Chapter Thirty

**GABRIEL**

I sat still and watched as Carey examined the lady who lay in the clinic bed. She was deathly still, the only proof of life coming from the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside her.
“How is she?” I asked.
Carey shrugged, draping her stethoscope over her neck. “She’s doing okay. Her injuries are healed.”
She had been unconscious for hours. Her brother, however, hadn’t been as lucky. When we found them, he was bleeding out, and by the time we reached the clinic, it was too late. There was something about his death that gnawed at me, something that didn’t sit right. The wounds were… odd, unnatural, almost as if they had been inflicted by something not of this world. Just as Carey turned to jot down some notes, the woman’s body jerked violently. Her eyes flew open, wide and unfocused, scanning the room with a wild, terrified intensity.
“Carey, move!”
The warning had barely left my lips when the woman lunged. She moved with a speed that defied her weakened state, her hands clawing at Carey’s throat. I sprang to my feet, grabbing her arms and pulling her away just in time.
“Get a sedative!” I yelled, wrestling with the woman as she fought with a ferocity I hadn’t expected. She was small, but she was fast, and something about the way she moved—erratic, desperate, like a cornered animal—sent a chill down my spine.
Carey scrambled to get a syringe, her hands shaking as she tried to pull the cap off the needle. I grunted as the woman’s nails dug into my skin, her face twisted in a mix of terror and rage. Her teeth snapped near my face, and I could feel her hot, ragged breath as she fought against me. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and I could tell—this was fear. Pure, raw fear driving her.
“Hold her still!” Carey shouted, rushing over with the syringe.
I managed to pin the woman down, holding her against the bed. Her body trembled beneath my grip, but her fight was relentless. She wasn’t just struggling—she was battling something, something unseen. Finally, Carey injected the sedative into her neck, and after a tense few moments, the woman’s movements began to slow. Her tear-filled eyes locked onto mine, full of anguish and desperation, before they eventually dimmed, and her body relaxed into the bed.
I stood there for a moment, catching my breath, then shook my head. “She’s strong,” I muttered, flexing my sore hands. “Stronger than she looks.”
Carey let out a shaky laugh. “That was… intense.”
“She’s not done yet,” I said, tying her wrists and ankles to the bed with the cloth Carey handed me. “When she wakes up, I need answers.”
Carey nodded and stepped back, her hands still trembling slightly. “You think she’ll talk?”
“She’ll have to,” I replied, sitting back down, my eyes fixed on the now-sedated woman. “There’s more to this than we realize.”
Minutes passed in silence. The woman lay still, her breathing shallow but steady, and I waited. I knew it wouldn’t take long before she came to, and I needed her awake for this. Needed her coherent. Finally, her eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked groggily, her body tugging weakly against the restraints.
“Easy,” I said, leaning in, keeping my tone low. “I just want to ask you some questions.”
Her eyes darted around the room, confusion clouding her gaze. When they landed on me, they narrowed in recognition, and she immediately tugged at the restraints, panic overtaking her.
“Where’s my brother?” she croaked, her voice barely a whisper.
I hesitated, exchanging a glance with Carey before answering. “I’m sorry, but… your brother didn’t make it.”
Her face crumpled. The tension in her body gave way to shaking sobs. She didn’t fight the restraints anymore; instead, she lay still, her body wracked with grief.
“He was still alive,” she choked out between sobs. “He… he was bleeding, but…”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, the words feeling inadequate. “We tried, but his injuries were too severe.”
She turned her head to the side, her eyes distant as if trying to shut out the reality of what I was saying.
“We… we were trying to get away.”
My ears perked up and I moved closer to her. “Running from where? From who?”
She shook her head vehemently and looked away, pain intensifying in her eyes.
“There was a man…” she whispered, her voice almost inaudible. “He…he had held us captive for a while. We had managed to escape.”
Her voice broke and she began to don again. “This is all my fault, he didn’t want to leave. He was afraid this would happen!!”
I moved closer to her and held her hand. “At least, he didn’t die in pain and captivity…”
“Kate.”
“Kate. He didn’t die in vain. You’re here now and you’re safe.”
She looked around the room, as though trying to visually measure the merit of my words, and then she nodded her head, visibly more calm than she was minutes ago.
“You’ve not told me what man you were talking about, Kate.”
Her expression fell and she shuddered. “He hates us…humans. And he’s been collecting us, draining us of blood, and doing rituals to make himself stronger.”
As she spoke, a face came to mind, one that I didn’t like. My hands folded into fists as my mind wandered. Was he capable of this? I knew that my father had always been a power-hungry bastard, but would he go this far? That stood against every moral and constitutional law of the werewolves, he could get hung for that. I chuckled as I realized that the first person I had thought of was my father…but then again, this was something that he was capable of.
“This man, did you see his face?” I asked.
“She shook her head. His face was always covered,” she answered. Her mouth opened as though to say more but she closed it.
“Anything else you can tell me about him?” I urged.
“He hates his son.”