Chapter Four （Family Re）

CHAPTER FOUR (FAMILY REUNION)

HAZEL

I'd been in this crumbling building one whole week now and had yet to see my brother. I was about to break down and start asking around.

I was sitting in the big room where breakfast was being served, growing more frustrated by the hour. I'd come out early and parked my ass in a chair and waited… and waited… and waited.

With the asylum being made up of gangs, it meant I couldn't easily ask around about Baz. If I accidentally asked his ally, then things could go south. If I managed to ask non-allies, I could end up owing them. Gangs either wanted fealty or favors—the gas, grass, or ass of organized crime. They didn't hand out anything for free to outsiders.

Owing favors was tricky business, and I didn't plan to leave this place with anything holding me back—not anymore. My freedom was a promise I could almost taste. I just had to kill my brother to get it. Then, I'd be done living under the thumb of Uncle Vernon.

I hadn't been free since the night Baz nearly killed me. Nothing was ever the same after that.

"Where is he?" I hissed. I was vibrating in my seat. I'd spent the last hour twisting my fingers into knots as I eyed every person in here. This was supposed to be it—the moment I finally saw my brother again after nearly twenty-five years apart. I hadn't even seen a picture of him beyond the age of eight, but he couldn't be that hard to pick out. He had green hair along with a green eye and a red one. It was an almost matching set to my one red and one gold eyes.

Gonzo was unfortunately watching me have a near meltdown. The attractive shifter had been glued to my side every time I showed my face. I stabbed and cut up my toast into smaller and smaller pieces. At least I was killing something, even if it was only inanimate crumbs. Maybe I should kill the man beside me. That would help with the nerves.

Gonzo kept shifting his body closer the longer he was sitting next to me, something I was acutely aware of. His knee kept casually pressing into my thigh, making me grind my teeth, and shoot him a death glare, which he ignored every time.

A week of his flirting was driving me insane.

He kept asking me questions while he invaded my space— who are you, what are you here for, what are you . For once, I was finally answering him. He had large, downturned lips and a smooth, clean voice. I kept finding myself responding to his questions as I watched his mouth form them. He had deep eyes so dark they looked black until the light caught them, showing off a gold-toned brown.

The tattoos that covered him from his knuckles to his shoulders and then crawled up his neck were mostly animals in a large variety of styles. Some of them looked absolutely crazy—particularly the fox on his left bicep, with a lolling tongue and bugging eyes. My attention kept getting drawn to it and then noticing the lines of muscles in his arm.

His knuckles sported the words vive on one hand and mori on the other. Live and die.

"Where is who?" Gonzo asked, and I found my eyes drawn back to him. His knee pressed into my thigh, and I swallowed as I looked at his mouth. "Do you know someone here, Hazel? I mean, other than me, of course." He said my name slower than other words as if he liked the way it felt in his mouth.

"I don't know you," I said, quickly moving my eyes away from his mouth and scanning the room. People shuffled around lifelessly, shoveling mounds of lukewarm gruel into their mouths. Gonzo's knee slid further up my thigh, and I stabbed the toast suddenly in a sharp downward jab.

"Would you like to know me?" he asked with smooth, sweet pronunciation. I'd been tempted in the past to give up my celibacy, but this was a new level. This man was dangerous—he tempted and teased, got under the skin. He slowly slid his knee across my thigh while the rest of him got closer and closer. I could almost feel his breath on my neck now. I knew he was only growing bolder because he was reading my reactions. I wasn't pushing him away like I should be. Instead, I was leaning in.

Gonzo was starting to make me question a life without touch with one subtle brush of his leg against mine and one smooth, sensual word at a time. From the moment I'd laid eyes on him, I knew he was trouble—the attraction was inarguable. A week had only made it worse.

"Who are you looking for, Hazel?" he asked, and this time, I was certain his breath was on my neck. I shouldn't be letting myself get teased like this. I was celibate to cut distractions from my goal.

"I'll help you," he whispered.

I startled when I felt him touch me. I looked down to see his pinky brushing the back of my hand on the table. He chuckled at my reaction. Great, now I was jumping simply because his little finger grazed me. I needed to get away from him now . He was a lot bolder today than he'd been in the past. He could probably smell how horny I was.

"Fuck off," I hissed before I got up and stomped towards the water fountain, trying to get a break from the temptation I never asked for. A shudder rolled over me that I tried to shake off quickly. I was touch starved, and I was weak to his subtle but unfaltering advances. The sensation of his knee on my thigh wouldn't go away either, as if he'd imprinted the sensation on me to remember all day long.

"Check her out," an inmate said as I bent over and took a big mouthful of iron-flavored water from the fountain. "She looks like Bree." His friend grunted in acknowledgment as I stared at the metal bowl and took another gulp of water. I noted the water looked brown and pulled back in disgust.

"Look at her ass. Could bounce a quarter off it."

"You're going to get us both killed if Bree hears you," the other grumbled.

"What?" the guy whined. "It's a compliment to Bree. She's hot because Bree's hot, and they practically look like sisters." There was talk of this Bree girl again. Everyone seemed to think we looked alike, and it was starting to annoy me. Maybe I'd pencil her into my self-care kill list.

"Do you have a hard-on?" the gruff friend asked, and I stood up and looked over at them.

"Stop looking at my cock," the first man joked. The man calling me hot was a bonafide freak. I'd seen him since he came in. He was covered head to toe, not an inch of skin or hair visible. He had on a strange, demented bunny mask, and all black clothing down to the black boots on his feet.

He lifted his gloved hand and wiggled his fingers in a cheeky wave as I eyed him. No one got near him. The moment he'd come into the room, everyone picked up their trays and huddled together in the far tables. Half the people had abandoned their trays altogether and flat-out ran from the room in a cold sweat. He'd made them scatter like roaches exposed to the light.

Which was curious, but I was only interested in finding my brother, so I brushed off my curiosity.

The only person willing to come close to him was the huge man sitting beside him. He looked mean and cruel, with scars up his arms as he ate some massive five-star breakfast only he was entitled to. It looked like three fried egg sandwiches. I'd gotten one dry piece of toast.

As I looked them over, a third man joined their table. He was wearing a doctor's jacket, and his purple eyes flicked to me as he came gliding in the room. His white jacket said Doctor Orson, and after a brief scan of me, he slid into the chair across from the other two men.

"She looks like Bree," he said.

"Thank you!" The masked man sighed. He leaned around Orson to get a good look at me again. Why I was standing here and listening to this conversation was beyond me. Something was itching my brain about him, though.

My eyes scanned the room again, not seeing a single green-haired basilisk in sight before my attention settled back on the masked man calling my ass hot—

My face flamed, my eyes going wide.

That was my brother.

My heart rate kicked up, and my left arm felt sharp pain. Jesus, why the hell did he dress like that? He looked like a home invader in a horror movie.

The demented bunny mask tipped to the side.

"Wait… Those eyes…" he commented. "Holy shit," he snapped, realization coming to him as well. Guess Baz hadn't forgotten his big sis after all. With my cheeks still red from embarrassment, I reached under today's dress and pulled out a throwing knife.

"You're dead!" I blurted out ridiculously. Shit, I should have planned something intelligent to say beforehand. I struggled to not give away the pain flaring in my left arm as my body moved. It's psychological , I hissed at myself over the loud rapid beating of my heart. I could feel my frantic pulse in my throat. I hadn't had a reaction like this since the first time I'd killed as a kid.

I threw the knife, not even aiming, and it sunk into his thigh. He looked down at the knife jutting from his leg and wheezed.

I pulled out another knife and flung this one at his head without hesitation. Hesitating meant thinking, and I didn't want to think. As the knife left my hand, I felt acute panic.

This wasn't how I imagined this going. Actually, I'd never visualized killing my brother. Normally, I always played through multiple scenarios before a hit. With him, I could never get past the moment of seeing him for the first time again. That scenario usually involved him looking like a child still, not a full-grown gothic nightmare.

I was quick, jumpy, and frightened—all the underlying fear of my basilisk brother flaring to life suddenly. I'd tried to ignore that fear, pretended it didn't exist, but now he was right in front of me—the man who killed our parents with the briefest touch. Who nearly killed me when he was barely a month old.

My knife flew true, going for the middle of his bunny mask. My heart stuttered in my chest when I realized this was it.

Doctor Orson moved his hand in a fast blur, plucking the knife from the air with ease and finesse before it hit its mark.

The entire room had gone silent. Everyone held their breath in suspended animation, all the other inmates completely enthralled by my actions.

Doctor Orson looked over his shoulder with his purple eyes and smiled. Two fangs dimpled his bottom lip.

"Vampire," I hissed. With a distraction from Baz, I felt some of the nerves settle. Fast as lightning, he was up and turned around. Now this was more familiar territory for me. I welcomed the fight with a smile as I tried to ignore my brother in the background.

"Do I take it out or leave it in? Take it out or leave it in!" he yelled, eyeing the knife jutting from his leg. His big grumpy friend looked shell-shocked, his mouth hanging open as he looked at the wound.

None of that mattered now though, because I had a vampire in front of me. My normal killing calm bled over me as he threw my blade back at me. Right behind the blade was the vampire, barreling forward in its wake. I didn't even try to evade the knife. It hit my shoulder and slid off, leaving a nasty scratch.

The very next moment, the vampire was on me—teeth flashing, purple eyes crazed, and limbs moving too fast to keep up with. He was untrained but vicious and didn't hold back. There was nothing more dangerous than a man with no limits in a fight. Doctor Orson's smile grew, and his fangs dripped saliva in anticipation of a drink. If he was thirsty, I was more than happy to oblige.

I fought against him, blocking as best I could against his speed. I threw a punch with my good arm, knowing I wouldn't make the connection. When I missed, I pretended to overswing, lunging forward with my head turned out, exposing my neck. Quickly, he went for the bait.

He lunged in and sank his teeth in. I laughed as the sharp pain of his bite hit me. I felt him pull blood into his mouth. Not a moment later, he reeled back, yelling in pain as he spit fire from his mouth. It landed on the ground as a dancing red flame. I imagined it in his throat, eating up his esophagus.

The big, grumpy guy stood, realizing it was his turn at me.

"Come on, then," I goaded him with a smile, lifting my hand and curling my finger in a come hither. Doctor Orson was rasping and bleeding in front of me, so I lifted my foot and kicked him out of the way.

Baz had friends. How fucking cute.

I was in go mode now that I was dealing with his little posse. They didn't elicit conflicted feelings like Baz did. The thought of seeing his face and talking to him right now made me feel panicked and sick. I just needed to kill him. Fuck talking. I'd take out his big friend, and then without thought, I'd send a few knives into Baz. Easy and done. That was all I needed to do. This was almost over; I just needed to focus and finish.

"Nemo, wait—" Baz snapped, but the man didn't listen. The grumpy guy, Nemo, was huge and wide. His shaggy dark hair hung in his eyes, and the veins in his neck throbbed when he leapt over the table and stomped towards me. No wonder he got extra servings of food.

He reached out to grab me, and there wasn't much I could do when I felt the strength he had. Sometimes, the best action was inaction, and right now it would be faster to face this monster's strength than attempt to fight back. My arms dropped to my sides as I glared at him, working myself up for the pain I was about to let happen. Sometimes, I loved this part and sometimes I hated it. I could tell this guy was going to make me hate it.

Nemo's mouth dropped open, and I watched his mouth shift into something heinous. Two jagged rows of sharp teeth sprouted from an elongating face. He roared, spittle slapping my cheeks. His other hand wrapped around my neck and squeezed, pulling me off the ground. My feet kicked as I grabbed hold of his fist, gritting my teeth.

This fucker was trying to rip my head off… and he was succeeding.