Chapter 43
Lirael
The silver chain dissolved at exactly 4:47 AM. I felt the mechanism click open—soft as a breath—and the weight fell away from my wrist.
I didn't move. Just lay there in the dark beside Sebastian, listening to his breathing, deep and heavy but steady. The monitors painted green lines across the room. He wasn't dying. Not tonight, anyway.
This is it. My only chance. If I don't leave before he wakes up, I might never get another one.
I turned my head just enough to see his face—pale, jaw tight even in sleep, hair falling across his forehead in a way that would've horrified him if he were conscious. There was sweat on his temple despite the climate control.
My freed wrist felt strange. Naked. I flexed my fingers slowly, testing the absence, and tried not to think about how I'd held his hand through six hours of surgery, how I'd promised not to leave.
Stop it. He's your captor. He put a collar on you. None of the rest matters.
I sat up slowly, every movement calculated to keep the mattress from dipping. The nightstand was within reach. On it: his watch, the medications, water. I stared at the watch, remembering how he'd used it to activate the chain.
That's the key. Has to be.
But first I needed to make sure he wouldn't wake.
I reached out and tapped his cheek gently. Once. Twice. His brow furrowed but he didn't wake. I tapped harder. This time he made a small sound and his lips moved: "...don't go..."
I froze, heart hammering, but his breathing stayed even. Just sleep-talking. Still, the words made something twist in my chest that I refused to examine.
I ran my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, checking pockets. Nothing. My fingers found the edge of his waistband and I hesitated—some absurd sense of propriety warring with necessity.
He's drugged and unconscious and he's kept you prisoner. You don't owe him modesty.
I slipped my hand along his waist and he shifted suddenly, catching my wrist. "Don't go," he mumbled, eyes still closed.
I went absolutely still. His grip loosened after a moment, hand sliding away. Still asleep. Dreaming I was leaving and trying to hold on.
Don't think about it. Just move.
I pinched him hard above the hip. He flinched, made a pained sound, but didn't wake. Good. The drugs were working.
I turned to the watch, picking it up carefully. The black diamond in the back caught what little light there was, seeming to glow.
His brother's ashes. He made the key to my prison out of the person he loved and killed.
I pushed the thought away and studied the mechanism. The winding crown, the buttons, the modified gears visible through small windows. I tried turning the crown. Nothing. Pressed the buttons in different combinations. Still nothing.
Think. There has to be a pattern.
I looked at the Roman numerals, at the stopped hands. III and VII. Three and seven. A date? An anniversary?
I tried different positions, different sequences. Nothing worked. The collar stayed locked.
Sebastian shifted, his breathing changing rhythm. I quickly set the watch back and retreated to the wall, ready to bolt.
But he just turned onto his side, one hand reaching across the bed—searching for me—before settling back into sleep with a small sound.
I waited until I was sure, then moved back to the nightstand.
There has to be a way. He wouldn't make it impossible.
My eyes fell on the black diamond. When I pressed it, it moved slightly. A button.
I pressed it firmly. Heard a tiny click. Then tried the crown again, and this time I felt resistance at specific points, like internal gears aligning.
That's it. The diamond activates it, then the crown position matters.
I experimented carefully. Twelve positions—one for each hour. And when I aligned it with three, pressed the top button, turned to seven, pressed the bottom button—
The collar made a soft sound. The mechanism shifted. Not unlocked yet, but responding.
My hands shook as I continued. Different combinations, different sequences. And finally: diamond press, crown to three, top button, crown to seven, bottom button, crown to twelve, both buttons together.
The collar clicked open.
I nearly sobbed as it fell away. The connection to the natural world flooded back in a rush that made my head spin. I could feel the plants again—the ferns, the ivy, the bonsai. The vast network of the city's green spaces calling to me.
I'm free.
But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't quite true. The gene-lock was still in my system. And Sebastian was still here, still the most dangerous predator I'd ever met.
I looked at the collar in my hands, then at the bathroom where I'd noticed a spare nurse's uniform earlier. An idea formed, cold and calculated.
I moved quickly, gathering what I needed. The sedative mist I'd stolen from the guard's vest back at the Silver Moon Club was still tucked in my shoe. I retrieved it, along with the uniform.
The nurse would be back soon for her check. I just had to wait.
I pressed into the corner behind the door, sedative ready, and counted the minutes. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Then—footsteps. A keycard beep. The door opening.
The nurse stepped inside, attention on the bed. She didn't see me until I'd already released the cloud of sedative into her face.
She made a small sound, hand coming up too late, then her eyes rolled back. I caught her before she hit the floor, heart hammering so hard I was sure Sebastian would hear.
But he kept sleeping.
I stripped off my clothes and pulled on her uniform, fingers clumsy with adrenaline. Then I locked the collar around the unconscious nurse's neck, positioned her curled beside Sebastian's bed like she'd fallen asleep keeping watch.
I'm sorry. But I need this more than you do.
I grabbed her ID, her tablet, tucked the watch back exactly where it had been. Pulled the cap low over my face, picked up a clipboard, and walked to the door.
---
The hallway was quiet. Just the hum of equipment and distant voices. I kept my head down, pace steady, and when a guard looked up from his post, I just nodded. He nodded back, already looking away.
The elevator doors closed. I'm out. I'm actually out.
But I couldn't stop thinking about Sebastian's face as I left. About the hope and fear in his eyes. About the promise I'd made.
Forty-eight hours. I have forty-eight hours to handle the Hartfields and figure out what the hell I'm going to do about Sebastian Blackwood.
The parking garage was dimly lit, nearly empty. I spotted what I needed near the loading dock—a white medical transport van. I approached casually, checking the clipboard, and tried the door.
Locked. But the nurse's keycard worked. I climbed in, found the keys already in the ignition, and started the engine.
"Please enter destination code for route authorization."
Shit. I'd forgotten about tracking.
I could call Sebastian, ask for help. But that felt like cheating, like admitting I couldn't do this alone.
Instead, I accessed the van's computer through the dashboard. The security was designed for random thieves, not someone with my skills. Four minutes to bypass the password. Two more to create a fake delivery order—medical supplies to Third District Hospital, urgent, authorized by Dr. Cole.
The system accepted it. "Route authorized. Estimated travel time: thirty-seven minutes."
I pulled out, following signs to the exit. The booth guard barely glanced up from his phone as I approached.
"Medical transport," I said, voice tired and professional. "Third District Hospital."
He scanned the barcode without looking. "This shipment's not on the schedule."
My heart stopped. "Emergency order. Dr. Cole called it in. The blood serum is time-sensitive."