Declan’s smile is crooked and knowing. “You would think, right?”
Dean sighs. “There’s more to it than that, obviously. Yes, most werewolves are born, but they don’t want us to procreate. What they’re after is more complicated.”
I don’t know what could be more complicated than the impossible truth of what they both are. Werewolves are real. Witches too, if their claims about me are true. Fairytales exist. Or the creatures in them do anyway. Too bad the happy endings apparently don’t.
“What was it like?” I ask. “Growing up a werewolf? In a pack?”
Dean frowns. “It was the best thing in the world, until it wasn’t.”
“With a pack you’re never alone. That can be safe, reassuring, loving, and it can also be smothering, overwhelming and controlling. We were going to be our own pack.”
“With a bakery,” I say softly.
Dean’s lip twitches at some memory. “I miss the pre-dawn smell of freshly baked bread.”
Declan snorts. “I don’t miss pre-dawn.”
I smile at the banter and wonder what it will take to get them their lives back. I realize it’s easier to think of other people’s futures. Despite my promise to Dr. Livingstone, I don’t know how to imagine my own future without the albatross of pain from my twin’s death weighing it down until it drowns.
I lick my lips, knowing I need to ask a question I might not like the answer to. “What did you paint earlier? I mean, what did you see as the model for the assignment?”
They exchange a look, and I swallow against the pit in my stomach.
“Tell me the truth,” I insist.
“Celeste.” Dean takes my hand in his, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to tell me whatever he’s holding back.
I turn to Declan and hold his gaze steadily. “Tell me,” I repeat.
His expression is grim, his eyes hard and knowing, but he nods. “Dr. Livingstone drinking blood out of an IV bag.”
“Drinking blood?” I shake my head, confused. “Disgusting. But that doesn’t make sense.”
“Wait. What did you see?” Dean asks, sitting up straighter.
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” I look at Declan, knowing he’ll answer me. “Why would he do that?”
“Because it’s in his nature. Dr. Livingstone is a vampire.”
7
True to their promise, the boys make sure I'm back in my cell by the time Nurse Evil comes for us in the morning—though we don't have time to see if I can unlock the main doors with my magic. That will have to wait for later.
I’m still trying to decide how I feel about referring to what I did as “magic.” But it seems to be the buzz word here, so I go with it. For now.
Upstairs, in quite the plot twist, we are ushered to a dining hall filled with other patients where I'm actually fed. If this bowl of gruel that smells a bit off can be considered food.
There are about twenty of us total, with the youngest being the girl I saw in art therapy—and I use the word therapy with a heavy dose of sarcasm—and the oldest being a woman who I'm not entirely sure is still alive. She sits at a table alone, her porridge in front of her, her eyes closed, and her body covered in so many wrinkles I can't imagine her actual age.
Angus is here. Along with Maria. The fingerless woman is missing. So is the boy who grabbed me, though I’m not sorry I haven’t seen him again. With Declan’s explanation still fresh in my mind, the boy’s fangs mean so much more. And if this is real, I could have died if I hadn’t gotten away.
For a girl who wanted to end her life not so long ago, I’m pretty determined to stay alive now, even if I can’t yet picture my future beyond these walls. Understanding—and accepting—the truth about these creatures is another thing altogether.
It’s a lot to process.
The brothers take seats on either side of me at a small table in the corner, and they glare at anyone else who ventures too close to us as I study the other patients. Conversations float around me. Most are in other languages; only some recognizable. It’s clear these people have come from all over.
Is everyone here truly a vampire, werewolf or witch? That seems…unbelievable. But then, everything I've experienced since my sister died could be described that way.
I’m in a mental limbo, stuck between the magical explanation for all of this, assured of my sanity, and still half convinced I’m hallucinating everything and have gone completely mental. In any