Page 65 of Forbidden Devotion
“Follow me.” There was no time to explain. He raced toward the far parking lot, sniffing the air. “This way.”
They followed with no hesitation. “Where are you going?”
“Can you scent him?” Mitchel yelled over his shoulder.
“Usually, but everything smelled off. Too much smoke in the air. Chemicals. I don’t know,” Luther answered.
“Try. Try to track him.” Mitchel slowed to a trot now that he was past the throng of bewildered survivors. He concentrated on the smells. Luther was right. The explosion had blurred the surrounding scents, but out in the open and near to where he’d spotted that damned van, he got lucky.
It was faint, but it was there. Sinclair’s scent. He’d recognize that smell anywhere. And now that he had a good whiff, he could track it.
“I’ve got it. Do you smell him?”
“Not yet,” Ann answered.
Luther gave a tight nod, his nostrils flaring.
“He was right here.” Mitchel led them farther across the lot. A sense of dismay washed over him as the trail ended at the exact spot where he’d seen the van.
“Oh no.” Luther had come to the same conclusion.
Mitchel ground his teeth. “I saw a van.”
* * *
Sinclair
Throbbing.
His whole world amounted to throbbing. Sinclair hadn’t yet opened his eyes, but he could tell the room beyond his lids was unbearably bright. Harsh chemicals overpowered his sense of smell. He could scent nothing beyond their nauseating potency. His head ached. He tried to bring his hands to his face, but they wouldn’t move.
Why won’t my hands move?
Panic tightened his throat. He yanked.
Ouch! Oh god.
Tied down, then. His wrists were fastened securely by his sides, fingers sluggish and slightly numb. Sinclair struggled in earnest, tugging until the cuffs bit painfully into his skin, but he couldn’t free his arms.
Frightened, he opened his eyes and blinked in confusion. Too bright to see. Though he was disoriented, Sinclair forced himself to take regular breaths. Stay calm. One thing at a time.
He listened and heard only the wheezing of an old HVAC, heat pumping in through vents from above.
When his eyes adjusted, he scoped out his surroundings. At first glance, it seemed like a hospital room, but it was so bright, impossibly bright. The room must be used for something specific, maybe surgery? An eerie sense of dread took hold. That’s what the center light positioned over him must be for.
His control over his breathing faltered. He wriggled, tried to move his legs, and found them likewise restrained. His chest was tight, breath coming in ragged pants.
How long had he been here? Fighting off a panic attack, he struggled to think, but his memory was fuzzy.
He’d been with Mitchel and the others. They’d heard a blast, felt the impact. Everyone had panicked and run, but Sinclair hadn’t realized what was happening. Mitchel had to drag him, but he’d lost him. As soon as he’d figured it out, something had hit his head.
And then what?
Nothing.
Nothing between that moment and waking up here, tied to a table, his head pounding like it’d been split open.
Mitchel!What happened to Mitchel? Where was he? His panic turned to hysteria. Mitchel could have been hurt too.
