A Cage for Hungry Hearts [COMPLETE]

18. Winston

"Laundry," I mutter under my breath, glaring at Brucker as my duty section breaks ranks from muster. "Seriously?"

Michael emerges to my left from the scattered ranks with a cocky smirk. "Well, the good news is you don't start until tomorrow, unlike most of us."

I scowl and turn away. Brucker's propped his hip against a table, chatting amicably with a Nexian I don't know the name of. I badly want to cut off their conversation but can't quite bring myself to do so. I teeter outside the bubble of their voices with Michael hovering at my side like a bad smell. Finally, I give in.

"You got a sentry post," I utter.

Michael's far too chipper for having waited so long for me to acknowledge him. "Sure did. I get to stand in one place logging activities for eight hours a night, five days a week. By comparison, laundry duty sounds riveting."

Alright. I admit he has a point.

"Where's your shadow?" he asks, cutting to the chase quicker than I expected him to.

"Where's yours?" I snap. "Domare's not my babysitter."

He shrugs, one-shouldered. "Krishna and I aren't exactly close. We don't even have any thought bleedover. Either our tether isn't strong, or I'm adapting more quickly to the formula than most people. The doctors can't seem to decide. And Domare?"

Christ, he's persistent.

"I haven't seen him since yesterday. He got ordered to the labs," I say.

"Pity. I was hoping we might chat again."

"You two do seem to get along."

Fuck's sake. I sound bitter even to myself.

"We do!" Michael agrees enthusiastically. "I'm surprised the two of us weren't partnered. I think we would've done well. Krishna might've suited you better than broody Domare. Would've made things easier for all of us."

"I'm fine with Domare," I say, surprising myself with how defensive I feel of the grumpy vampire. "He's not so bad once you get past the brattiness."

Do I even know him well enough to say so? Probably not, but something about Michael's blatant desire to steal him rubs me the wrong way. We stare each other down until Brucker's chatty company finally leaves.

"What's eating you, DeBrock?" Brucker asks, turning a bright grin toward me.

Laundry, I want to say, and this asshole. But Michael's staring at me, his eyebrows raised high, his mouth quirked. It's a challenge. He's daring me to whine.

"Nothing," I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. "How's your day so far?"

Brucker eagerly dives into small talk, and I return the favor halfheartedly. Never once do I stop glaring at Michael.

#

It's days before I see Domare again. I wish I could say it was two peaceful days, two days of blessed silence, but it's not like that at all. During the early morning...

Wait, no, the early evening of the third day, I dutifully report to the infirmary with a complaint.

"My head's pounding," I tell Lynn during my visit. "It won't stop."

Lynn rewards me with a pitying look and a whole ass bottle of ibuprofen. The pain killers help, but the headache never fully subsides. I suspect the tether is the culprit, that my distance from Domare is straining it somehow. There is an odd pinch in the back of my head I've learned to associate with our connection.