Broken Bonds Page 4
What is wrong with me? Why do I feel this way about her? This intense attraction. This pull that I just can’t seem to avoid…
My whole body goes rigid as a horrible thought enters my mind. I jerk away from the door as if it’s just scalded me and stumble backwards until I run into my worktable.
No. No, it’s not possible.
She’s a human, for god’s sake. Plus, I’ve already had one…and isn’t that the rule? Fate only shackles you with one?
No. It’s impossible. There’s no way in hell Samantha is my mate.
Yet, even as I tell myself this, I begin to pace back and forth across the floor in agitation. As impossible as it is, I need to approach the situation with a critical mind. If it were true, it would certainly explain the intensity of my attraction to her so soon after meeting. It would explain my need to know everything about her, and my constant desire to be around her as often as I can.
But the very idea is ridiculous..
I’ve already had a mate. She was cruel and bloodthirsty and I hated her as deeply as I needed her. Despite the fact that we couldn’t have been worse for each other, fate and its twisted sense of humor decreed that we belonged together. For phoenixes, the mating bond is something that we simply cannot fight. It overrides our reason and pushes us into pairings, whether we feel anything for our partner or not. It’s a soul-deep instinct, perhaps born from the need for survival, perhaps born from our animalistic natures that we can never fully suppress.
My suspicions are that the mating bond is somehow created from the energy that phoenixes are able to take in and use to rejuvenate and revitalize their bodies. It’s almost a survival instinct, which seems to be what much of that energy is dedicated toward. The continued population of the species and all that. Whatever the reason behind the mating bond, the common lore has always been that you are only granted one mate in your lifetime, though this is admittedly more legend than fact. My mate was a phoenix, a warlord of sorts, who died during a period of massive bloodshed that decimated the supernatural population over four-hundred years ago. Losing her was bittersweet, to say the least. I was happy to be rid of her and her monstrous ways, but I knew I would spend the rest of my years haunted by her memory and loss.
Which is why I sought to break the bond. The idea that she could have any hold over me, even in death, was maddening.
I walk to the other side of my lab to a large safe I have tucked away in the corner. Quickly unlocking it, I reached inside and pull out a tray holding twelve vials. Each of the vials is filled with a reddish liquid that looks kind of like liquid fire.
Turning, I carry the tray to the worktable and set it down. Sitting on my stool, I pick up one of the vials and remove the topper to sniff at the opening. I grimace. The liquids odor is bitter and pungent, like smoke mixed with rotting fruit. Replacing the topper, I put the vial back in its holder on the tray and stare at them for a long time.
Before I discovered anything else about my kind, I managed to develop this. This potion is my answer to the mating bond. Or, rather, it’s the hammer with which I can smash it.
I’ve never been able to fully test it, as my mate was dead long before I developed it. However, I’m pretty confident it works. I drank it years ago, hoping it would help rid me of the memories and lingering, complicated emotions I associated with my mate. To my relief, it did seem to do the trick in that regard, at least. I stopped thinking about her when I didn’t choose to, I stopped dreaming about her, and most of all, I stopped wanting her.
That wanting had always been the worst part. As much as I’d hated her, the physical pull had been inescapable, and even centuries after her death, every sexual relationship had been tainted by her constant presence in my mind.
Now, though, I’m finally free of her…which apparently has left room available in my head for Samantha to occupy.
I shake my head and push the very notion that she could possibly be my mate aside. It’s ridiculous, really. More likely, it’s just my natural reaction to being around a woman for the first time in months. Any hot-blooded male, regardless of species, would react to Samantha in a similar way. She’s beautiful and wildly-intelligent. She’s even funny, and rather considerate. If I wasn’t such a disaster of an individual when it came to romantic relationships, in no small part because of the trauma caused by my mate, I would actually think about pursuing her.
But I am a disaster, and I’m not interested in letting myself get close to another being in that same way. A purely sexual relationship is out of the question as well. If that went badly, which such arrangements usually do in my experience, it would be a painfully awkward few months stuck together in the middle of nowhere.
I reach out and skim my finger along one of the vials. Maybe I should drink another one…just in case. The very last thing in the world I want is another bonded mate. If there’s even the smallest chance that Samantha and I are somehow fated…
I shake my head. No, I’m being ridiculous. She can’t be my mate, and besides, I don’t know what the effects might be of taking the potion twice. I’ve never had reason to test that out. Plus, this is only the first version of the potion. I created it with the intention of completely severing the bond, which appeared to work between me and my former mate, though I suspect the fact that we didn’t love each other at all made that much easier. There’s no guarantee the same thing would happen between two mates who actually care for each other. That’s what I’m trying to figure out next – how to control the bond in various ways rather than break it completely, so that those who genuinely care for each other aren’t left wondering if it’s only instinct pushing them together. Unless I’m absolutely sure I need it, I shouldn’t risk the potential ramifications unnecessarily.
Sighing, I pick the tray back up and return it to the safe. Setting the vials inside, I shut the door and engage the lock.
I won’t do anything with those now. I won’t risk anything unless I absolutely have to.
In the meantime, I’ll simply try harder to avoid Samantha and purge her from my thoughts. Turning from the safe, I move back to my work table and drag my microscope over to me, having every intention of drowning myself in my work so I don’t have any room left in my head for her.
Samantha
The words on the screen before me are running together, and I can’t seem to focus on what I’m trying to read. With a huff of frustration, I push my laptop away and sit back on my stool. I’ve been trying to throw myself into my work as a sort of distraction, but it’s not proving as successful of a strategy as I’d hope it would be.
No matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about Dr. Pyrrhos.
The man is proving much harder of a riddle to solve than I’d first assumed he’d be. I’ve started to feel my hopes of befriending him dwindling, but I’m not ready to give up yet. When it became obvious that he was avoiding me shortly after I’d arrived, I’d gave him space and tried to be respectful in the hopes that he would see that I wasn’t annoying or overbearing, and might feel more inclined to connect.
It’s become very obvious that that might not be the most effective approach with this man. He reminds me a little of the kittens I’d used to find on my grandparents’ farm growing up. They were always a little wild, but I was always determined to tame them and earn their trust. I’d sit outside with them for hours at a time so they’d grow used to me, and I give them little treats and bowls of milk so that they knew I meant them no harm.
Maybe I need to take the same approach with Dr. Pyrrhos? Gentle patience…and food.
My eyes widen as an idea pops into my head.
One thing I’ve noticed about Dr. Pyrrhos is he does not eat very consistently, nor is he the healthiest eater. It’s usually when he’s really caught up in his lab on his work, at least I assume so, that’ll he’ll barely eat anything. If he does, it’s something quick that he can either eat cold or heat up in a microwave.
I bet he’d appreciate a full meal once in a while.
Glancing toward the lab’s digital wall clock, I see that it’s just about lunch time, and so I decide to put my new idea to the test. Abandoning my work for the time being, I make my way out of the lab. I pause when I cross the threshold and stare across the hall toward Dr. Pyrrhos’ lab. His door is shut, as it always is, but I can hear a soft din of activity on the other side.
You have to admire the man’s work-ethic, though I’m starting to think it borderlines on obsessive.
I force my gaze away from his door and continue on through the facility to the kitchen. Stopping in the middle of the room, I brainstorm what I could make. Unfortunately, most of our food that’s not in a can or fresh from the greenhouse is frozen, and there’s really no time to properly thaw anything. I remember, though, that we have some tomatoes from the greenhouse we just picked, as well as bread and those slices of American cheese that’ll likely survive the apocalypse.
A nice bowl of tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich is pinnacle comfort food. I grin, thinking how perfect it is. I set to work, quickly throwing together the soup. Once it’s simmering on the small stove, I butter the bread and grab the cheese, putting together a couple sandwiches to throw in the skillet I have heating with oil.
Once it’s all finished, I dig out a metal tray and arrange all the food on top of it. I also grab a bottle of water. I feel a bit giddy as I take the tray and make my way back to the labs. When I reach his door, I place the tray on the floor and take a deep breath before knocking loudly. Like a teenager playing ding-dong-ditch, as soon as I knock, I dart toward my own door and slip inside my lab.
My heart is racing for some strange reason. It’s almost like I’m nervous, though I can’t put my finger on exactly why. My soup is good, I’m sure, but it’s not like I’m aiming to be a professional chef anytime soon. No, it’s not the food I’m nervous about. I can’t help but wonder whether he’ll accept my olive branch, or if he’s going to shoot me down.
I need to distract myself. I can’t keep focusing so much on this guy and forcing him to be my friend.
Shaking my head, I move to my workstation and sit down on the stool. I pull my laptop over and open up the documents I was working on earlier. Thankfully, I’m able to focus better now that I’ve actually done something to try and bridge the gap between me and Dr. Pyrrhos.
My eyes skim over the words of the file up on my screen. It’s a historic overview of the mythology of phoenixes, and the different variations the creatures have taken from culture to culture. At first glance, it might seem odd that I’m spending time and energy researching a fantasy creature. I’ve had plenty of people ask me what in the world phoenixes have to do with my research.
I have a theory about phoenixes. I think, in some way, they’re real. Now, I don’t know that this means literal birds that are reborn in flames again and again. What I do believe is that human beings have encountered creatures like the Antarctic hoatzin I’m studying before. If a regenerative species exists in this part of the world, what’s not to say that they didn’t exist in other parts of the world at some point in the past? Mythology is usually based in some kind of reality, albeit reality that’s been enhanced and reshaped as the stories were passed down from generation to generation.
If my theory is correct and there have been other species like the Antarctic hoatzin, with their abilities to regrow limbs and such, then I have to also wonder if there haven’t already been attempts to try and harness that ability. If there have, I want to know about them. It won’t be anything as sophisticated as genetic therapy, which is what I’m currently pursuing, but it could give me some insight into the human perception of regeneration and not only it’s physical impact, but psychological impact as well.
The Antarctic hoatzin is, hopefully, my key to finally figuring how to manipulate human genes to regrow missing limbs and heal other life-altering injuries. I know it sounds kind of crazy, but I’ve made enough progress in my work that I was able to snag joint funding from the United States Office of Veteran Affairs as well as the Department of Defense to continue my work here. Both entities are very interested in what my research could mean for injured soldiers and vets if I’m able to crack the genetic code I’m working on.
The article I’m reading is rather fascinating. There’s a section on legends from China that talk about actual phoenix shifters…people that can transform into the mystical birds. Admittedly, I’d never heard of a phoenix shifter before, but as I read through the section of the article, my heart is racing once more. This feels like something significant. That final bridge between the hoatzin genes and human genes. If there are legends surrounding phoenix shifters, then maybe those are based off actual people who possessed phoenix qualities. Humans that possessed regenerative qualities.
It’s a little out there, but there’s a lot about my research that wouldn’t necessarily be considered conventional. I’m pursuing something that many of my colleagues have called impossible or a fool’s errand…so why shouldn’t I employ some more creative means and ways of thinking to accomplish my goal?
I stay in my lab for well over an hour, reading more and more on the subject of phoenixes, as well as plotting out my eventual observation of the Antarctic hoatzin. I’m going to need some kind of genetic sample from the birds as well, so I have to plan how I’m going to acquire that.
When my stomach suddenly growls, I glance up at the clock and realize what time it is. Unlike Dr. Pyrrhos, I make sure I eat on a regular schedule and that I eat fairly healthy. I was an athlete in high school, and a few years in college, a runner, mostly, so I’m used to making sure my body has the proper nutrition and care to keep myself healthy and fit.
Not only that, though, I also understand the importance of maintaining a healthy routine when one’s physical wellbeing has been…compromised. Altered.
I quickly shake my head and banish the unwanted thoughts that threaten to push their way to the surface of my mind. There’s a twinge in my leg that makes me flinch, but it’s a pain I’m used to and I do my best to ignore it.
Swallowing, I make my way to the door and step out into the hall. I move to turn in the direction of the kitchen, but I stop when I notice the tray on the floor in front of Dr. Pyrrhos door. As I gaze down at it, my lips slowly curl into a smile.
The dishes are empty.
The next few weeks pass relatively calmly. Dr. Pyrrhos stayed pretty much locked in his lab, and I didn’t bother him, but I did continue to cook him meals and leave them outside his door. And to my delight, he continued to eat them. It felt like a victory of sorts. That I was making some kind of progress with him, miniscule as it was.
In regards to my research, though, I feel like I’ve been making great strides. I managed to go out and collect some samples from the Antarctic hoatzins. They are the strangest looking birds I’ve ever seen. Like small dinosaurs that haven’t fully evolved into modern birds yet. I want to do a more extensive observation of them in their habitat yet, but I managed to contain one bird and collect a blood sample.
With that, I’ve been able to look much more closely at their genetic makeup, and it’s been eye-opening. I’m really optimistic that I’m heading in the right direction, and could be on the verge of a breakthrough at long last.
I’m in the kitchen one night making myself dinner, in pretty high spirits given my work that day. Humming to myself, I don’t hear Dr. Pyrrhos nearing the room until he comes stumbling in the doorway.
I let out a little chirp of surprise as I turn around to face him. He stands just over the threshold, blinking at me as though he’s confused as to why I’m there. We stare at each other for a long moment. I’m waiting for him to realize we’re in the same room together and run. To my surprise, however, he doesn’t bolt.
The poor guy looks exhausted. Haggard and with dark circles under his eyes. I’m not sure he’s even fully aware of where he is right now.
“Um…are you okay?” I ask slowly.
His nostrils flare and he furrows his brow
before slowly nodding. “Yeah…I’m fine. Just…just been pulling all-nighters lately. Close to a breakthrough.”
My curiosity is instantly peaked, but I manage to keep myself from digging for more. I finally have him in the same room with me after weeks of trying to lure him out of his lab, and I’m not going to blow it by sticking my nose where he has made clear he doesn’t want it. Instead, I wave a hand toward the stir-fry I have sizzling on the stove.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
He glances over my shoulder at the food, and hesitates. His lips part slightly and I can see in his gaze how hungry he is. I was going to bring him a bowl of this after I’d finished eating myself, but I’m pretty positive he hasn’t eaten anything since the sandwich I took him for lunch earlier in the day. He’s likely struggling between his hunger, and his wariness of being around me.
I don’t say a word and let him work through it, praying that his hunger is strong enough to overpower his other concerns.
When he nods again, I just keep myself from grinning with excitement.
“All right,” he mumbles. “It does smell good…since I’m already here, I suppose I could have some.”
“Great,” I say, keeping my voice even and calm. “Have a seat. I’ll prepare you a plate.”
He obediently moves to sit at the table and I turn back to the stove. The fact that I’m so excited that he’s agreed to eat with me is a testament to just how lonely I am. I honestly didn’t think it’d be so hard being here, but the truth is I’ve been so desperate to win him over in part because I really just want someone to interact with. I’m not usually a social person, and actually enjoy being alone, but…these past few weeks have been a whole new level of isolation that I’ve never experienced before.
I prepare two plates of food and take them over to the table. Placing on in front of him, I sit across from him, still doing my best to seem non-plussed about the whole thing. Not that it matters, though. He’s not even looking at me.