Alpha's Mate, Vampire's Slave

Episode 7

I wake up strapped to a chair. My head hurts so bad my vision is fuzzy. Is my nose broken? Something has to be. Before today, I'd never hurt my head before. Sure, I've fallen down my fair share of stairs, but I don't play sports. I have skinny little arms and get winded running around the block to get to the bus stop on time. Concussion. That's what it has to be.

I'm in a large library; I can smell the ancient books before my vision comes back. The carpet is a rich red, and dark bookshelves reach from the floor to the ceiling in every direction--not that I can turn my head very far. Ugh.

And dead ahead of me, a wide dark table. A large, human-shaped lump lies across it clothed in black fabric. Fenris stands at the head of the table, waving his hands wildly. He casts a look in my direction and shakes his head. When he opens his mouth, I realize my ears are ringing so loudly that I can't hear s**t.

Is this what it feels like to die?

My head slumps; it hurts to pick it up, but I try. There are two other elves. They look old. They're all wrinkled pale skin and have hands that look so worn I think the skin might just fall off. They dress like him; the woman, I think, has a black braid woven with small flowers. Maybe she dyes it. The man's is long and white, as clean and bright as fresh snow. I think I'm going to puke.

The woman steps toward me. Her pink lips narrow into a frown. I wriggle my wrists and find that they're secured to the legs of the chair. My legs splay out weakly in front of me, and when I try to kick, it's a worthless spasm. I'm useless.

I'm alone. I try to whip my head around, but it hardly moves. The lump on the table must be Jack, because there's no sign of a chest bobbing. Whatever sound I make, I can't hear it, but the woman's thin black brows narrow at me. I don't know why, but it puts ice in my blood. When I lick my lips, there's no moisture, nothing. When she places her hand on my head, I can't muster the energy to even bare teeth at her.

Fenris catches my eye and I see his, blazing. It's an anger I've never seen someone direct at me. His shoulder is wrapped with bandages; I can be proud of that at least, but the way his one white brow is crooked and his lip is pursed into a pout, I can tell he's more annoyed than enraged. It's insult added to my throbbing injury.

The woman's hand becomes burning hot. When I lift my eyes, a shooting pain rushes through me, but worse, I realize her hand glowing. I try to shrink back, but I can't. She pulls the hand away, shaking her head.

Fenris's shoulders sink. He turns his head sharply at the man, his hands flying into wild gestures. The man walks away, picking through his books. I shake the chair. I try to strain forward, try to draw their attention back to me, but the other elves are done with me. They don't even look in my direction.

Whatever they thought I was, I'm not that. I take a deep breath and wince. I must've bruised my ribs when I took that fall onto the street. This definitely can't be a dream. It hurts too much.

The man pulls a yellow book from the shelf, when he opens it, a thousand lights shoot out of the pages. They look like raindrops falling backward, and I can't help but stare. Can't help but watch, my mouth hanging dumbly open as the woman places her hands on the book and the lights twist and twine around her arms.

She places her hands on Jack's body. The light rushes off of her. The little lights look like little bejeweled bugs. For a moment, his dark blankets are so bright I feel like a moth in a lantern; I can't stop looking, even though it cooks my eyes.

The blankets jerk upright.

The adrenaline that shoots through me is enough for me to tip my chair over. I land hard on my shins, the chair shielding my eyes from everything around me. I call his name, over and over, my mouth shaping the word like its my salvation. Jack.

My Jack. We can escape this together, if only he's okay. I imagine my head against that warm chest, my fingers fisted in his coily hair. I imagine our future together, that beach wedding with the wind blowing salt into our kisses...

And even over the ringing in my ears, I can hear the elves scream. Fenris's voice is twisted in pain.

I can't move. I can't drag myself out of the chair. All I can see is the frantic shuffle of boots--and Jack's Air Jordans, coated in black blood. He's alive, my heart is singing, he's alive. And I don't care about the elves' screams. All I can do is call for him.

And call.

And call.

There's a scuffle, the Air Jordans stamping frantically on the floor. Jack doesn't even stop to look at me; there's just a frenzy of motion and the overwhelming smell of blood. It's surprising that I even notice it anymore, the blood. It seems to be my life now.

It's gone: my voice, my hope, and whatever being that had awoken in my chest. It's dead, all dead. As I lie there, my throat raw and my singing heart cracking open, I feel the chill settle in the air. The Air Jordans escape my sight, and the boots that approach my chair are slow and quiet.

Finally, I'm tipped upright. Fenris leans over me, his face so close that if I wanted, I could bite his hook nose clean off.

I don't have to. I don't need to hurt him more than he's already been hurt.

Massive claw marks rack his face, the handsome features shredded and dripping with gore. They wrap his nose like a sick picture frame. The eyes look tired and sad. He leans into my ear, and I try to push him away, but there's nowhere for me to go.

"I'm sorry, Annabeth, but I don't think I can save you from this one."