Page 61 of Heir of Ashes

So that was it. Dr. Dean would keep me unconscious for the entire trip, until he had me safely locked in a cage.

Panic surged and bubbled in my throat, threatening to choke me. I had to get past Dr. Dean and his men without giving anyone the chance to shoot me. I needed to be clever, fast, and utterly ruthless.

This was one person I wouldn’t mind killing. In fact, I had been looking forward to it for a long time. But who was I kidding? Dr. Dean was the type who hid his misdeeds and faults behind others, and for that reason, he would have brought his best men. He knew that if I had even the slightest chance to kill him, I would do it eagerly and with a smile. It was a fact he was very much aware of.

“Why don’t you come in yourself?” Logan challenged.

A soft chuckle sounded from the hallway before Dr. Dean, Chief Director of the PSS, appeared at the door, flanked by a guard on each side. I had expected a whole battalion.

Something about his casual demeanor felt wrong, but my heart was galloping like a racing horse, and I was on the verge of hyperventilating, unable to think clearly.

Dr. Dean was a man in his late forties, but he looked at least five years older. He was blond with a bald spot that accentuated his forehead. His pale green eyes, round face, thin lips, and small neck gave him an unsettling appearance. Despite this, his body was athletic—long and lean—and he took pride in it. He was also meticulous about his attire. I had never seen him in anything but black suit pants, polished black shoes, and a starchily pressed white shirt adorned with the hawk emblem of the PSS on the left breast.

To his right stood a stone-faced figure with a blue-tinged aura—an Elite. To his left was another blue-tinged figure … although, was it darker around the edges? I recognized him then. It was the guard I had punched: Beady Eyes. The shiner I’d given him made the hatred in his gaze even more pronounced.

Dr. Dean’s eyes zeroed in on me, and nausea churned in my stomach. I tried to keep a composed mask, though it was crookedly so.

“Ah, Subject UX01-484. It’s a pleasure to see you again after all this time.” His gaze shifted from Logan to Rafael and back to Logan. “My man will approach my subject now. I trust you’re wise enough to know when to pick your battles.” Dr. Dean smirked, knowing there was nothing Logan could do without risking a bullet to his head. “We’ll be in and out in no time. Be assured, my men have permission to shoot if you so much as twitch.”

Beady Eyes came forward, his gaze shifting between Logan and Rafael. He approached cautiously, with hatred and excitement gleaming in his eyes. He reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out a syringe filled with a soft blue liquid.

A spell. I had learned through the years as a prisoner that any injection with a glowing liquid was magically enhanced. The darker the glow, the stronger the spell.

Beady Eyes kept glancing between Logan and Rafael, as if expecting them to jump him at any moment before reaching for me. I pulled back with a snarl. Beady Eyes flinched but quickly regained his composure, smirking nervously. I heard Dr. Dean’s voice cut through the tension with a clipped, “Negative,” just as Logan told me not to move through gritted teeth.

“Subject UX01-484,” Dr. Dean snapped. “don’t be foolish. There’s a laser beam on your head, waiting for any suspicious movement to end your life. Now, stay still.”

Beady Eyes gave me a malicious smile. He’d enjoy that. I shot Dr. Dean a hard, hate-filled look. He simply winked, anticipation gleaming in his eyes.

I only had a light breakfast, but if I felt any queasier, I’d throw up. It would probably be worth throwing up on Beady Eyes—but I wouldn’t live long enough to gloat. When he reached for me again, I gritted my teeth and stayed still. He injected the contents of the syringe into a vein in the back of my left hand, and I felt the cold liquid creeping up to my elbow.

From a distance, I heard Logan demanding to know what they were injecting me with. I wanted to give him a reassuring smile, mostly so he wouldn’t snap the guard’s neck, but dread prevented me from doing so. I couldn’t even look at him.

Beady Eyes stepped back, staying well out of Logan’s reach, and timed the effect of the syringe. An eternity later, and after another ignored demand from Logan, he reached for me again, this time without fear.

I wanted to snarl just to see him jump back again, but nothing happened. My muscles relaxed, and when the guard took my hand and tugged me forward, my body obeyed his silent command.

“What did you give her?” Logan demanded again. “Where are you taking her?”

Rafael hissed, and Dr. Dean’s smile widened. “Please do, Mr. Graham. I’d enjoy watching you go down.”

“You’ll pay for this,” Logan threatened, his voice growing closer, but Dr. Dean only chuckled—the dry, infuriating sound I so despised.

“What did you give her?” Logan demanded once more.

I could tell he was struggling to keep himself from lunging at them.

“Nothing to be alarmed about. Just something to ensure her obedience until we get her home.”

When we reached Dr. Dean’s side, Beady Eyes let go of my hand with a smirk. I barely noticed it—because I had just realized what had been nagging at me about Dr. Dean. His aura. Something was wrong with it. Instead of sky blue, it had a dark, oily black ring surrounding it. It took me less than a second to remember where I had seen something similar: the Edmond brothers, also known as the Bad Boy Team. My eyes shot to Dr. Dean’s, the only voluntary motion I could still make, and met his triumph-filled gaze. Something ancient and inhuman lurked in its depths.

I had never dreaded anything more or hated anyone as intensely as I did him. At that moment, I would have sold my soul just to be able to drive a talon into his eye. My insides burned with loathing. I promised myself to kill this man, even if it was the last thing I did in my life, no matter the cost or consequences.

Dr. Dean’s narrowed eyes fixed on my face. The cold fury in his gaze told me that he hated me too, probably as much as I hated him. His hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling it back forcefully, making my head spin and my scalp burn.

Logan hissed—or maybe it was Rafael—but the roar in my ears drowned out everything but the overwhelming revulsion I felt at Dr. Dean’s touch.

“No letter opener, eh?” he mocked. The pockmarked scar on his cheek stood out starkly. From the corner of my eye, I saw Logan stiffen, his eyes narrowing to thin slits.

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