Infected

Chapter 18

I'm back in New Hampshire, where the space around me still burns bright with every bulb in the house. The prison is gone, but I'm unsure. My body is on edge, spiked with the adrenaline from watching Rucker disintegrate before my eyes. And my mind...it's wavering, I can't focus on anything around me.

The man standing before me is struggling to breathe, a wet gurgle escapes his lungs every time his broad shoulders move. His wavy brown hair has fallen into his eyes as he straightens. Metal flashes where his heart should be, the knife. Something drips onto the floor, blood.

It's dark, shining black on the white tile. Though the amount on the floor is substantial, he's standing tall, unfazed by the deadly wound.

My throat feels like I've been screaming for days, dehydrated and cracking at the effort I take to speak, "Quin?"

He takes hold of the slicked handle and pulls it out. It clatters onto the floor, splattering what's accumulated around his feet. He looks up at me, his face the color of ash and covered in a layer of perspiration.

I stagger back, catching the edge of the counter to keep balanced.

His eyes are empty pools of darkness, hiding the blue oceans I was always so mesmerized by.

My horrified gaze lowers to his mouth, hanging open as he takes in gulps of air. I can see the points of fangs along the edge of his rosy full lips, threatening and long.

He's no longer wheezing as he gives one hard cough. His lungs sound completely clear. His eyes fade to their normal blue.

Passively, he holds up his hands, a silent request for me to not run. I back away.

He takes a step, speaking to me with an eery calmness, "Elle. I need you to listen for a second."

Yeah, fuck that.

I bolt out of the kitchen and into the dining room, my eyes never leaving the predator following me.

The weight from falling off the ladder should have knocked him to the ground, but he handled it with ease. The episode that had left me bloody from ripped stitches resentfully forced him out of the hospital room. Even the mistrust I've had towards him could be explained by his...condition. I was sensing the same danger in him that I had with Rucker.

I can see him straining to hide his true face, to keep the fangs and hunter's gaze at bay. I don't understand until the air drifts over my body. Dried spots of blood in the shape of small crescents are scattered over my arms, some of them slashed from being dragged by my nails. The blood in the kitchen wasn't just his. I've been scratching myself in my sleep.

"You're not yourself right now, Elle. You have a fever and you're hurt. Let me help you." The fatal incident he's miraculously survived isn't even thought of being brought up. He's probably gone through this before.

I cling to the fantasy of him being human. He's a normal man that I only hallucinated looking like a demon. There was never a knife and he's not covered in his blood. But that's not going to solve anything, I need answers and I need them now.

My voice comes out loud and clear, bouncing off the walls as it rings out the question, "What the fuck are you?"

Once the echo subsides, a deadly silence falls. You could hear a pin drop from a mile away. He's either stupid or thinks the same of me. Big mistake.

Fed up with his unreadable stare I reach for the thing closest to me, a lamp. I throw it at him, hoping it will scare a response out of him. He moves fluidly, the air around him bends at his mere shift in posture, and the lamp flies past his head, shattering against the wall behind him.