13. Elowen
ELOWEN
C ollecting the tissue and blood samples proved more difficult than I’d anticipated. His flesh required far more effort to cut than I’d expected. Even so, Sariel had scarcely made a sound as I cut out a tiny square of his flesh and set it in the metal tray. I’d watched with wide eyes as the shallow square of flesh knit itself back together in under a minute. I should feel a pang of guilt that I sacrificed the potential well-being of humanity for mine and Sariel’s pleasure, but… I don’t.
Forsythe returns sooner than anticipated, clearly eager to begin his research. A deep scowl contorts his face as he takes in the empty semen collection jar. “What did I tell you earlier, Elowen?”
My throat works around a gulp tinged with fear as Sariel growls low, sounding more like a bear or a lion than a male that stands on two legs. At the very least, I imagine it tempers Forsythe’s anger. “I told you that if you do not prove yourself useful, you prove yourself expendable. Do I need to elaborate?”
Anger eclipses my fear. “I’m not entirely sure why you speak as though I’ve ever been anything but expendable.”
Something like guilt flickers briefly in his gaze, but it’s gone so fast I wonder if it was ever really there. “Come. My carriage is waiting for you. I will remain here and retrieve you in the morning. Tomorrow, you will provide me the semen sample.” Forsythe dares a glance at Sariel, whose lip instantly curls, revealing a long, vicious fang. “Do you understand, daemon?”
My own growl escapes. “He has a name, Doctor.”
Forsythe’s eyes narrow, but he ignores the comment.
“Say goodnight to your friend.”
I normally relish the solitude on the rare occasion I have the manor to myself. Instead, I’m ready to gnaw my own lip off with worry. Forsythe is still at his laboratory, and I can’t help but worry about gods-know-what he might be doing to Sariel. By the time I finally lie down, I’m trembling with both nerves and exhaustion. I can’t bear the fact that while I’m in a comfortable and warm bed, Sariel is chained in a basement cell.
At some point, though, I don’t notice when my eyes fall shut, and it isn’t until a rare shaft of sunlight is piercing my eyes through my eyelids that I wake, feeling like I haven’t slept at all. The drool on my pillow says otherwise.