The Dragon of Monster Island (M/M Romance) Monster Island Book 1 [Sample]

Chapter 2 - The Hospital

Waking up came in waves. The pain was what registered first. There was a throbbing, aching sensation in my neck. Next came the rhythmic pounding behind my eyes. I was dehydrated. At least, it felt like I was. Either way, I had a killer headache.

The next thing that registered was the feel of rough linen against my skin. I was on a bed of some kind, and the blankets wrapped around me were warm, but that was where the comfort stopped.

Opening my eyes was a Herculean task like I had tiny weights on the tips of my eyelashes. Eventually, though, I managed to pry them open. It took longer than it should have, though, like my body was struggling to remember what it was like to be in control.

I was in a hospital. That much was clear. I was on a bed in a private room, stripped down to a generic, itchy gown. I felt disgusting like I hadn't showered in years, and the pounding in my head only got worse as I struggled to sit up.

I blinked at the light coming in through the window. Judging by the view I was at least a few floors up. Thankfully, I recognized the city below me. I was only a few blocks away from my apartment. Living in the city was convenient, even if it was astronomically expensive. One of the ways I saved money was by walking everywhere, and the hospital was within walking distance of my place and my job.

And I found myself freezing at the memory of my job, the memory of a stranger and his white teeth and lack of control. I touched the side of my neck, nauseated at the feeling of gauze beneath my fingertips.

And suddenly I was there again but in much greater detail. I was pressed into that alley wall, and I could feel the breath on my neck. And I knew what was coming next. And—

"Oh, you're awake!"

My attention snapped to the door, now open, revealing a friendly-looking nurse. She was young and looked tired, but she had a bright smile on her face.

"What," I started, only to stop at the croaky quality of my voice. My throat felt ragged like I'd gargled rocks or nails or swallowed a blender.

"Oh!" the nurse exclaimed. "I bet you're parched."

I had the sense to nod, even if it took me longer than it should have to realize what she was saying.

She was a chatty nurse. Part of me appreciated it. She filled the suffocating silence with pleasant talk about nothing in particular, and it kept me from going back to that alley, from thinking about what happened.

What did happen? He drank my blood. Right? Did I imagine that? Was I hallucinating? Did they slip me something? I don't remember taking anything or eating or drinking. My mind swam with confusion, trying to make some kind of sense out of what happened. But it was hard to trust my own memory when it felt so outlandish.

"There are some detectives here to see you. I'll let them know you're awake."

My head snapped up at her words. Cops were never good news. I felt myself flush with dread and anticipation as she left to go get them. I didn't want her to, but she didn't even ask before she left.

Part of me got angry at that. She didn't even ask if I was ready if I was comfortable. She just made the decision. And I was suddenly infuriated at the idea that other people felt they could make decisions for me. Control me.

My anger faded back to dread when they walked in. I wasn't an idiot. I didn't live under a rock. I knew how cops treated victims, and I was steeling myself for the inevitable victim-blaming. The questions about what I had done to draw attention to myself. Did I lead him on? I wanted to laugh but not because anything was funny.

It was a man and a woman who walked in. The woman was old, wrinkled, and graying. Her hands were gnarled, fingers bony, but she had presence, a commanding one too. Her hair was pulled into a military-style bun, and she had what looked like a permanent scowl on her face.