I feint jab toward his unprotected cock, and he reacts exactly like I hoped by dropping his hands to protect it from a hit. His misjudgment of what I’m actually aiming for leaves the rest of him wide open, and my fist meets his throat with a resounding thud.
“You want answers, asshole?” I growl, pushing up from the ground as he falls back on his ass, eyes widening in surprise and hands clutching his throat.
Too late, onyx scale armor wraps itself around his body, protecting him from any further attack.
“I can’t shift,” I snap, leaning over him, our positions now reversed. “I can’trevealbecause the sorcai who helped massacre my kind stole the ability. Or did you think all the Syphons just laid down and let themselves be slaughtered?”
Aeson claws at his throat, rage blazing in his gaze. It starts to morph into alarm when he opens his mouth for air but can’t seem to pull any in. My indignation falters.
I must have hit him way harder than I thought.
Shit.
A wall of unforgiving air slams into me, tearing me away from the commander with the strength of a runaway tank. With a pained grunt, I go cartwheeling through the air and then skidding through the grass. I’ve barely come to a stop when my hands are yanked forcefully behind my back, and something hard and cold is being clamped around my wrists.
Shouts for Jori ripple through the clearing. Everything hurts, but despite that, I turn my head in search of Aeson. A punishing hand wraps around my upper arm and hauls me up. My shoulder shrieks with pain, the joint threatening to abandon the socket as I’m dragged away.
I fight, but it’s futile, and despite my best efforts, I’m briskly pulled from the clearing and the commotion.
I don’t know if Aeson Noctis is breathing.
But what’s bothering me even more than not knowing is why I care at all.
Chapter 10
I’M AGGRESSIVELY SHOVED INSIDE AN elevator. The hand still wrapped painfully around my bicep is the only thing that keeps me from tripping and landing on my face. I bite back a growl and swallow the bitchy retort I want to lob at the asshole manhandling me.
If my time with the Tainted taught me anything, it’s that there’s no point making things worse than they already are. Pissing off someone who enjoys lording their power over you always makes things worse. They’ll get their hits in one way or another. It’s better to take them head-on; it gives them less time to get creative.
My escort and I are followed into the metal box by another drake. I don’t recognize either of them, but that doesn’t mean anything. These two could have been part of the team that came to retrieve me, or it’s just as possible that they weren’t. What is apparent though is their pointed dislike. Whether that’s because of the attack against The Horde in Lairwood or my assault on their beloved scion just now, I’m not sure.
One of the males presses his hand to a panel, and the elevator doors close. I expect the car to either rise or drop—like every other elevator I’ve ever been on—but it shoots off to the right instead. Unprepared to be zooming in any direction that isn’t up or down, I go hurtling to the side wall. This time, instead of catching me and keeping me on my feet, the drake whose handprint is now bruised into my arm lets me slam into the reflective metal panel. Pain explodes in my cheek, and my bottom lip splits from the impact, but it’s the quiet chuckle next to me as I slowly straighten that has me studying the drake more closely, learning his face, crafting a plan.
Anger scalds my blood, but I keep myself in check. I give nothing away as I sweep my tongue over my lip and clear away the blood. The elevator abruptly darts forward, and I fall back, hitting the hard panel behind me. My cuffed hands help to soften the blow, but my already abused shoulders feel the hit keenly.
Done with the surprises, I bend my knees, dropping my center of gravity to try to prepare for the next startling shift in direction. It would have worked too, if only the guard didn’t time his shove perfectly when the car bolted left and then down.
My head cracks hard against something—a wall, a fist, this asshole’s audacity—I honestly couldn’t say. This time, I go down with nothing but my knees and face to catch my fall. Warmth slowly trickles from my temple to my cheek, and black spots dance in my vision. I decide it’s probably safer to stay on the ground for the rest of this funhouse ride, so that’s exactly what I do.
By the time the elevator doors open again, I have no idea where we are in relation to Thrasher Keep. We could be above it, below it, or in the fucking mountains on the other side of Drameric for all I know.
I’ve never been sucker punched by an elevator before, but there’s a first time for everything. I exit the car with a throbbing eye that will probably be black soon and some new cuts decorating the left side of my face. I don’t think I have a concussion though, so there’s that silver lining at least.
A familiar numbness sweeps in, claiming my limbs and consuming my emotions. I don’t know if it’s because I’m used to this kind of shit from Wistan and his Tainted or if it’s because I’ve been waiting for The Horde to show their true colors. Either way, I don’t give the dick responsible for my new injuries any reaction. I’ve gone head-to-head with scarier monsters than this prick. Assholes like him thrive on others’ anger or agony; he’ll get neither from me. Not on the outside at least.
Pewter eyes search my face for tears or any other sign of pain. I give him a wink and then proceed to act like he doesn’t exist. As expected, my dismissal invites even more of the drake’s ire, and he grabs me and pulls me down a short empty corridor and into a large shadow-draped room. I’m dumped right in the center, the drake’s footsteps loud in the empty space as he walks away to join the other male now guarding the doorless entrance.
Four softly shimmering walls shoot up from the ground, surging higher and higher until they hit the ceiling. I survey the lambent barriers that form my translucent cage, but don’t bother testing the walls or trying to figure out if it’s possible to escape them. I don’t smell magic or sense any dampeners. The faintly glowing walls are completely silent, not lending me any auditory clues as to what they are either.
I have roughly a twelve by twelve square of darkness to work with, but there’s no bed, bucket to piss in, or drain to allow for easy clean up, so I doubt I’ll be here too long. I take in the smooth floor and ceiling, both the same shade of milky-tan. The earthen hue reminds me of the coffee that Kamay, my Flight’s Tech Major, drinks nonstop—when we can get all the right ingredients, which is rare.
A spark of longing starts in my chest, but I douse it before it can grow into a flare of homesickness. From what I can see, wherever I am is made of a refined-looking, sleek stone. This place could double as a torture chamber or a great hall designed to host fancy balls and other opulent gatherings. Although, in my opinion, attending any kind of archaic dance would be a form of torture.
It’s hard to assess the exact size of the space all around me. Anything outside of a fifteen-foot radius is pitch black and impenetrable with my eyes. The only light in the room comes from my cage and the hallway that just barely illuminates the two guards bracketing the entrance, their backs now to me.
I exhale a tired but resigned sigh and then gingerly lie down in the dark center of my new cell. The cool floor feels good against my bruised cheek and the gash at my temple. My thoughts whirl, flapping around in my head like anxious birds that can’t decide on a perch. They glide from my escape in the forest to my run in with The Horde in Lairwood, pecking at everything I’ve learned and swooping around the gaps of what I don’t know but need to.
Why the fuck would the Tainted try to take on The Horde? It’s suicide. I knew my escape was going to piss Wistan off, but I figured he’d work through his anger issues with a good ol’ killing spree. He’d certainly be doing the world a favor by getting rid of some of his lackeys. But to pick a fight with the dragons?
