Sixteen
Elora
“It’s time.”The guard just outside my cell rattles the keys.
I don’t move from my bed. If they’re going to take me back to that room, they can drag me. I’ve contemplated this moment for the last several nights. Knew it would be sooner rather than later that they would try to take my magick again, and while at first the knife Roman left me seemed tempting against my flesh, I’ve formed another idea.
“Did you hear me, Enchantress?”
Still, I don’t speak. Don’t move. I wait for that terrible screech of the iron door to open. I wait for the clinking noise of the ring of keys on his hips to sound just by my ear. I wait until his hand is on my arm.
“I said get up!” His grip tightens, thick fingers digging into my flesh.
That’s when I strike.
I spin to face him, using my free arm to attempt to claw at his face. My abruptness must catch him off guard, because he fumbles back a step. I use his surprise to my advantage. His hand drops from my arm, and just as he’s going for the chains ofmy shackles, I jump from my bed and leap forward, scratching and biting any bit of skin I can sink my teeth into.
“Get off me!” He yanks my hair back and I stifle a cry. Slamming me to the floor, he then presses his boot against my chest so hard something cracks.
I wince and let myself crumble. Let him believe me weak. It isn’t difficult, considering all the years I’ve believed it myself.
He scoffs, kicking me out of his way to grab the sheet from my cot to wipe at his face. “You’ll pay for this, witch.”
I bite my tongue as I pull the knife that Roman left from under my shirt, then place it behind my back and wait.
He tosses the bloodied sheet back onto the cot, his dark eyes narrowed when he turns to me again. He takes a step forward. Then another.
Breathe.
Breathe.
When his hand lands around my arm again, I put all the strength I have left into the blade, jump to my feet, and ram it straight into his eye.
He recoils back, but before he can scream, I rip the pillow from my bed and shove it tightly against his mouth. His nails claw into my flesh, his scream muffled by the fabric. I continue to push against his mouth, even as he rips at my hair.
Biting my tongue, I don’t let myself scream. I can’t risk anyone else hearing. I dig the knife deeper into his eye, twisting as I do and the pressure and pain must be more intense, because he lets go of my hair to grab my arm.
That’s when I make my second strike.
I yank the knife from his eye and make a clean precision along his neck. He screams behind the pillow but then his sounds turn wet and ragged. I push and push as hard as I can with shackled wrists, until his reddened face pales and his body no longer struggles.
The knife drops to the floor, my hands shakily roaming the guard’s chest and sides until my fingers enclose around cool metal.
Keys.
I find the smallest one on the ring, the one I’ve seen used a dozen times, and as quietly as possible remove the shackles from my wrists. A broken cry leaves me, the loss of the iron around my skin an instant relief. I quickly press my hands to my mouth, so I don’t make any more sound. The pain in my wrists is searing, but I ignore it before carefully grabbing the key ring and hooking it through a loop on my tarnished breeches.
Cautiously, I take a step out of the cell. Holding my breath, I watch the door at the top of the stairs. Waiting for another guard, or Roman, or possibly even Galen to appear.
Not even a pin drop of noise, so I take another step toward the stairs.
Then another.
And another.
My foot hits the first step and all I can see is the wolves. Sorin and Sam. Jarek and Loxley.
I’m almost there.
