“Oh, thank God.” Monarch says when he catches sight of me. He’s in his mid-fifties and is one of the older members of The Colony. His hair is the color of smoke and the corners of his eyes sprout crows-feet.  His white coat is smudged with blood and the red marks on the sides of his crooked nose means he’s been pressing his fingers there, something he does when he’s stressed. “I was starting to get worried.”

“You’re always worried.” I hand him the vial, my fingers briefly brushing his, and I catch a sense of something he fears, something small and lying in the hospital bed.

With a simple touch, I can sense things they’re afraid of. Monarch fears for Maci’s life—he fears she’ll die and will no longer be able to fulfill her life’s purpose. He also fears I’ll tell someone he sent me out so close to dark.

“How’s she doing?” I lean to the side and peer into the hospital room. Maci’s lying in one of the beds. Her eyes are shut, and her tiny body is curled in a ball. Tubes cover her skin, pumping blood into her. There’s a monitor beside the bed, beeping with every breath she inhales. She’s sick. Not with the vampire virus, but with something else. Monarch was running low on medicine and since I’m a Bellator, it’s my job to go out and retrieve things. Anything The Colony needs the Bellators get. Like medicine

“Are you okay?” Monarch’s grey-streaked eyebrows dip underneath his oval-rimmed glasses. “You didn’t run into any problems tonight, did you?”

I shake my head. Maybe I’ll tell him later, after he’s given Maci the medicine and is less stressed. But I’m only lying to myself if I think I will. I never do.

“So no run-ins with any vampires?” His dark grey eyes focus on me. There’s something about the way he stares that makes me question if he knows I’m different.

“Nope. No run-ins with vampires,” I lie effortlessly, making me wonder how awkward the truth would sound coming out of my mouth.

***

After I dropped the vial off, Monarch shoos me away and tells me to go change and return to the hospital for my shot. Getting a shot is part of my daily schedule. There’s something about my blood, Monarch tells me, that needs a daily injection or else I’ll die. I obey Monarch because he’s like a father to me.