Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 112: Dr. Victoria Blackthorn

The bed beside me is cold. My hand shoots out, searching, finding nothing but empty space where Logan should be. The monitors shriek as my heart rate spikes, their electronic wails piercing through my skull.

Shit.

Shit, fuck, damn.

Not again.

I cannot lose control. The price is too high.

I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my hands over my ears, curling into myself until my knees press against my chest.

"James Cooper," I whisper, my voice trembling. I probably sound like some sort of horror movie voice-over, and my vocal cords feel as though they’re tearing apart, but I manage to say it.

The first name. The heaviest one.

The machines continue their frantic beeping.

"Dr. Maria Santos." Second name. My throat constricts, and I cough against the pain.

"Nurse Practitioner Robert Chen." Third. The sound barely escapes my lips, but even the air moving over my throat forces another spasm of hacking my lungs up.

"Nurse Danielle Walsh." Fourth. This time I just mouth the name. No more pain. My fingers dig deeper into my scalp.

"Nurse Jessica Martinez." The final name. Five lives snuffed out because I couldn’t control myself.

The names become my mantra. Over and over, I repeat them, forcing myself to acknowledge what happened. What could happen again if I don’t stay calm.

Cooper. Santos. Chen. Martinez. Walsh. Martinez.

The monitor’s rhythm slows. My breathing steadies.

Cooper. Santos. Chen. Martinez. Walsh. Martinez.

The tension in my muscles eases, degree by degree.

Logan wouldn’t leave without reason. He knows what his absence does to me. He won’t abandon me. Not now. Not ever.

The thought settles over me like a fuzzy blanket. Whatever pulled him away must be important. He’ll come back. He always comes back.

The monitors return to their steady beeping, my heartbeat finally calm and not an ocean of turbulent waves in my head. I uncurl slowly, muscles protesting the movement. My hands fall away from my ears, and I blink my eyes open.

Five names. Five reminders of why I must maintain control.

"Great job."

The unfamiliar voice has me flinching hard, and I roll over sharply to stare at the person I didn’t realize was here.

She’s not in the biohazard—magical hazard, whatever—suit that the doctor wore.

The woman’s smile never wavers as she stands at the foot of my bed. Her blonde hair falls in perfect waves around her shoulders, and her blue eyes pierce through me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. The crisp lines of her charcoal suit speak of power and money—lots of it.

Something’s off about her. The air around her seems to shift. A shimmer, like heat waves rising from hot asphalt, but colorless. I blink hard, wondering if it’s another side effect of whatever drugs they’ve pumped into my system.

"I must say, your control techniques are coming along quite nicely." Her voice carries the polished tone of someone used to being listened to. "Though reciting names is an unusual anchor."

My fingers curl into my blanket, but I’m pretty sure she’s not here to hurt me. "Who are you?"

"Dr. Victoria Blackthorn." She steps closer, that strange distortion in the air moving with her. "I’m the Chancellor of Thornhaven Academy for Magical Studies."

I’ve never heard of it. Then again, I’ve never been interested in attending magical universities. "What do you want?"

"Direct. I appreciate that." She pulls a chair closer but doesn’t sit. "Thornhaven is the premier institution for developing magical talent in North America. We specialize in..." Dr. Blackthorn looks me up and down. "Unique cases."

"You mean disasters waiting to happen?"

"I mean individuals with extraordinary potential who require extraordinary guidance. Like yourself."

The monitors pick up my increasing heart rate. I force myself to breathe slowly, steadily. Cooper. Santos. Chen...

"I’m not interested in being anyone’s science experiment." The memory of purple serum crawling through my veins makes my stomach turn. "Been there, done that."

"We’re an educational institution, Ms. d’Armand, not a laboratory. Though I understand your hesitation, given recent events." There’s a faint look of distaste, her lip curling just a bit.

That shimmer around her catches the fluorescent light again. It’s like looking through perfectly clear glass that somehow distorts everything behind it. The longer I stare, the more my head hurts trying to make sense of it.

"What’s that thing around you?"

Her eyebrows lift slightly. "You can see it? Fascinating. Most people can’t detect passive shields unless they’re specifically trained."

Shields. Of course she’d have magical protection, standing in a room with someone who accidentally killed five people. My chest tightens at the thought, but I feel a lot more comfortable with the strange aura around her. At least I won’t kill her.

Though, wards don’t usually give off some sort of tell like that.

At least, not that I’ve ever noticed.

"I don’t need training. I need to be left alone." Okay, that’s not really true. I just don’t feel like I want to be mixed up with this strange lady in my room. I’m not even happy about being here. Who are all these people? I still don’t know.

Wait a second.

"I’m talking." My eyebrows fly high as I touch my throat. "It doesn’t hurt."

Maybe I should have noticed that first, but I was so startled by her appearance, and—well, talking is natural. freёwebnoѵel.com

"Yes. I thought it would help our conversation if you could converse. No need to drag this out further."

Dr. Blackthorn settles into the chair, crossing her legs daintily. "Why did you change your legal name, Ms. d’Armand?"

The question doesn’t surprise me. Anyone with access to magical records would know about my name change. "I didn’t want to keep my parents’ name."

"Yet you didn’t take your biological family’s name either."

My fingers trace the edge of the blanket. The texture grounds me as memories of late-night conversations with Penelope surface. Two bottles of wine, a stack of papers, and dreams of reinvention. "My best friend and I wanted a fresh start. New life, new name. Not everyone’s attached to their families. Hers hate witches. Mine abandoned me. New names felt appropriate."

That shimmer around her ripples as she leans forward. "Have your adoptive family reached out since everything happened?"

"No."