Fangs of Fate (Untish #1)

Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

TATE

I opened my eyes slowly. I was lying on a red velvet couch. A glass wall was in front of me with a coffee table nearby that held a freshly filled crystal stem of bloodwine.

“She’s up,” a female spoke. I followed the voice to the corner where a tall female in black stood. She was thin with black eyes and matching hair. Luina. What was she doing here? In fact, where was here?

I tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. Pain and nausea claimed me, sending me straight back to the cushioned couch.

“Medics, please,” President Dale’s voice registered next. He stood next to Luina, gazing into the glass wall. “Try not to move Tatealia, it will hurt until the drugs kick in.” He was speaking to me, but why?

A male dressed in all blue scrubs approached me, kit in hand. He reached out and took my arm and then with his other he pulled out a syringe. I pulled back, my skin was screaming at me. It was torn, cuts covered my entire arm. Looking down, I could see my black tank was torn and bloody. My flesh below was covered in crisscrossing slashes. The stench was nearly unbearable.

“Hold still, miss.” The medic retrieved my arm, more delicately, and this time I allowed him. The pieces felt so close but so far. Nothing made sense.

The medic plunged the needle into my flesh with searing pain. He retracted the needle, leaving a cannula in my arm, and then pulled out another syringe.

“Wha...what,” every syllable hurt, “is that?”

“It is a healing agent. It should have your skin good as new in the next eight to twelve hours.” He paused looking at me, he was waiting I realized, for my approval. I nodded, unable to respond.

Something important had happened, I knew that. But what?

“It will come back. Memory disruption, hallucination, and cognitive impairment are all common side effects of the nitrous gas. I apologize for the requirement of it, however, given the situation, I’m sure you understand,” Luina’s cold voice triggered something. Panic began to seize my chest.

“Nitrous gas?” My voice was hoarse, and my throat felt raw.

“Yes. Your memory will return. In the meantime, have a glass of wine and when you feel well enough to move, the guards on the other side of the door will escort you out. Your convoy leaves first thing in the morning, approximately ten hours from now.”

Convoy? They were speaking as if I were in the guara. I wasn’t, I would never?—

Flashes, memories began to assault me. I had been enlisted, assigned to the Eastern Outpost.

“Ahh, I see. I know you had registered at the clinic veil side, but given your infractions, I was informed you were scheduled for enlistment,” President Dale spoke, turning from the window to focus on me. “My boy, Chance, was a good lad; but the guara made him a man. Taught him responsibility, maturity, and hard work. He’s a good soldier now, a dux even. Someone I can be proud of. Just think of how you can serve the guara in years to come.” He tapped his cane once before picking it up in his hand. “I’m off, please ensure Tatealia is given a room in the guara quarters tonight prior to her departure.” The unspoken threat in his voice was there: the guaramen were my escorts and to ensure I was on board the circuit the following morning.

President Dale walked out of the room, Luina followed, neither bothering to look back. It wasn’t lost on me that she didn’t answer my question. I still had no idea why they’d used nitrous gas on me. Something was very wrong.

I sat up on the couch, taking a moment to steady myself. I could feel the medication working, my mind becoming less hazy. I reached out and grabbed the glass, my stomach felt empty; the drugs were making me nauseous. Hopefully, the wine would subside it. I took a long gulp and nearly spat it out; my throat burned. I forced it down and then placed the stem back on the table, still half full.

The glass window stood there mocking me. I stood up, my head wavering. One minute, I would stand for one minute and then approach the wall. My shoes were missing, which meant the walk would also be uneven. Nothing new, and yet, dread began to pool in my stomach, my heart rate increased. I knew something ominous lay beyond the glass, somehow, I knew it was terrible.

Flashes began to return, green gas, a metal chair, blood…so much blood. Screams, female screams. Male screams. I couldn’t stand still any longer, I began to approach the window. The room turned sideways as I started to fall. Putting my hand out, I caught myself on the coffee table and then forced myself upright again. I just needed to move slowly. One foot at a time. I would face this, see what lay behind the sheer wall.

The glass was just in front now, and I could see a metal chair with black charred clumps on the ground. Organic matter. It was burnt flesh, black and red scorched blood everywhere. A scream escaped me.

Images came back. Fletch’s eyes, his bloodied arm, the knife, his screams…the fire. No, no, no this couldn’t be true. I pounded my fists against the glass.

“FLETCH!” The glass wouldn’t give.

His apology replayed in my mind. I was gassed because of him. He didn’t stop it, not right away.

“No! Blood no! Please, not you too!” I limped quickly to the end of the room and pushed open the glass door. The entire chamber reeked of charred flesh. Smoke clung to the air. I rushed to the clumps on the floor. His remains. They were burnt to a crisp and completely unrecognizable.

They surrounded the chair, scattered across the floor. President Dale and Luina just left him like garbage.

A sob escaped me. This couldn’t be real. I dropped to my knees before the remains, my hands began to shake. No, this was a bad dream and I’d wake soon. I had to. Fletch was the only family I had left.

Blood still boiled in a small puddle near the chair. They must’ve used a chemical fire.

Pure hate claimed me. I threw my head back and released a scream that came from the depths of my soul.

Fletch. My Fletch was gone.

Tears began to spatter across the floor, pouring down my face next to two streams of snot. I reached out and tenderly began scooping the clumps together, wincing as they broke apart at my touch. He was scattered. I desperately scooped chunks into my hands and scooted them closer together, as if I could somehow undo this whole thing. Bring him back.

The clumps kept crumbling at my touch. I was only making it worse.

I released another scream—the glass shook, and my body convulsed. I poured my pain and energy into the cry, willing time to go back and for Fletch to come back to life.

But nothing happened.

Bitterly, I stopped scooping and sat there, unable to move. My vision was beginning to blur with tears as my breaths came in quick uneven pants. My nails were covered with his blood and charcoal. Fletch. I cried out his name again as I dug my fingers into the sides of my face and relinquished a sob that shook me to my core.

He was gone.

I could hear steps behind me, the guaramen were in the chamber.

“Why?” I whaled as I gripped the chair with my hands and squeezed. It dented from my touch. Cold, lifeless. This was the instrument that held my Fletch while he was burned alive.

The chair was the last thing Fletch had contact with. He was so strong and withstood so much torture and pain. Then he caved…for me. I was his downfall. The reason he was no longer here. Perhaps had he not given them the info he’d still be alive, and I’d be able to get him out, rescue him.

It was my fault.

“Grab her,” one of the guards spoke from behind me.

Numbness settled in; I felt nothing as they surrounded me and yanked me to my feet. I stared at the charred clumps on the floor, the pool of blood. This was all that was left of him, of the male who was like a father to me.

Slaughtered.

The floor passed me by, but my eyes stayed locked on the spot where I last saw Fletch. Tears streamed down my face as I could feel my heart cracking inside my chest. I was broken. I was responsible. I had failed him.

As they escorted me from the room, despair began to claw at me—I hadn’t even managed to bury him or give him any dignity. I’d only made it worse.

The guaramen escorted me down a long hallway. I had no idea where they were taking me, and I didn’t care. All I could think of was Fletch. Tied to a chair. The male in the flames.

He died and gave up his cause, because of me.

I didn’t want to remember him that way. Didn’t want to see his remains, the shadow in the flame, his beaten body…but the images would not leave.

“My love for you was true.”

His voice haunted me. Everything about our relationship had been a lie. He betrayed the Glenn and never told me. He helped an enemy Vamp and never explained anything to me. He sat there while I was gassed and waited. I closed my eyes, letting the guards drag me.

Anger and betrayal battled with sorrow and guilt.

Happy memories of him from my childhood combatted the bad. My mind was a battlefield of emotion and yet, somehow everything was numb. They placed me in a small room with a cot and adjoining bathroom, the standard issue room for a dokimos in the guara, before leaving.

I was alone, physically yes, but in every way that counted, I was utterly alone. I sank to my knees and wailed. My Fletch was gone.