“Your first job will be standing guard at her cell.”
CHAPTER 9
BRIAR
My eyes fly open.
The first sound that rushes in is the crinkling of plastic as my body twitches in my attempt to move. A tingling numbness flows through my extremities, turning into prickling heat as I wiggle my fingers and toes.
“What the hell,” I groan, my throat feeling scratchy and raw.
The room spins as I get the strength to lift my head from the floor. I’m rewarded with a faint suction sound as my skin peels away from whatever I was passed out on. The thing I’ve been sleeping on comes into view and I swallow against the nausea that rises when I realize what it is.
An empty blood bag, and it isn’t alone. Dozens more are sprawled out around and under my body on the bright white floor. Thin smears of red beneath them are the only color in sight.
My nostrils flare as I breathe in the strange scent of antiseptic and copper surrounding me.
The ceiling is a grid of white panels that hum softly. The walls are the same sterile white that fills the infirmary back home. A chrome sink and a toilet gleam from a corner like polished teeth. My bare legs that stick out from the plain white cotton shorts Ihave on releases from the floor in slow tugs as I shift. Every inch of me prickles like I’ve been bitten by a million ants.
My hand lifts on instinct to drag through my hair, but a gasp escapes my lips as my fingers are suddenly free at my jawline. For a second my brain refuses the information. My fingers curl, searching for length that isn’t there, knuckles dragging against the ragged ends. A few long strands brush my collarbone like threads, a cruel reminder of what used to fall to my waist. I touch my scalp and find patches of tender skin, uneven and scabbed, and a broken sound slips out.
“What happened to me?” I breathe out, on the edge of a building hysteria.
I pull my hand back down and stare at it. My forearms are freshly pink where the skin seems to have knitted itself back together, shiny and tight. The source of my itching and burning…fresh skin.
Panic continues to build until I gasp for air, shaking.
Then memory comes for me all at once.
The hotel door. Black helmets and pounding boots. Lyra’s plea, Kael’s fear, the singed smell that bloomed as a chemical mist ate me alive. The glass of the balcony door shattering under my shoulder. Muscles locking in midair. The pavement meeting my skull with a crack that turned everything to nothing.
I reach for my portal ring on instinct and find bare skin.
“Shit!” I yell, forcing my trembling hands into tight fists at my sides as I stand on wobbly legs.
They took it. Of course they did.
A laugh shakes out of me, dry and wrong, like I’m on the edge of breaking out into tears instead.
I was on the cusp of getting exactly what I set out to achieve in this realm. So fucking close.
Now, I’m going to miss that appointment with Ms. Tomlinson and they’ll likely think I flaked out and changed my mind.
A shaky breath falls from my lips as I tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling.
“Mom,” I whisper, my voice already breaking at the thought of my family. The word feels like a prayer and an apology wrapped in one. “Please find me.”
Regret unfurls within my chest, hot and heavy as it settles in, taking root in my heart. My eyes fall closed and I see the gown on my bed, my mother’s neat handwriting on the note, and I hate how much I want that safe, suffocating version of my life back for the span of a breath.
Tears pool behind my closed lids, falling from the outer corners.
I made this choice because the world I knew felt like a cage, yet all I want right now is to be swept up into my parents’ arms. My hands lift to wipe at the lingering tears as I pull my gaze back to the white walls surrounding me. Their determination and love of me fills me, chasing out any remaining grief as I think of how they’d tell me to fight, to never give up, and to remember my training.
“I’m Briar fucking Van Helsing,” I whisper softly, letting my limp hands curl into fists.
Hunger snakes through my belly, a low, steady pull that makes my gums ache as my fangs attempt to slide out. Shame rises behind it, warming my cheeks as I stare at the empty bags.
They fed me like an animal. They watched me drink while unconscious without dignity or consent, and the evidence spread around me feels like a nest of shame built for me.
