Misty
It’s been two hours since I left the apartment I share with Georgia. I creep around another corner, sketching the sharp angles of what I believe might be the fourth floor of this Goddess-forsaken fortress, and I’m no closer to finding a way out than I was when I left my rooms.
Another foyer stretches ahead of me, followed by another staircase leading both up and down, splitting down the center. I sigh, tapping my pen on my lip as I ponder whether to take the stairs or keep walking to the exterior bridge that connects this area to another tower, I think.
Whoever built this place was a glutton for punishment. My legs are burning from the effort of navigating at least a dozen staircases already.
I lean against the wall for a moment to catch my breath, flipping through the four pages of notes and examining the crudely sketched map. I can get back to my room from here. I believe we’re on the sixth or seventh floor up there, if my estimate about where I am now is correct. I haven’t run into a single soul yet, and for that I’m exceedingly grateful.
I walk to a window overlooking the desert, seeing nothing but sweeping, endless sand that dances in the stiff, cool breeze. The moon is fading, which means morning is coming within the next few hours. It’s probably the early hours of the morning now, and if I were smart, I’d be hightailing back to Georgia instead of moving in on the bridge.
But the tower… it’s narrow. There’s probably a staircase spiraling down it to its lowest level… and a door to the outside world.
My heart beats out of rhythm as I edge toward the archway leading outside then stops completely when I hear voices echoing in my direction.
I whirl toward the voices, desperately looking for a place to hide, but it’s too late. Four men dressed in black cloaks stop at the end of one of the hallways leading into this foyer, staring at me, shocked.
I don’t recognize them, which worries me. Of course, it wouldn’t be Declan and his buddies finding me.
One of them steps forward, snickering. “What the hell are you doing out of your room?”
Oh, fuck, this is bad. I tuck my notebook behind my back. “What the hell are you doing out of your room?” I echo. “It’s the middle of the night.”
The man smiles faintly, clicking his tongue as his companions fall in line behind him. “You shouldn’t be out, Princess. It’s not safe out here for someone like you.” The teasing edge to his voice burrows into my chest as he looks me up and down, smirking. A hungry look passes behind his eyes, and I decide I have no need to stick around to see what he has to say next.
I run. I run like my life depends on it, because I’m sure it does, and dart around the railing of the staircase, making it up three steps before one of the men grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me back so hard the fabric rips.
Panic blurs my senses. I’m not wearing a bra. I left it in Cole’s room. That bastard probably threw it out the window to erase the evidence of me in his space. Asshole.
My brain jolts into fight or flight mode the second my back hits the stone floor and multiple sets of hands fly toward me, grabbing my legs, my arms, pinning me to the ground.
I fight. That's all I can do. My powers are useless in these stupid manacles.
“Screaming won’t do you any good, Princess,” their leader, I assume, growls, snickering again as he picks me up by my shirt and slams me into the ground, my head cracking against the foot of the stairs. White light erupts behind my eyes, then fades, revealing terribly blurred vision. My head swims with pain while they laugh at me.
“Help,” I gasp, begging my powers to do what they were made for which is followed by more laughs.
I can’t move. I hit my head unbelievably hard. I can feel the single glimmers of healing powers working desperately, trying to move past the manacles. It’s not enough. It’s not enough.
“No one’s coming to help you, whore,” another male voice sneers, followed by the sound of fabric ripping. I’m being jostled, like they’re tugging me back and forth, fighting over who gets me first.
Tears sting my eyes. “Please–help me!” I grit my teeth, pushing past the pain and the sensation of passing out, forcing myself to stay awake. My ribs splinter. I’m being kicked–repeatedly. Laughing fills my ears, blurring the sound of my own erratically beating heart.
‘Help me.’ I reach for that stupid, annoying voice. My own voice sounds strained in my head, broken and bleeding like my body is now.
‘Where are you?’
‘I don’t know. Help–’
‘I’m coming.’
I close my eyes. It’s useless. The owner of this voice is… nothing. A figment of my imagination. At the most, some wayward god hell bent on tormenting me. What is he going to do? Smite these dickheads for using me as a punching bag, or worse?
The thought of them touching me… oh, Goddess, it really pisses me off. So much so that I have a single spurt of rage that spirits me back into alertness. I swing an arm wildly, my knuckles meeting flesh. Some part of someone’s body, at least.
“Hold her down, for fuck’s sake!”
My arm is caught and twisted above my head. I scream in pain, rage, and sheer frustration, letting my voice echo from every wall in this prison. I feel it then–something new–something strange and beautiful. It’s like a lightbulb deep inside my brain just turns on, and then I’m flooded by… power. Not like my light or healing powers. This is different. It feels different. It tastes different.
“Shit, her manacles–”
Metal clangs as it hits the ground. A hand claps around my throat and squeezes hard.
I’m too weak to move. I try to thrash, but it’s useless. I’m bleeding a lot, I think. My back is wet. My hair sticks to my skin. There’s a metallic smell in the air that has to be blood, and it’s mine. No doubt about it.
I really didn’t want to die this way.
A sharp, snarling growl funnels toward me, and everyone holding me to the bloody ground goes deathly still.
Claws rake the stone as something large and angry stalks toward us. I turn my head, blinking past tears, and see a massive wolf creeping out of the darkness, razor-sharp teeth gleaming in the fading moonlight.
The guys holding me down don’t even have a chance to scream.
Golden fur blinds me. The sound of flesh tearing and guttural, rasping dying breaths sound around me. I lie there, stupidly prone, useless and frozen in a puddle of my own blood while a giant wolf leaps over me repeatedly, tearing all four order members to ribbons.
“I’m going to die now,” I say out loud, unsure if the words actually leave my lips. “Tell Ryan I stole his video game counsel before he moved to the Deadlands. It’s in my closet in Crescent Falls. I dropped it on accident, so it’s broken but… I want him to… have it back.” I take a shallow, rattling breath. My body goes numb as my healing powers ripple through me, trying to undo the damage. I already know it’s too much. The powers aren’t developed enough to handle something like this, but they’re trying.
“Tell Aviva I liked her best,” I rasp, choking on a sob. “Sarah’s a close second. Sydney can suck it.”
‘You’re not going to die,’ the voice says sternly.
‘I want to.’
‘I don’t want you to.’
“Why the fuck do you care?” I laugh, my mouth full of blood as I choke the words into existence, out loud.
The wolf is right above me now, panting, his face soaked with blood as his eyes–gray eyes–turn to meet mine.
“Cole?” I choke out, and the shock drags me under. Everything goes black.
* * *
I scream myself awake, jolting upright, surrounded by cotton sheets and deep golden sunlight. Sunset, actually. It warms the bed I'm lying in and highlights familiar surroundings.
I turn my head to find Cole sitting beside the bed, his legs crossed as he scribbles notes in a notebook bound in dark green leather. “That was very loud,” he grumbles without looking in my direction. “Also very unnecessary. Lie back down, please.”
“What the fuck happened?” My entire body trembles as I stare at him. He’s wearing a plain ol’ cotton T-shirt and black sweatpants, making him look more like a man than a villain from my nightmares. His cut biceps flex as he turns to face me fully, giving me an exceedingly calm and somewhat bored expression that instantly grinds my gears.
“You snuck out of your room against your better judgement and were viciously attacked by four order members who no longer exist,” he says plainly, bluntly.
I lick my lips, still trembling. “You helped me.”
“Obviously.”
“You shifted and helped me.”
“I did save your life, yes. You were badly hurt, worse than you were when TU was attacked, actually.” I’m not sure he meant for his voice to dip lower than usual, to let a hint of emotion show. Raw emotion. Worry, concern, fury… the works. “Why did you do it?”
“Sneak out? Because I had to. I have to get out of here somehow!”
“What were you going to do, Misty? Traverse the fucking desert? Die of heat exhaustion and thirst?” He glowers.
I push the sheets down and hop out of bed, then promptly lose function of my legs. He’s out of his chair in an instant, tossing me back in bed and tucking the sheets around my frame with fervor.
“Just stay in bed for a little longer–”
“You drugged me!” I grip his arm and dig my nails into his skin.
“I had to. You were bleeding out!”
“I would have healed–”
“Eventually? You didn’t have the time, Misty, you were stabbed repeatedly, but you probably didn’t feel a thing because of the massive head injury. A normal person would have died from that alone–instantaneously!” He’s furious as he growls down at me. “You are lucky I got to you when I did.”
Memories spirit back to me. “You’re the voice in my head.”
He rears back, stalking around the bed to his seat. I follow his process, noticing the untidy handwriting in his notebook. My name is all over it. My height, my weight. I narrow my eyes at him as he turns his chair to face the wall and sits.
“Hello?” I snap. “You’re the voice in my head!”
“Unfortunately.”
I lean forward, snatch a pillow, and toss it at his head. He dodges it.
“Are you going to explain why?”
“No.”
I’m fuming. My hands curl into fists, insults of epic proportions dancing on the tip of my tongue, when the door opens and Georgia flutters into the room, her face washes with relief. “Oh, thank the Goddess. I thought you’d wake up a completely different person. You look just as pissed off as you normally do!” She races toward the bed, but my eyes are still drilling holes in the back of Cole’s big, stupid skull.
“Georgia, a few moments, please,” Cole says without a lick of emotion. Georgia frowns and pads toward the door, giving me a look over her shoulder.
“When you’re well, you can fill me on last night,” she smirks with a wink. Cole shifts his weight in his chair, choosing to ignore that statement, but it obviously made him very uncomfortable.
“Why is she here?” I say under my breath when the door closes again.
“It’s safer here, with me. Neither of you are leaving these rooms until we leave for Oasia in three days.”
I sit up a little straighter. “What happened while I was drugged?” I drag the word in an accusatory fashion.
He stays facing the wall, hunched so his back doesn’t touch the chair. “I dragged the pieces of those order members to the Umbra Mortis and gave the order a clear picture of what happens when they touch you, then I came back and have been listening to Declan and Georgia flirt incessantly for several hours while you slept, peacefully, quietly.”
“That’s it? You won’t face repercussions?”
“I’m in charge.”
“But are you really?”