Page 109 of Dragon Unleashed

I sleep like the dead.

Cold hands grasp me, tear me off Chano, fling me against a wall. Chano is dragged out of the cell. The door clangs shut behind him.

The Virrey, in full evening attire, stands in the room beyond my cage, vibrating with rage. “Hold him still,” he instructs the soldiers as he leans into Chano’s face. “She isn’t yours, scum. No matter what you think that band on your finger says. And her children will be mine.”

“I thought you were giving us a mating gift, by bringing me here,idiota,” Chano slurs. His mouth is swollen—they must’ve hit him.

The Virrey’s meaty fist lands in Chano’s face again, and I run to the bars, ignoring my nudity, straining toward them. My skin smokes and agony claws up my arms from the charmed bars. Another punch. And another. I won’t let go, but I can’t force any of my magic out past the metal.

The Virrey kicks hard and Chano’s arm cracks sickeningly. Sinking to the floor, I shout and cry, but I can’t help. I can’t do anything.

Eventually, the Virrey’s rage lessens, his blows slow.

“Throw them back in together. He’s too broken to fuck now,” the Virrey says. “Let her see what angering me looks like.”

His soldiers drag Chano back into my cell, showing him less care than you’d take to dump rubbish. Chano’s armsits awkwardly under him, his fingers at unnatural angles. Cautiously, I move to block their view of his naked body with my own. His chest heaves unevenly under my hands.

“You are in my house, Lorelei Bal, and you disrespect me like this? Contraceptive spells?” He spits on the floor, his eyes darting to a corner of the ceiling. “I will have your children. Even if I have to screw you myself.”

Hellfire. How did we miss it? A tiny camera lens angled straight at the cell. My stomach knots at the show he had.

The Virrey paces up and down in front of the cell, clenching and unclenching his fists. He’s truly lost it. He halts in front of me, his eyes cold and hungry.

“You are mine, little Bal. Mine. Do you understand now?”

He beckons me with one finger toward the bars. The hairs on my arms stand on end. I don’t know what to do. Do I try to placate him? Would that work? He’s a psycho. Wearing that same look Dexter used to, except the Virrey is more powerful than Dex ever was.

I scoot away on my bum, wrapping a protective arm around Chano. The Virrey’s eyes flash with rage and he storms away, turning off the light and leaving me with Chano’s broken body in near complete darkness.

Carefully so as not to hurt him, I dress Chano and then myself.

Time passes slowly, with only Chano’s groans for company. I did my best with my aether healing. It’s ironic: I can use my magic inside the cell; I just couldn’t help him through the bars, not when he really needed it. I hope I’ve done enough. His breathing’s less ragged. That has to be a good thing.

There’s no way I’m falling asleep again. Not when Chano’s so defenseless. I rock myself back and forth, pinching myself when I feel drowsy. This time, I hear them when they come. A handful of people walking quietly toward us, feet all in sync. More soldiers.

I shove Chano behind me as five of them, all in plain khaki uniform, enter the room containing our cell. They’re not hurting him again. My magic works inside this cell. Let them come and try to take him from me.

The soldier closest to me winks and my breath stutters. More footsteps sound down the corridor; these ones are louder, less coordinated.

Naeve trips over the threshold, caught and steadied from behind. Zephyr. And there’s no Virrey with them.

“Thank the goddesses you’re here. How did you get in without being caught? Ch-Chano couldn’t.”

“Shh,” Naeve whispers. “We’re here now.”

Zephyr steps toward the cell, his eyes on the unmoving mass behind me. “What happened?”

“The Virrey.”

“We…we used the distraction to get in,” Naeve says in a small voice. “But it looks like Chano paid the price.”

“I think he’ll be okay once he wakes up. His arm’s broken, some small bones in his hands too, and his ribs. But he’s better than he was.”

“That could be a problem.” Zephyr steps forward and grips the bars. He leaps away, unable to suppress a shout, his hand smoking.

“Yeah. Sorry. They do that.” I shrug, showing him my own burned hands.

The corridor echoes with sharp steps and the soldiers stand straighter, saluting.

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