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Chapter Nineteen
Iawoke to the damp smell of earth and a pain in my left foot. I jerked upright, chains jangling. My right ankle was cuffed and chained to a stone wall. I lay on a filthy mattress on a dirt floor. Dark droplets stained the cushion. Blood.
“Oh, God.”
I jumped up, knowing other victims had been here before me. I wobbled at a wave of nausea and dizziness. Whatever chemical they used to knock me out left a horrible headache in its wake.
At least I was still wearing my clothes. Remembering the photographs of the victims—naked and mutilated— a violent trembling shook my body. Whether from the aftershocks of the chemical or from bone-deep dread, I wasn’t sure.
I glanced down at my throbbing foot. A bandage wrapped between my toes. I squatted and peeled it off. Five stitches closed a thin wound.
“Shit.”
They’d found the techno-tracker. It was supposed to be advanced, secret technology of Nightwing Security. How’d they know I’d have an embedded tracker?
Barron had slipped by telling me his intel informed him of Lucius and Lorian’s whereabouts. Only an insider in the Guard or Nightwing Security would have that information. Of course, Barron probably didn’t count on me getting out of here alive, so it didn’t matter what he let slip.
A square table stood against the far wall near the arched entrance of the room. The arch was large to fit a Morgon-sized man through the door. A cross-hatched iron gate sealed the entrance. A small sconce in the wall cast a dim light. The walls were built of stone and earth, like tunnels underground. The overwhelming sensation of dense weight above convinced me of that.
I had no idea how long I’d been out or how long it had taken to travel here. If I did, I could’ve at least guessed how far away they’d taken me.
The table had a drawer on the side. I shuffled toward it, but it was out of reach. I jerked on the chain, scraping the thin skin of my ankle in the process. “Damn it!”
Now I knew why one ankle of each victim was so chaffed. Except Layla’s. Looking around, I’m not sure if she had it worse or better than the others. At least her terror and suffering was over quickly.
I yanked on the chain links tethered to the wall. Didn’t budge. I banged the lock of the steel cuff against the stone, only managing to make my bare ankle bleed.
Curling my knees to my chest, I feared how poor Julian fared after I left. Alone in the house with his mother and the servants unconscious, having watched his aunt be abducted. I felt a pang for Jessen, knowing the fear she’d feel when she awoke to find me taken. I thought of Kol, wondering where he was right now. But of course, I knew the answer to that. He’d be looking for me. My heart constricted. I had to find a way out of this.
“Think, Moira. Think.”
I twisted the medal of Portia in my fingers, praying for an answer, some help, anything. Tucking the chain back into my sweater, I stared at the table.
If I stretched out on the ground, I might be able to reach the table leg and drag it to me. I was surely the tallest woman they’d held in here. Lying flat on my stomach, I scrambled toward the table, my middle finger just barely reaching the closest leg. I sat up and pulled the chain taut, stretching out again. Two fingertips touched the table leg. I curled them, moving the leg an inch to the right. Closer. “Come on.”
Wiggling my fingers, I scooted an inch the other direction, now able to curl three fingertips around the corner. “Yes.”
An inch closer and I could wrap all four. I pulled it toward me, tightening my whole fist and dragging the table over. Sitting up, I jerked open the drawer.
“Nothing. Come on, damn it.”
I pulled the whole drawer out. A metallic edge gleamed. Wedged in between the side was…a fork? Better than nothing. After finally managing to pull it from the crevice, I hurried and slid it into my back pocket. Footsteps approached.
I jerked to my feet and cracked a table leg off with my foot, giving me a sharp-ended stake. Scrambling until my back hit the corner, I waited.
A key jangled in the lock. The door swung open. Two Morgons stepped into the chamber, both with bright yellow wings, tan skin, and long, blond hair. I’d never seen Morgons of this clan before, but I knew from my studies they were of the Sunsting clan from northern regions. Barron stepped in behind them. All three were dressed in black tunics, hitting just above the knee, and leather, sleeveless tops. All they needed were swords and chest plates to match the Morgon warriors from history books.
“Where’s the battle, boys?”
Barron smirked, his facial tic winking one side of his face. “Apparently, right here.” He laughed. The other two chuckled, finding my attempt at self-defense humorous. They wouldn’t be laughing long.
“Really, Moira. How can you possibly think to escape with a splintered piece of wood and chained to the wall.”
“If you think I’m going down without a fight, you’re out of your fucking mind. If I maim just one of you cult-following, murderous assholes, I’ll die a happy woman.”
“Cult?” Barron’s black eyes narrowed as he slithered farther into the room, flanked by his Sunsting henchmen.
“The Larkosians,” I hissed. “Isn’t that what you call yourselves? With your blood-drinking rituals and sadistic mutilation of innocent girls.” I choked back a sob, my emotions welling to the surface in a torrent.
