In Darkness Bound

By Christine Price

In this paranormal romance, three men captive in a mysterious prison are drawn together by their special abilities and their powerful desire for one another.

Data Collection by Dalhousie, Dr. Donna L.

Patient 331

New, confused. Powers unknown.

Patient 289

No longer viable in the test pool, he remains in isolation.

Patient 77

Reclassified to staff status. Useful, malleable.

Confined in a sterile research facility and treated like a lab rat, Chris is alone and terrified. His special powers are his only escape, allowing him to psychically connect with other patients.

Alone in his cell for longer than he can remember, Vance is hungry. When newcomer Chris makes a mental connection, Vance is intrigued and wants more than just conversation.

Chris and Vance seek comfort with each other, and with Simon—the only staff member who’s shown them a hint of compassion. Their relationships develop during stolen moments, and they turn their thoughts to escape. But as Dr. Dalhousie’s madness spirals, more than cell walls threaten to keep them apart . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Sep 1, 2010
• ISBN: 9781426890574

Book preview

Prologue

Brennan! Wait!

Chris ran after his older brother, legs pumping quickly. His shouts for Brennan to slow down were ignored, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch up. Not only did the ten-year-old have longer legs, but countless hours on the T-ball field had made him really fast. Chris was still struggling with his lifejacket, making it even harder to keep up.

Brennan jumped into the small dingy at the end of the dock and quickly unwound the mooring rope. Chris stumbled when he crossed from the lake’s sandy shoreline to the dock but managed to regain his footing. Brennan was close to casting off when Chris made it to the rowboat’s side. Panting heavily, he lifted his arms to reach out for Brennan to help him down into the boat.

You can’t come, Chris.

Chris’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes immediately watering.

You were being a baby the whole way.

I’m not a baby! Chris yelled. I want to go in the boat! Brennan glared at him. I’ll tell Dad.

With an aggravated breath, Brennan finally reached up and let Chris fall into his arms. The boat dipped with the additional weight, rocking tenuously until Brennan regained his balance and placed Chris down on one of the benches. They glowered at each other as Brennan grabbed the oars and pulled away from the dock.

Chris looked into the water. The lake was pretty in the summertime. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of the monster Dad had told them about on the drive up. Apparently monsters liked to live in lakes that were too small for motorboats. Dad and Aunt Lisa had also argued about whether monsters liked eating six-year-olds, but as far as he could tell, Aunt Lisa had won and he was safe.

The waters were too murky to see any monsters, so Chris settled back into his seat to watch Brennan row. He didn’t talk and Chris’s spirits fell when he saw the cross look on his face. Chris hadn’t been a baby on the drive up. Brennan wouldn’t share his things, and sharing was important, so Chris had told on him. But they’d been up at the lake a whole hour now, and the car ride was quickly fading into unpleasant memory.

Bren, do you think the monster is blue or green?

Brennan’s jaw clenched and he didn’t answer.

I think blue. That way, he can hide better in the water. Like the snakes we saw at the zoo last week. Snakes are really cool. Did you know they like to just sit on rocks? It’s called basting.

Basking.

That’s what I said. Isn’t that cool?

Brennan took a deep breath. Stop talking, Chris.

What?

I said stop talking! All you do is talk. All day, it’s just talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.

The tears returned, and Chris could feel his face turning red. His bottom lip quivered, out of his control.

And you’re such a crybaby. That’s probably why Mom left.

You take that back! Chris choked on a hiccupping sob.

No!

Chris jumped forward, his fists balled up and swinging wildly. Take it back!

Brennan dropped one of the oars in surprise, as an ineffectual blow glanced off his forearm. He shouted in surprise and lashed back, catching the edge of Chris’s lifejacket. Chris sprawled to the deck, his body heaving with sobs.

Chris, I’m sor—

Leave me alone.

But, Chris—

I said leave me alone! The scream ripped through the air, sending far-flung echoes cutting through the surrounding stillness. Chris felt his chest swell, and a sharp ache hit his temple, drawing a keening wail of surprise. There was a thump beside him, but he didn’t look up. His breath came in erratic gasps that burned his chest, and he couldn’t force himself to look up at Brennan’s angry face anymore.

Finally, his sobs dwindled away and he took a few calming breaths, rubbing at his eyes. Sitting up, he frowned when he saw that his brother had dropped one of the oars into the water and was just lying down instead of trying to grab it.

Brennan? He crawled closer.

Brennan looked like he was sleeping, but his lips were the color of a bruise. Chris touched his brother’s arm, gasping at the cold-apple skin texture.

Brennan? Chris shook Brennan’s shoulder. Stop it! He shook him again, repeating his brother’s name over and over, trying to wake him up.

The world fell into complete silence around him, interrupted only by the sound of him screaming his brother’s name.

Chapter One

Last night I dreamt you finally got laid.

Chris blinked and his hand froze halfway toward the fruit bowl. "Glad I’m getting sex somewhere. He grabbed the last pear and took a bite. Was it someone devilishly handsome or a girl? His face twisted in disgust. It wasn’t you, was it?"

Caris looked down at her biology textbook. I doubt it, since I didn’t wake up with the lingering taste of vomit in my mouth. Chris tossed the pear at her, and she just barely managed to dodge. If I had a dream about you and me having sex, I wouldn’t tell you.

I wouldn’t want you to tell me.

Thus we are agreed. She stabbed at his hand with her fork when it strayed too close to her pancakes, but he managed to avoid it and snag a stray piece. I have a final tomorrow, by the way, so on the off chance that you do find someone willing to offer you a mercy fuck, go to their place so I won’t be inconvenienced by the need to castrate you.

Noted.

And since my chances are much better, I’ll do the same during your finals next week so you can study.

Chris shrugged nonchalantly.

Caris sighed. They’re going to accuse you of cheating again.

I am cheating.

No, you’re picking the answers out of the profs’ brains using telepathy.

Chris regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

Huh. When I say it that way, it does sound a lot like cheating, doesn’t it?

He nodded and stole another pancake.

Why don’t you just quit? You don’t want to be a vet. I haven’t seen you within five feet of an animal without you getting that look on your face.

What look?

"Imagine me naked. That look. Vaguely terrified, not sure if you should be amused or disgusted. You get the same look around kids. She rolled up the last pancake and shoved the entire thing into her mouth before he could make a play for it. She continued with a cough, I don’t think that’s going to go over very well when poor Fluffy is bleeding out on the operating table."

Recognizing the beginning of an old argument, Chris stood and crossed the kitchen.

"Chris, as your self-appointed best friend, I feel uniquely qualified to tell you that even though you think you’re doing what Brennan would want you to do, you’re not. He’d just want you to be happy."

Chris slumped against the counter. I know. But I need to do this for him. They had a longstanding agreement that he wouldn’t deliberately read her mind, but he couldn’t help the projections she shot his way. Worry. Warmth. Love. Frustration. Hope. It was a jumbled kaleidoscope of emotions that always threw him off, and her earnest concern was just enough to unnerve him.

They had stumbled into their friendship during freshman year when their roommates started dating. Caris had shown up at his door one night, grumbling about oversexed jocks and inconsiderate bimbos, and dumped her stuff in the spare bedroom. Since then, it had been her bed, her room and her rules. Chris hadn’t heard from the oversexed jock in question since the idiot had come whining at the door for his bed back and been frightened away by Caris’s pre-coffee face.

Glancing at her watch, Caris sighed and stood. Just…think about it, okay? You’re not going to be happy as a vet. And you shouldn’t have to find that out the hard way. She disappeared into her room to dress.

Chris picked his way through the minefield in their front hallway to retrieve his backpack. He shouted a quick goodbye, shouldered his bag and headed to class.

Lingering frost was still making the mornings crisp, but it was nice to be on campus during springtime. He lost himself in the flock of students headed to their first class of the day, Caris’s words persistent in his mind. Of all her annoying habits, her uncanny ability to hit home with painful truths was his least favorite. He didn’t need her pointing out that Brennan would have wanted better for him. But he couldn’t stop himself from trying to live the life that his brother had wanted. And he would be a vet. Maybe not a good one, but he would make Bren proud.

If he could avoid getting tossed out on his ass.

He was early to class and settled into a seat near the window, his thoughts drifting as another group of students arrived. Caris had been right about the rest of it too…They were going to get on his case for cheating again, but it was too hard to stop. Bouncing between foster homes after his father’s car accident had ingrained in him the need for good behavior, but he’d never been studious. If he didn’t bring home good grades, he got shit. So instead of trying to apply himself and failing, he’d used the gift he so despised. It was easy. People’s brains were like libraries, and he’d gotten pretty good at finding relevant information and recycling it onto paper. It was even easier when people projected their surface thoughts.

…Christian Kincaid? His professor stood at the front of the class, attendance roster in hand.

Present.

Such a waste of humanity. Don’t know why he’s even here…He’s obviously better suited for a job at a grocery store. Dr. Peterson’s stray thought was laced with contempt and flashed through Chris’s brain.

He stiffened in his seat. It wasn’t the first time he’d picked condemning thoughts out of the other man’s head, but it didn’t stop it from sucking.

Like clockwork, Peterson finished attendance at exactly three minutes past the hour and launched directly into his PowerPoint deck. Chris settled in his seat and looked out the window at the quad below, Caris’s points still traitorously insinuated in his thoughts. The sad thing was that even if he did quit, he wouldn’t know what to do with his life. His only talent was screwing up.

And perhaps Mr. Kincaid can tell us the leading cause of UTI in cats? Urolithiasis.

Reading thoughts was like having access to Google. Urolithiasis.

In layman’s terms?

Stones blocking the tract. He couldn’t wait until the semester was over. Dr. Peterson had tried to call him out on cheating twice already, and he felt like a shitbag every time he defended himself to the dean.

Why couldn’t Brennan have wanted to be something more up my alley? Like a photographer. Or a rock diva.

And the leading observable bacteria?

E. coli, Pseudomonas, Proteus mirabilis…Do you want me to go on?

Peterson’s face pinched. How is the little shit doing it?

Enterococcus, Klebsiella—

That’s enough.

They glared at each other, and an uncomfortable silence descended on the class. Chris bit his tongue, feeling every eye on him. His face flushed with the attention and he dropped his eyes. All he wanted was to get through the next three semesters, accept his degree and get the hell out of here.

Brennan would want you to be happy.

Well, Chris thought, if that was really the case, he shouldn’t have let me kill him.

Chapter Two

Dr. Donna Dalhousie looked over the dossier, quickly scanning and summarizing the information. The subject showed incredible aptitude for the course content but was not engaged or interested in the material, and while he excelled scholastically, he didn’t interact with classmates or instructors in a meaningful way. He had also received a perfect grade on his last exam, which should have been impossible with the printing error the TAs discovered after the fact.

She sniffed and rested the leather folder on her knees. The Society had been observing Mr. Kincaid since a significant psychic incident in his youth. Lack of any further paranormal incidents had relegated him to an archival anecdote, but his profile matched her research requirements. She tapped exquisitely manicured nails against her folder and glanced at her watch. The subject was running late. Her jaw tightened as she considered the possibility that someone from the Society had reached him en route to their meeting. Her operation couldn’t afford to lose another specimen.

Across the desk, the instructor shifted nervously, his focus circling around the digital recorder she had placed between them.

His nerves finally got the better of him. Does the Academic Integrity Office think he’s cheating?

Dalhousie lifted her eyebrow. "You are qualified to answer that. Do you think he’s cheating?"

I had an incident with him several days ago. Something’s not quite right.

She’d heard those words before. Resisting the urge to check the time once more, she hoped her orderlies had positioned themselves discreetly instead of hovering outside the door. More than one potential had been alerted to unusual goings-on through their incompetent maneuvering.

Her worries proved to be baseless. There was a knock on the door, and the subject entered the room. She mentally documented particulars for her admittance report. Early twenties, black hair, colorful tattoos covering both arms and piercings with small silver loops in each ear.

Hello, Dr. Peterson. The subject sat beside her, glancing nervously in her direction. Sorry I’m late.

She kept her mind carefully blanked. While her bracelet was designed to prevent any unwanted intrusions into her thoughts, she wasn’t prepared to allow carelessness to ruin everything.

It wouldn’t have taken a psychic to read Dr. Peterson’s thoughts on the matter. This is Dr. Dalhousie. She has a few questions about your academic aspirations.

What sort of questions?

Dalhousie flipped open the folder on her lap and gave the contents a cursory glance. The gesture was largely dramatic; she had already memorized the contents. You are currently the top student in all of your classes?

I…guess…

What interested in you the field of veterinary medicine?

My older brother wanted to be a vet. The evasive answer was another point of interest. If the subject proved viable, she would explore it more.

She closed the folder and gently slid the bracelet off to test his psychic acuity. She envisioned the facilities to which they would soon be moving, focusing her thoughts on the empty corridors and her experiments—especially on Patient 289. Seconds later, the subject vaulted up from his seat, fear pouring off him like the stink of cheap cologne.

Fuck right off! He charged the door. Before he could reach it, he pivoted and aimed for a nearby window.

She made no move to stop him. As he struggled with the latch, the door to the room burst open and three of her men stormed inside. Before they could reach him, he managed to get the window open and flung himself out. They were barely a full story off the ground, and one of her agents immediately dived after him.

Picking up the recorder, Dalhousie moved to the window to observe. Subject demonstrates telepathic and possible precognitive abilities. Mark for further study. Additionally, basic telekinesis, but it appears to be unable to sustain the weight of the subject plus approximately two hundred and fifty pounds. Recommend in-depth analysis. The subject isn’t physically fit enough to escape physical detainment—struggles prove to be ineffective against larger opponents. There’s no sign of projective mental control. We will be introducing stimuli to test for dormant abilities.

Her agent snapped a pair of restraining cuffs on the subject’s hands. He fought against them and managed to head-butt the agent’s nose, and a bright shower of crimson spilled out of the broken appendage. Another orderly pulled his Taser, and the subject was immobilized in response.

Subject is hereby moved to patient status under designation 331. Effecting immediate transfer to holding site 4H.

She glanced at the other orderly and inclined her head at Dr. Peterson. He lumbered across the room to the petrified man. There was a short pause followed by an interrupted scream.

The witness has been terminated. Appropriate measures will be taken to remove the body.

Dalhousie turned off the recorder.

Chapter Three

Two hours after coming back to full consciousness, Chris understood what it was like to be an extra in a B-rated horror flick. He’d already memorized the details of the closetlike cell, even though there was only a single red emergency light overhead, throwing the entire room into dim illumination. Ten feet from the bed to the door. Eleven from the door to the opposite wall. A single plastic chair. A single plastic footstool. A single plastic build-it-yourself wardrobe filled with four sets of the boring white scrubs in which he’d awoken. No metal or sharp edges. All that was missing was padding on the walls and the Joker screaming from down the hall. He circled the room again. It didn’t really make much difference whether this was a prison or an asylum. Neither was particularly appealing.

Chris played with the banal plastic bracelet around his wrist. Patient 331 PTX. He didn’t know what PTX meant, and everything felt sinister in the dark red light.

He collapsed on his bed, hissing in pain when the rough fabric brushed up against his side. Foul smelling ointment had been smeared on the burn marks left by the Taser, but it wasn’t helping. He rolled over and looked at the door. Every so often—he was willing to bet he could time it and find some sort of pattern—a human silhouette peered inside, though any details were obstructed by the mirror finish. Someone was keeping tabs on him. What were they looking for?

His constant chewing on his lower lip finally drew blood, and he winced as he ran his teeth across the torn skin. When he’d walked into Dr. Peterson’s office, he’d expected questions about his academic integrity and another request to withdraw, not the still-minded woman awaiting him. He’d been tuning out humanity’s wayward, random thoughts for years, and finding someone with such profound silence was staggering. Had he swung that way, he would have propositioned her on the spot.

Then she’d taken off the damn bracelet. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the deluge of horrifying images that followed. Blood, people strapped to tables, screaming…

He didn’t know where the hell he was. For most of the trip he’d been unconscious. He’d woken occasionally, but all he’d seen was the inside of a windowless van. He hadn’t really come to until after he’d been dumped into the cell. Screaming himself hoarse for the first hour had proved useless. Now he just had to wait.

One of his classmates had been deep into conspiracy theories. The JFK assassination, the Illuminati, water fluoridation…Chris had once spent four hours listening to a sermon about Abbey Road and the death of Paul McCartney. He’d only ever paid attention in an if-I-don’t-supervise-this-person-they’ll-injure-themselves sort of way, but countless rants about faceless government agencies were all flooding back to him. Had some shadowy organization set on exploiting his psychic talents taken him captive?

If someone asks me to point out hidden weapon caches on a map, I’m gonna have a severe freak out.

Chris sat up and stared at the door. He could try pulling it off its hinges, but the memory of the Taser was still fresh in his mind.

It won’t hurt to test things, though. When he’d first started testing the limits of his bizarre powers, he’d vividly imagined performing feats only seen in movies and cartoons. These days, it was less imagination and more instinct. He concentrated on the door and jerked his mind away from the dull emptiness surrounding the door-shaped area in the wall. He should’ve at least been able to rattle it.

Chris stood and crossed the room to place his hand on the cool metal surface. It reminded him of the woman’s bracelet. He rested his forehead against the door and leaned into it.

They knew about him. So where had they been