Page 8 of Unnatural (Men and Monsters #2)

The show swam before Samael’s eyes, his mind removed from what he was watching, the vision of her face the only thing he saw.

The girl. That was what he called her. The.

As if she was the only one when there were many others.

He didn’t know her name. He didn’t know any of their names.

Only that he’d been given permission to kill her if he wanted.

It wasn’t wrong, Dr. Heathrow said, because they were sick—dying a slow, painful death—and sick things must be put out of their misery.

It was humane, yet others made excuses for doing what was right, not because it wasn’t but because they were scared.

Weak. Certain things were difficult for ordinary men because they didn’t have the physical power or mental strength to carry out that which was necessary.

Samael understood. He’d been sick. So sick and in so much anguish that he’d wished to be put out of his misery. And his pain hadn’t even been a death sentence. He’d known that he would heal. With time. How does she live, knowing she’s going to die?

And why does she fight for her life with such fire?

From what he’d heard, they all did in the end.

Instinct , Dr. Heathrow had said. Nothing more than that. Deep down, we were all lizards, followers of our instincts above all else.

One of the men on the screen plunged a hammer into another man’s head. Beside him, Amon gave a short laugh, leaning forward, his hand fisting as if he was the one holding the weapon.

Sam brought forth the girl’s face again. He liked to use the time they were given to watch TV to think about her, wonder about her.

He thought about the soft, red velvet book with the ribbon around it that she’d dropped in the woods, that he’d found after he’d fought Fenris off.

He’d snuck it here in the back waistband of his pants.

He’d first put it to his nose, hoping to inhale her scent, but it had smelled like a hospital.

It smelled the same as the hallways of the place he called home.

He’d let out a disappointed sigh and hidden it under his mattress.

He hadn’t dared look at the book last night.

He’d open it later and see what it was. Discover what the girl had brought with her.

Last night, she’d been stronger. She’d run faster.

She’d dug a hole in the ground with her bare hands.

She’d tricked him! He let out a disbelieving laugh at the memory alone, and Amon joined him, looking away from something that spurted blood on the screen that Sam had missed and then back at the show.

And she hadn’t smelled like poison. Not even the hint of it.

Why?

What did it mean?

Instead, she’d smelled like… Sam squinted his eyes, trying to remember her scent.

Kind of like the red Jell-O they were served as a treat after surgery.

Sweet. He massaged his temple, the one that was just bone, no metal plate beneath his skin.

No…no, not like Jell-O. But sort of like that. Good. Happy. Relieved.

He didn’t have words to describe what she smelled like. All he knew was how it made him feel.

There was a shift in his peripheral vision, and he turned to see Zagan lean forward as something exploded on the screen, followed by Amon’s laughter again.

Sam’s gaze moved to Morana. She wasn’t looking at the television.

She was staring straight at him. The way she stared, paired with the intense expression she wore, unnerved him.

Morana didn’t usually make eye contact. Her gaze was most often fixed on a computer screen.

Not games though—numbers and columns of data.

Sometimes she sat there and watched it scroll by for hours, jotting things down.

He’d heard the doctors say her aptitude for numbers and patterns was impressive.

He’d heard them say they might be able to amplify it.

Sam wasn’t sure what that meant, but in any case, her stare continued to make him feel odd, like she was analyzing something about him , so he looked away, moving his mind back to the girl.

Her cheeks had been flushed with health, not with sickness, and her black waves were shiny.

None of their hair was ever shiny. He’d wanted to touch it.

He’d wanted to run his fingers through her hair and put his mouth on hers.

But not like in the movies they watched.

He didn’t want her to scream and cry. What would it be like to feel her lips curve beneath his own?

Because he didn’t want to kiss her once but twice, and then maybe again.

No, no, don’t think that way. Anything more than temporary desire is weakness.

Amon stood up, dancing around with his head lowered, jabbing at the air as the final credits began to roll. “That was awesome!” he declared.

Sam gave a half-hearted nod. He couldn’t really remember much of what they’d watched. He’d been thinking of her. Picturing her. Wondering about her.

The door opened, and the nurse named Delia entered. “Sam, Dr. Heathrow would like to see you.”

A hollow feeling began in the spot right beneath his ribs. He’d been expecting this, and now he’d have to explain. Lie.

He wasn’t good at lying.

He’d promised never to lie to Dr. Heathrow. And he knew Dr. Heathrow would never lie to him.

Amon was slamming his fists into the punching bag that hung in the corner now, so without a goodbye, Sam followed Delia out of the room, walking down the familiar hall toward Dr. Heathrow’s office.

“Come in,” the doctor called when Sam rapped.

His office was tidy and clean, just like the doctor, who always smelled of soap and disinfectant. He was short and trim, and when the doctor was standing, Sam towered over him. They all did, even the few girls in the program.

Sam sat down in the chair in front of his desk. Dr. Heathrow laced his hands, studying him. Sam didn’t like it, but he didn’t look away.

“What happened last night, Sam?”

Sam resisted the urge to run his clammy palms over his thighs. That would be a giveaway that he was nervous.

“You attacked Fenris. His nose is broken. He said you went after him instead of the girl.”

“I wanted her for myself,” he said. True. But not all the way true.

Dr. Heathrow studied him a moment longer, unlacing his fingers and sitting back in his chair. “Why that one?”

“She’s stronger than the others. A challenge.” Again, true.

The corner of Dr. Heathrow’s lip tilted. “Ah. A challenge. Hmm.” He paused. “When you say she’s strong, what do you mean?”

Sam twitched very subtly, but Dr. Heathrow’s eyes narrowed. He’d caught it. Breathe. Slowly. Lower your pulse rate. Boom. Boom…boom…boom. His heart slowed as he commanded it to. “She has more fight than the others. Maybe she’s not as sick.”

Dr. Heathrow tilted his head. “Maybe. Some of them…have more time.” He appeared thoughtful. “I’ll inquire,” he murmured, and a buzz of alarm made Sam’s heart fall back into the quickened rhythm of moments before. But what else could he have done other than answer Dr. Heathrow’s questions?

“Am I in trouble?” he asked.

“No, no, of course not. Like I’ve told you and the others, do as you please in the woods. There’s no one to see you, no rules to abide by. If you desire a specific girl, then have her. Just…don’t drag it out. That’s not wise.”

“Or merciful.”

The doctor’s expression changed minutely, and Sam got the impression he was annoyed.

“No, it’s not.” Dr. Heathrow looked at him for a beat and then stood, coming around his desk and taking the seat next to Sam.

He turned toward him. “Your sense of integrity is noble.” But the way he said the word noble made Sam think he meant something else.

He cares for you. He’s the only one who does.

He patted Sam’s knee lightly with his fist. “Just don’t let it get the best of you,” Dr. Heathrow said. “Don’t let it make you second-guess your mission.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said as he stood.

“Sam.”

He had started to turn but now stopped.

“It’s time to do the next surgery.”

Despair made him jolt. “No. You said—”

“I know what I said, but I’ve changed my mind. I consulted with Dr. Swift and…it’s for the best. I’ve considered your age and your current vital stats. Your youth and other physical requirements are optimal now, and I don’t want to risk that changing.”

He was shocked by the unfamiliar desire to cry. He hadn’t experienced that sensation of weakness for a long time. Years. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt tears on his face, regardless of what he’d endured.

Tears were useless anyway. He’d only be punished for them.

Still. One plea. Just one. Maybe it was Dr. Swift, the program head he only knew by name, that was pushing for another surgery. Maybe Dr. Heathrow could be convinced. Sam fell to his knees. “Please, please, I—”

“There will be no discussion.” Still, Dr. Heathrow nudged Sam’s head so that it lay on his lap.

He stroked Sam’s hair the way a father would, his voice softening.

“You’re sixteen now, young, but old enough to understand that my decisions always have your best interests at heart, right?

You’re like a son to me, Sam. My own child.

I don’t take my decisions regarding your health lightly. Never.”

Sam’s heart had slowed. It’d slowed so much, Sam wondered if it would stop beating altogether. Almost hoped. He closed his eyes. He both hated Dr. Heathrow’s hand on his head and craved it. Touch. Comfort and pain.

He’d dared to dream the surgeries were finished. He’d endured so many already. Too many to count. Oh God, the pain. The pain, the pain.

“Now then,” Dr. Heathrow said, giving Sam a slight push so that he sat up. The doctor wiped his hands together, done with the conversation.

Sam came slowly to his feet, his legs shaky.

The doctor glanced at his watch and then stood as well, giving Sam the ghost of a smile. “Go lose yourself in a video game, eh? Have some fun. There’s always a game to join.”

Yes, there always was. The other boys loved games.

The girls did too, but mostly the boys. Sometimes Sam did.

Sometimes they bored him. Sometimes they even disturbed him, but he’d never tell Dr. Heathrow that.

He didn’t know why they disturbed him. They were only games on a screen.

“I’d rather read, if that’s okay.” There were comic books and a few other titles on the tables in the lounge, but those weren’t the books Sam intended to read.

“I’d like to be alone for a while. To prepare my mind. ”

Dr. Heathrow smiled proudly. “Prepare your mind. Yes. Good. All strength begins in the mind.” He tapped his own skull. “But the body is what we use to fight. The body must be strong too. See you soon, Sam.”

Sam nodded once and headed toward the door.

He didn’t cry out loud. But inside, he roared.