Origin (Lux #4)(53)

This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

I stumbled, almost losing my balance, and that brought a big ol’ dose of what-the-hell. I never stumbled. I had wonderful poise. Or balance. Whatever.

The Rambo wannabe stopped in front of one of the many windowless doors and did the eyeball thing. There was a clicking sound, and the door opened. Air punched out of my lungs the moment I got a good eyeful of the room.

My worst nightmare had come true, springing to life in horrifying clarity and detail.

No one was standing near her, but there were people in the room, even though I really didn’t see them. All I saw was Kat. She was lying on her stomach, head turned to the side. Her face was ungodly pale and strained, eyes barely open. A fine sheen of sweat covered her forehead.

Dear God, there was so much blood—seeping off Kat’s back, pooling on the gurney table she was lying on, and dripping into the pans below the table.

Her back…her back was a mangled mess. Muscle cut and bone exposed. It looked like Freddy Krueger had gotten hold of her. I was pretty sure her spine was…I couldn’t even finish the thought.

Maybe a second had passed from when I entered the room and lurched forward, knocking the dumbass guard out of the way. I faltered when I reached her side and threw my hands out to catch myself. They landed in blood—her blood.

“Jesus,” I whispered. “Kat…oh God, Kat…”

Her lashes didn’t move. Nothing. A strand of hair clung to her sweat-soaked, pale cheek.

My heart was pounding erratically, struggling to keep up, and I knew it wasn’t mine that was faltering. It was Kat’s. I didn’t know how this happened. Not that I didn’t care, because I did want to know, but it wasn’t what was important now.

“I got this,” I told her, not paying heed to anyone in the room. “I’m going to fix this.”

Still nothing, and I cursed as I turned, preparing to shed my human skin, because this…this would require everything in me to fix.

My gaze met Nancy’s for a second. “You bitch.”

She tapped her pen on her clipboard and made a soft tsking sound. “We need to make sure you can heal again on what is considered a catastrophic level. Those wounds were made precisely to be fatal, but to take time, unlike a stomach wound or inflictions to other various parts of the body. You will need to heal her.”

I was so going to kill that lady one day.

Rage spiked, fueling me, and I shifted into my true form; the roar rose from the depths of my soul. The table shook. Utensils clamored and toppled off the tray. Cabinet doors opened.

“Jesus,” someone muttered.

I placed my hands on Kat. Kitten, I’m here. I’m here, baby. I’m going to make this go away. All of this.

There was no answer, and the tangy taste of fear coated me. Warmth radiated out from my hands, and the white light tinged with red swallowed Kat. Vaguely I heard Nancy saying, “It’s time to move on to the mutation phase.”



Healing Kat had exhausted me. That made everyone in that room very lucky because I was sure I could’ve taken out at least two of them before they got hold of me, if I could move my legs.

They had tried to remove me from the room after I’d healed Kat. Like hell I’d leave them alone with her. Nancy and Dasher had left some time ago, but the doctor hung out, checking Kat’s vitals. They were fine, he’d said. She was perfectly healed.

I wanted to murder him.

And I think he knew because he stayed far from my reach.

The doctor eventually left. Only Archer remained. He didn’t speak, which was freaking fine by me. What little respect I’d gained for the man was lost the second I realized that he’d been in this room the entire time they did…did this to her. All to prove that I was strong enough to bring her back from the brink of death.

I knew what was coming next: an endless stream of half-dead humans.

Pushing that reality out of my head, I focused on Kat. I sat by the bed, on the stupid rolling chair Nancy had been in, holding her limp hand, smoothing my thumb in circles, hoping that it reached her somehow. She hadn’t woken yet, and I hoped she had been passed out through the whole process.

At some point, a female nurse had come in to clean her up. I didn’t want anyone near her, but I also didn’t want Kat to wake up covered in her own blood. I wanted her to wake up and have no memory of this—of any of this.

“I got it,” I said, standing.

The nurse shook her head. “But I—”

I took a step toward her. “I will do this.”

“Let him do it,” Archer said, shoulders stiff. “Leave.”

The nurse looked like she would argue, but finally she left. Archer turned his head as I stripped away the blood-soaked clothing and began cleaning her back. And her back…there were scars—vicious, angry-looking red marks below her shoulder blades—reminding me of one of those books she had at home about a fallen angel whose wings had been ripped away.

I don’t know why she scarred this time. The bullet had left a faint mark on her chest, but nothing like this. Maybe it was because of how long it took me to heal her. Maybe it was because the bullet hole was so small and this…this wasn’t.

A low, inhuman sound crawled up my throat, startling Archer. I mustered whatever energy I had left and finished changing her. Then I settled back down and picked up her small hand. The silence was as thick as fog in the room until Archer broke it.