18. Tálstrom
The one they call O’Hare is a vengeful idiot.
His first mistake is injecting Simon with enough sedatives to fell an elephant, not realizing that I can burn through them within minutes. Since waking up in this place, my ire has grown to such an incandescent state that I refuse to be put in such a vulnerable plight again. Every time Simon is dosed, my tolerance to the drugs increases to the point they have little to no lasting effects. However, as I wish to spare Simon even greater trauma than he’s already endured, I make sure to keep him down, dulling the pain, and shielding him from the memories that would otherwise send him spiraling.
His second mistake is not taking the time or care to properly investigate how the other cocktails he’s injecting into Simon are affecting—or in our case, NOT affecting—our bonds. For someone who is apparently hell bent on fucking with our bonds, he’s been doing a piss-poor performance on it all. But then again, after having half his face and one eye torn off, I’m not surprised he’s more interested in simply causing pain rather than doing any so-called “scientific research.”
While it’s Simon’s body lying on the table, I’m the one running the show. Excruciating pain fuels my rage and keeps my senses sharp, despite the massive blood loss we’re suffering. Simon barely hit the table when O’Hare descended, scalpel in hand. He viciously sliced Simon’s chest open, then smashed his breastbone before spreading his ribs so wide several cracked. I’ve been stuck like this for an hour, seemingly unable to move without causing further damage. To all intents and purposes, I’m helpless and vulnerable, but I’m biding my time, watching and waiting. I’m paying attention to everyone in here, the roles they perform, and how formidable an opponent they may present.
None of them give me any cause for concern. Most of them are human, and those who are shifters all seem to be prey species. I could tear through them all like tissue paper without exerting too much energy, but I want to learn more before I tear this place to the ground.
A sudden searing, stabbing pain erupts in Simon’s chest, and his breathing becomes labored and weak. My attention swerves back to where O’Hare leans over Simon’s open chest, a pointed metal instrument in his hand. He slams his hand down again, and the sharpened point punctures Simon’s lung.
Fire burns along our nerves as I struggle against the sudden pressure weighing down on Simon’s chest. Panic flares momentarily as Simon begins to gasp and wheeze for breath, and I prepare to tear out of him if O’Hare even looks at his other lung. I focus some of my energy on the collapsed organ, healing the tears in the spongy flesh and forcing the pooling blood out before it drowns us both. Simon heaves a breath, coughing out the crimson fluid in a forceful spray, coating his chin and O’Hare’s face with scarlet droplets.
One of the minions jerks the madman away from Simon’s body, his harsh whispers easily discernible to my heightened hearing.
“Sir! This is NOT what you were instructed to do with him! You need to compose yourself or you’ll jeopardize all the research, and then both Directors Bassatne will have you on the table instead of that animal.”
The minion’s words snap O’Hare out of his rage, his one remaining eye clearing of the crazed madness that had overtaken him, and he blanches at the potential disaster he could have caused… if I had allowed it.
Simon’s breathing is still labored as he works to reinflate the collapsed lung, and thankfully O’Hare turns away, relinquishing his grip on today’s torture.
“Patch him up enough so that he won’t die, and then take him back to his cell. We’ll see how mouthy he is tomorrow when he’s back on the table.”
My determination and hatred solidifies as the remaining peons remove the spreaders and roughly stitch Simon’s chest back together. I pour my fury into healing the broken bones and torn flesh. I’ll need to make sure he eats plenty and gets some restful sleep if I’m to keep on top of our injuries. But one thing’s for certain—Simon will make it out of here alive, even if I have to drain myself to ensure it happens.