Another slaps a cuff on my right wrist, and I struggle against him, knowing what’s coming. I’ll be cuffed to the bed, confined to the small space, utterly at their mercy.
“Now, now,” my father says archly. “Don’t fight the inevitable, Juniper. It makes you look stupid, not brave.”
Saints, I want to wheel on him and force my affinity into his mind, to take him down to his knees, clutching his head in pain. But I’d get beaten for that—or my pack would.
The Soldier clicks the other cuff around the rail of the bed and pushes me back until I collapse onto the mattress. I scramble to the head of the bed, curling to protect myself.
My father huffs out a pleased laugh, a dark sound that makes fear pool in my gut.
Now that I’m bound, the Soldiers leave the room, scribes drawn to put up the wards that’ll seal me in here. They’retaking every precaution for me, and I don’t know if I should be flattered or terrified.
“This won’t be easy for you, daughter,” my father says. I’m too frightened to even try to read his mind, but he goes on, laying it all out for me. “I’m going to show you everything you’ve been so curious about. My experiments. You’ve already seen the results, haven’t you?”
I glare up at him. “That alpha killed a councilor.”
“At the behest of the Prince, yes. Soon he’ll have the Council of Nine in the palm of his hand.”
I shudder. “You’re all monsters! Did you know the Soldiers call you ‘the butcher?’”
His face lights, his lips curling into a smile that chills me to my very core. “A title well earned, I assure you. Now, rest. Be good. Don’t try to fight what’s to come, or I’ll kill the pack you hold so dear.”
I still at his threat. I know he’s serious, but he’s still smiling that ruthless smile of his.
“Don’t force my hand, Juniper. You think you’re clever, but this is my game you’re playing. You won’t win.”
I sag against the headboard of the bed and nod my understanding.
He smiles his vicious grin, approving of my docility, then leaves, talking to the Soldiers briefly. I only hear his orders to guard me constantly, to be wary of my affinity, before the door clicks shut behind him.
A chill seizes me, and I fumble with the blankets on the bed, drawing them up around my body.
He’s right. I won’t win. Not if I can’t get out of here. I yank at the cuff, the chain jingling as the cuffs rattle against the bed rail. I yank and I yank until my wrist is bloody before the fight goes out of me.
I have no scribe, no idea how to get out of the windinghalls of the Saint Galen Consortium. I have no way of finding my way out without being spotted.
Nothing. I have no hope. A rescue would be too risky. The hostages could be slain if anyone attempted it. No outside help is coming, nor help from the inside. I’m trapped here, confined to this room, this bed. My stomach gnaws at itself as fearful tears spring to my eyes.
I’m utterly alone. Confinement scares me, but my father scares me even more.
My father doesn’t comefor me, not for days. The Soldiers come in with food and water, and to take me to the bathroom a few times a day, but other than that, I see no one. I don’t attempt anything when I’m not cuffed; what would I even do?
I glean small details from the Soldiers as they guard my room. I have two pairs of guards that rotate in and out, but their minds feel… slimy. Often their thoughts stray back to the convocation ball, which they remember with glee. An utter triumph.
“Baphomet’s Prince succeeded in this attack,” one says to the other as I read him through the door with my affinity.
“An attack long coming,” the other agrees. “And now we have everything we need. A base of operations, hostages. The Council.”
“No one will be able to stand against us. The master race will rise, and Project Halcyon will proceed as intended.”
I slip out of his mind, not wanting to hear anything further.
I don’t get any concrete information from them about my captivity. They don’t know when my father will come, and all I get are flashes of the corridors of the consortium. Theyall look the same to me. It’s hopeless to even think of escaping. I may not be collared, but I’m too afraid to use my affinity for anything but mind reading. Iwantto sear my magic into the minds of every Soldier that took part in the attack, into the Prince’s head. Into my father’s.
Left to my own devices, trapped in this horrible bed, I sleep while I can. In my waking hours, I play back my visions. I’ve seen myself pinned to an operating table by Soldiers. I’ve seen my father walking me through the medical wing of the consortium, talking to me about his experiments. Which of those visions will come true? I know in my heart of hearts that at least one of them will. Or is that my affinity whispering to me?
I dig deep within myself, trying to call a vision. My head throbs with the effort, but I can’t get my affinity to flow; I’m far too frightened. Blood trickles from my nose, and I sob, tears mixing with the blood as they run down my face.
I achefor my pack in my long hours alone. I want their comfort, the assurance of their arms around me. I want their scents in my nose. I want them, and yet I want them to stay away. My mates are exactly the type to try to stage a rescue, but I send up a prayer to the saints that they don’t. I’ve seen what happens to packs that don’t obey. I don’t even need Kel forcing it into my mind; it’s in every one of my nightmares.
