Page 25 of The Midnight Order
"Because we have to." Grabbing the edge of the mask on his face, he tugs. "It's hard to explain, and it sounds mental. I understand the fantastical elements of our lives, I really do, but they're still our lives. You know? We can't escape them."
The doctor walks back in, and Suit turns to look at him.
"Time to go. I have work to do. You said you wanted her tested and gone ASAP, so I'll need to begin."
The word gone is said with so much angst that even my chest tightens, and I'm the one who wants to be gone.
I don't want to know that this world exists. Fuck, I don't want to be a pincushion for vampires, either.
The doctor sits where Suit had been, taking my hand in his. "I'm sorry for how we took you and for how they behaved. This will be painless and will be over sooner than you think. Just work with me, and I'll have you home in no time." Even as he promises that, his eyes are locked on the connection of our hands.
A thrumming moves through my arm, using the canals of bones and nerves to radiate into my body. I ignore the feeling and chalk it up to the blue bucket of beer I ingested earlier.
The kind way he thumbs over the top of my hand, and the longing look in his eyes, is something I can work with.
He's shown his hand.
The good doctor is my ticket out of here, and not by my playing nice, either.
He's vulnerable and seeking something he thinks I can give him; his defenses are down.
Switching into survival mode, I squeeze his hand back, testing.
His red eyes light, flicking up to me with hope rimming them.
Yes. He's my way out of here.
The only thing is, I need to make sure I don't let my defenses down because I can see these dominating, dark men growing on me over time, and I can't let that happen.
I have to get out of here before it can.
Chapter 8
Corvin
Everyone else filtered outof the room, allowing me the space to work.
I’m always first.
“Please,” she pleads, “tell me what the hell is going on.”
“We already have,” I tell her, my finger sliding up and down the iPad’s screen of tests I’ve yet to complete.
Her IV is in, and her fluid bag is almost empty. All I need to do is draw from it and get the vials I need.
Her haunting eyes take in my mask more so than any other aspect of me.
“Why are you stuck in a mask?” she asks, and my jaw bulges as I fight back angry words.
“I told you; we’re cursed.”
“Why are you cursed?”
I don’t dignify her question with an answer as I pull vials from the drawer and label them with the associated test I want to run on each, adding a new vial and naming itvampiric lineagebefore I turn back and lay out the supplies I need beside her.
“What are you going to do to test me? You’re going to take my blood?”
I feel the question doesn’t warrant an answer, as she can clearly see me beginning to do the very thing she’s asked, so I remain silent.
