Page 34 of His Claim
“When?”
“When they turn their backs.”
Brenna’s eyes cut back down the stairs, then back to me. “You going to let me pick the lock, Commander?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“Notyet,” she echoed, like it tasted good.
I’d bide my time, just like Mariah asked for, but I would break her out soon enough.
It was simply a matter of timing.
CHAPTER 9
Mariah
The med wing smelled like bleach and a sort of chemical sweetness, the kind of smell that clung to your throat until you couldn’t swallow without tasting it. The lights overhead buzzed, too white, too bright, showing every corner of the room as if shadows themselves were forbidden.
At some point, I’d been given a fresh hospital gown, for which I was grateful. I sat on the padded chair, arms bare, gauze taped to my elbow where the last vials of blood had been pulled. They’d stuck sensors to my chest, my temples, my wrists, thin wires snaking back to a machine that beeped and hummed like it was whispering my secrets.
I hated how still I had to sit. I hated the way the straps hung limp from the chair arms, an ever-present threat of what could happen if I fought.
The med techs moved quietly around me, eyes down, never holding my gaze for more than a second. It was easier for them that way, I suppose. Pretend I wasn’t a girl who’d once hadfriends, a family, an independent life out in the world—such as it was. They could just pretend I wasn’t a person at all. Just a subject. A specimen. A thing.
But I was listening.
“Bond resonance is higher than any ever recorded,” one murmured, scribbling a series of notes onto a small pad.
“The mark’s integration is complete,” another whispered back. “No rejection. She’s shifting already on a cellular level.”
My heart hammered against the monitors, the beeps spiking loud. I pressed my lips together, staring at the white wall in front of me, refusing to let them see fear, but it was still there, thick in my chest.
The med tech closest to me cleared his throat. “We’ll begin secondary tests soon. Imaging. Maybe tissue samples.”
I snapped my eyes open and my voice came out harsh and threatening. “You cut me, and I’ll show you just how feral I can be.”
The three of them froze, wide-eyed. One stammered, “No—just… scans. Noninvasive.”
The beeping spiked again.
One of the med techs moved toward me and murmured to another, “We should strap her down now that the commander is gone.”
My spine stiffened. “Don’t touch me.”
They froze again, but only for a beat. Then two stepped forward.
“I said?—”
One caught my wrist, jerking it down against the armrest. The other looped the attached strap fast, leather biting my skin. I jerked hard, but another hand clamped my shoulder. Cold leather creaked, buckles sliding, and suddenly both arms were pinned, chest rising too fast as they cinched the restraints tight.
“You bastards?—”
“It’s just protocol, miss,” the taller one said, her voice flat.
The straps dug into my skin, hard enough I could feel the pulse at my wrists throbbing against them. My legs went next, the leather locking around my ankles, bolted fast to the chair. I strained against them, teeth bared, heart hammering, but they held.
“Safer for everyone,” one muttered.
