Page 12 of Secrets of Ruin

However, she didn’t bother trying to run now as the ophidians opened her door, removed the bucket she used for her waste, put down a tray of food, a cup of water, and two new buckets. Kaylia glowered at them as they shut the door and retreated.

It wasn’t until after they left that she crept forward to see what they’d left behind. The food was the usual unappealing slop they always delivered, but she would eat it. She had to keep up her strength, especially since she needed to feed Brokk once he woke again, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.

One of the buckets was empty and ready for her to fill. She wrinkled her nose at the idea, but by now, she’d done it so many times it didn’t make her want to cry. This was simply another necessity for their survival.

The other bucket was full of cold water and soap. From past experiences, she knew a cloth would be at the bottom of the suds floating on top. The ophidians didn’t often give them a chance to clean themselves, but this cold, soapy water was glorious when it came.

Her mouth watering over the possibility of scrubbing some of this filth off, Kaylia looked at Brokk and relaxed when she saw his back’s slow rise and fall as he lay on his stomach. It was far too slow for her liking.

He hadn’t moved since feeding on her, and though she couldn’t get closer to examine him, she knew an infection was still ravaging his system. Immortals didn’t get infections unless they were extremely weakened.

Or maybe the ophidians put something on those spikes, and that was battering his system now. They possessed venom, but Kaylia suspected they would have stuck around to watch some of the show if they’d done that, even if it wasn’t anywhere near as entertaining as torturing someone directly.

Brokk muttered something incoherent and started to lift his head before flopping onto the ground again. Tears burned her eyes as she watched him suffer; she could help him if they’d let her, but these monsters would never offer such an option.

So, she sat helplessly by while he suffered because of her. Healing would be difficult without proper nutrition, but he had to pull through this.

Kaylia sighed before shifting her attention to the bucket; she shed her clothes and dunked her hand into the chilly water. She didn’t flinch as she removed the cloth and scrubbed herself with the coarse material.

Her nipples puckered, and goose bumps broke out on her flesh as she worked, but it was still wonderful. She cleaned herself until all the water from the bucket was gone and the dirt beneath her turned to mud.

She twisted her hair to wring out the water. When she finished, she gathered her clothes before retreating to the back of her cell again. She set her dirty shirt on the ground and sat on it to eat her slop while watching Brokk.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Brokk remained unconscious for too long. During that time, he missed the death of another amsirah and a beating with a cat o’ nine tails that tore off Ryker’s old scars.

Tattered scraps of Ryker’s skin still dangled from what remained of his wounds as he sat in the cell beside her, bare-chested and glowering at the doorway across from him. Blood still trickled from his injuries, but he didn’t pay any attention to it.

After the beating, Ryker had cleaned himself the best he could and was now sitting on the tattered remains of his shirt. He’d also stripped out of the ruins of his pants; they lay at the front of his cell by the door.

Most of them had given up on clothes, the last remnants of their former lives. They were nothing but prisoners of the ophidians now, stripped down to flesh and bone… in some cases, literally, as before he started to heal, some of Ryker’s shoulder blade was visible from his beating.

When Brokk groaned, excitement flared through Kaylia, and she lurched toward her cell, catching herself before she hit the bars. “Brokk?”

His head turned toward her. His eyes cracked open, and when they met hers, they weren’t as unseeing as the last time she saw them.

“Brokk?”

“I’m okay.”

His voice came out raspy but stronger than when she last heard him speak. A lump lodged in her throat as she wiped away the tears sliding down her cheeks.

She moved closer to the bars. “Take some more of my blood.”

“Too soon.”

“No, it’s not. You’ve been unconscious for a few days at least.”

“I have?”

“Yes. Take some more of my blood.”

Brokk seemed to debate this, but eventually, he used his fingers to drag himself closer to the bars. The torches the ophidians lit while last here had nearly burnt out, but she thanked Hecate for their glow as Brokk moved closer.

He collapsed a few inches from the bars and let out a low, rattling breath that spiked her anxiety. She caressed his cheek and was relieved to discover the blistering heat she’d felt there before was gone.

His skin was cool and clammy; the fire had gone out of it. Red burned from his eyes as they met hers.