by KB Anne
Jovie bit her nail as she stared out the window. She’d taken to biting them again at times of stress. Our unexpected excursion to the Island warranted intense nail-biting.
Meanwhile, Jude lay in a hospital bed probably wondering what happened to me. Maybe I should feel guilty about breaking my promise to him but getting dragged into a helicopter kicking and screaming didn’t qualify as skipping out on him.
General Treadwell studied me as I took in the view from my window. Ocean, ocean, and more ocean. Oh, and a seagull. “No daring swimming escapes from the Island.”
“Did you come up with the name? It sparks images of lounge chairs and relaxation.”
His eyes sparked with a sinister glint. “Relaxation is not a word I would use.”
I held his gaze as if to say, “Bring it on.”
We landed shortly after the stimulating conversation. I pretended I wasn’t scared by keeping my shoulders relaxed or at least as relaxed as my tense shoulders could be, but after the iron cross incident, I didn’t know what to expect.
I climbed out of the helicopter after Treadwell and Sami. Thomas and Jovie stayed inside with me so I couldn’t attempt a radical escape from the Island. It was faltering they all thought me capable of some incredible escape attempt on a remote island with an intricate iron cross on my back. Maybe they were afraid I’d take the pilot hostage and force him to fly me away. (Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. I wished I thought of it sooner.)
There was nowhere for me to go. There was nothing I could do. I was at General Treadwell’s mercy. I didn’t think it was possible, but I hated him even more for it.
I took in my surroundings as the remaining members of Team Asshole climbed out. The palm trees and sandy beaches were a beach lovers paradise, but I had the feeling I wouldn’t be doing a lot of sunbathing. There were two golf carts parked at the landing pad with plenty of storage room for luggage, but since the trip was unexpected none of us brought any. Aside from Treadwell, we were all still wearing bathing suits with minimal clothing.
Team Asshole stood around awkwardly waiting for their fearless leader to guide them, but from the looks of it, Treadwell was ignoring them. He stood with his arms crossed. His eyes lasered on me.
“Begin.”
“Begin what?”
“You wanted to run a marathon. Run it.”
Something about Treadwell irked me. I got along fairly well with my grandparents and Kenneth, considering the circumstances. But Treadwell provoked me in a way that sparked my fight instinct. I couldn’t just go along with his instruction. I had to argue. “Excuse me?”
“I will not repeat myself. The rest of you can take a golf cart to the barracks. You have the evening off. As Jessalyn suggested, it’s your time to relax in lounge chairs by the water.”
Thomas’s feet crunched as he stepped forward. “Sir, you want us to leave Jessalyn?”
“Yes. She’s under my command.”
He’d like to think that wouldn’t he?
“But sir, she often needs the three or the four of us to subdue her when she’s attempted to escape in the past.”
Treadwell’s head tipped acknowledging Thomas’s statement. “True, but the Island is surrounded by miles of ocean, and the water is shark infested. If that doesn’t deter her, the magical barriers will keep her within the shields. Jessalyn is under my control.”
My nose itched. Something was off. Treadwell was withholding information from Team Asshole, but none of them disagreed with him. They were all good little recruits. Maybe they’d get a mint on their pillow before bedtime.
Jovie gave me a parting glance that hinted of concern for my well-being. Sami grinned. Thomas played the part of the obedient clone brilliantly. He climbed into the golf cart without questioning his superior.
Once they were out of sight, Treadwell turned to me. “Did you know that I am an inventor?”
Not the question I was expecting. “An inventor?”
He withdrew a silver bracelet from his front pocket. “Yes, my research and development team are brilliant, but they rely on standard methods of submission and torture. I like to think outside the box.”
I suspected glitter farting unicorns didn’t exist outside his box.
“Recognize the style of the bracelet?” He shoved it in my face.
Of course, I recognized it. The style resembled the bracelets my grandparents used to call each other, but their stone was lapis lazuli, a deep blue with swirls of silver running throughout. The shiny gray black stone in Treadwell’s bracelet reminded me of a twisted rose heart.
“Is that your heart?”
He examined it closely then his steel-gray eyes met mine. “More like yours. I can’t wait to show you what it does.” He snapped it on his wrist.
At least I didn’t have to wear the awful thing.
“Run,” he said again.
“I’m in a bathing suit.”
His hand hovered over the stone.
“I’m in flip-flops and my wrists are bound.”
He pressed down. A lightning bolt shot through me. My body jerked and shook. This was bad. Very, very bad.
His fingers waggled above the torture device. “You wanted to run a marathon. Now, run.”
I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and lifted my chin. I would not be beaten into submission. I wanted to knock that Joker smile off his face.
He shrugged as he pressed down again.
I cried out. My body seized as another lightning bolt struck me. My vision blurred.
“Run,” he said.
I took off at a sprint. My flip-flops flew off from the fast start, but I knew better than to retrieve them. Treadwell would sooner zap me with his hellish torture device than allow me the two seconds to put them back on. My bare feet pounded against the small stones of the cart path. The bottoms of my feet were tough from years of walking barefoot, but tonight those layers of skin would be put to the test.
My pace was too fast if indeed Treadwell made me run a marathon, especially with no shoes, food or water, and at night, but it was exactly something he would do. He wanted to punish me for trying to escape again. When he suggested the iron bolts through my shoulders to ensure my wings didn’t break free, he did it for his own twisted pleasure. He thrived on exerting control. I, alone, tested his limits. I, alone, defied his power. I, alone, would pay.
I settled into an even rhythm. If I went too slow, Treadwell would press his little toy and drop me with a third strike.
The steady hum of the golf cart followed me down the path. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder. He might wield power over me, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.
* * *
After several miles passed by, my stomach rumbled. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate or drank. Was it early this morning? J.J. poured me a glass of water on the boat, but I didn’t drink it. I was too focused on the prospect of escaping to drink. I regret that decision now.
The sun highlighted the trees on either side of the path. The golden hour. Soon the sun would set, but that wouldn’t matter to Treadwell. Exacting punishment didn’t take a holiday.
“Faster,” he grunted.
I picked up the pace a notch. Tiny stones bit into my feet. The callouses worn away after miles of wear. I gritted my teeth. I would never acknowledge weakness in front of Treadwell if I could help it. I also didn’t want to get zapped with his torture device again.
The golf cart sped up. Only a few inches separated the front bumper from the back of my feet.
Without him pressing the twisted rose or saying a word, I ran faster. Fatigue washed over me. My leg muscles burned. They worked extra because I couldn’t use my arms. I slowly inched away from the golf cart.
With the sun gone, the only light came from the cart’s narrow beams. The path wound around the entire island. When I tried to follow the sandy beach instead of the path, Treadwell reminded me who was in charge with a quick pulse of electricity. After a second attempt
, I stopped trying. Every time a lightning strike hit me, my energy stores further depleted. I couldn’t risk what I had left. I had to finish this race.
We passed the barracks twice. None of Team Asshole witnessed what their precious general was putting me through. I studied the horizon whenever the path skirted the shoreline. There was no evidence of civilization. No faraway lights. No familiar sounds of traffic. Nothing but water, sharks, and Treadwell.
At the north end, I passed a mansion designed in the Spanish Mission style. Even in times of duress, my father’s architectural influence kept my brain occupied. A few outdoor spotlights revealed primarily a rambling, one level structure with long stretches of windows.
The path followed a glass walkway that led to a glass turret overlook. The ocean was visible from three sides.
“That’s where you’ll be staying after your marathon,” Treadwell snarled.
He said it as if the mansion was another form of torture. I worried what else he had in mind.
I tried to swallow to no avail. My throat was raw from the constant air flow in and out. The iron cross prevented not only my Silver Fae power from surfacing but also my body’s ability to heal. The lack of water and food added to my trouble.
I beat my fisted hands against my chest to get more oxygen into my lungs.
It didn’t help.
The bottoms of my feet raw and bloody or at least I assumed they were. I lost feeling in them soon after the sun set.
“Final lap,” Treadwell called out. “Make it your fastest.”
Spots blurred my vision. I opened and closed my eyes trying to see. My legs moved of their own power—too stubborn to stop even if the rest of my body betrayed me. I gasped for breath again and again. Hot coals ravaged my throat each time. I did it anyway. The cruelty of needing oxygen profoundly impactful.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Starr
* * *
“Your room is at the end of the glass hallway,” Treadwell had mocked me each time I circled the perimeter of the mansion.
At the finish line, he dismissed me with a flick of his wrist, and no offer to shuttle me over to the mansion.
Somehow I kept upright as I stumbled down the path to the mansion. Crawling would be less painful, but I was too proud. Treadwell took too much satisfaction in torturing me. He’d twist it into another victory.
I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
I also refused to admit defeat. With every step, a million shards of glass punctured the bottoms of my feet.
I kept going anyway.
I burst into the dark mansion and quickly found the glass hallway Treadwell mentioned. The cool tile floor soothed the bottoms of my feet enough to allow me to shuffle down the impossibly long hallway to my room.
Somewhere in the back of my foggy brain, I worried that I was heading toward a new prison, but it ranked far below my shear exhaustion and body numbing pain.
I cried out in relief when I got to my room. The moon and stars cast a warm glow across my bed. I collapsed on top of it—too exhausted to crawl under the covers. Too exhausted to worry about blood and dirt staining the white comforter. Too exhausted to care period.
* * *
Shadows and whispers broke into my subconscious. I was far too depleted to fully wake. I ignored them and drifted back into oblivion.
* * *
A sharp pinch followed by a tug in my right arm almost roused me from the depths of sleep, but the pain was nothing compared to the Fitter installing my iron cross or Treadwell’s lightning strikes from his new “invention.” I fell back under.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Starr
* * *
A soft light hung over me. I broke the surface of consciousness to familiar blue eyes.
“Am I dreaming?”
Christian’s beautiful smile awoke my soul. “Would it be so bad if you were?”
“I hurt so bad,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry, but I’m here now. A walk along the beach will heal you. Shall we?” He offered me his elbow.
Words failed me. I slid my arm in his. The gaping hole in my heart began to fill. He led me to the water’s edge. A gentle wave caressed my feet.
I lifted a foot. Then the other. “They don’t hurt anymore.”
He brushed a sweep of hair behind my ear.
“No, I don’t expect they do.”
Worrisome thoughts needled at my brain. “Is this real?”
He stepped closer. His lips mere inches from mine.
“You aren’t asking the right questions.”
But with Christian so close, I didn’t need answers.
He slid his fingers into my hair and pulled me closer. Our lips almost touching. My body tingled with anticipation, but he didn’t kiss me. Instead he whispered, “Wake up Starr, wake up.”
* * *
Someone shook me. “Jessalyn dear, wake up.”
My mind, my body were pushed beyond its ability to wake ever again.
Someone sat on my bed. “You went too far Treadwell.”
“The healers tell me all she needs is more fluids and rest. She will make a full recovery,” the grating voice of the general said.
Recovery? What happened to me?
My brain was foggy.
“How did she get into this condition in the first place? Your explanation is far from satisfactory,” the voice I now recognized as The Great White said. It sickened me his lecherous body was inches from my own.
“She tried to escape the Island. I chased her, but she evaded me most of the night. It wasn’t until she collapsed that I caught her. I immediately brought her here, but the effects of her numerous escape attempts depleted her. She overestimated what she was capable of.”
Memories of Treadwell forcing me to run a marathon barefoot rushed back to me. Was he still wearing his invention? I needed to destroy that torture device.
In the end, it was Treadwell who overestimated me. It was Treadwell who forced me into this condition.
“Were the iron bolts through her shoulders really necessary? The straps seem excessive as well.”
Treadwell’s angry energy radiated off him and filled the room. He didn’t like being questioned or defending himself.
“She almost escaped twice with them. They are absolutely necessary.”
Desire poured off The Great White.
Was I still wearing the bathing suit? I couldn’t tell under the warmth of the blankets. Nausea replaced concern. If I wasn’t, it would mean someone changed me. The thought of either one of these slimy bastards touching me made me want to puke.
“Will she need them at the wedding?”
My eyes almost flipped open. Wedding? What wedding?
Treadwell shifted. “I need time to ensure her obedience. Horace keeps calling. I’ve ignored him thus far, but they will figure out where she is.”
“I will smooth things over with Evelyn. Her and I share a common understanding.”
Treadwell grunted. No doubt remembering his interaction with my grandmother the day of my iron cross installation. “I distrust her the most.”
The Great White smacked his lips together. “She wants a union as much as I do. If a mate is announced by the Summer Solstice, the Silverlain reign will not be disputed at Court. Once that happens, we will make our move.”
“Your plan isn’t sound battle strategy.”
“It is a chess game, one of intellect and foresight, not a ground battle of brute strength.”
Another wave of anger rolled off Treadwell. The Great White tested the boundaries of his patience.
“Will we need to keep her?”
I imagined Treadwell’s lip curling by the way he said, “her.” My very existence as the Silverlain princess drove his rage because he could never use me as the ultimate assassin he dreamed of.
He’d learn that some dreams don’t come true, and nightmares can become reality.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Di
* * *
Rebecca stood in front of me in Ben’s living room. Her energy excited yet cautious. I still didn’t understand what was happening to me. Why I suddenly became aware of energies and intentions when, as of yet, I hadn’t exhibited any supernatural potential. I was in a room filled with supernaturals. Well, with the exception of Frank, but he was Otherworldly gorgeous, so he hardly counted.
“You want me to do what?” I asked again certain I misheard her.
“Dreamwalk and talk to Christian. See if he can be reasoned with.”
“How exactly?”
“I will walk you through a meditation and guide you to where we believe Christian is.”
Frank stiffened beside me. “What do you mean by ‘we believe?’”
Rebecca glanced at Ben and Coda who were sitting on the other sofa. The very one I once fantasized about confessing my feelings to Christian after which we’d tear each other’s clothes off. Frank squeezed my hand in support. Warmth spread through me from his very touch. My real life boyfriend was so much better.
“We don’t know for sure if he stayed on the Otherside.”
I pursed my lips. “What happens if he’s not there?”
“We’ll need to wake him and try to talk to him rationally.”
“And if he isn’t rational, you will put him under again?”
She hesitated glancing over at Ben and Coda again for support. Ben nodded reassuringly.
“Probably yes. It’s for his own good.”
I disagreed with their methods, but their reasoning was solid. They wanted to protect their Chosen One at all costs. I sighed, realizing there was only one choice. “What do you want me to do?”
Frank pulled me to his chest. “Could Di be in danger?”
“Doubtful,” Coda said.