Winds of Chaos (Tainted Blood Book 3), Page 2

  “Among my race, the women are considered the dominant sex.” A lie, but she was having too much fun to stop now. She lifted him higher so that their noses were nearly touching. “Our mating sessions usually last a few hours or so. At worst, the male may end up with a few broken bones.” The young man’s feet began to kick helplessly in the air, his mouth wide open in shock. “But that doesn’t always happen,” she assured him, eyes softening, voice rising in pitch. She tilted her head, flashing him her most innocent smile. “So then, do you think you are ready? I can get us a room.” She kicked the bar with the side of her foot. “Or I can just lay you up on the table here. Your choice.”

  “No...no no,” he shrieked, feet kicking faster. “Never mind. I’m sorry I bothered you. Just put me down!”

  “Aw.” She frowned, feigning disappointment before setting him down. Like a released fish, he streaked off the moment his feet touched the ground. Laughing with a clap of her hands, she turned to share the badly needed laugh with her friend. But there was Xavier, face down on the bar, fingers still touching the mug handle of his spilled drink. All the humor of the situation fled as she was reminded once more of how much pain her friend was in.

  Carefully, she tipped him back and leaned his body into hers, throwing his arm up around her neck. With an effortless lift, Xavier was hoisted and draped across the back of her shoulders like a sack of clothes. Signaling to the others that she was leaving, they acknowledged her with a wave. Best she just take him back to the inn. Clearly, his night was over. To cheers from the surrounding patrons who believed the giant of a woman might have captured herself a mate the old-fashioned way, they watched Thatra disappear into the night.

  “Do you really think your apprentice is going to be all right?” Liam asked, eyes still on the door.

  “Aye,” Owen grunted. “The lad just needs to sleep it off.”

  Liam shifted his gaze back to the hunter. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  Owen sighed, drumming his fingers along the table’s edge. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen him like this. Believe it or not, between the two of us he usually be the voice of reason. When I lose me temper, he knows how to take control of the situation. This be the first time I’ve seen him so out of control.”

  “He blames himself.”

  “Aye. And nothing either you or I say is going to convince him otherwise. He’s got me worried. We’re just going to have to keep watch on the lad.”

  “And that we will,” Liam assured, scanning the rowdy tavern’s atmosphere around them. “But in the meantime, we have another problem to deal with. Viola has gotten herself in a world of trouble. We need to put our heads together and figure something out. What was that girl thinking? When did I lose her trust?”

  “Don’t do that to yourself,” Owen said, jerking his shoulder out of the way as a wave of spilled ale just missed him. The place was becoming even more rowdy. “We be past all that. What we need now is a plan. Her brother was here for years, all that time being watched closely under lock and key. We saw what he was capable of. He is a lot more powerful than Viola, yet he never managed to escape. Rest assured they’ll be keeping a close eye on her while she’s in captivity. This is bad. I don’t how we can get close to her.”

  “We must gather information,” Liam said, slapping the table with determination. “Where is she being held? How many guards are posted? Are they using magical restraints or more conventional ways of confinement? Information is the key. We must learn all we can about her situation before making any decisions.” He lifted his mug just as a struck man came crashing down through their table, causing it to cave in. The unconscious man lay on the floor, two sides of the broken table raised up to cradle him rather comfortably.

  Liam continued, “But for now, I say we just get out of here.” He downed his drink and the two of them made for the door.

  * * *

  Bella stumbled through the forest as thorny bushes raked her body and face, tearing away at the tethered rags which were once her clothes. Lungs on fire, heart pounding, she pushed forward, driven on by raw terror. Two days had passed since her release, but the broken woman still would not take any chances. A lesser woman would have collapsed long ago, but pure survival instinct pushed her one more mile, one more step, one more inch of distance between herself and a malicious human being whose cruelty knew no bounds. With limited vision through severely swollen eyes, each fumbling step was its own victory.

  The ground rose up to meet her as she tripped on a root. Hands too weak to cushion the blow, her face slid across the dirt. Arms trembling, she attempted to push herself back up. Only able to lift her face a few inches, she spit out a glob of dirt before collapsing back down. Fatigued, broken, her body jerked with sobs. But her bloodshot eyes remained tearless because her dehydrated body couldn’t spare a single drop of moisture. Her pained cry came out more like the soft moan of a dying cow, her throat too dry and her body too weak to produce any real sound.

  She was going to die out here. Had a queen ever fallen so far? How had it come to this? Betrayal, that’s how. She had given up everything for that...creature, and this was how he repaid her. How could she be so stupid as to fall for his lies? Both Jarlen’s as well as the king’s, really. Never again would she place her faith in another man. Of course, there was no longer any guarantee she would live long enough to keep that vow.

  Starving, weary, her chest heaved against the ground as she gulped air past her cracked dry lips. Summoning all of her will, she began to crawl. Even knowing she was as good as dead, something insider her urged her on. She had little doubt that she was being hunted, probably being allowed just enough of a head start to give the illusion of sport before the hounds descended on her, ripping her body to shreds. I will not give you the satisfaction. You may indeed kill me in the end, Milo, but I swear I will make you earn it first!

  Hand, knee, hand, knee... She inched along like a wounded lizard. Even moving at this feeble pace was taking its toll. Her body had been pushed far beyond its limits. Her hands and knees tingled with warmth, her mouth so dry that each breath came as a labored gasp. There came a faint buzzing in her ear, but after crawling a few more feet she realized it was the sound of bees swarming just up ahead. The reality of that fact barely registering in her foggy mind. She pushed on, another scraped knee dragging along the ground, followed by a cut, bloody hand.

  Her forearm crunching down a last row of dry grass, she spotted a dead tree, fallen to the ground with bees swarming all around it. She could see the hive entrance, alive with vibration as the swarm worked tirelessly to aid in production of the one thing Bella needed desperately. Honey... She had only gotten this far on survival instinct alone, but she had reached her physical limits. Hunger overriding her common sense, a famished body willing to endure anything to get the sustenance it needed exploded into motion without fear or hesitation.

  Unblinking, the queen rammed her hand into the soft hole. Clawing desperately, her fingers wrapped around a soft, mushy mass. Ignoring the hot spikes of pain circling her hand and wrist, she retrieved the soft mush and jammed it right into her mouth. Wax, honey, legs, and wings with a fair amount of whole bees mixed in, the sweet glob squirmed in her mouth. Her teeth quickly silenced the annoying stings as she reached back into the hole.

  The stings were coming in bunches now, her hand growing hot and numb as bees swarmed her face and neck. Ten stings became twenty. Twenty became thirty. With her free hand flailing at the angry swarm, she jammed another sweet glob into her mouth. Face swelling, lumps forming all over her body, Bella stumbled back as the toxins began to overwhelm her body.

  Eyes rolling up into her head, she fell onto her back, fighting to stay conscious. She could feel the tickle of legs swarming around her lips, the buzz in her ears as they crawled around her head. The ongoing stings were a distance sensation, more an afterthought as her mind drifted away. She began hearing voices shouting at her from some far-off place.

&n
bsp; Her eyes fluttered back open, awakened by the sensation of her body being moved. Through blurred vision, she could see her own feet sliding along the ground as she was dragged away by some unseen entity. Paralyzed from bee venom, she couldn’t even turn her head to face her captor. But what did it matter anyway? The hunt was over—they had found her. So this is how it ends. Dangle the illusion of freedom in front of my face, then take it all away. Do with me what you will. I no longer have the will to fight. Resigned to her fate, her mind slipped into blackness once more.

  Her eyes snapped open a second time, vomit spewing from her mouth in a violent stream. Through swollen eyes, she watched her own projectile break apart in midair, drifting away towards the ground far below. For some reason, her hair was blowing around in a high wind, and her body was cool and shivering. So this is what death feels like? It’s not so bad, really. You win, Milo. I go now to the afterlife.

  Chapter 2

  Back wedged into the corner of the damp, stone-walled cell, Viola sat curled in a ball with her chin tucked between her knees. The hollow sounds of dripping water echoed about, each drip making her shoulders flinch from the unrelenting sound. Day and night, all she could hear was the steady beat burrowing a hole into her head. Silence...drip...silence...drip. Her fingernails dug into her temples, toes curling up from the agonizing sound.

  On occasion came the welcome sound of footsteps, usually accompanied by the jingling of keys. Her emotions swirled each time she heard the sound of humans outside her cell door.

  Relief...to finally hear anything other than the dripping water.

  Fear...would this be the time they came for her? If so, what was to become of her?

  Anger...why was she locked away in this pitch-black cell, unable to see her hand in front of her face unless she crawled to the door, letting the thin line of light shining underneath reflect off her palm?

  After the sounds of cell doors being opened and closed, the footsteps always faded away. Then sadness would take hold. It was the realization that she would sit here alone another ten hours or so without hearing any signs of life. As far as she could tell, this was her world now.

  How long had she been down here? It was impossible to tell the time when both day and night seemed to blur together. The sound of flies buzzing nearby was a constant reminder of where she had set her half-finished food trays. A tray was slid underneath her door daily, even if she had no idea if it was a morning breakfast or an evening meal. Fermented beans with a vegetable paste on the side, its top coated with a hard crust, had been the norm since she arrived. Although just barely edible, she had grown used to the slimy sustenance. Even in the dark she had learned to recognize the sour, hairy pieces as mold. Typically, she separated them in her mouth, then spit out the bitter bits of fuzz.

  To her, the accompanying shot glass filled with warm water was the most precious part of the meal. She savored it slowly, taking only the tiniest of sips to help make it last. The first night she downed her portion in one swallow, then suffered horribly before they finally brought her another with the next round of rancid food. A harsh lesson was learned that day.

  Today would be no different. Driving hunger being her only tool to estimate the time, her stomach rumbled, reminding her that a poor meal would be slid under her door at any moment. She tugged at her itchy collar while waiting, finding the thing to be unbearable as of late. A sweaty rash had formed around her neck—she was unable to remember the last time she’d bathed. One hour passed, followed by a second, then a third. Her stomach roiled, burning acid building up in search of any kind of sustenance. She promised herself she would even eat the mold this time when her tray finally came.

  Alone in the dark with nothing but her thoughts, she couldn’t help but think of her friends. Had they been captured too? Were they sitting in other cells dealing with the same hardships she was? No, that was unlikely. She was the one they wanted, not the humans, and now they had her thanks to Jarlen’s betrayal. But despite her anger towards him, all she could think about was how much she missed everyone. By now they had surely given up looking for her. She couldn’t blame them, really. She wasn’t one of them, so why would they continue their search? Her most recent act of defiance had most certainly lost their trust. She was alone now, the way it was always meant to be.

  She thought of Liam, the way he always scolded her like a daughter. The sisterly bond she and Thatra shared. Owen’s dirty jokes that always made her laugh, even when she was trying not to. Xavier... Oh, how she missed him. She had betrayed him in every way possible. I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. I know you’ve forgotten me by now. I hope you find someone who makes you happy.

  At the point where hunger was nearly driving her to tears, a shadow drifted past, stopping in front of her door. Relieved to finally be fed, she crawled towards the door without giving it much thought. She would eat a rat if they pushed one through. Fingers inching forward, she stopped just short of the stripe of light. Why hadn’t she heard anything? Every other time someone had walked through that hall, she had heard the clopping of boots long before the shadow passed by her door. Clearly, there was someone standing there, but she hadn’t heard a sound.

  A feeling of dread staving off the burning hunger, she inched away from the door. Creeping backward on all fours, she moved as silently as she could. A childish logic tugged at her mind, promising her he would go away if she just remained quiet. Every breath thundered in her ears, her heartbeat hammering in her chest. Still, the shadow of two feet stood perfectly still outside her door, as if waiting for something. Backed all the way into the corner, Viola covered her head, pressing her face into her knees. Go away. Please, just go away.

  The lock rattled briefly, followed by the sound of the heavy bolt sliding up from its hinge. Terror rose in her chest. She shut her eyes, covering her face with both hands as the door creaked open. Blinding light blasted her face. Sensitive eyes that hadn’t seen light in days burned as she rubbed them, trying to blink through the sheet of white. “Who’s there?” she asked, shielding her eyes, trying to squint through it. “What do you want?”

  She felt foolish upon thinking about all the time spent wishing someone would come for her. And now that someone had, she longed to return to her dark solitude once more. The form of a man appeared in the doorway as she blinked against the white haze. Tall, almost as tall as Liam, he wore red robes and a red-and-black swirled mask. Looming like some dark specter, he beckoned her towards him with a curled finger. She closed her eyes again, hands covering her ears as she adamantly shook her head back and forth. His curled finger flipped over and he opened his palm.

  An explosion of white-hot pain surged through her body. Dropping straight onto her back, she twitched and flopped uncontrollably. Eyelids fluttering, mouth foaming, her senses had blocked out everything else. She didn’t know where she was, what her name was; the only thing that was real was the searing pain surging through every inch of her body. A faint, still-grounded portion of her mind questioned how she could still be alive. This blinding sensation was almost certainly what falling into a meat grinder must feel like. An explosion of pain, immediately followed by death. But she didn’t die, and the pain was ongoing, unrelenting. She was about to go mad!

  When the masked figure lowered his hand, she gasped, eyes shooting open as if she had been doused with icy cold water. After a final jerk, her trembling body went still. Staring up at the ceiling as if seeing it for the first time, tears flowed down the sides of her face. What was that? What just happened? Confused, terrified, she had just endured the worst pain she had ever felt. She should have been dead—paralyzed, at least. But strangely, there were no lingering physical effects. The pain was completely gone, but the agonizing memory of it remained very much at the front of her mind.

  She rolled onto her stomach, blurry vision trying to focus on the man in red. Again, he curled his finger at her. When she hesitated, he opened his palm a second time. “No!” she shrieked, her body already beginning to move
on its own. She squirmed across the floor, her forearms dragging the rest of her body like a worm. She was terrified of this man, yet far more frightened of the pain. The choice was an easy one.

  He reached down and snatched a handful of hair, then lifted her off the ground with surprising strength. Fully erect, she rose up on her toes to help relieve some of the pressure on her scalp. Rotating his wrist, he seemed to be inspecting her like a fresh slab of meat. Satisfied, he released her hair. Dropping his hands to her shoulders, he ripped the worn rags right down her body in a single motion. Practically rotted, they tore away easily, leaving Viola completely naked. She sunk a hand down between her legs, the other folding across her breasts to cover herself. It was all like a bad dream. How could this be happening?

  Reaching behind his back, the masked figure slung a white tunic that smacked her in the chest before fluttering down to her feet. With no hesitation, Viola snatched it off the ground and began to step into it. The clean, soft fabric felt wonderful against her filthy skin. The sturdy clothing was certainly a far cry from the rotted rags she had been wearing for so long.

  The masked figure sidestepped the door, pointing from the room. She dipped her shoulder and slipped past him to go stand in the hallway. Standing beside wide-open cell doors were other prisoners, each wearing the same white tunic she had on. Heads up, backs flat against the stone, they stood in silence with vacant stares, eyes fixed on the opposite wall. Not needing to be told, Viola rushed to the end of the line and placed her back against the wall, copying the stance of the others. Viola’s appearance earned her more than a few second glances from people who had never seen such a creature as her.