Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Triggered

Nera

I blinked my eyes open, wondering what time it was. These "dorm" rooms had no windows. I fumbled for my phone that was plugged in and sitting on the floor and saw it was close to 8 a.m.

I groaned and flipped the covers back, but I didn't get out of bed. My thoughts immediately drifted to Sheppard and what had happened last night. He must really be pissed at me for just leaving like that. In my defense, I was all in for some bedroom fun. I had no idea one little sentence could trigger me like that.

"Just a little taste…"

The bastard's voice, smell, and face had immediately come back to me, memories of him rutting on top of me while talking himself out of biting me.

"I need a shower and some coffee," I grumbled to myself.

I put the thought of that sick bastard out my mind. I knew I should probably get some therapy or something to deal with later. I owed Psycho an apology.

I grabbed a towel and some sandals and headed to the showers.

As I washed his scent off me under the hot water, I relaxed. I was sure he'd understand, but somehow I still felt bad. He wasn't the type of guy who'd be angry with me—of that I was sure. I'd never seen him mad or heard him raise his voice. I wasn't sure how he earned that nickname but those were questions for another day. I was sure one day he'd tell me.

As I lathered up my hair and scrubbed my scalp with my fingertips, my thoughts drifted to my family in Tampa. They didn't even care that I'd been missing for, what, nine weeks now? I was glad I'd told Amanda. She'd called me later that night and we'd talked in depth about what happened, me obviously leaving out the supernatural aspect. I also told her that her cousin's MC was being watched by the police and to not be surprised if Duke, Hawk, and the rest of them were arrested soon. The way Hawk had been so paranoid about the cops… didn't seem like it looked good for them. I was more than grateful they'd had the sense to call Psycho to get me out of there. The last thing I needed was to be caught up in that bullshit.

I exited the shower and brushed my teeth at the communal sinks, then padded back to my room. I decided to go check on Trigger and then figure out what I was going to do with my days. I was starting to get the itch to go back to work, and the thought of nursing here in New Orleans sort of excited me. I love the show The First 48 and this town was featured on it frequently—not that it should be a proud moment for New Orleans—but it sure kept law enforcement and the medical field busy.

After I dressed and was forced to use the mirror to blow-dry my hair, I put on a little makeup to make myself feel better and headed out to the main area of the clubhouse and then to the infirmary. I wasn't too surprised to find it empty, seeing how stubborn Trigger was. I was sure he had probably wanted to sleep in his own bed once he woke. Couldn't say I blamed him. I briefly wondered if Charlie had followed him to his bed. Psycho had told me he thought they'd had something in the past—maybe past friendship—and that was how she'd come to the Bayou Wolves, but I never pressed. It wasn't my business, and I had other crap to deal with.

I looked around the infirmary and decided to unpack all the medical equipment we'd bought yesterday before Shep had taken me to dinner. I wasn't really shocked that the bag sat on the table in here, as he must have deposited it there it last night or this morning.

I went about organizing the drawers by importance, and once I was satisfied I—or anyone else—would be able to locate the things we needed, I smiled and closed all the drawers. Then I stripped the bed Trigger had been lying in and washed out the bowl they'd used as a bedpan. On second thought, I should probably just throw this thing out.

Gross.

A real bedpan and a catheter had been stored in the cabinets and drawers, so no need for this nasty thing. I tossed it next to the door and reached under the sink of the adjoining bathroom and set about cleaning and disinfecting the entire place.

After an hour and some serious sweat and elbow grease, the place was more than spotless. Not that wolves would die from any sort of infection, but for any human that may have a need to be brought here. Shep had told me he'd only been here about two years, and all the buildings in this compound were very new-looking, so I knew they were just getting set up and coming into themselves.

As I shut off the light and closed the door, I thought about the girls again, the ones who hadn't escaped. I could only hope and pray that Leann and Brittney had made it back to their families. Poppy's face entered my mind again. Poor kid. At eighteen, she really was just a baby. I knew the bastards violated all of us the same way, and at twenty-nine, I could handle this shit a little better than someone so young and probably inexperienced. The other girls weren't much older. I'd overheard the bastards once talk about having to "throw back" a few girls they'd picked up in clubs because in the light, they were much older than they looked. As if they were a fish not worthy of being traded and sold. They never asked my age and must have assumed I was much younger than I was.

It made me sick, but of course I was glad for the girls who had been set free. Who were these assholes taking and selling girls? Were they other vampires, maybe using them for blood bags? Or human traffickers, selling young women to men overseas to be used as sex things? I found it weird the bastards weren't allowed to feed on us but they could fuck us all they wanted. It made me think they were selling to humans, as the neck scars wouldn't be very explainable.

I carried the makeshift bedpan through the clubhouse and into the kitchen, then out back where I'd seen dumpsters. I opened the lid and breathed through my mouth before tossing it inside.

"What are you doing out here?"

I turned to see Cutter standing there with a bag of trash in his hand. He wore an apron full of red gore and my eyes widened. He looked like some macabre chef. I stared at him in horror.

He chuckled, his light-brown buzzed hair gleaming in the early morning sun. "Cat got your tongue?"

"I… I was throwing away the ‘bedpan'," I supplied, using air quotes.

He made a face. "Good call."

I pointed at his white apron. "What the hell is that?"

He looked down and grinned. "Cow."

"Did you butcher it yourself?" I sassed.

"We get our meat imported directly from a local farmer. They ship it as is. As soon as it's slaughtered, they deliver it in all its juicy glory."

"Wow, they don't even package it or freeze it?" I ask, curious.

He indicated with his head to follow him inside, so I did. "No, we save raw meat for the wolves. I clean it all up and then wrap it in butcher paper to send with the guys when they go to their, uh, you know." He made a whistling sound and pointed to the sky, assuming he was indicating the full moon.

"So you're human," I deadpanned.

"Warlock actually, but basically." He grinned.

My eyes widened and I felt an odd sense of relief. "Seriously? I'm so glad there's another witch here."

He went into the kitchen and picked up a disgusting machete full of blood and gore, and as I looked around, I saw he was elbow-deep in getting the cow separated into bits for cooking—or not—later. The smell was very strong.

"Don't get too excited, I haven't practiced in years. I was raised in the foster system. No cool witch parents or relatives to teach me shit." He brought the machete down on a large flank of meat and blood and bits went flying. "But the Wolves took me in while the local covens shunned me, so here I am."

That was interesting, but I didn't pry.

"Is this a whole cow or what?" I asked instead, sort of fascinated. Obviously I wasn't squeamish around blood.

"Pretty much. I can make you a steak later if you want."

"You know what, that sounds delicious. You a good cook?"

He lifted a shoulder as he sliced through the raw meat. "So I'm told."

"Well, you look like you know what you're doing. I'd love that steak later. Medium rare."

Cutter smiled as if I'd made his day. There was something handsome and boyish about him, and I wanted to ask him more about himself but then I refrained. Something told me I'd have plenty of time to get to know the guys here. Maybe in exchange for a steak, I could teach him some magic—if he wanted to learn.

Speaking of…

"Hey, I gotta go do some shopping. I'll catch up with you later."

"See ya," he replied, not breaking from his slicing and chopping.

I walked back into the main part of the clubhouse and debated what to do. I wanted to ask for the keys to the "grocery getter" or even the "cager" or any other sort of four-wheeled vehicle, but I wasn't sure who to ask. I climbed the stairs to Psycho's office and rapped on the door.

"Hi," I said after he bade me to come in.

"Hello, gorgeous." He smiled at me.

My stomach did a little flip at his handsome smile. "Good morning."

I laughed nervously. "Well, it's almost noon."

I sat in one of the chairs, since I knew he'd tell me to anyway, and was quiet for a few minutes.

"I wanted to apologize—"

"Hey, are you all right—"

We spoke at the same time.

"You first," he insisted.

"I'm sorry about last night." I broke his stare and looked out the small window behind his desk. "I'm still sorta… fucked up. It wasn't your fault."

He looked relived, and then he looked at me with sympathy. "I—"

I scowled. "Don't do that."

He furrowed his brow. "Do what?"

"Look at me with pity. I don't want it. Okay? I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm dealing."

"Okay. You got it. You're strong, I get it."

"Thank you." I relaxed as his features softened.

"Can I ask what I did, though? Or what I said?"

I debated telling him. The room was so bright, and we weren't under the cover of darkness like in his bedroom at night, where I could hide the emotions I knew I sometimes wore on my sleeve. But, he waited patiently. Not looking at his computer or checking his phone. He simply folded his hands on his desk and watched me.

It didn't make me uncomfortable. I didn't squirm under his scrutiny. I knew he genuinely cared.

"You said you wanted… a taste." I felt my cheeks heat. "And I was very excited to have you do that, except…" I trailed off.

His eyes widened. "Oh, God. Did one of those assholes do that to you? Like, uh, go down on you?"

I shook my head. "God, no. They were way too selfish for that. The one guy—the main one who'd snatched me from Shark—he used to murmur that a taste wouldn't hurt. But he was, um, trying to talk himself out of biting me. It was like he was thinking out loud, not knowing I could hear him." I shrugged casually, but I felt anything but aloof. "Maybe he thought in my drug-addled state that I wouldn't hear. Or remember."

"That's interesting. It's bizarre they didn't bite you."

I shook my head. "It was weird. They sucked on blood bags, or they'd go out in the night and come back looking… refreshed."

"I wonder if they're selling girls to other vampires and were told to keep their fangs off the merchandise."

I shot a look at him.

"I don't mean merchandise, it's just a figure of speech. I know you guys are people, not merchandise…" he stammered.

I grinned. "I know what you mean. And I thought of that too. But then I wondered if they were selling us to humans, and then couldn't explain the scars on the neck."

He snapped his fingers. "Wait—I thought they had some healing shit in their venom. Or spit. Don't they lick the wounds?"

I shook my head. "I… I don't know. It's possible. I don't know any vamps to ask."

"I do," he growled.