Lights buzz on, assaulting my eyelids with their brightness. In the back of my mind, I’m annoyed. But when I try to do something, like roll over, it’s like I can’t get my body to cooperate. My head is pounding, my stomach roiling.
Nest. I need to nest. That will make it better. I need…I need Hayden’s scent for my nest. I need smoky pepper and alpha musk.
But…where’s Hayden? “Ha—” The words catch in my parched throat, and I’m suddenly thankful. I can’t call out for Hayden—I almost just gave him away.
They can’t knowhe’s my bonded.
Why is that again?
Right. Fuck. The Cathedral.
They’ll just drag him in here with me.
I can’t let that happen.
So I hold back my words, knowing that keeping Hayden safe is more important than this bone-deep itch to start nesting.
I will my eyes to open, and as they do, I squint against the yellow fluorescent lights. I can’t have slept for more than…a few hours at most.
Luckily, I’m mentally in a place where I can still pull the blinds down on my bond with Hayden.
My mouth is dry as I use all my energy to roll over to the side of the bed and sit up.
Water.
I need water.
But…I still have this damn muzzle on. I…I have to make it work.
Swaying on my feet, I stumble to the metal sink next to the toilet. Maybe…maybe if I use the wires of the muzzle, I can flip the water on. Bending over, I try to move my head so the hard wires hook onto the handles of the sink.
I nearly cry in relief when it catches, and I’m able to pull my head back at the right angle to let water start pouring out of the faucet.
Leaving my dignity behind, I try to shove my head under the faucet to drink, but…
No, no,no!
With the muzzle on, there’s not enough room for me to put my head to the side to catch the water. Tears would sting my eyes if I weren’t severely dehydrated.
As if trying to conserve energy, my body decides it’s time to stop.
No warning, no flashing notice, no “danger, danger”. Just. Darkness.
When I wake, it’s like my body is made of lead, and I’m on fire.
At the same time.
I groan, my head pounding as I try to make sense of what’s in front of me.
It’s like Brooks’ face…if Picasso painted him. “...progressing quicker than we thought…need more information.” Is all I get before my stomach turns, and I find myself being rolled onto my side as I vomit up the gruel from the night before. My throat burns, and I try to tell them that I need water. But when I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out.
“...fucking disgusting…”
I blink, the room refusing to focus.
Speak, dammit. My words are nothing more than a croak. “Wha…” I can’t get the words out. What the hell is happening to me?
“...need to talk to the beta…”
