Chapter Two
The following day, Hilker showed up as normal, only this time, there was a smile beneath his dead eyes and a heat in his gaze that made Isaiah aware of every inch of his skin all at once.
Hilker held up a block of golden metal. “Don’t say I never got you anything.”
Isaiah couldn’t bear to hope that this was a present he’d actually like.
The door opened and Varsity began to step inside, but Hilker stopped her. He held up the gold again, like a trophy. “I think I can handle this.”
Isaiah swayed.
For a moment, he thought maybe the shock had gotten to him: that this was just too much—the confusion on Varsity’s face, the wide grin on Hilker’s, the stunned questions echoing from inside Landon’s cell, interspersed as always by foul language.
But then he steadied himself and realized…
he was fine. He was nothing but fine. Ordinary, normal; none of the vampiric strength he’d grown accustomed to in the years since he was turned.
Even his vision felt a little different, like his eyes weren’t sure how to focus properly in these new conditions.
Isaiah’s heart thudded so loud he could feel it through his entire body.
Had they?—Without even touching him—They couldn’t have—
He pressed his tongue up against his fangs and— Yes, still there. He was still a vampire. The flutters in his chest sank into his gut. One more day, then. There was yet one more day he had to survive.
Still, he felt hopeful as he asked, “What is that?”
“A new version of holy silver,” Hilker explained. “One with all the weakening effects I required of the original, but none of the pain or harm.” His smile broadened. “It’s called unholy gold.”
A new version? Holy silver had been the only version—the only metal anyone needed when its torturous power brutalized vampires as though it were the sun itself. And now, hundreds or thousands of years after its invention, Hilker was claiming someone had created… this…
Isaiah found himself reaching for it, as though his body needed to touch it to be sure that what Hilker had said was true.
Varsity’s fingers locked like a vice around his wrist. Isaiah jerked back in an instinctive motion that should have dislodged her.
Now, it barely seemed to bother the security officer.
Her brow lifted, gaze flicking from Isaiah to the metal in Hilker’s grasp. “It’s real…” she muttered.
Hilker patted the back of her hand. “I believe you can let go of him now. He's not much of a threat to anyone like this.”
Slowly, she peeled her fingers off. Isaiah could already feel a bruise forming where she’d grabbed him, but his attention couldn’t be diverted.
“Izzy! Is it true?” Landon’s voice was hoarse with the same hopeful relief Isaiah felt thrumming through his own veins.
“Yeah,” Isaiah whispered, then shouted, “Yeah! It doesn’t hurt at all.” He reached again, letting his fingertips stroke the metal. It left a tingle on his skin, but no burning, no agony, no shakes.
Then, he remembered who exactly was presenting it to him. He drew back.
“Do I…” He glanced toward Landon’s cell and swallowed.
“Do I get this unholy gold instead—instead of the silver?” There had to be a catch.
Perhaps they meant to use the return of the holy silver as a threat to ensure Landon’s good behavior.
“Please,” he added, weakly, his thin brows lightly pinched and his full lips parted in the way he knew would widen Hilker’s eyes.
He couldn’t help it. If begging beautifully would take away the pain, then Isaiah would plead his bruised and bleeding heart out.
Varsity looked about to deny him, but Hilker smiled at her. “He’s trained well enough, I think. We don’t need your assistance today.”
“Surely—”
“Surely our boss requires you more than I do.”
Varsity’s jaw pulsed, but there must have been some truth to that—or perhaps her cruelty was concealing the fact that even she hated being down here—because her gaze flickered between the unholy gold and Isaiah’s fangs, and she asked, “Are you certain he’s weak enough?”
“Shall we test it?” Hilker hummed, like this was a game to him, his eyes skimming down Isaiah’s body. “What is it Their Majesty calls you sometimes? The whipping boy?”
Isaiah felt his hope drain away—or perhaps that was the blood from his face.
He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to tamp down the panic that threatened to drag him the single step back into his cell and slam closed the door despite how quickly and spectacularly it would backfire.
“That’s a joke,” he muttered, when what he really meant was, that’s private.
“I’ll do what you need of me. You don’t have to threaten me for it—I think I’ve had enough pain, please. ”
Hilker lifted a brow at Varsity. “We’ll be fine. He’s prepared to follow instructions. This is for science, after all.” When he said it, he didn’t look toward any of the fancy instruments spread across the lab space, but rather at Landon’s cell.
Isaiah could feel the tip of that statement like a blade between his ribs. “For science,” he echoed. For Landon. For the day when they could walk freely out of here, back to their giant house with a mother who would love both her children equally, once one of them no longer bore the shame of fangs.
Varsity still looked skeptical, but her will seemed to break in a final shrug. “I’m locking the deadbolt, then. If I come back and find you a bloody mess of bone and gore, it’s not on me.”
“I’m sure our little lab rat is perfectly sophisticated when he feeds,” Hilker said, and it took Isaiah a moment to register that it was some kind of joke.
He felt his cheeks burn all the same. The thought of eating Hilker…
Isaiah wasn’t sure what that did to his stomach, but it certainly wasn’t what he’d call pleasant.
Not that the man was disagreeable to look at—or even particularly unfortunate-smelling, with his perpetual hint of coconut lotion over a musk that was almost sweet—but Isaiah preferred his meals to be ethical, thanks.
Varsity seemed to be watching Isaiah’s thoughts churn because she narrowed her eyes, giving another small shrug and a snort. “Whatever you say.”
She didn’t allow Hilker the chance to lodge any further barbs, turning down the curved hall and vanishing out of Isaiah’s limited line of sight. He could hear the double doors open, then bolt behind her in a series of clangs and scrapes. All the while, Hilker watched Isaiah like a hawk.
Isaiah’s stomach knotted. Maybe he wanted Varsity here after all—or well, not Varsity, but someone.
There was something uncanny about being alone with Hilker, something that made Isaiah’s hair stand on end, his skin overly sensitive.
He swallowed down the saliva building in the back of his throat. “So, um?”
“This way,” Hilker instructed, stepping back to motion across the lab. Towards the table.
One more day, Isaiah told himself, and slowly, quietly, he began to hope again. Maybe this one wouldn’t be so bad as the others.
As he walked, Hilker’s hand pressed against his shoulder, squeezing gently.
Isaiah’s body reacted like a thunderstorm, the gentle touch lighting him up.
He wanted to jerk away, but a part of him couldn’t bear to.
Late night dreams spilled to the front of his mind, visions of arms wrapping around him—Landon’s, Justin’s, anyone’s, even just a blanket to mimic the sensation—pulling him close and holding him tight, reminding him that his nerves were made for more than just anguish: that at one time, they’d been made for comfort, too.
Isaiah closed his eyes and tried to pretend for a moment that the soft pressure came from someone who gave a rat’s ass about him. Pretend that there was no pain to come, that this hand supporting him wasn’t also there to ensure he stayed the course. His throat grew tight once more.
No matter what his body had once been, he was not destined for comfort any longer.
Isaiah stopped beside the table, and Hilker’s hand withdrew.
Isaiah’s shoulder felt empty, his skin bare.
He pushed through the sensation, carefully twisting his medical gown to untie it.
He folded it down, finding the same curve that Varsity and Hilker always did.
It slipped as he tried to tie it back into place.
Hilker offered out his hands. “May I?”
Isaiah stalled. It wasn’t like Hilker hadn’t done this before—every time before, in fact. Still, he was offering now. Not demanding.
“Or you could remove it entirely.” He sounded so unassuming as he said it that Isaiah barely registered the little flash of Hilker’s gaze that dropped down Isaiah’s hips.
A chill ran across Isaiah’s skin. He held tight to the sides of the gown. “If you could just finish tying it...”
“With pleasure.”
Isaiah barely felt the ruffle of the fabric when Hilker’s fingers took over.
“It’s a good thing vampires don’t get cold,” Hilker muttered as he tied the folds in simple, fluid motions, as precise and unbothered as any blood draw or scalpel insertion.
“How do you know?” Isaiah probably should have bitten the comment back, but the lack of Varsity’s shoving and shouting made him feel brave suddenly. “You’ve never asked me.”
Hilker looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Are you cold?”
Now Isaiah just felt silly. “No, I suppose. Not particularly.”
“Well, then.” The edge of Hilker’s mouth quirked. It felt oddly like an inside joke Isaiah hadn’t agreed to.
Hilker stepped back, and Isaiah scooted himself onto the table. It creaked softly in the quiet space.
“Hey, Izzy?” Landon called. “You cool?”
The interruption reminded Isaiah just how odd it was not to have a soundtrack of Landon’s curses to accompany this. He lifted his own voice so it would carry across the lab. “Did you not hear? I just said I wasn’t cold.”