Page 118 of Red Rooster

27

The Ingraham Institute

He slept. He didn’t know for how long, but eventually, awareness returned. First in the muffled flashes of dreams, and then the painful battle for outright consciousness.

When Sasha finally opened his eyes, it felt like a victory. A pathetic one.

He took a moment to blink his vision clear and get his bearings. It wasn’t the same room as before. For one, the lights were, blessedly, lower: a series of wall-mounted lamps on dim settings rather than harsh overhead tubes. He lay on a bed, across from a heavy steel door with a wire-reinforced window at its center, like at a hospital. He could smell chemicals, cleaners, humans. His body felt heavy; whatever drug they’d used had been strong. Calibrated for a wolf, he guessed. They’d known not to bother with human sedatives.

He lifted arms that felt like stone pillars and pulled up short; thick metal cuffs locked on his wrists bit into his skin with unusual sharpness, and he hissed at the resultant pain, letting his hands fall to the mattress. He wiggled his feet and felt similar cuffs there; heard the rattle of chains.

His next breath left his lungs in a rush, and panic tightened like a vise around his ribs, preventing him from drawing air back in. He stared up at the acoustic ceiling tiles and opened his mouth, panting shallowly as sweat bloomed across his body.

Trapped.

A prisoner.

He couldn’t get loose, and Nikita was, Nik was…

Panicking wouldn’t help, but he couldn’t stop it, the hot and cold waves of fear shifting through him, leaving him light-headed. Or maybe that was just the drugs.

A quiet knock sounded at the door.

He held his breath.

The knob turned, and the door swung slowly inward. He heard the clip of shoes and then the door shut again.

When he took his next breath, he smelled…

Forest. Resin. Wet earth. And the faint musky undercurrent of…

Wolf.

He sat bolt upright before he remembered the cuffs; they bit hard, hurt badly, but he managed to get upright, swaying a little from the headrush.

“Oh, hey, it’s alright,” the intruder said, her voice soft, Southern at the edges. Kind, somehow.

When his equilibrium had steadied, he saw a girl standing with her back to the door. Slight, fresh-faced. A tumble of dark hair and shiny, cotton candy pink lips.

He took a few more ragged breaths, confirming what he’d known on the first sniff: she was a wolf. Like him.

Or, unlike him, given that she was loose, and he was chained to a bed.

He worked his jaw a few moments, trying to peel his dry tongue off the roof of his mouth before he could form words. When they came, they were halting and cracked. “Who are you?” He didn’t have the energy to be polite.

She smiled softly like she understood.

“I’m Annabel. And I’m thinking you must be Sasha.”

No sense lying, he guessed. They already knew who he was – Dr. Talbot standing over him,“Hello, Sasha, my name is Doctor Talbot,”and that reptilian smile that made Sasha shiver even now, just at the memory. “Yes.” He darted his tongue across his lips, but both were dry, and so it did no good. “How do you know my name? How does –heknow my name?”

Her brows knit together in concern, and she took a hesitant step forward.

He growled before he registered the impulse to do so, a weak and sad little rumble in his chest.

She made a low chuffing sound in response, gaze soft, body language non-threatening.It’s okay, she projected.I won’t hurt you.

“I’m not sure exactly,” she said. “Dr. Talbot said the Institute was founded a long time ago. 1941, maybe?”