Page 47 of Midnight Coven

He hadn’t had a blood bag since noon the day before, which was too long of a time for a lot of reasons. He definitely wouldn’t have enough in his system to make it remotely plausible that he might have eaten the rough equivalent of ten humans recently… or even five, depending on how many he drained.

Of course, the process would also make him fucking hungrier.

Nick was so hungry now, it was probably skewing the psychological data.

The psychological discomfort was there, too.

He didn’t get cold, but pain rippled through him in bursts from the metal and organics-infused cocktail they forced into his vampire veins.

It felt like being drained.

It felt like they were draining him of blood.

Which, okay, might be karmic on some level, but it also made a more base, animal side of Nick’s nature panic.

He could feel the dampening medication they gave him to keep him calm, but it didn’t do that. It made it hard to move. It made it difficult to think.

There was no calm in either thing.

He wouldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t like knock out drugs for a human in surgery.

The humans pretended it was that, but they must know they were lying. What they called “sleep” felt a lot more like paralysis with full consciousness.

Why did they say this shit to them? Did they think all vampires were stupid?

Or was it meant to be some kind of taunt?

Nick closed his eyes, fighting back another wave of nausea.

He was already on drugs. The metal, nanotech blood, whatever the fuck they put in that I.V., made his body feel like it was slowly transforming to stone. He didn’t understand the point of this. If they wanted to get him to talk, they could just ask him things, but they didn’t. He suspected they looked at his brainwaves. But what did that tell them?

He should ask St. Maarten.

He should ask her what this was, what he should be doing.

He didn’t dare think about Wynter.

He couldn’t think about Wynter… or Tai… or Mal.

He didn’t even know if that would help.

They’d never fully explained it to him, or to any vampire. He’d been told it was a form of conditioning, of keeping him calm…

…Nick opened his eyes.

He heard panting, heavy, sharp pants.

A high ceiling stretched above.

Bone-white plaster. Wooden beams.

Beautiful workmanship.

One wall stretched over him, covered in knives. Covered in shining, sharp, immaculately maintained swords, spears, daggers, knives.

They glittered in a higher light.

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