Chapter 7 #2
I stretch my right leg out and roll my shoulders. I wonder if he is proud of his creation. As if my thoughts have conjured him, the hellhound appears outside my glass ‘tank.’
John stands in the doorway. He is wearing a black T-shirt and trousers that mould to him. His unsettling green eyes take me in. Smart and clear, they evaluate everything with calm precision.
My eyes widen. I freeze on the bed. Sweat breaks out around my hairline, and my left eye twitches sporadically.
Why is he here? To make an apology? “Sorry I stabbed you, Emma.” This is so not appropriate.
I cautiously move my hand to rub my twitching eye.
I then narrow both of my eyes as I stare up at him.
I can’t wrap my head around the fact that he is here.
“We need to talk,” he says.
Boom.
As soon as I hear his voice, the room darkens. Bitter-tasting bile rises up my throat. Belatedly, it becomes apparent to me that…I’m screaming.
In a panic, I clamp my hands over my mouth.
One on top of the other to hold in the sound.
My fingers dig into my cheeks. The scream is now muffled, yet it continues to bubble in my throat.
A flood of frightened tears runs down my face unchecked.
They pool at the top of my fingers and drip slowly down my wrists, the salty tears making a minor cut on my wrist sting.
My God, it is like all my nightmares have come together into human form.
I shake my head. No.
No to the horrified disbelief that is rattling around in my brain, that John is here in the same building as me, has he come back to hurt me?
I don’t want to talk to him. I’m a mess, thanks to the man standing before me.
He wants to talk? His blasé tone does not inspire any confidence.
Just bone-deep fear. Oh God, why is he really here?
John remains in the doorway, his body relaxed. A penitent expression flashes across his face. But it disappears so quickly, I think I must have been mistaken. His eyes are assessing, judging.
Judging me as I struggle for control.
I fight the overwhelming, demanding urge to manically fling myself from the bed and run, or at least attempt to hide, with my fingers in my ears in the vain, childish hope that if I can’t see him or hear him, he will leave me alone.
Oh my God, if he takes one more step…
NO.
My panicked thoughts screech to a halt as I gain control of myself. I am not doing that to myself. I’m not.
John is another form of infection that I have to fight.
I will not let my primal fears control me. I force myself to stay on the bed, with my elbows I hug my knees to my chest. My breath struggles to escape from between the dam of my hands, and my nostrils flare as I pant. I can’t get enough air through my snotty nose.
He patiently waits until I stop freaking out, then continues as if I hadn’t interrupted him with my screaming.
“I’m worried about your safety…the consequences of your helping my sister.
” The consequences of what you, John, did.
“I have the means and the resources to get you somewhere safe. You’re not safe with Arlo.
” John says the demon’s name as if they’re old friends, not current enemies.
The smooth rolling of his voice twists my insides.
Nothing in John’s tone indicates any awareness that the demon was behind the kidnapping and subsequent deaths of his pack.
Of course he knows…after months of investigation, the hellhound will know everything.
“He has removed his protection—there is no longer a claim on you. It will only be a matter of time before someone makes their move.”
Why the hell does John care?
“Arlo will never let you go. He will dangle you like bait to see what he can catch.”
A fishing reference…how apt, considering I’ve lived in this fishbowl of a room for weeks.
I rock. “Don’t pretend you care,” I mumble around the fleshy barrier of my hands. John tilts his head.
Now that I have full control of myself, I cautiously drop my hands from my mouth.
Licking my lips, I not-so-surreptitiously put the hospital bed between us as I shuffle to the other side of the bed.
My abdomen sharply twinges a protest as I quickly stand.
I sway on my feet. My blood pressure is still dangerously low, and as I’ve gotten up too fast, dizziness hits me.
I blink rapidly to clear the black dots that dance across my vision.
As soon as I feel steady enough, I slowly back away.
My already-stressed heart pounds, causing my neck and jaw to ache.
I keep moving backwards away from the hellhound until my bum hits the glass window and I can go no further. I wipe my hands across my face to clear it of tears and cough to clear my throat.
I take a deep breath.
It’s all going to be okay—or it isn’t, but that’s okay too.
I can’t stop my hands as they stray of their own accord to rest protectively in front of Bert. John’s eyes track the movement and he frowns.
I swallow and lift my chin, and bravely I say again, “Do not pretend that you care.” It comes out wobbly. More strongly, I say, “You just want to use me. I assume you have some big nefarious plan? I will not allow myself to be used, hellhound. Haven’t you…haven’t you done enough?”
I bite the inside of my mouth and I force myself to continue—I have my own questions.
“Your sister,” I say through a growing lump in my throat, a nasty lump of fear that is doing its best to rob me of my voice.
I need to know —not knowing has driven me crazy in this hospital bed and only this man has the answer.
“Is she okay? Did she shift back? Is she safe?”
He flinches. It’s only a micro-expression, a tightening of his mouth, a flick of his right eyebrow that he can’t quite staunch.
“Do not talk about my sister,” he growls.
“Don’t even think about her. Her welfare is not your concern.
” His gorgeous face twists into a fearsome expression and his now-livid energy sucks the air out of the room.
I shrink back further into myself. If I could, I would dig a hole right through the window at my back and escape. Isn’t it normal to ask about my pup?
I point a trembling finger at him. “You are a monster, John Hesketh. I see you.”
Oh crap, I’ve said too much. I nibble on my bottom lip.
But because I’m a glutton for punishment and I can’t help myself, I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and blurt out, “Arlo told me you paid for my medical treatment. Excuse me if I don’t say thank you.
You are the reason I’m here. Please leave.
Leave me alone. Get out. Please, just get out.
I never want to see you again. You’ve done enough. ”
“I will send someone to help you. Guard you—”
“No.”
“You have no choice,” he growls.
No, I never have.
“I hate you,” I snarl, my pulse pounding heavy in my veins and my entire body shaking with fear.
John’s confident demeanour slips a little at my words. I swear that for a second, he almost looks uncertain. But then his eyes flash with that awful orange flame.
“Good,” he says with a cruel twist of his lips.