Dead Embers

by T. G. Ayer

  The van straightened, and I tried to stop my body from rolling back to my old position, but momentum took over and my body tumbled, unchecked.

  My torso hit something solid, and one of my captors, the one with the sluggish heartbeat, grunted. Before I could properly register that he was actually seated right beside me, he growled and smashed his booted foot into the side of my face, catching my lip and splitting the soft skin. Rubber treads dug into my cheek, and I tasted copper and dirt as my split lip gushed, mixing with whatever coated the thug's boot. I would've shuddered had I been able to, but all my body and mind were capable of was to blink and swallow.

  Pain ripped up my cheek, throbbing in parallel lines where the tread marks of the boot had slammed into soft flesh. Moisture trickled from my eyes, and I gritted my teeth against the buildup of tears.

  I almost yelled with the agony. That boot had done some real damage. I turned away from my attacker, swallowing a pitiful groan. No way was I allowing him to see or hear my pain.

  I blinked and a sudden red haze clouded my vision. My anger surged as I realized the moisture at my eyes was not tears. Blood leaked into my eye, marring my vision in a reddish haze. And then it dawned on me: I could make out the red haze.

  Despite the blackness of the fabric blocking my eyes, light still filtered through. Not that I could see much, but at least the hood was no longer blindingly dark. That darkness had been way too full of the unknown. A million questions ran through my head. Who the hell were these thugs? What did they want with me? How did they know exactly how to knock me out? And the drug? What had they used on me?

  The vehicle turned again, and another involuntary roll away from my attacker provoked another kick. This time the boot landed in the middle of my back, sending spasms of agony up and down my spine, spikes of pain that drove deep into my skull. I whimpered. Which was not the right thing to do. I merely received another boot to the back of my head.

  Just before I slipped into the welcoming darkness again, shouted words filtered through to me.

  "What the hell are you doing?" The low, hard-edged voice questioned the owner of the boot.

  "Nothing, man." Boots snorted, then hacked phlegm. "Just keeping the mutant quiet."

  "Keep your filthy hands off her. We have strict instructions. And one of them was to not harm her. If we get into any trouble, you're on your own." The more I listened to him speak, the more I struggled to place the voice. Did he sound like some famous TV personality? His voice was naggingly familiar.

  My attacker grunted but said nothing. The square toe of his boot still pressed into my side. In the darkness, he dug the steel-tipped boot harder into my ribs, until unconsciousness wrapped me in her warm and welcoming embrace.

  ***

  I came to as we took another turn, finding myself on the other side of the van. This time I desperately rolled against the momentum of the turn to keep myself away from the guard. A patch of agony simmered against my ribs, answering the pain in my skull. The moist warmth at the back of my head spoke of more open wounds.

  Fury ripped through me, stronger than the pain. These thugs had no idea who they were messing with. It was a pity they'd used metal handcuffs to restrain me. Otherwise I'd have pulverized the lot of them by now.

  A cell phone sang an inappropriate tune: "The Ride of the Valkyries." Was that supposed to be a freaking joke? Or maybe they were just Star Wars fans and had no idea of its connection to my kind.

  "Vincent! I thought I told you all personal cell phones are off limits during the mission." That voice again. And this time I knew I'd heard it before. It felt so familiar that it sent shivers of fear up and down my spine.

  "Yeah but . . ." Boots—or, rather, Vincent—started to reply.

  "Do I need to remove it until we are done here?" The voice turned icy. Hard. Deadly.

  Something clicked, like a phone snapping shut. Vincent had complied.

  Another short beep sounded within the confines of the van. "Yes, sir." Vincent's boss answered his phone. "Yes, sir. Very well, sir. We will be right there." And then the phone beeped again.

  All the time I'd been struggling to identify the voice, to put a finger on its familiarity. Now at last everything fell into place, like one-hundred-pound puzzle pieces.

  I knew those tones only for one reason. The owner of that cold and deadly voice had done everything in his power to find me. In fact, he'd shot me not so long ago. I felt a certain satisfaction that I'd been able to put a name to a voice.

  The speaker was a man I wanted to kill with my own two hands. A man who'd probably been the one who'd shot Aidan smack bang in the middle of his forehead.

  A man who worked for Aidan's father.

  Worthington.

  Chapter 43

  Every muscle in my body froze, petrified with shock. Worthington had finally fulfilled his boss's orders. My blood simmered, anger and hatred for Worthington almost boiling over my self-control.

  Only a handful of months ago, this man terrorized Ms. Custer in an attempt to find Aidan's book. And to kill me.

  The book had confirmed the existence of the Valkyries and pointed straight to me as a descendant of the great Valkyrie warrior Brunhilde. Descendant, clone, whatever. Made no difference now.

  The van came to a sudden stop, halting my instinctive need to lash out at the thug even though I was bound and blinded. I had to remain in control, to keep calm, take stock.

  The brakes ground and clicked, grating on my ears. Vincent's last kick to the back of my skull had given me a monstrous headache, one that pulsed and throbbed behind my eyes. Dried blood crusted at the corner of my eye, and I still tasted copper every time I swallowed. Two doors slammed up front and the rear doors of the van were flung open, allowing light to filter through the fabric of the hood.

  Vincent must have stood up, because the van tipped to the side. Probably way too overweight to be healthy. From the sound of his sluggish heart, he'd see the end of his days soon—if I didn't get to him first.

  Rough hands gripped my feet and dragged me along the floor. My skin snagged on the rivets of the metal floor, and I sucked in a cry of pain. But I couldn't hold back the moan of agony when they yanked harder and my skull bounced against the floor.

  More hands pulled me into a sitting position. I lolled forward, relaxing my body. Could I make a run for it? No, too late. A sharp jab in my arm made me wince. More drugs to keep the mutant compliant? I was getting tired of all this poking and abuse.

  Although I'd had every intention of bolting for freedom, shoving the thugs aside and running for my life, I just couldn't summon the energy. Or the inclination.

  My mind swirled. The last thing I remembered was being thrown over someone's shoulders like the proverbial sack of potatoes. And before I slid all the way into my mire of unconsciousness, my stomach clenched. Was he really strong enough to take both my weight and the weight of my wings?

  Then everything went black.

  ***

  During the next few hours, I slipped in and out of a drug-induced sleep, my throat parched, my body numbed. Whenever I blinked, I got the vague sense of bright lights and white walls. Masked people walked around the room, held me down, drew my blood. Masked people, emotionless eyes.

  I awoke as one man tied a rubber strap around my arm and tapped a vein. And suddenly panic seemed to rush through my body like a living drug. I struggled against the pull; I couldn't let it in, couldn’t allow myself to lose what little control I had. One thing I knew was that this masked guy wasn't going to get off easy, not if I could help it. Especially since I hadn't given him permission to take my blood.

  The man tapped my vein again, and while his attention was diverted I tried to move my other hand. Only to find it tied securely at the side of the gurney. My one free arm would have to do.

  I waited until he leaned forward. Just until he was close enough. Then I slammed the back of my hand into his chest. And sent him flying halfway across the room. My head fell to the side and I wat
ched as he crashed into a cart piled with steel medical instruments; the impact sent silver sliding across the floor.

  It didn't take long for more masked people to rush toward me, to grab my arms and legs.

  To jab me again.

  ***

  When I surfaced again, my head still lay to the side, a dull ache gnawing at the top of my spine. I could feel the coldness of wet fabric against the skin of my cheek. Had I been crying?

  I cracked open my eyes to a row of red blurs. A few blinks helped create a little moisture in my dry eyes, and the blurs condensed into a whole lot of fat vials filled with bright red blood. The mean throb in the inner elbows of both my arms confirmed the blood in the vials came from my own body. Despite my horizontal status, a wave of dizziness passed over me.

  That much blood!

  I swallowed and struggled to control the muscles in my mouth and tongue. Fear spliced through me. How long had I been unconscious? What had they been doing to me?

  A rush of air and the low hum of voices outside the room broke me free from the whirlpool of horror that filled my thoughts. I shut my eyes again, listening to the soft susurration of paper shoes on tiled floor; people bustled around the room in silence. I waited as the door opened and the sounds of voices drew closer and closer. A multitude of footsteps confirmed that a small group of people had walked into the room, their non-papered heels tapping the tiles. They were deep in a discussion; words like "mutations" and "cellular regeneration" filtered to me.

  "Gentlemen, the only thing I can tell you at this time is that the mutant is not leaving this facility until we have completed all necessary tests. General Hammond, please feel comfortable in the knowledge that you will be the first to be advised should her physical condition change at all."

  Mutant? Really?

  The cold, hard voice wasn't familiar. Not Worthington. After his little speech, a tense silence permeated the room, short but so charged that even I could feel it despite being unable to feel the rest of my body. Then another man spoke, his deep tone demanding and arrogant. The tone of someone used to authority, someone who did not tolerate failure. "Dr. Lee, I would expect nothing less than complete transparency. I hope you understand how important this creature is to the government. We need to know everything about it."

  I wanted to tense; I wanted to scream and lash out at them. Anything to vent the deep, dark fury they'd unleashed. How dare they stand there and talk about me like that? Mutant? Creature? They were studying me and testing me as if I were some kind of science experiment? What was next? Dissection?

  Shut up, Bryn, and quit with the dissection talk.

  Something beeped, and soon the beep sped up, faster and faster. The men fell silent as the hard soles of their shoes clicked across the floor. I held my breath, tamping my fury down, needing to calm myself. Too coincidental that the machines beeped just when I got so furious. Cords and wires were plastered all over my body, so who knew what they were monitoring right now.

  As I calmed myself, the beeping slowed. "What happened?" asked the general, his rough voice sounding almost concerned. I wanted to scoff. It wasn't as if they cared about my health.

  "Her heart rate increased there for a minute." A woman spoke to the sound of tearing paper. "See, there, a sudden rise in her rate. Maybe a dream?"

  "Probably a dream, yes, Nurse Marks," said the doctor, his voice cold and impersonal. "Keep monitoring her vitals."

  "Dr. Lee, is there anything we need to be concerned about?" There it was again. That name: Dr. Lee! I hadn't registered it the first time Hammond had used it. But the coincidence was discomfiting. Could it be Aidan's father? The name was common enough. Still, I had to force myself to control my fear so as not to trigger the heart monitor again.

  "No, General, the rise in her heart rate is most probably just a dream. She's not about to go into cardiac arrest. She is fit and healthy, healthier than any human I've ever examined. She is also very strong. . . ." Dr. Lee's voice trailed off, going strangle-quiet after mentioning my strength.

  "Very well then, Dr. Lee. My team and I will leave you to your work. Keep me informed, will you?" Boots clacked against the tiles as Hammond and his team departed.

  When the door shut behind them, Dr. Lee grunted his displeasure. "Bloody fools. They have no idea who they're dealing with." He moved to the side of my table. I remained as still as possible. Maybe he'd leave me alone if I feigned sleep. I had no ideas or plans for any heroics in the near future. Too drained of energy, too full of drugs, too tired of failure.

  "Well, Miss Halbrook. I do believe you are awake and quite conscious."

  How the hell did he know I was actually conscious? I didn't move a muscle; neither did my heartbeat do any sort of dance on the monitor. A film of perspiration covered my skin as I slowly began to panic. A silence followed in which I willed my pulse to behave itself.

  "Okay, so I see we will be playing that game now. Not a problem, Miss Halbrook. Not a problem at all." He shuffled around; fabric rustled, and I cracked open an eyelid to watch, helpless, as he tapped a syringe and screwed it into the IV tube hanging beside me. He smiled at the IV and then faced me. I wasn't fast enough to shut my eyes and continue the pretense. My eyelids flickered wider and I met his eyes, staring, for the first time, into Dr. Lee's pleasantly smiling face.

  Tears gathered and fell, sliding down my cheek, seeping into the oily hair at my ears. My heart hurt. The room faded and all I could see were his eyes.

  Aidan's eyes.

  Chapter 44

  Strange sounds bombarded my semi-conscious ears. Metal crashed to the tiled floor and someone grunted as if punched in the gut. A shout, so close, made me flinch. Or at least I wanted to flinch, but nothing happened. I tried to move, but not a muscle paid any attention to my efforts.

  My heart stabbed my ribs, frantic in its cage. I tried so desperately to move some part of me. Any part of me. Straining, I almost gave up when a single toe wiggled, and my pinky followed. They may have budged at last, but they hurt as if steeped in liquid fire.

  My eyelids fluttered; they felt heavy, as if the skin had grown in thickness and weight and my muscles were too weak to lift them open. I moaned in frustration, needing to see what was happening, hating how vulnerable I was.

  The sounds of fighting grew steadily louder, closer. Metal clanged against metal, interspersed with grunts and moans and thuds. Glass shattered and something bumped into my bed. And while the battle ensued, all I could do was lie there, unable to protect myself.

  I blinked again, swallowed. Tried to rise. Each tiny movement sent pain barreling into my brain. So much that I almost sobbed.

  At last the grunts and shouts fell silent, and a finger brushed the hair from my forehead. "Bryn." My name sounded like a wave breaking on a distant shore.

  I forced my eyelids open. And again, I looked into Aidan's eyes.

  Relief should've flooded my senses, but all I felt was pure fear—and clearly my eyes hid nothing, since Aidan flinched at the intensity he saw in them. If he was hurt or upset he didn't show it, just slipped his arm under my torso, urging me into a sitting position. But my body was rubber and I flopped forward, my weight drawing me slowly over the edge of the gurney. I barely heard the bustle of activity around me as I stared emotionless at the tiles, knowing I was about to smack right into them.

  But I didn't fall, didn't hit the floor. Aidan saved me. He held on, then propped me up against him. My heart struggled, slamming against my chest. I wasn't sure I wanted to be that close to Aidan right then, not when it was his father's face that shimmered in my mind's eye.

  I wanted to pull away from him—I just couldn't help it.

  In that sitting-slouching position, head tilted forward, I was very aware of my skin. Bare, blue-veined thighs, so pale I could have been a long-dead corpse. A papery hospital gown pretended to cover my body, tied at the top of my neck and catching on something at my shoulders. Probably skewed by my wings. I shifted, tugging the bottom edge uselessly, needing
to cover up in the bright, clinical light of the hospital room.

  Aidan gasped just then, his body stiff with shock. Something was really wrong, but I couldn't turn to see what alarmed him. All I could do was look at the horror in his eyes as he stared right behind me. Then he turned away, his face now clear, devoid of the stark horror of a few seconds ago. He drew me to him for support.

  And suddenly I was very afraid.

  Afraid of what they'd been doing to me, what experiments they'd performed on me. But my greatest fear was Aidan's father—the very man who was now being thrust into the room, held in a death-grip by two Warriors, his hands cuffed together. Another man followed the struggling trio, and when he came into full view I flushed. At least I wanted to flush, but seeing that I barely had any blood flowing in my veins, that particular bodily reaction was impossible.

  Thor's gorgeous blue eyes rested on me. He offered a gentle gaze and a nod, then averted his eyes, and I knew he felt bad for me. But despite his concern, I could tell he knew I wouldn't appreciate coddling and that I hated not being able to do anything for myself.

  I rested against Aidan, not that I had much choice; I could still barely feel my body. What parts of my extremities had begun to regain sensation felt only mind-numbing pain at first. I had to struggle to breathe against the pain before I could concentrate on the people in the room, Dr. Lee's captured staff being led out, and the doctor himself staring enigmatically at me.

  So I sat there, able only to lean my chin on Aidan's shoulder as he snuck another glance behind me at whatever horror seemed to control his attention. Despite my curiosity, I had no energy or control of my body to turn around and find out what had shocked him. I opened my mouth, intending to ask him what was wrong, but the words never left my lips.

  "Valkyrie Brynhildr," Thor's voice boomed. The vibrations rattled the steel instruments around the room. "I believe this man is the one responsible for your incarceration. Can you confirm this?" He nodded at the Warriors holding Aidan's father, and they stepped forward, bringing the unsmiling doctor closer to us.