Page 58 of Villainous Fate

Small blood droplets sit newly opened in several places as she waits with the sweatshirt covering her chest, back to us, and allows us the time to examine it.

They permanently tattooed the map onto her back.

If there was ever a doubt of how fucked up the politics at the LLC are, this is a perfect representation of what they are capable of.

Guilt hits me, knowing that grabbing her just now only added to the pain they inflicted, knowing I tore open her healing back.

“What is your name?” Marcus asks, his voice gruff and full of emotion. “How did this happen? How did you end up here?” he rattles off each question, not waiting for a response.

“Amira. I’m Amira, and that is a long story,” she replies, pulling the sweatshirt back down lightly over her back before turning around.

Sheisthe map.

She is a human.

Does she know about shifters? She couldn’t. She would be dead.

“It might be a long story, but we're going to need the abridged version, Amira,” I say, crossing my arms to keep myself in control. Marcus’s eyes flash to mine, and I can see his disappointment in my bluntness.

“We aren't the only ones heading this way,” I add, reminding him that this is part of the trial and any of the three other teams could come running into this clearing at any moment.

“Well, if I knew where ‘here’ was, I might be able to better explain how I ended up ‘here,’” she says, not losing any of the ferocity in her gaze.

She’s got moxie for such a frail thing. I like her.

“You’re in the woods just east of the Colorado River, in Colorado State,” Finn supplies her with the answer, which has her nodding absently, her focus drifting up to the sky as if she is trying to remember something.

“And what’s the date?” she asks tentatively.

“January 2nd,” I respond.

“What year?” she finishes, and all of our eyes squint slightly at the question. Silence hangs in the air for a moment before Marcus responds.

“What year do you think it is?”

“1976?” she asks, with no confidence in her tone.

Well, shit.

My eyes flash to Finn and then to Marcus a million questions sit unanswered as no one speaks.

“Tell me,” she demands, looking from Marcus to Finn before finally locking eyes with me.

“1983,” I respond, giving her the information she wants, but not knowing how she will react to the fact that she is missing six years, at least six years of her life.

Amira’s legs give out, and she crumbles to the platform, all her bravado leaving her at that moment. Tears begin to slide down her face, and she stares off into the distance.

The three of us stare at each other, none of us knowing what to do or say at this moment, but knowing that we need to figure out our next move before Saint, French, or Clark roll in here. Every team has at least one of Saint’s worshipers, so none of the teams are safe to run into.

After allowing her a few moments to process, Marcus kneels, setting his bag on the ground behind him in order to get to her eye level.

“Amira, I have no idea what you must’ve been through, and I understand you have a lot of information to process, but we need to get out of here before the others show up,” Marcus says, his voice gentle as if speaking to a child.

She nods absently before her eyes grow large, and her head whips back to the other three women who are back to silently kneeling behind her.

I know her question before it leaves her lips, “We can't. The rules say we can’t take them with us.

Her face falls.

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