Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 95: Antivenom

Dr. Reeves rushes in, his pristine white coat a blur of motion. My hand throbs with each heartbeat, sending waves of rainbow droplets down my arm.

"Pulse elevated. Pupils dilated." His cool fingers press against my wrist. "Temperature already rising."

The ceiling spins in lazy circles above me. "Pretty colors." I watch another opal drop slide down my skin.

"Shock response initiated." Dr. Reeves’ pen scratches across his clipboard. "Accelerated absorption rate due to serum integration."

My tongue feels thick. "What’s happening?"

"Dragon toxin entering your bloodstream." He grabs my chin, tilting my face up. A bright light flashes in my eyes, making me squint. "Track the light."

I lean into his palm instead, his skin wonderfully cool against my heated face. The rough calluses on his fingers feel amazing.

"Stop that." He tries to pull away, but I follow the motion.

"Why is your head so shiny?" The question bubbles up before I can stop it. "Do you polish it?"

Dr. Reeves lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Hold still while I clean the wound."

"But really, how do you get it so smooth?" I reach up to touch his scalp, but he catches my wrist.

"Please focus."

The antiseptic stings as he dabs at the bite marks. I watch him work with detached fascination, noting how precise each movement is. No wasted motion. Just calm, clinical efficiency. Like a bald robot.

"Your hands are nice." The words come out slurred. "Not like Xavier’s. His were cold. Yours are just right. Like Goldilocks."

"That’s the toxin talking." He wraps gauze around my hand with practiced ease. "Try to stay still."

The room spins faster. "Everything’s moving."

"Close your eyes. It will help with the vertigo."

I do as he says, but the darkness behind my eyelids swirls with kaleidoscope patterns. "Pretty."

"I’ve been told that, yes."

"Not you." My eyes pop back open. Seeing is infinitely better than not seeing. "You’re like a ghost. A shiny-headed ghost."

"I’ll keep that in mind. Please stop moving your hand."

"Maybe a robot."

"Definitely a robot," Jim interjects, sounding amused.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep, because now I’m waking up.

My head feels stuffed with cotton. My mouth is dry and tastes surprisingly like Skittles. My lips smack without my consent.

"Thought that would get her." Dr. Reeves. He’s clinical and cold, as always.

"Yes, yes. I’m a robot. Now, open your eyes."

Did I say that out loud?

"You did. Open your eyes."

My eyelids pry open, but light assaults them. Squeezing them closed, I’m determined to fall back asleep.

"If you don’t open your eyes, Xavier Moon will probably come in to check on you pers—"

My eyes fly open, panic beating in my chest.

"There we go." Dr. Reeves flashes a light into my eyeballs with a rude lack of consideration. "Pupils normal and reactive to light."

My nose wrinkles; he smells like bleach. "Why does my mouth taste like Skittles?"

"That would be the antivenom." Dr. Reeves pops something in my mouth before I can protest.

The small sphere is sour on my tongue, spreading a sharp citrus flavor. My lips pucker at the intensity. "What is this?"

"The antidote to the poison in the antivenom."

I blink several times, trying to process his words through my foggy brain. "What?"

Dr. Reeves pinches the bridge of his nose. "The dragon toxin won’t kill you. But it will make the next week extremely unpleasant for everyone involved while it filters out of your system. The antivenom cleared that up nicely." He checks something on his tablet. "However, the antivenom itself is poisonous to humans. Fatal, in fact."

The lemon candy clicks against my teeth as I roll it around. "Therefore the antidote."

"Bingo."

"Deep breath in." Dr. Reeves presses a cold stethoscope against my chest. "And out."

The metal slides across my skin as he listens to my lungs. His movements are precise, methodical. Like a machine checking boxes on a maintenance list. I seem to recall telling him he’s a robot.

"Heart rate normal. Blood pressure stable." He scribbles on his tablet. "Remarkable recovery from the dragon toxin. Sit up."

He helps me into a sitting position, then checks my reflexes. Each tap of the little hammer makes my leg jump. "Neural responses optimal. Interesting."

"Why are you using a tablet now? Didn’t you use paper before?"

He ignores me.

"You’ve passed all parameters." He sets down his tablet and reaches for the restraints attached to the bed. "Now—"

My heart slams against my ribs as he fastens the first cuff around my wrist. "What are you doing?"

"Time for your next dose of serum. Your reflexes have returned." The second restraint clicks into place.

Ice floods my veins. The memory of that writhing purple liquid burning through me makes my stomach heave. "No. Please."

The pathetic whimper in my voice makes me hate myself. But I can’t stop the words I’m babbling. I just woke up like two seconds ago. I’m not ready for this.

"Can’t we wait? Just a day or two?" My voice cracks. "Please."

Dr. Reeves doesn’t even look up as he secures my ankles. "No."

His complete lack of empathy, of basic human compassion, makes something inside me shrivel. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting him to see the tears threatening to spill.

The rustling of medical equipment tells me he’s preparing the IV. My muscles lock up, anticipating that first searing drop of liquid fire.

A sharp sting shoots through my arm, and my eyes pop open, watching as Dr. Reeves pushes saline through the IV port. The burning sensation spreads under my skin like liquid needles.

"Ow, ow, ow!"

It’s nothing compared to the serum, but it still hurts.

"Hmm." Dr. Reeves stops and examines the site where the IV enters my arm. A small bump rises beneath my skin, tender and red. "It’s infiltrated."

My breath catches as he peels back the tape securing the IV. A tiny spark of hope flutters in my chest. Maybe this buys me some time before the next round of torture.

He slides the needle out with practiced efficiency. No gentleness, just clinical precision. The site throbs where the IV had been, a small red welt marking the spot.

"Perhaps we can wait until—"

"No." Dr. Reeves cuts me off as he opens a fresh IV start kit. "We’ll just place a new one."

My momentary relief crashes as he wraps a tourniquet around my upper arm. His cold fingers probe the skin above my elbow, searching for a vein. Each touch sends shivers of revulsion through me.

"Here." He taps a spot on the side of my arm. "This will work better."

The alcohol swab leaves a cool trail on my skin. I turn my head away, not wanting to watch him slide another needle into my flesh. Not wanting to think about what comes after.