Demonic Vampires (Supernatural Shifter Academy #3) - G. Bailey Page 0,46

boyfriends, for example. We’ll find them, I have no doubt, but it’s nice to know that they won’t stumble across this facility themselves.”

I try to lunge at him, but I’m held in place by the command. “Leave them alone.”

“You really are feisty , aren’t you?” Hawthorne says. “I guess it would take someone with your personality to do all the damage that you’ve done. Still, that’s all in the past. Chin up, right?” He gives me a toothy smile before nodding to his henchman. “Take her to the testing room.”

The man turns to me. “You heard him. Follow us.”

My feet begin to move on their own as the two men turn and lead me out into a long hallway, their footsteps echoing ominously against the high walls. I struggle, but it’s in vain, and this time, Landon isn’t here to override this siren’s command. The men unlock a door at the far end, and what I see on the other side makes my heart stop: it’s a medical examination room, exactly like the one under the Academy where Silas was being kept. A table stands in the middle, manned by a meek-looking woman in a lab coat. The siren grabs my arm and thrusts me onto it, not bothering to be gentle as he secures me in place.

“Thank you, Hugh,” Hawthorne says. “That’s all we’ll need of you.”

The siren leaves, taking his magic with him, but by now I’m stuck in place, and even without his magic, I’m not going anywhere. “What are you going to do to me?” I demand.

“The same thing I’ve always been trying to do,” replies Hawthorne. “Level the playing field.”

“You just want to give yourself shifter powers,” I spit.

“I want to give everyone shifter powers!” Hawthorne snaps. “Don’t you understand? I’m working towards egalitarianism, Ms. Brix. A world where everyone has the same abilities. And if sacrifices have to be made for that, then…” He shrugs. “It’s a worthy cause.”

I open my mouth to protest, but there’s a sharp pain in my arm; I look down to see that the assistant has put a needle in my vein. “Sir,” he says, “I still have reservations about using a hybrid for -”

“We’ve been over this,” says Hawthorne.

“But-”

“Do. As. I. Say.” His dark eyes flash, and I feel a lurch of terror as the machine connected to the IV whirs to life, strange blue liquid shooting through the tube and into my arm. My reaction is as immediate as it is violent; the pain in my head is negligible in comparison to this. It feels like acid is running through my veins, dissolving everything in its path. I barely even feel the assistant putting a separate IV in my other arm, which he connects to another machine, but I do see my blood beginning to move sluggishly out of it and into the collection beaker. It looks wrong, though, too thick: like it’s corrupted.

Or already dead.

The pain rips through me, blocking out all conscious thought. I thrash against my restraints, crying out against the agony, feeling the strength going out of me, but it’s futile. Time slows to a crawl, my eyes clench shut. I think of the guys, their grinning faces, their gentle touches, and latch onto the image like it’s my last hope. That eases the pain, even as I feel tears streaming down my cheeks. I don’t know how much time has passed when I hear the assistant’s voice. He sounds far away. “Sir,” he says, “look at the blood concentration.”

Hawthorne steps closer to examine one of the monitors, and then lets out a roar of frustration. “What the fuck is wrong with her?”

“I told you,” the assistant protests. “There’s no way of isolating the blood serum. Her DNA is scrambled -- that’s the whole reason she’s a hybrid in the first place.”

“Then take more,” Hawthorne commands. “Take as much as you need!”

“It’s not the device,” the other man says. “We could drain her dry and it will still be useless. We need isolated strains from each species, preferably a lot of them. That’s how she was made in the first place.”

There’s the sound of a crash, and I open my eyes to see that Hawthorne has kicked a table in fury, sending medical supplies flying. “We haven’t gotten the okay from the board to start testing on the students yet,” he says. “Everyone’s on edge after that damned convention centre attack-”

I choke out a strained laugh. “You organised that!”

“Shut up.” Hawthorne doesn’t look