Wild Creatures

Chapter 81

02.00am Sunday

Lan Zhan feels his consciousness coming back in slow increments, one piece at a time.

The first thing he notices is that he's cold.

Colder than normal, which can't be good, though it's not too bad, just uncomfortable. He wishes Wei Ying was there to warm him up, and that thought somehow jerks the rest of him wide awake.

Where's Wei Ying? Is he alright?

The last time Lan Zhan saw him, his expression had been one of panic, and Lan Zhan still didn't know why. And then he wasn't there, just like that, draining Lan Zhan's world of all colour.

Lan Zhan forces himself back into this, his present state, because something feels awfully wrong.

He can't move.

It's like his first few days as a vampire when he was newly turned. The helplessness came back in full force, along with his frustration that he couldn't do any of the numerous things in his head, the unhelpful suggestions that his brain kept supplying him with.

Carefully keeping his eyes closed, Lan Zhan does an inventory of his own body, feeling a little bit better that everything seemed to be in working order.

He was lying on a hard surface, perhaps not even a bed, but a cold concrete slab with strange grooves under his skin. And he wasn't wearing his shirt anymore, either.

It left him feeling exposed in more ways than one.

"Good, you're awake."

The voice sounds old. Raspy, like someone with a bad smoking habit.

Really old, and in his mind's eye, Lan Zhan sees dusty caverns and ancient texts, spells and magic rituals.

His eyes snap open when he feels something sharp trace the contours of his abdominal muscles, immediately wanting to shrink away from the abhorrent touch.

Only Wei Ying was allowed to touch him like that.

He sees a finger, or what used to be one, now most definitely a talon with a long, curved and sharp pointy nail. That's what is still tracing patterns on his skin.

"Stop touching me." Lan Zhan bites out, turning his head to see whom that finger belongs to.

"Or... what?"

There's a cruel laugh, and a face zooms right in front of him. Lan Zhan cringes back with disgust, suddenly appalled.

There are so many wrinkles, creases that are long and narrow, twisting into others like grooves carved into marble. His skin is papery thin, see through to the extent that Lan Zhan can see many veins moving about his face, just under the surface of it. His deep set, dark eyes are mostly all black, voids of an endless depth which stare back at him with barely concealed hunger, and something else.

This person has no hair, just liver spots decorating his bald head, also wrinkled as much as his face, and Lan Zhan realises he is seeing an ancient being.

This person isn't just old, he is very old.

The finger moves again, deliberate and with a little more pressure. Testing.

If before the contact had been absentmindedly done, casual and just for fun, this time it is an extension of the first act just to rile Lan Zhan up, to force a reaction.

Lan Zhan is being watched.

No, studied, would be a better word.

This person is scrutinising his every reaction, from the crease of worry between his eyebrows, to the flickering hatred in his eyes.