(FREE TO READ) Bad Moon

chapter 42; blood

How could skin feel so cold?

Icy fingertips touched his face, light but steely against his cheekbones. Cold, hard palms pressed to the high curves of his cheeks, cradling his face like carved stone. And the breath of this stranger—it hit his face like conditioned air. But when Jaylin opened his eyes, there was no one.

He was in the dark, his body lit with an antagonizing fire, like he'd been stung by wasps on every inch of his flesh, and a stranger kind of pain pulsed behind his eyes. He sat up, but his arms ached and his legs felt so heavy, Jaylin fell back into whatever sheets he rested in—until he finally woke the strength in his biceps and perched himself up on the edge of his bed.

No, it was a cot, not a bed. His eyes had adjusted enough to see that now. But Jaylin could see nothing else, save for the slightest reflection of light, glaring from a window—no, a wall—ten feet away. A glass wall, like the ones they'd put Olivia in.

For some reason, he couldn't stand. It wasn't that he didn't have the strength, but it felt too much like he hadn't the feet to stand on. Like there was nothing between him and the ground but stale, recycled air.

He took a step and fell to his knees. And for a moment, Jaylinpaused to feel along his calves. To make sure his legs were there. Every touch felt like a jolt of electricity, burning into his skin and his bones and choking his muscles. He dragged himself forward, gripping at the tiles beneath his fingers. One slow crawl, then another until he could feel the wall in front of him. Slick and cold as he pressed a palm to the glass.

Just then, a light burst on, burned his eyes and set that painful pulse on overdrive.

He groaned and hid his face in the floor until the pain fizzled away. Cowering from the brightness, Jaylin listened, and when he heard nothing, he forced his eyes to open again.

He was in a room within a room—a glass box inside of a small white space. Outside of his walls existed no one and nothing but a desk, a chair, and a scant amount of computer equipment. Not a person in sight, no one but himself and the wall between him; he must have triggered a motion-sensor light.

Jaylin mustered his strength, teetered up onto his feet, clinging to the glass while he found his footing on dead legs. And when he saw what lived in the reflection, he felt the air stop in his throat and turn to a lump too hard to swallow.

His legs were black once more. Black as glinting onyx. And his arms as well, black all the way to the blades of his fingernails. The dark stretched up his shoulders, carried partway over his chest, and painted his entire neck slate. It nearly looked like he'd rubbed himself dark with pencil lead. No, it was darker than that. Dark like the coat of a raven.

The black, though—it stretched on like litchenburg figures. Little lightning cracks, growing up his jaw line, crawling crooked up either side; reaching over his face like frightening, spindly little fingers.

Jaylin felt his knees go, and he was on the ground again, palms sliding down the glass as he yelped out. Every bit of his black flesh hurt, and the bones beneath. Every nerve in his body was being twisted and tortured beneath his cursed skin.

Something clicked from outside the glass and when Jaylin looked up, a man was stepping in through the door, a long white coat caping at his heels and a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. At first he looked surprised. When his eyes met Jaylin's, he stopped for a moment. Just stared, like he was waiting for a question—a shout, a scream, anything but the nothing Jaylin gave him. Once the man accepted the silence, he set his coffee down on the desk and lowered himself into the chair, folding his coat beneath him like a musician elegantly perched on his piano bench.