16. Alaric
ALARIC
After stabilizing my patient, I’m looking forward to heading to the cafeteria to see whether Lilith can take a lunch break.
It’s only been a few hours, and I’m already itching to see her. To kiss her plump lips until one of the cafeteria customers demands her attention.
Before I go anywhere, though—Harold.
He was alive at dawn when I dropped by to change his underwear, feed him, and force water down his throat. But after the hell I put him through, I have to check on him.
He can’t die just yet.
So, as I stand in the trauma bay, away from the security cameras’ reach, I tap on my phone and find him awake and ready to continue our trials.
The trials I haven’t performed for the past three days.
Ever since I spent the first night at Lilith’s, since she hinted at whatever horrible shit she’d gone through as a kid, I couldn’t bring myself to stay away from her.
For three days, my emotions have been swinging between rage, overprotectiveness, and possessiveness so deep I can hardly take it.
Then, each night, when I go over to her apartment, I breathe again. Having her jump into my embrace and loop her legs around my waist makes the world far less dark and depressing.
That’s why I haven’t done much other than feed, clean, and keep Harold alive.
Because I’m addicted to Lilith. Every part of me is driven to protect her from the pain she’s carried alone for far too long. My guess is she’s never even told Hope how deep it goes, sparing her the ugliest parts.
Despite not knowing the full story, Hope can tell that something in Lilith has shifted.
Up until this morning, she’d been quieter in a way that makes it obvious she needed this time alone with me.
There’s no other explanation for why Hope gives us space by locking herself in her room by the time I get there.
However, interrupting their routine and crowding their home doesn’t sit well with me, since I don’t mean to steal Lilith from her. Lilith assures me it’s okay, and when I bring it up again, she hugs me tighter and presses her lips to mine.
I let her. Hell, I revel in it.
That’s not the only reason I kiss her, though. I do it to reassure her that I’m here to stay. That I see how shaken her confession has left her, that it’s okay to joke less and lean on me more.
So I kiss her until my lips go numb. I pull her close, and when she starts moaning into my mouth, I lay her on the bed and make love to her. Slowly, gently, carefully. I murmur praise and promises, soothing her instead of making it just about sex.
We’ll have time for hard fucking when she’s ready. I’m not in a rush.
My chest tightens when I think about this morning.
How she woke up a little different. Smiled more over breakfast. Laughed at one of Hope’s jokes when she stopped by her room to tell her that we were going to work.
Yes, Hope leaves for work ten minutes after us, which I don’t like either. That’s something to deal with later.
For now, I’m just relieved that Lilith lets it all out and finds solace with me. That she smiles again.
The shift in her mood doesn’t just make me happy, though. It means I can give her and Hope some alone time while I stop by my storage unit tonight, just for an hour or so.
Is Harold that important that you’d rather be with him?
My mission is, yes, but not nearly as much as before.
That conclusion doesn’t come as a shock.
There’s hardly room for anyone else in my life when Lilith consumes my every waking and sleeping moment. When the murderous side of me is intent on finding out who she is, so I can track down her mother and kill her, if I haven’t already.
But Mrs. Tobin, I owe it to her.
Fine, I’ll stick to the plan and go to the storage unit after work.
I’m about to leave for the cafeteria when the trauma bay doors slam open.
Monitors chirp too fast. A gurney rattles.
I turn before the paramedic’s voice fully registers as he says, “Lockwood.”
I’m on it.
“What do we have?” My spine goes rigid. Every muscle in my body snaps to attention.
“Steven Robinson. Twelve-year-old male. Dad found him. Significant blood loss. One eye swollen completely shut.” Austin walks toward me, talking over his shoulder. His brown hair falls over his forehead, almost brushing his gray eyes. “Pressure’s dropping. He’s tachy and not responding.”
My eyes dart over the kid, but I don’t let my chest cave. Don’t let my anger blind me.
I never do.
Even when a strange notion creeps in, like now, I shove it aside.
Steven needs me.
Especially now. His heart rate is too fast. Oxygen is dipping. Blood pressure’s dangerously low.
He’s crashing.
“He was conscious on scene,” the medic continues. “Lost it en route. We can’t get him to stabilize.”
My phone disappears into my pocket. My body goes on autopilot, already moving with them and shoving my hands into gloves.
Samantha and Becket appear at my side. Other nurses and another doctor too.
After I rattle off command after command, someone goes to call for an ultrasound. Another preps blood.
Then I ask Austin, “How long since the injury?”
“Unknown.” His jaw tics. “The dad said Steven didn’t answer his calls, so he came back from work, and there he was, slumped at the bottom of the staircase of their penthouse. That he must’ve fallen.”
Bull-fucking-shit. This kid didn’t fall.
There’s blood matted in his hair, trailing down his neck. His goddamn eye is getting more swollen by the second.
He was beaten up. Brutalized.
And so was she.
A memory demands my attention despite it being the absolute worst timing.
Seven years ago.
Middle of the night.
A fifteen-year-old girl who was so small. Bleeding. Broken.
The bump on her nose.
The fear in her eyes as she went in and out of consciousness.
“I got an A-minus on my math quiz. Disappointment.”
My lungs push against my ribs.
Rage burns hot.
Hotter.
Hottest.
“Where’s Mom?”
The panic in her eyes. The relief when I assured her that her mother wouldn’t come anywhere near her.
Everything clicks into place in a blinding instant.
Lilith Rayne.
Daughter of Renata Rayne, one of my first test subjects.
The woman I kidnapped a day after Lilith was brought in.
I used Renata’s body for science while she bled, screamed, threw up, and cried. Then I dumped her into the Hudson River without her teeth, fingers, toes, or anything that could help identify her.
She deserved it and far worse.
But as proud as I am of murdering her, a cold, fathomless dread slithers up my spine.
What feels like justice to me might feel unforgivable to Lilith.
She might be horrified to hear I killed her only remaining blood relative, no matter how much she hated her.
Or she might resent me for robbing her of the only opportunity to get back at her mom by taking her to court and watching her—possibly—rot in jail.
Whatever it is, I won’t tell her I did that.
I can’t risk losing her.
Can’t let her slip between my fingers.
Lilith can never, ever know.