Page 104 of Heiress of Fire

Ron searched to kick those who surrounded him, but it came to no avail as they were able to grab his legs. He cursed the venom of alcohol in his blood as they carried him away.

THIRTY

The cold gravel beneath him burned his face. He groaned at the heaviness in his head and the pain in his right cheek. All he could hear was his own uneven breathing and the droplets of water colliding into small puddles of water. At least, he hoped it was water. Ron jolted upward at the unfamiliarity of the room.

“Wha—?”

His eyes were filled immediately with darkness. The air felt so sticky and clogged that he could barely breathe. His clothes and hands were covered in goo as he pushed himself to sit. He gagged.

The last memory he had was of the moment he walked out of Leilani and Davina’s house.

It was her birthday. He recalled the way she was being fierce with him, he loved seeing that side of her. Mostly because it meant she felt some sort of feeling for him. Even if it was contempt and hate. It was something rather than nothing.

His heart accelerated as he remembered that he had been abducted once he stepped out of her house.

Ron fought against his pounding headache and stood upright. Rattling echoed through the dark room; his wrists ached as he pulled on the metal bonds. He was chained.

This was Raven’s doing. He had no doubt.

“Hello? Can anyone hear me?” Ron’s voice echoed. “Hello?”

Someone from the party would notice that he was gone. They would look for him. They would find him.

Beacon would find him, he repeated in his mind. Certainly, Beacon cared enough to go looking for him after he stomped out of the party.

Would he, though?

There was a metallic screech followed by a soft light pouring into the ominous chamber. Ron squinted as his eyes adjusted to the luminosity of the area, where a small door appeared to his left.

“Good, you’re awake. The Dark Mistress feared you wouldn’t wake up from all that alcohol you consumed. Here, take this. She sent this for you,” a deep voice said.

Bread and a cup of water were neatly set over an iron platter. Ron glimpsed gray fingers and black fingernails push his plate deeper into the dark room, he grimaced.

“It’ll help with the headache.”

Ron kneeled, stretching for the plate. The chain tightened around his right wrist as he reached for the platter of food. While he pulled the plate closer to him, the Predator closed the small door and darkness consumed his vision again.

They would come for him. Beacon would come. He tried to convince himself as he bit into the bread, careful not to eat too much, he didn’t know when he would eat again.

Perhaps he could force his lightning to appear, and he’d be able to escape from his prison once and for all.

Ron pulled his hand before him, praying to Magnar that his power would manifest itself at last. He groaned in frustration. He tried and tried to call for the electricity that ran through his veins since he felt it sparkling across his entire body. Yet it wouldn’t come forth. He groaned in frustration.

For the rest of the day, he remained in the darkness of his cell. With the fury of being the most impotent Island Protector as his companion.

A day passed and no more bread came in. Just another cup of water. Which he barely sipped from after he had downed the last cup the day before. He hadn’t heard any voices or any sort of commotion outside, which meant that Beacon didn’t find him. All he could do was sit and wait.

However, as he waited, his thoughts ran wild. He didn’t know how much longer he could stay sane in the tenebrosity. He could no longer hear the winds of Mistral or the flap of wings of the birds from Basalt. He couldn’t even hear the crackling of ice or fire. All that accompanied him was the darkness and the rattling of his chains.

He wished he could at least conjure a spark of lightning to bring some light into the room, but it never came. He was beginning to lose hope that Beacon would come to find him. He was to die of starvation and thirst. And if not that, his depression would kill him much sooner.

Nonetheless, the thoughts that tortured him the most were related to Davina. He would never be able to smell the hibiscus in her curly hair. He would never again be able to touch her warm beige skin. He would never have the privilege of seeing her smile at him. She was going to marry Isaiah and he would become a distant memory locked in the back of her mind.

If she was to marry someone else, if he was to let her be happy with another man, he needed to see her one more time. Even if she scowled at him. Even if she pushed him away.

He just needed to see her.

On the third day, Ron was angry.

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