Page 152 of Taken By the Fae

“Angry,” I echo in a low voice, shaking my head in disbelief. “You betrayed me, Marisa. You let those creeps knock me out to strap me to a bed and stick me with needles.”

She looks away. “I’m sorry, Aurora. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit,” I snap. “People make choices every day. There isalwaysa choice.”

“My parents founded the Experiment. I didn’t want to be part of it for a long time. I only joined after my best friend, Amber—Richelle’s daughter—was killed by a fae. Even then, I didn’t want to see anyone suffer. I want to be part of the miracle that will cure them of the need to take human energy to survive.”

I blink once. Twice. “You say that as if it should be some reasonable explanation—like you expect that to convince me to forgive you for what you did to me.”

“No, I—”

“Being in the fucked-up family business is a choice. You helped them take me.” There’s a tiny part of me that feels for Marisa, for Richelle, even. They lost someone important to them, which is their motivation for doing this. Still, I can understand and empathize without forgiving either for what’s being done to me.

Marisa pulls at the hem of her shirt. “I’m really—” She stops talking and sighs before looking at me again. “Maybe after some lunch you might want to take a shower? It’ll make you feel better,” she repeats the words, as if saying them a second time will make me more agreeable.

Rage bubbles in me, but I don’t bother saying any more. It’s not worth it. Marisa won’t help me. “Fine,” I deadpan, shifting my gaze to the food. “You’ll have to take off these restraints for me to eat unless you plan on hand feeding me.” If I have to sit through another meal being fed like a child, there’s a very good chance I’ll lose my last shred of dignity.

She offers a nervous smile and brings the tray over. Pressing a button behind me, she adjusts the bed so I’m sitting up and sets the tray on my lap. “If you try to escape—”

“Your friends have been pumping me full of poison for days.” I taste venom in my words. “They practically have to carry me to the bathroom. I’m not going anywhere.”

After hesitating another moment, Marisa frees my right hand, eyeing me.

I stretch it out, flexing my fingers and making slow circular movements with my wrist to work out the kinks. “Can you hand me a piece of toast, please?” I flick my eyes up to her, letting the desperation I feel into my voice. She used my compassion against me to get me here—it’s time I return the favor. “I don’t… I don’t think I can lift my arm.”

Pressing her lips together, she nods. “Of course.”

I watch her like a hawk as she reaches over and lifts a piece of toast off the plate. “Can you put it in my hand? I can… I’ll try to hold it. Please.” As she lowers it, her fingers brush my palm. With all the strength I have left, I pull on her energy, swift and without caution, gripping her wrist tightly and refusing to let go as her struggles weaken.

“Aurora, stop!” Her eyes widen, but before she has the sense to shout for help, I’ve taken enough that she crumples to the floor and passes out.

I’ve never fed like that, so violently and quickly.Desperately. Yet I don’t feel an ounce of remorse as Marisa’s energy zips through me, refreshing like cold water on a hot summer day. I break the restraints, rip the IV out of my arm, and slide off the bed. My legs wobble a bit when my feet hit the floor, but after a few steps, they’re steady enough I’ll be able to move fast if necessary.

My muscles no longer ache; I don’t feel as if I’ve spent countless hours strapped to a bed. In fact, I feel pretty damn close to being able to take on the world. I just have to get out of this hellhole first.

When I reach the door and find it locked from the outside, I curse. Glancing back at Marisa’s still form on the floor, my eyes land on a key card sticking out of her pocket, which I swipe from her and press against the reader on the door. It beeps once and flashes green, sending my heart racing. This is it. I should prepare for what could be on the other side, but there’s no time.

Opening the door, I lean my head outside the room to find an empty hallway. An all-white, bright hallway. I squint at the fluorescent track lighting along the ceiling and step forward, half expecting the movement to trigger some alarm. When nothing happens, I let out a breath and start walking. There’s a chance I chose the wrong direction, but being I have no idea where I am, I don’t have a plan of escape. Making this up as I go along is giving me hives; the hair at the back of my neck is standing straight.

Hurrying down the hallway, I pray I picked the right way to go as I stop at another door and press the key card against it. I poke my head through once the light flashes green and make sure the coast is clear, then step through into the next section of hallway. I’m chewing on the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. My head is spinning enough to make me feel nauseous, and my anxiety cranks higher with each passing second.

I pause at another door and my breathing halts when I look through the small window. The far wall is lined with shelves of test tubes, glass jars of dull blue and purple liquid, and dozens of instruments I’m certain I don’t want to know the purpose of.

I need to get the hell out of here.Now.

Shuffling backward, I’m about to turn and keep walking when it hits me. If I’m caught, I have nothing to defend myself with besides the ability to suck these psychos’ energy, and I have to get close enough to touch them. Not ideal. I glance back at the closed door. It’s probably locked. Gripping the key card tighter, I step forward and tap it against the security panel, pushing my way inside.

That’s when the alarm blares. A shrill, borderline deafening sound that makes me want to cup my hands over my ears and squeeze my eyes shut against it.

My heart slams against my rib cage, and I grab the first thing my fingers touch. I grip it tightly, glancing down to find a scalpel. Good. That’ll do some damage.

I bounce between the only two options I have: hide in here, or make a break for it and try to find my way out.

They know where I am. I have to run—I have to fight.

“Put the knife down,” a calm, borderline hypnotic voice says.

My head snaps up, and when I swallow, I choke on the dryness in my throat, then clear it. “No.”

---