Page 39 of Examining the Bond

My heart stutters at the thought of discovering something novel in a field that’s already inundated with research.

It’s a long shot, and a potentially exhaustive one—looking at individual chromosomes for mutations is a tedious task, even with cutting edge technology. But something in my gut tells me it’s the best place to start.

I could head to the lab upstairs and get to work extracting her DNA. Our machine can sequence a single chromosome in a few hours, so the sooner I get started the better. There’s always tomorrow, and the next day, but I know Riann is impatiently waiting for answers.

As much as I would love to prolong the diagnosis and keep her here forever, the responsible thing to do is work quickly.

I drum my fingers against my lips pensively. In order to extract her DNA, I need a viable sample, and I'm pretty sure we used every drop of her blood for the last panel of tests.

Damn it.

I run a hand through my hair. Obviously, I could wait until she comes in tomorrow to draw more blood. That would be the sensible, logical thing to do. But the curious adrenaline slamming through my system won't let me wait that long.

I need to do something; I need to be productive. I need to look for answers, even if it leads to nothing.

My heart flutters at the thought of calling Riann and asking her to come back to the office. Or asking if I can stop by her hotel room with a vial to draw her blood.

Would she care?

Would she let me?

With the suppressants suffocating my alpha senses, I know I'd be able to behave. It’ll just be a quick visit to get some blood, then I’ll be back to the clinic in no time.

Because that makes way more sense than waiting until tomorrow.

Shaking my head, I stare down at Riann’s information sheet, reading over her phone number at least a dozen times. I should probably at least check on her.

That’s the chivalrous thing to do, right?

Uncertainty twisting my insides, I drag out my cell and punch in her number. I type out the first thing that comes to mind.

Hello, it’s Dr. Morales. I wanted to check and see how you’re feeling after your appointment.

I scrunch my nose and immediately delete it, trying again.

This is Dr. Morales from the Buchanan Clinic. Just wanted to?—

With a groan, I delete it, tempted to throw my phone across the room. Since when did texting become some form of mental gymnastics? I’ve never had an issue texting a woman before.

But Riann isn’t just a random woman.

I take a deep breath and blow it out, fighting the nerves threatening to take over.

Be casual. Cool.

And for the love, don’t embarrass yourself.

Hey, it’s Skylar.

My heart slams into my throat as I hit send, and I quickly type out another message.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

RIANN

Skylar: Hey, it’s Skylar.

Skylar: Are you okay?