Page 67 of The Delta's Rogue
Confusion flashes through me, and I frown, my fighting temporarily paused as I process her command. Brenna sends me an apologetic look then darts forward, yanking my bound arms from behind me and wrenching them around until I grunt in pain. A needle drives into a vein in the crook of my arm, piercing precisely into it on the first try. I scream, and my fighting resumes even though I know it will worsen the bruising from the needle, especially since I don’t have access to my enhanced healing.
Amara laughs and spins my head so I’m forced to watch Brenna fill a large vial with my blood. I pant. Large tears streak down my cheeks, dropping onto Amara’s hand. The red in the vial reminds me of my red dress—the one I turned into a top, the one Sebastian used to make my choker for me—and I can’t hold back the sob that escapes me.
“Shh…” Amara smooths my hair away from my face, her hand cold against my forehead, the touch all wrong. It tries to be gentle, to be motherly and soothing, but it’s condescending and manipulative. “Shh…” she repeats. “This is for your own good, sweet girl. This is to keep you safe, to protect you.”
Ella es una mentirosa. Such a fucking liar. But I can see how her tone and composure could give someone a false sense of security. I wonder how many girls have fallen for her lies, how many victims she’s caught in her web of pretend benevolence.
Brenna removes the needle from my arm as Amara continues to murmur softly to me. One of the two witches holding me in place covers the puncture wound, putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding. The blood flows down my arm even with her hand on it, matching the stream of tears falling from my eyes.
Amara lifts her fingers to her mouth, licking my tears off them while holding eye contact with me. This time, I don’t cower away from her. I lift my chin higher, grit my teeth, and swallow back the rest of my sobs.
“See?” She angles her head. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I don’t respond, but my muscles quake with exhaustion, both physical and mental.
Amara hums out a laugh, her tongue sliding across her teeth. “We’ll leave you to it.” She beckons to the others to follow her. “Don’t be afraid to use her blood,” she adds to Brenna as she passes, touching her forearm as she addresses her. “It’s the only way she’ll learn.”
Amara and the othertwo witches walk down the hallway, leaving Brenna and me alone. The spell holding my legs in place is gone. My chains remain, but I have control over my body, the magic no longer keeping me captive.
I could run again. I could make it to the exit. I know I could. The question is will Brenna let me? Will she let me make a break for it? Or will she summon Amara?
Whose side is she on?
I take a step, turning to head down the hallway, one eye remaining on Brenna.
She grips the vial of my blood in her hand, grits her teeth, and lifts her chin as she draws in a steadying breath. “I’m sorry.”
Before her apology registers in my mind, the veins in my body constrict. Intense, excruciating pain floods through me, through every cell, and I’m frozen in place, unable to move any part of my body. I scream, fighting against the magical hold on me, but resisting seems to only make it worse.
The pain burns and grows and pulses. The control over my body is a writhing, living thing with its claws dug into my soul, tattooing its existence into my blood and muscles. Its grasp becomes tighter the longer I fight it until all I can do is breathe.
“The pain will grow worse the more you struggle.” Brenna confirms my guess, her voice right next to me. “If you relax, if you let me control you, it won’t be as bad. It will be bearable, at least.”
The air chafes and rubs against my eyes, eating away at the natural moisture there. I strain to blink, but it’s no use. I can do nothing that stems from my own desires. I can only do what she desires me to. What shemakesme do.
I tense my jaw, hating myself for even considering giving in. But there is no alternative.
The only way out is through.La única manera fuera es através.
I end my resistance, and the pain ebbs to just a slow trickle—a dull ache similar to the annoying rub of the silver against my skin. Enough to be noticeable, to be annoying and uncomfortable, but not enough to have me crying, screaming, and writhing in anguish.
My feet move down the hall and back into the large room I ran from, Brenna at my side. She doesn’t touch me, but my every movement is controlled by her. I’m her puppet, her toy.
We’re silent as we walk. I have nothing to say to her, and I’m unsure if I can speak. If the blood magic willallowme to speak. Her eyes stay on me and mine stare straight ahead, watching where I am going.
The building is empty and lifeless. There are no traces of the others—of Amara and the two witches who helped her recapture me, Nuncio and his two stooges, or any of the other females and the males who brought them in.
It’s only Brenna and me, and the empty halls.
The interior of the building through the door on the right is the same as the interior we passed through before we entered the room where Brenna examined us: white walls, white-tiled floor, and gray doors. Once more, I find myself counting the turns, the doors, and searching for security cameras the best I can with my limited mobility.
The robotic movements of my body are jarring. I grit my teeth with every step. The temptation to resist, to fight against the invisible strings manipulating my muscles, is fierce. But the pain I felt when I tried was fiercer.
Brenna halts her steps, and my body stops too. She presses her thumb to a scanner next to a door on our left—the third door from the corner—and once it opens, she moves us inside.
To my surprise, this room differs markedly from the room I found myself in upon my arrival. That room was bare bones. A cell. This room is large and luxurious.
Soft, warm ivory carpet squishes beneath my feet. A large walnut bed with burgundy and gold bedding sits in the center of the wall on my right, topped with a mountain ofplush pillows. Straight ahead is a set of French doors leading into a large ensuite bathroom with gray wood floors, a claw-footed tub, and a gorgeous, ornate vanity complete with a cushioned seat. To my left is a dressing area with three full-length mirrors around a low pedestal, next to a door leading into what I can only assume is a closet.
