Page 72 of Bearing Secrets
The guard just shook his head, already breathing heavily. He must have come from far away. They left the storage area behind and headed down the steps a landing at a time. There were more subfloors than most members of the House were aware, but they didn’t venture that deep. The guard shouldered open the door to the prison level, nearly ripping it off the hinges as he went.
Kirell was frowning. Why the hell would they be down there? To his knowledge, there were no prisoners, nothing important going on.
“In there. We have him, sir,” the guard said triumphantly.
Kirell slowed but didn’t stop, hoping to make a dignified entrance despite the fact he was positive everyone had heard their footsteps as they came. “Have who?” he asked, looking over his shoulder curiously.
“You,” a muffled, unidentifiable voice sneered, a moment before something slammed into Kirell’s face just above his nose.
He crumpled, blood spurting everywhere. Blows rained down upon him. Kirell tried to fight back, kicking out, but his attackers dodged the attacks which grew more and more feeble. He wasn’t being beaten with fists, but with metal pipe and mailed fists.
Bones cracked. His blood seeped out, covering the floor in a thick puddle while above him, the masked men attacking him hissed and laughed evilly to themselves. The pain grew and grew, nearly blinding him with the intensity.
Then suddenly, it all went cold. His mind retreated to somewhere, detached from his physical body.
So, this is what dying feels like.
The attacks kept coming, crushing the life from his mangled body. He wondered just how many more it would take before the light went out entirely.
Strangely enough, his only thoughts were of Natalia, and his sorrow that he hadn’t been able to give her the ring, to get her the Green Card that would allow her to stay in the country. She deserved it after all she’d done for him, and now he wouldn’t be able to repay her properly. That ate at him, made him angry.
His one ear that still worked heard a sound, something like a cry of alarm, and then the attackers fled. Or left. He couldn’t tell, both his eyes were too swollen shut, but he was fairly certain they’d left in a rush before they could complete the job.
Still, it didn’t matter. They hadn’t killed him outright, but the sheer number of wounds would do the job in the long run well before his system could heal itself. Kirell knew the limits of a shifter’s regeneration, and the moment he’d stopped feeling pain, he knew he was in a serious way. The chill was spreading through his body, and it wouldn’t be long before he succumbed to it.
I’m sorry, Natalia. I wish I’d been able to say goodbye.
The thing that annoyed him the most, was that he knew who the attackers had to have been. It was Klebra and his goons. It had to be. Nobody else would dare strike out at him. It was good to know that the guard—what was his name again?—was a traitor, but since Kirell would be dead, there wouldn’t be anyone to verify.
There were no cameras on the prison floor for a reason. Whoever it was, they would never be caught. It was this more than anything that bothered him. Even if he somehow survived, he wouldn’t be able to bring them to justice.
And you walked right into their trap.
Some Captain he was. Maybe he didn’t deserve to be in such a position of authority after all. Maybe he should have just let Klebra have it, if he was so blind to the traitors in his own ranks that he walked into a trap like this and let himself get beaten to death.
“What the hell…?”
A new voice entered his mind, punching its way through the fog of imminent death that surrounded him.
“Holy shit. Captain? Get the Priest!” the voice hollered.
It’s too late. The Priest can’t heal me from this. I can feel the cold, I’m on my way to the skies to join our ancestors. Let me die in peace. Please.
“Get him out of his blood and off that damn floor. The cold alone down here will kill him.”
Kirell screamed as multiple hands moved his body and lifted him onto a blanket. Almost immediately the cold began to fade.
Am I not dying?
Another figured loomed over him a few minutes later. Kirell recognized his face. It was the Priest. The medical doctor in the House. In most cases, a shifter could set their own bones, but in ones like this, someone with specialized training was called in, especially because many of them would be broken in several spots.
“I’m sorry, Kirell. This is going to hurt. A lot. We’re going to have to cut you open and rebuild some of your bones by hand. You might not survive, but I will do my best.”
Blinding white pain cut through his haze a second later.
I guess I can still feel pain after all.
“Kirell? Kirell, can you hear me? I’m here.”
