Chapter 119: Blood And Punctures

Nyra can’t for the love of God, keep her eyes open.

She can hear voices, the beep of machines. Can feel the several needles they’ve injected into her arm, but at this point she’s too drained to fight.

The men above her are wearing white lab coats. One of them mentions readings. The other one mentions dosage, but none of it makes sense to her. Her eyelids feel heavy, sticky. When she forces them open, the light above her is too bright.

She doesn’t bother trying to move. Because she’s done that so many times, the thick straps holding her wrists and ankles to a cold metal table tore into her skin.

There’s also another band across her chest and hips.

But more than that, her body feels entirely wrong. Like she can’t control it anymore, as if every muscle has been filled with sand.

It’s been fucking hours.

She has lost count of how many.

They brought her here at dawn. She remembers the way the guards dragged her down the stairs. She remembers the way one of them slapped her hard when she struggled too hard.

This time there was no Killian to stop the abuse.

She remembers being thrown into the room. Then the table. Then the first injection.

They have taken blood more times than she can count. She felt the needle slide in, felt the slow pull, watched the dark red fill the tubes. They injected her with other things too--clear liquids that made her cry. Some made her dizzy, and of course, the one that ensured Nyx remained asleep.

Killian... he said they weren’t going to torture her. He lied to her!

"You don’t have to worry. We’re not bleeding you dry," he had said. "We just need a few pints of blood to create a weapon."

Nyra had stopped walking. The words felt like stones in her chest.

"You’re going to use my own blood to take out my people and you’re asking me not to worry?!" She looked at him incredulously.

Killian had sighed, looking away toward the trees. "Nyra... I can’t help you more than this. My father has a vendetta against werewolves from the past. And now, one of them--a rogue--killed his lover last month. I didn’t give a fuck about her, but my dad did. And of course he has the resources. And other people who are just as bloodthirsty as he is."

She stood there trying to process everything. Rogues?

All of this because of rogues? What kind of stupid excuse is that!?

"We don’t even like rogues! They’re called that for a reason. Werewolves just... we don’t like humans sometimes, but you can’t kill innocent cubs because of what a few monsters did. You can’t--"

Angry tears had spilled before she could stop them. "This is all my fault. My people are going to die and it’s all my fault."

Nyra’s chest feels like it’s going to fucking implode.

If they succeed in turning her blood into a weapon, they’ll use it against werewolves. Against packs. Against innocent families who have nothing to do with whatever those rogues did.

Her blood could be the reason someone dies.

She doesn’t want to be responsible for that. She doesn’t want her existence to become a weapon against her own people.

"I understand how you feel." Killian had said, reaching for her, but she shoved his hand away hard enough that he stepped back.

"Don’t fucking say you don’t understand! You don’t understand shit!" She sniffed hard. "Don’t pretend like you sympathize with me. You’re all the same. You’re only like this because you’re interested in me. If I was some old woman, you wouldn’t treat me nicely. So drop the fucking act."

Then she had turned and walked away before he could answer, tears streaming down her face, heading straight back to the locked guest room.

She would rather sit alone in that cage than listen to another soft-voiced justification from him.

The next morning, there was no Killian. Instead, two guards entered without knocking, grabbing her, slapping her when she fought too hard, and threw her in here.

Then, she could still see the experiment room better.

It’s a large space, hidden behind another ordinary-looking room.

White walls. White floor. A long metal table in the center under a cluster of bright lamps. Machines line the side--tall units with screens that flicker with numbers and graphs, glass cylinders connected by thin tubes, trays of instruments laid out in neat rows.

A technician in a white coat checks the machine that had injected her with about five different needles connecting her to a thin tube first, then they started drawing blood.

Nyra turns her head as far as the restraints allow and stares at the ceiling.

Somewhere outside, the men continue to discuss, but it sounds like they’re talking from under water.

"Her blood volume is low."

"I don’t think the readings are going to be accurate right now."

"Is there a way to adjust the results?"

"No, we’ll have to wait a while."

"How long?"

"Maybe two days."

"Two whole days!? Do you think those damn werewolves are just sitting around waiting for us to return her?"

That voice is followed by the sound of things crashing. "You’re all just a bunch of incompetent fools!"

"Sorry, sir."

Nyra doesn’t know whether to feel relief or not. On one hand, the torture has stopped for now. On the other hand... it’s not completely over yet.

She closes her eyes, trying to reach for the bond again. But whatever they gave her is completely effective. She can’t reach Adrian anymore.

Just then, the door slams open again. She keeps her eyes closed as Victor--Killian’s father--forcefully yanks the needle connecting her to the tube machine out of her arm.

It hurts so bad, but she reminds herself not to flinch or cry. To these people, she’s nothing but a lab rat.

The technicians fall silent.

Victor yells at the guards standing there. "Get her out of here. Throw her back in the room until we determine a way to increase her blood volume. And I want results by tomorrow, no excuses."

Nyra’s limbs feel as heavy as wet sand. When they haul her upright, her knees shake. She can’t even stand properly as they practically drag her through the corridors and up the stairs.

At the door of the guest room, they simply push her inside and slam the door behind her.

Nyra collapses to the floor immediately, every part of her body feeling like lead. She’s hungry, still bleeding from the puncture wounds from the needles, and her whole body aches.

But more than that, her heart aches.

Then, most likely because the universe hates her, right in that moment, an unwanted heat begins to bloom low in her belly.

It starts as a flush across her skin, a restless warmth that spreads outward in slow waves. Within minutes, it becomes something else entirely.

Her whole body starts shaking, and her scent, which is usually faint, fills the room. It smells really sweet, like vanilla and daisies.

Fuck. Her first heat!

Since her shift, she’d been expecting it. She didn’t tell Adrian because she was hoping to surprise him, and maybe they could spend it together.

But now, of all places, it decides to hit her here. Right when she’s in the middle of her captors, who don’t even see her as an equal being.

Sweat beads along her temples and the back of her neck. Her breath comes out in short gasps.

And between her legs.... it hurts so much. Her body throbs, aching for something to fill that deep, aching emptiness, the hole clenching and unclenching.

Her thighs press together hard, seeking friction that only makes the need worse. Her nipples tighten against the thin fabric of her shirt.

Every brush of air across her overheated skin feels like a touch. She curls onto her side, shaking as another wave rolls through her.

It burns so fucking much.

It leaves her gasping, eyes unfocused, mind reduced to a single desperate plea for relief.

The knob of her door opens.

Killian steps inside carrying a tray of food. The moment the door opens, the thick, sweet scent of her pheromones hits him like a physical blow. The tray slips from his hands and clatters onto the bed.

What the hell--

He rushes to her side, dropping to his knees beside her. "Nyra, what’s wrong?"

She turns her head. Her amber eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide, cheeks painted deep red. Her thighs are still tightly pressed together, body trembling with an unquenchable heat.

Nyra knows this heat won’t just fucking go away on its own. She has studied so much about heats in a desperate attempt to have one, that she knows it’s useless to just ’wait.’

Desperately, she reaches out to grab the front of Killian’s shirt, her fingers digging into his flesh.

"Please, it hurts so much. Please... help me."