The Captain shakes his head, a look of resignation on his face. "Heaven help us all, then. I've got a feeling that life on the high seas just got a whole lot more interesting with ye aboard, lass."
And with that, he turns and strides out of the room, leaving me to my thoughts and my half-eaten meal.
My mind wanders back toLucian, and I can't help but feel a tsunami of worry. I'm betting my last magical penny that Azrael and his coven of bitchy witches are holding him hostage— using him as a bargaining chip in their twisted little game. After all, it's no secret that they're afterRhylandfor their jacked-up ritual.
And let's be honest, Azrael loves to bargain like a sleazy used car salesman on crack. He's probably sitting there, rubbing his hands together and cackling with glee at the thought of havingLucianas his prized possession.
I just hopeLuciandoesn't push his luck too far with his captors. We all know how much he loves to run that smart mouth of his, spewing out witty one-liners and sarcastic quips like it's his job.
But in this case, his usual tactic of "if you can't dazzle them with your brilliance, baffle them with your bullshit" might land him in even deeper shit.
Lucian
6
Okay, let's see here. I'm tied to a chair, my head feels like it's been used as a punching bag by a gang of angry midgets, and my mouth is drier than a nun's cooch.
I blink, trying to clear the fog from my brain, but it's like navigating through pea soup.
Where the hell am I?
I'm not sure what the hell is going on, but I know one thing for sure: I'm thirsty as fuck. Like, "I'd sell my left nut for a sip of water," thirsty. And to make matters worse, I'm tied to a chair in some swanky gothic mansion that looks like it was ripped straight out of a Tim Burton wet dream.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I can appreciate a good aesthetic. But this? This is just overkill.
But I digress. The real issue here is that I have no fucking clue where I am or how I got here. It's like my brain's been put through a blender set to "puree," and all that's left are a few chunky bits of memory floating around in a sea of confusion.
Enter tall, dark, and brooding, accompanied by a blonde bombshell who looks like she just stepped out of a Victoria's Secret catalog. Seriously, this chick is all legs and lips. Long, golden hair cascades down her back, and her bright green eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes me squirm.
"Ah, I see you're awake," the man says, with a sinister glee that makes my skin crawl. "Now the real fun begins."
I lick my lips, trying to regain some moisture in my mouth. "Look, buddy, I don't know who you are or what your deal is, but I'm gonna need you to untie me, like yesterday."
The man chuckles, a sound about as comforting as a razor blade in my underwear. "Oh, I don't think so. We have some questions for you first."
I raise an eyebrow. "Questions? What kind of questions? Like, 'What's your favorite color?' or 'How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop'?"
Blondie steps forward, her lips curving into a smirk. "More like, 'who are you' and 'what do you remember'?"
I blink. "Who I am?" I think about that briefly, and my mind draws a blank.What the hell?It's like someone hit the delete button on my memories, and now I'm left with nothing but a vague sense of confusion and a thirst that just won't quit.
"Lady, I don't have a fucking clue. As for what I remember..." I trail off, searching my brain for anything but coming up empty. "I got nothing. It's like someone took a giant eraser to my mental chalkboard."
The man leans down, his eyes boring into me. "You mean to tell me you have no recollection of your identity, your past, or why you're here?"
I meet his gaze, unflinching. "That's what I'm saying—Tall, Dark, and Ominous. I'm drawing a complete blank. I don't know who I am, where I am, or why I feel like I could drain a lake and still be thirsty."
They both exchange another look, and I can tell something's wrong. They start arguing in hushed tones, but I can still make out bits and pieces.
"Paige," the man hisses, his voice low and dangerous. "You took too much."
Blondie, who I'm guessing is Paige, rolls her eyes. "Oh, please, Azrael. I did exactly what you asked. It's not my fault if he's got a mind like a steel trap."
Azrael? Paige? What the fuck kind of names are those?
"Fix it," Azrael demands, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"I can't just 'fix it,' you imbecile," Paige snarls, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "It's not like I have a magic wand to wave around and make everything better."
