Adapt (I)
Chapter Fifty Five

SCARLET

When you are hiccupping yourself to death, time and space loose meaning. Boe and Caron could have been doing the Hockey Pokey and I wouldn’t be any the wiser. I cannot feel if they are trying to aid me. I cannot hear if they are trying to call for help. I cannot see anything except a bright red haze.

But I feel his presence. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

His voice vibrates through the air. It travels along my skin and seeps into my bones. Energy emanates from the sound, giving it a smooth and thick texture – like honey.

“Be still.”

If I could, I would. I think.

Strong arms bring me upright again, but I am too concerned with the next hiccup that will tear me apart. A broad warm hand starts rubbing large circles on my back. “Scarlet, just focus on my voice. You are going to be fine. You need to calm your heart rate. Breath in slowly... now let it out... in... out...” The honied voice commands in a low tone.

I follow the voice’s instructions. After a few moments my vision clears. The pain draws back and my heart slows. I use the slow circles on my back to time my breathing. When I look up, I see Logan’s face, set in worry. He is crouched in front of me, wearing a white shirt and a loosened grey tie, threading under the collar.

My eyes widen in momentary fear but I refuse to let go of my hard-won composure. “Logan,” I say, steadily. “How...” How did he get in here? How has no one stopped him? How did he so eloquently save me from hiccupping myself to death?

Most importantly, why does it feel like the world has stopped spinning on its axis?

I look around at Boe and Caron, who wear worried expressions. At first, I think it is because Logan has appeared from thin air, but now I can see the vacantness behind their eyes. It is Boe’s hand that is rubbing my back, his gaze watching me but seemingly unconcerned by Logan. Only Phoenix is unaffected, pressing himself hard to my side. He doesn’t seem phased by Logan’s presence. I glare at him. Some attack dog you are!

Why is Logan here?

His walnut-coloured eyes watch mine. “All of your questions deserve to be answered in full, but we lack the privilege of time right now. So, let me try to put you at ease by saying that my gifts allow me to do such things, but I vow to you to only use those gifts to benefit you where you are concerned. The latter question,” Logan continues, “I can answer now. I am here because we have matters to discuss and issues that have yet to be completely resolved. My being here when you need aid is, what you would call, a happy accident.” He looks down at my still bleeding wound. “I can heal that if you wish.”

I take a moment to fight down the hiccup that my body threatens me with. I use Boe’s hand rubbing my back as an anchor and the sensation passes. “How?” My tone is impatient.

Logan frowns. “My blood, of course.” As if obvious.

“Oh, fuck no.” I burst out, pain rewarding me.

Logan stands, revealing his neatly pressed grey slacks. “I’m not sure what your aversion is. It is not as though it will put you more at risk of becoming a Therian.”

My eyes fling to Caron, a look of defensiveness stiffening my features. Her face is still set in a look of worry.

“She cannot hear us, Scarlet. Now please, let me heal you.”

Confusion takes over my mind. “What the hell are you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Please Scarlet, stay on topic. You need to be healed and my blood can help you.”

I shake my head. “No.” But the small action pulls at my wound and blood runs down my hands. I close my eyes let out a strained sigh. I straighten and open my eyes, refusing to look weak in front of Logan. A moot point, really, but I am not surrendering the façade.

When my eyes focus on Logan again, he is rolling up the left sleeve of his clean white shirt, showing off his muscled forearm. Then he draws a simple black rectangle from his pocket and pushes a mechanism, revealing the glinting edge of steel. He drags it across his wrist in one swift motion.

“What are -” My words are cut off by his wrist being pressed against my mouth.

I pull back, instantly disgusted by what is happening, but he wraps his right hand around the back of my neck, locking me in position. I try to close my mouth, but all it does is bury my teeth into his arm.

His blood flows over my tongue and I screw my face up.

Then the taste of his blood registers. Metallic hits first, but it isn’t repulsive like I had conditioned myself to think. Under the taste of metal is a sweetness that reminds me of honeysuckle. That sweetness coats the inside of my mouth, enveloping me in the balanced taste of nectar. Unthinkingly, I swallow, and a warmth that is a mixture of the finest scotch and the most decadent molten chocolate, pours down my throat.

I groan.

I draw in more of his blood, eager to taste the honeysuckle and feel the warmth again. This swallow is fuller, flushing straight to my cheeks.

The warmth seems to go directly to my wound. It curls bright tendrils around my wound, wrapping it in a cocoon. I suck again, my bloody hands constricting Logan’s arm now. I feel the liquid ambrosia twining around body, seeking out any other injuries before it blankets them in healing.

I growl as I feel his wound closing in my mouth. I bite harder. He isn’t taking this away from me.

I hear laughter. I glance up to see Logan, his eyes alight with soft amusement.

But that is not what gives me pause. It is the tiny, upside-down reflection in his eyes. A hungry beast covered in blood. Eyes glowing with a white-hot blaze stares at me.

I unlatch my bite and push Logan’s arm away. I stand up, leaving behind Boe’s circling hand. Boe drops his hand, gaze traveling with me, still absent of real sentience. Phoenix jumps to the floor, watching me. I try to wipe my blood coated hands on my t-shirt, which is bloody as well. In the panic I forget that my hands are dragging over my wound, which would surely result in pain. I brace for it, but it doesn’t come. I pull up my drenched and sticky shirt and peel away the soaked gauze. Under all of the blood and dark clumps is... clean skin. No puckered line, no slight bruising. Even my breathing is painless.

“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.” I begin to repeat, doing small circles. I’m not even sure what is freaking me out more - the fact that Logan’s blood has completely healed me, or the fact that I liked the taste and feeling of it as it made its way down my throat.

Or that, the first time I had been fully confronted with my therian eyes, had been whilst drinking blood.

“Scarlet.” The one word stops me in my tracks. I turn and face Logan.

“I hate to do this to you, but in the interest of preventing your complete mental de-evolution, I’m going to help you on your road to acceptance. If you please, in the future I will remove this small bridge I will build in your mind. For now, please use it to come to terms with this situation.”

And just like that, clarity colours my mind.

“Oh shit.” I know that I should be shocked, and more than a little scared, by whatever Logan has just done, but I just cannot bring myself to question it.

Logan crosses the room and grabs my hands. He squeezes them. “Scarlet, I urge you not to test it. Like I said, I can remove it in the future, but for the benefit of everyone in this room, I ask you to leave it be. You know you can trust me. You know I am not lying to you.”

I look into his brown eyes and feel my mind relax. I am still confused and concerned about Logan’s obvious power over thoughts, but let those worries float to the ground of my consciousness. I’ll pick them up later.

“Okay.” I say meekly.

His shoulders relax. “Good.” He squeezes my hands tight again before letting them go. “Now, I think its best if we clean up and discuss everything else.”

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