Page 53 of Taken By Raider Kings
Another question rose, foggy at first through the various noises competing for her attention.Why didn’t they kill me?I thought that was what they wanted, right?
She was already dead so far as the newspapers were concerned.Logic dictated that Marc had something bad in store for her.Reallybad, not just a shot to the kidneys or a bloody nose, or the sudden blow to her stomach that made her lose all her air, or?—
Oh, God.Did they kill Zach?Or the others?
The ghost-faces crowded close.They whispered to each other, the cricket-buzz rising.
Or maybe it was the sounds of movement just outside her prison growing fainter.
“Come along, children,” Delia’s voice was still clear.She was close, and a sudden mental image of the woman making a little shooing motion intruded, vivid inside Sophie’s skull.“You too, Harris.”
Like she’s hurrying the caterers at an event.Bleak hilarity clotted in Sophie’s throat, screamy laughter just this side of screaming.
She pushed it down, a sharp almost-physical effort.Making a peep now wasdefinitelya bad idea.
“What if she’s awake?”Marc, petulant again, with the edge of bafflement that meant he hadn’t gotten something he wanted.The edge that used to make Sophie’s mouth dry and her heart pound.
He sounded so petty.So spoiled.Had he always?Nobody else seemed to see what he was.How many times had she been complimented on her husband?You’re so lucky to have him.
“Leave the little mouse in the dark, we’ll deal with her soon enough.”Delia laughed, a giggling little titter like razors drawn through broken glass.
There was one final wet sound, a hungry little moan, and Sophie had another sudden, vivid mental image of Delia, her eyes no longer dark and cold as leftover coffee but bright with liquid crimson.She was pulling Marc’s blond head down, her pale pink pointed tongue sliding snakelike into his mouth, and the heavy smacking of a deep, violent kiss echoed in the confined space.The vision included a single dim bulb, hanging from a cord over them.The walls were splashed with thick black gleaming liquid, and the light flickered out as Sophie tried to shake her head.
An unwelcome hallucination—or was it real?Either way, it vanished.
Sophie’s head dropped, her temple hitting the concrete floor as if she’d been punched, bright spangled stars threading through the wall of foggy faces pressing close, closer, closer to her.
Silence, now, except for the cricketsong.It almost made words.
Hot tears filled Sophie’s blind, staring eyes.Oh, God.All I wanted was a night out.She wriggled, testing the ropes.Nothing.No give.
As if she’d know how to escape this, anyway.
The ghosts—spirits,majir,whatever they were—drew closer.They brushed her with spectral fingers, singing like soft-rushing wind and water now.Each touch insubstantial as smoke, yet leaving a strange sort of calm in its wake.They ruffled her hair, brushed her wet cheeks, drew the pain out of her fingers, attempted to soothe the burning in her legs.One drifted closer—a girl’s face, wide shadowy eyes full of terrible knowledge, her small mouth moving soundlessly.
I’m going crazy.Sophie lay still, petrified, and wished the darkness would take her again.
twenty-two
He puthis fist through the counter, disregarding splinters; the skin over his knuckles broke and briefly bled.The lacerations closed almost instantly, but the jolt of pain up his arm was worthwhile, if only for the clarity in its wake.
Control, Zach.You’re not a savage.
The short, sharp noise brought all motion in Cullen’s bar to a halt.The assembled Tribe—most there when he arrived, and more were showing up all the time—turned still and silent, watching him.Julia clamped a sodden, bright-red towel to her left arm.Brenn slumped against her, dark rings under his eyes and the acrid tang of feverish worry hanging on him.The smell of blood added a teasing note to the stew of anger riding the air.
“Listen,” Zach said, quietly, reasonably.“I did not come here to sit and listen to sheep whinge and moan.They’ve taken our shaman.And you’re sitting here wondering what the fuck todo?”
Cullen sighed, folded his arms.The entire building was full of snarling, a river of bloodlust running just under the surface, and most of the fury was coming from Zach himself.Eric shifted restlessly, and one of the Bear Tribe—Cullen’s alpha, a female with the wide shoulders and studied, careful movements of their kind—stared unblinkingly at her shaman.
“They’ll crucion her for sure,” a sleek dark Felinii male said, softly.
“Crucion?”Eric started forward, but Zach put his arm out to stop the motion.Getting to the bar could have been hazardous; but theupirhad vanished.
They had what they came for.
Zach’s decision to find other Tribe had been instant.There had beenupirthan he’d ever seen in one place before, enough to litter the entire house with bloody rotting matter and overwhelm four Carcajou desperate to reach their shaman for the small, critical time necessary to spirit her out of the house.
She had to still be alive.Hadto be.
