Chapter 54
Rell
Rell’s fingers found the blue lines running under Elora’s skin, her pulse going crazy against his thumb.
Shit. Each heartbeat made his own chest tighten with guilt.
He was playing both jailer and bodyguard, bad guy and hero all at once.
Her face didn’t give anything away, but that racing pulse told him everything he couldn’t bear to hear.
The lab was cold as hell, and goosebumps covered every inch of her bare arms and shoulders.
That flimsy Al’teran leotard might as well have been tissue paper under these lights.
Rell’s fingers twitched at his sides, itching to grab his coat and throw it over her, to tell Thorn to back the fuck off with that creepy stare of his.
But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not if they were gonna pull off this whole charade.
Rell wanted to deck the guy as soon as his predatory eyes fell on Elora when they arrived at the dock.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected Thorn to do with Elora. Throw her in a cell and forget about her would have been the best option. Maybe study shifting patterns, a couple blood samples perhaps but certainly not impregnate her. And with his own—
Rell nearly retched his bland oatmeal breakfast.
He shifted his hold on Elora’s wrists, keeping them behind her back but making damn sure those cuffs weren’t digging in too hard. He wanted to comfort her any way he could. His role gave him excuses to touch her but every time his touch turned soft and caressing, she would shift away from him.
Across the room, Thorn hunched over his desk, scribbling away.
The scratchy sound of his pen was the only thing breaking the heavy quiet.
Florence stood next to him, back straight as a board, face giving nothing away.
They were whispering back and forth, too quiet for Rell to hear much.
Prep stuff, maybe? Something about timing? Hell if he knew.
The metal gurney in the middle of the room caught all the light, shining like it was proud of itself.
Leather straps dangled off the sides, just waiting to grab someone.
Sure, it had a bit more padding than that other table from last time—which meant exactly jack shit for whoever got strapped to it.
It was still a better option than the bed in the corner with its straps and stirrups to keep whoever on it from fighting back.
Next to it sat a cart loaded with all kinds of nasty stuff Rell didn’t want to look at too hard. Bottles of liquids in unnatural shades of amber and violet. Needles that glinted like they were winking at him. Tools that screamed “you don’t want to know what I do.”
Thorn slammed his journal shut with a snap that made Rell’s jaw clench. “Strip her and strap her down,” he ordered, jerking his chin toward the bed.
Hell no. Rell’s whole body went rigid. He felt Elora back up against him, her shoulder blades pressing into his chest like she was trying to disappear into him.
Even through that paper-thin leotard, she radiated heat against his front—a living, breathing reminder of everything he couldn’t let happen to her.
They stood frozen together. Each tick of the wall clock felt like a hammer blow.
Thorn’s eyes narrowed, mouth opening to rip Rell a new one, when Florence stepped in.
“That won’t be necessary yet, Uncle,” Florence said, stepping between them and the bed.
Thorn’s head snapped up, his attention pivoting to Florence.
His features contorted as if he’d bitten into something rotten—that line between his eyebrows getting deeper, jaw clenching hard. His fingers did that twitchy thing at his sides. Rell had seen it before. Old bastard hated being told no, especially when it came to his freaky science shit.
“Won’t be necessary?” Thorn repeated, his voice dropping an octave and introducing that nasty edge underneath that always made Rell’s skin crawl. “I wasn’t aware you had acquired a medical degree during your absence, Flora.”
Florence didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. “I merely thought we might begin with something less... invasive. The subject appears to be in a heightened state of distress, which could compromise your initial readings.”
Rell felt Elora trembling against him, the subtle vibration passing from her body to his.
He adjusted his grip slightly, his thumb finding the soft spot between her wrist bones where her pulse raced.
His fingers tightened just enough to say what he couldn’t out loud: I got you. Nobody’s touching you while I’m here.
Thorn’s eyes bounced from Florence to Elora, then locked onto Rell with a look that made him want to back the hell up. But screw that—Rell planted his feet wider and stared right back at the creepy bastard.
“And what would you suggest instead?” Thorn asked Florence, though his eyes remained fixed on Rell.
“A blood sample and some questions,” Florence replied smoothly. “Simple, efficient, and it will provide the baseline data you need without triggering a transformation response. As Rell said, the shifter’s biology is sensitive to perceived threats.”
Rell cleared his throat. “As we talked about, the beast is manageable now.” Rell eased up on Elora’s wrists and slid his hand to her shoulder. “For me, anyway,” he added. His fingers glided over the bare skin there. She flinched. God, he hoped that was just her playing along.
Thorn’s eyes narrowed, studying the interaction with clinical interest. His gaze dropped to Rell’s hand on Elora’s shoulder. “This isn’t my first time experimenting on a shifter, you know.” His voice had that don’t-test-me edge. “I’m intimately familiar with their behavioral patterns.”
Rell maintained his composure, squeezing Elora’s shoulder a little tighter. “With respect, sir, her abilities are newer. As we’ve seen, far more volatile.”
His words were a complete lie. In reality, Elora’s self-control amazed him daily.
The nightglider form had once been her escape hatch—a simpler mind to hide in when human emotions cut too deep.
But lately? She stayed human through the hardest moments, facing every raw emotion head-on while he was the one wishing he could transform into something else, something stronger than this helpless human watching her suffer.
“Fine.” Thorn’s voice cut through the tension. “We’ll start with the basics.”
Florence stepped forward, her posture shifting to be more clinical. “When was your last menstrual cycle?” Florence asked Elora directly.
Rell felt Elora freeze up against him. Nobody said a damn thing. Under his fingers, her pulse spasmed.
Thorn’s eyes got all squinty. “Answer her,” he growled, his voice dropping into that scary-as-hell tone that made Rell’s whole body go on red alert.
“I—I don’t know,” Elora finally whispered.
Florence’s eyes widened a fraction, her lips parting slightly before she pressed them into a thin line.
The cool mask of clinical detachment slipped for just a moment as she glanced from Elora’s face to her abdomen and back again.
She leaned close to Thorn, muttering stuff Rell couldn’t quite catch.
Something about “...not impossible...” and “…a potion of...”
While they had their little huddle, Rell bent down, his lips practically touching Elora’s ear. “Are you okay?”
She tilted her head slightly, her response equally quiet. “I don’t know.”
Her voice wobbled just enough to freeze his blood solid.
Since they cooked up this crazy plan, Elora had been all steel and fire.
She could endure. They could outsmart Thorn.
She would kill him. But this? Her actually admitting she didn’t know?
That scared him worse than anything else in this fucked-up place.
Florence turned back to them; her eyes fixed on Elora with renewed intensity. “You haven’t had at least one cycle since escaping The Institute?” she pressed. “Think carefully.”
Elora’s profile was still against the harsh lab lights, her jaw working slightly as if chewing on the question. Rell tracked the tiny muscle jumping at her temple, counting the seconds until she finally gave a small shake of her head.
“No,” she said with more certainty. “I haven’t.”
Florence’s eyes widened fractionally before she controlled her expression. She turned to Thorn, and they huddled up again, whispering back and forth. He caught a few words from Thorn.
“can’t be Gerard’s…” and “potion to terminate…”
Whatever Florence was saying to him, Thorn didn’t like it one bit. Rell only caught the words, “can survive for several days…” Thorn’s face went stormy, and his knuckles went white where he was death-gripping the edge of his workbench.
He turned his gaze to Rell, his eyes narrowing as if he were weighing other possibilities. He felt the scrutiny, the heat of Thorn’s gaze prickling at the back of his neck and instinctively shifted away from Elora.
Thorn shoved away from the workbench so hard the glass vials rattled.
Florence’s mouth was still moving—something about bloodwork protocols and confirming—but he was already past her, crossing the room in long, predatory strides.
Rell’s grip tightened on Elora’s shoulder instinctively, pulling her back a step before he caught himself and forced his hand to ease up.
Thorn stopped right in front of them, close enough that Rell could smell the antiseptic soap and something underneath it, something chemical and wrong. Those eyes locked onto Rell like he was a specimen pinned to a board.
“Did you procreate with her?”
The question hit Rell like a punch to the gut.
For a second, he just stared, his brain scrambling to process what Thorn had actually asked him.
Like Elora wasn’t standing right there, pressed against his chest, her pulse hammering against his thumb.
Like she was just a piece of furniture in the room.
“What?” The word came out flat and stupid. His face was doing something he couldn’t control—his nose wrinkled, his lip curling back from his teeth. Disgust rolled through him so hard his stomach lurched. “You think I—”