Page 34 of Blood Caged

Dr. Chen explains about IV fluids and heart monitors. “You need rest, Mia,” Dr. Chen says, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. “Real rest, without fear of…interruptions.”

The way she hesitates makes me wonder what she thinks about what’s been done to me. I’m pretty sure she disapproves. Unless this is all part of some elaborate good cop, bad cop routine.

As Dr. Chen heads to the door to call the guard in, I take a moment to take stock. This could be a chance to gather information, to observe my captors from a new angle. If I can just stay alert, maybe I can find something – anything – to aid in my escape.

I try to stay alert as Dr. Chen and the guard prepare to move me. Every detail could be crucial. As they help me onto a wheelchair, I take in as much as I can about Soren’s quarters. The layout, the furnishings, anything that might prove useful later.

My head spins as they wheel me out into the hallway. I force myself to focus, mentally mapping our route. Left turn, long corridor, right turn… I count the doors we pass, noting any distinguishing features.

The guard pushes my wheelchair while Dr. Chen walks beside us. Their voices drift over me as they talk, thinking I’m too weak to pay attention. But I strain to catch every word.

“…can’t keep this up,” Dr. Chen murmurs, her voice tight with concern. “The quotas are unsustainable.”

The guard grunts in response. “Tell that to Marlowe. He’s pushing for even more.”

“Doesn’t he understand the risks? We’re already walking a dangerous line…”

Their voices fade as we approach a busier area of the facility. But those few snippets are enough to set my mind racing. Quotas? Risks? It seems there’s more going on here than just my captivity and some sadistic need to drain me dry.

As we continue through the winding corridors, I notice signs of strain in the facility. Tired-looking staff hurry past, their facesdrawn. Equipment looks hastily stacked in corners, as if they’re struggling to keep up with demand.

What exactly are they doing here? And how many others like me are trapped within these walls?

12

Chapter 12

Soren

The door flies openas I surge into the large living room. Lucien Marlowe’s head snaps up in alarm. His expression switches from shock to annoyance.

“I told you that I’m not available to speak, Lord Daire.” His voice is tightly controlled. “I have other business to attend to.”

I look at where several half-naked blood groupies are hovering near where he’s lounging on a wide chaise lounge. I bare my fangs, my eyes glowing red. They exchange fearful glances and scamper away.

“Your business is concluded,” I snap, striding further into the room and stopping in front of him.

He rises from his seat, pulling himself to his full height. He’s still not as tall as me, and I sense him bristling as I loom over him.

“If you’re here to try to get out of your duties of guarding the witch, I’d like to remind you of your bond,” he sneers, using bravado to make up for his lesser stature.

“I’m not here for that.” My fists are bunched. I work to uncurl them.

“Then what the hell do you want, Daire?” Marlowe visibly relaxes himself and sinks back onto his chair, settling into a nonchalant pose that I know is designed to annoy me.

“The blood you’re taking. It’s too much.”

“What do you mean it’s too much?” He raises an eyebrow.

“She collapsed today. Mia…the witch. You’re weakening her.”

The bastard waves a hand. “She’ll be fine. They’re tougher than they look.” He leans back and drapes an ankle over his knee. “Most of them survive just fine.”

“Mostof them?” I know my eyes are wide. “Are you fucking kidding me? Just how many do you lose?”

“Don’t know. Maybe twenty…thirty percent of them.” He gives a casual shrug.

I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to lash out at Lucien’s callous disregard for life. My fangs ache to descend, but I force them back. Losing my temper now would only make things worse.

---