Chapter 36: Blood of the Betrayed

Pain. A cold-blooded, lumpy surge washed over Jack, trying to drag him back into the hole he struggled so desperately to escape. It was an internal fire, an insatiable consumption, an elegy of sorrow that thrummed through all his nerves. He could have sworn he was torn asunder and stitched back together with crude, half-way seams. The edge between consciousness and the hole shifted, a coarse, bearable tug-of-war.

The second, apart from the body pain, was an anger, white-hot burning. It smoldered beneath the surface of his pain, hot, savage power waiting to overflow and consume him. Unrestrained, savage fury forged out of defilement and treachery.

His own breathing was forced, shallow, ragged gasps, one after another scorching reminder of his crushed ribs and squashed lung. He had difficulty opening his eyes, the world vaguely clearing from the haze of pain and confusion. The wan light above spun unmanageably, long, splintered shadows twisting upon the fractured, smeared ceiling. Pungent, metallic, and antiseptic, the smell mingled with the sweet, sickly smell of stale blood, a belly-twisting compound that nauseated his senses.

He tried to shift, but his body would not, each spasm and contortion shooting ferocious jagged splinters of agony through his bruised body. He was held helpless, wrists and ankles tied to the cold, metal mesh of a coarse bed. He fought against the restraints, but they would not yield, cutting deep into his skin.

He remembered snippets of what had happened: the ambush, the rapid, savage attack, the glint of metal, the searing pain. And nothing else. Nothing but blackness.

He looked around the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner, in case he might glimpse his kidnappers. It was a tiny, sterile room, with no room for personality. The walls were empty, the only furniture a metal table and one, backless chair. The atmosphere was thick with tension, a palpable sense of dread.

He tried to piece together what had happened, as much as he could, in the hope of determining why he'd been attacked, and by whom this had been accomplished. He was an ordinary man, a mechanic, not a soldier, not an operative. He had no enemies, nothing that he would have been attacked for.

Or at least he'd thought so.

He caught the faintest movement out of the corner of his eye and spun around. A faceless man was standing in the shadows, features obscured. They were there, looking at him, their very presence dripping cold, calculating evil.

"Who are you?" Jack croaked, his throat parched and gritty. "What do you want?"

The man remained steadfast, his eyes unwavering. He took a step into the light, and he noticed a face that was familiar to him but somehow not quite right. A face that he had seen beforehand, a face that belonged to a man that he thought that he could trust.

"Why?" Jack gasped. "Why would you do that?"

The man's lips twisted into a sadistic smile. "You know too much," he said again, his voice empty of life or feeling. "You've seen things you shouldn't have seen."

"What things?" Jack growled out, his head reeling. "I have the remotest idea what you're talking about."

"It doesn't matter," the man informed him, his eyes burning with cruelty. "You won't be talking."

He moved forward, his hand lodged in his pocket. Jack steeled himself for the worst, his chest pounding with beating heart. Unarmed, without a weapon, the victim of a man who had betrayed him. But no matter how scared and tormented he was, the anger would not be snuffed out, a hot embers that no amount of suffocation could silence. He was not going to give up. He was going to fight, even if dying was the alternative.

He fought. Barely.

Jack tried to turn, but his muscles rebelled. His chest was wrapped in bulky bandages, the side wound still open. Someone had tried to kill him. Someone he knew.

His head ran the last thing he remembered—the fight, the bullet, Ben's face when he'd had to flee.

Ben.

Jack's fingers jerked, a snarl building in his throat. That connection between them—it was loose now. Almost severed. That realization cut through his chest with a sharp, odd pain.

Someone had attempted to strip him of everything.

A door creaked open.

Jack’s head snapped up. A familiar figure stepped into the dimly lit room—Tim. His sharp eyes flickered with something unreadable as he set a glass of water on the table beside the bed.

“You’re awake,” Tim said simply.

Jack forced himself upright, biting back the pain. “How long?” His voice came out rough, barely more than a growl.

“Three days.”

Jack inhaled sharply. Too long. Too damn long.

Tim crossed his arms. "You should be dead."

Jack gasped through his teeth. "Yeah. Odd that I'm not."

Tim glared at him, his gaze on the bandages. "You should be more incapacitated than this. That wound should have put you out of action for weeks. But here you are."

Jack could feel the accusation there.

Something was amiss.

He could tell. Pain, yes, but beneath—power. Something new coursed through his body, dark and unholy.

Something else.

Tim came forward. "What the devil did to you?"

Jack curled his fingers and watched as his nails turned into claws and then receded instantly. That was not natural. Not for him.

A sly grin spread across his lips.

"I think I just upgraded."

Tim didn't smile. "This is not funny, Jack. Someone tried to kill you. And while you were away, things went haywire."

Jack's grin faltered. "Tell me."

Tim rubbed his eyes, exhaling. "The sanctuary was attacked."

Jack's body went rigid. "By whom?"

"Not the Ravens. Not the Scorpions either. Someone else." Tim hesitated. "A wolf named Viktor."

The name sank into Jack's heart something dark and ominous. He'd never met Viktor, but he'd heard the rumors—rumors of an outlaw leader festering in the shadows. And now he was attacking Ben.

Fists clenched in the bedclothes.

No.

No one was going to get what was his.

Tim eyed him suspiciously. "You're sleeping before you get yourself killed."

Jack breathed slowly, struggling through the residual pain. His body recovered faster this time than ever before. That would have annoyed him if not for something.

It could be only something.

He was stronger.

And he was going to save Ben.