Chapter 8 #2
“She’ll stay,” Konstantine stated, making the decision for me.
“Very well.” The doctor seemed satisfied, so he nodded at us and left.
I glared at Konstantine. “So you have final say in all things medical?” I snapped at him, annoyed.
“I have final say in all things,” he snapped back.
I bristled at his arrogance but said nothing.
Exhaustion had hit me out of nowhere, and I was fighting to stay awake.
I fell back against the pillows and grimaced.
The dull ache my head had turned into sharp, intermittent throbbing.
For some reason, tears were threatening to fall.
I looked away from Drake and Konstantine just in case.
I didn’t want them to see me cry. I was tired and overwhelmed.
“Maybe we should let her get some rest,” Drake said.
From the corner of my eye, I saw them both head for the door.
“Get some sleep,” Drake said to me with a cheerful smile. “One of us will come back and check on you later.”
“I hope it’s you,” I said to him softly but didn’t look at either of them directly.
I heard the door close, and the dam broke. I silently sobbed until I was too worn out, grateful for the sleep that took over me.
It was neither Drake nor Konstantine who came to check up on me later. I had woken up hot and uncomfortable, and I was feeling more than a little agitated.
The door to my room opened, and three men I didn’t recognize came in.
“Finally, you’re awake,” one of them said flippantly.
He wasn’t as tall as Konstantine or even Drake, but he was built like a linebacker.
If he didn’t have a look of pure indifference on his face, he would have been good-looking.
His features reminded me of some of my own family members—light-olive skin with light-brown eyes and a thicket of closely cropped dark hair.
“I’m Cyrus,” he said. “Second-in-command around here.”
Second-in-command? Who even says that? Was this some secret military industrial compound I’d fallen into? He didn’t bother introducing the other two men who had come in with him.
“Okay and?” I replied, mimicking his indifference.
“You’re Ajax or something?”
I huffed. “It’s Arax. What is it you want?” I asked, not trying to hide the contempt in my voice. I already disliked him even more than I disliked Konstantine—except I actually didn’t dislike Konstantine at all. Crap.
“I was put on nanny duty,” he said. “So I’m here checking up on the invalid.”
“How sweet,” I said sarcastically. “Well, run along and tell your first-in-command or whatever that I’m doing just fine.”
He eyed me with so much vitriol, I nearly laughed. “You know you’ve caused a lot of trouble around here, right? We’ve had to go out of our way for you,” he said.
“My apologies,” I said with equal condescension. “Please don’t mind me. I’m sure you can get right back to your protein shakes and gym-tan-laundry routine with no problem.”
He let out a breath that almost sounded like a growl. “You have a lot of attitude when you should be grateful,” he said angrily.
“Grateful for what, being held against my will?” I quickly replied. My palms were sweaty, and I could feel myself getting worked up.
“You’re not a prisoner here,” he said, his voice cold and unfeeling.
“Great, then let me go,” I hissed.
“Fine, then get up and walk!” Cyrus shouted, and my temper flared.
I flipped the blankets over and immediately gasped in horror. Not only was I without undergarments but I was wearing a thin hospital gown that barely covered my privates, and the tube from my catheter was running down my leg to the collection bag, which was full.
They all had had the decency to turn away, but not being one to back down I charged on. I let my feet dangle until their soles hit the cold tile. Determined, I stood for less than a second before the room swayed. My muscles, weak and unused had atrophied and were on the verge of collapse.
In a blur, one of the men had me by the arm, saving me from yet another injury to add to my growing collection.
I recognized him as the silent watcher by the door.
Young, dark-skinned, and quite strapping.
He grinned, which appeared to be an automatic reflex for him, but Cyrus’s low and significantly frustrated growl wiped the joviality off his face as quickly as it had come.
“Back to your place, Dorian,” he snapped at the watcher, who firmly but not unkindly plopped me back into the bed, hastily covering my lower half and resuming his position by the angry oaf.
I avoided their eyes, the embarrassment of what I had subjected them all to settling in my gut. I was further annoyed at the gratitude I felt that the Greek goon and his blue-eyed friend hadn’t witnessed this.
My priorities needed some serious rearranging.
Someone cleared their throat, and I looked up, giving them all a dirty look.
“What?” I asked nobody in particular.
“Your kind is worthless.” Cyrus laughed his ire and took a step back. As he did his eyes caught the sun, gleaming gold in anger. The effect though stunning, was unusually animalistic. It halted my breath and for the first time since regaining consciousness I actually felt afraid– and very alone.
“You know what. It’s getting really stuffy in here,” I said, nearly losing the composure in my voice, “so please get out. All of you.”
“Happy to,” Cyrus said, and they all walked out without so much as a look back.
What was that? Of all the assholes, they had to send this guy to come check on me?
I carefully reached for the water glass next to my bed and enjoyed its coolness against my forehead, letting it calm me down.
My pillows welcomed me back and I took a couple of deep breaths.
The fear was retreating, replaced by the pain was creeping into my bones.
I tried to focus on it but it was all I could do not to think of what Cyrus had said before they left.
What the hell did he mean by “my kind”?