Chosen

CHAPTER 17

I’m dreaming. At least, I think I’m dreaming.

I sense Adele standing over me.

“Is she asleep?”

A male voice from out of sight behind her. “Yes. She’ll be out for quite a while.”

“Is she in pain?”

“We’ve taken care of it. You can go back downstairs. She shouldn’t be disturbed.”

Adele again. This time, my eyes are open. Her hair is tied back from her face with her mother’s scarf. She raises my head, brings a glass to my lips. “Drink, Anna.”

I do. A sip of water.

The same male voice as before, “Be careful. Just a little.”

I know that voice. Who is it? I can’t turn my head. The effort to raise it is too much. I try to speak.

Adele holds a finger to her lips. “Not yet, Anna. Go back to sleep. It’s not time.”

As she steps back, I hear him say, “She’s not really awake. Her eyes may be open, but believe me, she’s still asleep.”

He’s wrong, I think as I drift back off.

This time, I struggle for consciousness, swim toward the surface against a strong current, determined to stay awake. Before I open my eyes, I listen.

A clock ticks. A bird sings. A dog barks. Under it all, the faraway hum of traffic.

Something else.

A heartbeat nearby. Soft breathing.

A human. Close.

Blood. I smell it.

Yet, it awakens no hunger.

Why?

I open my eyes.

Above me, tiled fresco.

Familiar. Lance’s room.

I turn my head toward the sound of the heartbeat.

A woman sitting on a chair near the bed. She’s asleep, I watch her chest rise and fall. I don’t recognize her. Why is she here?

I try to sit up. Something stops me. A glance down and I know why. A wide strap across my chest. It allows no movement.

Panic.

I pull at it and start to yell.

The woman jerks awake.

Her movement sends a sharp stab of pain into my right arm.

A flurry of footsteps from outside.

The door flies open.

“Lance?”

He’s at my side. He bends over, drapes his upper body over my chest to prevent me from moving. “Shhh,” he croons. “It’s all right. I’m here. Don’t try to move yet. Let me loosen the restraints.”

Restraints? Not comforting. I struggle harder.

He’s fumbling with something at the side of the bed. Another sharp twinge and my arm is free. Then he pulls at the strap and it falls to the side.

The woman in the chair is watching wide-eyed. Suddenly, Adele is at her side. She pulls something from the woman’s arm and slaps a piece of gauze where a small bubble of blood is blossoming.

“Hold your arm straight up for a minute,” she tells her. “And then you can go downstairs.”

I watch uncomprehending. “Lance, what’s happening?”

He is smiling and stroking my hair. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” he says. “How do you feel?”

How do I feel? I don’t know. I press my fingers against my eyes. How am I supposed to feel?

Suddenly, the touch of my fingers against my eyelids trips the memory.

My skin. On fire. The pain.

I hold up my hand, turn it back and forth, amazed at what I see.

The ravaged skin is gone. My hand is undamaged. I trail my fingers up my arm. Throw back the covers. I’m wearing a large T-shirt. Under it, the skin of my torso is smooth, flushed. Normal.

I choke out the words. “I’m healed.”

He nods. “You’re healed. And it only took two days.” He laughs. “And a dozen or so hosts.”

I glance again toward the woman. She has a Band-Aid at the crook of her elbow. Adele is walking her out.

“How did you do it?”

“Took a page out of a medieval text. You couldn’t feed, but you needed blood to heal. We set up an intravenous line between you and the donors. Worked like a charm, though we had to keep you doped up. Couldn’t have you thrashing about and pulling out the needle.”

I shake my head. “How did you come up with that idea?”

A voice from behind him, the voice I remember from a dream, spoke up. “It was my idea, actually.”

Of course it was. If I thought I could pull it off without falling flat on my face, I’d jump out of bed and hug the guy stepping around to join Lance at the side of the bed. But I can’t trust my legs, so I do the only thing I feel capable of. I hold out my arms and beam a smile. “I should have known. Who else would have the guts to tie me to a bed and force-feed me?”

Daniel Frey grins back. “Who else indeed.”