Chapter 10 Kael
KAEL
The bleak room stands before me like a vortex in time. The walls are bare, aged for an eternity, even though it hasn’t existed that long. Nobody jolts at my arrival or the state of me, they barely even bat an eye in my direction.
My fingers twitch at my sides with the anticipation of someone charging for the door, desperate to escape, but it doesn’t come, which only serves to leave me even more anxious.
Every second inhale I take, my gaze cuts across the room to the couple who are the entire reason I’m here. They’re huddled together, resilient as each other’s pillar of support while they sit in silence.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sadder sight.
Gulping, I force myself to look away once again, taking in every single person locked up in here.
There must be at least forty of them, each reluctant to escape, as evidenced by the way they shrink back, attempting to camouflage into the walls.
I truly don’t understand what would drive someone to this.
To give up.
To lose hope.
I say that like I didn’t do the same damn thing in the basement of Institute Thirteen, but that was different. That wasn’t for me, it was for Elodie.
My gut twists. Is that why they’re here? For others? For their families? For the ones they love?
I can’t bring myself to find out. That would only make this entire thing even more real, and I’m already on the brink as it is.
Peering toward the other side of the room, I freeze from head to toe, balking in disbelief at the sight of a familiar face in the corner.
Jenkins?
No. Fucking. Way.
My eyes drift close as I recall the last time I spoke of him.
Being held by The Sanctum isn’t for the faint hearted. Sure, there are beds and essentials provided, but the impending death that looms over you makes it impossible to appreciate any of it.
Until her.
She’s only been here five minutes, and she’s already driving me insane.
I was happy to enjoy my peace and quiet, ready to face death with an air of calmness I’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing in my whole entire life, and then she waltzes in here, fist pounding against the glass with rage.
She’s exhausting.
I’ve snapped at her enough times to make sure she knows to leave me alone.
Fuck.
I’m even lying here with my eyes closed, faking sleep so I don’t get caught staring at her, which is exactly what I want to do.
She’s an enigma.
She’s frustrating.
She’s absolutely beautiful.
“Did you do that?” she asks, her voice cutting through the air, and I sigh. It’s obvious she’s talking to me, and I can’t bring myself to ignore her like I want to.
Reluctantly, I tilt my head in her direction to find her staring off to the left, her gaze narrowed on the small flower carved into the wall. My eyes narrow as pain threatens to slice through my veins, but I remind myself that I’m not supposed to have feelings.
Feelings have never done me any good.
“No, that was Jenkins,” I rasp, watching her shiver at my raspy words.
“Who’s that?” she pushes, fear lowering her voice an octave or two.
“My old cellmate,” I admit, watching every inch of her for a reaction against my better judgment.
The unease in the air is undeniable, even as she offers a playful laugh, which doesn’t lift the mood as she intends. “How did he manage to get away from all of your charm?” she muses, but the tightness to her jaw is still there.
She doesn’t turn to me.
She can’t.
It’s like she knows the words before I speak them.
That doesn’t stop me from thickening the tension and filling the room with darkness with three simple words. “They killed him.”
Tearing my eyes open, I blink, and blink again, reconfirming I can still see him.
That may have been the last time I spoke of him, but it wasn’t the last time he was in my thoughts.
Death is such a fickle thing, an end we must all face, but that doesn’t take the pain of grief away.
My mother used to say grief is the price we pay for love.
I didn’t understand it then, and I don’t really now, but it ruminates in my chest, forcing me to acknowledge the emotions I never embraced when I thought those three words were true.
But he’s not dead.
Not like I thought.
Yet the state of him now has me questioning whether he wishes he was.
His red hair is messy and unkept, his loose t-shirt and relaxed jeans crumpled and worn, but it’s his lifeless green eyes that hold me captive.
As if sensing my thoughts, he tilts his head, eyes colliding with mine. They move the smallest fraction. If I wasn’t paying such close attention, I would assume they didn’t move at all, but I know what I saw: recognition.
I brace, ready for him to speak, but nothing comes. Just like the others, he remains silent.
Movement from behind me pulls me from my thoughts, and I find Walker re-entering the room with a device in his hand.
“What exactly are we doing in here?” I grunt, dragging my free hand through the ends of my hair, which are starting to stiffen from the blood clinging to strands. My other hand holds onto the clipboard as if my life depends on it.
“We need to collect their stats,” he explains, not lifting his head from the device in his hand.
“What stats specifically?” I push, eyes narrowing as I try to understand what it is we’re supposed to be doing.
“Vitals, bloodwork, and their overall condition,” he states, looking at me with a sigh. “Then we can break down who needs the tanks to heal and recover.”
I blink at him.
Heal and recover?
What are they doing to them to require that?
“You can do it while I sort a few things out. Don’t worry, I won’t be leaving you unattended,” he promises, handing me the thick pen-shaped device.
“All you have to do is press the tip against the pulse point in their throat. The screen will tell you everything you need to know. Make a note of it, then we can reassess our next steps,” he explains, tapping the clipboard, and I quickly realize the blank spaces after the initial information are there to collect their data.
Nodding, I don’t bother to answer him as I trudge to my right, opting to start a full circle of the room from this spot, but before I can do anything, Walker’s voice carries through the air.
“Make sure you take note of it all: their vitals, bloodwork, condition scaling, and their overall heal tank recommendation,” he reiterates, and my eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“Shouldn’t they eat? That would help with their recovery. What are you feeding them?” He looks at me funny, tilting his head slightly. “What?”
“They don’t,” he grunts, scrubbing the back of his neck, as if he can’t stop himself from feeling the tinges of embarrassment at that statement.
It takes everything in me not to rear back in blatant disgust. “The vials give them everything they need,” he explains, like I know what he’s referring to.
I can’t look at him, my emotions will be on full display, so I glance at the room once again instead, truly taking in their condition.
“It seems you don’t know your brother as well as you thought you did,” he adds, almost a hint of amusement lilting his tone, but I don’t find the humor.
Sadly for me, he’s wrong. I know my brother well enough to know that these are kind conditions. I’ve seen the alternative.
“Is that why you’re his loyal servant?” I ask, ignoring him as I return my attention to the woman before me.
It’s no surprise when Walker doesn’t answer. He can’t. Neither can I right now.
Instead, I crouch down, focusing on the lady leaning against the wall.
Her legs are crossed in front of her, her fingers laced together in her lap, but it’s that familiar bleakness to her gaze that tells me just how wrong all of this is.
As I move closer, she tilts her head, offering me the spot she knows I need to press the device against. Thankfully, I don’t have to apply too much pressure for the screen to flash with a reading and her name.
I hurry to jot down the details so I can give her space again, but her demeanor doesn’t change as I move. Quickly enough, I’m shuffling along to the next prisoner, writing down their vitals, and before I know it, the next person is Jenkins.
He doesn’t meet my stare as I press the device against his throat, and all I can hear is the thundering of my pulse in my ears. I didn’t know him long, but it was enough to form a bond, a connection.
When you’re awaiting your punishment within The Sanctum, you become reckless, like spilling all of your truths before you cease to exist, or fucking the most beautiful girl in the bathroom, certain you’re never going to see the light of day again.
I told him things.
He told me things.
Whispers of what life could have been, the pain and reality we had to carry, but it was the hopes of freedom that became the hot topic of conversation. And although he’s not dead, this is no life of freedom either.
The device beeps in my hand, confirming the data is available. The moment I press the pen against the paper, his head tilts toward me.
Peering up through my lashes, I find his gaze fixed on mine.
He wets his parched lips before parting them.
“I never thought I’d see the day, brother,” he rasps, the sound so hoarse I dread to imagine how long it’s been since he last spoke.
Or is this the consequence of my brother’s actions? What has he done to him?
“What the hell is all of this?” I whisper, and he cocks a brow at me, but the challenge in the move isn’t as sharp as I’ve seen it to be.
“You tell me,” he retorts, raking his eyes over me, and it takes everything in me not to shuffle back from his unwavering stare.
“I thought you were dead,” I murmur, and I’m sure I spoke too quietly for him to hear before he subtly shakes his head.
“I wish I was.”
His gaze bores into mine, pain radiating from every inch of him, and I think I’m going to be sick.
“What’s taking so long?” Walker grunts from the door, startling me, but I manage to keep my composure as I fill in Jenkins’s details.
Despite the burning in my chest, I rise, moving on to the next person without a backward glance, acutely aware of the man at the door accessing my every move.
“Nothing,” I mutter, not bothering to glance his way as I carry on, making my way around the room.
Each subordinate, as my brother likes to call them—victim, in my eyes—tilts their head when I approach. They don’t meet my gaze, though, and they definitely don’t try to deny me access.
Not one of them.
Nerves start to get the better of me the further around the room I get. The whole reason I started on the far side was to prolong having to approach Elodie’s parents, but I find myself here regardless.
I swallow down the emotions threatening to burst through me as I come eye to eye with Thorne’s father’s best friend, who just so happens to be Elodie’s father.
The corners of his eyes pinch as he takes me in.
It has to be because of the blood I’m now wearing as a drying second skin, but I’m too startled by the eye contact to say anything about it.
Wordlessly, he angles his head just enough for me to press the device against his skin. Writing down his details as quickly as I can, I’m soon turning my attention to the woman sleeping with her head on his shoulder.
I don’t want to simply reach out and take her details while she sleeps. Even I’m aware of some boundaries. Instead, I lean closer to her while keeping my attention on the man before me.
“Odie, wake her for me, please.”
His brows pinch as he assesses, but instead of solemnly doing as I ask, like everyone else, he speaks. “He said your brother. Is Jude your brother?” I blink at him, unable to answer, but he must sense something because he pushes on. “Did he do this to you?”
I gulp. “This isn’t my blood,” I rasp, my heart galloping in my chest as he gives me a pointed look.
“That’s not what I was asking,” he states, and I shake my head, desperate to put some much needed distance between us, especially after already having a moment with Jenkins too.
Aiming the device at Ellie’s throat, I go against my better judgment and try to take her reading. I already asked him to help. His insistence on asking me questions is his own fault. But before I can make contact, he reaches out, grabbing my wrist with a firm tug.
I freeze.
“Odie,” I warn, my voice hushed as his eyebrows furrow deeper.
“You know my name,” he breathes, his eyes flitting back and forth so fast I can practically hear his thoughts from here.
Faltering, I mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “It’s on the sheet.”
“No, my initials are on the sheet,” he corrects, his gaze finally settling back on mine as they widen. “How do you know my name?”
My world stills. I can’t handle this.
“Be quiet,” I grunt, attempting to stand, but he holds my wrist tighter.
“How? Only one person who could possibly be alive would know my name. It’s him, isn’t it? He’s alive. He survived. Tell me it’s true.” Tears gather along the bottom of his eyes, but not a single one falls as he stares at me desperately.
“What the hell is taking so long?” Walker grunts, my attention snapping over my shoulder to find him hovering at the door, slightly distracted by his cell phone in his hand.
Reluctantly, I turn back to the man before me, resolution burning with distaste deep in my gut as I offer him a sobering smile that falls flat.
“I’m sorry, Odie,” I whisper. “I’ll pay for it a thousand times over one day, but it’ll make sense eventually, even if she’s the one to tell you,” I rasp, rising to my feet despite his resistance, making it clear I had allowed him to hold me there of my own volition.
“Sorry for what?” he asks, refusing to let go.
I take a deep breath as the device falls from my hand, but I don’t hear the sound of it hitting the floor as the echoing thud of my fist colliding with his cheek vibrates around us.
My soul shatters in two as he falls in a heap, his hand gone from my wrist as Ellie gapes at me with wide, panicked eyes beside him.
But I have a role to play, and if we all stand a chance of getting out of here alive, then I have to play it well. I have to own it, maybe even become it.
Determination vibrates through me as my fangs elongate and my vampire takes hold. My jaw aches with the tension, and I can’t imagine what I look like, but I shoulder it all as I bark. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself unless you want to face the wrath of Jude Forrester’s feral fucking brother.”