Page 85 of Heir of Ashes

Logan’s face swam into view above mine, his eyes wild and his face pale as he helped me up with an unsteady hand. The dust was everywhere. I had the presence of mind to cover my mouth and nose with a hand, trying to avoid inhaling it, but soon I was coughing uncontrollably.

What had I done? The dust was so thick that we could barely see ahead, but Logan seemed to know the way, guiding us toward the breach in the wall. A few steps later, we reached the rubble. Logan and I couldn’t stop coughing as we climbed, sometimes using our hands to keep from sliding back down.

We crested the rubble and caught the silhouettes of Rafael and Archer, the latter being carried over Rafael’s shoulder. They were nearly to the woods. Logan swayed beside me, covered from head to foot in gray dust. He was still leaving a trail of blood behind him, the wound somewhere on his leg.

“Shift,” I urged between coughs.

“Can’t. There’s something on the bullet,” he panted.

We helped each other down the other side, his hands working to release a gun from a hoop in his suit, the previous one having been discarded sometime while we were climbing the rubble. Our footing was precarious on the shifting rocks. We cleared the rubble at the same time the gun came free. I was about to ask him if he was all right, a premature sense of triumph coursing through me, when I saw it.

A red dart embedded in his hand. Even as my breath caught, another dart appeared in his right cheek. I whirled around, eyes scanning, my gaze finally colliding onto the dust-covered Hummer parked beside the road, right at the edge of the woods, just as the spotlight on top of it blazed on, blindingme. In their harsh glare, I saw Rafael and Archer collapse, their forms crumpling to the ground.

Before my brain could even command me to run, several darts hit me in my neck and cheeks.

***

Waking up was one of the most dreadful and unpleasant experiences of my life. There was no fog or confusion about what had happened or where I was. I remembered and knew.

I lay on a hard, narrow bed in a small room with a window no bigger than my head. I knew—I didn’t even need to open my eyes to confirm it. The smell of Pine-Sol made my stomach jitter and flutter like a swarm of restless insects was inside it. I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself. I needed to think clearly, to push past the panicked screams in my head. My stomach roiled and churned—a tempest on an angry sea.

A shifter, a doppelgänger, a born vampire/wolf, a Rejected, and a mixed breed. The Scientists would be celebrating their victory with champagne and caviar. I gulped air but failed to stifle the panic. At the last possible moment, I stumbled out of bed to the small sterile bathroom—exactly where I knew it would be—almost falling face-first when my legs didn’t fully cooperate.

I managed to position myself over the bowl just in time to heave into the toilet. The dry retching tore through me, each spasm of my stomach muscles bringing nothing but cramps. When I finally managed to get up, I flushed and rinsed my mouth, face, neck, and hands with freezing water. I waited a minute, then two. When I was more or less stable, I braced my trembling hands on the sink and looked around the familiar room: a narrow, hard bed covered with thin, cheap white sheets, a small, barred window, and nothing else.

Third floor, east wing, I concluded after confirming the position of the barred window and the reinforced metal door. I’d been in a room like this—if not the same—countless times duringmy past rebellions. My stomach roiled again, but this time I managed not to start heaving. There was nothing left to bring up but my stomach lining.

I took three steps to the window and peered through the bars. What I saw chilled me to the bone, though it was what I expected to see. Below, angled to the left, were the remains of a four-story building. Nothing but a pile of dust, rocks, and bent metal, with a few support beams where Building B had once stood.

I did that.

Guards swarmed the area—some with long tools, some empty-handed, and some with leashed dogs. Among them were firemen in full regalia, all searching the rubble for survivors I knew they wouldn’t find. I had felt the devastation I’d unleashed as the power had surged from within me, merging with the bracelet’s energy and obliterating everything in its path. Including Building B. I shuddered at the memory, cold sweat breaking out across my body.

I crossed to the heavy metal door and pounded on it, knowing from previous experience how useless that would be. After a few minutes, I spun around and searched the small room. The bed was bolted down, the mattress a thin sponge. There was nothing I could throw around to make a racket.

I paced, then sat for a long time, trying to think of something to do. They hadn’t stripped me of the bracelet—the beautiful blue stone now black and dull, its humming power spent. I was still wearing the spandex suit instead of the puke-green striped uniforms used to separate us preternaturals. All they had done was slap the blocking bracelet on my left wrist and throw me on the bed. No doubt, they were preoccupied with taking inventory of the damage and counting the bodies we had left behind.

Think, Roxanne.How could I use the chaos to my advantage?

I studied the reinforced metal door closely. Previous experience had taught me that no amount of banging or shouting would open it. There wasn’t even a handle or knob on the inside—just a smooth surface.

What could I say or do to get the guard to open the door?

“Bloody murder!” I roared at the top of my lungs. With renewed energy, I pounded and kicked at the door, the bed, even the small sink in the bathroom. There was no plan, just raw, desperate energy. I knew that no amount of huffing and puffing would open that door.

But I did it anyway.

I screamed, kicked, and pounded, until my feet throbbed, my knuckles bled, and my voice was hoarse. Then I heard it: the soft, unmistakable click of tumblers.

Chapter 26

I didn’t let disbelief cost me my one chance to escape. I rushed at the door, talons extended, reaching for the boiling rage inside me that I had kept suppressed, always afraid to acknowledge it.

My fury was a searing, boiling red—a monster with tentacles, wrapping barbed limbs around my neck, arms, legs, and eyes. I let all my rage out, holding nothing back.

The door began to open. Just a crack. Shoving the barrel of the tranquilizer gun aside with one hand, I pushed the door open and jumped the guard, slashing his face with my talons. Four gashes on his cheek instantly began weeping blood. The next second, my talons shredded his shoulder, tearing through his clothes like paper. He grunted, stumbled back, and let go of the gun, which I deftly slung around my neck. I pushed through the door, spun the guard around, and took cover behind his body. Three thumps hit him almost simultaneously. The guard went limp, but I held him upright effortlessly. Ahead, someone swore. Running footsteps approached, accompanied by heavy breathing and the scent of dust, sweat, and fear.

I laughed, long and hard, the sound alien even to my own ears. I was pumped full of adrenaline, engorged in the ruthlessness of ten years of suppressed anger. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, my conscience screamed at me, but I didn’t care. I wanted to kill and dismember every single person who had dared to imprison me. I wanted to continue tearing into the guard, to bathe in his blood. But I needed him for now. I pressed a talon over the pulse point in his neck, careful not to give the other guards any opening at me.

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