It feels like itâs been hours since the doc left, and I did exactly as I was told.
I ate the food, dressed in the gray sweatpants and sweater, and put on the socks and oversized boots, which entirely baffled me as to why I needed them and all the undergarments in the bag.
Iâm now pacing my cell, wondering if I imagined they had any importance.
Maybe he was just being thoughtful and giving me the items for my comfort, and I was looking for something that was not there because I was so desperate for an out.
I rummaged in the bag of food, wondering if maybe he left something for me, like a key card, and came up with nothing except confusion, convincing myself I imagined it completely.
I canât stay here like this, watching her sleep the day away, and if all he is going to do is take tests and fill me in with stories that screw up my head, then this is hopeless.
Iâm trying to process all of it, and I canât swallow it right now, so I do what I do best and push it to one section of my brain for a later date when I can handle how awful it makes me feel.
Right now, I need to stay focused and find a way out of here on my own.
When Juan gets here, Iâm useless against him and his men and canât do crap about anything, especially not him, as long as this damn building holds my ability to turn captive.
And Sierra over thereâ¦
Hey, thanks for rendering my gifts useless at a time in my life when I could actually really be using them and then getting yourself knocked out so I canât access them. Stellar planning!
What kind of seer is that? A seer who doesnât predict the possibility of being unable to give a girl back whatâs hers if her beloved mate comatoses her!
And what kind of witch binds her child and leaves them motherless for ten years if she saw it all coming?
If Colton could see things and not be bound, maybe he could have found her a long time ago and avoided all of this. None of this was smart planning on her part. Itâs seriously messed up.
I try to stop my erratic mind from brewing, only to watch that same female come and tend to Sierraâs machines, stopping my manic foot-stomping around my small space.
She disappears just as quickly without looking my way. I can sense her apprehension the whole time sheâs in there.
She keeps her eyes averted, obviously uncomfortable they have a prisoner down here, and I watch closely what she does before scampering off, acting like I wasnât over here staring.
Not that she did much to watch. She pressed some buttons, checked some fluids, moved Sierraâs bed up and down, and rearranged her position to avoid sores.
Then she propped her pillows, turned her on her side before pressing more buttons, changed her bedsheet, and left her alone againâbasic care and nothing too exciting.
I guess Iâm thankful they do at least show her some compassion and tend to her frequently, turning her and such.
No matter how much I stand and glare at Sierra, like some kind of creepy psychopath, nothing is waking that woman up, let alone willpower.
I canât imagine what eight years in an induced coma has done to her, to be honest. What state her mind and body would be if we woke her up and now?
I doubt if that is plausible at all. For all I know, the drugs over the years have wasted her mind to mush, anyway.
Her body has been inactive for so long that Iâm assuming instant recovery will not happen, or if itâs even possible to wake her after so long.
In a building where her powers are bound, sheâs basically mortal and susceptible to all the damage and harm an induced coma could do to a human in eight years.
Not to mention that sheâs lost almost a decade of her life; what would be the consequences of waking her now?
The last time she saw Colton, he was a nine-year-old boy, and now heâs a stocky, arrogantly handsome man⦠or has the makings of one, at least.
Thatâs bound to confuse her and disorientate her if she wakes up, and ten years ago was just yesterday in her mental timeframe.
The world has changed so much, and her mate brought our mountain to ruin during that time; class and worth divide our people, and the Santos rule with fear.
Maybe Iâm not supposed to wake her up. Perhaps she left another way to return my gifts, and I just had to find her.
My train of thought is interrupted as a lunch cart is pushed down from the elevator and left outside my door shortly after the woman exits.
But the guard, another Santo-looking asshole, shrugs at me with a distasteful smug expression, butts up against the glass with his shoulder, and lets his eyes walk over me lazily.
Pure creep is oozing from every pore. Itâs the idiot who was sitting at the desk upstairs when Deacon informed him I was to have the same mealtimes as the rest of the facility.
âI was told to give you lunch, but Doc stopped me and said you canât eat anything until heâs taken some sample, so⦠I guess I leave it here and it gets coldâenjoy. Not that I would advise eating it later.â
He smirks, clearly happy with his sad position of power. He is a total omega wolf, low pecking order, and looking for any kind of upper hand to scrape him from the bottom.
I scowl at him, the smell of steak and soup wafting through the glass, and even though he thinks heâs getting some sort of power kick by leaving it out of reach, I donât even want it.
I ate the food earlier, and it confuses me that the doc would insist I ate that and not this. Itâs not been long enough to feel hungry yet. I donât get the sudden urge to tell me ~not~ to eat now.
I guess Deacon has briefed his sub-pack on who and what Juan says I am, and they are all part of the Alora fan club right now, given the way this asshole is acting.
I can almost taste his dislike and the creepy way heâs eyeing me up, like the main course on his dinner menu, giving me bad vibes.
He reminds me of that jerk Damon, who used to watch me all through school and tried to get at me in the hallway for a grope and forced kiss.
He was a perverted creep who liked control over girls, much like this idiot.
âWhy donât you have it? You could use some extra energy boosts. I mean, if the chase in the forest was anything to go by,â I say.
I give him the same friendly passive-aggressive attitude that I give Deacon, and he grins, ear to ear, as though heâs too stupid to realize it was a dig.
Annoyingly smug, and if he werenât such a jerk, he would be kind of cute, in the whole Colton way.
Damn, I need to stop doing that. Comparing every hot dark-skinned Latino to him and then finding fault because itâs not him.
I get it. I still give a ratâs ass, and I still miss him constantly, and every dark-haired, dimple-cheeked, dreamy-eyed, hot Colombian brings him back to the forefront, but Godâtiming.
If he were Colton, he would let me out in a heartbeat, and he would never throw such a smug look at me for something so absurd.
If Colton were here, he would know what to do about this whole mess. He always seems wiser, like he has all the answers, and would probably be handing this idiot his genitals back about now.
I canât fault that part of Colton, even when he was a jerk in our youth, apart from that one time when he shoved me out of his way for epically tripping in front of him and his entire rabid crew.
He was never an ass to people for no reason. He was always so effortlessly superior and seemed aloof and quiet, like he was better than us.
It was all in the looks he gave rather than the verbal content, but I guess he has an intimidating way about him, even when he doesnât mean it.
He was a proper bro type who hung with his pack, played sports, and walked around like Danny from the movie, Grease. Everyone looked up to him and kissed his ass when he waltzed by.
I guess maybe he was not very sociable with those outside of his sub-pack because thatâs not who I know now, and his memories donât show an asshole like that either.
Colton doesnât like to get close to people outside his circle. I guess itâs because he lost so many in the war and his mother.
He has a wall up and keeps everyone outside his pack on the other side of it.
I think itâs why he tries so hard to make his father proud; he loves him, even if heâs not worthy of being loved, and thatâs not Coltonâs fault. Thatâs Juanâs.
Coltonâs flaw is trying to be this perfect Santo wolf with a weight of responsibility on his shoulders that one day he will lead.
He follows the rules, the laws, and the alphaâs word without conflict, as heâs meant to, and even puts all of that over his own desires.
I guess a leader has to be that wayâinnate greatness where his heart canât always lead, and it only further cements the fact that heâll be the best for his people one day, but for us, not so much.
I get back to my previous activity when smiley, smug guard walks off, getting bored with my disinterest in him, and I go back to pacing the room and looking for any tool or valuable item to help me get out.
His interest in me didnât last long, which enforced that heâs an omega and low on the scale of things, used to being ignored and dismissed.
He quietly slinks off, thankfully, as I have no mind space for asshats.
Iâm uptight, worn thin, and agitated about my current predicament, with so many warring emotions coming at me from my mind.
The cupboards are full of medical crap, bandages, and nothing even sharp or useful. Itâs practically an empty room, and anything with real weight is bolted into concrete floors with steel pins.
Thereâs nothing that could be of any real use, let alone as a weapon of sorts.
I end up throwing my cushions against the glass in frustration when my anger bubbles up, and I canât contain it anymore.
I have so many swirling emotions I donât know what to do with. Vibrating energy pulses through my core, and Iâm mentally up and down and all over the place.
One second, I want to lie down and sob, and then the next, Iâm furious, boiling over, and want to slash Juan into a thousand tiny, bloody pieces for everything that brought me here and my entire life since they went to war.
Just when it feels like it reaches overwhelming levels and I canât breathe for the suffocating need to expel this hatred physically, in the next breath, Iâm calm and logical and trying to plan a way out.
I canât keep up, and itâs exhausting.