Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
All I know is the results of my blood tests threw me for a fucking loop.
You’d better be alive, Rogan.
What will I do? What will I do without the man I love? How will I deal with what’s to come?
My thoughts are cut off when I remember the file folders. There they still sit on the coffee table, where I threw them before I went to the hospital.
I plunk down on my couch and open the one marked Victor Rogan.
And I drop my jaw.
Medical files. My father has Rogan’s medical files. How? He must have hacked them somehow—or rather, hired someone to hack them.
Or—
Fuck. He used mind control to get them. Such a damned hypocrite! Always telling me there’s no excuse for misusing mind control.
Of course, he’d get around that by telling me this wasn’t a misuse. That he needed these records. But why?
I’m too curious not to look. He’s my mate, so his health is certainly my business.
Height, weight, basic physical characteristics.
And blood work. A lot of blood work.
The usual stuff, of course. Blood counts. Metabolic panel. Lipid panel. Liver count. Thyroid. Cardiac biomarkers…
Testosterone? Rogan had a blood test for the male hormone? Odd in a healthy young male.
And androstenedione. Dehydroepiandrosterone. DHEA sulfate. Dihydrotestosterone. All androgens. Male hormones.
But more confusing?
Rogan has blood panels measuring his female hormones as well. Estrogen and Progesterone, plus cortisol.
All within normal limits for a healthy male. A healthy male wolf? I guess so.
But why?
Then more tests that I don’t recognize…
Until—
Oh. My. God.
I push the folder aside and open the one marked Hannah.
Medical records. Almost identical to what I found in Rogan’s folder. All my hormone counts, as well as…
Fuck.
Both of us were tested regarding pheromone reaction.
Androstadienol, androstadienone, androstenone, androstenol, and androsterone. Plus some I don’t recognize that I assume are more prevalent in wolves. Or vampires. Or both. Hell, I don’t know.
Then—
An injection. My record indicates I was given an injection three days before I left for Las Vegas—what my father told me was a mixture of yarrow and gingko biloba that would help quell my hunger for blood.
It didn’t.
Because it was never meant to.
It wasn’t yarrow and gingko biloba. It was a mixture of pheromones blended specifically to attract Victor Rogan and for me to be attracted to him.
All planned. All perfectly executed by my father.
He made this happen. He made Rogan into my mate.
I lean back into the couch.
He’ll jump through all kinds of hoops to get to you.
You’re controlled by nature. Nature has led you to Rogan. But the laws of nature also tell us that what controls us can also be controlled.
My father knew. He’s a good actor. His surprised when I accused him of knowing fooled me.
And my stepfather knew. He knew nature could be controlled, and that it was controlled in my case.
I’m not Rogan’s mate. And he’s not mine.
It’s all an illusion. An illusion orchestrated for—
For what?
I don’t know, but I’ll find out.
This will never be over. Never. Do you hear me, Hannah? This will never fucking be over.
God, I miss him. I love him. But it is over.
Rogan hasn’t come for me. Perhaps the injection has worn off. Perhaps…
God…
Dad knew.
He knew it was wearing off. That’s why he brought me back here. The sharp pain must have been a sign that the injection was weakening. He knew I’d go to the ER—how? I’m not sure—and he made sure the nurse gave me…
The shot.
That shot I received wasn’t a tetanus booster.
It was…
I rub my arm.
He’ll come for me now. Rogan will be sure to come for me.
So I can’t be here.
I love him too much to condemn him to a life with someone he’s not meant to be with.
I rise, pack a quick bag, and then rub my abdomen as I stand at my open door, ready to leave.
The test results. Results I wasn’t expecting. Results I didn’t know could even occur.
The results that surprised me. Made me happy. Made me numb.
A child.
I’m carrying Rogan’s child.
Birth control pills don’t work when you don’t take them, and you don’t take them when you’re being dragged in and out of parallel worlds so often that you don’t know what day it is or how much time has passed.
“At least I won’t be alone,” I say to my belly. “Your father isn’t mine. He was never mine. But you are. You’re mine, little one. We’ll always have each other. And if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll figure out why this all happened. I’ll find the truth.”
* * *