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They laugh harder.
Although they’re annoying the hell out of me, I know Skylenna would be happy that I got them to laugh. I just won’t tell her they were laughing at me.
“Hello, Beetle Brain,” Helga Bee chirps, materializing out of thin air.
I flinch.
I actually flinch.
This does nothing to quell my former friends’ amusement.
“What is it?” I grimace.
“New stock in the stadium. Honey of Nectar Valley. Go on and snag it before the other rodents get to it first.”
The boys stop laughing and gawk up at her like she’s a living, breathing angel. We ran out of it for Ruth, and she’s been howling relentlessly in pain. We’ve tried everything.
I jump to my feet, grab Helga Bee’s round, plump face, and plant a rough kiss against her forehead. She fusses and blushes, swatting me on the arm.
“Wait till we get a room, muscles!” She pats me on the back, ushering us out of the commissary.
“For the record,” I holler over my shoulder. “I like that nickname better!”
“Too bad, Beetle Brain!”
I smirk as we race down the hall.
I have a bad feeling. Kane floods my consciousness with anxiety and apprehension.
About what?
We enter the musty stadium, smelling of blood and sweaty bodies. It’s empty, and we’re the first ones here. The iron trunk of supplies sits in the center of the stage. A glass jug that holds about a gallon of the Honey of Nectar Valley sits at the top.
“I hate to be that guy, but we’re grabbing the whole thing,” Niles suggests.
“Agreed.” Stepping up on the stage, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. That alarm that I feel in the bed of my chest, traveling down to my gut, sounds off. Danger. A threat. Something to be cautious of.
Grab it and go, Kalidus orders.
I snatch the big glass bottle only for it to slip from my grasp, banging against the side of the iron chest.
Turning my hand over, I see the unmistakable shine of thick, greasy oil.
Fuck!
“Get out! Go back to the cage!” I command Warrose and Niles.
The veil of sleep falls over me like a ton of bricks. I feel the stage bang against my knees. Looking over my shoulder, past the spell of dizziness, I see Warrose and Niles on the floor with needles in their necks.
The grimy surface of the stage is the last image to fade.
~
Dessin
“He’ll wake up in a minute. Unless he’s already awake. You never know with my brother.”
My head is the weight of a building. Gravity lays against my lids like concrete, preventing them from lifting. Everything in my neuropathways moves like a slug. My muscles, heart rate, motor functions. What have they done to me?
