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I don’t call a cab. I walk straight to my apartment, stewing. My heart is pounding and my shoulders ache from a week filled with tension.
I’m so tired of this place… Maybe Lucinda will finally get what she wants. Maybe I’m ready to go back home and stay there.
Chapter12
Everything Hurts
ELVA
I’m losing track of time. It’s possible that months have passed at this point.
They’ve taken to drugging my food and water.
I tried to refuse it at first, but there’s only so long a Fae can go without eating or drinking. Longer than humans, to be sure. Without nutrition to feed my magic and strengthen my body, I will slowly wither and shrivel up like a sun-dried husk in the middle of the desert that is the Gates of Hell.
I’m not okay with that.
I’ve tried talking to my jailers, but for the most part, they ignore me.
There’s been a female Autumn Fae walking about, but she hasn’t come anywhere near me. I hear her voice in the hallway outside my cell, speaking in hushed tones and giving orders. Whoever she is, the rest of them seem to defer to her.
The room is dark, and the room smells like mold. Underground, likely. I can hear creatures skittering around at night, and I stare at the strange albino rats with beady red eyes as they pour out of a crack in the wall. Their long, naked pink tails trail behind them, sometimes swishing and curling as they search for any leftover crumbs of my food.
I stay on my cot, and their animal instincts tell them not to join me if they wish to live. I don’t sleep during those long hours, I just stare. They might be disgusting, horrid, vile creatures, but even shackled, I am the biggest predator in this cell.
Weariness is my reality. My bones hurt. Everything hurts. I barely remember a time in my life when I wasn't in pain. Using magic is but a dream now.
I am so tired. Tired of sleepless nights. Tired of my stomach that has been stretched too tight. Tired of the burns on my wrists serving as a cruel reminder of my lack of magic.
There’s a solitary lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that constantly flickers on and off. They’ve left me a cot with a threadbare blanket and a peeling leather mattress.
An aluminum toilet and matching sink stand in the corner for me to use. Disgusting smells come from the open drain, filling the air with another layer of grime.
Today, I think I have had enough. All the rats have returned to their home, and I pick up the broken broom head they gave me to deal with their droppings.
As if.
Prisoner and servant.
My mother would have a heart attack if she knew. Broken broom-head in hand, I wait.
The soft grunt of a greeting comes from outside, and I know one of my captors has arrived. Prior experience tells me I have about two minutes to pry the sink off the wall. I can use it as a weapon if I get it off before they realize what I'm doing.
I think. My mind is moving slowly these days. But I have to try.
My hands search for the bolts on either side of the sink and twist. I’ve been working on these for at least six days, which is delicate, especially since the walls are made of iron. I hold my breath to avoid the revolting smell. Using my body as leverage, I heave. The soldering groans and the sound echoes through my cell. My heart falls into my ass.
Loud. It's far too loud.
There is no choice now, I either get this off the wall, or they beat me again.
I heave again as cold sweat beads on my forehead. Just as I tug once more, the door bursts open. A burly Vampire marches into the cell, and in his hand is a strange gun.
"No!" I shout.
But it's too late. He presses the trigger, and a dart pierces the soft skin of my neck. The poison spreads through my veins like ice, and my movements become sluggish.
“You won’t be moving these again,” he snarls at me, baring his fangs as his eyes turn completely black. “Wash your hands in the toilet tank.”
