Dawn of the Hunters
Page 24
Jessop nearly fell out, stumbling to the side as the white uniformed men and Hanson Knell carried the young Hunter out. “Let’s get some help over here!” Hanson yelled, and immediately, under his vicious growl, a flock of medics and nurses swarmed them. Jessop stepped back and watched the team as they moved like an efficient flight of birds, swooping in, opening the young Hunter’s vest, removing his blade, and carrying him away, disappearing down the corridor without any hesitation or questions.
The room fell quiet as all of them stared at the slow swinging doors the medics had taken Kohl O’Hanlon through. Jessop took a deep breath, looking around slowly, amazed by the building she found herself in.
One of the men from the docking bay turned to Hanson Knell. “Do you want us to wait with you, Sir?”
Hanson shook his head, staring down at the young Hunter’s sword in his hands. “No, go on.”
The man nodded, slowly clapping Hanson Knell on the shoulder as he walked past, leading his group of techs back into the glass chute. Jessop studied the old Hunter’s face, the smattering of blood flecked across his cheek, the way his cool eyes fixated on the blade in his hand. He was old and he was weary, and likely in need of a medical inspection. She knew better than to suggest it though. Instead, she let her gaze fall from him, slowly taking in the brilliant opal lights that surrounded her, the pristine ivory floors and glass furniture. It was the brightest and cleanest room she had ever been in.
Suddenly, Jessop was choking. Without warning, a terrifying grip had locked around her small throat, closing around her jugular and flinging her body against the glass doors. Hanson Knell’s grizzled fingers tightened around her windpipe and in his spare hand was the blade of his comrade, pointed directly at her face. She was pinned between the blade and the door behind her, his rough fingers grinding at her neck.
She didn’t stir, her startled heart slowing as she studied the hardened eyes of Hanson Knell. Being startled was not the same as being afraid—true fear was something that had long since been beaten out of her. She took shallow breaths between his vice grip. “What?”
“Who are you, girl?” he growled.
She slowly raised her hand to his and pulled gently at his wrist, willing him to release her throat, but he resisted, inching the blade closer to her eye.
“I don’t know what answer you want,” she spoke hoarsely, her voice straining against his hold.
“Don’t toy with me, girl,” he barked, jerking her by her throat and slamming her body hard against the glass door again.
“Do not call me girl, old man,” she growled back, narrowing her eyes on him.
He brought his angry face closer to her. “I want a name, girl. And once we have that, then perhaps you’ll tell me why you fight with Falco Bane’s sword?”
She slapped at his hand, urging him to loosen his grip on her throat… before she forced it loose. Slowly, he acquiesced.
She coughed, swallowing hard against her bruised windpipe. She held his gaze as she ran her fingers slowly up and down her neck. “Because I took it from him when I escaped Aranthol.”