Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Can you get up on your own?”
The male immediately tries but can’t seem to lift more than his own head.
Feed.
“Would food help?”
A slight nod is given.
“Okay,” scooting backwards away from the broken glass, I ask, “and where the fuck do I get that?” Turning around exposes me to two useful tools yet neither are ones to help him. Logging onto the computer will probably require some skills I don’t have; however, stealing the map above it, which just so happens to have the fire exits highlighted—the ones we’ll probably be using to escape this S.H.I.E.L.D. inspired nightmare facility—is definitely one I do. I note to grab it and drop my attention to the overly organized desk I’m not surprised doesn’t house so much as a stick of free-floating gum in its wrapper. Knowing corporate people—or more accurately creatures—who have their own elite offices usually have their own private fridge, I redirect my efforts to search for that. Off to one side of the work area is exactly the object I need but heavy stomping outside the door momentarily prevents me from reaching it. I drop to the ground, making my stomach flush with the floor, and successfully avoid being seen by the members of security sent to inspect the situation.
My eyes stay planted on the movements of their feet, relieved when they don’t make it past the edge of the desk. “This room’s clear.”
His partner doesn’t hesitate to point out the mess on the floor. “Broken glass says it wasn’t.”
“Damn, oitch, probably broke in here looking for help and bailed when she realized that limp dick fucker wasn’t gonna be of any use.”
I cut my gaze over to where the wolf shifter remains immobile.
We are feeding him and then letting him eat them for dessert.
Agreed.
“She’s probably searching for another shifter that can help. We should keep moving. The last thing we need is for her to free one of those rhino twins.”
Questions surge to the front of my mind at the same time the pair of security members retreat from the room. Darting over to the mini fridge, I hastily yank it off the wall and carry it over in its entirety, unsure of exactly what he can or needs to consume. I drop the appliance near his body and rip off the door to reveal to us the contents. To my surprise, it’s stocked with a wide variety of meat and eggs, a little factor that has me connecting dots I wish I didn’t.
“You were being starved on purpose.”
He forces himself to nod for me.
“Not for torture…,” I glance at the room behind me, instinct processing the answers faster than my mind. “Torture is messy. Our resident is neat. Too neat. Too…clean…” My eyes latch onto him again. “You were a test subject. Some sort of Dr. Otto Octavius dickhead level of experimenting I’m guessing.”
His brows twitch in uncertainty.
Good Great Ones, I gotta associate with more people who understand my fucking comic book references.
“Eat,” my encouragement is prompt as I retrieve a chicken leg to place in front of his lips. “And quickly.” He lowers his jaw. “We need to get moving before the Maximoff twins return for a closer inspection.” More blank stares on my reference lead me to scolding. “You need to at least watch more MCU movies when you get home.”
Focus.
Gingerly shoving more meat into his mouth is done in tandem to me asking, “Do you know how many other creatures are being held here?”
His head shake is much faster than before proving he’s gaining some sort of energy.
“Is it a lot?”
He nods and chomps down on the chicken damn near catching my finger in the process.
I quickly relinquish my hold on the item to which he swiftly manages to catch before it hits the ground.
Good.
This makes me feel like I won’t have to physically fucking carry him.
Diving my hand back into the fridge, I pull out another hunk of meat this one harder to identify from first glance. The likeliness that it’s probably from the pork family renders it safe in my mind yet upon my offering the wolf rapidly shakes his head in refusal.
“Not that.”
“You don’t like…ham?” My face cringes at what I know in my gut I’ve miss labeled. “Spam?”
“Something’s wrong with it.” His pale frame that seems to be growing color as much as muscle shifts upward. “I don’t know…exactly what,” he grabs an egg from inside the fridge, “but every time I would eat that meat, I wouldn’t be able to shift for hours. It somehow…stopped my ability.” The wolf swallows the round food whole. “And when I got wind of what that particular meat was doing, I stopped eating it. And in return, the dick in the lab coat—because to call that monster a doctor is an insult to physicians—refused to feed me anything else. I’ve gone weeks without eating.” Two more eggs—shell and all—are scarfed down. “But that shit is what they—whoever the fuck is in charge of this shit—wants me to be eating. That’s what the lab coat prick was making reports and videos and voice memos about. I was stripped naked for him to study the changes to my skin.” He grabs a chicken wing. “My coloring.” He sinks his teeth into the cold dish. “My weight.” Three harsh bites and the entire thing is devoured. “I needed real food to heal.”