Chapter 2 Welcome to Hell #2
I hadn't really considered this part, but it makes sense since he's only on day two.
From what I've read, soon enough his normal bodily functions will cease to be as his organs gradually shut down.
One by one. It'll be painful at first, and then the venom will kick in.
Healing him from the inside and forming the new parts of him.
Old human processes, emotions, and habits will go, leaving something darker and far more immortal in its wake.
For now though, I guess he still has to pee.
"Erm, right, okay," I mumble.
My eyes dart around, hunting desperately for a bathroom. I land on a closed door beyond the kitchenette and pray that it houses a toilet. If it doesn't, then I guess we'll have to improvise.
"Which number is it?" I ask as I pull the chain over my head and place the key in his wrist restraints and release the lock with a satisfying click.
"What the..." He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and his voice drops a few decibels. "One."
He rubs his wrists, but when I go to undo the restraints on his ankles, I freeze with the key an inch from the lock.
"Look, I'm not going to—"
"Run? Attack me? Try to escape?" I interrupt. "Yeah, you probably would. All of the above, actually."
He grits his teeth. "I give you my word."
I laugh. "It's not me I'm worried about. I just want to make sure you're not going to do anything stupid and hurt yourself."
"I won't. Look at me. I can barely hold my head up."
"Fine," I say, reaching for the key around my neck. "But we do this my way."
I unlock the restraints around his wrists, but when he tries to sit up fully, his legs shake. The transformation is weakening him more than he wants to admit.
"Easy there, tough guy," I say, offering him my arm for support.
He hesitates, pride clashing with necessity, then reluctantly accepts my help. His skin is burning hot against my icy cold, and I can feel the tremor in his muscles as we make our way to the bathroom.
"I can take it from here," he says when we reach the door.
"You won't get any argument from me," I say, raising my hands like a barrier.
When he opens the door, I am relieved to see a bathroom hidden inside, a nice one too.
Black, shiny, floor-to-ceiling subway tiles line the walls, and gold fixtures adorn the black marble facilities.
There's a rainfall shower in the corner of the room big enough for two, a huge freestanding bathtub in the center, and a pristine porcelain toilet tucked away at the side.
No one has ever used this place. It's so new that I can smell the adhesive in the grouting.
"I'll...erm...leave you to it," I say, backing away and clicking the door shut behind me.
After a few awkward minutes where I curse my heightened hearing, Angel's voice drifts under the door, sounding oddly calm. His voice echoes off the tiles, slightly masked by the sound of the tap running.
"So are you gonna tell me what they did to me? What this is all about?"
I lean against the doorframe. "Are you sure you're ready to hear it?"
"I think I have a right to know."
"Rights are kind of a flexible concept in your current situation."
"Just tell me," he says, and there's something raw in his voice now. "Is it some kind of disease? Is that what they injected me with? Am I dying?"
I close my eyes, weighing my words. "It's not a disease."
"Then what—"
"You're half right. You are dying."
The tap shuts off abruptly, leaving only silence. Then: "What the fuck does that mean?"
I chew my lip, measuring my words and delivering them as carefully as I can. "It means the person you were is dying. The human part of you. What's being born in its place is...something else."
"Something else like what?"
"Come out, and I'll explain."
An eerie quiet is followed by the sound of feet shuffling, and then the door opens. Angel emerges looking even paler than before, his eyelashes clumped together and his face wet but no longer from sweat. But there's something different in his posture—a restlessness that wasn't there before.
"Come sit down," I say, gesturing toward the bed.
"I'm fine standing."
"Angel, you're shaking like a leaf. Sit. It's safer."
He moves toward the bed, but instead of sitting, he stops just out of arm's reach. "Tell me what the fuck is happening to me. No bullshit."
I realize the kindest thing I can do is rip off the Band-Aid and let the whole truth out at once. He's got to hear it sooner or later, and there's no perfect way to deliver the kind of news that changes everything in an instant, so I woman up and take a deep breath.
"You were turned. Bitten by a powerful supernatural creator. Your human blood is slowly being replaced with something...more special. More powerful. It hurts like hell, I know, but in a few days, you'll be stronger, faster, and a hell of a lot harder to kill than you are now."
His eyes narrow. "What is that supposed to mean? What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about vampires."
He shakes his head. "You're insane. Vampires aren't real."
I smile, letting just a hint of fang show. "Aren't they?"
That's when he moves.
The knife appears in his hand like magic—small, sharp, and very discreet. He must have had it hidden in his sock, and when I helped him to the bathroom...
Smart boy.
He lunges faster than I would have anticipated, grabbing me around the waist and spinning me so my back is pressed against his chest. The blade finds my throat, and he digs the sharp point into my skin and tears the balaclava off my head.
"Now," he says, his breath hot against my ear, "we're going to have a different kind of conversation."
His heart hammers against my back, adrenaline and fever making him shake. But his grip is steady, and the knife doesn't waver.
"You're going to unlock that door," he continues. "And then you're going to get me the fuck out of here."
I throw my head back and let out a cackle as he tenses behind me. "Yeah. Okay. Sure. Good luck with that."
"Something funny?"
"You are. You think that little butter knife is going to save you?"
"It'll cut your throat just fine."
"Will it?" I let my voice drop to a purr. "Go ahead. Cut me. I double dare you."
His grip tightens. "Don't test me."
"I'm not testing you. I'm giving you permission. Go on, cobarde, slice my throat."
"I'm no fucking coward," he snarls as he grabs a fistful of my curls and yanks my head back, but I don't resist. The blade bites into my skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
"Do it," I whisper. "See what happens."
For a moment, I think he might. Then I let my fangs descend fully. My elongated canines drop into my mouth and catch the light like two ivory needles.
I turn my head just enough that he can see them in profile.
Angel's entire body goes rigid. The knife clatters to the floor as he stumbles backward, eyes wide with terror.
"What the fuck—what the FUCK—"
He trips over his own awkward feet and crashes into the wall, bumping his head and sliding down until he's sitting on the floor. He stares up at me, blinking rapidly, his eyes searching for answers. He puts his hand over his chest as he sucks in a few deep breaths.
"Should I tell you what's happening to you?" I ask, retracting my fangs and wiping the thin line of blood from my throat with my finger. It heals almost instantly.
Angel opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His eyes are fixed on my mouth, looking for the fangs that are no longer there.
I crouch and move the curl from his forehead like he's a little baby and smile at him sweetly. "Or do you need another minute to process?"