All I could offer was a grimace. A slight inhale that whistled at the back of my throat.
Releasing me with a curse, the captain pulled back. Palm soaked red and sticky. “Shit. Are you injured, slave?” he asked, and with clean knuckles, caught the edge of my jaw. Turning my face toward him.
A snort of laughter bubbled up, escaping through my nose. The cold had spilled all the way down my back, leaving me numb. Swaying, palms tingling, the world tilted back and everything went white.
6
Iawoke without opening my eyes.
Wrapped in strong arms, rocking side to side.
I was being carried.
Making sure there was nothing wrong with any of my limbs, I took a mental inventory of my body. The instant I was sure I was capable, I came to life, struggling until I was dropped with a curse. Ribs screamed a desperate protest, but I knew.
This was my second wind. My last chance to make a break for it.
Blind to the pain, I started running as soon as I had my feet under me.
Despite the size of the bathhouse, it was all but empty. A blessing and a hindrance, for while there were few to aid in my recapture, neither could I lose myself in a crowd.
My only hope lay in my superior agility from all my years running in the trees. In the unique set of skills I’d fought so hard to claim.
On my right, a spiral staircase sloping gently to the second floor caught my eye, and I veered off without warning. The sensation of narrowly escaping capture made my heart flutter, and I poured everything I had into my mad dash.
Heavy feet thundered behind me, closing the narrow gap.
I jumped, trusting my instincts, my eyes fixed to the wide banister.
“Sonofa—” Hooked fingers slipped off the back of my shirt.
With a squeal, I looked and saw the blur of a Caledonian man. Taking the stairs three at a time, he paced me easily.
I grinned. The banister was polished wood, but it wasn’t much different from running on branches slick with freezing rain. Easier by far than trying to do it silently.
There was shouting coming from all around me now. Barked orders from the stairs on my left, answered from those still on the floor below.
But I could hear nothing over the sound of my own pounding heart. My ragged, wet breaths that spoke of internal harm I couldn’t just walk off.
When I reached the second floor, I launched myself from the railing. Sailing through the air, I landed with a thump that awoke the pain in my ribs from the dull roar it had become. A splinter of breathtaking agony, muted, no doubt, by the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
A large man wearing nothing but a towel appeared in front of me, thick thighs blocking my path.
I skidded to a halt, sides heaving painfully. And when our eyes met, I recoiled—this man was an elite warrior and far more powerful than Captain Rawlings. His energy tainted with a scent I recognized in an instant.
And then I knew two things at once.Thiselite had an enslaved priestess feeding him energy, and Captain Rawlings did not.
The consequences of being caught by either man were opposite ends of the same horrible stick.
Eyes wild, I searched for another exit.
“Nowhere to go, Hob,” the captain drawled from behind me, spurring me into startled action.
Surprising even myself, I rushed the elite in front of me, then dove between his spread legs, yanking the towel from his hips as I went.
But instead of moving to cover himself, the big man merely laughed. Rumbling deep and cruel, absent any shred of humility. “You’ve got a wild one, Asher,” he said in a deep, throaty voice I could feel in my chest.
Light shone through a window at the end of the hall, beckoning. The outlet I needed, and my very last chance. I lengthened my steps, trying to make it before the elites could get their hands on me.
