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Chapter8
Ember
“Woman, wake up.”
A gruff voice whispering loudly pulls me from whatever unconscious hell I’d been plunged into. “What…?” Pain in my head is the only evidence I have that I’m alive, and when I finally manage to open my eyes and see stone surrounding me, I realize I’m still stuck in this damned murderous world.
All hope I’ve been imagining everything dissipates. I’m far too logical to think I’m still dreaming—no matter how unrealistic all of this seems.
“Sit easy,” the voice orders, a thick accent making it a bit difficult to fully comprehend his order.
I do as he says, though, sitting slowly enough that my head only spins a little. Then, I study wherever it is I am. Large grey stones make up the walls, ceiling, and floor of this room. The walls are lined with torches every few feet, their fire releasing multi-color sparks that allude to an unnatural flame.
Of course, it wouldn’t be natural.
Not even the fire here is normal.
Pressing a finger to my temple, I pull it back, not surprised at all to see red coloring the tip. Then, I see the stairs. “No damned wonder I have a headache.” How did I miss them? Murder does distract, I suppose. Even as I think it, I want to scream. To cry. To rage about the horror I just witnessed upstairs.
“Who are y—” I turn and come face-to-face with the man I saw outside the doctor’s office back in Texas. The same man I locked eyes with at the restaurant. His hair is cut so short it’s to the scalp. Haunted golden eyes stare back at me with the same awe I imagine are reflected in my own. A scar runs over his right eye, making him look more warrior than man.
My gaze drops down to a bare chest marred with crusted blood, scars, and fresh wounds. He’s barely clothed—only wearing a pair of ripped pants. And, as I focus on the whole picture and not just him, I realize he’s trapped behind bars.
He opens his mouth to speak but stops as heavy footsteps thunder overhead. “Hide,” he whispers loudly.
I obey. Why? Who the hell knows? But at least this monster is behind bars.
Crawling on my hands and knees, I scramble around a corner and into another cell where I remain behind stones I hope will shield me from view. Heart in my throat, I force myself to only take shallow, quick breaths.
“Rafferty, you’re looking well these days.”
Rafferty.“Find Raffe—”A message delivered on the lips of a now-dead man. But why?
“Feeling great, too,” Rafferty retorts.
“Tell me, old friend, you have any visitors down here recently?”
“I haven’t seen your mother down here recently, so, no.”
A low growl emits from one of the newcomers. “Watch your tongue.” From the voice, I can tell it’s not Conary, at least, but based on the responses, I cannot imagine these men are much better.
“Or what?”
“I’ll cut it out.”
Tears stream down my cheeks, and I clamp a hand over my mouth.
Rafferty, however, doesn’t sound the least bit worried. “You’ll excuse me if I’m not overly concerned. I am however curious as to who you lost?”
A man chuckles. “That woman you were looking for before Taranus beat you? We found her.”
Stiffening, I try to focus on the words. “Oh?” Rafferty questions, his response strained.
“Taranus is going to marry her,” he replies.
“And just how does she feel about that?”
“Who gives a shit? She gets no choice in the matter.”
