Chapter 33
Blackout
Cold. So goddamn cold. First thing I felt. Not pain. Not yet. Just cold that burned.
Water sloshed around me, dragging me back to consciousness in pieces. I was lying half-submerged in what… a tunnel? Couldn’t tell. Too dark. Too confused.
Something was wrong with my head. Thoughts came scattered, fragmented. Blood trickled into my left eye. Couldn’t wipe it away. Arms too heavy. Hands numb.
Return to base.
The command surfaced in my mind, automatic and insistent.
No. Evade capture.
Both directives fought for dominance, creating a spike of pain behind my eyes.
Who was I?
The question brought more pain, like rusty nails dragging through brain tissue.
I remembered… falling. Steam. A man with silver eyes. A woman’s voice through speakers.
“Xavier Hale. Your sister Maeve is still looking for you.”
The name triggered agony so severe my body convulsed, splashing in the shallow water. Xavier. Maeve. Sister. Each word was a hot knife slicing through grey matter.
Focus. Immediate survival parameters.
I dragged myself forward using my elbows, tactical gear hanging in wet shreds around my torso.
The drainage tunnel opened to the outside.
Snow fell in thick, silent flakes, contrasting against the dark warehouses before me.
I didn’t have to look back to know that my blood left a black trail on dirty snow.
The world tilted and spun as I assessed damage. Right shoulder dislocated. Three—no, four ribs cracked. Deep laceration across scalp. Possible concussion. various wounds and potential bruises. Blood loss approaching critical levels.
Temperature dropping. Snow intensifying. Tactical gear soaked. Hypothermia accelerating.
I needed shelter. Medical supplies. Heat.
Two conflicting impulses: hide from both Oblivion and SENTINEL teams, or signal for extraction.
No. Not extraction. They’d… hurt me again. The thought brought unexpected terror.
M-Maeve.
The name shot another wave of pain, but I held onto it. Something real in this mess of a life.
I dragged myself further from the tunnel’s mouth. Shivering had started, uncontrollable, but I pushed myself up. I had to move.
This warehouse district seemed deserted at night. Fog rolled in from the river, mixing with falling snow.
A light appeared in a third-story window across the street. Possible threat. Possible shelter.
I tried to retreat into shadows, but my damaged body betrayed me. I stumbled against metal trash bins, sending them crashing against concrete. The noise was deafening through empty streets.
Exposed. Vulnerable. Compromised.
My hand reached automatically for a weapon that wasn’t there. Lost in the water, maybe. Or during the fall. No, before that.
“Hey! You can’t be here!”
Female voice. Authoritative but not an asset. Females could not be assets. I tried to assess the threat level, but my vision kept blurring, doubling.
Footsteps approached the alley where I’d collapsed against a brick wall. A flashlight beam swept the area, catching the bloody trail I’d left.
“Oh my god.”
The voice changed instantly, professional assessment replacing annoyance. Medical training in her tone. Not law enforcement.
I tried to stand, to appear less vulnerable, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. Blood loss and hypothermia degrading motor function. I slid back down the wall.
She approached cautiously, flashlight beam illuminating my face. I squinted against the light, unable to make out her features.
“Jesus,” she said. “You need a hospital.”
Her hand reached for something in her pocket—phone, most likely.
“No hospitals,” I managed, voice rough and unfamiliar to my own ears. The words came out slurred, teeth chattering between syllables.
“You’re bleeding out,” she argued, already dialing. “And you’re hypothermic.”
My training kicked in, overriding rational thought. Eliminate the witness. Leave no trace. I reached for a weapon that still wasn’t there, the movement automatic and horrifying. The realization of what I had just tried to do sent a wave of nausea through me.
She noticed the gesture, her body tensing. But instead of running, she stood her ground.
“If you’re planning to kill me,” she said, voice steadier than it should have been, “you should know I’m the only chance you’ve got right now.”
The statement penetrated my disoriented mind.
My programming battled with emerging identity. Pain lanced through my skull as conditioning pathways conflicted with… something else. Someone else.
Xavier.
Pain spiked again, vision going white at the edges. Blood dripped steadily from my head wound, pooling at my feet. Too much blood. System shutdown imminent.
The woman moved closer rather than retreating. I watched through blurring vision as she studied me, assessing injuries.
“Who are you?” The question came from my mouth, directed as much at myself as at her.
“Clare Bolton,” she answered without hesitation. “And you’re bleeding out in my alley.”
American? Where was I again? She extended her hand—both, a challenge and a lifeline. I stared at it. Operational protocols still screaming to eliminate the witness. But my hand didn’t move to comply.
“So what’s it going to be?” she asked.
Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Her eyes flicked toward the sound, then back to me.
“Those are coming for you, aren’t they?” she asked, but didn’t withdraw her offered hand.
My tactical assessment told me she was right.
SENTINEL or Oblivion—both hunting me now.
Death either way. My blood dripped from my fingertips as I reached toward her hand, unable to understand why she would help me.
Why anyone would help what I was. She pulled me up with more force than I had expected from her.
“N-need to…” The words wouldn’t form properly. My tongue felt swollen, uncooperative. “C-can’t go b-back.”
I felt the unexpected warmth of her hand as she caught me before I fell, my legs finally giving out completely. My vision tunneled, darkening at the edges.
“Stay with me,” she ordered, her voice fading in and out like a badly tuned radio. “What’s your name?”
“B-Blackout,” I stuttered, then shook my head, sending fresh pain radiating through my skull. “No. Not… not that. Not r-real.”
“Then who are you?” she insisted, struggling to support my weight as she dragged me toward a service door.
“X-Xavier,” I managed, the name causing another spike of agony behind my eyes. “Maybe. I think… I was Xavier.”
The admission cost me the last of my strength. Darkness rushed in as I collapsed against her, the sirens growing louder as consciousness slipped away.
The last thing I heard was her voice, firm and determined: “Alright, Xavier. Let’s get you inside before you freeze to death. You can tell me the rest when you’re not dying.”
Blackout is in deep trouble, bleeding to death in the snow. But who is Clare, and can he trust her when he’s at his most vulnerable? Don’t miss
Stolen to Be Mine available now!