Chapter 3
The air in the underground clinic reeked of disinfectant and rust.
Tucked away in the winding alleys of the old district, this place was where the gangs came to take care of business they didn't want anyone else to see.
I sat in the operating chair and rolled up my left sleeve.
The totem on the inside of my wrist looked almost alive.
This was Leon's signature mark.
In the underworld, that mark meant absolute protection, and absolute possession.
The doctor was a middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses.
He walked over to me, holding a syringe filled with liquid.
"Ms. Carter, I have to warn you again," he said, pushing up his glasses, his face serious.
"The werewolf's mark is fused to your nerve endings. Trying to erase it is like peeling a layer of flesh straight off your bones.
"The process takes a long time, and there's no anesthesia allowed. If we use any anesthesia, your nerves could die on the spot.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
I fixed my gaze on that syringe.
"Yes," I said, my voice steady.
The doctor sighed and wiped my wrist with an alcohol pad. "The whole process will take three sessions. Today is the first."
When the needle pierced my skin, I barely felt any pain.
But as the liquid was slowly pushed into my vein, a burning sensation instantly spread through my veins.
It felt like someone had shoved a red-hot wire into my veins and was pulling it up, inch by inch.
I bit down hard on the bite block in my mouth.
Cold sweat burst out on my forehead, sliding down my cheeks in an instant.
My fingers gripped the armrests with desperate force, my knuckles turning white from the strain.
"Take a deep breath," the doctor said, his voice blurring in my ears.
The pain kept getting worse, like countless barbed knives were tearing through my nerves.
I closed my eyes, and the moment Leon sank his teeth into my wrist and left his claiming mark three years ago flashed through my mind.
Back then, he was covered in blood, his eyes wild and bloodshot.
He bit down on my wrist, his voice hoarse as he said, "Lena, from now on, my life is yours, and yours are mine."
Back then, the pain was laced with a reckless, all-or-nothing romance. Now, all that remained was the sobering agony of being flayed alive.
I had no idea how much time had passed before the doctor finally removed the syringe.
I slumped in the chair, completely drained, my clothes soaked through with cold sweat.
The totem on my wrist was just a bit lighter, but the skin around it was swollen and red.
"The first session is done," the doctor said, handing me a glass of water. "Keep it dry, and come back in three days."
I took the glass, my hands shaking so badly that I could barely hold it.
"Thanks," I croaked, my voice rough.
*****
By the time I left the underground clinic, dusk had already fallen.
I dragged myself back to my place, every step weighed down by exhaustion.
The moment I opened the door, I saw Leon sitting on my bed.
He was holding the design draft I'd drawn last night. When I walked in, he frowned.
"Where have you been?" He looked me up and down. "Why do you look like hell?"
I hid my left hand behind my back, using the act of shutting the door as cover.
"Just went out to grab something," I said, trying to sound normal.
He didn't push the issue, just let it go and tossed the draft onto the table.
"Donna said she wants a glass conservatory in the garden," Leon said, his tone flat. "Your design looked just right, so I gave it to the crew to start building."
I stared at the draft lying on the table.
That was the draft I'd spent two whole months pouring my heart into. I'd designed it for the house we were supposed to share after getting married.
"That's mine," I said, locking eyes with him.
"It's just a draft," Leon said with a casual smile. "Donna likes it, so consider it a gift for her."
He stood up, walked over to me, and reached out as if to caress my face.
I instinctively stepped back.
His hand hung in the air, and his expression turned cold.
"Lena, you've been getting a real attitude lately," Leon said with a warning in his voice.
"I just gave your draft to Donna. Do you really have to treat me like that?
"I told you, I owe her."
Leon was always like this.
He'd play favorites and act like he was totally justified, saying it all with that self-righteous tone.
He figured that as long as he explained himself, I was supposed to accept it, no questions asked.
"If there's nothing else, I wanna get some rest," I said, keeping my head down and avoiding his gaze.
Leon let out a cold snort. "There's a party at the main house tomorrow night to celebrate Donna's recovery. Get ready and come over to raise a glass to her."
He paused at the door. "And don't show up in something cheap and make me look bad."
The door slammed shut behind him.
I let myself slide down the wall until I was sitting on the floor.
The burning pain in my left wrist flared up again.
I stared into empty space, a mocking, bitter smile twisting on my lips.
He wanted me to raise a glass to Donna? Sure, I'd be there.