The bloodwork came next.
Chris endured it with the same expression one might reserve for dental surgery. The physician tied the band around his arm, searching for a vein, and Chris pretended to be somewhere else entirely, preferably on another continent far away from the alpha hovering just feet away from him.
"Three samples," the doctor murmured. "And we're done with this part."
"Lovely," Chris said flatly. "I'll knit you a thank-you card."
Rowan coughed into his fist, which didn't quite hide his grin. Dax, still by the observation screen, didn't react at all, though Chris could feel his attention sharpen, as tangible as the needle sliding into his vein.
When the vials were sealed and labeled, the doctor switched to the next device, a slender scanner that glided across the skin of Chris's neck and shoulders, reading hormone activity through faint electromagnetic pulses. The hum of the machine was soft, but to Chris's uncovered senses, it might as well have been an orchestra.
