32. Quin
I’m lost and floating in a drug-induced stupor, my senses all dulled and slow in the haze. My tiger is raging inside me, desperate for me to awaken and wreak havoc on all those who have held us captive. His hatred of my parents, especially, have him longing for their blood.
I am no longer quiet or compliant. The impressive cocktail of drugs injected into my bloodstream no longer do their jobs, and I burn through their affects with greater and greater alacrity. It won’t be long before they’ll cease to be effective completely.
I have no concept of time as I fight the pull of sedation. My awareness creeps back to me steadily, but I do nothing to alert those watching me that I am regaining my senses. The more I can learn without their knowledge, the better it will be for me when I finally break free of my shackles and annihilate them all for their evil-doing.
I’m splayed out on a metal table, each of my arms outstretched and strapped down to an arm board attached to the side of the bench. I feel more straps secure my torso and waist and can only assume my legs are similarly confined and restricted.
I don’t flinch when my skin is sliced open by the sharp edge of the scalpel O’Hare wields, nor do I make a sound when it feels as though he’s rearranging my insides for me. I bear down on my bonds, smothering and shielding them all from my pain, diverting all my energy into playing possum.
It’s a close call when my legs are spread apart and tethered in a pair of stirrups, my body probed and violated by my gleeful jailer. The awful pinch followed by excruciating pain as something slides into my testicles almost breaks me, but I hold strong. I can only pray they aren’t neutering me, but maybe it would be for the best if they are. I don’t want my parents getting their filthy hands on my DNA. It’s part of the reason I’ve tried my best to forget Izzy’s existence while they’ve held me. If my parents get even an inkling of a potential grandchild out there, they’ll leave no stone unturned until they have both of my reasons for living in their clutches.
“We have a healthy sample,” O’Hare announces to the room, and it takes my all to lie still and not react.
“Take this to the lab and cryo-freeze it. Now that we have his genetic material, we don’t need to hold back on our experimentation. I’m sure that our young lioness wouldn’t mind loaning out her uterus in exchange for the return of her cat. Isn’t that correct, Catherine?”
Oh, fuck me!
Simon was right, the ex-lions are up to their necks in the putrid filth my parents and their lackeys consider to be “scientific research,” when it’s all really inhumane torture and violation.
“As long as I can get my lioness back, and I don’t have to raise the little abomination, I don’t care. Just don’t ask me to play ‘mommy dearest’ and breastfeed or bond with the thing. I’d sooner drown it than give it anything else than life.”
My disgust at the feminine, entitled voice has my gorge rising, but I choke it back down. I listen with half an ear as the collection of voices and footsteps grows fainter as they exit the room, leaving me strapped to the table and splayed out like a frog ready for dissection.
I reach out with my other senses, the harsh chemical tang biting at my nostrils and covering the other scents, and I can’t hear anyone else breathing or moving around either. Cracking open an eyelid, the bright fluorescent lights sear through the sliver and burn my retinas, but there’s nobody around to notice.
Taking stock of the various aches and pains, I give my healing wounds a dismissive glance. I can’t afford to linger over them all, not if I want to discover where the fuck I am and how the hell I can escape before O’Hare and the rest return.
The room is a dingy white and green, like an old operating theater that has been reopened for emergency use. Everything appears to be in working order, just old. That’s good news for me.
There doesn’t appear to be any cameras or other monitoring equipment set up as of yet, and that discovery coupled with the aged state of the room indicates that this place is nowhere near as secure as the previous facility. I don’t know how long they’ve kept me here, but I know that my time is running out. I need to escape, and soon.
There isn’t much else to discover while I’m strapped to the table, and I daren’t remove my restraints. I have no idea when anyone will return, and the last thing I need is for them to discover just how ineffective their sedatives are on me.
I relax back against the unyielding metal, my mind scouring over the available memories locked inside me for any slice of information, no matter how small, that can help me.
I have no idea where my friends are, but I can feel that Nick, Luc, and Simon are all alive through our bonds. They’re heavily muted, and I don’t know how much of that is due to my own efforts, and how much is from the cocktail injected into my bloodstream on a daily basis, but they aren’t gone.
Heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor are the only warning I get before the doors to the theater swing open. As I’m still lying in the same position as they left me, it takes my father a moment to realize that I’m conscious. Once he does, his face splits into an expression of wicked delight so vile that I almost vomit.
“Ah, so you’re awake? Good, good! I’d hoped to be able to have one last conversation with you before I said my final goodbyes.”
Icy dread slides down my spine. Nothing good ever comes from my father being in such a happy mood. At least, nothing good for me.
“You know, Quintas, your mother and I had such high hopes for you. We thought that by growing up inside Vieux Sang, seeing the important work we were doing on behalf of shifter-kind, that you would appreciate the sacrifices we’ve made for the greater good. We hoped you’d join us in improving the world for our people, to ensure that the taint and pollution of our bloodlines could be permanently eradicated. Even when you fled, I still held out hope.”
My father looms over me, his sneer one I’m well acquainted with. How I wish I could wipe it from his face with my claws, but now is not the time. He continues to taunt me, and this time his words fill me with horror.
“But then you met that pathetic excuse of a mate of yours, one who can’t even shift? And you mated her? Well, son, that was the last straw. Just know that by mating with her, you’ve sacrificed both your lives for our research. And we’ll have fun with that abomination she’s carrying.”
No. NO!
I refuse to comment on my father’s provocation, something which irks him to no end. That doesn’t stop the horror swelling in my soul at the thought of my parents getting their hands on Izzy or our cub. And it will be a shifting cub, because she’s my fated mate. The things they would do to our child in their attempt to isolate whatever it is that allows fated mates to circumvent normal genetics is fuel for my nightmares, and I can only hope and pray to whatever gods may be listening that Izzy is safe and protected.
She could do with having someone like Simon on her side. I’ve seen him and his lion in action, and I’ve got no doubt they’d make even O’Hare and his ilk think twice about putting their hands on my mate and cub if they had to face down a freed and enraged Altered shifter like Tálstrom.
My father throws out more suggestions on what he and O’Hare will do to Izzy while she’s still pregnant, even threatening to cut our cub from her belly and then let her bleed out while I watch, but I don’t react at all. He eventually gives up, stomping out of the theater and leaving me alone and exposed on the operating table.
For those threats alone, I’ll destroy him and then piss on his corpse.