Page 109 of Roguefinder

I screamed into the void, and the operating room flooded back. Then my arm was free, and my severed hand dropped from the silver cuff and hit the floor.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

CALEB

Jesse’s severed hand lay on the floor.

I stared at it, my stomach pitching and heaving. His hand. On the floor. His hand.

“Why did you do that?” I asked, my voice gone soprano.

“Needed leverage.” Jesse planted his freed elbow against the wall and grunted, wrenching at his bound arm from a new angle. The bolt tore free. Stone crumbled and scattered over the floor.

He pitched forward and caught himself on his good hand.

His only hand. Holy shit.

Panting, he gripped one of the ankle bolts and roared. His flesh sizzled, smoke curling around his fingers. The silver gave way, crunching in his hand like the lock he’d busted outside the catacombs. Sweat slicked his shoulders as he gave the other bolt the same treatment.

Then he was on his feet and rushing to me. Blood pumped from his stump as he worked the straps at my chest and thighs. The silver had chewed at me for so long that I’d almost grown numb to it. When the last buckle released, I bolted upright like I was spring-loaded, strength flooding back in a rush that left me lightheaded.

I swung my legs off the table and caught my breath.

Jesse leaned against it. “I need something tight, honey. A towel. IV tubing. Anything.”

Oh, fuck. Right. His stump.

I looked at it.

Bad idea.

I scrambled off the table and rushed to a metal rack of supplies, the operating room’s stone hot under my bare feet. Screams crashed through the door. Carlo burned on the ground, and flames from the spilled candles climbed the wall. Heat shimmered in the air.

My hands shook like I’d chugged a case of Red Bull. I grabbed everything I could reach—gauze, towels, coils of tubing—and staggered to the table, keeping my eyes firmly away from the burning vampire on the ground.

I dumped the supplies and swallowed hard. “Okay. What now?”

Jesse braced his mangled forearm on the table. His eyes were bright gold, and sweat poured off him, but his voice was steady as he reached into the pile with his good hand and pulled out a coil of rubber tubing.

“This. Loop it above the wrist twice. Then twist until I tell you to stop. Don’t hold back. The tighter the better.”

I grabbed the tubing and slipped it under his arm.

“And don’t panic,” he added.

“I’m not panicking,” I said, totally panicking. I followed his instructions, wrapping the tubing around his wrist and wrenching that shit down tight. “Will your hand grow back?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Fuck.”

“Tighter. Hurry, baby.”

I wrenched it tighter. Blood stopped flowing. Bone and muscle looked like a rump roast in a grocery store, red muscle nestled around grayish bone. Both wriggled, shifting like Jesse’s body was already trying to rebuild itself.

My stomach did a greasy, undulating roll. I’d shifted from two legs to four, my bones busting apart. I’d watched Jesse shift. But this was different. Up-close and personal. Hot blood coated my fingers, which slipped against the tubing. Smoke seared my nostrils and coated the back of my throat. High-pitched screams split the air, and an ominous hiss swelled outside.