The Turning: Bound to Darkness (Prequel) Read online

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  A howling sound from the air conditioner duct filled the cold room. A dripping sink echoed against the walls as each droplet hit a metal pan at the bottom of the basin. Death made the air thick in the room of corpses. Nicholas was just one of many in permanent slumber.

  Suddenly, there was a rush of air, a small movement. Nicholas’ chest began to rise and fall with each breath of air he sucked into his lungs. His rapid blinking moved the sheet, which covered his face. His body was cold.

  The white sheet over his body and face annoyed him. Nicholas sat up and pulled the sheet off his face in one swift movement. Unknown to him, his black nails were longer than usual. His irises were no longer brown but matched his black pupils. What he noticed was a ravenous hunger that was gnawing at his stomach. Nicholas scanned the room in every direction, trying to figure out where he was and why he was there.

  “Hello?” he called out.

  His puzzled question echoed against the walls of the quiet room. His eyes darted from the drainage hole in the center of the tiled floor to the stainless steel door ten feet away from where he sat. He slid his legs off the table and stepped down onto the cold, white tile. Nicholas was alone—or, at least, the only thing standing—wearing nothing.

  He took a step toward the door. He felt strange and uncoordinated, but he was confused by a strength he had never known before. His body was different—something had changed. Nicholas grabbed a lab coat draped over the back of a chair and quickly put it on.

  Just outside his door, he heard two men talking. How could he hear people talking on the other side of a steel door? Their voices were loud, clear and distinct. His curiosity needed answers. He approached the door, held his breath, and leaned his ear to the cold metal.

  The men were discussing how perplexed the doctors were with the mauling of two people in the hospital that evening. Nicholas had no clue what they were talking about until one of them said the phrase that revealed it all, a phrase that froze Nicholas right where he was and made his knees weak.

  “At least the twins survived.”

  Instantly, Nicholas remembered why they were there. His memories flooded back like a crashing wave against his skull. It was the attack! Those wild human-animal things attacked us out of nowhere! We were helpless and left there to die.

  Victoria didn’t survive? My wife didn’t survive? His mind raced around those words that seemed to echo in his head. Pain struck his stomach like an iron fist. He doubled over and grabbed his midsection. A mix between devastation and physical pain were holding him hostage.

  “Victoria,” he said reverently. He whispered her name. His quiet calls gradually became loud cries of anguish. “No, Victoria. No!” Nicholas crumpled to the floor.

  His wailing caused the two hefty security guards standing outside his door to enter the morgue. At their feet was Nicholas. His dark brown hair was plastered to his scalp from dried blood. His long, black fingernails dug against the tiled floor.

  “Sir, what are you doing in here? Patients are not allowed in this room.” The guard leaned down to help Nicholas to his feet.

  Nicholas growled. Deep, throaty growls that he had never heard come from his mouth welled up from deep within his chest. The hunger pangs were unbearable and he suddenly felt a desire to hurt someone . . . or worse.

  He tried to focus on his wife—his beautiful redheaded wife, Victoria. She completed him. She was the love of his life—his soul mate. But, something else took over. He felt an uncontrollable rage consume his instincts.

  Nicholas pushed himself onto his feet. The torment on his face, and the blackness of his eyes made the guards take a step back. One guard had his hand on his baton while the other pulled out a stun gun.

  Nicholas had one thought that was as pressing as his hunger pangs: finding his twin babies. They were all he had left of his wife. “Where are they?!” he yelled.

  “W-We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Without warning, Nicholas picked up one guard and threw him across the room into the tiled wall.

  “Oh, fuck,” the other guard whispered under his breath.

  Nicholas’s own strength shocked him, but he had no time to evaluate it. His head snapped back to glare at the other guard. A low, continual growl vibrated in the back of his throat. His black, enraged eyes glared at the guard.

  “Where are Amaya and Apollo?” he demanded.

  The guard’s hand was shaking fiercely as he held the stun gun out in front of his body. “Who? I’ve n-n-no idea who you’re talking about.”

  “Where are my twins?”

  “Uh, uh, the nursery? Maybe the nursery? I’m only a guard. I don’t know. Pl-please don’t hurt me!”

  Nicholas could hear the guard’s pounding heart like a bass drum next to his ear. It was distracting his thoughts, and he wanted it to stop. He suddenly had an urge to hurt the guard.

  In one swift movement, faster than the speed of thought, Nicholas thrust his hand through the man’s chest and pulled out his beating heart. The guard, with his eyes wide open, crashed to the ground.

  The heart was still beating in Nicholas’ hand. He crushed his fingers around it, until it stopped the insistent thud. When he dropped the heart to the ground, a strong hunger pang lashed his stomach again. The bloody, caved-in ribcage of the guard sprawled out at his feet unleashed a sweet aroma he could not resist. He felt a strong instinct to taste—to drink. Without hesitation, he licked the blood from his hand.

  He succumbed to his animalistic urge by ripping into the guard’s jugular vein. The initial bite released a warm, thick gush of satisfaction he had never felt before. He did not fight it; his body needed that blood, and he acted accordingly. It felt right. Once he was full, Nicholas left the room in search of his twins.

  In seconds, he ran up three flights of stairs. Although he was confused and disoriented, he had one goal: to find his twins. When he threw open the door to the nursery, another growl welled up from his chest to his throat. He approached two nurses and demanded that they release his children. Both nurses screamed and cowered on the floor behind the nurses’ station.

  Nicholas walked up to a nurse and grabbed her by her shirt, lifting her straight up and over his head. “Where are my twins?” he growled.

  “T-twins? Th-they’re over there. J-Jane and John Doe,” she stammered.

  Nicholas dropped her to the floor, turned and peered at the small row of bassinets. The guard’s blood covered Nicholas’s hands, arms, body and face. He looked like a skinless heap of blood walking toward the bassinet of babies, his babies, and he was not leaving without them.

  He searched the nametags on the bassinets. Finally, he found Jane and John Doe. He scooped up Amaya with her black hair and fair skin. Then he scooped up Apollo the same way, but stared at him a moment, fascinated by the same red hair his mother had. They were his babies.