I've dealt with more than my share of blood but by the time I was finished with my makeshift operation I felt queasy. My 'patient' had been eerily silent through most of the procedure, only hissing or snarling every so often when I had to dig my fingers into the wounds; some of the bullets had gone very deep and I lost my grip on them, gone slippery with blood, pushing them even deeper before I could pull them out. He hadn't moved much even then.
The whole time I was doing that, I was cursing myself. This was the man who had been sent to capture me, to bind me and bring me back to the monsters I'd finally escaped from, the savages who wanted to exploit my rare talents for their own purposes. I knew that he'd been manipulated, too, so I couldn't understand why he'd want anything to do with such people. I've known men like him, countless of them, but only a few who have ever allowed themselves to be used.
With my would-be captor now passed out in the tub, finally succumbing to the sleep his body required for his healing factor to work at full power, I washed up and looked after my own wounds.
As I'd told him, I'd been grazed by several of the bullets, two along my torso and one on my left bicep, below where his claws had dug in. My dark clothing had hidden the pale blood trickling from the wounds, an almost watery substance I'd grown used to seeing often as of late; as I didn't have to worry about infection I merely cleaned them. I hadn't really had time to reflect on the rather automatic way he'd pulled me back towards him and into the shelter of his body when the shooting had started, as if he were afraid I'd be hurt.
It was the damage to my ribcage that concerned me, having taken two quick rabbit punches just under my right arm, an ache spreading from them to the rest of my body. It hurt to breathe too deeply. For those I wrapped my torso as tightly as I could without restricting my movement, though it wasn't as tight as I wanted since I had to do it on my own.
In taking off my jacket and overshirt I was presented yet again with the object keeping me from removing all evidence of injury: the inhibitor bracelet. Slowly I'd acclimated to it, to its specific frequency, but I'd used my powers too often of late and in the process weakened myself. Unless I could find a way to remove the damned thing, I would heal nearly human-slow.
"Unacceptable," I muttered, dampening a washcloth to clean my face. The harsh bathroom light made my pale skin look sallow, the fine bones of my face thrown into stark relief as if I had some terrible wasting disease; I hissed as I dabbed at a cut bisecting my right eyebrow, evidence of the blow I'd taken when the last gunman hit me with the stock of his weapon. Why do those tiny cuts always seem to hurt the most?
I dipped up water in my hands, using some to smooth my hair back, especially the perpetual little cowlicks at my temples that never wanted to behave. The water tasted of metal, likely from a well this far from civilization, and if I concentrated I could taste the earth in it, too.
Behind me, my hunter groaned and shifted but didn't wake up. I knew that the metal in his bones was already a tax on his healing factor, so that the damage he'd taken might take a few hours more to heal than without the adamantium upgrade; with the carbonadium it would be at least a day before his body finished expelling the fragments I hadn't been able to pull out. Even now I could see a piece working its way out, leaving barely even a trickle of blood as if his system had no more to spare.
With a sigh I rinsed the washcloth and brought it with me as I sat on the edge of the tub, reaching out tentatively to begin cleaning the blood from his torso. Before, when I'd been concentrating on his wounds, I hadn't paid much attention to his musculature except to see it as a barrier, an obstacle to get past in order to get the bullets out. Now, with him unconscious and immobile, with just the blood, I couldn't deny that he was powerfully built, just the kind of man I usually find myself gravitating to. He was bulky, with the kind of body that comes from work rather than any kind of exercise regimen, and he seemed the type to think that lifting weights was a waste of time; what he did spend his time doing, though, I couldn't guess.
He was attractive in a rough sort of way, sporting muttonchops that didn't quite go with his short hair but managed to work for him. The only other part of him I had a clear view of was his hands and I couldn't stop myself from lifting one to examine the deadly talons on the end of his long fingers. They were retracted at the moment, just the tips visible, though I'd seen them extended to a couple inches earlier that night.
My mind wandered, brought me to a memory of another man with a similar build, even a similar mutation. He and I had worked together, securing the targets our handlers wanted, at least until he'd been pulled off duty for a reason I hadn't been clear on until I'd been called in to keep him alive. I'd refused to get involved with any of my fellow agents, let alone any of the captives, but something about him had made me wish we'd met under better circumstances. He'd been involved very intensely with the carbonadium testing, I remembered how sick it had made him, how wasted and gaunt he'd become, and how he'd begged me to kill him.
My breath caught, something like a sob threatening to break free before I choked it down. It had been years since I'd thought of him, and as usual, I wondered if he was still alive out there somewhere; even at his lowest point I'd seen his will to survive. Maybe he'd gotten away, maybe he'd found something resembling a good life. For all he'd been through and all I'd done to him, I wished that for him.
I forced myself to shove that away again, just as I forced myself to look at my 'patient' as nothing more than a means to an end. He represented my best chance at getting the device to remove my inhibitor, of helping me regain my life, such as it was.
Shifting, I leaned him forward as far as I could hold him so that I could get at his back. The wounds there didn't seem to be as grievous, his long black coat apparently having saved him from further damage. He had another wound on the back of his head that I hadn't seen earlier, from the first or second bullet, but that was more or less just dried blood.
"I suppose there is something to be said for having a thick skull," I said under my breath, getting the rest of the mess out of his hair as best I could.
"What's that?" The question came along with a large hand wrapped around my wrist, the words slurred and thick.
"Nothing." I sat up and pulled my arm away. "Just talking to myself." I tossed the now-ruined washcloth towards the trash. "I am surprised you are awake."
"Wish I wasn't," he replied through clenched teeth. His head thudded back against the tiled wall, eyes shut tight. "Fuck, this is hell."
I regarded him carefully. "How much are they paying you for me?"
One bleary, bloodshot eye opened, and even in that I could see sarcastic humor. "Sure you wanna know?" He cleared his throat, setting off a coughing fit before he spoke again. "Enough to show how desperate they are to get you back. Apparently enough to send someone else in."
My mind shot back to the events earlier that night. "They were not there for me," I said, putting pieces together without telling him everything I knew. "I was incidental, little more than a nuisance until I joined the fight and got you out." I didn't tell him I'd pulled a patch off the one he'd killed, the insignia vaguely familiar.
He shifted, bending one knee up to drape his arm over it. It seemed a calculated show at nonchalance. "Funny, that. Coulda just left me." Both eyes were open now, a strange amber-brown and very intent on me. I felt myself being considered, weighed.
"Coulda killed me here, too. Got a soft spot for bad boys?" His sneer showed both fangs to best effect; despite that, his color was still poor, his breathing shallow and forced. He hid it well but I know the signs of illness and can read body language well enough to know he wasn't used to feeling like this, used to being weak and at the relative mercy of anyone else. When one had such powerful gift it was terrifying to be brought so low.
"No, but men who are as weak as kittens get me hot." My retort earned me a snarl that wasn't entirely angry. I sensed he was intrigued by me though I couldn't figure out why. "I'm amazed I can keep my hands to myself."
He huffed at me. "That why you were cleaning me, frail?"
Frail? I thought. What the hell does that mean?
With speed he likely couldn't spare he reached for me again, this time wrapping fingers around my upper arm so he could pull me closer, his gaze going to the puncture wounds he'd left on my shoulder and the bullet grazes bared by my tanktop. I heard him inhale and had to keep a shocked sound in when he leaned in the last few inches and dragged his tongue over the wounds. "You heal quick, too," he said, running that tongue just behind his teeth. "Your blood tastes weird."
When he felt my arm flex in preparation to pull away his hand tightened on me. "Afraid?"
"Annoyed." And turned on, I couldn't lie to myself about my body's reaction to him, but there was no reason I had to acknowledge it or give in to it. I've existed long enough to know that my particular predilections aren't anything close to normal, I just needed to remind myself that he was a stepping stone. "And smart enough to know that, right now, there isn't much you can do to me."
"Heh." His thumb brushed over his marks and then he let me go. "Still, you got a reason. One I can't put a finger on, at least not without- ah!" His head whipped back, uncontrolled this time with enough force to crack the tile, the rest of his body seizing up.
I reached out to him, my motion reversed when he lashed out with claws where I'd been sitting a moment before, a roar erupting from his throat that sounded halfway insane with agony and rage. Even as I rolled backwards away from him, my shoulder hitting the floor hard, I had to kick out when I found him leaping at me out of the tub. Though I'm smaller and more agile I was still weak, too, and he was significantly stronger and larger regardless; I ended up facedown against the cold, dingy vinyl floor, my ribs cracking worse with his weight on my back.
My cry of pain was cut off by one massive hand wrapping around my neck, cutting off my air. He snarled at me, his breath ruffling the hair by my ear as he sniffed at me. As painful as it was I tried to win free only to find talons digging in at my neck and my side, though blessedly it was the side opposite my now-broken ribs.
He let go of my neck only to press down on the back of it so I had to turn my head; I felt his claws shred through my leather belt and the back of my jeans, catching skin in the process in bright stripes of pain.
I could have simply pleaded, asked him to stop, but I was beginning to worry that doing so might only urge him on. I've known men like that, who get off on hurting and humiliating women, who would see begging for mercy as something arousing. His earlier threat to hurt me and slowly kill me was a sign he was that kind of man.
"If you kill me, you won't be able to find anything else about the carbonadium," I said, finding it painful to speak as I tried to find a way to stop him or at least slow him down. "And future employers will be wondering if they can trust you to do the job." I could practically hear him thinking, the low growl he'd been emitting finally beginning to fade some.
Slowly, as if not trusting himself, he freed me. I fought not to cry out as his claws retracted and slid out of the wounds he'd made on my hip.
I sat up just as slowly, cradling my middle as I watched him warily, considering myself lucky. "It is the carbonadium," I explained softly, trying to keep my breathing shallow. "Some of those they tested had feral tendencies and found that they became... unstable, when exposed, especially the first time. It will get better."
Those striking amber eyes caught mine, made me fight off a shiver that wasn't entirely fear. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring to take in more scent. If my suspicions were correct, he had enhanced senses and now knew exactly how I felt about him.
"Might wanna get the fuck outta here, and lock the door," he said, his voice deeper than before. He was paler, too, his body beginning to shake from exertion.
I didn't think twice. I grabbed my bag and went into the bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind me.
I wasn't sleeping so much as I had my eyes closed, trying to focus on nothing at all, to push aside the pain and the gnawing ache brought on by prolonged inhibition of my powers. I'd never gone so long without transitioning to my natural, incorporeal form and it got harder to remain sane with each passing day. There had been a few periods of punishment when I'd been confined to this limited existence, and even longer spaces of time where my captors had tested me, pushed me to my limits and then past them. Mostly it was to gain data but there had been times I thought they'd done it because they could.
But even in this seemingly-fragile body, I couldn't die, and that was its own misery. Even with everything I've endured, they'd not discovered a way to kill me, and that was part of why I'm so valuable to them; that, and my ability to keep their other subjects from finding the oblivion I sometimes wished for.
Even in my introspection I was aware of my surroundings. Night ticked by into day without any noise from the bathroom save a few groans. Apparently he'd passed out again, exhausted after exerting himself.
I shuddered, knowing how close I'd come to being raped. I don't have the same fears as human women, at least not inasmuch as being afraid of dying; I hate loss of control, though, and being forced against my will would have been a further small death. Being used by the one sent to bind me again, to bring me back to those who had already used me and would do so again... it was more than my mind could adequately process.
And again I questioned myself for not having left him to die or just killing him myself. Surely there had to be some other way to win free, one that didn't involve him, yet even after hours of contemplation I couldn't think of one.
What possible reason could he have to help me? I'd given him two but wasn't terribly sure I'd convinced him.
Quiet sounds came from the bathroom around mid-afternoon. I heard the shower turn on and remain on for a long while; evidently he needed it and I couldn't blame him. Sometimes standing under hot water was the only thing that could make me feel clean again.
By the time he emerged I was starting to come back to myself, to what had become my new 'normal'. I opened my eyes to find him crossing the room without a stitch of clothing on, heading for his duffel on the floor by the bed. I didn't try not to watch him, admiring the play of muscles beneath skin and a generous scattering of dark blond hair.
"Figured you'd be long gone," he said, pulling on a pair of black jeans. His only acknowledgment of my gaze was a smirk, and he seemed to be deliberate in his movements, emphasizing his body.
"I need you," I said honestly.
"Oh?" The smirk changed to a leering grin, his tongue prodding one of his fangs.
It was an effort not to roll my eyes. "I need your help to get this inhibitor off." I stood up from the room's only chair, stretching as much as I could.
"Hmm." Still amused, he pulled on a dark T-shirt. "Seems to me ya don't have much to bargain with, sweetheart. An' I don't do charity." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "'Less you wanna take it out in trade."
He obviously didn't remember what I'd told him before, and I was too tired to be angry with him. I knew he'd picked up on my physical reaction to him. Lying about it, even to myself, seemed pointless.
"Up 'til now there was not much you knew of in the world that could seriously hurt you, and really nothing that could so easily kill you." Only a flicker of unease in his eyes let me know I'd reminded him and hit the mark. "I can get you the carbonadium synthesizer, or at least get you close."
He cocked his head. "That's it? A piece of tech they likely have dozens of?"
"No, only one." I crossed my arms over my chest, cradling the ache of my broken ribs. "It was an accidental discovery, much like adamantium, and one they could not duplicate. They cannot even reverse engineer it without risking its destruction and their failure. Do you really want them to have such a powerful weapon to use against you?"
A long silence followed in which he put socks and boots on. Finally he looked back up at me, consideration on his face.
"You said other ferals have been tested on. Any like me, with claws?"
My eyebrows went up. "Two that I know of, both men. One had talons like yours, the other had bone claws that came from his hands. Why?"
Something like grief flickered through his eyes before they went blank. "Just wondering if I knew them." He shrugged his shoulders, joints popping in his neck and back. "I'll go along with you, for now. Best you're gonna get."
It was, so I nodded. "Let me get a shower and I will tell you what I know."