by Roh Morgon
And at myself, for succumbing to the deadliest drug of all—love—and for learning too late that its price among The Chosen is more than one’s freedom.
The price is one’s soul.
It’s midnight when I stop by for the umpteenth time to check on Sandy. She’s out of recovery—finally—and has been moved into a room on another floor. Though it’s past visiting hours, one of the nurses at the station gives in when I insist on seeing the girl and leads me to the room.
Sandy’s still unconscious, pale, the I.V. line still in her arm. The bright tracks running across her monitor screen bounce up and down, each with their own rhythm, accompanied by soft beeps.
“How long before she wakes up?” I ask, watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
“She woke in recovery. She’ll probably sleep the rest of the night now.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“There weren’t any complications in surgery that I’m aware of, so her prognosis should be good. I’ll be back to check on her in an hour or so. You can stay ’til then.”
“Thanks.” I drag a chair over and set it next to the bed as she leaves.
I don’t know why I’m still here. I should be on the road, running north, putting as much distance between me and the Springs as possible, eliminating any chance I’ll surrender to Nicolas’s irresistible hold on me.
Yet, as I look at the girl on the bed, frail and so, so young, I realize a new hold has taken over.
But it isn’t really new. It’s some of the same feelings I have for Andrea—parental, protective—and they bring the memories of my daughter to life once again.
It’s been months since I last saw her, and the bright blue eyes of her daughter. My granddaughter. Cherub cheeks and black curls and that beautiful little baby smile.
My chest aches at the memory of that last stolen sight of them as Andrea paid for her groceries, unaware that her dead mother stood only a few feet away. And I’ll never forget that tiny face peering at me over Andrea’s shoulder, nor how her expression flickered with curiosity at the sight of the woman who looked so much like her own mother.
I would die to protect them, which is why I am half a continent away.
Because the thing I need to protect them from is me, and the ugly things living inside me.
Sandy whimpers in her sleep and I rub her hand to offer what little comfort I can.
I just want to help this poor girl, at least until she recovers. I can’t bear the thought of her being out there on the road again, a ready victim for the next monster who crosses her path.
I only hope that monster isn’t the one standing over her bed right now.
Dawn is not far off when I’m finally forced to leave. But not by the nurse, who graciously let me stay by Sandy’s side the rest of the night. It takes the threat of the rising sun to hasten my retreat from the hospital and flee for the privacy of the hotel room.
As I drive, thoughts of Nicolas shove their way back to the surface. I’d fought them off all night, focusing on the quiet beeps and lights of Sandy’s monitor any time the longing for him threatened to take over. But now, alone in the car, the urge to keep driving all the way back to the Springs hammers at my fragile resolve.
My nails dig into the steering wheel as the emptiness claws through me, followed by indecision. The freeway sign looms ahead, beckoning me south.
But it’s the sight of the sun’s glow peeking over the eastern horizon that finally gives me the strength to pass the on-ramp and speed toward the hotel.
I collapse into bed, skin crawling with the sick fear that I’m losing the battle to save what’s left of me. That it’s too late, that I’ve given too much of myself to Nicolas to ever completely win my freedom from him.
The black sleep descends over me, bringing an image of his red-laced emerald eyes, staring at me through the darkness.
WEDNESDAY
CHAPTER 7
His voice whispers words of love, and his blood within me echoes their sweet song. I reach for him and the empty space beside me in the bed shocks me awake.
My mind is flooded with memories of him—of those last days before our dream of an eternity together was reduced to nothing more than a pile of smoldering ashes. It feels as though it was just yesterday…
We stand next to his car on top of Pikes Peak, watching the sun slowly sinking through the scattered clouds toward the western horizon. It won’t be long until that bright sphere succumbs to the jagged teeth of the Rocky Mountains in the distance, their raw edges sharp and hungry.
I wait for that first touch of heaven and earth, my camera momentarily at rest. Nicolas’s arm lays lightly across my shoulders as he waits with me.
“Are you happy?” he asks, his Hungarian-accented voice low as he nuzzles my hair.
“Yes.”
Our shared blood pulses warmly within my veins, radiating love and passion and joy throughout my body.
“I know how much you miss your life out there.” Nicolas gestures toward the landscape falling away from the Peak’s edge, a complex tapestry of forested slopes and green meadows and shimmering lakes stretching as far as the eye can see.
“When I fled my Maker and his cruel ways, I headed east. I did not stop until I was somewhere deep in the wilds of the Asiatic mountains, far beyond his influence, his manipulations, and all the temptations with which he tormented me.” He takes a long breath. “This mountain, these views—they remind me of my time in those lofty peaks. It was a time of great introspection…
“My hard-won freedom was not without cost, though. I had thought my greatest challenge would be adapting to an animal diet, and though difficult at first, I succeeded in proving to myself that it is possible to survive without killing people—something that was very important to me, and still is.
“What I had not expected was the profound loneliness that accompanied my voluntary exile, that being alone brought an ache to my soul surpassing any loss or pain I had so far endured…”
Remnants of that loneliness flicker within me, calling up my own days of feeling so lonely I thought I would die. My love for him surges, and I turn to him, and he takes me into his arms, holding me as though he will never let go.
“It was the endless isolation that finally drove me back to face my Maker and assert my position in The Chosen world. For as I learned, Chosen cannot thrive in seclusion.”
He eases back, his emerald gaze glittering as he stares into my eyes.
“I understand your connection to the mountain forests and your desire to live a carefree life. Perhaps someday we can return to that life—together.
“But I do not want you to ever feel alone again, for I understand that all too well.”
He embraces me once more, and our passions rise beneath the fiery Colorado sky, and we give ourselves over to the sharing of blood and emotions and the rapture of being one.
The black emptiness where I used to feel him gapes open and I bolt out of bed to keep from getting sucked down into it. I quickly dress, grab my bag and keys, and race from the room.
It’s past noon when I get to the hospital, irritated that I didn’t wake earlier. The warm scents of the medical personnel and other visitors brush past me as I move through the hallways, and the beast awakens, rumbling with need. The hunger begins to smolder deep in my belly. Alarm rushes through me as I realize it’s only been two nights since I fed.
On a human. A human who died.
Hunting tonight is an absolute necessity if I am to maintain control.
Bypassing the elevators, I head for the hopefully empty stairway.
Sandy’s asleep when I ease into her room. She’s still hooked up to the monitor and I.V. Other than the bruise covering half her face, her skin is as pale as mine, though without the translucence that marks my kind.
Stupid kid. Her toughness nearly caused her to die.
Just like me, when I was foolish enough to take on a hungry bear.
Shaking my head, I move her ba
ckpack from the chair I’d left it in earlier and sit down. I watch her soft breathing and marvel over the connections we seem to have. I’m puzzled that the beast has had no desire for her blood, not even when I was wearing it.
After a little while, I remember her photo album and get it out of the pack. I open it and slowly turn the pages of her life.
It seems every few years there’s a new family in the photos—a total of nine different groups of people. That’s an average of two years with each one. No wonder she feels estranged, like she doesn’t belong. I can see how her disease would make her feel even more different.
And the whole empathy thing. It kind of seems like it’s real. She sure had me pegged.
I look at the last few photos and Sandy’s alone in them. I can see the alienation in her expressions and the loneliness shining from her green eyes.
Poor kid.
“Hey. You’re back,” her voice whispers from the bed. “The nurses said you were here all night.”
“How are you feeling?” I ask, shoving the album into her backpack.
“More like I was hit by a truck than a trucker.”
I smile and shake my head, glad her sense of humor’s intact. But she still sounds a little groggy, probably from the anesthesia.
“I’m really thirsty.” Sandy clears her throat. “Can I have some water?”
She watches while I grab the pitcher from her bedside tray and fill the empty cup, then hand it to her.
“Thank you.” After taking a small sip through the straw, she sets the cup on the tray. “This really blows,” she mutters, scratching at the I.V. tape on the back of her hand.
“Yeah, it does. Why didn’t you say something? You gave me quite a scare.”
She stares at her hand.
“I’m sorry. You’ve been so nice to me. I… I didn’t want to cause you any hassles. I thought maybe I’d just cracked a rib or something, and all I needed to do was tough it out.” Sandy frowns. “Guess I was wrong.”
“Almost dead wrong.”
“Maybe so,” she whispers. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.
“Thanks for bringing in my backpack. I’m glad you found my med bracelet.”
“Why weren’t you wearing it?”
A shrug is all she gives me as her gaze shifts back to her hand.
“People always want to know what it is, what’s wrong with me. They look at me like I’m a freak. It’s none of their damn business.”
That’s a pretty foolish stance when you can bleed to death from a simple injury.
My struggle for an appropriate response that doesn’t sound like a reprimand is interrupted by the sound of footsteps entering the room. The nurse glances at me as she stops next to Sandy’s bed.
She’s way too close for my liking and I scramble out of the chair and step across the room.
But the beast does nothing. Just silently watches.
Its lack of reaction to her is very strange considering its earlier behavior.
“How are you feeling this afternoon, Sandy?” She checks the monitor, then types on the computer next to it.
“Sore.”
“It’s about time for your pain med. I’ll be back with it in ten minutes or so, which is also when you’re due for another walk. Okay?”
“Ugh. Okay.”
The nurse smiles at Sandy, then moves past me and out the door.
“Oh, Sunny! Can you catch her? I’d like some ice for my water. It’s gross when it’s warm.”
I hurry after the nurse, and I’m just a few yards from her when all hell breaks loose inside me.
The beast roars, preparing to pounce. Caught off guard, I slam to a halt, then crush myself against the wall and turn my face toward the floor, my vision shaded in pink.
Holy crap.
My body’s strung tight, ready to leap upon anything that moves. Choking back the fires of hunger, I compel myself to take long, deep breaths and slowly regain control over the maddened creature. The coiled fibers in my muscles grudgingly relax.
What the hell?
The nurse is long gone by the time I feel brave enough to move. I make my way back to Sandy’s room, shaken by the sudden unpredictability of the beast.
“You’ll… you’ll have to ask her for the ice when she comes back.”
“No biggie…” Sandy peers more closely at me. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Which is actually the truth. The last of the tension melts away and the beast quietly curls up and goes to sleep.
This is too weird.
I force a smile and change the subject.
“So, what’s this about a walk? They let you out of bed already?”
Sandy giggles.
“Yeah. Guess they shot air in my gut to do the surgery, and now I have to fart it out. By walking. It really stinks, too.”
I can’t help but chuckle.
“Hey, wanna see my incisions?” She lifts up her gown.
Three small bandages trace a curve along the bottom of her ribcage. A fourth covers her belly button. She peels this one back.
Just below her navel, a small, pink cut is held together with several neatly tied sutures.
“This is where they pumped in the gas, like blowing up a balloon. Look how bloated I am! I feel like I swallowed a basketball! Freaky, huh? My doctor—he’s pretty hot for an old guy—told me this morning that they did a lapascopy or leperscopy or something like that and used a tiny camera to look around in there. I don’t remember what the other holes were for. Fixing my bleed, I guess.”
“Do they hurt?”
“Naw, not much. But my whole belly’s really sore. And my shoulder’s killing me. The nurse said that’s from the gas, too. That’s just weird.”
“How long do you have to stay in the hospital?”
“Doc said a couple days, mostly cuz of my VWD.”
“VWD?”
“Von Willebrand disease. He just wants to be sure I don’t get any more bleeds.”
I nod, then tense as footsteps once again enter the room. Panic shoots through me at the sight of the nurse walking back in.
But the beast just calmly watches her, bearing no sign of its earlier aggression.
“Hi, Sandy. Ready for your walk?”
“Not really.”
That’s my cue to exit. Need to get out of here before my inner Jekyll morphs into Hyde again.
“I’m going to take off. I’ll be back in a little while. Can I bring you anything?”
“A book would be great. I’m not picky, but I do like horror.”
Ugh. Horror is my life. That’s the last thing I’d want to read.
“I’ll see what I can find.” I grab my bag from the table.
“Bye.” Her plaintive tone makes me feel like I should give her a hug or something, but that’s more than I can deal with at the moment.
Instead, I reach out and give her hand a gentle squeeze, then hightail it out of the room for the familiar safety of my self-imposed solitude.
Back at the hotel, I call the desk clerk to let him know I’ll be keeping my room for a few more days, but will be checking out of Sandy’s later today.
But first I have a little cleanup to do.
I head back upstairs and open her door. The smell of dried blood floats through the air as I walk into the bathroom.
Yet again, the beast is strangely quiet. I pick up a bloody towel from the bathtub and, bringing it close to my nose, breathe in slowly. Still no reaction. I sniff again, and notice something odd about the way it smells. It’s somehow different from other human blood I’ve smelled. Not that I’ve spent any time just smelling human blood, but I’m always aware of its delicious scent, both in and out of the body.
I search through the bloody pile and find one on the bottom that’s still damp. Same thing. Th
e oddness of the scent is more pronounced now, or maybe I’m becoming more attuned to it.
Very interesting.
It’s also interesting that there’s still no response from the beast, in spite of how it reacted to the nurse earlier.
I’m tempted to taste the blood, to see if it tastes as different as it smells. But that would probably be pushing things a little too far. That could not only trigger the hunger, but could trigger it for her blood.
Not a good thing for either one of us.
Collecting the red-stained towels, I put them in a plastic bag from the garbage and tie it shut. I set it by the door, then gather up the bags and packages from our shopping spree.
Regret lances through me as I acknowledge my selfishness. I had encouraged her to shop, feeding off her delight as she freely spent money like she never had before. Instead I should have been noticing that things weren’t quite right with her. I should have insisted on taking her to the doctor sooner.
I could’ve… I could’ve even given her some of my blood. Maybe it would’ve healed her, like Nicolas’s did for me after the bear attack.
But part of me shrinks back from that idea in horror, remembering that’s how The Chosen control their human donors.
I would not want that, and neither would she. It would be better to die.
CHAPTER 8
With flowers and my bag in hand, I keep my gaze fastened to the floor ahead of me on the way to Sandy’s room. Thankfully, the beast had remained quiet—though vigilant—while I was in the store. I’m starting to think being in the hospital, where blood molecules float freely in the air, is making the beast more psychotic than usual.
I walk into Sandy’s room. It takes me a second to realize the patient in the bed is not her.
Oh no.
Fear flashes down my spine as I turn and nearly run to the nurse’s station.
“Sandy. The girl with von Willebrand’s. What happened to her?”
The nurse shrinks back and stutters, “Uh, calm down, ma’am. She’s just been moved to another room.”
