Page 20 of Not With the Eyes

"Maybe so, but at least I didn't abuse my child and turn him into a mass murderer, make him hate me so much he went and fucked one of the people I hate most in the world. What you should really be asking yourself, though, is what organs did I have when he fucked me? Hmm, Grand-mère?"

She screamed at that, her façade shattering entirely, striking Oberon over and over, until her face was a mass of cuts and bruises, and even her nose and lips were dripping blood.

Throughout the beating, Oberon just laughed.

The pain didn't stop until guards rushed into the room and dragged her away.

Behind them came a new figure, tall, imposing, and so white he'd make snow jealous. Oberon stared, brain turning over and over as she tried to puzzle out who the man was and why something seemed off about…

Well, fuck. This was Montague St. Augustine, president of the G.O.D. headquarters in the Kingdom of Britain, Margaux's longtime on-off lover and, to judge by that hair and heterochromia, Scone's father. Unlike most of the G.O.D., he was seldom seen in public, one of the more shadowy figures. He must alter his appearance for public events, because in every picture and vid Oberon had ever seen, he'd had brown hair and a perfectly matched set of hazel eyes.

What was he doing here? Even if the summit dates had changed, he should be there, not here in the archives Oberon was supposed to be blowing up right about now. Byron was going to tear her apart when they were back at base.

"Take the prisoner back to their cell," St. Augustine said. "Fix their face. Margaux, sit down."

The words of Margaux's reply were lost as the door slid shut, but the scathing tone was clear enough.

Oberon was escorted into the elevator and down, down, down they went.

Until they suddenly stopped about halfway down. She'd thought they'd take her back to her charming little cell in subbasement seventy-three, but they were stopping on floor… nineteen. Interesting.

Right off the elevator it was apparent this floor was a medical wing, which was a strange thing for what amounted to a glorified library to have. Every last wall was clear glass, save for here and there where it had been frosted. She wouldn't be surprised if the walls could be rearranged at whim to make more or fewer rooms as needed.

The guards led her into a room that was already occupied by another patient, which seemed strange, but Oberon wasn't going to argue.

The person was naked, covered in burns and scrapes and bruises. They looked like they'd been through hell. Which they probably had. They were unconscious as the doctor bent over them worked on stitching up a wound, chest barely rising and falling, tears and blood drying on his face. He had brown skin, his facial features strong and elegant, and rich, true black hair cut crudely short. He looked like he could be from somewhere in South America, the United Tribes, or both. He had muscle mass for days, but it was true fighting strength, not showpiece muscle.

Something familiar…

The realization hit her like a fist to the face.

This was Rodeo. He was a 6-level titan, his strength estimated to be about that of a full-grown bull at peak ability. Many titans also had other natural body enhancements. In Rodeo's case, he had unusually strong bones, often described as 'strong as bull horns' to keep with the theme of his strength and the designation assigned by the G.O.D.

He'd vanished months ago, and nobody had been able to figure out why. It'd been right around the time Dixie and the others had destroyed the Mason System.

Wait, hadn't Byron or Dixie mentioned that there were prisoners here, but they'd never known who? Fuck, hopefully they'd be able to get Rodeo and whoever else was here out as well.

The guards shoved-dumped her on the cot on the opposite side of the room, then moved to stand guard at the door. At least she wasn't chained to the fucking floor this time.

She sat there for what felt like ages but according to the clock on the wall, was only about thirty minutes. The doctor, or whatever they were, scrubbed up in a different room andreturned. He looked Oberon over with a critical eye, voice as detached as the surroundings as he asked, "What happened to your face?"

"Margaux Lachapelle."

The doctor grunted and set to work gathering supplies.

Oberon didn't waste breath explaining that if they'd let her shift, the worst of it would go, one of the side effects of being a shifter. Her ability couldn't fix everything, but it could fix a lot.

She sat in silence, only twitching occasionally at the pain as the doctor cleaned and treated her face. Most of it got salves and bandages, but a couple of cuts apparently warranted stitches. That was going to fucking hurt when she shifted.

The doctor had just finished up when the building went dark, followed almost immediately by red emergency lights kicking on, warning alarms blaring.

Well, then. That was impressive work, even for the Anti-Heroes. Or had Scones done something phenomenally stupid like come alone?

The urge to fight her own way out was strong, but for the moment it made more sense to stay put. She'd chosen the role of damsel in distress, and deviating from that right now risked throwing off the whole plan.

"Get her to lockup," the doctor said. "This one too."

One of the guards slung Rodeo, still unconscious, over his shoulder. The other roughly grabbed Oberon by the arm and yanked her upright. "Let's go."

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