Luciana felt her whole body stiffen in fear. An adrenaline-soaked terror washed through her, kept at bay only by her pervading, vervain-induced weakness. Her body trembled involuntarily, tears stinging the corner of her eyes as a crippling fear threatened to consume her from the anticipation alone. It was as if every fiber of her being was on the verge of collapse, held together only by sheer force of will.
Her mother used to tell her, when you can't be strong, just pretend that you are. The mantra danced through her mind on repeat until the trembling seized. Y
es, she would be strong, she resolved, and when she couldn't be strong anymore, she would pretend. Because she wasn't going to give Dr. Fuck-Face the satisfaction of breaking her.
Conviction bubbled in her gut, and she drew on that bravery to stand and face Dr. Witmore and his goons as they approached the cell. She squared her shoulders and held her chin high, just like her mother had taught her.
"Damn, you were right," one of Witmore's guards muttered to the other. "She is hot."
Nothing made her want to shrink more than knowing these predators were having discussions about her body. It was bad enough Dr. Witmore was going to have his hands and tools all over her soon enough. But she kept herself pin-straight, eyes narrowed as darkly as she could manage at Dr. Witmore. She wondered if she looked at all like the scary vampire she was trying to be.
The air crackled with tension, and suddenly, but casually, Enzo's voice rang out, "Your guys were too rough with her last night," Enzo told Dr. Witmore, pushing himself against his bars. Dr. Witmore barely spared him a glance, his attention fixed solely on Luciana. "Give her the day. I'll come upstairs and play."
Luciana's breath caught in her throat at Enzo's selfless offer, the realization dawning that he was volunteering to take her place. A swell of gratitude and disbelief washed over her, mingled with a slight offense at the implication that she couldn't handle her own battles.
"Soft spot for the ladies, hm, 12144?" Dr. Witmore's voice dripped with derision; his tone devoid of any semblance of humor.
Enzo grit his teeth, biting back the cutting insult he wanted to say. "You said yourself – she's young. You do too much too fast, you'll lose her before you even get started." Logic – that was always the way to Dr. Witmore's favor.
Dr. Witmore considered Enzo's warning with a cold detachment, giving Luciana a cursory once-over. She was standing, which was a good enough display of strength for him. She looked fragile, sure, but not as weak as Enzo was insisting. "I'll take it under advisement," he told Enzo, coldly.
No, today he would be making history.
Today, he would cut into the Augustine Society's first female vampire.
Dr. Witmore approached Luciana's cage, key in hand, flanked by two imposing soldiers wielding syringes filled with vervain.
Luciana met Dr. Witmore's gaze head-on, her jaw set in a defiant line as she braced herself for whatever horrors lay ahead. "Don't worry, Enzo, I can take him," she declared, her voice ringing with a steely resolve. "A man like him has probably never made a woman scream in his life – and he ain't about to start now."
A flicker of amusement passed between one of the guards, stifling a laugh before Dr. Witmore's glare silenced him with a single, withering look. "We'll see about that," Dr. Witmore replied, his tone laden with ominous promise as he unlocked the cell door. The guards flanked her on each side, and she barely had the strength to push one away before the other injected the acid-hot serum into her arm. Intense pain flooded her body and blackness consumed her vision.
Enzo watched helplessly as they dragged her away. He admired her courage – all those tears last night led him to believe she was more helpless than she looked this morning.
When Luciana woke, an abominable pain screamed across her abdomen. White hot, unlike anything she'd ever felt in her life. Her eyes darted around the sterile room, panic rising within her as she registered the sight before her –
Dr. Witmore stood over her, surgical tools gleaming on a tray beside him, his hand buried deep inside her abdomen. Horror washed over her in a suffocating wave as she realized the extent of his violation.
She pulled at her arms and legs, her horror only amplified as she realized she was strapped down to the table, naked.
"Oh, you're awake," Dr. Witmore's voice was almost inconvenienced, devoid of any empathy. "Try to stay still," he instructed casually before plunging his hand deeper, eliciting a stifled cry from Luciana. She clenched her teeth, fighting to suppress the scream threatening to escape her, her eyes squeezing shut in a desperate attempt to block out the nightmare unfolding before her.
His fat fingers sliced through her, each movement sending shockwaves of torment coursing through her.
It went on, and on, and on… for hours. He'd stop occasionally to jot down a few notes, and at one point, he even took a lunch break. Ate a tuna-freaking-sandwich at his desk, reading his leisure book, not five feet away from her she choked on the breath her damaged lungs desperately tried to grasp.
And just when she truly started to feel dead inside, an internal numbness that dampened the pain in her metaphorical heart – the kind that comes from submission and acceptance of abuse – he stopped. A quiet alarm sounded on his watch, and he calmly laid his tools down.
"Well done, 21307," he said, removing his bloodied gloves. "We've made great progress today."
