Page 41 of Blood Bond

Theo grits his teeth and nods.

"Is she a danger to us?" Naneve continues her questions. "Do we need to lock her up? Because it's bad enough we're confined here, and everyone is still at the compound. It's bad enough we're hiding."

Seth’s jaw tightens. "We are not hiding."

"No?" She moves around the table to stand over Seth as he helps Theo remove his cardigan. "Then what is this? We're behind locked walls, in a place no one knows, protected by witch wards. If that isn't hiding?—"

Seth gets up abruptly, and Naneve cowers back. "Are we having a problem here?"

She clenches her jaw but says nothing.

"I didn't think so. Go and get Killian. He’s in the back garden pulling out the quads. Elena is with Tasha. Bring them here, then I suggest you take some rest yourself."

"I'm not tired. I don't need to rest."

"I wasn't offering a suggestion." Seth dismisses her, returning to Theo, and Naneve is left standing there, glaring at the back of his head. Then she looks at me, and I can sense she wants to speak, or yell, and perhaps lay the blame not just on Layla but on me for all of it, whatever "it" may be.

"I hope you're right about her, or we're all screwed," she says before leaving.

I retrieve the pills from the cabinet, although I'm uncertain which ones he wants. Three bottles stand proudly on the shelf, all red, with three different shades and none of them labelled. But that's the norm now, and it has been for a long time.

Basic medications, such as aspirin and ibuprofen, became as scarce as illegal drugs in the first few days after the virus struck. With pharmacies ransacked, most people had no choice but to look for makeshift remedies.

I remember the first pharmacy near my home being attacked about a month after the chaos began. An angry mob stormed through the door, grabbing every tablet, capsule, or bottle they could find—every drop of alcohol-based lotion was snatched with a grimy hand. Once everything of value was taken up, the thugs turned on the store owner, Mr. Patel. He was killed during the raid while his wife was injured. She remained hidden in the back room until it was safe to come out again. By daybreak, all that remained were empty shelves and rows of shattered mirrors reflecting broken glass, and blood staining splintered wood floors.

People got creative, mixing medications with creams and ointments. Some were deadly, and some weren't. Yet, the overall effect remained the same: basic medication became a rarity, and the only way to obtain even a paracetamol was through the black market.

I take the three bottles over to Theo, and Seth looks at me. "Help me get his shirt off."

Setting the medicine on the table, I crouch next to him. As I do, the door opens, and Elena and Killian enter, almost competing to squeeze through the door simultaneously.

"What the hell happened?" Killian asks, though his tone is not as accusatory as Naneve's earlier.

Elena’s eyes grow wide. "Oh, God, Theo?—"

He raises his hand to fend her off. "I'm okay. It's just a scratch."

Killian peers down at him. "That doesn't look like a scratch to me."

Between Seth and me, we lift Theo's shirt. The fibres seem to have completely meshed with his wound. "Is it fusing with his skin?" I ask. It appears as if the fabric is healing inside; the white threads weave in and out of the pink flesh. "Yes," Seth replies while carefully peeling the shirt upward. I assist him, pulling it over Theo's shoulders and then the undershirt beneath.

How many layers does one man need?

The clothes are ruined, shredded where Layla's claws tore through.

"This is going to need stitches," Killian remarks, eyeing the wound.

"What were you doing?" Elena asks. "How on earth did this happen?"

Her question brings another sob from Layla, and guilt from me when I glance at her. "It wasn't her fault. Something happened when I came in, and she couldn't control it.” I look at Seth. “She tried.” I don’t want him to punish her. "Theo tried to protect me. I-I could feel her hunger." I place a hand on my chest. "I could feel it here. It wasn't just hunger. It was more—it was aneed."

“Like the thirsty,” Killian murmurs.

I nod. “It’s like … I’mconnectedto them.”

ChapterThirty-Two

Layla sits on the chair where Seth directed her, sobbing quietly. The sound unsettles me. I've always associated crying with not just mental anguish, but physical pain too—cruel, unpreventable pain.

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