by Eva Muñoz
“What’s in it for me? What do I get out of helping you?” I countered. I sounded selfish, but I needed to have an idea of what I was getting myself into before I agreed to anything.
“You’ll become one of a chosen few who knows what we really are,” he said.
Zaire’s words in the library pinged inside me. The hairs on my arms rose.
“You’re going to tell me what you are?” I asked.
A ray of hope shone in Gaige’s eyes when he said, “Better yet, you get to live with us for a while.”
“But wouldn’t that be dangerous for me?”
Color drained from his face. “Never mind that for now. You wouldn’t believe me anyway if I explained everything right at this moment.” Gaige shook his head. “Are you going to help or not?”
“Why is it I don’t seem to have a choice in this matter?”
“I read your file.”
Anger sparked in me. “You what?”
“It says there that your mother died of an unknown disease, that the doctors couldn’t do anything for her. There are notes in your file that show how desperate you were to find a cure to save her. Camron, without your help, my people will surely die. We’re sick—like your mother, we need a cure. And I’m on the verge of discovering one, but I need a human to help.”
Memories of my mother surfaced from the depths of my subconscious. Her frail body bogged down by so many life-support tubes. Her translucent skin. Her perpetual state of slumber. She wasted away, until nothing of her remained. Emptiness ate at the edges of my consciousness every time I remembered her.
If I could have done anything to save my mother, I would have. Now here was Gaige, desperate to save his people—a race so secretive no one but a select few knew of their existence. He was giving me an opportunity to make a difference.
I didn’t know him well, but I felt a strong urge to say yes to his request. My father, when he still loved me, taught me to be selfless. Would he respect me if I agreed to Gaige’s request? I shook my head. That was the wrong question to ask. Help should be given freely and unconditionally, my father told me once.
“What do I have to do?” I asked.
Gaige’s face relaxed into a smile. He pulled out a hypodermic needle from the pocket of his lab coat and pulled off the safety cap. He grabbed my wrist so fast I didn’t have time to struggle before he plunged the needle into my arm. The pain came in an instant. First the prick, then the needle’s contents emptying into my arm. It felt like oil going in, thick and dreadfully torturous. Gaige pulled the needle out and let go of my arm. I curled into a fetal position.
The pain pulsed. It traversed my entire body.
I screamed.
“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“It hurts!” I howled at him. “What did you inject me with?”
“Here, Camron.” Gaige shoved a rolled-up face towel into my mouth.
I groaned, attempting to spit out the thick cloth.
“It’s so you don’t bite off your….”
The rest of his words were lost to me as my eyes rolled into the back of my head.
Chapter Seven: Hunger
A FEW years ago, I had contracted meningitis. I woke up one morning feeling like my head was about to explode. My mother found me groaning in bed. I blacked out from all the heat and pain because the next time I opened my eyes I was already at the hospital.
In the darkness I now felt the same heat and pain. I had lava in my veins. A massive headache had my brain in its clutches and refused to let go. My heart pumped fire all over my body. My stomach roiled, its contents an angry sea attempting to escape. I wanted to scream except my mouth wouldn’t open, seemingly sewn shut by barbwire.
“Camron,” a deep voice whispered.
My eyes scanned the inky blackness. What I wouldn’t give for a slasher-movie scream in that moment.
“Open your eyes, Camron.”
My eyelids fluttered. I blinked to clear my vision. A canopy of gauzy fabric loomed above me. My agony receded in degrees. It started in my head and drained from my body like a bucket of scalding water with a hole at the bottom. Every breath eased the soreness until none remained.
After a moment of disorientation, I realized I lay on a large four-poster. I tried to remember what had happened. Images fragmented in my brain too fast for me to piece the puzzle together. I let my gaze roam until they landed on familiar onyx eyes, severe in their scrutiny.
Troyan sat facing me on the bed, minus his blazer and cravat, leaving only his billowy silk shirt loosened at the collar. He leaned closer, maintaining a granite expression.
My stare settled on the exposed flesh of his neck. Saliva filled my mouth and my stomach churned. I lifted my arms and sat up, like a corpse rising from a coffin. He froze, his eyes alert, his muscles tense. I swallowed and ran the tip of my tongue over my bottom lip. I could almost taste him. On impulse, I wrapped my arms around his neck and touched the corner of his jaw with my lips.
Troyan’s quick inhale excited me. Anticipation curled my toes. A hunger so deep, so encompassing pushed away any logical thoughts. My entire existence revolved around a need I couldn’t quite understand.
Like obedient prey, Troyan remained still. Not pushing me away even though he certainly could. A purr rolled up my throat. I wanted more, so down his neckline I went until I reached the juncture where his neck ended and his shoulder began. I slid his collar away to reveal the broad expanse of his shoulder. I nuzzled him, appreciating the scent of his skin.
Troyan smelled of morning dew on a spring day. Lovely. Fresh. Absolutely delectable.
My lips parted. My teeth grazed his skin, traveling across the width of his neck. He trembled. A moan of pure pleasure escaped my lips. I swirled my tongue on his exposed flesh, teasing and tasting. Then I bit down like I would with an apple. The muscle on his shoulder twitched. A sudden rush of euphoria filled my body, reinforcing the pleasure brought on by the contact my teeth made on his skin. Heat pooled in my belly, causing me to squirm. I wanted to get closer. I needed a connection. The act of biting him brought a kind of high I’d never experienced before. It was the weightlessness just as a roller coaster took the plunge off the first climb.
Overwhelming lust, longing, and desire boiled below the surface of my skin. It scared me.
Like a rubber band snapping, my mounting fear broke the heat-filled intoxication that allowed me to take pleasure in biting Troyan. Dread, black as tar, engulfed me. I jerked away from him. My shoulders slammed against the headboard. The sting of the impact jarred my senses to reality.
I had bitten Troyan.
Not to draw blood or to feed. It was more an act of claiming, of possession. I covered my mouth with the back of my hand as drool trickled from my lips down my chin. I whimpered in disgust and hastily swiped at the damp trail.
“I….” I swallowed the next wave of saliva. “I didn’t mean to.”
A pink crescent-shaped mark rose on Troyan’s flawless skin before he readjusted his shirt to hide the evidence of my bite. His eyes seized mine completely, for the first time showing real emotion. I saw hunger and it called to me, begged me to continue what I had forced myself to stop doing.
My stomach rumbled like I wanted to throw up. A deep part of me felt frustrated, like I just deprived myself of an essential part of living—something that wanted release. Troyan broke eye contact first and reached for something that resembled a square of white tofu from a bowl on a side table. He lifted it to my mouth.
“Here, this will help,” he said.
I turned away.
“You must be starving.”
As if in response to his words, my stomach consumed itself.
“Come on, Camron. Eat this and the discomfort will ease. Trust me.”
I turned to Troyan and considered the perfect planes and angles of his face. He sounded almost gentle. Unlike the forceful, bossy robot I met a few nights ago. Tentative yet tempted, I parted my lips and let him place the white
cube on my tongue. It tasted like sweet yogurt, and when I found the courage to chew, a squid-like texture presented itself—rubbery, but not tough.
“More,” I begged after I swallowed.
Piece by piece, Troyan fed me. In my appetite for more, I reached out for the cubes. I wanted to stuff the cubes into my mouth like popcorn. He grabbed the bowl and held it out of my reach. I scrambled forward, and he settled me into a seated position by pushing down on my shoulder.
“Let me feed you,” he said.
“Or what?” I blurted out. My anger over Troyan withholding food was completely irrational, but I couldn’t stop even if I gagged myself. “You’ll have me drugged and expelled? How did that work for you the last time?”
“I will not apologize for something I thought was the best course of action.” Troyan frowned. “If I let you eat on your own, you will end up overeating and make yourself sick.”
He deflated my anger. I crossed my arms and glared at him. He met my stare with a patient one of his own. When I no longer moved to take the cubes from him, he returned the bowl to the nightstand. I considered his point. The cubes seemed to stifle the hunger, but not completely satisfy it.
“What are they anyway? Some kind of flavored tofu?” I asked.
“Not exactly.” He took a silver goblet that sat beside the bowl and handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“Spring water.”
I sniffed the clear liquid before taking a sip. What little passed my lips tasted harmless enough. I took a bigger gulp to wash down the sour aftertaste of the cubes. As the cool liquid slid down my throat, memories of the nurse’s office resurfaced.
“Gaige,” I growled.
Troyan wrenched the goblet from my shaking hand.
I blinked at the now crumpled metal. “That was straight, right?”
“Yes.”
The goblet’s stem was now bent, with four distinct grooves. I looked at my hand and curled my fingers. “I did that?”
He nodded and twisted away.
“What happened to me?”
“You should get dressed,” he said.
I wondered what he’d meant and glanced down. The blanket previously covering me had pooled around my waist. I sat there bare-chested. My cheeks burned. I hastily covered myself with the blanket.
“Where’s my uniform?” I asked.
Troyan stood and tugged at a cord hanging from the ceiling.
A woman in a french maid’s uniform entered the room. Her hair, in a tight french braid, matched her gray eyes, but she appeared no older than twenty. She placed her hand at the center of her chest and bowed. Troyan inclined his head. She straightened and went to the large armoire on the other side of the room. Having someone else in the room eased my nerves. I felt less insecure. But still wary.
I eyed her skeptically. “What’s she doing here?” Okay, that came out a little rude. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I mean, why is she here?” Okay, still too rude.
“Her name is Desra,” Troyan said, gesturing to the woman. “She is here to help you get dressed.”
I gathered the blanket around me and slid off the bed.
Troyan strode to the door. “Oh, before I forget—she can’t speak.”
“Why?”
No one answered.
My gaze went from Desra to Troyan. I watched the door close behind him. A nip of loneliness caught me off guard.
In an effort to keep myself from calling him to come back, I returned my attention to Desra. Every detail in the lace trimming of her apron jumped out at me. The clarity almost sent me stumbling back. A few days ago, I thought I needed glasses. Now, I had eyes like a hawk.
The cloying scent of lavender on her skin stung my nostrils. I stifled a sneeze by lifting the blanket to my nose. The crispness of thousand-thread-count cotton saturated each inhale. I tilted my head and heard Troyan’s steady breathing outside the room. And if I concentrated hard enough, I could even hear his heartbeat. And no matter how silently Desra moved, I still made out her shuffling.
In my struggle to figure things out, I didn’t notice Desra glide toward me. She grabbed an end of the blanket and tugged, startling me out of my internal debate.
“Hey!” I yelled, slapping her hand away. I gripped the blanket tighter around my body.
Even when alarmed, Desra made no sound. She just stared at me wide-eyed.
“Let her dress you, Camron.” Troyan’s muffled voice came from behind the door.
“I can dress myself,” I barked back.
“I do not think so. You need someone to help you.”
“Then return my uniform! And where’s my phone?”
“Stop fussing or I will command Desra to forcibly get you into those clothes.”
I gaped. The stern quality in his voice convinced me he’d make good on his threat. I glanced at Desra, who nodded and handed me a pair of midnight-blue trousers. I glimpsed a hint of compromise in her eyes. Defeated, I let the blanket fall to the floor. Thank goodness I still had my boxers on.
I sat on the edge of the bed and tugged on the baggy pants. “So, you really can’t speak?”
Desra smiled.
“I guess it’s useless to ask you why?”
She pointed at the door.
My gaze fell.
A finger tilted my face upward. Gray concerned eyes met mine. The corners of Desra’s lips curved up. My own attempts at a smile faltered. I was more confused than afraid at this point. Gaige made good on his promise to reveal his world to me. I stood in the middle of it now.
Moving away, Desra grabbed the shirt hanging from a chair. I spread my arms and allowed her to dress me. She tied the cravat expertly, her fingers fast and nimble. I didn’t know how the voluminous sleeves of the shirt actually managed to fit the jacket, but they did. The last were the knee-high boots, which Desra zipped with quick efficiency.
Desra beamed at the final product. She led me to the vanity, sat me down on the cushioned stool, and picked up a brush. I suffered her tugs on my suddenly rich chocolate hair, mesmerized by my reflection. Gone was the dull brown. My face didn’t seem to have pores anymore. My lips were pink and smooth. And my eye color matched my hair. Behind their hazel specks was a vibrant sparkle. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I actually looked good, no longer plain. How was that possible?
Panic erupted like a volcano in my chest. Every breath became shallower until finally I screamed. The door slammed against the wall, barely staying on its hinges. Troyan’s towering form filled its frame. In her surprise Desra fled the room quicker than a discovered thief.
“What happened?” Troyan asked after stepping out of Desra’s way.
With deliberate care I stood up and faced Troyan. My fury expanded like a balloon filling with water.
I bared my teeth and said, “What happened to me?”
“Only Gaige can fully explain,” he answered.
The last of my control snapped. I moved closer to Troyan, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My muscles coiled as I raised my hands to his chest and shoved. Hard. An animalistic snarl escaped my throat.
Troyan slammed into the wall. His head smacked into it and sent a hairline crack running up to the marble ceiling. With preternatural speed, he flung himself at me until I hit the opposite wall. He secured my wrists above my head with powerful hands. His lips twisted into a grin I’d never thought him capable of.
I opened my mouth to speak but was interrupted by Troyan’s searing kiss. I moaned my surprise. I felt every nuance of Troyan’s lips on mine. The soft friction from each touch sent tingles rushing through me like sparks. In an instant I lost track of what I wanted to say. He tilted his head to the side and brought the kiss to a new level of perfection. I wanted more and more until I drowned in it. In no time Troyan became my anchor, my legs refusing to carry my weight any longer.
He groaned. Its intensity stirred a need in me different from the gnawing agony I’d gone through earlier. No end came to the diz
zying heat that swirled in me. Wave after wave of delicious sensation washed over my body. When Troyan finally broke the kiss, I gasped. He stared at me with unfocused eyes. If he let go of my wrists, I’d snake my hands around his neck and force him to continue where he’d left off.
“Why is this happening?” I said, thumping my head on the wall in an effort to clear it. The kiss had ignited a yearning that scared me.
“Camron.” Troyan closed his eyes and breathed. “Shut up for a second, will you?”
“Why? I’m the one disturbed by what just happened. You kissed me.”
“I said shut up. I need to think.”
I had participated in my share of make-out sessions before. Some messy. Some sweet. Some utter disasters. But in all my encounters, feelings never entered the picture. I kissed someone because I wanted to. Because I let them kiss me. Unlike those occasions, I had no control here. Troyan had taken without mercy. Yet he actually left me wanting more.
“You’re smart,” he said, interrupting my attempt to make sense of it all. “You would not have been accepted into Braylin if you did not have the academics. But, no matter how much I think about it, I cannot fathom what possessed you to say yes to Gaige’s harebrained experiment.”
I shrugged. I didn’t want to get into the real reason. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Clearly, you were not thinking of the consequences.”
“He put together a really convincing case,” I admitted. “But I didn’t think he’d inject me with… whatever it was. I thought all he needed was my blood or something.”
He leaned farther away without letting my wrists go. The hard line of his mouth spoke of control, but his eyes showed no signs of regret. The passion within those irises sent delectable quivers through me.
“If I let you go, will you promise not to attack me again?” he asked.
No chance of that happening now. My body felt too limp to even call up the anger, so I nodded. More space between us meant the possibility of thinking straight.
Troyan moved to the other side of the room and tangled his fingers in his hair, betraying his agitation.
