Page 100 of Crimson Moon Falling

“About what you’ve heard on the news.”

His eye twitched. “Maybe you’ll be ready to talk when you wake up tomorrow.” He turned to the nurse. “She’s ready for another dose.”

The woman nodded and picked up a syringe and a vial from her tray. I tried to paw the IV out of my arm, but the mittens were too restrictive. The needle slid in, then heat flooded my veins.

The room tilted, and my tongue felt thick, the edges of my vision starting to blur. The implant scrambled, trying to metabolize the drug, but there was too much, too fast.

“Conall is going to... rip your throat out,” I slurred.

Langston looked a little green, but the General stared at me impassively. “Before the Commander or Segerson gets here, I’m going to gather whatever information I can. And tomorrow? We’ll use more persuasive methods.” Even in my drugged state, I knew he meant torture.

Langston shifted his weight. “General, with respect, Alpha Segerson was explicit about what would happen if anyone harmed her.”

“Then we will make sure he never finds out.”

Chapter 31

Riley

When I woke, the room was dark, and not even the camera’s red eye blinked in the corner. The small window near the ceiling showed a square of night sky.

My ribs throbbed, and my stomach felt queasy from the sedative they kept giving me. My implant cataloged my vital signs as I struggled not to throw up. Heart rate elevated, blood pressure low, pain level significant but manageable.

It had learned my pain threshold and adjusted its parameters accordingly. Marlowe might be coming for me, and Wilson planned to torture me. I’d rather die than go through that again.

I couldn’t afford to wait anymore.

My hands were still encased inside the thick rubber mittens, but they hadn’t bothered to put the restraints back on my wrists. The grounding wires trailed from the mittens, keeping me powerless, but I still reached out for energy. It came to me sluggishly, gathering in my palms and warming the rubber. I pushed harder, feeling the charge build. My hands grew hot, sweat beading under the thick material.

Then the energy rebounded, slamming back through my nervous system like a closed circuit and hitting my heart like a sledgehammer. My vision darkened, and a violent, irregular flutter rocked through me, seizing my chest. The implant registered the arrhythmia and flooded my system with cold, corrective blasts.

Darkness crowded me, and I started falling backward into nothing, lungs not finding air. The implant sent another shot through me, harder this time. My heart shuddered, skipped, then caught a rhythm, fast but steady.

I lay there, trembling, tears streaming silently. The ceiling tiles swam above me, and my chest ached with every breath. Devastation settled over me, thick and suffocating. I couldn’t use my energy because of the thick rubber and grounding wires, and I’d nearly killed myself trying.

The implant took inventory as I lay there feeling sorry for myself. Energy manifestation not limited to upper limbs. It was telling me to use my feet.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out exactly how to do it. This was going to hurt. The thick nylon straps around my ankles had no grounding wires. I flexed my toes, testing whether I could gather energy there. It felt strange, like writing with my left hand, but the energy responded, and a faint tingle spread down my calves to my toes. It took a few tries, but I drew in the energy slowly, letting it build in a controlled rise. Heat spread through my feet and ankles, warming the nylon straps.

Then I pushed.

The pain turned vicious. The straps heated and seared into my flesh. The smell hit me first—burning nylon, acrid and chemical. And underneath it, the nauseating scent of burned skin. I gritted my teeth and held the charge, watching as the nylon began to blacken and curl. God, I wanted to be sick.

The strap across my right ankle gave way, the nylon melting through in a sizzling hiss. I yanked my foot free and screamed into the pillow, the sound muffled and raw.

Turning my attention to the left ankle, I poured energy into the strap until it too began to melt. The pain was blinding, but the strap finally gave way, the smell of burnt nylon and seared flesh filling the small room again.

I lay there panting, tears streaming freely now, my ankles throbbing in unison. The implant sent another blast, this one targeted at my pain receptors, and the agony dulled.

Sitting up, I brought my foot up to one of the mittens, the position awkward. But my body contorted on the narrow bed, and I managed to press my bare foot against the strap holding my left mitten on. Heat built again, and the strap began to blacken. I turned my head and buried my face in my shoulder.

When the strap melted through, I yanked my left arm free and clutched it against my chest, silently sobbing. Then I worked off the rest of the ruined straps and the other mitten. The skin around my ankles and wrist was a blistered, weeping mess.

I scrambled off the bed, but my legs buckled. I caught myself on the edge of the mattress and half-crawled, half-stumbled to the small bathroom attached to the room.

Leaving the light off, I cranked the cold water and thrust my burned wrist under the stream. The relief was immediate and brutal, cold shock followed by blessed agony as blood swirled in the sink.

Carefully, I pulled myself up on the counter and put both my feet in the sink, running cold water over my ankles. Blood and pieces of nylon came away and swirled down the drain. My ankles were worse, and the skin was blistered in places.