A Wicked Night (Creatures of Darkness 2): A Coraline Conwell Novel (23 page)

“Where is it?” the harsh voice boomed in Cora’s ear.

The saturating haze in her mind was starting to dissipate, replaced by a dull ache and dizzying nausea. She wanted to open her eyes, but she knew the world would spin, and if that happened she might just throw up.

A wet pounding sound echoed around her.

“Where is it?” the voice repeated.

Whoever was yelling, he wasn’t yelling at her, so she felt no more alarmed than she was used to upon awakening.

Then memories surfaced. Her heart lurched into her throat.

The door!

The door had been open and all I could think of was screwing!

Now she was back on the gurney. Its familiar tough mat taunted the sore muscles of her back and legs. Her limbs were strapped back into place.

She wanted to sob.

And still the lust was present, though somewhat dimmed.

She gagged a little, recalling how she’d invited those two awful guards to have their way. Gross!

Thank the goddess for Brayden. She owed him…

Wait, had he knocked her out?

The yelling continued, the same question over and over
—“Where is it?”
—followed by another slick thud, like the flat, meaty side of a fish hitting pavement.

She slowly opened her eyes, willing her surroundings into rigid stillness.

With one hand holding the bloodied doctor against the wall, Bray had his other red-stained fist lifted in a threatening display. At some point, he’d managed to find a shirt that matched his scrubs.

The doctor, a bit dazed, quietly whimpered, “I didn’t make an antidote.”

Most of his teeth were missing and blood-soaked spittle dripped out of his mouth as he spoke. His face was marred by welts and one eye was swollen so badly she was sure he could no longer see out of it.

“Bullshit! Where is it?” A mercilessly hard punch had the back of the doctor’s head ricocheting off the wall.

He cringed and cried out in a muffled tone, “I didn’t have need for one.”

“You’d just leave her like that? For how long?”

“T-till the effects fade. A few hours, maybe.”

“Did you take advantage of her, you sick fuck?”

“No! No, I swear.”

Bray fisted his collar. “What about your little minions?”

“No one touched her!”

“Bray,” Cora croaked, surprised at the rawness in her throat.

Brayden turned his head, instantly softening. “Angel, how are you feeling?”

“Cat-in-heat syndrome is still strong, but manageable. Please let me up.” She would have asked why she was strapped in, but recalling the ferocity with which she had attacked Bray, she could pretty much guess.

He tossed the doctor aside. It was then that she could see both his legs and left arm were broken. Still he tried to scramble away until Brayden shot him a warning look. Then he moved to her side and began undoing her restraints.

She shimmied off the gurney, and her bare feet found the cool ground. Bray lifted his unsullied hand to caress the side of her face. It made her uneasy in a self-conscious way, even as lust surged once more. She had very nearly leaned her face into his touch.

Bray seemed to notice the conflict and backed away. He gestured to a pair of freshly folded scrubs, seemingly set out for her, then turned back to the doctor. “What is this place? What’s your purpose here?”

The doctor grew defiant, lifting his swollen chin. Cora noticed he’d been subtly inching toward a small pale green cabinet near his desk.

Bray yanked him up by the collar. “Where are you going?” Then he dragged the doctor along the rough ground and, with almost no effort, planted him on the gurney that Cora had just vacated and strapped him in place.

Satisfaction at seeing her latest nightmare beaten and immobilized flooded her brain. It was heady. Gratifying. Empowering. Without thinking, she hurled a hunk of spit upon his face.

The doctor froze, gawking at her. Almost as if being spat on was worse than what Bray had done to him. Then his expression became a jumble of anger and hate.

“He’ll find you,” he spoke only to her. “You are his.”

Bray glanced curiously between them. “Who?” he demanded of the doctor, his expression growing more enraged.

Again the doctor turned defiant, his mouth clamping shut.

Bray considered him for a moment. “Perhaps there’s some information stored in all these filing cabinets.” He indicated the cabinets lining the wall.

The doctor remained impassive, and yet she thought he might be sweating a little under all that blood. While Bray went to open a drawer and shuffle through a mess of files, Cora slipped into the clean clothes, uncaring of her partial nudity as she donned the too large top and baggy bottoms. At this point, modesty could go screw a lamppost. She luxuriated in the feel of the ugly green scrubs that hung over her body like stiff, yet comfy, sheets.

She pulled the string tight around her waist to keep the pants from falling, then padded to investigate the cabinet the doctor had been subtly inching toward. Inside were several syringes filled with various liquids, a couple half empty jars containing a blue powdery substance she couldn’t begin to identify, and a gun. Setting her pointer finger loosely in the trigger guard, she held it up for Bray.

He gave the doctor an amused glance. “What can you have expected to do with that?”

Gun’s rarely hindered a vampire. Not unless the shooter was a spot on shot and landed a bullet to the brainpan. Even then, a vampire could recover, although they might be out for some time, vulnerable.

When the doctor gave a superior smirk only to quickly school it, Bray gave the gun a second look. “Let me see that.”

She handed it over, glad to have it out of her grip. She despised guns, even though she’d wished for one more than once during her stay here.

Bray checked the clip and pulled out a single bullet. It was transparent. Glass, maybe. Filled with a blue liquid that resembled the color of the powders she’d just inventoried.

Her intuition kicked in.

She understood what Bray was about to do and managed to get out the word “don’t” before he smashed the bullet between his thumb and forefinger. Shards scattered to the floor. The blue liquid splattered Bray’s hand.

He let out a ripe curse and flicked his wrist wildly. Cora smelled burning flesh and chemicals, the same scent that had accompanied her down a dusty road with a dying Mace slumped in the passenger seat next to her.

“Acid?” she asked.

Bray rushed to the shelf of vials and bottles, picking through the clear bottles and sniffing the contents. Once he found one he was satisfied with, he poured it over his scalding hand. “Looks like it, but worse. Made it to the bone in no time.”

To the bone! “Are you alright?”

He shielded his hand from her so she couldn’t see the carnage. Rummaging through the upper cabinets, he found a rag and wrapped it around his hand before turning back to her. “I’ll heal.”

With that, he returned to his snooping, pulling out files, looking through some and tossing others aside.

Curious, she claimed a discarded file and flipped it open.

Subject #32

Male

Age 18

Week 1: Subject responding poorly to initial treatment. Lowering dosage. Blood work is promising.

Week 2: Subject convulses after treatment and is spitting up small amounts of bile. Adding P 32 to the treatment.

Week 3: Subject seems to be weakening. Skin is pale. Blood tests positive for dark cells, but the count is disappointing. Upping dosage.

And there it was. The undeniable proof that the doctor was, in fact, trying to turn people into vampires. Dark cells were the biological evidence that separated vampires apart from humans.

Week 4: Subject spitting up blood. Lungs have collapsed twice. Had to resuscitate. Altering dosage and adding Q 13 to the treatment.

Week 5: Subject’s organs systematically shutting down. Used number six to heal. Continuing treatment, no change to dosage.

Number six? Cora thought. Hadn’t they labeled Bray number seven? Was number six another vampire? Had the doctor used vampire blood to heal this poor boy…only to torment him further?

Week 6: Subject’s condition degenerating swiftly and requires constant healing. Dark cell count has risen significantly. Upping dosage.

Then, at the bottom of the page, like a hideous stain on a snow-white satin gown, was a very nondescript
Week 7: subject deceased.

Those two, carelessly scrawled words marched icy chills through Cora’s veins. How utterly…inhumane.

She picked up another file.

Subject 12

Female

Age 15

Her breath stuttered at the age. Wanting to avoid the horror she was sure to read, she scrolled to the last entry.

Week 3: subject deceased.

She pushed the paper away and grabbed for another one. A female, according to the notes. This one a little older than Cora. Again, she skipped the preliminaries.

Week 5: Subject deceased.

She snatched a fourth file.

Subject deceased.

Then another.

Subject deceased.

And another

Subject deceased.

Goddess! How many individuals had perished for the sake of the doctor’s research? Rage churned into violent twisters in her brain, filling her with a ferocious urge for retribution.

She swept a laser-pointed glare at the doctor.

Whether it was the arrogant expression that had somehow survived the beating or the fact that he appeared to be at ease, as though he were resting on a fucking bed of roses, something in her snapped.

She crossed to him and gripped his collar with tight fists, shaking him. “How could you be such a monster?”

The doctor only responded with an uncaring grin.

At seeing that heartless curve to his evil lips, a dangerous instinct took over. Avenging words fell from her mouth. Words steeped in a power she’d only felt a handful of times before. Her voice didn’t sound like her own.

“You stink of death, of blood!” Her vision tunneled. “You’re drowning in it! Drowning in the blood you’ve stolen! The blood you’ve tainted.” She leaned close and lowered her tone to a gravely hiss. “Before you die, I’ll hear you choke on it!”

A large, warm hand came down on her shoulder. She jumped and glanced back at Bray who was, for some reason, expressing concern.

“Angel, don’t waste your breath on him. He’s not—”

A gurgling sound cut him off.

They both turned to the doctor. A drop of red dripped from one corner of his mouth. His eyes widened in panic as he tried to inhale, but only managed to spit up a bit of blood.

Then a surge of red liquid erupted from his throat.

Had Bray caused some internal injuries?

Or…had she?
I’ll hear you choke on it.

Again blood gushed up like a geyser, falling in waves to the mat beneath the gurney and pooling at the base. Cora backed up as the puddle inched closer. And still the doctor spewed more. It bubbled out between his panicked gargles, his eyes wild with dread-filled confusion. Then agony creased his features. Hideous sounds churned in his lungs. His body convulsed, desperate for air and freedom.

But he could only cough up more blood.

Then, as he choked out one last rasp in an effort to draw breath, his eyes dimmed with the clear indication of death. His body went still…and yet the blood continued to flow, overtaking their feet and splashing against the walls.

“What the hell?” Bray muttered, pulling her protectively away.

Cora covered her mouth, unable hold back sob as she witnessed the horror of her unintended spell.

“It’s not stopping,” Bray exclaimed.

Already they were ankle deep.