Page 87 of Heir of Ashes

My comments were met with a thick, heavy silence.

“Did you kill him?” Dr. Maxwell finally asked.

“I didn’t have to. He broke a rule by taking me to the Low Lands without permission.”

“You’re saying that Remo Drammen killed him?”

“No,” I replied coldly. “I’m saying Dr. Dean broke a rule of the other worlds when he dragged me—unauthorized—to the Low Lands. But what do you know? I might not be telling the truth. I might just have gone mad, and this whole thing could be a figment of my imagination.”

“This Low Lands, where is it?” he asked, still in that soothing tone.

I rolled my eyes. He was clearly stalling. I wasn’t letting go of the guard. And their time was running out. “Time’s up. I want you to send someone to fetch my friends. I’ll count to three, and I’ll start killing each one of your guards every time you delay. One.”

“Roxy! We can work this out!”

“Two.”

“Miss Fosch, three seconds isn’t enough time.”

“Three,” I finished, retracting my talon from the guard’s pulse to adjust my hold on him. Then I raised the tranquilizer gun I’d slung around my neck and began firing blindly at the guards. Clearly, they had forgotten I had it. A few darts hit their mark, followed by startled grunts and the heavier thuds of bodies hitting the floor. Chaos erupted as everyone else tried to dodge the darts. There were muttered curses and name-calling, but all I focused on was the bloodlust urging me on. My raging otherness wanted every single one of these guards dead—agonizingly so.

I risked a peek from behind the slumped guard I held and, sure enough, the corridor ahead was empty, save for four unconscious bodies. I made my way forward, pausing to snatch up another gun from beside a fallen guard. I let out a vicious snarl at the sound of heavy breathing coming from the remaining guards hiding to the left—the side of the elevators. They were blocking my escape route.

“Unlock the elevator and move to the other side. Take cover inside the emergency stairs.” No one moved.

My talon made a deep cut on the guard’s neck, and blood began to trickle down.

“Crazy bitch,” someone spat venomously.

“Do as she says,” Dr. Maxwell urged from his position on the right side.

Footsteps shuffled ahead and to the right, heading towards the emergency stairs.

The elevator door dinged and, protected in front by my human shield and behind by the wall, I waited. The alarms began blasting as soon as the heavy door to the emergency stairs opened. The blaring claxons felt like spiked lances piercing into my brain. I clenched my jaw tightly. Only when the last guard left, the emergency door thudding close behind him, did I move toward the open elevator.

I made it as far as the lobby downstairs before another group of guards intercepted me. Johnson, the head of security, addressed me next.

“Ms. Fosch, please release the guard you’re holding hostage and surrender,” he said calmly. “This building is secure. You are only making things worse for yourself and your friends.”

I raised the gun and fired blindly—left to right, right to left—until the gun clicked empty. I snarled in frustration.

“Ms. Fosch, this is your last chance. Will you surrender?” Johnson asked, unimpressed.

I hurled the empty tranquilizer gun in the direction of his voice. In response, I felt the impact of a bullet on the slumped guard I was holding even before I registered the discharge. I chuckled darkly. My humor was short-lived as I realized the unconscious body I was using as my shield had stopped breathing. They killed him, one of their own. To what end? There were no limits to what they were willing to do.

Roaring in outrage, I dove deeper into that seething, untamed thing inside me and charged ahead, a whirlwind of fury, talons, and teeth. I reached the first guard to my right and ripped into his throat with my talons before he realized what was happening. I threw the body of my dead shield at the one beside him, unbalancing him with the unexpected weight, and kicked his head into an awkward angle the moment it was level with my foot. I was reaching for the third guard, hiding behind a riot shield, when the first dart hit me. I had enough time to pull him upright, spin him around, and slash his throat before the numbing pull of the tranquilizer dragged me under. As the ground rushed up to meet me, I wished someone would end my misery and just kill me.

***

I woke in a cage, one I knew all too well. As I’d once told Logan, I was familiar with every inch of the PSS headquarters—the parts that prisoners were allowed to see.

I was in Building C, the fourth level, first room on the right. The bars of my cage hummed with a magnetic field. It would jolt and burn me if I touched it. I looked around at the sterile, empty lab. I was alone and would probably stay alone for a while. Even if someone unlocked the door, I wouldn’t be able to reach them.

I didn’t regret trying to escape or hurting the guards. It didn’t even surprise me that they had killed one of their own to prevent me from using him as a shield, to remove the obstacle between us. What bothered me was the thrill I’d felt when I relinquished control. The knowledge of what I could do, the power and strength I could command was heady, even now, with the headache spiking inside my skull some three or four hours later.

Was this why Logan emptied himself before a kill? To avoid succumbing to the thrill? What was happening to him?What were they doing? How was he reacting? How severe was his injury? Were they torturing him? Or did the fact that werewolves were common guests in the PSS lessen their curiosity about him? Or would his status as a free guest give them the liberty to pursue whatever dreadful things they couldn’t do to a willing volunteer?

The door of the lab opened with a hiss and a swoosh. I was sitting in the middle of the cage, my back to the door, chin resting on my knees. I didn’t turn around to see who had come in. I heard two pairs of footsteps, one lighter than the other. One stopped by the door—no doubt a guard—while the other approached the cage.

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