Page 4 of Wicked Ends
I slam my hand against the door until it stings painfully.
“Rose.” Lucien’s voice, right on the other side, has a desperation in it that makes me want to curl up in his arms.
I lean closer. “It’s warded. Can you break it?”
“I’m trying.”
Soren’s voice, lazy and dangerous. “You should ask nicely, little witch.”
“Less flirting, more brute force.” Infuriating as always, even in a situation like this.
There’s another thunk. The door vibrates under my hand, but I’m still stuck on one side of it, with them on the other.
I can’t see them, but I can picture Soren with his grin, and the anger in Lucien’s eyes. There’s probably blood, too, because I’m pretty sure someone is getting punched in the face.
“We’re not leaving you,” Soren calls. “Just give us a minute.”
I try to slow my breathing, but my body’s shaking and I can’t stop it. I hate this. I hate being powerless, hate being the one who needs saving.
But mostly I hate Helena.
Another crash. A scream. Someone cursing.
“Don’t you dare get killed out there,” I mutter.
I focus on the blood mark, trying to will Ash to hear me. Still nothing. I picture Helena’s magic around Ash’s throat, her witches pinning him down, and I want to scream too.
Instead, I try to think.
Okay, Rose. You’ve broken out of worse. (False. You’ve broken out of exactly one mall security guard’s office after he caught you stealing a watermelon lip gloss, not a magical super-max conference room.)
I look around the room for anything useful. The table is bolted to the floor, the chairs are too heavy to pick up, and the windows are probably warded. There’s a pitcher of water and some glasses on a tray, like we’re gonna need to hydrate before the killing starts.
I grab a glass anyway and hurl it at the window. It bounces off with a sad, anticlimactic clink.
Outside, the noise gets louder. Soren is taunting someone, Lucien is barking out orders, someone else is screaming. I wish I could see them. I wish I could do anything but sit here and wait to be rescued.
The air in the room is starting to feel thin, like the spell is sucking up all the oxygen. My skin is tingling, my thoughts are getting fuzzier. I blink, trying to stay present. I’m not sure if this is Helena’s magic or just a panic attack, and I don’t have time to figure it out.
Again, I try the door. I pound on it with both fists until my hands go numb.
“Lucien!” I shout. “Soren!”
The spell burns me where I touch the door and I jerk back.
I’m about three seconds from total meltdown when the temperature drops dramatically. I shiver, and I can see my breath.
It’s Drake.
He steps through the wall, barely more than a vague shimmer at first. For a second, I think I’m hallucinating from the panic attack, but then he’s there, pale and beautiful and heartbreakingly transparent.
“Rose.”
I rush to him, tripping over my own feet. “Drake!”
He tries to smile, but his presence is weak, like a dying lightbulb.
I move to touch him, to wrap my arms around him, but when I reach out my hand passes right through his chest. He flickers in and out.
