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My heart couldn’t beat fast enough to pump blood to the rest of me, much less react to the fact that my mate seemed to be out of my reach and I was on the brink of death.
My eyelids drooped, the blurred face above me going in and out of focus. My breaths were coming in shallow pants, like my lungs were getting tired of being the only things working properly.
I could barely hear anything, so how was I able to take in the presence speaking to me, in a voice that sounded like several voices blended together?
“I cannot let you die so soon, warrior angel.”
Were I more present, I might have said something like, “Then help me live.”
A few seconds afterwards, I thought that the presence had confused the words ‘die’ and ‘live’, because fire started coursing through me—the kind one used for cooking, not the welcome I’m-cold-and-need-to-warm-up kind.
My mouth fell open on a silent scream, my back bowing off the floor. The last of my breath left me in a whoosh of air that made me feel absolutely hollow, as if it had been the last thing weighing my soul to the mortal plane. I felt the scorching fire down to my toes up to the crown of my head, through the tips of my fingers, and even in my damn groin, of all things.
It was not a pleasant experience.
I collapsed afterwards, fully prepared to be… dead?
I could sense that the presence had left. I could also feel my limbs. And hear myself think.
I cracked open an eyelid. I could see the walls with clarity.
I could see. With clarity.
I tested my wrist and shoulder as I pushed myself into a sitting position. Aside from a small twinge of pain in my shoulder, they felt as good as new. The skin around my wrists and ankles was still pink and a little raw, but they were nowhere near the mangled mess they’d been due to my constant struggle against them.
While there was a dull throbbing in my legs still, it was a vast improvement from before. I stood slowly, testing my body.
I was healed. I almost couldn’t believe it.
That scorching heat had been healing magic. It’d been oddly unpleasant for the genre, but I really shouldn’t complain, since I was free from my chains and could walk.
My shirt was in tatters from the beatings, so I tore the rest of it off and dropped it on the floor. I then fully faced the wall that was supposed to be the exit.
Although I had a good chunk of my strength back, I could feel the cell’s walls starting to suck me dry again. I needed an escape plan, and fast.
Charles and Luz had been escorted out a while before this. My memory was a little fuzzy, but I remembered them yelling for me to not give up or something equally as cringe-worthy.
Now that I was faced with the immoveable wall that was my only exit, the encouragement didn’t seem that cringe-worthy at all.
I had started to like those two. They’d been like the devil and angel on my shoulder. Sure, they were a little eccentric, but they’d made the solitary part of solitary confinement easier. If anyone could motivate me to open this door…
…which hissed as it opened on its own.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed while I’d been out. Was it execution day?
I braced myself for the fuckers who’d made it their mission to beat me into a bloody pulp before my inevitable demise.
It wasJohnnythat appeared in the space, and the shock of seeing him distracted me.
He looked frantic, his hair wild and unkempt, eyes wide and bagged. His clothes were rumpled—in fact, they looked like the same ones he’d been wearing when he’d brought Aria back to the manor.
The door opened wider and the Para who’d taken us in, Captain Marilyn, came into view as well.
Before I could launch myself at her, she pointed her finger at the far back left corner, where a camera had been aimed into the room. It exploded with a soft pop.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demanded.
“We don’t have time for this, Sariel—”
