Broken Blood

by Heather Hildenbrand

  The next face wasn’t so easy to resist. He walked slowly out of the fog, looking every single inch like the boy I’d met in that alleyway those months ago. God, months. I’d missed the end of summer and half of fall sitting inside this prison. Sadness over the time lost slipped inside my chest and settled in the outer reaches of my already broken heart.

  But despite the passage of time, he looked same as ever. Brown-bronzed hair shoved back from his forehead, worn leather jacket draped over broad shoulders and a proud chest.

  “Wes,” I whispered. My mate.

  He turned and went still at the sight of me, and I realized he hadn’t seen me before I’d spoken. Not like the others who’d come expecting this meeting. He looked surprised and just as confused as I was. I moved forward, slowly at first, but when the fog parted and he didn’t move, I went faster.

  “Tara,” he said.

  And every tension-filled cavity inside my body emptied and refilled with the love that brimmed over at the sight of him.

  “You’re all right,” he said and then I ran.

  My feet made no noise against whatever floor the fog hovered over. When I’d almost reached him, he spread his arms wide and I leaped, hands outstretched. I felt myself lift high and then drop low and I held my breath in anticipation of the feeling of being caught and held by Wes.

  Just before I reached him, he vanished. In his place, a pack of wolves appeared. Yellow eyes, mangy fur, and frothing jaws—all of them growling and gnashing their teeth at me. I fell toward them, arms out in protest now, a scream building in my throat.

  The one above me opened his jaw just as I fell toward his face. My heart seized and my muscles tensed for impact.

  And then I woke.

  The scar on my rib ached so hard I peeled off the covers and lifted my pajama shirt to double check for fresh blood. But the skin was unbroken, only marred and pulled tight where it stretched to close the hole that Mrs. Lexington left behind. I exhaled.

  The dream was vividly real. And I was inching toward convinced on how alike Astor and I might be after all. My brain felt looser against its hinges every day.

  As the fear faded, snapshots of the dream flash through my mind. Just the faces. Grandma, Cord, Wes, the open-jawed wolf. None of them were real, but something about it wasn’t exactly fiction either.

  I spent the next few hours wide awake, lying on my side.

  In the morning, the lock turned and the door opened. Mr. Lexington stepped inside. Behind him, another figure hovered in the hall between a set of armed guards.

  I shot to my feet. “Chris!”

  His face was crisscrossed with the scars of old wounds overlapping fresh cuts and swollen bruises. But it was Chris, my second in command. Some forgotten spark of connection flashed in my mind, remnants of our bond stirring at the sight of him. His face brightened into relief and then shut down just as quickly into disappointment.

  “Tara, you’re okay,” he said, but he didn’t sound nearly happy enough.

  My heart sank at the sight of him so beat up. I knew exactly how he felt even without a mental link. Yes, we were okay. But for how long?

  “Shut up,” I heard from out in the hall and Chris was nudged sideways. A third guard stepped into view, glaring. Something about his features, the upturned slits of his eyes, felt familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Especially when my attention was being drawn to the shiny gun he had wedged into Chris’s ribs. “Both of you stop talking.”

  “Get dressed in this,” Mr. Lexington said, tossing clothes at me.

  I held them up, curious. “Not my usual uniform,” I said, eyeing the black leggings and matching pullover hoodie. He dropped a pair of black lace-up boots at my feet. They landed with a thud.

  “You’re welcome,” Mr. Lexington said and strode out. “You have two minutes,” he called over his shoulder before slamming the door. I caught the sound of lowered voices in the hall but no words came through.

  I hurried to get dressed, anticipation and worry equal parts in my twisting insides. After five days full of blood draws and medical exams and little more, the uniform had changed. So had the cast. Chris was here.

  Today was different.

  “Where are the others?” I whispered to Chris as we walked down the hall a few minutes later.

  A gun poked me in the back. “Shut up,” said the guard.

  “Are they alive?” I whispered, ignoring the painful jab.

  Chris glanced sideways at me, his mouth set in a hard line. A horizontal scab along his cheekbone caught the light, making it look wet all over again with the crimson blood still staining the edges. “Some,” he said simply.

  The other guard brought his gun down against Chris’s shoulder. “We said shut it. We won’t tell you again.” His voice was a dare. He wanted Chris to step out of line. He wanted to hurt him. I glanced back and saw the man’s irises glowing yellow before I was nudged roughly and forced to turn around.

  We were herded to the clinic in a path quickly becoming familiar to me. Chris grunted with each step and his hand clenched tightly against the railing. I didn’t ask any more questions. At the frosted doorway, two more guards were stationed on either side. Both armed. Both had eyes that gleamed yellow.

  The door slid aside and Gordon greeted us, all smiles. “Right on time,” he said warmly, as if he’d invited us to a party instead of ... whatever this was.

  Chris didn’t respond, his gaze darting everywhere but Gordon. I suspected this wasn’t their first encounter and my chest ached at what Gordon must’ve done to him to warrant such deference. I clenched my hands into fists, hating how weak the motion felt without a wolf’s strength behind it.

  “Let’s get started,” Gordon said.

  The first thing I recognized on the other side of the threshold was Astor. In the center of the room, he waited at a long table, his fingers held together in a way that allowed him to tap the ends together. It might’ve looked like hungry anticipation of a mad scientist to anyone else, but I knew his nervous tics when I saw them. He was terrified.

  The second was the cages. Unlike my last two visits, they were now occupied. I scanned them, my lungs closing as I inspected the inhabitants. After the first few, I looked away in relief. I didn’t recognize any of the furry faces that stared back at me. Not unless you counted my recent nightmares.

  Every single metal cage contained a pair of gleaming yellow eyes exactly like the ones I’d seen in my dream. Jaws open, hungry for my flesh and blood. Unable to shake those images, I couldn’t bring myself to inspect any more of the faces. Beside me, Chris was a rigid wall of shoulders and bruised arms. He didn’t look inside the cages either.

  “Tara?”

  A deep voice, marred by exhaustion and whatever other injuries, pulled at my memory, and I stopped to peer inside the cage beside me. A brown wolf blinked back. A small patch of fur near his ear was missing, along with another along bare patch his shoulder.

  “Rafe?” I asked in disbelief.

  “I thought they’d ... I’ve been worried for you,” he said in a scratchy voice whose gloominess reminded me of Eeyore. The patches of missing fur stirred memories of the past. Back when I’d had to fight for him. Back when I’d been his alpha, his pack leader. He’d looked mangy from his fur being burned ever since then, but this was more. He was scrawny with hunger and the distinct smell of animal clung to him. His eyes were wild. I wondered how long it’d been since he’d been human.

  I reached out to touch him through the bars, but the metal coating was like an electric current, sapping my strength the closer I got. I pulled away and let my hand fall to my side.

  “What happened to you?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice from breaking on the last part. My fault. All of it.

  “I made my choice,” he said. “I’m who I was meant to be.”

  Through my confusion, I tried for a smile, but it fell flat. “And the others?” I asked.

  “We all made our choice,” he said as if I should be comforted
in that. Maybe I would be if I knew what the heck he was talking about. Made their choice?

  Someone pushed me from behind and I stumbled onward. “Keep moving,” the guard said roughly.

  Up ahead, Chris had already been herded into one of the chairs set up on either side of Astor’s table. His wrists and ankles had been secured with straps attached to the chair’s frame, though he didn’t look as if he’d struggled. I met his eyes, unable to keep the fear out of mine.

  “No,” I said, planting my feet.

  The guard tried nudging me but I remained where I was. “No,” I said again.

  No one else argued. I wondered what Gordon was waiting on. He’d have no trouble forcing me, I was sure. But I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Chris long enough to find out.

  Chris stared up at me, eyes pleading. “He’s going to give it back, Tara. We can be bonded again.”

  “He’s using us,” I told him.

  “Not if we use him first,” Chris said.

  I hesitated and then took a single step forward, but Gordon stepped in front of me. “Oh, this chair isn’t for you,” he said. Your place is there, along the wall with the guards. The viewing area.” He motioned for someone behind me to come forward. “This chair is for our other participant.”

  “What?” Chris asked, but Gordon ignored him.

  Someone bumped me as they passed by and I was jostled sideways before I caught my balance. I saw her just as Gordon finished explaining, “My second in command. Olivia.”

  She lowered herself to the chair across the table from Chris, aiming a triumphant smile at Gordon and then me. She didn’t look much better than she had a few days ago. Her color had returned only to the extent that she didn’t look like a bottle of glue. Someone had exchanged her hospital gown for a sweater and long pants. But otherwise, she was death warmed over.

  Her IV remained firmly in place, attached to a bag of fluids on wheels and a metal pole that she held beside her chair. Her hair had been swept up to reveal her sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks. “You look like death,” I told her.

  “You look like your mother,” she shot back primly.

  I gave her the finger. It wasn’t much, but it wouldn’t get me shot.

  Gordon laughed. “You two are entertaining, at least. Astor, you can begin whenever you’re ready.”

  “This isn’t what we discussed,” Chris said, finally beginning to fight against the restraints. But it was too late.

  I stared at Gordon. “You’re going to bond them?” I asked. “Now? They’re too weak.”

  Over Astor’s left shoulder, one of the caged wolves yelped and pawed at the bars. Beside it, another joined in. Gordon looked at them and they abruptly died off. Then he looked back at me, brow raised. “They seem in favor.”

  I stared in growing dread at the wolves, at Olivia, the entire scene. “Go ahead,” Gordon said, the picture of calm. Before I could think of anything to say, Astor rounded the table and stuck Olivia in the arm.

  She sucked in a breath and her head dropped back to lean against the chair before lolling sideways. Gordon took a tiny step forward, arms crossed, before going still and watching her instead. Chris stared at the woman he’d once called master with a look of horror.

  Astor finished the injection and then moved to Chris without bothering to check on his first patient. He didn’t look over before grabbing the next syringe and inserting it into Chris’s waiting vein. Chris flexed his fist, his arms straining against their restraints.

  I curled my fingers in and pressed my nails into my palms.

  No one spoke while we waited. Even the caged wolves were eerily silent.

  Astor withdrew the syringe and tossed it aside before picking up another and going back for round two. First Olivia. Then Chris. By the time he was finished with the second dose, Olivia’s eyes had opened. Her color was already returning and she was breathing deeply, taking turns working the joints at her wrists and ankles in circular stretches.

  “How are you feeling?” Gordon asked, taking another step forward. Excitement, not concern, I realized.

  “Better,” Olivia said, sitting straighter now. She cracked her knuckles and I didn’t need to be told the bond had worked. At least to some extent. She’d walked in half-dead and already she looked revived.

  Across the table, Chris was silent, his face pale. His hands sat limply on the arm rests, no more of the flexing fists he’d made as the blood entered his body. He stared straight ahead with a blank look, his mouth hanging listlessly open, and my stomach dropped. Whatever was happening in his mind wasn’t bringing him to life. He was shutting down.

  Behind him, the two wolves from before whimpered softly and lay down.

  “You’re hurting him,” I said, struggling to go to Chris, but the guards had clearly anticipated this. They grabbed and held me before I could take a single step. I fought against them and several howls lit the air. I thought I picked out Rafe among them.

  “Quiet!” Gordon’s voice boomed with power—not that of an alpha. More like a tormenter. Most fell silent. A few turned to whines and yelps before they too died off. It was only me. And I was helpless.

  Gordon strode over to me, his chest puffed up in assumed victory. “I told you if you didn’t agree to help me, I’d kill them all. One by one. Tell me.” He cocked his head. “Do you feel anything as he slips away? Is there anything left of your connection now?”

  My eyes filled with tears, but I refused to answer him. I refused to give him the satisfaction. Gordon’s lips quirked—the ghost of a smile—and he walked away.

  Chris sank lower in his chair until he was leaning against it for full support to keep him upright. Olivia pushed to her feet and went to Chris, standing over him with purpose. She took several deep breaths while Gordon hovered nearby, watching, waiting. Chris didn’t make a sound as his lids grew heavy and his head lolled against his chest.

  I felt the tears slipping down my cheeks, leaving hot tracks of my own pain and failure as they dripped off my chin. Somewhere along the way I stopped struggling against my guards and went still.

  Olivia took a final deep breath and Chris slumped sideways, the only sign of his consciousness the occasional blink of his eyes. She whirled to face Gordon, a smile lighting her pale features. “We did it,” she said.

  “Of course we did,” Gordon told her. “But what’s wrong with him?”

  Olivia shrugged. “I needed his strength for myself.”

  “And what about him?” Gordon chastised. “He was already weak.”

  Olivia shrugged again. “You shouldn’t have pushed him so hard to make his choice.” Her lip curled on the last word, as if she found it funny.

  Behind them, the caged wolves yelped and scratched. Inside my mind, the memory of the fog was almost a real thing. It coiled and built. It licked up the walls and snaked into the far corners and I wanted so badly to summon that yellow-eyed pack from my dreams to swallow up this entire horrible moment.

  “No,” I whispered over and over again. “No.”

  Steppe motioned at two of the guards. With little more than a nod, they set their weapons aside and unstrapped Chris, carrying him to a gurney nearby and laying him flat. My guards were either pre-occupied or no longer under orders to contain me. I broke free and rushed to where Chris lay, half-awake and clearly hurting. The bond pulled at me, like a weakened magnet, and I bent toward him.

  “Chris, hang on,” I said, grabbing his hand in both of mine. It was cold and limp, his eyes unfocused even as they found mine. A surge of pain wound from his hand to mine and I welcomed the faint link.

  “Tara...” His words were slurred as if he’d been drugged. I glared at Olivia. She was feeding him this. Somehow. And taking his strength. What little he had to offer. I wanted to claw her eyes out.

  “Tara,” Chris said again, a whisper so faint I had to bend down to hear the words. “He’s offering a choice but it’s not. It’s a lie. You have to stop him,” Chris said.

  “I can’t eve
n free myself,” I whispered back. “How can I stop him?”

  “Don’t let him bond with you.” His words ended in a coughing fit. His head came up off the table as he struggled for breath. Gordon said something, and I was shoved backward out of the way by the guards. Astor was nudged into my place and ordered to help. He muttered nonsensical words under his breath while he worked but he did as ordered.

  I was shoved too far back to see Chris any longer but I knew it wasn’t good when Olivia’s smile suddenly slipped and she pressed her fingertips to her temples.

  “What is it?” Gordon asked.

  “My head ... it’s...No,” Olivia yelled and then moaned, her knees buckling. Gordon caught her and dragged her back to an open chair, depositing her in a heap. She grimaced but didn’t try to get up. She bit her lip but cries escaped her throat even through her closed lips.

  “What is happening?” Gordon asked again, but Olivia was obviously in too much pain to answer. The guards hovering around Chris shifted to also encompass Olivia and I caught sight of Chris. His eyes were closed, his chest not moving. Astor’s flurry of movement abruptly went still.

  “I just lost him,” Astor said matter-of-factly.

  Olivia slumped over in her chair, unconscious.

  “What the hell is going on?” Steppe roared. “You told me you fixed this!”

  The guards scurried to herd me and Astor to the sidelines while working to revive an unresponsive Olivia. Everything in my mind felt stretched. Slow. Too obvious to the point of irritating. I glared at Steppe and roared back, “She’s feeling his death, you idiot. I warned you about this.”

  Steppe’s shoulders stiffened. “Take her to her room. Sedate her,” he told the guards, his back to me. The guard still holding his gun tucked his weapon into the waistline of his pants and scooped Olivia into his arms. Her head and arms hung limp as he carried her to the door. Astor moved to follow, but Steppe stopped him. “You stay. I need you here.”

  Astor’s eyes widened but he didn’t argue. Apparently satisfied, Steppe rounded on me, eyes blazing. “Your turn,” he said.

  “My turn for what?”

  “Astor, get the samples.”