Page 8 of Bound to the Guard

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Ijolt awake to the sound of beeping monitors, my heart pounding hard.

No, no, this can’t be happening. I’m back in the lab, trapped, at their mercy once again. Panic seizes me as I rip the IV from my arm, barely registering the sting as I yank off wires and heart monitors. The machines start screaming for attention.

Have to escape.

Now.

I tumble off the hospital bed, my bare feet slapping on the cold tile floor.

Voices erupt from outside the room, and the door bursts open. A man in a white coat rushes in, followed by men in black, their hands reaching for me.

A scream locks in my throat as I back into the corner, behind a metal cart laden with medical equipment. Their voices all blend together, the noise hammering in my skull. Can’t think. Can’t breathe.

Too much. It’s all too much.

I sink to the floor and curl into myself, wrapping my arms around my head, trying to block it all out. Uncontrollableshaking takes over my body, hot tears streaking down my face. The astringency of antiseptic burns my nostrils, and I gag, tasting bile in the back of my throat.

Please, please leave me alone. I don’t want to be hurt anymore. I’ll do anything, just don’t touch me.

“Quiet!” The shout cuts through the chaos. “Everyone, leave. Now!”

The room falls silent, save for the rapid thudding of my heart. The voice tickles at the back of my mind, familiar somehow. It sends strange shivers through my body, and I curl tighter in on myself.

Footsteps shuffle out, and the door clicks shut. The harsh fluorescent lights dim to make it easier on me.

Slow, measured steps approach my hiding spot.

I hold my breath, not daring to move.

The footsteps stop on the other side of the cart.

Seconds tick by in tense silence. I wait for hands to grab me, to drag me back to the nightmares I escaped.

Nothing happens.

Curiosity wars with fear, and my head lifts.

A man sits cross-legged on the floor facing me, his elbows resting on his knees. Reddish-brown hair falls to his shoulders, framing a chiseled face with high cheekbones and a nose with a slight bump in it. Rich brown eyes study me intently.

“Hey, there.” A soothing rumble rises from his chest, the Alpha in him trying to comfort an Omega. “Do you remember me?”

I squint at him, catching the glint of auburn in his hair, and the memory surfaces of a man standing over me, a halo of hair around his head.

“You’re the demon,” I croak.

“Close.” He chuckles, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m Damien.”

Damien. The name sits oddly right on my tongue. I study him, my muscles coiled tight with wariness, ready to bolt. His powerful build and the way he holds himself with easy confidence scream Alpha, yet something in the patient way he sits registers as protective.

Damien extends his hand toward me, and I flinch back, my pulse leaping as I wait for him to grab me. To drag me back to the bed for more experiments. Panic seizes my throat, threatening to choke me.

But he doesn’t move any further. His hand remains outstretched, a sealed sleeve of medical gauze resting in his palm. “You’re bleeding.”

At his soft concern, my gaze darts from his face to the gauze. Is this a trick? If I reach for it, will he grab me? I’ve fallen for such ploys before, and the scars on my body bear testament to the consequences.

After a moment where neither of us move, Damien sets the gauze on the floor and flicks it closer to me. It lands at my feet, and I snatch it up, tearing open the packet with trembling fingers. I press the gauze to the bleeding wound where I’d ripped the IV out.

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