Page 52 of Sergi
They were still short-staffed? That made me curious, but I nodded as the last of my anxiety drained away. My plan was back on track. I rushed my cleaning of the cells, eager to check on Carlos.
He wasn’t in his cell.
It didn’t mean anything. They must have moved him to level two, but as I pushed the cart down the hall toward Sergi’s cell, the anxiety returned. It wasn’t the good kind—the restlessness that hit just before a difficult assignment. The jumpiness that even though I was more than prepared, the butterflies remained to focus me.
This was the disquiet that spoke of something gone wrong.
The feeling of doubt doubled when I reached the last hallway and found Sergi’s cell door open. Had they taken him somewhere, too? Oh god, my plan was crumbling by the minute. I should have made a decision sooner. Taken the chance.
When I grew closer, I heard a low growl, followed by a howl, and then the sound of flesh on flesh. I sighed with relief and held in a hysterical laugh. He wasn’t gone. He was getting his morning beating.
I stopped the cart and peered in.
Gheata punched Sergi in the kidneys, and I took a step back.
It wasn’t Sergi anymore. It was his beast.
I’d once seen a vampire who’d completely lost his mind to his beast. His body had morphed into something unrecognizable. He’d been almost seven feet tall, even with his hunched back. His head was misshapen, and his hands were nothing more than vicious claws. Two other vampires—Eliminators—had put him down.
I recalled what my uncle had said. The vampire had been drugged with something and had become too dangerous to save. Or it had been simpler to take him down and pretend it never happened. Had that incident been from Magic Poppy? I hadn’t heard the term before Sergi named it, so maybe my uncle hadn’t known.
Sergi hadn’t completely morphed into that state, but his face had changed. It was still him, but his forehead had thickened, forcing his brows lower. His fingernails were long, more claw-like, and he howled again. His eyes burned a bright red as if he’d been spawned in hell.
Gheata appeared gleeful as he punched Sergi in the ribs. “This is more like it. Let it all go. Bring out the beast.”
The beatings were making Sergi’s beast angry, forcing it to push past what defenses Sergi had built to keep it down. It didn’t matter now. The beast was winning.
I panicked. This had to stop, but how? If I had one of those billy clubs, I’d show Gheata a thing or two about beatings.
All I had was my cart, and I rammed it into the doorway. It wasn’t much, but I hoped to get Gheata’s attention. Not that I wanted the asshole to start beating me, but a distraction was in order.
It worked. Gheata turned his gaze on me, and I stepped back, almost tripping over my clumsy slippers.
“What do you want, girl?” At first, it was apparent I’d surprised him. Then recognition hit, and he stood straighter, turning his back to the beast. He rubbed his fist, then pulled a rag from the table and wiped the blood off his hands. He’d reopened a deep gash in Sergi’s side that hadn’t completely healed.
He stormed toward me, and I took another step back before he shoved the bloody rag at me. “I want this cell spotless. The director wants to see our new beast, and he doesn’t like to step in blood.”
I nodded, keeping my head low.
He didn’t move, and I waited, tensing in case he decided to hit me after all. But all he said was, “God, I can’t wait to get out of this dump.”
He brushed past me, his shoulder hitting me with enough force to knock me off-balance. I remained standing and glared at his back until he rounded the corner and was gone.
I stepped inside the cell. Drool ran down Sergi’s chin, and he chafed against the metal bands. Had his beast loosened them? When the beast lunged again, I focused on the bolts holding the bands in place. Had they moved?
I swallowed and took several more steps, staying an arm’s reach away. The beast glared at me, and I almost peed myself when it roared, his fangs fully extended.
I was too late. Sergi was gone. The beast had won.
Once Gheata left,Sergi struggled to pull the beast back, but the beast, starved and filled with rage, fought back. When the female stepped through the doorway and approached, the beast howled once more, then something strange happened.
The beast lifted its head and sniffed the air. It whined, and Sergi, who was sweating with the effort to pull it back, was shocked by the sudden change. Bit by bit, the beast calmed and settled back, allowing Sergi to regain full control.
The hunger still clawed at them, and if he didn’t feed soon, not even this shifter would be enough to soothe the beast.
In his hundreds of years, he’d been the only one with the ability to satisfy his beast. Yet this female had done the impossible simply by walking into the room. Maybe she brought more blood. He followed her movements as she cleaned his blood from the floor, dusted the table of torture instruments, and dumped the waste bin.
Every few seconds, her eyes flicked to him, but not in fear. If anything, it seemed like curiosity. Interesting.
