Chapter 112 THE LAKE OF LIES
Chapter 112 THE LAKE OF LIES
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead like trapped flies.
I stare at the ceiling tiles until the tiny grey dots blur into static, forcing my breathing to stay incredibly slow and shallow because I have to be empty. I have to be completely blank.
They are coming.
The heavy steel door clanks, the magnetic seal disengaging with a harsh hiss that sends a spike of ice straight into my chest, but I don't let my muscles tense against the leather straps. I don't clench my fists or let my heart race.
Dr. Aris walks in,
followed by two orderlies with dead eyes and thick arms.
"Time for your evaluation, Mrs. Hellboud," Dr. Aris mutters, not meeting my gaze.
His throat is still covered in those massive yellow-purple bruises from where Kane strangled him, a sickening reminder of exactly what I am dealing with. He unbuckles the heavy leather straps from my wrists and ankles, his hands trembling so badly that the metal buckles clatter against the bedframe.
I sit up slowly. My body feels heavy and sluggish from the yellow fluid they pumped into my veins all night, though the magic humming deep in my core burns away the worst of the fog.
"Stand up," one of the orderlies barks.
I slide off the cot, letting my bare feet hit the freezing linoleum, and I keep my shoulders slumped forward so I look small and defeated and totally broken.
They don't offer me shoes or a robe; they just march me out into the hallway in that thin, scratchy grey hospital gown that makes me feel so exposed it makes my skin crawl.
We walk down the maze of sterile white corridors, taking an elevator up one floor to a section of the facility that looks less like a dungeon and more like a high-end corporate office. The floors here are carpeted, and the lights are softer, but the doors are still solid steel and the security cameras track our every move.
The orderlies push me through a door marked Observation 2.
It’s a freezing room with a single metal table, two chairs, and a massive two-way mirror covering the entire right wall.
Margaret is sitting in one of the chairs.
She looks flawless, wearing a tailored charcoal suit with her silver hair pinned back perfectly, and something about the way she smiles when I walk in makes my blood run cold.
"Sit down, Evelyn," she says, gesturing to the empty metal chair across from her.
I sit, keeping my eyes unfocused and vacant, staring somewhere near the knot of her silk blouse instead of looking into her eyes.
"How are you feeling this morning?" she asks, her voice dripping with that fake concern.
"I don't know," I whisper, letting my voice sound thin and confused.
"My head hurts."
"That is perfectly normal," Margaret says, reaching across the table to pat my hand.
Her skin is freezing, like touching a corpse, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from flinching away from her.
"You had a terrible fever, darling," she lies smoothly.
"A psychological break caused by extreme stress, but the doctors have scrubbed the infection from your system."
I just nod slowly, playing the part of the compliant, empty doll she thinks she created.
"We need to run a few baseline tests," Margaret continues, pulling a tablet and a small biometric monitor from her leather briefcase.
"Just to ensure your heart rate and neural pathways are stable before Kane comes to see you tonight."
She grabs my wrist and clips the cold plastic monitor to my index finger.
It beeps, echoing in the quiet room.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I know what she's doing. She's going to test the memory wipe. She's going to throw triggers at me and watch the monitor to see if my body reacts, because you can fake a blank stare but you can't fake your own pulse.
Panic flares in my chest because if that machine spikes, she’ll know I’m awake.. She'll know the silver liquid didn't work and she will tell Kane to carve the baby out of me right now.
My baby.
Abel's baby.
The monitor hitches, the pitch rising slightly as my heart beats faster.
Beep-beep-beep.
"Are you feeling anxious, Evelyn?" Margaret asks, her eyes narrowing as she watches the screen on her tablet.
The lake, I tell myself desperately. Find the lake.
I close my eyes for a fraction of a second and I push all the terror, all the maternal panic, all the blinding rage down into the dark, still water at the bottom of my mind. I lock it away behind the heavy brick wall Abel helped me build.
The monitor slows back down.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"No, I'm just cold." I answer flatly.
"Let's begin," Margaret says, her mismatched eyes locking onto my face with predatory intensity.
She slides a photograph across the metal table.
It's a picture of Lisa. She's laughing, holding a coffee cup outside our favorite café.
"Do you know who this is?" Margaret asks softly.
I stare at the picture of my best friend, the girl who gave me the spare key to her apartment and begged me to leave my abusive husband, and I force my brain to disconnect from my heart.
"No," I whisper. "Who is she?"
Margaret watches the monitor. It doesn't spike.
"Nobody important," Margaret says, swiping the photo away. "Just a woman who used to serve you coffee."
She slides another picture across the table.
My stomach drops so fast I feel dizzy, because it's a security still from the StoneTech parking garage.
It’s Abel.
He's standing by his car, looking up at the camera with that fierce, protective scowl, his broad shoulders tense and his silver eyes blazing with Alpha command.
Just seeing his face makes my chest ache so violently I think my ribs might crack open. The bond inside my soul thrashes, reaching for him, crying out for him across the miles of dark woods that separate us.
Beep-beep.
The monitor stutters.
Margaret leans forward, her gaze sharpening like a hawk spotting blood in the grass.
"And this man?" she asks, her voice dropping to a dangerous, silken whisper. "Do you recognize this man, Evelyn?"
Sink it, I scream at myself. Drown it all.
I imagine the dark water closing over Abel's face, burying my love for him under thousands of pounds of freezing, crushing pressure until there is absolutely nothing left but empty space.
I stare at the picture of my mate, the father of the child growing inside me, the man who walked through white-hot fire to save my life, and I make my eyes go completely dead.
"No," I say, my voice monotone and hollow. "Is he... does he work for Kane?"
The monitor holds steady.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Margaret stares at me for a long, agonizing minute. She searches my face for a few minutes.
Then, very slowly, she exhales and leans back in her chair.
"Yes," Margaret smiles, and it’s a terrifyingly genuine smile of absolute victory. "He works for Kane. He is nothing but an employee."
She reaches out and takes the monitor off my finger, packing it back into her briefcase.
"The integration is perfect," she declares, standing up and smoothing her immaculate skirt. "You are completely cured, my dear. Kane will be so pleased when he visits you tonight."
"When can I go home?" I ask, letting my voice sound small and dependent.
"Soon," Margaret promises, walking toward the heavy steel door. "After the eclipse on Sunday, there will be a beautiful ceremony. And then you will never have to worry about anything ever again."
She doesn't know she just handed me the timeline. She doesn't realize I understand exactly what that ceremony is.
"Margaret?" I say, right before she opens the door.
She pauses, looking back over her shoulder. "Yes?"
"Can I see my mother?" I ask, letting a single, pathetic tear slide down my cheek. "Please? I just want my mom."
Margaret’s smile turns pitiful and cruel.
"Your mother is resting in the high-security ward on Sub-Level C, Evelyn. She is very weak, and the blood-wards on her door are sealed to everyone except myself and Kane. It is for her own protection."
She opens the door and signals the orderlies.
"Take her back to her room," Margaret commands. "And increase the nutrient drip. We need her in peak physical condition for the weekend."
The orderlies grab my arms and haul me up from the chair.
I let them drag me out of the room and back to the elevator, keeping my head bowed and my feet dragging on the carpet.
Margaret thinks she won. She thinks I am a broken, empty vessel waiting to be sacrificed on the altar of her son's ambition.
But as the heavy steel door of Room 4 locks behind me, and they strap me back into the bed, a fierce, blazing warmth erupts in the center of my chest.
She told me exactly what I needed to know.
The door to Sub-Level C isn't just locked with a keypad. It's sealed with a blood-ward. It requires the DNA of a Hellboud to open it.
I lie in the dim red light of the cell, listening to the steady drip of the IV bag, and I place my hand flat over my own flat stomach.
I'm tired of waiting around while my child's life is at risk. I have to get out of here and I don't mind drawing either Kane or Margaret's blood to get free.
I close my eyes, reaching down the silent tether that connects my soul to Abel's, and I send a single, razor-sharp thought into the dark.
Get ready, Alpha.
I know how to open the door