Connected: Chapter 7 (Patreon)

Chapter 7

Camille

I woke to the sharp sound of the door at the end of the long hall opening. There was no way to tell what time of day it was, or how long I’d slept, or even what day it was, and that made me groggy as hell. It took me several long seconds, listening to the faint but approaching sound of footsteps from outside my cell, to open my eyes. When I was finally squinting into the bright lights above me, it took a few more seconds to sit up. The guards were ushering a prisoner back to their cell, but I snapped to attention the moment I laid eyes on them, fully awake in one horrifying instant.

The prisoner was me. Human me, writhing against the shackles on my wrists, teeth bared and snarling. Human me, as furious and uncontrollable as I was in wolf form under the serum, with a distant and bloodthirsty look in my eyes, so savage and angry that I was practically foaming at the mouth. And I was two good yanks away from breaking out of the cuffs.

I shifted forward on my cot as my heart dropped to my stomach. If I got free, I'd tear those guards to shreds. But I didn't know if I wanted to or what would happen if I did or if I'd even get the chance before being hit with a silver dart. I wasn't even convinced anymore that I was really awake, all I knew was that my pulse was racing so fast that my breaths were coming short. I stayed poised on the edge of my bed, battling with the instinct to shrink back out of fear of what I was about to witness or to yell at the guards to pay attention.

"Camille." That was Palmer's voice. It cut through my horror enough for me to glance over briefly. He'd hurried to the glass between our cells, palms up against it in his urgency to get my attention. "Camille, it's not real."

My eyes darted between him and the vicious me, watching the guards steer me farther down the hall and managing to breathe, "What?"

"Whatever you see," he said, "it's not real."

I blinked, finally realizing that my eyes were burning with tears, and I forced myself to stop looking. Forced myself to focus on Palmer. "What is it?" My voice was trembling as much as my hands, but I didn't know if it was from fear or the adrenaline rush.

"Fear demon," Palmer said, tossing a glance over his shoulder at where the guards and demon had disappeared. "It shows you your fears and it feeds off of it. It wasn't real."

I exhaled a shaky sigh, scooting back on my cot to rest my head against the wall behind me. I pulled my knees up and set my elbows on them, briefly brushing one hand over my cheek to make sure I wasn't actually crying. That was too much to wake up to. Too sudden and too unexpected and too... scary. But I didn't know what scared me more. Didn't know if the salt burning my eyes was because I'd faced myself as a monster, or because, for a few seconds, I'd wanted that version of me to break free.

"You okay?" Palmer asked. He let his hands fall away from the glass and stood there awkwardly. Neither of us had said much to each other since our spat, but I was relieved he was talking to me again. I swallowed down whatever was left of the fear and forced myself to composure, and then nodded. "You were asleep when they took it out," he said. "I was going to warn you when you woke up, but..."

"It's fine," I said. I scooted forward again to the edge of my cot, and rolled my neck to try and release the tension from my shoulders. It didn't work, but I stood anyway and made my way to the glass. "You look used to it."

"They take it out every once in a while to harvest the fear toxin it produces." His brown eyes scanned me cautiously, and he looked like he wanted to help but didn't know how. "Marion said the thing's harmless, but I guess it doesn't look harmless, huh?"

I shook my head, but didn't say anything else about it. I really didn't want to talk about it at all, so I used the excuse of the guards walking by again to let a silence fall between us, and waited until it felt like we'd moved away from the discussion. "Hey, I'm... sorry about losing my temper before. The last thing we need in here is more enemies, so for the record, I'm not after you."

He took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly while his shoulders slumped. "I know what I did wasn't right. I just, I don't know," he shrugged, eyes falling to the floor, "I lost it."

"I get it," I said. What he did wasn't the way the Pack dealt with things, but I couldn't say with certainty that I wouldn't have done the exact same thing.

"What will your alpha do when he finds out I'm here?"

"I don't know," I said. Now that I knew why Palmer had killed, and that he hadn't done it for fun, I wasn't convinced he deserved the fate Eli had sentenced when he sent us to Missouri with Wes. But I wasn't convinced he was entirely safe, either. Not yet. "Probably have you stick around for a while. Make sure you're in control."

"Doesn't matter," he said sadly, "it's not like I can ever shift again anyway."

My lips pursed with a sympathetic smile, but I didn't know how to respond. I was spared from having to when the door at the end of the hall opened again. The guards paced back in, and even from here, I could see that they were focused on me. They marched all the way to my cell, barked 'hands,' and went through the routine of cuffing me and leading me out. They filed me down the hall, through the door, and along the next corridor until we reached the infirmary. A few seconds and a shove to the back later, I was alone with Marion.

"Give me your arm," she said the instant the door was closed, gesturing when I didn't extend it fast enough. She pulled an already prepared needle and glass tube from the pocket in the shirt of her scrubs, setting them on the steel exam table and then opening an alcohol wipe.

"What's the rush?" I asked, hopping up onto the table and holding my arm out so she could swipe the pad over the bend of my elbow.

"I need a blood sample," she said, tossing the wipe away and reaching for the needle. "Off the books."

"Okay..." My eyebrows furrowed, but I at least trusted her enough to let her get a blood sample from me.

She stuck the needle into my vein, and blood immediately began to fill the tube. "I'm working on an antidote for you and Palmer," she explained while waiting to get enough blood. "I need to test it against your blood samples first. But if anyone finds out..."

"Secret's safe with me," I murmured.

The tube filled, and she pulled the needle out and pressed a cotton ball to the hole. "If anyone comes in, hide that," she said while she disposed of the needle and stowed the tube in her pocket. "You're not due for any samples."

I held the cotton ball to the bend in my arm for a few seconds with firm pressure while she watched, but that was all it took to stop the bleeding. I handed it over, and she let out a stress-laden breath once the cotton ball was in the trash.

"You're more tense than usual," I pointed out.

She met my gaze and then quickly looked away, glanced back over her shoulder at the exit, and then took a few more seconds to look at me again. "You're a trained fighter, right?"

That was unnerving. "Yeah..."

Another glance at the doors. "Butcher thinks he’s managed to isolate the connection source in the tests we've done on you."

I couldn't suppress a look of shock. “What? How? What causes it?”

“It’s a combination of stimulation in certain parts of your brain with the exchange of werewolf DNA.”

“Emotional stimulation?” I asked.

“Or electrical,” she answered, “if you’re producing it in a lab… It forges a very real chemical connection in your brain, and the aspects of your,” she gestured with a hand, “species that are more paranormal than scientific amplify it to a sort of telepathy.”

“Have you always known how it worked?”

“The science bit. It’s part of my abilities,” she confirmed, but added instantly, “but I didn’t help him, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I wasn’t,” I said.

That didn’t seem to alleviate any of the stress she was feeling, and a moment later, she told me why. "You're going to get the second dose of Serum Twelve soon, and then they're going to infect another wolf with a serum that'll produce a connection."

"To me?" I asked. She nodded. "And Kyla?"

She shrugged. "Possibly. But if it works, they'll put you and the wolf together while under Serum Twelve, and I want to make sure that if the worst happens, you're the wolf that survives."

"Why would they put us together?" I asked. "And why is he testing the connection on another wolf? I thought he wanted to control me."

"I think they want more than control," she said. "They want wolves under their control that work together flawlessly."

"So they're going to put us together and hope we get along?" I sighed, shaking my head. "Is the connection even supposed to work like that? Is it supposed to work like any of this? What are the chances it does?"

"I can't say," she said. "But you're going to find out. I'm supposed to confirm you're healthy and ready for testing."

I had other plans, and figured Butcher couldn't possibly be in the office overlooking the lab if Marion had braved taking a blood sample from me. "I'm healthy. Guard the door." I slid off the table and started toward the office.

"Camille," Marion protested, "I don't know how much time we have. They'll come to get you at any second."

"Watch the door," I said again. I hadn't spoken to Kyla since the last time I'd been to the infirmary, and I had to make sure they knew to keep Luna safe from any more doses of Serum Twelve.

Marion went to the doors reluctantly and set to peering out a window while I snuck into the office. I picked up the phone and dialed Kyla's number.

It rang twice before her hopeful voice answered with, "Camille?"

"Yeah," I answered, and she sighed her relief. "How's everything?"

"It's not... great..." she answered reluctantly.

"What happened?"

"Luna Phased again," she said. "She almost bit Abby, but I got her into the cage before that could happen."

"She was out in the open again?" I asked, Kyla hummed an affirmative. "Are you okay?"

There was a brief pause before she said, "Twelve stitches later..."

My temper flared. It took everything I had not to punch through the wall and leave a mark that would let Butcher know I'd been in here, but I was furious. The first time they'd dosed Luna in the open was bad enough, but they'd done it again, with Abby too close. They'd done it again where Kyla had to risk herself to make sure nobody else got hurt, and she was paying for it. I managed not to break something, but I snarled so loud that Marion flinched from across the lab.

"It's alright," Kyla said, "I'll be fine. Luna's still under it, but she'll be fine too."

"Kyla, you have to keep her from getting another dose. If she gets three, it's permanent. Don't let her get shot with another dart."

"She didn't," Kyla said, the confusion clear in her voice. "We were in the basement."

"She didn't get shot again?" I asked, and Kyla said ‘no.’ "Hold on." I held the receiver away from my lips and called, "Marion, do you have to get a dose to be forced to Change?"

"Yes," she called back.

"My sister was forced without another dose," I told her.

She shook her head. "That's not possible." She spared a quick glance out the windows. "How was she given the first one?"

"Shot with a dart."

Marion stared at the floor for a moment in thought. "Have them check the entry site," she said. "The dart may have injected her with a dosage microcapsule. If so, they need to get it out. And make sure they know not to let her Change for twenty-four hours.”

"Kyla," I said into the phone, "check Luna for a dosage microcapsule. It'll be where she got shot, and you need to get it out if it's there, or she could get another dose. And don’t let her Change for twenty-four hours or she’ll still be rabid."

"Okay," she agreed, "I'll check as soon as she's herself again." There was a moment of tense silence, and then she asked, "How many doses have you got?"

"Just one," I said. I didn't have the heart to tell her I was about to get a second one. Didn't know what I'd say if I got three, and didn't want to think about what it would mean for me or her or us. Kyla breathed another sigh of relief. "Do you have any leads yet?"

"Yeah," she answered. "We found one of the kidnappers. We're gonna go after him soon and try to question him."

"That's huge."

"Hopefully," she agreed, but she didn't sound very hopeful.

"What's wrong?"

"Not being able to feel you," she said, and I could hear the longing in her voice. "It feels, just... wrong. Like being homesick."

"I know." I'd felt that emptiness too, but I tried not to let it get to me because I needed to be strong, and I needed her to think I could stay strong. "But I'm still here, and I'll check in with you every chance I get." Kyla murmured 'okay.' "Is Abby there?"

"Yeah."

"Tell her to be careful around Luna," I said. "Don't let her take any chances. Keep her safe."

"I won't," she assured me. “I will.”

"Don't put yourself in danger either," I told her, and added with as lighthearted a smile as I could manage, "again."

"I'll try," she huffed amusedly. “On the bright side, I think I figured out what I want to go to college for.”

“Yeah?”

She hummed. “Seems like the Pack could use a medic.”

I laughed, the first genuine bit of happiness I’d felt since being here. “It’s perfect. You’ll be great at it.” Marion waved at me urgently, the sign that someone was coming. "Got to go."

"Love you," Kyla said quickly.

"You too." I slammed the phone down and bolted out of the office.

I was back on the exam table by the time the same two guards strolled through the door. One of them looked at Marion and asked gruffly, “She good?”

“Almost,” Marion said. She pulled a weird-looking wiry helmet off the table nearby, eyebrows furrowing apologetically as she set it onto my head and strapped it under my chin. “The electrical stimulation…” she explained, and then nodded at the guards. “Okay.”

“Let’s go,” one of them said to me.

The cuffs were replaced on my wrists, and they led me single file back out to the hall. They didn’t take me all the way down to the cell corridor. Instead, they stopped at one of the doors along the main hall, one that was made of thick, heavy steel, and shoved me through it. The first thing I noticed when I regained my balance from the push was the long pane of one-way glass three-fourths of the way up the right wall. Whatever was about to happen, someone was on the other side watching – and listening, judging by the flat speakers recessed into the ceiling. Part of that window was detached, able to slide open from the inside – probably so the guards could fire their serum-loaded darts without physically entering the room.

What caught my attention next was the undeniable knowledge that there’d been fights in here before. Scratches marred the white cement walls, the indents visible even though the marks had been painted over, and there was a small crack framing one corner of the observation window. It let me know the window wasn’t made of the same sturdy glass as my cell, not that I’d break through it anyway and risk being shot with silver. The worst thing about this room, however, was the blood. Everything except for that mirrored window was a clinical white, with no traces of it anywhere, but I could smell it. It’d seeped into the air and the cement and no matter how well they bleached the paint, it lingered. This room was a death trap.

After I’d taken in the rest of the room, I finally looked at the left wall. It was glass just like my cell, but I could see mechanical sliders at the top and bottom where it could roll away and open this room to the adjacent one. The one where another werewolf was already waiting, barefoot and in the same color scrubs as me, with a similar electrode helmet on his head. The man was older than me – in his forties at least, though there was really no telling with our slowed aging – but his age lent nothing to his presence. He was a born mutt I’d never seen and didn’t recognize, scrawny for a wolf and no more than an inch taller than me. He couldn’t have weighed much more than me either, and I could tell just by looking at him that he didn’t stand a chance if the connection wasn’t successful. It made my stomach knot with preemptive guilt.

What made it even worse was that he was scared. He was trembling as the guards who’d brought him in ushered him toward the glass separating our rooms. He took one good look at me, his fearful brown eyes eventually landing on the tattoo on my left arm, and it was clear that he knew where I came from. Knew my family line and that I was Pack. Knew that I’d kill him if the connection didn’t make us docile toward each other.

His voice was muffled through the glass, but the words were unmistakable. “No, no, no,” he muttered in terror. His feet dug into the floor as he threw all his weight backward, trying to keep the guards from dragging him to the divider. “No. Please. No.”

I shut my eyes tight as they filled with tears, swallowing down the sickened bile rising in my throat as my guards removed the cuffs from my wrists. I didn’t want this. Didn’t want to fight him, or hurt him, or kill him. Didn’t want another dose of Serum Twelve, or for Butcher to find a way to control me. But if the success of the connection kept me from hurting this man, a part of me wished it would work, and I hated that. Hated that my only options were submission or murder. Hated that it was between killing everything I could or letting Butcher decide who I’d kill.

There was a thud of something hitting flesh. The man stopped protesting, and when I opened my eyes, he was on his knees in front of the glass. He’d surrendered, and one of the guards stuck the needle of an injection gun into his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The armed men retreated out of the room, the sounds of the heavy bolts on the door echoing just before the first snap of bone. The man yelped, collapsing forward onto his hands as the forced Change began. Seeing the agony of it with my own eyes was almost as bad as going through it. Bones cracked out of place at sickening angles, his voice grew raw, his scrubs ripped and gray fur sprouted from his stretching red flesh. The only thing that stayed in place was the strapped-on helmet.

Then it was over, and the terrified man I’d been looking at moments before was gone. My guards and I were the only living things he could see, and he wanted us dead. He hurled himself at the glass, snarling and snapping, doing everything he could to break through.

One of the guards made a move toward me, and I sidestepped away when I saw the injection gun in his hand. There was no avoiding this, but the least I could do was delay it. Prepare myself and my already nauseous stomach for what was about to happen.

“At least let me take my clothes off first,” I said.

The guard lowered his hand. “Suit yourself.”

I took my time, removing my only two articles of clothing as slowly as I could and ignoring their impatient glares. The delay couldn’t last forever, and soon the second guard was holding my scrubs, the first one raising the injection gun again.

“Don’t kill him,” I whispered to myself, the prick of the needle biting into my shoulder. “Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him.”

“I got fifty bucks on you if this goes sideways,” the second guard said while the first one pulled the trigger. And as they both hurried out the door, he called back, “You better kill him.”

The fractures. The agony. The cries of pain. Until all I had left was rage. Uncontrollable rage that made me meet the other wolf at the glass, growl for growl, snap for snap. And his fury was like a challenge, only making mine worse with every passing second. We were wild, racing from one end of the room to the other, searching for separations in the glass so we could finally get through and draw blood.

There was a voice on the speakers: Butcher’s voice, saying, “Administer the connection.”

Part of the mirrored window in the other room slid open just enough for the barrel of a rifle to stick through. A dart shot from the end of it, piercing into the gray wolf’s flank. At the same time as the liquid in the dart emptied into the wolf’s body, a strong pulse of electricity went through my head, and the other wolf’s helmet lit up with an identical pulse. We were both so busy hurling ourselves at the glass to answer each other’s threats that it didn’t faze us.

Ten more seconds of chasing and growling and baring our teeth, and then I felt something. Rage that wasn’t mine. A stranger in my blood, the same way I always felt Kyla in my blood. It did nothing to ease my own fury, but the gray wolf’s fury became kindred, and just like that, my desire to tear into him was gone. We stopped trying to break through the glass to get at each other, and instead paced the length of it side by side, growls still rumbling in our chests and hackles still raised. It had worked. And deep beneath that unending fury, I was on the verge of something like relief.

But then there was pain. Excruciating, blinding pain like I’d never known in my life. A thousand times worse than being forced to Change by the serum, it cracked through my skull so powerfully I yelped and staggered backward, and the gray wolf looked even worse. As I collapsed onto my back, feeling like my brain was being smashed with a hammer, the gray wolf shrieked with cries that were deafening. It hit the floor with one high-pitched wail and started seizing. Its entire body shook violently, paws rattling and body trembling and eyes rolling back with the convulsions. I couldn’t keep the yelps from leaving my throat as I felt each of his convulsions as a weaker writhe within my own body, and the connection was so straining that I could smell the blood streaming from my nose.

Just when it felt like I couldn’t take anymore, like the entire inside of my head would cave in on itself and implode, it ended. The gray wolf went still, no breath or heartbeat as blood leaked from its eyes, ears, and nose, and the connection was gone. The test was a failure.

I lay there panting, my head pounding with sharp bursts of pain. But the uncontrollable rage was steadily returning, and before I’d even fully recovered, I was back on my feet. Slashing at the glass and snarling at the limp body on the other side, determined to tear into it and make sure for myself that it would never get up.

Butcher’s voice sounded over the speakers again with a disappointed sigh. “Sedate her.”

I barely felt the prick of a sedative-filled dart hitting me in the back, but moments later, I was too weak to stay standing, and the rational recesses of my mind were grateful for the release as I blacked out.