Chapter 542 Chapter 542
She hadn’t spoken since she came back out of the room. Griffin didn’t know what the walls were made of, but he hadn’t been able to hear what was being said. That was unusual for him. Since he was a teen he’d been able to hear things that most could not. That handy skill had probably saved his life more times than he could keep track of. He would hear what was going on and be able to adjust his behavior to avoid conflict or in most cases punishment. Of course, it didn’t work on Aiden as it had on his father. To Aiden, his existence made him guilty of everything.
He moved over to the window and leaned against the cage, ignoring the wire cutting into his shoulder. He had no real proof that Alberto Tomas was his father, other than being told he was. There was no resemblance at all to the senior or his full-blooded son. He’d never seen so much as a picture of Aiden’s mother, but he had to assume he took after her. Many hours of his life had been spent wondering about his own mother. What had she been like? Not what she shifted into, but the type of person she had been. He was going under the assumption she no longer lived, because he’d never heard speak of her in any way.
The older women were moved to the camps where they took the young girls. Had his mother been sent there at some point? He’d been to the boy camp as punishment for a year when his father was mad at him. There were no women there. He wondered if the girls were treated better than the boys were because, honestly, he wouldn’t wish what he’d been through on his worst enemy. Aside from the physical torture they suffered, from starving to being beaten, the main purpose he’d concluded of the camps was to brainwash the young males, making them believe that females were the lowest form of existence. Good for breeding, nothing else. He smirked as he wondered what Blaise would think of that, he was sure people would be hurt for telling her something like that.
Glancing at Blaise, he saw that she was watching him again. What had she found out during her call with her boss that caused her to look at him like she was dissecting him? He pushed away from the wall and moved to the other side of his space. “Is everything all right?” Cocking his head, he studied her for a second. She was tense now when she hadn’t been before. “You’re looking a little tense.”
“I’m fine.” She got up from the table and crossed her arms over her chest. She was anything but fine, but he wasn’t going to push his luck. “How are you feeling?” She motioned to the table with a jerk of her chin. He looked at the bottle sitting there. “Any side effects from stopping these?”
Griffin debated for a second whether he should tell the truth. “A little shaky.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it out to show her the slight tremor. “I don’t think there’s anything else.” He’d thought for a while his sense of smell was improving, but decided that was because he was shut in with no ventilation outside from the storm. Ever since she’d arrived, he could smell something spicy and sweet, light but dark at the same time. Which made no sense, unless it was something on her clothes.
“Do you want the pills?” She shrugged, “it’s been a few days, but it’s up to you.” She smirked so briefly he wasn’t sure she actually had, “it’s not like you’re going to suddenly shift without notice.”
In his entire life, he didn’t remember someone asking him what he wanted, pertaining to anything. “What is it like? To shift that first time?”
Her eyes widened for a moment, “it’s scary, of course, the not knowing part gets the better of you,” she shrugged, “but the adrenalin rush of that first time is like nothing I’ve felt since.”
Holding his hand out, he turned it over and looked at it, “chances of me even shifting is, pretty much zilch, I’ve been told.”
“And yet,” he looked at her as she picked up the bottle and shook it, “they made you take these, so I wouldn’t say zilch, or they wouldn’t have made you,” she watched him closely, looking for a reaction. He knew from experience that any reaction that portrayed your true thoughts or feelings was dangerous. “I’m pretty sure they made you take them.”
Tucking his hand back in his pocket, he studied her for a moment. How much did he tell her? “Up to a point, yes. I had no choice,” he looked down at the cup on the floor, then bent down and picked it up. It was cold, but he still drank the last coffee before answering her. “Until I did.”
“Until they gave you a choice?”
“I don’t,” he set the empty cup down, “think I had a choice. I had no idea what my mother became; so after a few curious thoughts as a young boy, I chose to not chance it.”
“You didn’t want to know?”
He didn’t know how to explain it to her, “I was just trying to survive. I was ten when I gave up my fantasies of shifting into some powerful beast and escaping my life for a shiny new one.” He hadn’t meant to be so sarcastic; allowing emotions to burst free was unlike him. He watched her for a negative reaction, but it was like she hadn’t even noticed it.
“Okay,” she said slowly as if she was filtering her thoughts before speaking, “would you like to continue to take it, or not.” She held up the bottle, “the choice is yours.”
Choice. He was being given a choice. Did he want to see what happened without them? No, he didn’t, but he was going to do it anyway—merely because he was given a choice. “Not right now.” He looked at his hand again, “I don’t know what happens without them, so…”
“Don’t worry. I have tranq darts if weird shit happens.” She turned on her heel and went over to her bag on the table and pulled out a handgun. It was bulkier than the one strapped to her leg. She waved it around and then set it on the table.
“Pass. The after-effects from those are not pleasant.”
She smirked. “I’m told the headache afterward is pretty rough.”
“That’s one way to describe it.”