I awoke in some bed, my wrists restrained by spiked cuffs. Refusing to open my eyes or move, I focused on absorbing every detail of my surroundings. The air carried the scent of passionfruit mingled with the unmistakable odor of drugs, vervain, and pain. Silence enveloped the room, showing no imminent footsteps approaching. So I was in the same room with my pack, and I could also smell Adam's pear and the sharp lime of Samuel.
I struggled to maintain a steady pulse, but the relentless dripping of drugs into my veins only quickened my heartbeat. Despite being heavily drugged, panic bubbled within me, refusing to be quelled. I still have problems with drips and injections, and this has not helped at all.
Damon's voice echoed in my mind, weary and strained. "Oh, you're awake. We're at the medical facility. They've done a number on you. We've been here for four days, and you were just brought in. Are you in pain, baby?"
Unbeknownst to me, the potent scent of vervain in the air told me clearly that Damon was in trouble, too. He sounded way too weak.
Determined not to be imprisoned for long, I replied mentally, "I'm fine, Salvatore. I won't stay here for too long. I am trying to get my rage out and get us free at some point. But first, tell me, what's the situation with Adam and Samuel?"
As I focused on channeling my rage, I knew it would help burn off the drugs coursing through my veins so that if they didn't directly affect me. My rage was key to getting free, but I was drugged up to my eyeballs, so this was not a straightforward task, not at all.
Damon's voice echoed in the sterile room, drowned out by the relentless hum of fluorescent lights. " Adam and Samuel are the same way as me, baby, too drugged that it is hard to stay awake. I have vervain. I guess those two are getting some pretty strong aconitum."
Every inch of my body ached, my stomach throbbing with sharp pain. I felt the uncomfortable tingle of stitches, a grim reminder of the severity of this situation; I wasn't healing, so this had been quite a strain for me. The room was filled with my pack, Adam and Samuel, motionless and weakened, their presence adding to my confusion and fear.
My fear of all things medical didn't help at all, as it took my ability to think logically and clearly. All I could hear was drugs dripping in my veins, and my half-panicked state drugged heavily, didn't do any favors for me in order to get my rage out.
I wondered who had captured us, how they had found us, and if I was their prime target or just a part of the pack. The shiny floor was like in a hospital. The first hint was that maybe this wasn't any shady facility but one with decent property, an actual hospital kind of place. The brown, poor-quality curtains on the windows revealed that this was not an abandoned factory but a place with a purpose—hint number two. I tried to focus on these things and collect information about my surroundings in order to push my ever-increasing panic to the back of my mind.
I cursed silently, frustrated at my sudden weakness, but determined to fight back. I struggled against the spikes of the shackles, digging into my wrists, the pain keeping me alert. I focused on trying to move, but my legs were bound, limiting my mobility.
Damon, once vibrant and strong, now appeared pale and sickly. The scent of vervain and aconitum filled the air, overpowering his weakened breaths. He fought to stay awake, his breathing shallow and labored. I noticed the faint smell of campfire smoke clinging to him, evidence of his blood being drained and his insatiable blood thirst. They wanted to keep him weak.
Damon's voice broke the silence. "Baby, please, you have a belly full of stitches. Try to take it easy and not aggravate that stitched belly of yours."
I acknowledged his concern, my immortality providing a slight comfort amidst the chaos. "I am fine, remember, I am unkillable, and I want to get out of here. So Pain is for tolerating."
Damon groaned, attempting to wet his parched mouth, but succumbed to unconsciousness. The feeble rhythm of his pulse echoed in my ears, fueling my determination to save our pack. I knew that my blood would be the one that helped everyone, but first, I needed to get free. And that is difficult. I felt my thoughts were spinning the same merry-go-round, and I just couldn't focus as well as I should have in order for my escape to be successful.
Adam and Samuel lay in a deep sleep, their barely audible pulses flooding my veins with adrenaline as I desperately searched for a way to free us all. Mimosa and Mirella were both in a deep sleep and were of no help. It's okay.
I closed my eyes and concentrated. I tried to concentrate on finding my rage; it wasn't easy at all, but I tried. Being drugged as well as I was, so fishing rage out of the well and controlling it was another story altogether.
I didn't want to go on a rampage and maim everyone to death. Not yet, anyway, and I realized I had some inner need to protect people. That's why I made my network: to help and save.
I chuckled in my mind when I realized that I actually wanted to protect these satans that had us trapped. Oh, if Bran could see me now, I'm not some rabid beast that wants to kill everyone, not even close..
I concentrated on my left wrist and tried to twist and turn it in the shackle; soon, my hand was wet with blood.
The smell of blood woke Damon back up; he said, "Baby, please, don't mutilate yourself; you'll only hurt yourself, and you won't get out."
I said, " Pain is for tolerating, besides I'm trying to get my rage out so I can get off these drugs and get something done."
Damon just grunted in response. I could feel his helplessness and frustration through our bond and tried to send anger and rage if it would cheer him up at all.
Damon laughed and said in my head, " You're quite a case. You're not a victim at all, I can tell you that."
I grunted in reply and tried to concentrate.
The room was silent. My grunts and my voice were the only sounds in the air. The men's breathing was muffled and slow. But with determination and perseverance, I tried to make something happen.
I also found that some drugs for me and the men were being given to me by an infusion pump, and I knew that when the drugs ran out, someone would find out and either come and change the bag or take them away, so my time to act was limited.
"Oh, I liked the challenge, and I liked it very much." I thought very sarcastically when I noticed that complication.
I had lost weight when I looked at myself. It's amazing how fast I lose weight. Well, of course, my metabolism is now, according latest test, about 8-16 times faster than a human, so calories are burned, and if I don't get food for days and I'm still being dissected and my body is stressed to the point of not healing, it's no wonder I was losing weight.
It was frustrated to Samuel, my basic metabolism was getting faster as I was in better shape. According to Damon, it was part of my evolution. It had been from start about 3-5 times faster than humans and over the years it had just gotten faster, my being vampire had given some extra boost to it.
The stitches tightened and pricked disgustingly as I tried to concentrate on still getting my left hand free from the tight grip of the shackle. My joints were flexible, and I was very supple, anyway. I felt my hand move slightly again as the spikes were now biting into the back of my hand and I could feel the blood still flowing. Blood acted like a lubricant sort of.
Damon was fidgeting; they, too, had spiked shackles, and as the corner of the blanket moved, I saw how inflamed Damon's wrist was around the shackle, so his shackles were probably soaked in vervain or some kind of poison. Further weakening him.
These guys seemed to be professionals, so they knew what a threat Damon was. I wasn't seen as much of a threat, at least not yet, and that was just an advantage for now.
I kept shredding my hands, and the pain intensified, but it always flooded the adrenaline in my veins and made me more alert. I wanted to get myself untied, to get Damon untied too.
I could almost feel his weakness physically through our bond, but now I had to get focused. I looked at the drip bags and cursed. Fuck, drugs had made me so fucking limp and slow; the bags were almost empty, and I knew my time was running out for now, at least.
When those bags were empty, the machine would start beeping or else signal the investigators that the bags were empty and people would be here soon. The shackle was still firmly attached to my flesh, and I tried to get it to move, but at this point, there were so many tendons in my hand that every time the spikes bit into the tendon properly, my eyes almost blackened.
The machine beeped once; it was Samuel's machine, and soon Adam and Damon's machine beeped too, not to mention mine. I tried to keep pulling my hand out from the shackle, but now there would be no more medicine, so I might get something done.
But after a few minutes, I heard footsteps from outside the room, and I knew my time was fucking running out. I tried to pull the blanket over my arm to hide my progress, but the blanket was turning red with my blood.
The footsteps were getting closer, and I could now hear several people talking in their midst as they approached the door. The door opened, and the men entered. I kept my expression neutral, not letting my rage show much.
There were six men, two wearing doctor's coats and four wearing scrubs. One man was pushing a trolley with several bags of infusion fluid on board.
One doctor was shorter and had black hair, at least he used to, but now baldness was taking over his head; he had glasses and a crooked nose. Another doctor was brown-haired, stocky and had a bushy beard and a moustache that seemed to cover almost half his face.
The male nurses or whatever were quite young looking, not handsome at all; one had terrible skin, another had long, greasy hair, one had too much bulk, and his clothes, especially the sleeves of his shirt, were tight against his skin as if the garment was a size too small. One was smaller and had a kind of mean look all the time.
He walked up to the men and started removing drip bags from the pumps, with the other men always giving him a fresh bag after they had scanned the wrists of the men to make sure they had the right drugs for the right men.
The nurses put another bag of something for Damon to drip. Damon made a noise, trying to stay conscious. The nurses were relentless. The doctor, a bald guy, went over to Damon, looked at him, and took a syringe out of his pocket.
He said, " Oh look, the hybrid's trying to stay awake, no way. He'll be unconscious again soon enough."
This doctor's voice was crisp, loud, and quite high-pitched, almost feminine. I kept my eyes open and tried to clear my head all the time, feeling my metabolism working hard to eliminate the drug from my body as fast as possible.
The doctor gave Damon an injection, just pressed the syringe into the cannula port, and pushed the plunger. Damon groaned and went unconscious. I felt our connection break.
The doctors briefly examined Adam and Samuel, lifted their eyelids, checked that they were unconscious, and put some more syringes in their IV bags. Adjusted the drip rate and said little.
They now also checked Damon, took the sheet off him, and saw some scars on his body, but he didn't have stitches. They opened Damon's mouth and examined his vampire fangs when they got them out first. I wondered if they knew Damon was a tooth vampire. Then, they put the sheet back on.
They moved on to me. The bald guy lifted the hem of my robe and pressed on my stomach.
He said, "You'll heal some. I don't know how long, but the stitches will hold you together. You're a freak of nature in every way. And you're a veritable gold mine to explore."
My stomach tingled and hurt quite a lot as he pressed, and then he noticed my bloody wrist and how I was about to get my arm free. He smiled coldly. He snapped his fingers, and the nurses came to replace the empty bags. They hung several more bags for me and put them on full to drip.
One was a bright blue substance, and the bearded one said to the other, " Oh, I want to see how our new substance works. It will be very popular when we get it working."
The bald man nodded, still pressing on me, and I tried not to wince in pain.
He said to the nurses. " This one needs even smaller shackles."
The nurse said, a greasy-haired one, " Those are the smallest we have."
The researcher grunted and said, " Well, you can't help it; I think we can keep this creature under control well enough."
The bearded doctor looked me in the eye and said, "Your pack is interesting to study. You are a challenge to keep under control, but as you can see, we are pretty good at restraining you. Those bags are a strong sedative, but before you get any more angry, I'll put you back to sleep. That blue stuff is a new psychiatric drug designed for less aggression and rage; let's see how it works for you. I've heard about your rage."
This one's voice was low, like some bear almost, and I could smell the cheap deodorant as he got closer. He pulled a syringe out of his pocket with a needle and a bottle of medicine.
Oh, how I was disgusted, and panic was about to set in. He pulled the medicine into the syringe properly, then put the bottle of medicine in his pocket.
The fucking bearded doctor pushed the needle into my cannula, pushed the plunger to the bottom, and I hadn't even noticed when the plunger was at the bottom. When I blacked out and gasped, I went completely limp.