Page 82 of Hospital for Immortal Creatures

Something inside her unlocked a drawer of information in her brain and tried to hint at what she should do.

She flung her hands around and let out a blood-curdling yell. The wolf in the middle whimpered and scampered into the bushes, followed by the others.

Amelia didn’t dare to move, but…

She had scared them!

A large gulp of air filled her lungs with relief.

“You’re doing good.”

She whirled around at the familiar voice. It can’t be! But, sure enough – casually leaning against the trunk of a large oak, was none other than Mikhail. Darkness veiled his face, but she could never mistake his voice for another’s.

“Yelling in an attempt to scare a wolf away may not be such a bad idea,” he said. “If there’s one wolf. If he’s not too hungry. If he’s too weak. But a pack? Might as well just invite them to feast on you.”

Had he been there the entire time?

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Was he the one who had forced the wolves to flee?

“The wolf is a clever animal,” he said. “He senses your fear. Your quickened heartbeat. Your short breaths. The panic overwhelming you. Your intent to run.” Is he still talking about the wolves or about himself? “But I’m too tired for this game today.”

Did that mean he was going to leave her alone?

Mikhail took a step closer, his movements kind of stiff.

“What do you mean, you’re…” Weakness consumed her all of a sudden. “Y-you’re too tire—” Mikhail was standing in front of her. “What’s going….” She fell asleep before she could finish.

***

When she woke up, she was lying in an unfamiliar bed, covered with the stolen jacket. Her burning soles, wrapped tightly in her running shoes, reminded her of the scurry through the forest and the wolves. The sugary taste in her mouth confirmed her suspicion that Korovin had drugged her again.

She struggled to get out of bed. Her muscles pained her as though an elephant had sat on top of her while she had been sleeping.

There was nothing else in the room, except for the bed and two doors, one of which led to a small bathroom, and the other to a gloomy hallway. Gone were the purple colours of her previous cell, replaced by only wood, and beige. The only window told her it was night.

She stepped out into the hallway, glancing at the quiet space of closed doors and dark shadows. At the far end, an arch led to a wider antechamber. Amelia had taken a couple of steps towards it when rattling attracted her attention in the opposite direction. Thinking the noise came from one of the doors, she cautiously approached to investigate. The door was cracked open and a light poured from the small opening. She pushed it and walked in.

Mikhail stood in front of a mirror, his back to her. Before him was a small cupboard with a sink. He was shirtless, wearing only black trousers, his feet bare. At first, Amelia started walking away, but then she noticed the bruises and wounds that covered his entire back, from his neck down to the belt on his pants.

As Mikhail moved his arm, Amelia traced the motion of his right shoulder blade with her eyes. Just below it was a cut, at least six inches deep. He opened the tap and placed his hand under the running water, which instantly turned red.

She glanced around – a spacious bathroom with a shower. The white tiles had red smears all over them. Used pieces of gauze were discarded on the rim of the sink. Clothes stained with blood were piled up in the farthest corner of the room. In the cupboard were tools she recognised. A needle holder, forceps, thread… Was he stitching himself up?

He looked up in the mirror and their eyes met. The contact made her feel like she was caught doing something wrong. A shiver ran down her spine.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Mikhail uttered in the quietest voice she’d ever heard him use. “From now on, you will live here.”

“I don’t… For how many days have I been here?”

“An hour and a half.” He broke eye contact and grabbed a cotton pad. His back hid his movements, so Amelia couldn’t see what he was doing with it.

“Are you hurt?” Dumbest question ever. He was clearly hurt. In multiple areas. “I could help.”

“I’m good.” He reached out for the needle holder. “You already saw your room. Your stuff will be here soon.”

“I don’t have stuff. And I meant it – I could help you with the stitching up.”

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