Endless

Bitten | Aleria

I fought against the weights restraining my limbs, struggling to sit up. Hands pinned me down, then turned on the light.

Ryan.

I screamed, crying while cowering back against the mattress. Instead of attacking me, Ryan stepped back, his green eyes wide.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered, glancing behind him. "It was a nightmare."

My monitor's fast beeps filled the silence between us. Nightmare... I forced myself to relax, letting my body sag back into the mattress. The air machine did my breathing for me.

Seriously, how could I think it was real? Ryan was my doctor and the dream had some stupid fantasy of 1400s France or something. I glanced towards him with an apologetic expression. His posture eased, as if he'd held his breath until now. He moved closer and checked my vitals.

"Looking good," he murmured. "Bet you want that thing out of your mouth."

I blinked. I'd have nodded if I could. Vigorously.

He smiled gently. Nothing like the monster of my dream. "Okay, good. I'm going to take it out for you and we'll talk. Just stay calm. This might make you feel a bit sick. Now exhale and I'll take out the tube."

I blinked again and did as he said. He started to remove the pipe. Sure enough, my stomach crawled its way up my throat. Moments later, the pipe was out. I took deep breaths as fast as I could, partly to savor my freedom from that damned machine and partly to keep my nausea at bay. My throat ached.

"Well done." He held a glass of water close to my mouth, helping me get a hold on the straw. I sucked greedily. The icy coolness was heaven, but it hurt to swallow. "Now," he said, placing the glass on a table by my bed. "What's your name?"

It would have been wonderful if we could have started off with something a little more comforting.

"I don't know." My voice sounded brittle.

He paused. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No," I croaked. I longed for more water.

Ryan frowned and returned to my side, flashing a light into my eyes. I flinched at the reminder of my dream. My heart rate rose again.

"We'll need to do a scan," he said, turning the penlight off. He glanced to the heart monitor.

I swallowed. "You. Nightmare." It hurt too much to speak.

"I was in the nightmare?"

"Yes." I coughed, prompting him to give me more water.

"What did you dream?"

There was no way in hell I'd tell him the whole thing. First, it was ridiculous. Second, my throat felt like I'd eaten sandpaper. I rolled my eyes and croaked the keywords. "Torches...monsters...brambles...you... I bit...you. Stupid...dream."

Ryan replaced the cup once more. "I see. Do you remember anything else? Maybe we can figure out who you are."

Something about his measured response set me on edge. "Nothing."

He frowned. He didn't believe me.

"Nothing," I repeated, emphasizing both syllables. The effort shredded my poor throat.

Ryan took a notebook from his coat's pocket and scribbled. My gaze drifted to his hand. It had a faint scar. Teeth marks. My jaw dropped, but no scream came. Pure terror took over my body. My body jerked up, but he dropped the notebook and forced me to lay back. He covered my mouth with his hand to stifle my screams.

"Quiet!"

Quiet? Quiet? His hand. His scar. No, wait. Maybe I saw it before without realizing.

"I'm way past hurting you," he hissed, glancing towards the curtained entry. His words shattered any illusion I had. The nightmare was real. The danger too.

I shivered and closed my eyes, letting my soul reach out... For what?

"Don't. I want to help you," he said, "but you need to trust me."

I wanted to bite his hand, but if my nightmare was right, it wasn't a good idea. I gave a little nip instead and he yanked his hand back.

"Trust?" I hissed back. "You wanted to kill me."

"Hundreds of years ago, yes!" He sighed and wiped his hand down his face. "You need to rest. You really remember nothing?"

"NO!"

"Okay! Shit. Shit. Shit." He paced about, then stopped and faced me once more. "The FBI will want to talk to you tomorrow. Do not mention the fact that you're six centuries old. I'll make sure the hospital system spits you out." He gave me a look over. "And...ensure no one notices how fast you're healing."

FBI? I was in America? I was six hundred years old? I didn't feel like I had six centuries behind me. Bloody hell that was a lot of memory I didn't have. Wait. "Spit me out where? I don't know where to go."

Ryan scowled. "Nor do I know where you're supposed to be. But you need out of the hospital."

"Or what?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Or humans will realize you're immortal. And then we're all screwed."

Ooh! So Aleria's dream was real. How do you think Ryan will get Aleria out of the hospital? Don't forget to vote if you've enjoyed this scene!