Then I repeated the exercise. Each time I called for an object, it became easier. I even managed to summon a few strawberries. I savored them, licking their juice from my lips.
When my hunger was sated, I considered my back.
Slowly, carefully, I peeled off my blood-soaked clothes, pushed them into the corner to keep them dry, and used Pierce’s water power to create a gentle rain shower.
I gasped when the first drops touched my skin. Each gentle touch was agony. Agony that might save me from infection. I gritted my teeth and endured.
The water at my feet swirled red. When it ran clear, I stopped the rain.
Grandmother would never blame me for claiming some of her healing salve. But even if I had a jar, how would I apply the ointment without twisting and reopening the wounds?
I’d make do without. Just as I could make do without letting her know what had happened. She’d only worry, and there was nothing she could do to help. A sudden pang had me reconsidering. I missed her. Terribly.
I shook my head (slowly this time) and gathered my resolve. It would be selfish to make her worry just so I could whine.
Oh! I closed my eyes and called a piece of chalk from the junk drawer in Grandmother’s kitchen and the clock from the mantel in the living room. The time read nine o’clock. I assumed it was nighttime, but I wasn’t sure. I made a small tick on the wall next to my pillow. If I marked each time the clock showed nine, I could send my belongings home before they opened the door. I didn’t fancy being caught with objects from home. They’d want to know how I got them, and I couldn’t exactly explain that I’d teleported them here. If they discovered I had abilities beyond shielding, there was no telling what they’d do to me.
I spread the blanket on the floor and lay on my stomach.
Each object I summoned was evidence of abilities they didn’t know I possessed. Therefore dangerous. Still, I summoned one final item—the romance I’d been reading before my life went to absolute hell. Would the hero ever realize how wrong he’d been? Would the heroine ever forgive him? Right now, I was hoping she wouldn’t.
Chapter
Eleven
GRAYSON
“We should check on her.” Teal’s hair was wild. Again. Probably because his new hobby seemed to be raking his fingers through the strands.
“If we open the pit before seven days have passed, Carron will extend the time she spends in there.” Spending days alone in the dark messed with people’s minds. If the shield didn’t die, she might come out broken beyond repair.
“Do you feel anything?” Teal demanded. “Guilt? Remorse?”
I looked to Pierce for help, but he’d propped himself against his usual doorway with a pensive expression on his normally impassive face.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “The situation was not ideal.”
Teal barked a laugh. “Not ideal? We allowed Drake to torture a woman, then did nothing when they threw her in a pit to die. We’re supposed to be the good guys.”
“We’re fighting for more than one woman.”
“The end justifies themeans?”
I didn’t answer.
“Let me understand. We can justify murder and torture and rape because it’s for the greater good?”
“Enough talking!”
“Teal’s right. We’re the villains.”
I stared at Pierce. Of all of us, he was the least likely to give in to some maudlin sense of regret. I wasn’t foolish enough to believe my friend cared about the order the way I did. Late at night, when I couldn’t sleep, I wondered if he was just biding his time, waiting to exact justice. But he had to see the truth. “Either Drake whipped her, or she died by Carron’s hand.”
Annoyance flashed across Pierce’s chilly features, and he pushed away from the doorframe. “There was another option.”
“Really?” Sarcasm dripped from my tongue. “What was that?”
“We stood by her.” Something flickered across Pierce’s features—too quick to identify, but it looked almost like pain.
