The Scarlet Dagger (The Red Sector Chronicles, #1)

Chapter 3

She was gorgeous – like in a classy, “1930’s Hollywood” kind of way – with red lips and long auburn hair swept up in a clip. Her skin was rosy, practically glowing it was so clear. Red-rimmed glasses sat low on her sharp nose, and her nails were perfectly filed and painted a deep red to match her glasses. A gold wedding band adorned her ring finger, and there wasn’t a single wrinkle in her crisp, white lab coat. On her right shoulder were a red cross and a winged staff, followed by four gold chevrons stitched down her sleeve. I’d seen the staff before on other medical supplies, but I couldn’t recall its name. I caught the flap of a white military jacket beneath her coat, along with a skirt. But there was something off about Paris; there was a weird, almost “telekinetic” aura that radiated from her, like loose energy.

Maybe it’s just your imagination.

“What am I doing here? What happened?” I repeated.

She tilted her glasses down and peered at me over the rim. “You’ve changed,” she said with a small, cold smile. “Don’t worry. We’re going to take good care of you.”

My flesh chilled. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong with me?”

I desperately tried to remember what had happened, but I couldn’t recall anything past waking up here. I felt the first strands of panic as my pulse began to race.

My heart monitor picked up speed. Paris was next to me in an instant, needle drawn. “Amnesia is normal, and usually brief. You need to calm down,” she snapped.

“No!” I yelled, staring at the syringe. “Get away from me!”

Amnesia? Had I hurt my head? Was I in some sort of accident?

A shadow moved from the corner of my eye, and I looked up. All the air left me, like I’d been punched in the chest. “You!”

Features flashed through my memory: platinum hair, eyes as blue as the ocean, and thin lips hiding a pair of fangs.

I leaped from the bed, ripping the IV from my hand. I winced but kept my eyes trained forward.

The boy from the Red Sector stepped into the light. He was taller than I remembered and wearing what appeared to be a jet-black military uniform. Four golden chevrons darted down his right arm. He held his hands up, one of which was bandaged from the Scarlet Steel wound. “Easy. We’re not here to hurt you.”

I narrowed my eyes, tensing up. 

“Careful, Aden,” Paris said. “That cut on your chest isn’t entirely healed yet.”

Aden. So that’s his name.

I reached for my hip, where the dagger should be, but gripped only a thin hospital gown. I remembered fighting the boy – Aden – in the house, right before he took the dagger from me and…

My hand flew to my neck, touching a fresh bandage. I gasped, locking eyes with him. “You bit me.” All the color left my face. “You drained me, didn’t you?”

The boy froze, not saying a word.

“Oh my God.” The air in the room thinned, and I stumbled.

No, no, no, I can’t be one of them.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice soft as a lullaby. “You’re still human, with nothing more than a virus.”

“A virus which can’t be cured!” I screamed. “It might as well be cancer!”

He grimaced, and my stomach churned as the room spun. Sounds hurtled toward me, impossible sounds I shouldn’t be able to hear, like Paris’ heartbeat, the strong swoosh as her heart’s chambers opened and closed, siphoning blood in and out, in and out.