Lars screwed up his nose, then he glanced at Rowan. “Want to join me?”
She was so tempted, but she had a bunch of work piled on her desk. Most important being the supply lists for their next supply drop. She’d send her photos off to an archeologist friend at Harvard, and then spend the rest of her evening banging through her To-Do list.
“I can’t tonight. Duty calls.” She pushed her chair back and lifted her tray. “I’m going to eat dessert in my office and do some work.”
“You mean eat that delicious chocolate of yours that you guard like a hawk,” Isabel said.
Rowan smiled. “I promise to make something yummy tomorrow.”
“Your brownies,” Lars said.
“Chocolate-covered pralines,” Isabel said, almost on top of Lars.
Rowan shook her head. Her chocolate creations were gaining a reputation. “I’ll surprise you. If anyone needs me, you know where to find me.”
“Bye, Rowan.”
“Catch you later.”
She set the tray on the side table and scraped off her plates. They had a roster for cooking and cleaning duty, and thankfully it wasn’t her night. She ignored the dried-out looking chocolate chip cookies, anticipating the block of milk chocolate in her desk drawer. Yep, she had a weakness for chocolate in any form. Chocolate was the most important food group.
As she headed through the tunnels to the smaller dome that housed her office, she listened to the wind howling outside. It sounded like the storm had arrived. She sent up a silent thanks that her entire team was safe and sound in the camp. Since she was the expedition leader, she got her own office, rather than having to share space with the other scientists in the labs.
In her cramped office, she flicked on her lamp and sat down behind her desk. She opened the drawer, pulled out her chocolate, smelled it, and snapped off a piece. She put it in her mouth and savored the flavor.
The best chocolate was a sensory experience. From how it looked—no cloudy old chocolate, please—to how it smelled and tasted. Right now, she enjoyed the intense flavors on her tongue and the smooth, velvety feel. Her mother had never let her have chocolate or other “unhealthy” foods growing up. Rowan had been forced to sneak her chocolate. She remembered her childhood friend, the intense boy from next door who’d always snuck her candy bars when she’d been outside hiding from her parents.
Shaking her head, Rowan reached over and plugged in her portable speaker. Soon she had some blood-pumping rock music filling her space. She smiled, nodding her head to the beat. Her love of rock-and-roll was another thing she’d kept well-hidden from her parents as a teenager. Her mother loved Bach, and her father preferred silence. Rowan had hidden all her albums growing up, and snuck out to concerts while pretending to be on study dates.
Opening her laptop, she scanned her email. Her stomach clenched. Nothing from her parents. She shook her head. Her mother had emailed once…to ask again when Rowan would be finished with her ill-advised jaunt to the Arctic. Her father hadn’t even bothered to check she’d arrived safely.
Old news, Rowan. Shaking off old heartache, she uploaded the photos she’d taken to her computer. She took a second to study the photos of her mystery object again.
“What are you?” she murmured.
The carvings on the object could be natural scratches. She zoomed in. It really looked like some sort of writing to her, but if the object was over five thousand years old, then it wasn’t likely. She knew the Pre-Dorset and Dorset peoples had been known to carve soapstone and driftwood, but this artifact would have been at the early point of Pre-Dorset history. Hell, it predated cuneiform—the earliest form of writing—which was barely getting going in Sumer when this thing had ended up in the ice.
She searched on her computer and pulled up some images of Sumerian cuneiform. She set the images side by side and studied them, tapped a finger idly against her lip. Some similarities…maybe. She flicked to the next image, chin in hand. She wanted to run a few tests on the object, see exactly what it was made of.
Not your project, Rowan. Instead, she attached the pictures to an email to send to her archeologist friend.
God, she hoped her parents never discovered she was here, pondering ancient markings on an unidentified object. They’d be horrified. Rowan pinched the bridge of her nose. She was a grown woman of thirty-two. Why did she still feel this driving need for her parents’ approval?
With a sigh, she rubbed a fist over her chest, then clicked send on the email. Wishing her family was normal was a lost cause. She’d learned that long ago, hiding out in her treehouse with the boy from next door—who’d had a bad homelife as well.
She sank back in her chair and eyed the pile of paperwork on her desk. Right, work to do. This was the reason she was in the middle of the Arctic.
Rowan lost herself in her tasks. She took notes, updated inventory sheets, and approved requests.
A vague, unsettling noise echoed through the tunnel. Her music was still pumping, and she lifted her head and frowned, straining to hear.
She turned off her music and stiffened. Were those screams?
She bolted upright. The screams got louder, interspersed with the crash of furniture and breaking glass.
Chapter Two
Jesus, she hoped one of the domes hadn’t given way. Rowan hurried out of her office and into the tunnel. In the first week of the expedition, one dome hadn’t been secured properly, and it had partially caved in during their first storm. It had made a mess, blowing crap everywhere, not to mention scaring the hell out of them.
She ran into the rec dome and found it empty. The shouts and screams were coming from the labs. As Rowan jogged into another tunnel, another noise drowned out the screams.
This sound made her freeze in her tracks.
The wild roar didn’t sound human. It sounded like a wild beast on the hunt.
What the fuck? She sprinted forward, almost tripping over her own feet. She stumbled into the first lab.
It was empty and eerily quiet.
And completely trashed.
The workbenches had been tipped over, glassware and lab equipment lay smashed on the floor. She stared at the tiny green plants, that had survived millennia, only to be crushed under running feet.
“Hello?” she called out.
She heard another high-pitched scream. Was that Amara? This time, it came from down another tunnel that led toward the sleeping quarters.
Rowan shivered. The temperature had dropped and goose bumps broke out over her arms. She took a step and her foot bumped something.
She looked down. “Oh, God!”
Marc lay prone on the floor, blood dripping down his face. Huge slash wounds covered his chest and neck.
She knelt and pressed her fingers to his throat. It was then she realized he was freezing cold, his skin coated in a thin layer of ice.
He was dead.
Rowan sucked in a few quick breaths. What the hell was going on? Had a rabid polar bear gotten inside? She touched Marc’s face, and noticed his eyes were open. She sucked in another harsh breath. Both his eyes were milky white and covered in a cracked web of ice.
Something was seriously wrong.
A noise echoed in the nearest tunnel. She shot to her feet, staring ahead. Her heart was racing, pounding against her ribs. There was another sound, a scrape of something against the hard side of the dome.
Then slow, heavy footsteps.
Rowan didn’t stop to think. She needed to get away, she needed somewhere to hide.
She leaped over Marc’s body. Glass crunched under her feet and she winced. Where could she go? Her gaze swung frantically across the dome.
Those slow, menacing footsteps got closer. Rowan’s throat closed, and she then spied a small cabinet across the lab. She hurried over and ripped open the doors.
Two shelves were loaded with various boxes of equipment. She tore them from the shelves and tossed them on the ground. Next, she yanked out the top shelf and set it against the wall.