Being A Vampire's Slave

Chapter 42: Caged

Chapter 42: Caged

Rene pov

I blinked against the brightness, my eyes struggling to adjust. The room was blindingly white, sterile, and unfamiliar. Where am I? My head throbbed, and everything felt disorienting, like I had been ripped from one reality and thrown into another.

Slowly, I tried to sit up, my body feeling heavy and sluggish. That's when I noticed it—what I was wearing. A hospital gown. My heart stopped for a second, my breath catching in my throat. I looked down at myself, horrified. The thin fabric clung to my skin, and I felt exposed, vulnerable.

Why am I in a hospital gown?

Panic surged through me. My hands shook as I tugged at the gown, trying to remember what happened. How did I get here? I scanned the room, but it offered no answers—just white walls, bright lights, and a cold, metallic scent that made my stomach churn. There were no windows, no sign of anyone else.

My mind raced. The last thing I remembered was... Jack. And something else. We were—what were we doing?  And what happened after that? The memory was foggy, slipping through my fingers like sand. But something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Every sound seemed too loud, echoing in the silence of the room. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the fear rising in my chest.

I had to get out of here.

A terrifying thought hit me: "Who put me here?" And worse-"why?"

I heard footsteps approaching before I saw him—a man in a white lab coat, carrying a file, flipping through its pages as he walked into the room. My heart leaped into my throat, and without thinking, I dropped back onto the bed, shutting my eyes lightly. My breathing was shallow, but I tried to make it as even as possible, pretending to be unconscious.

Through the small slit of my eyelids, I could see him now—mid-forties, streaks of graying hair scattered through out his hair and an expression of cold indifference as he reviewed whatever was written in the file. He didn't look up at me, didn't acknowledge my presence other than a quick glance. I could hear the paper rustling as he flipped through more pages.

The room was so quiet that the sudden crackle of an intercom made me flinch inwardly.

"Dr. Kent, please report to the west wing immediately. Dr. Kent to the west wing."

He sighed, closed the file with a soft snap, and muttered something under his breath. Without a second glance at me, he turned and left the room, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

I waited. One second. Two. Three.

When I was sure he was gone, I slowly cracked open one eye, peeking at the door. It was closed, but the room felt different without him in it. I let out a shaky breath and sat up again, my heart pounding in my ears.

I had no idea how much time I had before he—or someone else—came back.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stood on unsteady feet, trying to shake the feeling of weakness that clung to me. I had to move. I scanned the room quickly now, taking in my surroundings. There was a metal tray on the far side of the room, holding various instruments I didn't want to think about. A small table with vials and syringes sat beside it. Cabinets lined the walls, probably full of supplies, but nothing that could help me escape.

Then I saw it—the door, slightly ajar, left unlocked.

I had a way out.

I took a deep breath, forcing my feet to move. The door creaked ever so slightly as I pushed it open, but I slipped out as quietly as I could manage. A cold, clinical hallway stretched before me, its walls stark white and sterile. The fluorescent lights above flickered softly, casting harsh shadows on the gleaming tile floor.