Chapter 2
Two
Sullivan
Relief hits sudden and overwhelming, along with the grateful urge to hug my savior, but I know better than to touch uninvited.
Instead, I glance around, my gaze darting quickly into each room we pass as he leads me deeper into the house.
Dr. Martin’s place is cluttered and untidy. There’s a scent I’ve never smelled before. It’s not bad, just different. Unusual. And beneath it, Dr. Martin’s personal smell, which is more familiar. A scent I associate with rare kindness, a soft voice, and if necessary, a gentle touch.
Not like the others.
It’s warmer inside, thawing my frozen cheeks.
He leads me down a narrow hall. “You should probably hang out in the bathroom. Um, maybe even in the bathtub, at least while I close all the window shades. My house isn’t exactly vampire proof.”
I don’t care where I go so long as it’s not in the sun to die.
The bathroom is cleaner than the rest of the place. A small room in the interior of the house. No windows. Safety. Surfaces shining as though recently wiped down. Sink, toilet, tub. I’ve never taken a bath, only showers.
“Do you mind?” Dr. Martin asks. My confusion must be evident because he clarifies, “If you climb into the tub it’ll be easier to wash away the blood.”
The realization dawns on me that I’ve been leaking all over his floor. My first ever stint as a houseguest, and already I’m terrible. Figures.
“Sorry,” I mutter and step into the tub. Immediately the white porcelain is dotted in scarlet. My head spins. Can a vampire pass out from blood loss? We’re about to find out.
“Hang on. I’ll close the shades and be right back.” He thrusts a blue towel at me. “Use this to staunch the bleeding.” And then he’s gone, the door thunking closed behind him.
I’m reluctant to dirty a clean towel, but he’s right. I need to stop the bleeding. I slide down the shower wall, sit, press the towel over my stomach, and slouch forward.
I should have known better, but I didn’t realize barbed wire was so sharp.
I was careful to grab in between the barbs, but as I hoisted myself over, the razors sliced across my stomach, deep into the muscle, leaving burning lines of fire in their wake.
Hurts like hell. My thighs too, but those wounds don’t feel as serious.
I blame my mistake on them. The staff. The wardens. My jailers. My makers. Those that told me I was special. Stronger. Long-lived. More adaptable than the rest. They led me to believe I couldn’t be hurt so easily.
Liars.
Dr. Martin never told me such things. When he spoke to me, he asked about what I’d been reading. What shows had I watched? And what did I think of them? When I had questions, he answered them.
Never raised his voice.
Never scolded me.
Never hurt me.
His footsteps echo through the house, squeaking old floor boards.
Twenty-Four ventures off my shoulder and down my arm to investigate his surroundings.
He’s always been curious. He’s a hybrid like me.
Vampire rat. Not fully alive, not fully dead.
Can eat food or drink blood. Needs some of both, same as me.
I don’t know how old he is, but at least five.
Too old to be a normal rat. He was turned before me. I wonder if he’s gotten used to it.
I haven’t.
The door flies open. Dr. Martin looks harried, brown eyes tinged with concern. He holds a first aid kit in one hand and a white rectangular box in the other. The box he places on the sink, then he kneels next to the tub.
Twenty-Four scurries under my knees.
“Is that Specimen R-24-1733?”
I nod. “He prefers Twenty-Four.”
“Does he?” Dr. Martin blinks, shakes his head, and redirects his attention to my stomach. “What happened?”
“Barbed wire.”
“Fuck. Okay, you should be fine. You can literally lose all your blood and still recover, but please try not to go feral. I don’t have dying on my bingo card for today.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Glance down. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m not so sure you can control it.”
“I can. I will.”
“Okay. All right. That’s reassuring,” he says, but I don’t think he believes me. Which makes me doubt myself.
What if he’s right, and I’ve put him in danger?
But if I hadn’t come, I’d have died.
Whose life is worth more, and who am I to decide?
“Listen,” he says, dragging me from my thoughts. “I need to get a look at what we’re dealing with here. Can I touch you?”
“Yes.”
“It’s probably going to hurt, but I’ll try to be gentle. Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me everything that happened? No, wait. First—is anyone following you? Do they know you’re here?”
“No. I made a clean getaway, but they’ll notice I’m missing soon enough. Morning rounds.”
“Fuck. I need to get going, or my absence will be suspicious. Never mind about what happened. Wounds now, story later. Lean back.”
He takes the towel from my stomach and props it behind my shoulders and head. I let my hands fall to the side as he reaches in and rucks up my shirt. True to his word, he’s gentle, but it still hurts. I flinch. Can’t help it.
His fingers pause on my skin. “Sorry.”
I tremble. “S’okay.”
“It’s really not.” His face contorts to a picture of distaste. “Yikes.”
I close my eyes. “Bad?”
“Not good.” He shuffles around. “In theory, you should be immune to infection. But in practice, I’m not willing to take the risk. This is going to sting. It’s a saline rinse. I’ll be quick.”
I grit my teeth and wait. Liquid splashes my stomach. Not as bad as I’d thought. If that’s the worst of it, I can take it.
“I think you need stitches. Maybe we should call a doctor.”
I open my eyes and stare. “You are a doctor.”
“Not that kind of doctor! I didn’t go to medical school. Is that what you thought?”
I nod. What else was I supposed to think? “So what kind of doctor are you?”
“The overeducated kind. My degree is in Arcane Systems. I’m an engineer.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
He blows out a breath. “Look, the whole world doesn’t know preternatural creatures exist. Vampires, werewolves, fae, mages, and the like.
But the few humans who are in the know, we often study them.
My parents did. I followed in their footsteps.
My own interest is more about integration.
Aiding the preternatural in existing in secret among an advancing human society.
” He waves this off. “Not important at the moment.”
“Sounds important to me. You’re aiding a hybrid who recently learned the dangers of barbed-wire.”
Wide-eyed, he gestures at the mess that used to be my stomach. “But I can’t fix this. What about the emergency room?”
“No. I can’t leave. And I can’t be seen. You know that.”
He screws his face. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Shit.”
“Stitches are basically just sewing. How hard can it be?”
“Sewing your skin?” He wrings his bloody hands.
His expression falls. I stare. Scruffy cheeks.
He hasn’t shaved today. “If I can bring myself to do it—and that’s a big if—I don’t have time right now.
If you stay still and keep pressure on the wound, you should be fine.
I can try to help you tonight when I get home. ”
“Okay.”
“Here, you need to eat.” He grabs the white box and hands it over. “Your body needs the calories to reproduce the blood you’ve lost.”
The container is weird and squeaks under my fingertips. The texture is…offensive somehow, but the scent of the contents is anything but. The food smells amazing. I’m starving.
“Leftovers. That’s all I have, sorry. I’m not much of a grocery shopper.”
I figure out how to open the squeaky white box. Inside are a mountain of cold french fries and a round sandwich I can’t identify.
“It’s a pork slider. You’ll like it.” He stands. “Hang tight, I’ll be right back.”
I sniff at the “slider” before taking a bite.
Oh! It’s delicious. Salty and savory and an explosion of flavors that taste bright on my tongue. I’ve never had anything like it. Outside of bagged blood, my meals have mostly been a nutritional sludge that are about as fun to eat as day-old oatmeal.
This is way better.
Twenty-Four sits on my knee and lifts his nose into the air. His little sniff-sniffs are too cute.
I’m suddenly filled with an intense relief.
I was able to save my favorite rat. I didn’t leave him there without me. I’m so glad he’s here I could cry. Instead, I tear off a little chunk of bread and offer it to him. “Want some?”
He takes it in his tiny hands and without hesitation begins chewing, brown cheeks stuffed full.
“You like it too, huh?” I may not have been able to save the others like me—not yet, anyway—but at least I could save him. I’ll go back for the others eventually, my dark streak demands it. Free them and burn the rest to the ground.
Twenty-Four scurries to his hiding spot under my knees again.
“I have so many questions.” Dr. Martin stands in the doorway, arms full.
He sets down a case of bottled water, a stack of books, and a blanket where I can reach them, then hands me a pillow.
“I’m sorry to leave you in my bathroom, but there’s too much light coming through the windows for you to be safe outside of it. ”
“Don’t be. I’d rather be alive in your bathtub than dead on your front porch.” I consider this briefly. “Well. More dead.”
He squints. “Sullivan. You’re not dead at all. And you’re not going to die either. Wrap that blanket around you, keep pressure on the wound, and I’ll see you tonight. Okay?”
I do as he says. “Thank you, Dr. Martin.”
“Rupert. My friends call me Ru.”
I’m not sure what that means. “What should I call you?”
His stare softens. He lets out a weary-sounding sigh. “Call me Ru.”
My heart thumps. Friends. “I’ll try.”