“I don’t know. Call room service.”
She scowls.
“Just do as I say, or I’m putting ‘Fucked to death by a werewolf’ on your headstone.”
A laugh bursts out before I can stop it, echoing in the sterile room.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Watch me.”
She flicks her rainbow hair over her shoulder.
“I know a guy who does cemetery engravings.”
“Of course you do.”
The image of some poor soul chiseling those words into granite sends me into another fit of giggles.
“I’m not joking, Grace. No touching Caine.”
I snort.
“Fine. No touching.”
“Good girl.”
She shoots me finger guns before backing toward the door again.
“Remember, garlic. Lots of it.”
My lips twitch.
“You know he’s not actually a vampire, right?”
Lyre’s laugh follows her out the door.
As expected, I fall asleep quickly once Lyre’s gone, dreamless and deep.
A scraping sound startles me awake.
My eyelids struggle against the weight of interrupted sleep. A figure in scrubs moves around my bed, his features indistinct thanks to the dim lighting and my own disorientation. The nurse-a man, based off his broad shoulders and overall bulky physique-unplugs my IV from the wall outlet, methodically winding the cord to rest on the metal pole.
“What’s going on?”
I ask, completely disoriented.
He doesn’t look at me, instead tapping at a tiny vial hanging near my fluids on the IV pole.
Then he turns, pushing a button to recline my bed until it’s flat.
“Taking you downstairs for imaging.”
His voice is flat. Professional, but distant to the point of disinterest. He has a badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck, but I can’t make out what it says.
“Oh, okay…”
Imaging? Nobody mentioned tests. But then again, hospitals operate on their own schedule, and doctors don’t always tell us what they’re going to do.
Cold air hits my legs as he straightens my blanket. My bed jerks forward as he disengages the brake with his foot, the mechanical click oddly loud in the quiet room.
I stare blankly at the ceiling as he wheels me toward the door, going backward. My hands rest limply on the blanket, still too heavy with sleep to move properly. The bed bumps slightly crossing the threshold.
A soft ping from the nightstand reaches my ears just as we round the corner-my phone. My hands twitch.
Oh, no. My phone. It’s still on the nightstand.
The realization filters slowly through my drowsiness. Should I ask to go back for it? It seems trivial to delay whatever test they need to run. Besides, imaging never takes long, does it? Twenty minutes, thirty at most? I’ll be back in my room before Lyre returns from her errands.
The nurse steers my bed into an elevator, an awkward affair involving an eight-point turn. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though, like he does this every day. I guess he does.
The doors slide closed, sealing us in the metal box, and I gain a sudden case of claustrophobia. New-onset.
“What kind of imaging am I getting?”
I ask, trying to chase away the cloudiness in my head.
His eyes remain fixed on the illuminated panel of floor numbers.
“Standard procedure.”
The vague answer should bother me, but I’m still too groggy to push further. The elevator descends, my stomach lifting slightly with the motion, and I hope I don’t throw up on my blanket.
When the doors open, the air feels different-cooler, for one. The lighting is harsher here, with no attempt made at the softer, more comforting glow of the patient floors.
I crane my neck around. Utilitarian hallways stretch in both directions.
“Is this radiology?”
I ask, because it doesn’t look like any hospital department I’ve seen before. No signs on the walls, no other patients or staff visible.
“Just through here.”
He makes a sharp turn, wheeling me toward a set of double doors.
A flicker of unease ripples through my chest. The fog in my brain is lifting, replaced by uncomfortable prickles of alertness. Something about this doesn’t feel right.
We pass through the double doors into yet another corridor, lined with doors. The temperature drops another few degrees. Goosebumps rise on my arms. I look like a naked chicken.
“Wait,”
I say, my voice stronger now.
“What department is this?”
His pace doesn’t slow.
“Almost there.”
Sickly green walls have given way to gray concrete. The shade of green didn’t seem particularly conducive to a healing atmosphere, but bare concrete is worse. It’s…
Are we in a parking garage?
It… kind of looks like one. Only with no cars. Or parking spaces. And I can’t see the sky.
Where the hell is this? The basement? It’s obviously not the department of x-rays and MRIs.
“Stop! I’m going back to my room.”
I push myself up on my elbows, fighting against the weakness still clinging to my limbs, and it’s a new level of stupid to think he’s going to respond well to my demands.
But-I mean, I can’t just let him take me.
Even verbal resistance is something, especially when my body’s not listening.
His hand comes down on my shoulder, pressing me back against the mattress. Not forcefully, but with unmistakable purpose. He’s not even trying to explain the situation away.
“Lie still. This won’t take long.”
Fear has cleared the last of the grogginess, but the adrenaline running through my veins is no match for the lethargy of my body.
I twist my head, searching for someone. Anyone. But it’s eerily quiet as the squeaking of my bed and the soft thud of his feet echo in this empty space.
My phone’s still on my nightstand upstairs. No way to call Lyre. No way to call anyone. Damn it.
“Who are you? You’re not a nurse.”
I speak the words with as much strength as I can muster, but they still come out thin and shaky. If I could just have the strength to roll off this bed and run…
For the first time, he looks down from above. His eyes are cold and distant as they meet mine.
“Careful now. Wouldn’t want to aggravate your condition.”
His mouth curves into what might technically qualify as a smile, but contains no warmth.
“You’re quite valuable, you know.”
A strange looms ahead, different from the others-heavier, with some kind of electronic panel beside it. The nurse-or whoever he is-pulls a keycard from his pocket and swipes it.
The lock disengages with an ominous click, and that’s it. I’m convinced. I’m being kidnapped. There’s no radiology department. This nurse is out to kill me and bury my body in a ditch somewhere.
“Help!”
I shout, the word tearing at my throat.
“Somebody help me!”
His hand clamps over my mouth, fingers digging into my cheeks.
“Nobody can hear you down here. Don’t make this difficult.”
See? Kidnapper.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.