Trial by Thrall (Trial #2) Page 2

  I rub my chest. This line of thought really hurts. I don’t want to open the door to doubting my father. I don’t want to remember him in any other light than that which I already do: as a good man, widely respected, who loved me more than anything.

  He had a lot of hatred in him and admitted it was misplaced in the letter he wrote me. How do I reconcile my sweet daddy with the man who held such awful perceptions of the world? Is there a chance he’s right to view the supernaturals in such a negative light?

  Closing Tristan’s biography, I stare into space for a long minute, unable to decide what I should feel about anyone in my life. My gaze goes to my phone, and I have the urge to text Ben. It’s wrong. My time with him is over. I’m no longer a wolf, no longer of interest to him.

  So why do I check my messages several times a day, hoping he’s texted, when I know he won’t? He’s too dedicated to his duty to color outside the lines. He checked the box for his trial, and even if he wanted to ignore duty, he can’t ignore the mess I made of his life.

  He deserves better. I know this. But I still want to text him.

  All I have to do to kill that urge is to recall what Ben’s brother, Jason, wrote in his letter to me. Anger bubbles whenever I consider Jason’s words, along with a reluctant acknowledgement he’s right about everything.

  It’s not just Ben confusing me, not since Tristan and I completed the traditional mating ritual. I gaze at the Celtic tattoos covering my right hand. They mark me as the mate of the fae’s leader. The unnatural attraction I feel towards him is only partially trial-driven. I know a hot guy when I see one, and Tristan is hot.

  The best way to get over someone like Ben is to hook up with another hottie like Tristan. I shouldn’t be feeling the pain of breaking up from someone I only dated for a week. But it’s there, a sense of loss or heartache or … aloneness. Maybe that’s it. When I was with Ben, I didn’t feel alone.

  Drugs, alcohol, men. I’ve become accustomed to using one – or all – of them to numb my emotions. After reading Daddy’s theory about Tristan’s drugs, I’m not so sure I want to order N-Thrall from my dealer anytime soon, knowing Tristan’s fae make the drugs, and I’m too broke for alcohol. That leaves Tristan to distract me.

  I check my text messages again, and agitation warms my blood.

  I can’t sit here today. The buzzing is driving me crazy, and my thoughts are a dumpster fire. I stand and grab the backpack to hide it somewhere in the office. Circling the desk, I open a filing cabinet tucked beneath it and tuck my bag into it. My gaze falls to the plant on the corner of the desk.

  “Not everything in here is perfect,” I say, reaching out to touch one of the brittle, brown leaves. Whatever the plant used to be, it’s dead now. I grab my water from the front of the desk and water the poor plant before straightening and heading towards the door. “Good luck, plant!” I call over my shoulder.

  I decide to do some exploring rather than interviewing. If my experience with Ben’s crew taught me anything, it’s that no one is going to badmouth his or her leader.

  A corporation this size is going to have a lab, I imagine. Maybe if they’re grinding up dead fae, or bagging up N-Thrall and other illicit drugs, I’ll catch them in the process. Otherwise, confirming or debunking my father’s latest theory is going to make for a very interesting conversation with Tristan.

  “Let’s do this,” I tell myself. “Let’s find some dirt.”

  Chapter Two

  Map in hand, I leave the office and head to the elevator. Tristan’s company owns the entire block. Everything is marked in detail on the map, which disappoints me. If he’s hiding something, he wouldn’t exactly put it on the map. Nothing about the layouts of the seven buildings crowded onto this block is suspicious to me. Nothing is marked secret labs or N-Thrall distribution center.

  I laugh at my stupid thoughts and then shake my head and start to select a floor at random. In this headquarters building, there are thirty floors, including several accessible exclusively to executives. I even see mention of a restaurant on the top floor with a Michelin star rating.

  If he’s hiding something, I doubt it’ll be on the top floors. They’re too far from the labs, research and development, and distribution departments.

  I reach for the touch screen of the touch and voice-activated elevator and hesitate as the different floors scroll before my eyes.

  There are five sub basements listed, none of which are on the map. Brightening, I speak to the elevator. “Sub-Basement One.”

  Swipe badge crosses the screen in angry red letters. With a curse, I remember forgetting it despite Tristan’s warning and exit the elevator for the office.

  Hurrying to the desk, I grab the badge and pause.

  The dead plant has sprung back to life with no signs of its previous suffering. I’ve never seen a plant respond that well to being watered. Then again, I neither know nor care about plants. I’m a bit envious of its quick recovery. If I could heal from Daddy’s death that fast, I’d be set.

  I leave and trot down the hallway to the elevator.

  This time, when the screen yells at me, I pass my badge over the reader and then wait. Seconds later, I’m headed down towards the first sub-basement that isn’t listed on the building’s layout.

  I’m quite pleased with myself, until the door slides open, and I read the sign on the hallway across from me.

  “Natal and pediatrics wards?” My nose wrinkles. I didn’t consider that maybe there are fae-only floors, and that maybe, my badge would allow me access to the parts of the headquarters not accessible to humans.

  This is definitely not the smoking gun I’m looking for. Grimacing at my headache, I get off the elevator. Tristan has had six hundred years to figure out how to do something illegal without being caught. I don’t want my trip here to be wasted, but I also doubt I’m going to uncover some scandalous secret as I accidentally did at Ben’s company.

  Even so, why is there a maternity ward in an office building?

  This floor resembles a hospital, complete with a nurse’s desk, doors opening to individual hospital rooms, and happy cartoon animals plastered across every wall. I follow the paw prints of a lion, past two nurses who glance at me, and to an intersection. A large indoor play area is to my right, along with more doors to private rooms. The sign in front of me points to the left towards the natal ward.

  It’s very quiet, considering this is a children’s ward.

  I’m so not going to find anything interesting here.

  Curious to see if fae babies look anything like normal babies, I walk towards the natal ward and soon run across a massive window looking in on an open bay where a dozen newborns lie sleeping in tiny beds. Four have pink hats and the rest wear blue. I can’t read the labels with their names from here. If I were a werewolf, I totally could.

  As overwhelming as the experience with Ben was, I kind of miss experiencing every little piece of my world.

  “Fae-bies look normal,” I murmur and smile at the tiny forms.

  “Are you here to visit someone in particular?” One of the nurses has followed me.

  “No. Just visiting in general,” I reply and turn to her.

  A trim woman in animal scrubs, she has red hair and bright green eyes. “You came on a good day. They’re all healthy.”

  “Awesome.” I return my attention to the babies but can feel the nurse studying me. Her eyes go to the tattoos on my hand.

  “Ah. Kingmaker.” Her tone cools noticeably, and she takes a step back, as if being a Kingmaker is contagious.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite.”

  She doesn’t look so sure.

  What the hell do these people think Kingmakers are, or do? “So are all the sub-basement floors part of a hospital?” I ask.

  “Yes. This is the national treatment center for fae.”

  “It’s convenient to have it at the bottom of a pharma company.”

  She’s frowning. “Can I help you find some
thing?”

  “Do you, um, have a morgue?” My face warms as I ask. I’m definitely not good at being discreet.

  There’s a pause before she answers. “Yeah. Why?”

  “I thought the fae lived forever,” I joke.

  She’s not amused. “What do you want with the morgue?”

  Ouch. Her icy tone gives me flashbacks to Mrs. Anderson, an elementary teacher who used to terrorize an entire class with a look. “Never mind. Do you call them fae-bies or babies?” I ask, motioning to the window.

  “Newborns.”

  She looks ready to call security on me.

  “All right.” Tough crowd. She’s definitely far less friendly than the werewolves I spoke to. I wish I’d had time to read through some of the books on fae, to understand if there’s some sort of feud or resentment between our clans transcending the normal hatred of Kingmakers, or if there’s some kind of protocol I might be trampling.

  When I don’t think it can get any more uncomfortable trying to pretend she’s not glaring at me, a voice rings out over the loudspeakers.

  “Siobhan, code blue, room twenty four.”

  The nurse turns away from me smartly. A light at the corner of the intersection is flashing blue, and two more nurses hurry down the hall, presumably towards room twenty four.

  “Everything okay?” I call after the redhead.

  “Come with me!” she replies without turning.

  I’m not about to disobey that tone of voice. I trot to catch up to her.

  “I’m required to answer your questions but also need to do my job. The babies come first,” she tells me crisply.

  “Not a problem,” I reply. “I don’t want to interfere. I’m just here to –”

  “We all know why you’re here.” Her sharp response cuts off any further attempt I’d normally make to smooth things over.

  I slow down the closer we get to the room where the nurses are going. I’m not entirely certain I want to see what’s happening. I don’t have a strong stomach for medical issues, and if it involves fae-bies, well … I don’t know if I can handle anything bad happening to someone that tiny and helpless, supernatural or not.

  With some apprehension, I peek into the room and then creep in behind the nurses. Four incubators are present, each with a bunch of medical equipment and monitors crowded around it that I assume are for some kind of life support. Stainless steel gleams all around. The babies here appear to be a little older, maybe a few months in age rather than newborns. I can’t imagine children, even if they are so young, being stuck in such a cold, sterile environment. Two babies on my left are on ventilators with tubes running out of them. The nurses are gathered around a third bed to my right and blocking the fourth from my sight.

  “Don’t touch anything!” snaps the red-haired nurse loudly enough for me to jump.

  “Holy shit, woman! I won’t!” I snap back. She has some serious issues about Kingmakers, maybe even worse than my father’s perceptions of the fae.

  The two fae-bies on this side are watching me. Or … watching the crisis happening behind me. I’m not really sure kids this young can register their surroundings.

  I tilt my head. The buzzing is louder, and I sense … Sadness? After my transformation into a werewolf, I’m not freaked out by the instincts I now firmly recognize as being part of the trial experience. Whatever it is I’m sensing, it’s got to do with being a fae and fae magic.

  I move towards the door.

  The two babies follow me with their gazes.

  It’s kind of creepy.

  When I step outside the room entirely, I stop.

  The sadness has increased to an emotion akin to desperation. Yet it’s so faint, it’s hard for me to pinpoint if I’m really experiencing it.

  I step back into the room. Desperation fades to sorrow.

  I step outside the room. Sorrow slides into despair.

  “In or out! Stop distracting everyone!” the nurse yells at me.

  I have no idea what her problem is and focus back on the faint sense I’m picking up from the fae-bies. The subtle shift is so unlike werewolf magic, which felt like being possessed. This fae magic is elusive, like a dream I can’t quite recall or the words to a tune I once knew. The harder I focus on it, the faster it slips away.

  Another nurse rushes in, colliding with me. I catch my balance. She offers a quick, apologetic smile before joining the others.

  I seek out the elusive sense. Whatever it is, it’s got to do with the fae-bies watching me. The sense of sorrow grows stronger the closer I am to them. Pausing in front of their incubators, I frown at their conditions. Aside from tubes and god knows what else is being done to them, they appear unhealthy. One is jaundiced with bluish lips and the other is so pale, she could be a zombie. Both have eyes with indistinguishable colors. They’re either dark blue or brown, but the colors are all jumbled and covered by a translucent haze that gives them a pearly appearance.

  The fae-by nearest me lifts a tiny fist towards me. Her whole arm trembles from the effort.

  Glancing over my shoulder to make sure the redhead isn’t going to scream at me again any time soon, I then maneuver the incubator’s side door open as quietly as I can and bend down to see the baby at its level.

  “Hi, Bella,” I whisper with a glance at the name stenciled on her incubator. “Don’t tell, okay?” Reaching in, I take the tiny fist. Her hand is petal soft and plump like a marshmallow.

  The buzzing at the back of my mind is suddenly louder, and I flinch. What kind of magic is this kid using on me? Blinking back sunspots and an odd flush of dizziness, I release the kid’s hand and straighten.

  The emotion is shifting again, but I can’t figure out to what.

  The other fae-by lifts his hand as well. He’s even weaker, his eyes glassy and tiny hand in the air for a second before it drops.

  Replacing the side door to the girl’s incubator, I slide to the boy’s, whose name is Sean, and open his. I bend down again and take his hand. More dizziness, and the sudden sense I’m about to pass out, drops me to my knees.

  “Oh, shit. Sorry, kid. Think I need to sit down,” I say and shake my head to clear it. Releasing him, I sneak a look at the nurses before clicking his door closed.

  The shift this time is from sorrow to … contentedness. Not quite happiness but no longer sadness either. Unable to figure out why infant fae-bies are zapping me, I leave the room and take a deep breath in the hallway. The buzzing has receded, along with the dizziness, but I’m feeling a bit claustrophobic and weak like I do when I haven’t eaten all day.

  I sincerely doubt the nurses will miss me if I decide to leave. Retracing my steps to the elevator, I go back up to the eighth floor and to my office, closing the door.

  I have my own tiny snack pantry and raid it for crackers and candy before lying down on the couch.

  Do the fae hate Kingmakers so much even their babies wish me ill? I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me, why my headache is stronger and I’m tired. Rubbing my eyes, I sigh and let them stay closed, intent on waiting until the candy bar kicks in before I leave the office to explore the second sub-basement.

  As I drift into a doze, an instinct whispers to me.

  The nurse said this is a treatment center, which I think would imply there’s some kind of fae disease in need of a specialty hospital.

  The thought gathers little traction, and I drop into sleep.

  Chapter Three

  At some point, I jerk awake from the nap I didn’t intend to take. It’s dark in my office, except for track lighting above the desk. I push myself up and check the time. The sun goes down early in mid-autumn. It’s not as late as it seems, barely six o’clock. My head aches and my mouth feels gross from not brushing before I fell asleep after my candy.

  I go to the bathroom and find a dental kit in a drawer. Ten minutes later, I’m feeling somewhat refreshed and leave the bathroom. The office lights are on, and Tristan is standing in the center, dressed stylishly in dark pan
ts and a shirt that hugs his biceps and lean torso. I find myself looking a little too long, once more trying to figure out who he reminds me of.

  “How was your day?” he asks.

  Startled by the innocuous question, it takes me a minute to respond. “Um, good. I don’t think anyone has actually ever asked me that,” I reply. “How was yours?”

  “Bizarre.”

  What does a six hundred year old fae consider bizarre?

  He’s gazing at me intently with flawless green eyes. The awkward standoffishness from earlier is gone, replaced by a level of interest I save for trying to match my bra and underwear while hungover. I have the urge to return to the bathroom and make sure toilet paper isn’t stuck to my backside or something.

  “Oh,” I say, his meaning dawning on me. “Okay, yeah. So my day. You probably got a phone call from the maternity ward, right?” I don’t wait for him to reply. “The nurse was super pissed at me. So, if I wasn’t supposed to be there or … I don’t know. If I freaked her out asking about the morgue, I’m sorry. I figured I’d do a self tour of the place and wandered down to the sub-basement level to look around.” I don’t tell him I was looking for dead fae and drugs. We aren’t to that level of honesty, I don’t think.

  “Morgue?” His eyebrows go up. “You were looking for the morgue?”

  “It was … small talk. A joke.” I clear my throat. “Did she complain?”

  “Not about that.”

  “But she did complain.”

  “That’s all that happened? You went down there and she got mad at you?”

  “Yeah. Why?” I search his features.

  Whatever the nurse reported, I must’ve come across as … well, probably the evil Kingmaker everyone is expecting. I’m not sure, but Tristan’s scrutiny is unsettling.

  “Dinner?” I ask.