Igniting the Flame (The Ignited Girl Series Book 2)

by EJ Everette

  Deep laughter, sinister and terrifying, fills the small space as it pulls back to laugh at my disdain. Yeah dude, I am sure it is really funny that you look like an inside out asshole. Keep guffawing you freak. Trembling, I pull myself into a seated position, curling my legs into my body and wrapping my arms around them to keep myself as secure as possible. At this point, there is no longer a need to remain quiet.

  “What are you?” My voice comes out a whisper, but there is no rattling in my teeth to give away just how fucking afraid I am.

  Another laugh escapes its mouth before it turns back to look at me with the deep set black orbs in place of where I expected eyes. I claw at my chest, the intense aching still very much present as the creature takes me in.

  “What am I? I am your king, princess,” the word sounding like a curse instead of a title. “I am your new home. You will call me master, and one day you will serve me.” Black blood oozes heavily around its cheek muscles when its lips pull up into a sneer.

  “Never,” I say, strength finding me again so that my words are less a whisper and more a promise.

  The creature’s sneer remains, as it backs away towards the door. The small pug-faced thing moves to again disappear beneath its master’s cloaks. The door opens without warning, the evil asshole stopping just short of the exit. Before leaving, something that can only be the sound of twisted glee escapes its mouth.

  “Ah, that is where you are wrong, princess.” Again, I can hear the utter disdain it has for the term, though it seems to be the way it chooses to address me, answering my initial question of whether or not these things know who I am supposed to be. “However,” its voice takes on a more sinister quality, deepening so that it is barely audible, “it will be my supreme pleasure to show you just how wrong you are. Yes, much like with your mother, I will enjoy every single moment of our time together. And, make no mistake, you will bow to me. It has been written.” With that final mic drop performance, the creature slips out of the door, the heavy rock slamming shut, securing me once again in my dark, cold prison, alone.

  Slumped on the floor, my head tries to wrap around everything that just took place in this space. Some demonic looking creatures just showed up, obviously my captors and obviously in the know as to my real life, the one I myself just learned about like five fucking minutes ago. There is a hierarchy and the tall bastard appears to be the top dog and wants me to call it master. It? Him? Ugh, whatever, doesn’t matter. What matters are the next two pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together in front of me.

  First, whoever or whatever they are, they plan to hurt me. Badly. Why, I still don’t know for sure but it has to have something to do with that damn prophecy since the master asshole said something about it being written that I will bow to him.

  And, more importantly, the bastard knew my Mom. And from the sound of it, he plans to do to me the same thing he did to her.

  20

  Gray

  What time is it? I look around the frozen cell unable to sleep, desperately trying to find some semblance of normalcy to attach to. I have no way of knowing how long I have slept, though none of the moments of unconsciousness have truly been on purpose or restful. Still, it feels like it must have been a full day already since the pains in my chest have been overwhelmed by the growling of my stomach. I need food. And coffee, though something tells me I’ll be lucky to get a few drops of water in this place, much less a dark roast with mocha swirls. For a brief moment I can picture the coffee, steam coming from the frothy top of my mug at home, before reality reminds me that neither the coffee, nor the place I have spent the last few years of my life exist for me anymore.

  Well, whatever time it is, this day is starting out shitty.

  My body is in survival mode, constantly assessing my mobility, injuries, and surroundings. I know I should be freaking out a hell of a lot more right now. Creatures that are most assuredly not human kidnapped me, imprisoned me, and plan to torture me. None of this is normal and the girl who has been raised human her whole life, the one who still takes up most of my mental space, wants to reject this all as a bad dream. Wants to fight acknowledging what is happening and replace it with something, anything, that makes logical sense.

  Unfortunately, I have had bad dreams for as long as I can remember. I can say without a doubt none of them have ever been like this. Denying my situation is only going to leave me more vulnerable than I already am, a fact I have learned first hand too many times. There is strength deep within me and I know I need to channel it now. Energy is being sapped from me every second through both the wound to my head and the ripping sensation throughout my chest, but my left arm is slightly less excruciating than it was before and my legs are moving a little easier. I count that as a win. Shifting around on the cold flooring only serves to remind me of the scarce amount of clothing covering my body, shivers running up and down me from head to toe. If I don’t get warmer soon, and get some sort of food in my system, I might die of hypothermia. Seeing absolutely nothing resembling a blanket or covering to bring me warmth, movement is my next option. Maybe if I can manage to stand up and walk around, the blood will start pumping a little faster through my veins and warm me up.

  Pushing up off the floor, slowly this time so as not to end up blacking out again, I finally manage to get my feet under me and stand. Sweat is dripping down my forehead, back, and arms from the effort it takes just to remain standing, but it’s something. Scooting ever so slowly toward the wall, I use it to prop myself up and allow the blood to circulate through my stiff appendages after at least a day laid out on the floor. My left hand goes to my chest, aching to relieve some of the intensity of the pain there. Surely if it was a heart attack of sorts it would have either ended or killed me by now, right? It feels like someone is pulling pieces of my heart from my body with a pair of tweezers, collecting arteries and tendons, slice by slice, removing them from my chest cavity. It fucking hurts. Breathing heavily, mostly from this stupid heart thing, I try to stabilize myself enough to pull away from the wall.

  Too much hits me too quickly, my head wound pulsing beneath the tank top still wrapped around it, and I fall to my knees before I can even take a step. Shit. The rough, sharp rocky ground cuts into my exposed flesh, tearing more of my skin away from my knees and hands when I catch myself.

  So, it looks like moving is out of the running for ideas on how to get the hell out of here. Shouldn’t affect my overall plan much. Ugh.

  My stomach growls loudly, the sound echoing off of my stone palace walls, but I am too weak to even care. Without food and water, the ability to walk or even move, and with all of my wounds, the future is looking pretty damn bleak. I mean, I’ve been in some horrific situations in my life. More than once I thought I would fall asleep and never wake up. I’ve survived days locked up in a deep freezer without food or water. Shit, I’ve even been so deprived of oxygen I must have blacked out dozens of times, each time coming to when I was granted a puff or two of fresh air before being locked away again. The difference is that none of the tormentors of my past were really trying to kill me, only control me and show me who was in charge. Show me how weak I am. Of course, none of my past involved demons so this shit takes first prize in the competition of most shitastical moments of my life. Not a prize I ever wanted to reward.

  My head snaps up, ouch, when a loud banging sound comes from the door of the cell. The heavy stone is pushed open, and I immediately cower in preparation of Ugly One and Two returning. Instead, the slightest movement reveals a tray of sorts being shoved in the corner of the entryway before the door is slammed shut again just as quickly. Unable to stand thankfully doesn’t mean I am completely paralyzed, so I scoot painstakingly slow across the stone. Once I am close enough to the tray I can see and smell the food, my mouth watering on instinct. I shove myself into a seated position, leaning against the wall near the cell door, taking in the meal before me. I was expecting prison food, inedible and moldy, but surprisingly it looks like a biscuit, som
e jam of sorts, what appears to be sliced ham, and a metal cup with water in it. Fuck yeah!

  I make short work of the meal, my instinct to be cautious completely abandoned, overwhelmed by my need for sustenance. I swallow all of the water in three large gulps, a rookie mistake I don’t care to dwell on, and inhale the food so quickly I can’t even taste it. Honestly it could have been mudpies for all I care right now. The food is far from enough to leave me satisfied but it does the trick and soon I find myself feeling at least a little more alert. With the small increase in energy comes awareness that I should have hoarded the meal and water instead of devouring it. Who knows how long it will be before I get any more. I have gone a few days without nutrients before and it is never fun.

  Just as I am beating myself up about my rash decision regarding the unexpected meal, the sharp aches in my chest flare up so intensely I literally lose vision for a moment, but then they disappear altogether. My eyesight comes back a little spotty, but once I regain full awareness I realize the pain in my heart is completely gone with no lingering sensation. What the hell? Had there been medicine in that food? Something in the water? Why would they give me something to heal me if they planned to torture me to make me submit? Is this their way of trying to lure me in? They have to know a little bit of food won’t have me suddenly sporting “Team Demon” jerseys and shaking pom poms of destruction for them, right?

  With the ache in my chest gone and some nutrients in my system, I try once again to stand. Unfortunately the same shit happens, my body is still far too weak to do much of anything, so I scoot back over to my pointy rock space, curl into a ball, and attempt to get some sleep and regain my strength. Not like there is anything else to do at the moment. Despite the throbbing in my skull from my head wound, it takes me all of a few moments to fall into a deep sleep.

  “Grayelle. Grayelle, can you hear me?”

  Huh? Mom? Mom is that you? Am I dreaming?

  “Grayelle. Princess. You need to wake up. They are going to come for you. You will need to be strong.”

  What? Mom what are you talking about? Who is coming for me? Why can’t I see anything? Where are you?

  “My sweet girl. I wish nothing more than for this to be a dream, something that passes as you sleep, fading to nothing when you wake. Gray, there are things that you will endure that will make you wish you could sleep forever. You mustn't give up. Be strong, my princess. For me. For Charlie. For your kingdom. Be strong and survive so that your guardians may find you. You have so much to prepare for, sweet girl. Do not give in, do you hear me?”

  I don’t understand. Mom? You’re scaring me.

  “I know. I am so truly sorry for everything. I will explain more later. Now, wake up Grayelle. Wake up and find your strength. I will be here for you. Get up.”

  Grogginess weighs heavily on me as I struggle to pull myself into a conscious state. I rarely dream about my Mom, mostly because my memories of her are so fleeting, but it has happened more recently, ever since the guys told me about who I really am. Still, none of my previous dreams have been like that. It almost felt like she was talking to me. Like she was here with me, standing over me. Shaking myself awake, I fight the urge to fall back into the dream and spend more time talking to her. I might not understand what she is telling me, but just hearing her voice does so much to my heart. A lone tear runs down my cheek as I lean back into the wall, seated with my knees pulled tight to my chest. God I wish she was here with me. My hand absentmindedly spins the small ring on my finger, the one she left for me.

  Allowing myself a moment to dwell on the dream, I try to piece apart what she was telling me. She kept telling me to be strong. She also called me Grayelle, which is still weird as shit though she usually calls me Gray in my dreams. I try to remember the rest, but all I can feel is a deep sense of sorrow coated with fear. Is that from me or left over from the dream? Was I feeling emotions from my dream Mom? I roll my eyes but honestly it shouldn’t even be that crazy for me to believe. I mean, I am sitting in a cell being held captive by some asshole-faced demon.

  Loud voices fill the space just outside of my cell causing me to shrink further into myself. Please don’t come in here. Please don’t come in here. I chant to myself over and over, waiting for the sounds to pass by me. Of course, my current state should have been a warning to how unlucky I am. The heavy door is shoved open once again, this time revealing two of those gross, scabby, pug-faced demon things with some sort of cart. A huge thing, like the one who grabbed me on my run, comes in carrying what looks to be a bed of sorts, though it seems incredibly long and narrow. None of the beings even look at me, they just maneuver around the space, setting something up.

  The door is still slightly ajar and so much of me wants to push towards it to escape. Then again, I can’t walk and my floor scooting abilities are also limited to a snail’s pace, proving any attempt at an escape to be futile. No matter how ridiculous, instinct has me pushing myself with all of my might toward the cracked doorway. Before I can move more than a few inches, the door is shoved open further and the asshole face himself walks in.

  “Ah yes, this will do nicely,” he says as he surveys the setup before him. The little puss pugs look proudly at their finished project. I should have been paying more attention. Now my eyes roam over the space and my blood runs cold in my veins. The long narrow bed is pushed against the wall on the far side of the room. Straps and chains of various sorts are laid across it, some even adhered to the wall in hooks I hadn’t noticed before. On the wheeled table they pushed in I can see different size blades, what appears to be a small blow torch, and a few crude devices whose purpose I can only imagine. I swallow down the bile in my throat, my heart rate triples, and I feel faint. They have created a torture chamber right here in my cell. When the hideous leader turns with a smile to watch the recognition cross my face, I know I am right.

  “Care to bow, princess?” His voice is still hoarse and scratchy, but the maliciousness behind it is evident. The pressure in the room increases, pushing down on me, but my stubbornness must be stronger than my fear.

  “I said never. I meant it. Not that hard to understand, actually. No means no, dude.”

  With a sinister sneer, the faceless wonder laughs at my attempt at bravery. “I was really hoping you would say that, princess. Bringing you to heel will bring me great pleasure. Good thing you have your healing abilities. You will need them to create a fresh palette for me after each of our sessions.”

  Healing abilities? Like when the guys had me focus on my injuries from the fire? Shit that was a one time thing. I can’t even remember how that worked. And the last time, a witch had to trigger my ability otherwise I’d not only be bleeding and captured, I’d still be burnt and healing.

  “I have no healing abilities. I don’t know what you are talking about. Can’t we find another form of negotiations. I really prefer to avoid torture at all cost.” Snippy sarcastic comebacks aren’t exactly smart, but they’re what I have so I am going to use them.

  “Ha! You think you can fool me? We will see about that. Now that your link has been severed from them, we will have all the time we need to test my theory. Now, it’s time for our first session. Can you feel the excitement in the air, princess?”

  He claps his hands in an act of glee before signaling for the big brute of a demon to grab me. Any attempt to avoid it is pointless with my injuries, and the creature lifts me up, bringing me over to the bed before strapping me in at the ankles and wrists. The puss pugs waddle over to secure the straps by tightening them to the point of pain causing me to wince as they cut into my exposed skin. My show of discomfort seems to please the asshole faced one, another gleeful clap coming from his claw-like hands.

  “Yes yes, this is perfect. Now, leave us. It is time the princess and I get to know each other better. Afterall, she will be mine soon.”

  The little pugger creatures hurry out of the cell leaving me with the tall leader and the brute who manhandled me. The big one goes to
stand next to the door, its arms folded like a sentinel on guard. My eyes only linger on it for a moment, though, before they focus on the biggest threat. The leader stands over me, pure joy written all over his skinless face. I go to speak but my mind and mouth are at odds, panic keeps me quiet, images of what is to come flooding my head with fear like I have never experienced before.

  “Now, princess,” his mouth twists as it did before, like speaking my title leaves a sour taste in his mouth, “don’t heal up right away. I like to see the effects of my work before I can move on. If you heal too quickly, I will just have to start again.”

  Noise comes from my mouth, though it sounds far away to my ears, like I am in a bubble. The pounding of my heart providing the dominant sound and overpowering my own voice. “I told you. I don’t know what you are talking about. I can’t heal or whatever. I’m just normal.”

  For just a moment, he looks at me with doubt. Maybe he realizes I am nothing special. Maybe now he will let me go. I hold on to a hopeless sort of hope, knowing that no matter what I say, this evil being will not release me. The question in his expression quickly fades away, determination and excitement replacing it as he reaches over to grab something off of the table beside my head. I can’t see what it is, but judging by the look on his face, it isn’t an apology bouquet. Shit.