Page 38 of Revenant

Locked.

I’m not surprised.

While I can pick a normal tumbler lock with ease, electronic locks are beyond my knowledge. I bet Jaceson would be able to escape the room in seconds. I totally need to have him teach me that skill. At the thought of the guys, a pang pierces my chest.

I don’t want to admit it, but they have never been far from my thoughts, despite my best efforts to banish them. Forgetting them is like trying to forget how to breathe—it’s impossible. I missed them like they stole a vital part of me. Knowing they are close is like an itch that I can’t scratch, not until I can see them, touch them, and verify for myself that they are safe.

I pause by the black curtains in the room, and my brows scrunch. We’re underground, so why another window?

I reach for the material with nerveless fingers, the curtains bunching in my hands, and my insides tremble with trepidation. Nothing is worse than not knowing, right? Rolling back my shoulders, I do my best to shake off my unease…then I rip them open.

Oh, fuck.

I was totally wrong.

Knowing is way worse.

My hands fall to my sides, and my mouth drops open in disbelief. While I knew I was bound to end up locked away eventually, what I didn’t expect to see was all five of my guys unconscious and strapped to gurneys.

Though my side of the window might look like a doctor’s office, their side resembles a fucking lab. The guys are hooked up to IVs. The image of them lying so vulnerable is like a dagger to my chest, and my heart thumps hard against my ribs.

Frost creeps across the surface of the glass, thorny spikes growing thicker and more ominous by the second as I struggle toyank back on my abilities. The glass pings like hot water being poured over ice, and the thick panes turn cloudy.

Only when my view is completely obscured am I able to yank my gaze away, and I quickly note the six different cameras observing us.

And by showing them my abilities, I gave them exactly what they wanted.

Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, then gather the threads of my power and slowly pull the icy chill of it back inside me. I wish I had my rings to help ground me, wish I had more practice warding myself against my abilities. Unfortunately, the stronger my powers, the stronger my connection to the afterlife.

It’s a vicious circle.

Every step forward is like taking two steps back.

Banishing my hold on the afterlife after seeing the guys in danger is like trying to cut out my soul. My powers want to rescue them and damn the consequences. So instead of releasing the icy tendrils, I reabsorb the power. I don’t know any other way to get rid of it. I need to read my ancestor’s diaries again and figure out how they were able to use their abilities without killing themselves. From the few diaries I read, not all of them were successful.

Cold air scorches along my throat and crackles painfully in my lungs, my body temperature dropping lower and lower until the normal air temperature burns against my skin. Ice creeps through my veins, encasing my bones, and I idly wonder what will happen if it reaches my heart.

With one last breath, the bitter chill lances through my chest like I’m being stabbed with an icicle before it sinks into the very marrow of my being. My heartbeat is erratic when I crack open my eyes, and it’s all I can do not to flinch when the first thing I see is Dr. Hershamn standing on the opposite side of the glass watching me like a bug in a specimen jar.

His nerdy round glasses should make him appear harmless, the lenses washing out his green eyes, but they do little to disguise the sharp intelligence buried in their depths. I suspect he has been recording me since I entered the room and will dissect every second of it over and over again until he wrings every bit of information from the footage.

I cringe at what it will reveal. It’s only a small mercy that I didn’t go all Ghostbusters. Thankfully, while the ice might look strange, there is no way he could guess my true abilities.

And yet, when I peer back at the doctor through the window, his eyes gleam with too much recognition.

He knows something.

Though he might appear to be a feeble old man, the ruthless cunning he wears like a cloak says he knows how to get what he wants, no matter the means.

My gaze flicks back toward the guys, noting their slightly roughed up exterior. Then my eyes narrow when the facts don’t add up. No bruised knuckles, no broken bones, no blood or gore on any of their bodies. Even their clothes are relatively neat, and a furrow forms between my brows with that startling realization.

Then understanding dawns.

The idiots allowed themselves to get taken!

If they wanted to fight, carnage would have ensued. I’ve seen Gunner after a fight. He wouldn’t go down without serious injuries and possibly even death.

The fools!

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