“What kind of genetic experiments?” she interrupted again. This time he didn’t hesitate to answer.
“Splicing human DNA with the DNA from various animals to create hybrids.”
“Hybrids?” Pet sat back, a frown pulling at her lips. “You mean like snake men or cat people or something?”
“I did not see either of those,” Santo said seriously. “But there were winged mortals, mortals with changeable chameleon-like skin, creatures who looked like normal mortals but had both lungs and gills and could breathe under water as well as on land, and the boy in the cage next to mine had the body of a horse without its head, while where the neck would start was the upper body of a mortal from the waist up.”
“What?” Pet barely breathed the word, horror seeming to close her throat. “You mean like the mythical centaur?”
Santo nodded, his expression grim. “Sì. Like a centaur.”
“Damn,” Pet breathed, hardly believing it, and then she wondered, “What was this Dressler guy thinking? What kind of life will the poor boy have?”
“He will not,” Santo said solemnly, and when Pet looked confused, he explained, “The boy died. His lungs were unable to take in enough oxygen to sustain what was essentially almost an entire horse body and half a human body.”
Pet sighed sadly at that news, and then stilled as what he’d said earlier ran through her mind again. Horror growing in her, she asked, “You said he was in the cage next to yours?”
Santo stiffened, his expression closing. It seemed obvious he hadn’t meant to mention that part, and while she was dying of curiosity to have him explain that, she took pity on him, let it go, and instead prompted him to continue his explanations by asking, “So Dressler was experimenting with gene-splicing on mortals?”
“Sì,” Santo breathed, some of the tension leaving him. He started to open his mouth as if to continue, but then paused and sat back as their waiter, Dylan, arrived with their drinks.
“Thank you,” Pet murmured as the young man set a glass of Sprite in front of her and another in front of Santo. She leaned forward the moment the man slipped away, and sipped some of the cold sweet drink up the straw sticking out of it, noting that Santo aped her action, not picking up his glass, but leaning down to sip from his straw as well. She was just thinking that couldn’t be comfortable for such a big guy, when he straightened abruptly and blinked at her. Unsure why he was reacting like that, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
“It is bubbly,” he said with surprise.
Pet smiled faintly. “Have you never had pop before?”
“No,” Santo admitted, peering down at his drink as if unsure what to make of it.
“Then why did you order it?” she asked with amusement. “Why not get something you like?”
“Because I did not know what I would like,” he admitted. “I have never had any of the beverages listed on the menu but the coffee and did not want that, so just ordered what you did and hoped for the best.”
“Wait. What?” Pet stared at him with amazement. “You’ve never had any of the drinks they serve here?”
“Immortals often tire of food and other things after a century or two,” he explained quietly. “So while I consume meat and raw eggs on occasion to help sustain muscle without the need to consume too much blood, I do not usually bother with beverages.”
“Hmm,” Pet murmured, her gaze sliding over the muscles in question. He’d said after a century or two, but Santo had the kind of body she imagined medieval warriors or Vikings would have needed to wield their great swords. She was guessing he was older than a century or two. Forcing her attention away from his body and back to his face before she began to drool, Pet asked, “So did you like the flavor, or would you like something else to drink?”
Santo hesitated, and then leaned down tentatively to try the drink again. This time he actually sucked a good portion of it into his mouth, straightened, swished it around a bit as if testing a fine wine, and then swallowed.
“Well?” she asked with a grin.
“It will do,” he decided.
Pet shook her head and took another drink before prompting him with, “So, you said this Dressler guy was experimenting on DNA-splicing with mortals?”
“Sì.” He straightened a bit in his seat, his expression turning grim again. “He did that for decades, apparently.”
“Was it legal?” she asked, quite sure it couldn’t be.
“I do not know,” Santo admitted with a shrug, and then added, “Although, I would not think so, and the fact that he had moved his operations to a private island down in Venezuela would suggest not. It certainly was not legal for him to kidnap locals on the mainland, drug them, and harvest their eggs and sperm, and force the women to carry the resulting fetuses.”
“He did that?” she asked with dismay.
Santo nodded. “He even harvested his own wife’s eggs.”
“And she let him?” Pet asked with amazement.
Santo shook his head. “Apparently, she was unaware until her son was born with wings.”
“Oh . . . my . . . God,” Pet breathed. “What a bastard.”
“Sì,” Santo agreed, and then took another drink before continuing, “Unfortunately, a few years ago he encountered an immortal and found out about our existence. His interests turned and he dedicated himself to learning all he could about us.”
Pet sat back in her seat, a small ball forming in the pit of her stomach as she saw where this was leading.
Santo was no longer looking at her. Instead, he kept his gaze on his drink and she suspected it was to hide some pretty heavy duty emotions. Clearing his throat, he said, “Of course, we are normally harder to kidnap and control than a mortal, but Dressler developed a drug that would knock us out. He then hired a small army of mercenaries and paid them handsomely to hunt down and kidnap immortals for him to experiment on.”
“And he got away with this?” Pet asked with surprise.
“No one realized what was happening at first. We are . . .” He hesitated, and then sighed and said, “Most immortals live a largely solitary existence until they meet their life mate. They avoid other immortals to avoid having to guard their every thought.”
Life mate. Pet considered the word solemnly. She remembered that word from her childhood and thought it was basically another word for wife or partner. Letting it go for now, she thought about what Santo had said about immortals living solitary lives. Pet shook her head and pointed out, “You don’t. You’re here with your cousin and aunt and uncle and that friend, Bricker.”
“Sì,” he agreed. “But I have only started to spend more time around my family for the last decade or so. Before that . . .” Santo shrugged. “I lived a very solitary life and probably would not have been missed for quite a long time. Perhaps even years.”
Pet considered him briefly, wondering if that was the reason for his usually short answers. He’d got out of the habit of actually communicating with people while living alone and was still struggling to relearn how to actually talk to people. He was doing much better at it now than he had earlier, but his speech was still very slow, careful, and stiff, as if he was picking each word with care. She suspected this was an effort for him, and felt herself soften toward him in appreciation that he would make that effort.
Forcing herself back to the discussion at hand, Pet asked, “What kind of experiments was he performing on immortals? Not DNA-splicing,” she guessed.
“No. Not DNA-splicing,” he agreed grimly, and then paused briefly before saying, “His tests on immortals were to discover how much damage we can take and survive, how long it takes to heal, etc.”
“So cutting, burning, shooting, maybe?” she guessed. “And then tracking how long the injuries took to close up and heal?”
“Sì.”
Santo was avoiding looking at her and she could tell he didn’t want to talk about this. She also suspected he would talk about it if she insisted, though. But as curious as Pet was, she hadn’t missed how pale he’d gone, or the way his hands were clenching on the tabletop. Whatever he’d gone through while in the cage next to the centaur boy, it hadn’t been pleasant, and she didn’t want him to have to go through it again there in a restaurant.
Deciding to move the subject along, she guessed, “But he also learned how to become immortal?”
“Sì.” Santo relaxed a bit. “Ultimately, that was his objective. His experiments were simply to find out what he could expect to survive and such once he became immortal.”
“And Mr. Purdy’s cousin is this Dressler?” she asked, finding the idea alarming. The man sounded like he’d been a living nightmare as a mortal. As an immortal . . . She shuddered at the thought.
“We think so,” Santo said carefully.
Pet’s eyebrows rose. “Think? Don’t you know? I mean, surely if he captured you, you’ve seen him?”
“I saw him as a mortal, an old man,” Santo explained. “I have no idea what he would look like as a young man at his peak health. However,” he added when she opened her mouth to speak again, “the man in Parker’s memory is definitely an immortal. He is also tall and thin like Dressler, and Mr. Purdy is a second cousin to Dr. Dressler, so the chances are very good.”
“Great,” Pet said unhappily, and then sat back when she saw that their waiter had returned, this time with food. Her eyes widened and her mouth began to water as a plate of fried pickles and a combo platter with a variety of appetizers were set in the middle of the table. With her stomach urging her on, she barely managed to wait for their waiter to say a cheerful, “Enjoy,” and walk away before reaching for a fried pickle.
“Professor Stone?”
Pet stilled, and lowered the pickle she’d been about to bite into as she turned her head to blink at the pretty young brunette standing at the end of the table. Forcing a pleasant smile, she asked, “Yes?”