Page 118 of Amethyst Flame
“Set,” called another.
Dane briefly tried to steady me on my feet, and then he was gone, joining the suits near the Kidnappers, seeming to disregard me altogether as he chatted with his fellow agents.
I wavered on my own, dismayed. My hand started to form the L though I didn’t have much left to fight with. The lingering sensation of the dragon's power coiled through me. But he’d saidtrust me…so I dropped my hand.
“Engage!” called a man.
The hexagons—I could see three from my position—lit like mini steampunk lanterns. Immediately, my skin began to crawl as a horrible, angry buzzing started up inside my veins, my muscles, my brain. The pitch of pain ramped dramatically from battle agony to screamy torment. And by screamy, I meant I was screaming. But I couldn’t move. Not to run. Not even to curl in on myself.
Dane just stood there, opposite me, arms crossed over his bare chest. His dark gaze burned into mine, and I held onto that—to him and his promise—as the world went purple then black.
EPILOGUE
I woketo the insistent beep of an alarm as the overhead light ignited. But in the hazy moment before the room came into focus, the discordant blare was overlaid by musical tones—a memory…
I grasped for the melody but it fluttered out of reach, lost in the harsh jangle in my head.
The alarm kept sounding until I rose.
White tiles cold under my bare feet, I went to stand at the door. When the small port in the middle opened, I stared through the opening, through six inches of layered steel.
Not that steel could stop me, of course.
The almost imperceptible shimmer of nanotech sandwiched within the door however…
An aluminum canister and a paper dixie cup slid toward me. “Breakfast and meds,” came a gruff voice. “Then the gloves.” Two bulky mitts shoved inward.
As I pulled the items to me and turned away, the portal shut with a hard click.
I settled cross-legged on the floor to open the canister. Sometimes my hands shook, and I didn’t want the dark green sludge getting all over my blanket.
Tossing back the handful of horse pills, I aimed my open mouth at the camera recessed into the corner and waggled my tongue to prove I’d swallowed. Then I chugged down the thick protein concentrate as quickly as I could, trying not to breathe in the rank smell. If only it had a little color, a little sweetness, like…
I wasn’t sure. Just something bright and sweet.
Despite the meds, a twinge of something bright and verynotsweet passed through me, and I crushed the empty canister between my hands. The spasm left a shallow cut across my palm, but the wound healed before any blood appeared. The watchers beyond the camera would note that, probably want me to do it again.
As ordered, I pulled on the gloves. The ballistic fabric wasn’t as thick as the door but it too shimmered faintly. When I stuck my hands in, I had to curl my fingers so tight that by the end of the day, they would hurt. The cuffs snapped hard around my wrists.
I sat, the cold seeping into my backside until the door opened. The man and woman who entered kept their weapons pointed at me. The magazines protruding below the barrel chambers glowed with even more menace than the door and gloves.
“Show me,” the woman said.
When I stuck out my tongue again and pivoted my fists to display the latched gloves, she glanced quickly at the readout strapped to her wrist.
“Secured,” she confirmed to her companion.
They didn’t lower their weapons.
Neither spoke as they marched me out to the day’s tests. Or maybe it was night? I hadn’t seen any windows for…a while?
The tests were simple enough: go to the big shielded room where the latches on my gloves released, blow up whatever they told me to blow up, put the gloves back on, march at gunpoint to the little shielded room where they took samples (“We saw the cut on your hand—interesting!—so tomorrow we’ll test your healing speed and limitations…”), then wait for my guards to march me back to my cell. Just another day or night or whatever.
Except right before we got to my shielded door, a stab of agony went through my skull. I would’ve stumbled, except I’d fallen once after an exhausting test day and my guards had shot me. Wouldn’t make that mistake again.
So I kept myself upright and didn’t react at all as the jabbing pain resolved into words.
Words in my head.
