Shift Happens(68)
“For you? Not good.”
“Another loose end? Surely Ethan must realize the mess is now too big to clean up with a broom and rug.”
“It’s the principle. You failed him. And you might provide information crucial to his plans.”
“I don’t know anything important about Lucien.” I chose my words carefully, not giving a direct lie Angie could smell.
Her lip quirked. “That’s what I said.”
A door slammed, causing us both to jump. Angie spun around and looked up the stairs. “I haven’t finished.” Her voice was commanding.
The soft footsteps continued down the stairs, undeterred from the icy glare on Angie’s face. The waft of death and decay hit my face before the Vampire came into view. He wore all black and his dark skin tone and black wavy hair gave away his South Asian heritage. He walked up beside Angie and regarded me with cold black eyes.
I didn’t register the gun until he lifted it and shot me.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
When my vision cleared and my stomach stopped doing flips like a dolphin on crack, I drew in a deep breath and surveyed my situation. Not good! Not good!
Stop panicking, I ordered my brain. Stay calm to stay safe. I repeated the mantra until my breathing was under control and reopened my eyes. I lay naked on an operating table in a cold room that looked like a set from a hospital television drama.
My ankles and wrists, shackled to the corners of the table, splayed me out like a stunned snow angel. There was a smaller table to my left that I could barely see over my shoulder. It glinted with metallic objects I didn’t want to think about.
Images of Dylan leaning over me with a sick gleam in his eye and a random ‘utensil’ in his hand clogged my throat with an influx of stomach acid. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t…ahhhh! I turned my head to the side and spewed the contents of my stomach until nothing was left except the dull ache and aftershocks of dry heaving. Fucking tranquilizers. I tried to roll over, but my arms were held down.
A noise caught my attention. Someone stood in the room with me and I peered down my body to see who.
“What the hell is going on?” I glared at Angie who stood meekly in the corner. Meekly? That wasn’t right. There were all sorts of things wrong with this situation.
She didn’t look up. “I’m sorry about this.”
“What?”
“I don’t like you.” She lifted her head and her sad eyes met mine. “But I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”
“Wish what?”
Angie opened her mouth to say more when the door opened. She quickly clamped her lips, dropped her gaze and rounded her shoulders inward, her body language alerting the warning bells in my brain. It didn’t look right on her, this submissive, scared posture reeking of fear. It sent tiny shocks down my body as if little fish nipped at my skin. Angie didn’t strike me as a person who frightened easily.
A stout man walked into the room. His greasy hair was tucked behind his gnarled ears with the exception of a portion used as a modest comb-over. His shiny scalp gleamed through the sparse cover. Despite his rotund belly, he moved with a sleek, quick grace—a Were.
His beady black eyes watched me intently as he approached. His non-existent top lip curled up into a nasty sneer. A Wererat, maybe?
My nose crinkled at the stench rolling off him—a disturbing mix of asparagus ridden piss and cooked shrimp. It took me a minute to place what caused my nose hairs to shrivel up and hide.
“Hyena,” I grunted. Never met one who’d pass a sanity test.
The man dipped his head. “But the burning questions is—what are you?”
“A wolf.” The truth, but not the whole truth.
“You’re not a Were.” The man stepped up to the table and ran a finger down the naked flesh spanning over my ribs.
“No.”
“A little wolf Shifter.” He picked up one of the shiny utensils from the tray near the table. I didn’t want to look, but I stared at the knife. He held it up to the light as if he too was mesmerized by how the light played off the sharp edge and smooth sides.
“Yes.” He’d get one word answers from me.
“Pathetic and weak.” The flat of the blade was cold against the soft tissue of my stomach.
“Sure.” I tightened my abs to avoid flinching, but when he dug the edge of the knife into the sensitive skin on my side below the ribcage, I jerked.
The man laughed. “That was a lie. You think you’re stronger than that.”
“Yup.”
“Where’s your fera?” He leaned over my body and ran the blade down my left cheek. He didn’t apply enough pressure for it to cut deep or bleed profusely, but it left a sting. Torture by paper cuts. Awesome.