13. Chapter 13

13

Chapter 13

Mia

I drift in an otherworldly fog, the unfamiliar surroundings of the medical bay blurring around me. The sterile smell of antiseptic fills my nostrils, so different from the dank cell I've called home for…how long has it been? Days? Weeks? Time has lost all meaning.

Dr. Chen's face swims into view, her gentle hands tending to me. She explains something about a concussion, but it's hard to focus.

I wince as a sharp sting radiates from the back of my head. Dr. Chen's voice cuts through the fog of pain.

"I'm putting in some stitches now. I've administered an anesthetic, so you shouldn't feel more than a little pressure," she explains, her tone clinical but not unkind. "Try to hold still for me."

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to pull away. Every instinct screams at me to defend myself, to lash out with magic that refuses to come. Instead, I dig my nails into my palms, focusing on that small, controllable pain.

"Almost done," Dr. Chen murmurs. "You're doing great, Mia."

The use of my name startles me. It's been so long since anyone's addressed me as a person rather than just "the witch" or "subject." I blink back unexpected tears.

"There we go," she says, her gloved hands gentle as she finishes up. "I was careful not to cut too much of your hair. If you brush it over the stitched area, it won't even be visible."

"Thanks," I manage to croak out, my voice hoarse from disuse. "Great, now my imprisonment comes with a complimentary bad haircut. Guess I'll have to update my Instagram bio to reflect my new ‘look.'"

Dr. Chen's lips quirk in a sad smile, and I wonder if she sees the irony or just pities me. I close my eyes, memories washing over me like a tide.

How did I end up here? One minute, I was heading to Gran's; the next…chaos. Pain. Betrayal. Heath's face flashes in my mind, and anger burns through me, momentarily cutting through the fog. How could he? We grew up together, for God's sake.

I try to summon my magic, reaching for that familiar warmth inside me, but just like always, it's not there. The emptiness where my power should be leaves me feeling hollow, vulnerable in a way I've never experienced before.

Is this how non-magical people feel all the time?

The thought is terrifying.

Frustration bubbles up inside me. I'm supposed to be strong, a protector. Now look at me – weak, helpless, at the mercy of vampires and traitors.

But even as despair threatens to overwhelm me, a small spark of defiance flares in my chest. They haven't broken me yet. I'm still here, still fighting. And as long as I'm breathing, I'll find a way out of this hellhole.

It must be the early hours of the morning when I sense a presence in the room, pulling me from my fitful sleep. My body tenses instinctively, but I force myself to remain still, keeping my breathing slow and even. Through barely open eyes, I see him – Soren Daire, the vampire who's been both my captor and unexpected savior.

What the hell does he want?

Probably here to torment me.

Yet even in my weakened state, I feel a strange pull toward him. It's infuriating, this unwanted attraction to someone who's part of the reason I'm here. But I can't deny the way my pulse quickens, and it's not just from fear.

Soren moves silently, his tall frame looming in the dim light. He approaches my bed, and I fight the urge to flinch away. Instead, I watch him through my lashes, curiosity mingling with wariness.

His face, usually a mask of cold indifference, is different now. In the privacy of what he believes to be solitude, his expression is open, conflicted. Those icy blue eyes that have looked at me with detachment now hold…is that concern?

I'm struck by how young he looks in this moment, despite knowing he's centuries old. The weight of whatever internal struggle he's facing seems to press down on him, making him appear almost human.

Soren reaches out, his hand pausing inches away from my cheek. I brace myself for his touch, unsure if I'm more afraid of the contact or my potential reaction to it. But he hesitates, fingers curling back as if burned by some invisible barrier.

A soft sigh escapes him, barely audible even in the quiet room. "What am I doing?" he murmurs so quietly I almost miss it.

I want to scream at him, to demand answers. Why am I here? Why did he save me? What game is he playing? But I remain perfectly still, heart pounding, as I continue to observe this unguarded version of my enigmatic jailer. His presence fills the room, a mixture of power and something I can't quite define. Just as I think he might leave, his voice breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry," he says softly. "This…this isn't right. What they've done to you…"

My eyes fly open before I can stop myself. Soren jerks back, clearly startled to find me awake. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the air between us crackling with tension.

"You're sorry?" I croak, my voice rough from disuse. "You're fucking sorry?"

Soren's face hardens. "Miss Blackwood," he says formally, "I want to assure you that what happened will not be repeated. The…excessive harvesting was not authorized."

I snort, wincing at the pain it causes. "Oh, well, that makes it all better then, doesn't it? Unauthorized torture instead of the approved kind."

His jaw clenches, and I'm surprised to see genuine anger flash across his face. "It was unacceptable," he growls. "Those responsible will face consequences."

"Why do you care?" I challenge, searching his face for answers. "Aren't we just blood bags to you?"

Soren takes a step closer, and I tense instinctively. But instead of menace, I feel an inexplicable pull toward him. He extends a hand, his fingertips hovering just above my arm. For a heartbeat, I think he might actually touch me this time. The air feels charged, like the seconds before lightning strikes.

Then, as quickly as it began, the moment shatters. Soren turns away abruptly.

"Rest, Miss Blackwood," he says stiffly, already striding toward the door. "You're safe here."

Safe?

He has got to be freaking kidding!

Before I can formulate a response, he's gone, leaving me alone with a whirlwind of confusion and conflicting emotions.