Once they were in an empty room, that Sloane deemed fit for their purpose, the three of them looked at each other. Tegan had checked the room when she went in for entry and exit points. Double checking the security of the windows that looked over the gardens and further into the woods. It was Cord’s mocking snort that had turned her around, she had almost challenged him when she had caught Sloane rolling his eyes. Sloane shuffled his feet, Cord stood still, his mocking gaze never leaving Tegan, who in turn was growing more frustrated as the silence stretched.
“Is there a reason I am here, or is this another one of your tricks?” She finally snapped at Cord.
“It was a test, little tiger.”
“A test of what?” Tegan threw her hands up in frustration.
“To see how long it would take before your impatience wore out,” Cord clucked his tongue. “How did you ever become an Elite Sentinel at your age?” He shook his head as he watched the anger take over.
“He’s baiting you, Tegan,” Sloane said, gaining her attention. “It’s his thing, to irritate people.” He cast a hard look to his brother.
“I need skin cells,” Cord declared, he pulled a plastic container out of the pocket of his robes.
“Why?”
“To test, obviously.”
“You said you wouldn’t need hair or blood,” Tegan challenged him. “You said you had questions?”
“I lied, I just need skin cells,” Cord replied patiently.
“This isn’t creepy at all,” Sloane muttered.
“Skin cells are dead skin, yes?” Cord waited for them both to nod before he continued, “Dead means formerly alive. Why do we burn Vampyre bones, Drakhyn bones? Why do we reduce them to ash?”
“Bones hold memories,” Tegan murmured in understanding.
“As does skin, if it used to be alive, then it remembers,” Cord said emphatically. “Your skin cells,” he held the empty container to Tegan who looked at it blankly. “By Harrian, the Ancients have a sick sense of humour if I am to be paired with you,” Cord caught her arm as he muttered and jerked her towards him.
“Tell me what you want me to do. Stop jerking me all the time,” Tegan growled. Sloane failed to muffle his laughter and she noticed that Cord also looked at her in amusement. “What?”
“Poor choice of words, cousin,” Sloane chuckled.
“How?”
“I don’t have time for this,” Cord cut off any further explanation, knowing that Sloane would love to drag this out. “Explain on your own time, not mine,” he took a thin scalpel from his other pocket.
“You walk around with a scalpel?” Tegan asked curiously.
“You walk around with knives and a sword,” Cord replied smoothly.
“But mine are sheathed, you had that in your pocket like that,” Tegan stated. “Not sheathed, how do you know you aren’t going to stab yourself?”
“Because I’m not an idiot?” Cord replied easily, causing Tegan to grit her teeth again in frustration. He pulled her arm out straight and pushed the sleeve of her tactical gear up. Running the tip of the scalpel over her forearm, he deftly turned her arm over and using his middle finger instead, he traced down the centre of her arm. A shiver of pleasure travelled over Tegan’s skin where he touched her. Her face burning, she couldn’t look at him, just watch transfixed where his long finger stroked her skin. Swiftly he turned her arm again and then pressing the scalpel into her arm, he quickly ran the scalpel over her skin, from her wrist to her elbow.
Tegan gasped, the scalpel felt like a deep scratch, but no blood was drawn, her arm merely felt tingly and… tight. She looked from her arm to Cord and caught his lips moving in a silent incantation. The spell over, he raised his eyes to look at her, the stare held, and his eyes darted to her lips.
“You get what you need?” Sloane asked loudly.
Cord dropped his stare and carefully placed the scalpel in the container. “I did,” he nodded.
“I don’t see anything,” Tegan peered into the container.
“You wouldn’t.” Cord’s usual arrogance had returned, and Tegan turned away in annoyance.
“How do you know you collected anything?” Tegan asked.
“I just do.”