7. CHAPTER 7
Every single part of my body hurts. I thought I was in awful shape before, but this is so much fucking worse. I try to sit up and barely move an inch, grunting and freezing in anguish. My eyes squeeze shut even tighter, my mouth clamps closed, and my muscles lock as agony lances through every part of me. I might actually be dying this time.
I pant through clenched teeth and flinch when my fangs nick my lip. I lick the sticky wetness from the corners of my lips around the cotton gag and a heartbeat increases. Mine? No. Another’s, and I’m tasting blood. I’m not alone in here and they can see my fangs. Shit. My heart races, and I will them to retract.
Retract. Retract. RETRACT, goddammit!
And still, nothing.
Fuck! This is so bad. If I can’t get them to retract, I have no hope for my eyes. I can’t hide this from whoever’s in the room, and they already sound freaked. But I also can’t just lie here.
Pressing my back into the hard surface behind me, I’m able to inch my way up, excruciatingly slowly, into a hunched over position. My bound hands and feet, on top of my injuries, make any movement difficult and agonizingly painful. I pant shallowly, allowing my head to fall back against the wall, my ankle and side eating me alive. Sharp brightness assaults me when I try to open my eyes. When I squint slowly, white spots dance across my vision and dizziness swarms me. I blink repeatedly until my eyes adjust to the light.
Someone sucks in a breath, and their heartbeat accelerates. How red are my eyes? Normally, when I’m just angry or anxious and they shift a little, some box breathing can calm me enough to turn them back to normal. But that won’t do shit right now. Every fiber of my body burns with an intensity I’ve never known, and the movement from each breath causes waves of fire to rush through my system.
My vision clears enough for me to focus. My gaze drops to the body sitting across from me. It’s the doctor from the ER. Wyatt, I think? His eyes connect with mine, and the breath he sucked in leaves in a quick puff through his flared nostrils. His pulse escalates even higher, and his hands tremble. He’s shirtless and holding a large piece of glass wrapped in bloody fabric. His eyes trail down to my mouth, taking in my fangs and the blood dripping down my chin.
The silence stretches between us, so thick it’s almost tangible. I can’t do much. On a good day, I could get out of these restraints easily—silver lining from being tied up all the time when I was younger. Thanks, Patrick—but it’s not a good day. Just the thought of moving even enough to untie myself… Yeah, that’s a hard pass.
I lift my bound wrists and work the gag free of my mouth until it sits like a collar around my throat. Breaking our locked gaze, I drop my arms back to my lap and look around the confined space. We’re in some kind of cell in a warehouse with walled partitions. What’s happening?
Looking back at him, my heart softens. He’s covered in bruises, black smears, dried blood. His pants are torn and ripped, and yet…I’m still drawn to him. It’s probably just because of those stupid dreams or the fact he’s rescued me at least once. Since he’s here, too, I bet he was rescuing me again.
I blink back the wetness filling my eyes and look up at the ceiling, but a single tear betrays me and rolls down my cheek. I’m not used to people caring about me. I’m used to being hunted, looking over my shoulder, expecting the worst, trying to blend in. Hiding. Elena’s the only one I’ve ever trusted, and that’s still so new. I’m still coming to terms with trying to fully trust her. I don’t know how to do this. Open up. Let my guard down. I don’t know how to trust people.
Looking back at him, I clear my throat, my voice is dry and raspy. “It’s Wyatt, right?” His fingers are white, digging into his legs, but then he releases his death grip and straightens his legs out in front of him. The sight of his toned midsection snags my attention. “Yeah. You’re Isabella, right?”
My stomach spasms and my mouth goes sour. Fuck. I should lie again, but it grated on my nerves too badly the first time. I shouldn’t be making a habit out of this. But he saved me. Twice. My chest tightens. While I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, I know I’m trying to not lose myself. Life was getting too depressing, constantly moving and having no roots. Maybe giving a sliver of truth like I did with Elena wouldn’t be so bad. Plus, I just don’t want to lie to him again. No, I’m choosing to follow the good feelings. As fleeting as they might be, at least then I still have a small grasp on the real me. I let out a soft sigh. “No, it’s actually Teagan. I’m, ah, I’m in the witness protection program and Isabella was my alias. But considering we’re in a cell together, it seems pointless now.”
“Teagan.” He nods slowly, a small smile spreading. “Is that why we’re here? Someone was looking for you?”
“Yeah, I’ve been on the run from my father, Patrick, for years. It’s a long story.”
His brows furrow. “I highly doubt you are related to either of the guys that took us. They look nothing like you.”
“I take more after my Japanese mother. Did one of them have a thick Irish accent and red hair?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “They said they’ll be back tomorrow morning, so I guess you can see for yourself then.”
I fidget with my wrists, trying to get blood flowing into my hands, and his gaze drops, following the movement.
He bites the inside of his cheek, looking back into my eyes. “I’m not sure what you are. But do you have any intention of hurting me?”
I lift my bonded wrists. “Between the ropes and my injuries, I’m in no condition to hurt you. Nor would I want to.”
He nods and sighs. “I can untie you then. But I need you to promise to not move a muscle while I do.”
My shoulders slump, but I nod in agreement. “I promise. I won’t move.” I don’t want him frightened of me. I want him to trust me, but I guess trust is a two-way street.
He shoves off the concrete floor and walks slowly toward me with the piece of wrapped glass. I can’t help but admire his ab muscles flexing. He definitely works out, but it’s lean muscle, not that body-builder type. His thighs flex as he squats next to me and places the glass a little behind him, but still within reach. He turns back and works the knots loose around my ankles. When they fall to the floor, he shifts to untie the bindings around my wrists. He smells like firewood and mint, just like my dream. Does he naturally have a fiery scent or is that just because of the fire both times I’ve seen him? A light, bitter-lemon scent of fear contradicts his calm demeanor. I don’t want him to be afraid of me. I stiffen, fighting the urge to lean closer, I told him I wouldn’t move and I don’t want to scare him.
Once the ropes loosen, he scoots back, picking up his weapon and retreating to the far corner, his eyes never straying from me. I shake my wrists free of the ropes and work at untying the gag hanging around my neck.
“Did they take us because of whatever you are?” His voice trembles.
“If it wasn’t Patrick, I’m not sure who it is or why they took us.”
“Well, whoever took us knew what you are.” He nods, and my gaze follows his gesture to a window I hadn’t noticed. “They brought us food. Raw meat and blood for you.”
My mouth instantly salivating at the thought of blood. This will hurt like hell, but I need the nourishment. I move to stand, but bones in my side rub against each other and I drop back down with a hiss.
“Don’t move. I’ll get it for you.” He stands and walks to the window. “I believe you have multiple broken ribs, a broken ankle, and a bad head wound. You also had two large pieces of glass embedded in you and severe stage-4 burns. But besides the ribs and ankle, the others seem to have healed themselves.” He retrieves the items and sets them within reach of me then backs away again.
“Thank you,” I whisper through clenched teeth. I take the glass, tipping it and gulping the blood down. It’s not nearly enough. I was in rough shape before whatever happened to me.
He returns to the corner and watches me drink, his sandwich untouched next to him. “How is it they healed so fast on their own?” His nostrils flare. “What are you exactly?”
I let the last drops drip into my mouth before lowering the glass to the floor. The bitter-lemon scent of his fear is increasing. He was just trying to help me and got pulled into this shit. He deserves the truth, or at least part of it. I want to keep him safe too, and I’m not sure what’s going on here. If it’s Patrick, who knows what he has planned for an innocent human?
“I’m a Vanamisch. There were experiments done in Germany in the 1920s on anemic patients and it caused a shift in their DNA, resulting in my race.” He sucks in a breath and slides down the wall to sit across from me. “We heal faster than humans. Blood and skin wounds heal incredibly fast. Our bones, muscles, and organs take longer to repair, but not as long as humans.”
“And you drink blood. So, you’re like a vampire? I mean, I can see your eyes and fangs from here, but they weren’t there before.” His heart’s racing again.
“We have some similarities to the legends of vampires, but major differences, too.”
“Such as?”
He looks so calm and collected. If I couldn’t smell and hear his body’s reaction, I wouldn’t know how terrified he is. I don’t want to frighten him, but I don’t want to lie to him either. “We eat rawer meat and drink blood. We can eat human food, but it’s not as filling for us, and really processed stuff upsets my stomach. I normally feed from blood bags or animals but can from humans as well.” He sucks in a breath through his nose. Quickly, I continue, “We are stronger and faster than humans, but not by much. Our senses are much stronger. We have antibodies for all the basic blood types but none of the antigens. Ours is something different.”
“Ha.” A humorless laugh escapes him. “That explains the inconclusive blood results from the ER.”
“Yeah. And there are enough of us that we have special people assigned to help conceal our secrets from the public eye.”
His eyes go wide, and he nods. “The short blonde girl?”
“Yeah, she’s one of our Ambassadors.” I pull on the tattered remains of my shirt, my stiff, reddened skin cracking with my movements. I bite my lip and flinch when a fang slices into my lip again, and my face flushes. I’m sitting here in practically my underwear. I scan left to right, but the cell’s mostly empty. Not a damn thing to cover up with.
“How did she hide all of it? I’ve been searching for your file for days.”
I gulp and look down at my crispy legs. I don’t want to freak him out anymore.
“It’s okay. Please, just tell me the truth. I have to know what we’re dealing with here.”
I swallow and nod in agreement. “We can glamour minds. It’s a trait that helps us lure in prey. And blur their memories of feedings. The Ambassadors train to strengthen this ability, and they help keep information out of the news, courts, and public knowledge.”
His brows arch and chin raises. “So, she messed with your files and my memory?”
“Yes. She took care of the evidence so as not to draw suspicion. I remember her glamouring you.” I catch myself before biting into my lip again, this nervous tick is more troublesome with fangs, and flex my fingers instead. “With her being an Ambassador, you shouldn’t even remember me.”
“It came back slowly and in jumbled pieces, which is why I was looking for your charts. I was about the check the morgue when I saw you walking toward the hospital.”
“What exactly happened when I left?”
“I’m not sure. I was jogging up to you, and you paused, looking at your feet. Then there was an explosion. I rushed over to you and smothered the flames covering your body. But before I could examine your condition or even move you, I was tasered. Twice. And then I woke up in the back of a van.”
Patrick probably would’ve just snapped his neck. Shit, he could’ve been really hurt. “Are you okay?”
“Bruised, confused, and worried. But physically not too banged up.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m glad you weren’t closer when the explosion went off.”
“Has Patrick ever used explosives and other people to kidnap you before?” He leans forward, engrossed.
“Not explosives. That would be new for him. He has recruited help from others before. If it’s not him, I don’t understand why I was taken.”
“And Patrick’s your dad? Why would he be trying to kidnap you?”
“That’s a long story for another time. But basically, he blames me for my mother’s death and wants me to pay. For my kind, losing a mate leads to suicide or insanity.” My eyes are so heavy it’s a challenge to keep them open, but I’m still starving. I glance longingly at the plate of steak, but don’t move for it. He’s just now getting more comfortable around me. I don’t want me stuffing my face with bloody meat to change that.
“So, he kidnaps you?”
“Yeah, he wants to torture me, so I hurt as much as he does. But I’m more powerful than him, plus not driven by craziness. So, mostly I’m able to fight him off and keep on the move. But he’s getting more creative. I’m not sure how much more evading and running I can do.”
“So, he’s a Vanamick? Like you?”
“Vanamisch. And no. My mother was, though. Patrick was human. She turned him because they were in love. The adaptation is mostly transferrable, but a human turned won’t have as powerful abilities or senses as one born with it.”
“So, you aren’t undead? I mean, I’ve heard your heartbeat multiple times now.” The lemony scent of fear is overpowered by the growing earthy oregano odor of curiosity.
“No, I was born this way. I’m just as alive as you are.”
“Are you immortal?”
“Ha. No. We grow old and die like humans, we just live longer. I don’t think immortality is real. Everything has a lifecycle.”
“After the last seventy-two hours, I’m not sure what I believe anymore.” His gaze, like a physical caress, warms my entire body from head to toe. “How old are you, then?”
“I’m thirty. And you?”
He repositions to sitting cross-legged and drops his elbows to rest on his knees. The oregano-curiosity scent increases as he rapid-fires questions. “Thirty-five. I know the sunlight thing is a myth since I saw you walking in it. What about garlic?”
“Sunlight is harmless. I quite enjoy garlic.”
“What about a stake through the heart?”
“Stakes can kill us if the injury is severe enough, but to be fair, they would also kill a human. Anything that can kill a human could kill us if we don’t heal fast enough to prevent it.” I barely suppress a yawn.
He leans forward eagerly. “Sleeping in a coffin?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s just for cinematic effect.”
“Shapeshifting into bats?”
“Again, probably created just for the movies. I’ve never heard of any shapeshifters being real. We are basically human, besides what I’ve already mentioned.”
He tenses, and the bitterness returns slightly. “How bad does it hurt?”
“For someone bitten?”
He just nods in response.
“The initial bite stings, but depending on the purpose of the bite, it can either be painful or pleasurable. When Patrick’s captured me, his bites burn badly because it’s against my will. However, if the person is willing and open to it, it’s pleasurable. Our fangs release an enzyme when we bite, and they mix with endorphins, creating anything from terror to euphoria.”
The smell of his curiosity drowns out the tartness of his fear. “Amazing.” He pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, his face softening. “Has Patrick always been like this?”
My face a blank mask, I zone out into the warehouse beyond. “When I was younger, he just seemed sad. But then it shifted into bitterness. And then resentment. He wants to make me suffer.”
“But you won’t tell me what happened?”
I mutely shake my head, exhaustion making my eyes droop.
“I get it. We don’t know each other. I can kind of relate, though. I lost my sister a while back, and it’s hard not to blame myself.” He coughs to clear the thickness from his voice. “But that’s not important right now. We need to figure out how we’re getting out of here.”
How is he not freaking the fuck out? I would be if our positions were reversed. “You seem to be handling this all extremely well.”
He lifts a shoulder in a slight shrug. “Anything I can’t handle, I just bury to deal with later. Probably not the best coping mechanism, but hey, it’s gotten me this far in life.” He chuckles softly and pushes the black frames of his glasses back up his nose. “I’m extremely interested in your adaptation and changes and part of me is concerned by those same things. But worrying about it doesn’t change our circumstances. Right now, the bigger issue is that we’re locked in this cell. Any idea how we’re going to get out?”
“I can try to glamour them, but I’m not very good at it and would hate to make things worse for us.” I nod toward his plate. “Aren’t you going to eat your sandwich?”
“Are you going to eat your raw steak?” His head cocks playfully at the question. I’m glad he’s less fearful. I wish I had the energy to match his playfulness.
“I was planning on it, but it won’t be pretty. I can hardly move and intend to clean the plate dry. I don’t want to repulse you.”
“Honestly, I’m only mildly concerned. The science obsessed side of me is fascinated and intrigued by all of this.” He nods his head. “But you do what you have to do. As long as you don’t attack me, I won’t judge.”
“That’s a relief because I’m fucking starving.” I gingerly pick up the plate and tip it back, sipping all the blood pooling on the dish. Lacking silverware, I grip the full piece of steak and bite into it, my teeth sinking deeply. The meat’s butter soft and my fangs easily cut through it, pulling off bite after bite. I’m almost completely through it when I glance up. He’s ramrod straight with a slack jaw, brows raised and eyes wide. He notices me looking and does the cutest little head shake, his black frames sliding down his nose. His dark, disheveled hair swaying with the movement, he grabs the sandwich and focuses his full attention on eating it.
I lick my fingers and the plate clean and still finish before him. “So, what are your thoughts on escaping here?”
“Well, I’ve checked the door, and it’s locked from the outside. The window only unlocks from one side at a time, but I also don’t think either of us could fit through it. There’re no cameras, which I guess is good. The walls are inch-thick glass and go from the concrete floor to the ceiling. I honestly think our only option is overpowering the guys when they come back. But you’re injured, and they have tasers.” He sets his empty plate to the side. “How long exactly does it take for your bones to heal?”
“Depends on the severity of the break. My ribs will probably be good in a couple of days, provided they bring me more blood. But my ankle’s been broken twice recently and isn’t even set to heal, so I’m not sure about it.”
“Do you need me to set it for you? I don’t have anything to splint it with.” He pushes his glasses back up his nose.
“Would you mind? There isn’t much of my skirt left, but maybe you could use my shirt and at least wrap it around to keep it in place?”
His gaze travels up my bare, healing legs then settles back on my ankle. “Not at all.” He pushes himself up and walks over. “It will probably hurt. Normally, I would try to numb it first.” He shrugs and sits next to me. His heart rate has slowed as we’ve been talking, the faintest scent of bitter lemons in the air drowned out by a stronger, minty smoke. A smell I immediately want more of. It’s refreshing and comforting all at once.
“I’ve been through worse, and it will feel better once it’s in place to heal.” I lean toward my side without the broken ribs and pull off my tattered shirt with one hand. Luckily, it’s a stretchy material so hopefully it will work to slightly bind it. I slowly relax back into the wall behind me, the cold glass chilling my burnt back.
He swallows twice while taking the shirt and turning toward my ankle. Then his fingers slide against my skin, sending little electric tingles through my veins. He feels the broken bone and places his palm over the break, his other hand sliding around the back. He presses firmly, checking for any other broken bones then looks back to my face, our eyes locking. I could lose myself in the green depths of those eyes.
“It’s a clean break. I’ll have you take as deep a breath as you can. And then I’ll count to three. Right after two, breathe out slowly, and I’ll push it back in on three. Okay?”
I’m so fucking over this broken ankle. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
“Okay. Deep breath.” He looks back at my ankle. “One. Two.” I slowly let the breath out. “Three.” Crack.
The remaining breath rushes out of me in a pant. He continues to hold my ankle and looks back up at me. “Are you okay?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, and my lips pull back, exposing my clenched teeth and elongated fangs. The scent of oregano grows and swirls with the woodsy mint scent surrounding me. I nod, taking small, shallow breaths.
“Okay, I’m going to wrap it now. This won’t hold it well at all, so try to avoid moving it if possible.” He takes the shirt and holds a corner with one hand then stretches it to its max around my heel and ankle. He tucks the other corner tightly into itself. “That’s as good as we’re going to get right now.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“No problem. So, for you to walk out of here or fight back, the best-case scenario is at least a few days for the bones to mend themselves.”
“Yeah, provided I get rest and more blood. Two or three days maybe.”
“Fascinating. Not ideal for this situation. But amazing.”
I gulp back the steak when it threatens to come up, a sheen of sweat coating my forehead. Pain flares through my body in waves, making my stomach churn. “I think I’m going to try to sleep, actually.” My voice is barely audible. I look down at the only cot in here. “Do you want to share this with me?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m way too anxious to sleep right now. But you should rest. Just don’t move that ankle.” He scoots to rest against the glass wall. “I’ll wake you if they come back.”
“Okay. Thank you for helping me with my ankle.” I should thank him for all his help. But I’m already feeling too vulnerable without opening that can of worms.
I slide down to my good side on the mat, minding my ankle, and let my eyes drift closed. His fiery mint smell calming me further.