“Fuck you,” she spat.“And you too, you fuckingpriest.Aren’t you fuckingashamedof yourself?”
Erik was doing a lot of wincing internally today.That sort of language was not acceptable in a Son.At least, not in front of Ignatius.
“Every day.”Father’s slight smile did not alter, nor did his pale eyes flare with wet corpselight—the diseased light granted to a mad god’s chosen, repurposed in service to the Dreamers—or spatters of huntglow.An observant witness would note he wore no collar, just the cassock—but she probably wasn’t thinking clearly right now.Adrenaline was only a friend in some situations.“It comes with the territory.Erik, take her to the largerliraim.Jake, you’ll clean up here.”
“Yessir.”Erik didn’t move just yet, though.He wanted to be sure Ignatius didn’t have another order.Or he wanted to draw out being this close to a potential, even if only for a few seconds.
He couldn’t tell, and that was dangerous.
“Man, he gets all the fun.”Jake straightened, and his most charming smile was aimed at theliraihanging in Erik’s grasp.“Honestly, lady, we’re not going to hurt you.Promise.”
“Promise your mother,” she snapped.
Ignatius nodded, which made it official—Erik had to move.His first step called up a fresh spate of struggles, but she was getting tired.He could have cut off her air temporarily, just enough to calm her down.While no doubt the most efficient way of solving the problem, it would just create a hundred more.
So he carried her, still wildly kicking, for the doorway.She stopped when she couldn’t see Ignatius, but the way she froze told him she was braced for unpleasantness.It didn’t take a genius to figure out what kind, either.
“It’s all right,” he found himself saying.“Nice and easy, ma’am.We’re not gonna hurt you.”
“Fuck you,” she snapped again, and tried to bite him.She got exactly nowhere, and Erik’s face felt funny.He had to work to keep his expression neutral, instead of grinning like a fool.
It didn’t matter—she waslirai—but he already liked her.
Strategy
Three so far:the old guy, the blond with the bright white smile, and the dark-haired brick shithouse who now hauled her into a suite instead of a room—more hardwood, heavy paneling over stone walls, antique throw rugs which had seen a lot of hard use, another heavy wardrobe and a bedstead of pale ashwood instead of wrought iron glimpsed through an interior door.That was bad, but maybe she could break off a chunk and batter her way to freedom.
Motivation makes miracles, as Mom always said.And oh God, Liv didn’t want to think about her mother right now.
“Bathroom’s through there,” he said, swinging around so she could see yet another slightly ajar door to the other side of the bedroom entrance, a bright clean slice of tile glowing through.“The windows won’t let you out, so don’t try that again.You gonna go crazy if I let go of you?”
“I’m not crazy.”Her ribs heaved.She’d been silent the whole trip, looking for a way out; no dice, he didn’t even put her down once.Be smart, Liv.“Why did you kidnap me?”
“Like our Father said, you’re under guard.That’s all.”He was a solid mass of muscle, and very warm.It felt like he could snap her in half, and if he tried she was going to fight some more.Sink her nails in to get skin underneath, so when they dumped her body, she would have DNA evidence trapped there?—
“Don’t fade out now, ma’am.”
That’s the last thing on my mind, asshole.But she went still, breathing as deeply as she could.He hauled her around like she weighed nothing, which meant she had to get creative.
At least she’d been right about the door.It opened up into the hall so she couldn’t get behind it, and now she knew that standing nearby and braining whoever came through wasn’t a winning strategy.
Not unless she could find a better weapon.How many of these rooms did theyhave?
She still ached all over, too.And all she was wearing was the goddamn nightgown.Her rope was in the other room, and a fat lot of good it did her since the window glass was some fucking bullshit.
How badly was she bleeding?At least that was evidence.They could clean, but a UV light would show blood, right?It was a fine time to wish she’d actually read forensic research instead of just watching police procedurals to laugh at the mess they made of courtroom technique.
The guy was talking again.“Okay.This is how it’s gonna go.I’m gonna set you on the bed, and?—”
She erupted into wild motion again.Achieved nothing.Again.
“Okay, okay.”He hauled her up, somehow avoiding her kicking.“Not the bed.Look, you…” He paused when she went limp again, lowered her slowly.“Tell me where you feel safe, and I’ll turn you loose there.Okay?”
“Outside.”It was worth a try.“That’s where I’d feel safe.”
Hopefully he’d cracked a smile, a chink in his armor, but he sure didn’t sound like it.“Come on, ma’am.”
“You just doing your job here?”It was only partly sarcasm—whatever he said would give her a clue.A psych degree was good for something, even if it was near useless during after-graduation job searches.Getting the paralegal gig at Maddox, Baker, & Kinnock had been a lucky break, and shelikedthe work.She was good at it, and the office picked up the tab for continuing education.She was just a few credits away from qualifying for actual paralegal accreditation, too, which would give her a raise.
