8. CHAPTER 8
It took me forever to calm down enough to drift to sleep and I keep jolting awake. This is the third time I’ve woken, startled. It’s not worth trying to sleep any more. Plus, with all my nightmares, I’m used to functioning on less than the recommended eight hours.
Teagan’s sleeping at an awkward angle because of her injuries, but she looks so serene. Her auburn hair is such an alluring contrast to her light olive skin. She’s simply beautiful. Nope, not thinking about that. I shake my head back and forth to dislodge those kinds of thoughts. She was a patient and now just another captive like me. Not to mention she’s Vanamisch and drinks blood.
I should keep my distance. And yet…
My interest has been piqued. She said the bite sparked euphoria, but what kind and to what levels? Are we talking about the relief of when an itch is scratched or like orgasmic? What’s the range and spectrum here? She’s already drawing me closer like a moth seeking the warmth and light of a flame. Even knowing how dangerous it could be, just the look and smell of her pulls me closer. It’s risky, unprofessional, and yet knowing it could be pleasurable…I’m intrigued.
I scan every inch of her from head to toe. Her lean, bare legs are now perfectly healed. Not an ounce of burnt flesh, not even red or pink. Her black, lacy high-cut panties stretch smoothly over her shapely hips. Her toned stomach, while bruised around the ribs, is still enticing. My fingers itch to trail under her matching lacy bra, to feel her satin smooth skin. Her hair’s flipped over one shoulder while she rests her head on one of her arms. Her slightly slanted eyes are shaded by thick lashes against her high cheekbones.
Ugh. I’m being such a pervert. But the minutes or hours are dragging, and she’s the only pleasant distraction I have. Of course, my mind would wonder to more pleasurable thoughts.
Shaking my head, I examine the space for the umpteenth time. There are no other escape options, I know this, and keep looking. A restless urgency keeps coursing through me, but there’s nothing else to do but sit here.
I hate feeling this useless.
I stiffen at the scrape of a metal door opening. “Psst. Teagan.”
“Mm-hmm,” she murmurs, but doesn’t open her eyes.
“Wake up. I think they’re back.”
Her eyes snap open an instant later, no redness visible. She shuffles into a seated position just as the same two guys round one of the wall partitions. My gaze shoots to her, eyebrows raised in question, but she gives me the slightest head shake.
Large Gut Guy’s carrying a box and steps up to our cell’s window. Goatee Guy opens it and pulls items from the box. “Morning, you two. I’m dropping off more food.” He places another sandwich and a glass of blood on the shelf. “We’ll be back in a bit for the dishes. Put them back in this window when you’re done.”
Neither of us says a word, and the two guys head further down the hall, discussing different tests to run. I listen closely, but none of the tests sound familiar. They’re talking to someone else, but I can’t make out the words. I look over at Teagan, and she’s listening intently.
When they move on again and out of this part of the warehouse, she whispers, “Another person is in a cell down that way.”
I can’t see anything past our section. “Did you recognize either of them?”
“No. Where those the two who took us?”
“Yeah.” My anxiety grows and I run my hands through my disheveled hair. “I don’t recognize the tests they were referencing. Do you?”
“No. I don’t understand any of this. They’re human. I don’t think Patrick’s behind this. It feels too planned and organized for him.” Her gaze swings back to the window, and I jump up before she can even move.
“Don’t you move that ankle,” I scold while retrieving our food.
She gives me a soft smile when I hand her the glass full of blood. “Thanks.”
She doesn’t look a hundred percent by any means, but she’s got better coloring after some rest. The urge to touch her is nearly overwhelming, but that’s inappropriate and there’s no reason for me to. Grabbing my sandwich, I sit two feet from her. After watching her sleep for hours, my fear has fully shifted to fascination, and I just want to be closer to her.
“Your eyes aren’t red anymore,” I say between bites.
“Yeah, it’s normally manageable unless I’m severely hurt or starved.” She lifts the glass in a gesture. “This should help even more.” She upends the glass, downing the contents in two swigs.
“How are your ribs and ankle feeling?”
“My ribs are tender but not radiating pain anymore. I bet they’ll be fully healed by tomorrow. My ankle is worse off, but significantly better than yesterday. Maybe another a day or two.”
“So, as of right now, we wait for you to heal fully then you try to glamour them while I attack, and we make for an exit?”
“It’s not the best idea, but the only one I can think of right now.” Her head drops into her hands. “Whoa.”
“What’s wrong?” I set my plate down and lean forward. The urge to be closer to her is irresistible, as if I need another reason. My horniness is making me stupid. No, it’s more than that. We’re both trapped here. Maybe it’s shared trauma that’s drawing me to her. Though it doesn’t help that she’s gorgeous and I’ve had nothing to do but watch her sleep. Hours of fantasizing about things I shouldn’t be.
“I’m not sure.” She’s slurring slightly. “I don’t feel rrright.” She looks up through glassy eyes. Her breathing comes out in slow, heavy pants, her eyes roll back, and she slumps to the floor in a heap.
“Oh, my god.” I lurch to her side in an instant. Her pulse is slow but still present. What the hell? I open her eyelids to check her pupils, but they’re rolled so far back that all I see is white. She’s still breathing, but what is happening? I pick up and smell her empty glass, but all I get from it is the sharp, metallic scent of blood. Did they poison her?
“Oh good, she’s out,” Goatee Guy says as he steps up to the door with Large Gut Guy trailing him. “You, go to the far back corner and don’t move or I’ll taser you.”
I refuse to move from her side. “What’s the matter with her?”
He unlocks the door and lifts a taser toward me from the doorway. “Move to the back corner now.”
I reluctantly do as instructed. Being tasered unconscious won’t help this situation one bit. “Is she okay?”
“She’ll be fine. We’ll bring her back soon.” He keeps his taster pointed at me as Large Gut Guy lifts and throws Teagan over his shoulder like a rag doll. Goatee Guy follows him out of the cell, locking the door behind him. They head off in the other direction. I can’t see anything past the partitions.
I pace the small confines of the glass cage, running my fingers through my hair. What did they do to her? How the hell am I going to get us out? She needs to be coherent enough to attempt to glamour them or we’re screwed.
Wrapping my arms tight around my chest, I slide down the corner of the cell. What are they going to do with her? I can’t even get out of this damn cell, let alone help her. My head falls back to the wall with a thud. I’m just as damned helpless as I was with Hope. I’ve spent years building a life where I could help people, so I would never be in a position like this again. My body locks, paralyzed from my past coming to haunt me. Air burns in my lungs, my jaw clenches tighter, and I can’t do a damn thing but sit here and wait. Just like that night years ago. Waiting for help to make up for my uselessness…but they were too late then. My arms tighten around me, nails digging into the skin of my arms, as I choke on the breath escaping my lungs. I stare over towards where they took her with hitching breaths. What if I’m too late to help her? I shouldn’t have let them take her. Why am I still so damn worthless?
Searing pain climbs up my arms and spreads across my chest. My wrists flinch, trying to move away from the source of pain, but only make it an inch before the straps tug my arms back. I attempt to kick out, but it comes to the same conclusion. I’m restrained, and the acidic burn is spreading. I blink against the harsh fluorescent lighting, the lamps swaying on chains above me. Groggily, I look down, but there’s no source for the increasing pain, only burnt and blistered skin.
“She’s waking. Grab the syringe.” The larger guy leans over and injects me. My lashes are getting heavier…
My eyes fly open as a shock pierces my system. I jolt against my restraints when lightning licks my arteries.
My throat’s raw. What new level of hell is this?
“Shit. She’s awake again.”
The increasing pain wrenches a scream from my core, but my mouth’s so swollen and dry only a deep, aching rasp escapes.
I frantically look around for some way to end this. All I see are gashes of varying degrees down my bare legs and electro pads stuck to my abdomen and pulse points. The smaller guy leans in, sticking me with a needle, a pain not even noticeable compared to the ones consuming me alive.
What the fuck are they doing to me? Why me? How will I survive this?
A thick darkness pulls me back under…
Ah. My head feels so heavy. Their faint voices drift to me. If I can act like I’m still unconscious, maybe they won’t knock me out again. How long have they been messing with me?
“Any changes in her healing?”
I don’t feel good. Something isn’t right. But at least I don’t feel burnt to a crisp anymore. My stomach gurgles up to my throat.
Don’t swallow. Don’t move. Don’t change your breathing pattern.
A deeper voice responds. “No change. Take note, and I’ll reverse the blood transfusion.”
Blood transfusion. What the fuck?
“Test 2, result: failed. Full human blood transfusion with O negative did not have the desired result on the subject’s healing rate. No change or impact detected.”
A switch clicks, and the rooms filled with a deep humming noise. A coolness creeps into my veins from my right arm.
Deeper Voice Guy scoots back from the table on a chair with squeaky wheels. “Want me to grab the next subject so we can confirm our results?”
The coolness reaches my fingers and moves past my shoulder.
Don’t shiver. Don’t move.
“Let’s take her back first and grab him once she’s in her cell. Any signs of her waking yet?”
Don’t react, don’t react.
His rough fingers grip my wrist. “Her pulse is increasing. So probably any minute now.”
“Untie her from the table, but keep her wrists secured. Let’s hope she’s coherent enough to walk back to the cell.”
He unties my ankles then moves up to my hands. The machine beeps and clicks off, and I pretend to groggily blink my eyes open. My arm’s overly pink and tender but no longer blistered. My pain level overall feels way more manageable, but a weakness threatens to drag me back to sleep.
“Good. You’re awake,” Deep Voice Guy says while pulling my legs off the table. “We’re going to take you back to the cell now.”
“Why are you doing this?” My voice comes out raspy.
“We’re trying to right a wrong, and you’re simply a means to an end,” the other guy says while approaching my left side.
“This doesn’t have to do with—” I cough to clear my throat. “The witness protection program?”
“Hmm, that’s interesting.” Deep Voice Guy on my right pulls me up onto unsteady feet. My ankle’s no longer wrapped with the ragged shirt. A chill brushes my bare skin, and I can’t refrain from shivering this time.
“Yeah, haven’t heard that one before.” Both men hold onto a shoulder, practically keeping me standing while I regain my balance.
“No. This isn’t personal.” They lead me toward the exit. I’m taking slow, wobbly steps. My ankle’s healed a bit, but I still can’t put my full weight on it. They guide me down a tiled hall. “Besides the fact that your species is an abomination that shouldn’t exist,” the skinnier one on my left says with a dry laugh.
They lead me past multiple walled sections, and when we turn a corner, I see Wyatt. Our eyes connect instantly, and I’m pulled into the deep richness of their depths. My steps involuntarily quickening, I stumble. Wyatt’s immediately pressed against the cell as if he could catch me. The guys’ grips tighten on my shoulders, lifting me up and forward, supporting most of my weight between the two of them. Their fingers leave an oily residue against my skin.
I didn’t let myself worry about Wyatt because I was trying to take care of myself, but just seeing him up against the glass in torn scrub pants, with tension pinching his mouth, makes my heart melt. He’s worried about me. Of course, he is. He has a hero complex or something.
But part of me eased at the sight of him. Was I worried about him, too? I can’t let myself get close to him. I know this. What am I doing?
His gaze darts to the larger man as he releases me slowly, making sure I won’t face plant, then steps up toward the door while pulling out his taser.
“Go sit in the far corner.”
Wyatt squints and his nostrils flare, but he follows the instructions, backing up to the furthest corner. If looks could kill, these men would be dead. I can almost feel the aggravation radiating off him in waves. He drops to a seated position, his hands flexing into fists, the corded muscles in his neck more pronounced.
“Good. Now stay there until this door is locked again or you will be tasered. Understood?”
A curt nod. He’s barely looked at me after that first glance, his sole attention focused on the two men carrying me. It reminds me of a mountain lion, how you shouldn’t turn your back to one. He’s been my rescuer and making sure I’m tended to, but this side of him is new.
They shuffle me in. “Sit here and lift your arms above your head. Don’t move again until the door is closed and locked, or you will be tasered.”
I slowly lower into a seated position on shaky limbs. The grinding of Wyatt’s teeth is audible as I lift my arms above my head. My ribs don’t hurt at all. While my ankle still throbs, it’s bearable. I flinch when rough fingers untie my bound wrists. The door closes and the lock clicks into place a moment later.
“Grab subject two and meet me back in the room,” the skinnier one instructs, and they walk off in different directions.
I lower my arms, looking back at Wyatt.
His gaze locked on the direction they went, his anger and tension palpable. Did they do anything to him? I wet my lips while watching him.
Could he hate me as much as them? What if he blames me? I am the reason he’s in this hellhole, after all.