He opened the manila envelope, expecting another name, maybe an active vamp who preyed on the living—unlike the pasty poseurs at Polly’s—or an animated corpse. Instead, it was a URL. Lucien was surprised to find it took him to a genealogy website. The page was for the Carlisle family. What was the point of this? He already knew their history. They were descendants of the witch, and they’d inherited her gifts. Witches might have the potential to create supernatural havoc, but they weren’t supernatural themselves. It wasn’t like they were demons.
Lucien closed