A Turn of Tides (A Shade of Vampire #13)(12)

Possibly into an operating room… I lifted myself onto the roof and looked around.

There was indeed a door in the center of the roof.

I approached it and pulled at the handle.

It was locked, as expected.

Gripping the handle, the metal crushing beneath my fingers, I yanked it off.

That would draw less attention than kicking the door down.

I pushed the door open to find myself at the top of a dark staircase.

Keeping the hood of my cloak over my face, I closed the door again before hurtling down the steps.

Light streamed through a pair of glass doors as I reached the level beneath.

I pushed it open to find myself in some kind of storage room.

There were shelves upon shelves of medical equipment.

I crossed the floor and reached the door.

Opening it led me to another storage room.

I was about to open the door when my eyes caught sight of a pile of white overalls and visitor cards.

I put an overall over me and attached a visitor card around my neck.

Perfect.

When I opened the door, the scent of human blood was stronger.

Nurses and doctors passed through the corridor.

I waited until they’d disappeared before stepping out.

I kept my eyes fixed on the floor as I tried to walk at the speed a human would.

I didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone.

Now that I’d reached the level I needed to be on, it was a matter of finding the right patient.

The scent of human blood was filling my nostrils—both sweet, healthy blood and also a more sickly, stale scent of dying blood.

The latter was the type I needed.

One that wouldn’t be so appealing.

I would have a better chance of not killing the human if his or her blood tasted disgusting.

I walked in and out of rooms, looking for a bed that had few people around it and was almost empty.

As it turned out, my victim found me.

As I was walking along a particularly empty-looking ward, plastic curtains rustled in the bed a few yards to my right.

I whirled around to see curious eyes looking at me, an emaciated hand holding open the curtains.

It was a young man.

It was hard to tell his age—he looked so thin and sickly.

But I guessed he was no older than his mid-twenties.

“Hey,” he called out in a frail voice.

I approached him cautiously, raising a brow.

His face contorted with pain.

“I need help.” I was surprised that he spoke to me in English.

“What’s wrong?” I said, stopping at the end of his bed.

He scowled, his breath hitching as he reached for his chest.

“The drug you gave me earlier isn’t working.” I bent closer to him, looking at where he was touching, and as I did his eyes seemed to come into focus.

He swore.

“It wasn’t you.

It was someone else… I’m in so much frickin’ pain I can barely see.” Given my white overalls he obviously thought I was a doctor.

“That’s all right,” I said.

“I can help you.” He reached for a clipboard at the side of his bed and shoved it toward me.

“This is my medical file.

Read it before you start meddling.” He glared at me.

“This damn hospital.

They wouldn’t be able to figure out how to assign me just one doctor even if it was my last request.” I flipped to the first page of his file and my eyes fell on the first words written on the form at the top of the page.

“Tobias Cole.

Bronchial cancer.

Stage four.” That’s good enough.

I pretended to be studying the file for a few more minutes before taking a seat next to his bed.

I reached over and felt his pulse.

He squirmed away from me.

“Christ, you’re cold.” “Sorry,” I murmured, withdrawing my hand.

I swallowed hard, staring down at the man.

He looked up at me expectantly, tears forming at the corners of his eyes from the pain.

Jeramiah’s last words rang in my ears.

“The trick is to stop before you feel you’ve started.” What the hell does that even mean? Tobias was growing impatient.

I didn’t have much time to figure it out.

I just had to hope that his blood was disgusting enough to aid me in pulling this off.

He certainly smelt of death.

I grimaced.

“What?” Tobias croaked.

“Nothing.” I assumed a stoic expression and stood up, pushing him down flat on the bed.

“I will make the pain go away.

But first, I want you to close your eyes.

Can you do that?” He looked confused, but he didn’t argue.

He nodded and shut his eyes.

Drawing the curtains, I bent down and, covering his mouth with my hand to stifle his struggling, dug my fangs into his neck.

He was too weak to make much noise anyway.

And the noise he did make was hardly distinguishable from the other moans of pain echoing through the halls of this level of the hospital.

I felt the blood begin to rush into my mouth and breathed out through my nose in relief that it tasted as stale as it smelt.

Stop before you feel you’ve started.

Again, I found myself wondering what that meant.