Static noise blares from the radio clipped to his belt. An involuntary jerk of my hips has the stranger tightening his grip. My lungs are suppressed, his bony shoulder burrowing into the soft flesh between my ribs.
Just as he is about to turn the corner, my hand catches the railing, yanking us backwards. The guard’s grip instantly loosens. I wiggle out of his grasp, falling to my knees. I manage three steps before he hauls me up by my neck, locking me back in his arms.
The open space gives way to a control room, facing a long row of floor-to-ceiling holding cells. Cages. The guard stops at the second to last door, thrusting his key inside the lock. Panic overtakes me as the door swings open.
He forces me to step inside and I whirl on him, bringing my knee to his crotch. But the guard doesn’t budge from the sensitive contact. Instead, he yanks my hair and slams my faceagainst the wall. My lungs heave out something between a gasp and a cry as his hand wraps around my windpipe.
“Behave,” he growls, shoving me to the floor.
Between burning gasps, I scramble to my feet, rushing to the door, which is promptly slammed in my face.
“Come back here!” I scream. “Please!”
His figure quickly disappears down the hall. Hot tears stream down my face as I rattled the bars and pound on the lock, throwing all my weight into it. My elbow clangs against the iron rod. The rush of pain has me sinking down to the floor. Finally, I let myself release a sigh of momentary defeat.
All this cell holds is a cot and a bucket in the corner. No food has been set out. My stomach lurches, wondering when I might get my next meal.
My gaze drifts over to the person imprisoned next to me.
“Are you hungry?” she whispers, extending a celery stalk through the wiring. Like me, she has been given a thin, striped nightgown to wear. Hardly enough to withstand a basement that feels like a deep freezer.
“Thanks,” I sniffle.
As I lean in, she startles. "You can't be here."
My brows furrow, noting her displaced accent. Sylo, perhaps? It sounds buttery. Effortlessly elegant, which is typical of those who hail from the northeast continent. "Do I know you?"
She looks over my shoulder cautiously, then sets her eyes back on me. "No. But I know you. I've known you all my life."
My eyes widen as they flick to the tiny insignia inked above her elbow. An eye shaped by two crescents. The same symbol Lyndi wore around her neck. That Maurleen now possesses.
I give the woman a thorough look over. Tan skin aged roughly twenty years beyond mine. Pixie cut hair. Frail limbs.A hollow face that has witnessed unbridled horror. A Servos Primae Lunari, here in the dungeons.
Footsteps reach my ears, thudding closer every second. Her voice lowers to barely more than a whisper. "Whatever they put you through, you must remain silent, Vespera. They mustn’t discover what you are."
Two different guards, the men who pulled me from the trunk, strut down the aisle, stopping at the last door. I still myself as they pull my neighbor to her feet and carry her away. She doesn’t fight them. Perhaps I should also save my energy.
Only when I am completely alone do I scratch the itch that’s been gnawing at me since I woke. The chafing on the connection I now share with my mate.
When I tap into the heartline, I’m met with an onslaught of heat. Axe is restless. While I can’t speak to him directly, I can try to give him some sign of life. Hand over my heart, I close my eyes and visualize myself skipping a rock across a shallow pond. One that he stands on the other side of.
Can he feel me? Is anyone out there searching for me?
Oh, gods. What of the Tilaak? Did he get there in time to help Kismet’s people?
I receive no response from Axe. With so many racing thoughts, it feels like hours have passed when the guards return with the other prisoner. Her feet drag along the floor as they cart her back to her holding place. Though no injuries mar her skin, her eyes flutter, fighting consciousness.
Then, the men unlock my cell. “On your feet, little Luna.”
Hauling me up two flights of stairs, the guards carry me past a large, industrial room with massive overhead lights and long silver tables with sheets strewn over processing machinery. The men round the corner and pull me into what looks like an examination room with bright white lights. Is this some kind of hospital?
The man from the club grins wolfishly as his guards place me on a cold silver table. Gulping, my eyes dart to the cross-legged figure in the corner who wears a black turtleneck and lab coat. In a way, she resembles him. Her chin-length hair is nearly as white as the jacket.
The two men look to her for permission. She nods, clutching her clipboard.
“I think it’s time for an introduction. My name is Levi,” the dominant male says. “And these are my associates. Before you join the others upstairs, we’re going to get you cleaned up. Let’s start with the hideous brand on your neck, shall we?”
Calm. I must remain calm. I think back to Tesni’s mind-stilling exercises, assuming that method might be my only means for defending myself and the secrets I guard close. The key to making it out of this room alive.
