Chapter 19
Caelan
The pain wakes me.
No. That’s not the right word. This isn’t the pain of a broken bone or a bullet wound.
This is a white-hot agony that turns my blood to acid and feels like my bones are melting.
I open my mouth to scream, but my throat is raw, and no sound passes my vocal cords.
Have I already been screaming? How long have I been unconscious?
My eyes blink open. I groan, trying to make sense of where the fuck I am and why it feels like someone lit a box of matches under my skin.
I was shot in the leg. That much I remember with agonizing clarity.
Silver.
But that doesn’t explain why every nerve ending in my body’s on fire.
My skin feels thin. Too tight, like I’m being skinned alive, each section methodically peeled away from muscle as blood boils in my veins.
I reach out an arm and pull up short when I don’t move. A few frantic jerks tell me I’m strapped down.
Alright. Can’t move my arms. Can’t move my legs. I try moving my head, but before I’ve so much as twitched, the room starts to spin, and bile coats the back of my throat.
I’m hit with the scents of cold air, mildew, metal, sweat, and the sickly-sweet scent of charred. I gag, realizing that last one’s my flesh burnt by the silver bullet when it tore through muscle and tissue.
Another wave of white-hot fire scorches through my veins. I clench my teeth, determined not to scream.
“That will be the silver working its way through your bloodstream.”
That voice. I know that fucking voice.
I bare my fangs in a snarl and struggle to lift my arms before remembering they’re fastened down.
Above me, some kind of harsh built-in recessed lighting flickers. My sight finally adjusts, and I’m able to make out more of my surroundings. I can’t see much. Only that I’m in a dark, dank room with thick stone walls that are dropping with condensation.
“You’re in my basement.”
Varenthrall’s unhelpful commentary comes from somewhere near my feet. I strain to get eyes on him, but another wave of fire rushes through my limbs. I bite down on my tongue so hard my mouth fills with blood.
“How very Bond Villain of you, Jonathan,” I seethe through shallow breaths. “I hope you’re ready to die once my pack gets here. I can already feel their desire for vengeance through the Bond. They’re fucking salivating for it.”
A lie. I can barely feel my own heartbeat over the blistering fire snaking through me.
Varenthrall laughs, like he thinks my threat is adorable.
The sound grates on my fucking ears. I’ve never wanted to throat punch someone just for fun so bad in my life.
“Oh, I won’t be here when your pack finally arrives.” He moves, walking into my line of sight. I tense as he reaches across my body but he only loosen one of the straps holding me down. It gives me flexibility to turn, so I do, pinning a furious glare on the monster standing over me.
“I’ll be long gone,” he repeats calmly. “So will my men.”
He glances over his shoulder, where I can hear something being dragged across the stone floor.
“My doctor as well, of course. Can’t leave him to be ravaged by you beasts. Not when he’s the one ensuring my message is delivered to your little band of—wait. What is it you call yourselves again?” I don’t answer. I’m not playing his games.
“Oh, that’s right,” he exclaims before rolling his eyes. “Bastards. How… tediously on the nose.”
He taps a finger on the crook of my elbow. There’s an IV inserted under my flesh. My eyes flick back to his and he smiles gleefully. “It’s Liquid silver, diluted with glucose saline. Works through a vampire’s bloodstream like lightning in a bottle.”
It’s like my body hears his words and reacts, another wave of pain hitting me so hard I arch off the table. My vision turns white and I swear I can actually feel my organs struggling not to shut down. It’s impossible not to give in to the fiery pain of the silver but I try. Fates, do I try.
“At first it’s just painful, as you’ve already deduced. But then, it burrows deeper and starts shutting down your system. Even the most powerful of your kind can’t last like this longer than a few hours.”
He strolls around the table I’m strapped to casually, gesturing like he’s in the middle of a fucking History 101 class.
“We started you on a very slow drip. About ten microdrops per minute. Genius, isn’t it? It’s enough to make you feel like you’re being roasted over the pits of Hell, but not enough to kill you. Yet.”
He stops walking long enough to sneer at me. “It will, naturally, increase in speed the longer it takes your brothers to rescue you.”
His mention of my pack fills me with hope. I focus inward, searching for our Bond in an attempt to determine how far away they are. Rather than the shimmering green threads I’ve lived with for centuries, all I feel is static. Unnatural, fraying, horrible static that our Bond—
Wait.
Wait.
Our… Bond…?
My heart kicks, thumping wildly as the memory of our Mate Bond snapping into place yanks my attention away from everything happening that doesn’t involve her.
Varenthrall keeps talking, oblivious to the way my rage burns brighter with every disgusting word out of his mouth.
“Of course, my daughter will remain here. I will admit she’s been somewhat helpful the last few years, but I’m afraid any use I once had for her has come to an end.
I’ve squeezed everything I’m likely to get out of the useless girl.
Frankly, she’s becoming a burden.” He shoots me a dissapointed frown.
“I believe that’s partly your doing. Somehow, over the last week, the girl’s started to believe she can defy me.
It’s disappointing, truly. I thought I had a better hold on her.
I was sure the work I put in in the last twenty-two years had taught her her place. ”
“You’re sick,” I snarl, horrified the clinical, detached way he views his own daughter.
“Oh please,” he waves me away. “You’ve be around long enough to know how business works. You have to take what you can from whomever you can and move on once they’re no longer of use.”
What. The. Fuck.
The Doctor side-steps Varenthrall, bending down to check my IV. I’m shocked when our eyes meet. I expected the same cold cruely as Varenthrall, but his are brimming with fear and panic.
I frown in confusion. I want to ask him why he’s looking at me like I might be able to help him but I can’t. The pain is too overwhelming. It takes all I have just to choke down the bile coating my throat.
Sweat drips down my face in heavy rivulets. My fists clench around nothing. I struggle to breathe through the pain, the sharp agony making my nostrils flare.
For half a heartbeat, I swear I smell the faintest scent of lightning before a thunderstorm. I inhale deeply, chasing the scent, but it’s no use. The pain acts like a thick shroud over my senses.
Excpet… I could swear…
Was that lavender?
Varenthrall turns toward the Doctor and demands, “Albertson, how much longer?”
The doctor—Albertson—clears his throat uncomfortably.
His eyes snap to mine, his face set in another unreadable expression.
He almost seems like he’s trying to glare a message into my brain, but fuck knows what it is.
My mind’s so clouded with agony, I’d be better off deciphering a monkey’s bowel movements.
“A few more minutes, Sir,” Albertson answers, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose with shaking fingers.
“Where is Idril?” I demand through clenched teeth. I can barely feel her in my chest, and that only makes this nightmare a thousand times worse. I stretch toward our Bond, trying to focus through unending fire.
Varenthrall frowns, tossing a dismissive glance over his shoulder.
“Idril? Why… she’s right here. Didn’t you notice?”
He steps aside, and my eyes fall to her.
My mind blanks. Time slams to a stop.
Idril. My Mate.
My Fated Mate is less than four feet away, stealth on top of a metal gurney like mine. For one horrifying moment, I think she’s dead. Her body is unnaturally still, head lolling to the side, arm hanging limply off the edge of the stretcher.
Tears burn the back of my eyes. Fates, her face is so pale. No longer a luminous, glowing alabaster, it’s now a waxy, bloodless white, like the life’s been sucked out of her.
Like a corpse.
Her long white hair fans out like a halo, but it’s tangled and matted with blood.
I blink back tears and focus on her chest, praying to every named and unnamed deity in existence for even the tiniest movement.
Please, love. Please breathe.
My heart thumps once. Then twice. And by the third beat my panic has grown into a living, breathing thing. I can’t feel my lips or my fingers. My eyes strain, lack of moisture makes them burn but I don’t dare fucking blink. If I do, I could miss it.
Please, baby. Please.
Wait— was that?
Yes! There it is! The smallest shift. A shallow rise and fall that I almost miss.
My Alpha whimpers in relief. I wish I could join him but I’m still too on edge. Something still isn’t right. Yes, she’s breathing, but it’s too slow; the endless seconds between breaths lasting too long.
I keep watching her, taking in every possible detail.
There’s blood everywhere. Covering her hair, her clothes, violent streaks stain too much of her fragile frame.
My pain intensifies and my vision blurs, her image softening until all I see is the corpse of a child, waiting to be buried in a wedding dress she’ll never get to wear.
The image is macabre but painfully accurate. I wish I could wipe her down. The least she deserves it for someone to clean the blood off her delicate skin.
Fates… there’s so much blood. Mine, her father’s men… and her own.