by Hannah Pole
‘OK. They’re going to know we’re here as soon as we enter, even if they haven’t noticed the three cameras going down, and as soon as you find him, they’ll get the big guns out.’ Julian looked thoughtful for a moment.
‘Dax, you go with Tam, find our male and bring him back. The rest of you, come with me, we’ll hit them where it hurts and bring the entire frontline down on them. As soon as the others meet us, I’ll send Doc and the djinn to come and help you, if there’s any security, they’ll get through it.’
There was a lot of nodding, then Sapphire pulled her into a hug that cracked her ribs, before lining up with the alpha to walk the path to war. Dax briefly wrapped an arm around her waist.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll get your male back,’ he grunted.
Shock rippled through her; hell, this wolf was not overly tactile, yet here he was, comforting her when she needed it.
These people, this pack. They were family now, she realised; she may have only known them a matter of weeks, but they were kin as sure as her father had been.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded at the larger group and they separated; she and Dax heading into the dark depths of the buildings underground, the rest of them moving upwards to confront their so-called Council.
The tunnel began its sharp incline downwards, the concrete floor so grimy that Tam had to be careful with her footing, trying desperately not to slip on the slime-like mould. The fresh air faded, giving way to even grimier, dustier air that smelt older than she was.
Someone was screaming up ahead. The faint noise assaulted her hearing, ricocheting between her ears. She glanced at Dax, who paused, nodding to confirm that he too had heard the plea.
They bolted forward, their pace steadily increasing as they navigated their way through the dark gloom of the tunnel. Their footfalls made little noise, yet still each step sounded like thunder.
With her heart in her throat and each sense stretched painfully out into the open, searching for any sign of company, Tamriel held Leyth’s bolo ahead of her; the large knife felt heavy in her palm, yet warmed her and gave her strength.
After what felt like an age, they rounded a corner, practically tripping over the large set of steps leading up to a heavy wooden door. It was no surprise that it was locked, of course.
What did surprise her, however, was that the bolt was on their side; the heavy metal rusted and worn from time.
Finally, fate had decided to throw her a bone; she fingered the rusty lock, glancing at Dax who shoved a finger against his lips and pointed to his ear, signalling her to listen. She held her breath as she strained her ears against the silence.
That horrible screaming sounded once again, its raspy tones seeping out of the heavy door, hitting her eardrums like pins.
Dax gripped his knife between his teeth as he braced himself against the door, sliding a heavy palm around the bolt. He threw a glance her way, nodding at her as she readied Leyth’s bolo.
Without a second’s hesitation, he cracked the metal backwards, sliding the rusty gnarled bolt away from its locking position, the motion making it screech against the metal bar. She winced at the noise, straining her ears once again for any sounds suggesting someone was on the other side.
Nothing had changed, the muffled screaming remained constant, and other than that they were met with silence.
After a heartbeat, Dax grabbed at the rusty metal handle, gently tugging it towards him. The heavy door didn’t budge, so he thrust it again, this time a little harder; the wood creaked as it was forced towards him, dust and old stone cascaded down the edges as it moved.
Still, it wasn’t fully open; it took another final tug for the door to slowly rumble its way forward, the wood giving way.
The door had obviously been disguised to avoid any inquisitive eyes in the room on the other side of the door seeing it; thick, heavy stone was attached to the wood on the inside, blending nicely with the stone wall the door had been set in.
Weapons at the ready, listening intently for any movement, the two of them ducked through the opening.
Chapter Sixteen
Silver injection.
The tomb’s words seemed to echo through his mind in his half-conscious state. Leyth wasn’t really sure where he was. Still in the dungeon, that was for sure; he could smell the cold stone and metal bars surrounding him.
‘Let’s get him cleaned up,’ a woman’s voice said softly.
‘Why? Do you really think the High Lord is going to give a crap if he’s covered in blood?’ a second woman snapped.
‘No, but the ritual requires his skin to be cleansed in St John’s Wort.’
‘What is that? Some kind of herby stuff?’
‘Yeah. And they’re not going to be able to do that if you can’t even see his skin.’
‘Fine. Get the sponges.’
God, women could be bitchy towards each other, Leyth thought absently.
His mind was clouded, like he was on some sort of drug. His body was ablaze with pain, lord only knew he probably had no skin left to speak of.
But in his dazed state he couldn’t feel much.
Pull yourself together, his inner voice snapped, making him wince. His head felt like it had been hit repeatedly with a hammer. Little daggers of pain slicing through his mind.
Ignoring the searing pain, he tried to focus on what was around him. He was obviously lying on something cold and hard, the raw skin on his back was pressed against it. It smelt metallic.
The two women had left him alone; he couldn’t feel them near, but could still smell their lingering scent.
Slowly opening one eye, he found he was indeed still in the dungeon, but at the far end by a cell that had been turned into almost an office.
Magazines littered the little table and a television had been pushed to one corner. This must be the cell his ‘guards’ were using.
The two female voices cut through the air as they began to return. Leyth could hear the water they were carrying splashing with their movements. He realised he was parched; his lips dry and cracked, his throat raw.
Hastily he closed his lids again, forcing his breathing to slow. They obviously thought he was still out of it, and he needed every advantage he could get in this situation. The element of surprise was all he had.
‘I’ll wash him. You stand guard,’ the woman with the softer voice said.
‘No. I’ll do it. You’ll screw it up like you do everything else,’ the other woman spat.
They were on him quickly, their cold hands moving his limbs around, the scent of death and decay riding his senses. They were clearly tombs. Crap.
Leyth forced himself to remain relaxed, to allow them to move him around with ease, though all he wanted to do was pull away from their disgusting, cold touch.
‘I’ll be in the hall,’ one of them said. He heard footsteps as she left, a door opened, then closed again.
‘Alone at last,’ the snappy woman hissed, her putrid breath rolling over him, making him want to wince. It took every ounce of strength he had not to recoil away from her.
‘Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been with a man prisoner?’ she whispered, running a cold finger across his lips. Her flesh smelt like rot and death.
‘Let me wash you.’ He heard her dip the sponge into the water, the droplets splashing noisily on the concrete around him. She held the sponge above him, allowing the freezing cold water to cascade onto his abdomen and run across his skin. The sponge followed, grating harshly across his skin and making him want to scream in pain. The bitch swiftly moved the sponge downwards, brushing his limp manhood.
‘I’m going to take you prisoner,’ she snarled, thrusting the harsh sponge against him. Goddamn, why did he have to wake up? His stomach roiled, making him want to hurl. She shifted him around so she could gain greater access to him.
Hell. This cold bitch was disgusting; give him more torture any day over this crap. He felt her lift herself off the floor, sliding a leg over him so s
he was positioned above him on the metal gurney he was lying on. In one swift movement, she wrenched his manhood up, tying a band of some description tightly around the base of his shaft, trapping any blood that might have flown into it inside. As his length began to harden against his will, he cursed it, cursed himself to hell.
An image of Tamriel came to mind, making him want to damn well cry. That female was his life, his body and soul. He fought against the sting of tears as he thrashed around, trying desperately to force the cold zombie bitch off him. He felt her bend down to rub her cold flesh against him. It was all he could do not to let his churning stomach spill. To hell with this.
‘Get. The. Hell. Off. Me,’ he spat through dry lips, thrusting a hand up and catching her throat. Her eyes widened briefly in surprise, even as a cold, wicked smile touched her lips.
‘Oh, wolf. You are awake! This will be much more fun with you conscious,’ she spat, her putrid breath washing over him.
He struggled against her, trying to shove her off, but his strength was at an all-time low; he could barely muster the energy to raise his arms, let alone move her skinny, cold, rotting body away from him. She thrust his arms downwards, pinning them behind his head as she slammed herself against him. His stomach roiled again, making bile fill his mouth.
Her cold slickness engulfed him, and she cried out in pleasure, a sound that made his skin crawl and his stomach evict anything that was left in it.
He screamed, loud and hard, he screamed and shouted and thrashed as hard as he could, trying desperately to get this shaven-haired slut off him.
Tamriel. He kept his mind on his female, the only female that could ever have him, mind, body and soul. This sick, half-dead bitch was nothing. She could force him to do whatever she liked, but she would never have him. His heart belonged to someone else.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ A booming voice cut through them and the zombified woman flinched, moving off him faster than his eyes could see.
He heaved a thankful sigh; even if the owner of that booming voice was here to kill him, he’d take it any day over that bitch. He forced his head around, watching as the High Lord’s thane strode towards them. His broad shoulders filled out the large stone space with ease, his long white hair splayed out behind him as he stalked forward.
The dead slut opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off, slapping her around the side of the head, hard enough to knock her out.
The thane was obviously here to kill him, but Leyth thanked the high heavens that he came when he did. Death was better than defilement from a zombie. He watched weakly as the thane lifted the bitch up and propped her in a chair in the cell they’d turned into an office. To any other eye, it would just look as if she was asleep.
‘Leyth,’ the man almost growled. ‘Are you OK?’
‘That bitch,’ Leyth forced out, looking up at the broad man. A spark of recognition hit him as he looked the thane in the eye, but how that was even possible he had no idea. Maybe he was just delusional.
‘I’ve got to take you down to the ritual room now.’
Leyth forced a nod. Christ, this was likely going to be the end of his pitiful existence. At least he had the memory of that night with his female to hold onto.
Pain surged to the surface as he thought of her beautiful green eyes. A pain far greater than any torture he had endured. It was as if losing that female was literally tearing his soul from his body.
He closed his eyes as the thane shifted the metal gurney he was on. ‘I will do my best to stop them from turning you,’ he whispered. ‘The cavalry is on the way, I can feel it.’
Leyth grunted against the fresh pain that seared him as the thane bent down and picked up his battered body. Had he heard that right? Was the thane to the High Lord actually trying to help him?
No. Couldn’t be.
He kept his eyes closed, fighting harder than he’d ever fought in his life just to stay awake. To not give in to the sweet darkness of sleep. He heard a door open and close, and the thane’s quiet words with the woman standing in the hall. He felt himself be carried into a room that smelt like damp and age. The doors creaked open as the thane stepped into a room that felt vast and empty. He almost tenderly carried Leyth’s broken body further into the room.
Leyth fought the sting of darkness threatening to take over. The pain of movement was too great. The events of the past few days had been too harsh.
He kept his eyes closed, battling to breathe, battling to stay conscious, though he kept drifting in and out of the darkness.
He was vaguely aware of being set down on something cold and hard, stone? Another stone slab?
He tried desperately to open his eyes but he was just too exhausted…
‘Inject him,’ someone hissed.
‘Not yet. Let’s wait until the ritual is ready, my lord.’ The thane’s voice reverberated around him.
‘Do NOT question my judgement. Inject him now.’ The High Lord’s voice assaulted his ears.
‘No. I will not. I don’t think now is the right time. We should wait,’ the thane snapped back, putting his body in between the High Lord and Leyth, a movement he felt rather than saw.
‘Move him. Take him to his station,’ the High Lord spat.
For a few minutes all Leyth could hear was shuffling, several feet moving against the stone, something being dragged away from him. There were several people in the room around him, he could feel their power. There was a wash of dark, sickly magic that seemed to singe the air around him. Even as they moved away, the power of them engulfed him, making him feel sick through to his core.
The thane felt different though. Not only could he sense no dark magic radiating from within the man, he couldn’t actually feel any magic at all. Which was strange for a magi, especially a magi as important as the High Lord’s thane; the right-hand man to the devil himself.
The evil incarnate’s go-to guy was curiously magic-free, death-free and trying to help him? Or at least prevent his death. Something was off here.
The shuffling movements, the grunts of the other magi in the room came to a halt; all that could be heard were the ragged breaths of those who had forced the thane away and the weak heartbeat of the High Lord himself.
For a moment the room was entirely silent…
‘NO!’ The thane’s voice roared through the room, bouncing off the walls and hitting Leyth’s ears.
Someone moved swiftly forward, cold hands pressing against his skin, holding him still… Leyth tried desperately to move, to get those horrible hands away from him, but to no avail… Something sharp pierced his arm, and liquid pulsed its way into his veins.
His wolf soul howled and recoiled so sharply it felt as though the animal was trying to rip itself away from him.
His body roared in pain, a pain so great that he could barely breathe, a roaring agony that ripped through him, freeing him from consciousness and forcing him further into the darkness. He fought hard against it, making his head scream against him. His skin, his flesh burnt…
Fucking silver.
They’d done it.
They’d injected him with silver.
The screaming became louder suddenly, showing exactly how thick that door had been, the deafening sound ringing through Tamriel’s ears to the point where she struggled to hear anything else. Hopefully it would have masked the harsh sounds of the heavy door opening, keeping their presence unnoticed.
Wherever they were, it was pitch black. Not even with her enhanced wolf-sight, could she see past her nose. Using her one remaining sense that might be of any use, she inhaled; the coppery scent of blood was overriding more or less anything else, but she could smell metal, dust and decay.
Dax was fumbling with something in front of them; she reached out with a hand, her fingers meeting cool smooth wood.
Obviously deciding that it was better to go forward than back, he closed the heavy ‘hidden’ door behind them and the two of them felt their way around the darkness they were st
ood in; it appeared they were in a wooden room that was no wider than her arms were long. It appeared to be only a little bigger than the door itself.
‘Over here,’ Dax hissed, leading her hands to a crease in the wood – a door maybe?
‘Ready?’ he whispered.
Like she had a choice?
‘Yeah.’ She pulled the bolo up, ready to decapitate if she had to.
Dax pushed at the wooden door and it cracked open with ease, making her practically jump out of her skin as light flooded through the small gap, illuminating the small room they were in.
She squinted to let her eyes adjust. Dax, on the other hand, seemed to be fine with the brightness. Damn wolf eyes.
He hesitated, listening. ‘Doesn’t seem to be anyone there,’ he whispered, and cracked the door a little wider, pulling a second knife out for good measure as he peered around the edge.
‘Clear,’ he said, silently heading out of the space.
She followed him slowly, keeping her own knife at the ready.
The space they came into appeared to be an old office; the grand wooden desk was scarred and worn by time. Cobwebs covered the entire room, other than that it was barren, a space forgotten. The small area they had come out of looked like a cupboard, which made sense. If you were going to have a secret escape tunnel, it needed to be hidden. From this side, the door they used appeared to be little more than part of a brick wall, it was only if you knew what you were looking for, could you make out the small gap in the stone between the wall and the hidden door.
Tam heaved in a deep breath; the metallic scent of blood was much stronger now, almost overriding her senses. There was lots of it, and it seemed to belong to more than one person. She picked through the various scents, until she found the one she was looking for. Spicy, earthy … Leyth. He had lost blood here… a lot of it.
Without thinking, she marched forward; she had to find him.
Dax caught her arm. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find him.’ He walked up to the grand wooden door at the other end of the room.