Page 29 of Awakening His Mate

I freeze as he walks to the end of the bed and smiles savagely, as if he has read my dark thoughts.

I shake my head. “Please don’t hurt me.”

With his smirk still in place, he presses the metal device against my ankle.

A jolt of pain racks through my body as the electric current attacks every synapse, every cell inside me. I don’t want to react; I want to seem strong, but I can’t stop my back from arching off the bed as agony burns through me.

I’m pretty sure I’m not screaming because my throat is so tight that I don’t see how any sound would make it past. I’m dying. It feels that way, even if it’s not true.

When he finally pulls the device away, I suck in a breath, my chest heaving as I try to drag air into my lungs. It would be easy to lie down and give in. There is a part of me that wants to do that, but a more primal side demands I fight for my survival.

I want to live.

I want to get out of here and go back to…

Where?

I don’t remember where I came from. I don’t remember anything about my life before this room. The haze in my mind makes everything feel wrong, like I’ve been drugged and my memories stolen.

I don’t understand how that would even be possible.

Power.

The word drifts through my consciousness as I stare at the white-tiled ceiling, panting in an attempt to regain my breath.

Magic did this.

I want to laugh hysterically. Magic isn’t a thing. It’s as real as dragons or zombies, which is to say, not at all.

But even as I think this, I know I’m wrong. I feel the warmth pulsing weakly in my chest, a warmth that is not part of my body but rather connected to my mind and the world around me. Is this what magic feels like?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to make sense of everything, but my brain feels like lead, and every thought is like wading through a sea of molasses. Nothing feels real.

Even if I don’t think magic is real, my captors do. They have tortured me while demanding I access it.

Haven’t they?

Did I dream that?

Hazy images of something like a police interrogation room dance across my mind, but every inch of this one is—again—white.

I can feel the hand on the back of my neck, pushing me down onto a metal table as if this is happening now. It is so vivid that the cold of the table stings my cheek, and the edge of it bites into my stomach hard enough to bruise.

Did that really happen?

I feel like I’m losing my mind.

Maybe this is a dream, but the pain vibrating through my body is far too real for it to be a figment of my imagination.

I twist my head to the side, my blonde hair fanning over the pillow. It’s tangled and messy, greasy too, but that is the least of my concerns.

There is a faint growl from my wolf, who sits just out of my reach. I wish she could leap forward and tear out his throat with her teeth. What I would give to see red staining that perfectly pristine white uniform.

The thought makes me smile, and a delirious laugh bubbles out of me.

“Shit, these bitches are fucking crazy,” the other guard mutters. He sounds disgusted, as if my mere existence offends him.

Maybe we should kill him first.

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