Are they trying to make me one of them?
My legs carry me down the hallway, and I follow every direction the man in my arms gives me. Take a left. A right. All the way down and through the door. There are endless sets of steps we have to walk up, and I can feel myself finally growing winded.
“We’re close. One more floor,” the man says.
“Who are you?” I ask.
I hear him sigh, and I pause outside of the last door.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Lord Wesley,” he says. “And I was part of the Council.”
My nostrils flare at the name.
“You’re one of them,” I say as I drop him to the floor.
“I was,” he says. “But what they’re doing. it’s madness.”
“Who? What are they doing?” I ask.
“We don’t have time. Please. Take me with you.”
“Not until you tell me what the hell’s going on,” I say.
I watch the man recoil from me as he scoots back into the wall. For a man who’s supposed to be with the Council that set out to kill Clarissa, he sure isn’t strong. Or ballsy. He’s pathetic, and it makes me sick. I hover over him, ready to snap h
is neck if he tells me he’s had anything to do with the ordering of Clarissa’s death.
Or mine.
“I don’t care where you drop me, but you can’t leave me here. I’ll tell you what you want to know if you get me out of here,” the man says.
I can hear the guards’ footsteps fumbling up the steps, and my head turns. I can see their shadows, and I know we don’t have much time. Going against my gut, I pick the man up in my arms and crash through the door. He continues to point me down hallways and tell me when to stop so we can avoid the guards he obviously knows are there. My body is weakening. I can feel it struggling. Maybe the latest experimentation is wearing off.
“Through that door,” the man says. “That’s the back exit.”
I run down the hallway as fast as my naked legs can carry me. I crash through it with my shoulder, howling as I stumble out into the cold. The snow is icy against my skin, but I don’t feel the need to shiver. I look down at the man in my arms. He looks me in my eyes, and that’s when I see it.
My reflection for the first time in weeks.
My eyes are swirling with colors, and my hair isn’t the same. Instead of the blonde is used to be, it’s now a brazen, deep red. My blue eyes are swirling with green and purple and yellow, and my bulging veins are pulsing with black and red undertones.
I’m not the same.
But what am I?
I take off down the alleyway, desperate to get away from that damn building. I run until my legs can’t physically carry me any longer, then I dip into the closest abandoned house. I drop the man from my arms and fall to my knees, panting and heaving as my hands hit the floor. I can feel the lactic acid in my muscles building up and moving through my veins. I can feel my muscles breaking down and rebuilding themselves. I can feel every moving hair on my body and sense every tingling sensation as my heart tries to settle itself.
“What is happening to me?” I ask.
I hear the man groan as he rolls over on the floor.
“You promised me answers, now talk,” I say.
“Thank you,” he says. “For getting me out.”
“I’m not going to ask again.”