by D. D. Miers
“You were covered in blood when we found you. You didn’t do anything crazy and try to take the blood bags from him, did you?” Jackson scribbles a note in his notebook and I’m tempted to peer over and see what he’s writing. Probably something along the lines like, Sounds crazy. Should institutionalize. Remember to bring her good reading material when I visit.
“No, when I saw him—saw what he had done—I ran. I tried to get away, but he followed me.” I rub at my head as the details blur together. “He looked crazy so I grabbed a scalpel and tried to move toward the exit to get some help from security.” I gesture to myself. “What about me tells you I can take on a linebacker-sized thief?”
Jackson chuckles. “No, you’re petite. However, adrenaline does funny things to people. So, he was tall?”
“Yes, tall, light hair I think. You know how the lights in the lab have a bluish-tint to them so it could have been darker. I’m just not sure.”
“What else?”
I twist the hospital bracelet on my wrist, struggling to remember any of the finer details. “What else do you need to know?”
“What happened next?”
“I remember running from him and yelling for security and then I think he grabbed me.” I touch my shoulder, wincing when I encounter a tender spot. “After that, I don’t remember anything. I woke up here.” I shrug, pretending I’m not overly concerned at my memory loss. It’s an icky sensation, like I’m covered in oil and can’t get clean.
“Can you describe the attacker more?”
“Don’t you have facial recognition for this kinda stuff?” I eye him closely as he frowns at me. “Jackson. Don’t bullshit me. Do you think I did this?” I ask again. If the cops think I’m guilty, I’ll probably need a lawyer or something. Or will that make them think I’m guilty? I need to stop watching crime shows.
“I’m just trying to understand what happened, so I can get this bastard who did this to you,” Jackson answers, his tone harsh.
He didn’t confirm or deny my question. What the fuck. “How about you get the security footage from the security desk and watch for yourself? It’s got to be more accurate than my memory at the moment.” Dick. I don’t say the last part aloud but I’m sure my tone said it for me. Jackson is usually so even keeled. It’s not like him to snap at me. I’ve only seen him angry a handful of times in the years we’ve known each other, each time in defense of someone else.
Jackson taps his pen against his notebook and smiles tightly at me. Alrighty then. Be stubborn. Answer the official cop questions and don’t ask questions of my own. Easier said than done.
I repeat what I said earlier. “He was tall, had blond hair . . .” I rack my brain for any other small details I can give him. “Oh! He had silver-colored eyes.”
Jackson leans forward. “Anything else?”
“Sorry, I was a little busy running for my life,” I say in frustration.
Jackson raises a brow but stays calm, and I run a hand over my face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“I know. I get that it’s hard, and everyone reacts to stress differently.” He scratches at his stubbled chin. “I’m stressed out, too. I’m mad that I couldn’t meet with you last night to study and had to be on duty.”
Stress. Yeah, that’s it. I’m stressed out. More like I’m freaked-the-fuck out. I can’t tell him the last part. He’d never let me go anywhere else by myself again. He’s like an overprotective big brother. With a badge. “It’s not your fault, Jackson. You know that. You have to work to pay bills.”
The last part that’s poking at my memory with a sharp stick. His teeth, Sasha. His freaking teeth.
I shove the memory back. It has to be something I was hallucinating. “He must have knocked me out before leaving. I really can’t remember anything else.”
“You’re lucky to be alive. His other victims will have to be identified by dental records.” Jackson’s mouth forms a grim line and I grip fistfuls of the sheets in my hands. If he is hoping to frighten me further, he’s succeeding.
“I get it. Be careful. Carry my mace.”
The nurse bustles in and I’m grateful for the intrusion. She introduces herself as she checks all the monitors I’m hooked up into. She clucks and takes notes, preventing me from responding to Jackson’s statement about the others. “How do you feel, doll?” She runs her palm over my forehead and her soft hands bring me a moment of comfort I didn’t know I needed.
“Like I got hit by a Mack truck.” And then that truck reversed over me and hit me again.
“You’re pretty banged up. You’ve got some pretty colored bruises on your abdomen and the doc was worried about a concussion. Any blurry vision or trouble remembering things?” She holds my hand in hers and squeezes my fingers gently.
“Yeah, I can’t remember a lot from last night.” I huff and gesture to Jackson. “I gave him all the details I could remember before it’s all blank.”
“That’s okay. It might come back, it might not. The brain deals with trauma the best way it knows how. Sometimes that’s by hiding it.” She smiles softly at me and gently squeezes my shoulder. “Do you need to use the restroom? Need any help?”
“I think I’ve got it. Do I have to keep this thing in me?” I point at the IV in my hand.
“For now, keep it in. I know it doesn’t make moving easy, but it will help you. I’ll go get you some sweatpants and a T-shirt so you can change into something other than this gown. Be right back.” She leaves the room and I watch her go, wishing she’d come back and tell me everything is going to be okay. I’d never had a mother figure, and foster parents were either in it to collect a check or focused on the younger kids.
“Can you uncuff me so I can use the restroom?” I jostle the handcuff, making the metal clang.
“Yeah, here.” Jackson pulls a key out of one of the pouches on his belt and with two clicks, the cuff falls off.
“Thanks,” I say as I flip the covers off and rub at my wrist.
“Whatever happened to ‘innocent until proven guilty’?” I ask, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, letting out a hiss of pain at the movement.
“Wait, let me help.” Jackson walks forward, but I hold up a hand.
“I’ve got it.” I use the small stand next to the bed as leverage to pull myself into a standing position. I hunch over when I stretch my torso too far and wince. My ribs burn like they’re on fire. I pull back the gown and eye the bruising at my hip. Jesus Christ. This guy really got me.
You’re lucky to be alive. Jackson’s words replay in my mind and I shudder.
“You aren’t considered guilty, Sasha. But the circumstances leave a lot to the unknown.” He closes his notebook, then adds, “And there are families who need answers.”
As if I didn’t feel shitty enough, now the guilt of surviving needles at my stomach, making me nauseous.
I head to the bathroom door, walking slowly, an arm around my ribs so I can breathe without passing out, dragging the stupid IV stand with me. “I’m going to shut the door behind me for some privacy. Is that allowed?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Jackson asks.
“I don’t know, I’m just being a smart-ass. I gave you my statement, and I’m not sure why you’re still here.” Oh, and you think I killed all those people with my bare hands.
“I’m here to keep you safe. I requested this detail. We don’t know who did this yet, so we’re being cautious.”
Yes, all for caution. I refrain from rolling my eyes. Overbearing, big-brother type is more like it. I shut the door behind me and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My face is puffy and swollen, and my eye is a lovely shade of purple. I’ve got a bandage on one side of my neck, angry red handprints on the other. Fucking A. How the hell am I not dead right now? I shiver, fear chilling my body rather than the air blasting from the vents.
The nurse knocks on the door and I open it for her, thanking her for the change of clot
hes. I flip the lock behind her and quickly strip, doing my best to ignore the battered girl in the mirror. The pants are baggy, and the shirt almost reaches my knees, but it’s warm and not a flimsy hospital gown. I can’t complain.
The lights go out, and shouts of shock and confusion reach my ears through the thick door.
“Sasha, are you okay in there?” Jackson yells.
“I’m okay. I just can’t see anything.”
“Someone must have hit a telephone pole or something. Emergency lights should click on in a second. Stay put, I’ll be right back.”
Moments later, dim lights click on and I see far enough in front of me to unlock the door and open it. The hallway is lit up red from the exit signs. The color paints a grim haze over the room, and I clench my fists to stay calm. The power will be back on soon. Nothing to worry about.
I scan the hallway through the glass walls of my room and watch as a large figure approaches. I heave a sigh of relief. It’s just Jackson.
“Hey, did they say how long it will be until the pow—”
My hand flies to my throat in shock as the words die on my tongue.
The man in front of me isn’t Jackson.
Continue Reading Sasha’s Story in Girl, Bitten (Girl, Vampire Book One)! A completed three book series, free on Kindle Unlimited!
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Thank you so much for taking the time to read Curse of Iron. We hope you enjoyed reading about Morgan!
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Stay Wicked,
Graceley & Dee
Also by Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers
The Girl, Vampire Series
1. Girl, Bitten
2. Girl, Forsaken
3. Girl, Immortal
How to Be A Necromancer
1. Grave Promise
2. Grave Debt
3. Grave Mistake
4. Grave Magic (Coming Soon!)
The Kresova Vampire Harems: Aurora
1. Thirst
2. Tempt
3. Turn
All in One: Aurora
The Kresova Vampire Harems: Lyra
1. Favor
2. Fury
Alana Creed: Timejumper
1. Fae Kissed
By D.D. Miers
The Relic Keeper Series
1. Dark Summoner
2. Dark Illusions
3. Dark Secrets (Coming Soon!)
4. Dark Destiny (Coming Soon!)
The Lace Revolver Chronicles
1. Slayer in Lace
Standalones:
City of Shadows: The Dark Fae Hollows
By Graceley Knox
The Wicked Kingdoms Series:
1. Mark of Truth
2. Crown of Betrayal
3. Throne of Secrets
4. Castle of Illusions
The Dragon Stone Saga:
1. Kiss of Frost
2. Up in Smoke (Coming Soon)
3. Shake the Ground (Coming Soon)
About the Authors
USA Today bestselling authors, Graceley Knox and D.D. Miers may be long-lost sisters, but their moms continue to deny it. They are most definitely the co-writers of the Kresova Vampire Harem series, as well as a multitude of other upcoming projects they can't wait to share with readers.
Together they tend to share the same brain, finish each other's thoughts, laugh way too hard at inappropriate comments, drink enough coffee to qualify for an intervention, and talk about their fur babies. When they're not chatting, which is always, they can be found all over social media hanging out with their author friends and readers!
Visit them at www.knoxandmiers.com
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