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He strolls around the table I’m strapped to casually, gesturing like he’s in the middle of a fucking History 101 class.
“We started you on a very slow drip. About ten microdrops per minute. Genius, isn’t it? It’s enough to make you feel like you’re being roasted over the pits of Hell, but not enough to kill you. Yet.”
He stops walking long enough to sneer at me. “It will, naturally, increase in speed the longer it takes your brothers to rescue you.”
His mention of my pack fills me with hope. I focus inward, searching for our Bond in an attempt to determine how far away they are. Rather than the shimmering green threads I’ve lived with for centuries, all I feel is static. Unnatural, fraying, horrible static that our Bond—
Wait.
Wait.
Our… Bond…?
My heart kicks, thumping wildly as the memory of our Mate Bond snapping into place yanks my attention away from everything happening that doesn’t involve her.
Varenthrall keeps talking, oblivious to the way my rage burns brighter with every disgusting word out of his mouth.
“Of course, my daughter will remain here. I will admit she’s been somewhat helpful the last few years, but I’m afraid any use I once had for her has come to an end. I’ve squeezed everything I’m likely to get out of the useless girl. Frankly, she’s becoming a burden.” He shoots me a dissapointed frown. “I believe that’s partly your doing. Somehow, over the last week, the girl’s started to believe she can defy me. It’s disappointing, truly. I thought I had a better hold on her. I was sure the work I put in in the last twenty-two years had taught her her place.”
“You’re sick,” I snarl, horrified the clinical, detached way he views his own daughter.
“Oh please,” he waves me away. “You’ve be around long enough to know how business works. You have to take what you can from whomever you can and move on once they’re no longer of use.”
What. The. Fuck.
The Doctor side-steps Varenthrall, bending down to check my IV. I’m shocked when our eyes meet. I expected the same cold cruely as Varenthrall, but his are brimming with fear and panic.
I frown in confusion. I want to ask him why he’s looking at me like I might be able to help him but I can’t. The pain is too overwhelming. It takes all I have just to choke down the bile coating my throat.
Sweat drips down my face in heavy rivulets. My fists clench around nothing. I struggle to breathe through the pain, the sharp agony making my nostrils flare.
For half a heartbeat, I swear I smell the faintest scent of lightning before a thunderstorm. I inhale deeply, chasing the scent, but it’s no use. The pain acts like a thick shroud over my senses.
Excpet… I could swear…
Was that lavender?
Varenthrall turns toward the Doctor and demands, “Albertson, how much longer?”
The doctor—Albertson—clears his throat uncomfortably. His eyes snap to mine, his face set in another unreadable expression. He almost seems like he’s trying to glare a message into my brain, but fuck knows what it is. My mind’s so clouded with agony, I’d be better off deciphering a monkey’s bowel movements.
“A few more minutes, Sir,” Albertson answers, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose with shaking fingers.
“Where is Idril?” I demand through clenched teeth. I can barely feel her in my chest, and that only makes this nightmare a thousand times worse. I stretch toward our Bond, trying to focus through unending fire.
Varenthrall frowns, tossing a dismissive glance over his shoulder.
“Idril? Why… she’s right here. Didn’t you notice?”
He steps aside, and my eyes fall to her.
My mind blanks. Time slams to a stop.
Idril. My Mate.
My Fated Mate is less than four feet away, stealth on top of a metal gurney like mine. For one horrifying moment, I think she’s dead. Her body is unnaturally still, head lolling to the side, arm hanging limply off the edge of the stretcher.
Tears burn the back of my eyes. Fates, her face is so pale. No longer a luminous, glowing alabaster, it’s now a waxy, bloodless white, like the life’s been sucked out of her.
