by Devi Mara
“Perhaps, deskwork would be more appropriate in the future.”
The other man nodded. He opened his mouth to reply, when the door slammed open. Edric jerked his head around to see a seething Desta in the doorway. Her chest heaved and she sent the president a lethal glare.
“Hey!” a voice called from out of sight. “You can’t just—”
Desta’s hand lashed out and struck the speaker. Her free hand went to the dagger on her belt. “Test me, human.”
“Desta,” Limek said in a low warning tone.
For the first time in memory, Desta ignored him and stalked into the room. “The humans are lying, Your Highness.”
Edric turned his head to look at the pale president. “Do tell.”
“Ab—Miss Ashley is missing.”
Edric froze.
Desta continued, not noticing his reaction as she focused all her anger on the president and the guards who were spilling into the room. “I went by the dwelling she shares with the other woman. Furniture has been destroyed and overturned, there is blood on the floor and one wall. A battle clearly took place.”
Edric could feel his hands shaking, but he could not seem to stop it. Desta’s words burned through his mind and he slowly straightened his spine.
“And Miss Ashley?”
Desta shook her head.
“There is nothing to be concerned about,” Agent Jackson suddenly spoke.
Edric turned to look at him. “Are you calling Miss Ashley nothing?”
“I hardly think—”
“Very true,” Edric cut him off. “I suggest you think very hard about what you say to me in the next few minutes. Now, where is Abigail Ashley?”
Jackson exchanged looks with the president. “I’m sorry, that is on a need to know basis. While you say you have an invested interest in Ms. Ashely, you are still a member of a foreign government. Therefore—”
“May I kill him?” Desta growled in Ghadrikan.
It was tempting. “No. Not until I know all of the information he knows,” he replied in kind, giving Jackson a tight smile.
The man could not understand his words, but he noticed the tone and took a step back. “I am not at liberty to discuss—”
Edric spun to face the president. “Where is she?”
The man’s gaze moved from him to the agent and back. “Your Highness, I understand your concern—“
“You understand nothing,” Edric said.
The man clearly did realize the gravity of the situation. He would happily kill every person in the building if it meant getting answers about Abby’s whereabouts. He let a bit of his thoughts bleed into his expression and internally smirked as the president’s face paled.
“Who has taken her?”
The man shifted in his chair. “We’re not sure.”
He was lying. Edric could almost smell the man’s nervous sweat. “Then, when was she taken?”
The president sent Jackson a significant look.
“Between three and five o’clock this morning,” the agent replied.
Edric fought the urge to close his eyes. While he slept in his lonely bed, Abby was being stolen from her own. He should have been there. He should have sent guards. The guilt threatened to overwhelm him and he choked on it. Wrapped up in his inner thoughts, it took him a moment to realize the agent was still speaking.
“The majority of the blood does not belong to Miss Ashley.”
“How much of it does?” Konani stepped into the office and pinned Jackson with a cold look. “How badly is she wounded?”
The agent’s gaze flicked to the president and Edric saw him nod from the corner of his eye. “A small amount on one wall and a few drops in the kitchen. She appears to have struggled, wounding several of her attackers. We found blood from three other people.”
Edric stomach rolled. Three against one. His beautiful huntress had tried to fight them off, but ultimately been stolen from her home. In his mind’s eye, he saw the fierce expression she had worn in the forest. Even her strength could not hold up in such a one sided battle.
“Who has done this?” he asked softly, his voice shaking with the force of his rage.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Jackson finally broke the tense silence.
“We suspect someone became aware of your interest in Miss Ashley.”
So, it was to be his fault. Edric smiled, more a baring of the teeth. “I see.”
“Maybe, you should speak to your father,” the agent muttered.
Edric’s eyes flashed. “And then, maybe, I should come back and speak to you.”
“Your Highness—” the president started.
“I’ve heard enough,” Edric cut him off. “I assumed we had an agreement, but clearly I was incorrect. I was foolish to entrust Miss Ashley’s safety to you and your company. It seems I severely overestimated your abilities. That was my mistake.”
“We cannot be held responsible for unforeseen circumstances,” the president said with a scowl. “Miss Ashley is an American citizen, just like any other. If she is being held by an organization hostile to our country, we will go through the appropriate channels.”
Edric could not help it. He laughed. It was a dark, ominous sound even to his own ears. “You humans amuse me. No one is at fault, yet Abigail Ashley is not here. You say she is just like every other citizen, but you forget one very important fact. She is mine.”
Jackson scowled. “She is not an exception to our government policy. The United States does not negotiate with terrorists.”
They had not seen terror. He turned to face the president and gave the wide-eyed man a cold smile. “I hold you personally responsible for any unforeseen circumstances that befall Abigail Ashley. I do not care about your foreign policy and I do not care about a single person who works in this building. You will do all in your power, and beyond it, to get Miss Ashley back safely.”
The man stared at him for a moment before he puffed up importantly. “Are you threatening me, Ambassador?”
Edric cocked his head to the side. “I would not call it a threat. It is merely a promise of retribution. Take my words however you like.”
He turned away before the man could answer. He had nothing else Edric cared to hear. He stalked past all of the human guards, ignoring the wide-eyed looks he received. They were intelligent enough to stay out of his way. Already, the urge to partake in widespread destruction threatened to overwhelm him.
Abby was gone. He had no way of knowing where she was or in what state. She could be grievously injured. At the thought, he stopped in the middle of the hallway. She could be suffering alone, at the mercy of those who had taken her. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Your Majesty?”
He whirled around to face his guards and took in their hard expressions. They were not the enemy. He forced himself to nod his acknowledgement to Konani who had spoken.
“Do we attack?”
It took him a moment to realize she meant the White House. He shook his head. Abby would not want the seat of her government destroyed. He would grant them temporary mercy.
“We will pay King Gol a visit,” he said darkly.
He would not put it past his father to use subterfuge to get his way. The man had to know Loreet’s plans for Abby. They had no secrets from each other. It would be the worst kind of deception if King Gol sabotaged his mate’s plans. Edric turned away from his guards to lead the way to the portal.
He wanted to get as far away from the White House as possible. Another moment and he may lose his fight with himself, rending the building and its inhabitants until nothing was left untouched. He walked into the portal and stepped onto Ghadrik with his expressionless mask firmly in place.
Chapter Eleven
Worlds Aflame
“Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night.”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay
She
awoke to complete darkness. The air was filled with the musty smell of damp earth. Water fell in a steady drip off to her left, the sound echoing strangely. She reached out with one hand to feel the floor beneath her. Cold, rough stone met her fingertips. She frowned.
Pressing her palms to the floor, she tried to push herself into a sitting position. Pain immediately speared into her side and she fell back. Bad idea. She focused on breathing until the pain faded to the background with the dull ache in her head and wrist. As she lay still listening to the sound of the water, she snorted.
She should have stayed in Missouri. The ridiculous thought drew a humorless laugh from her. It hurt to breathe, but she could not seem to stop laughing. No one took any kind of interest in her back home. Certainly not foreign kidnappers. She could feel the edge of hysteria creeping in on her, as her huffed laugher continued.
Her family would have no idea what had happened to her. She would die in some hole in the Ukraine and they would think she had simply chosen to abandon them. At the thought, she was able to bite off the last of her panicked laughter.
Given, she had left them. Her unruly brothers, partying to feel alive, and her father, falling back on his work to get through the death of his wife. Not even two weeks after Ruth Ashley’s death, she had taken the first ride out of town and had not looked back. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
As she lay staring at the darkness above her, she wondered if it was bravery that led her to leave her hometown or cowardice. The slamming of a door jerked her out of her thoughts. She turned her head in the direction of the sound, as light flooded from beneath a nearby door.
Seconds later, the door flew open. Partially blinded by the light, she squinted at the two figures stomping toward her. One was tall and broad and the other was small and stooped. A few feet from her, the larger one muttered something to the other. A lamp flared to life and illuminated their faces.
The tall one was the one who had snapped her wrist. She glared at him and cradled her arm against her chest. He sent her a quick sneer and focused on the man at his side. Abby allowed her gaze to drift to the other man, but kept part of her attention on the more dangerous of the two.
The smaller man stared back at her, his face wrinkled with age. She could see the warmth of compassion in his eyes, as he knelt beside her. The younger man barked something in Ukrainian. She glanced back and forth between them. The man at her side calmly began to remove medical supplies from the bag beside him. He ignored the angry grumbling from the other.
He touched the edge of her tattered pajama top and met her gaze. She flickered her gaze toward the other man and shook her head. The old man gave her a slight nod. He turned his head and muttered a few words. The other man scowled, but stalked from the room, leaving her alone with the old man and a small lamp.
“Yuriy,” the man murmured, as he sorted through the pile of supplies.
She stared at him. “Your name is Yuriy?”
He met her gaze, but did not answer. She watched him open a small, paper packet and instantly the scent of alcohol filled the air. He turned back to her and scrutinized her. She barely suppressed the urge to move away when he moved the swab near her forehead. As expected, it burned and she hissed in pain.
He quickly cleaned her forehead of dried blood, opening three more packets before he nodded. She watched him closely and let out a mental sigh of relief when he chose to use a bandage instead of stitching the gash. The relief faded quickly as he made her turn her face away from him and began to clean the broken skin at the back of her head.
She winced, but held still. It seemed to take forever, but the sting faded to a dull ache. She started to turn her head, when she felt the sting of a needle.
“Stitch,” he told her in a thick accent.
“No, thanks. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Already the back of her head was going numb.
“Still.”
“Alright, fine.”
She focused on the darkness ahead of her to take her mind off the thought of a needle moving through her skin. With the light of the lamp, she could just make out a moss-covered brick wall. Her eyes followed it as far as she could before it faded into the shadows.
“Done.”
She raised her hand to touch the back of her head and felt a bald spot about the size of a half dollar. She scowled until she felt the even stitches pulling her scalp together. She raised her eyes to his.
“Thank you, Yuriy.”
He gave her a curt nod, already focused on her broken wrist. His wrinkled hands were steady, moving down her forearm to feel the bones of her wrist. His fingers pressed in on the skin an inch above where her hand joined her arm and she flinched violently. He immediately let go and turned back to his pile of supplies.
“Set,” he said staring at her hard.
She took in a shaky breath but nodded. “I’m ready.”
He grasped her hand tightly and, between one breath and the next, jerked hard. She heard the sickening crunch of her bone setting, before the pain hit her. She pounded the floor with her free hand, the slight sting against her palm taking a bit of her attention from the fire in her other arm.
He bundled her arm into a rudimentary splint and wrapped it with an ace bandage. She moved it away from him the second he let go.
“Hurt?” he asked her, lightly touching her temple.
“Yeah, my head is killing me.”
He nodded once and began pressing on her sternum. He pushed on each rib, ignoring her small winces. She tried not to squirm, even though it felt like he was stabbing her. When he reached the bottom ribs on her left side, she went rigid.
He nodded. “Breath hard?”
“It hurts when I breathe,” she confirmed.
He grunted and pulled what looked like an antique stethoscope from the pile of supplies. When he pressed it to her sternum, it was ice cold. She stared straight ahead and tried to ignore the way the frigid metal dropped her body temperature.
“Still,” he muttered under his breath.
She started to ask what he meant when he began carefully pressing on her broken ribs to find the fracture. She grit her teeth to keep from shouting at him. It seemed to go on forever, his warm wrinkled hands poking and prodding at the part of her that hurt the most.
“That is a bit tender, sir,” she said through gritted teeth.
He ignored her comment and went back to his stack of supplies. He removed two large bandages from the pile. She decided they looked like giant Band-Aids, as he gestured for her to raise her arm over her head. She narrowed her eyes.
“Up arm.”
She scowled, but forced herself to follow his instructions. As her muscles stretched, her ribs pulled. She took tiny sips of air to prevent her lungs from expanding fully and increasing the sharp pains.
“No move.”
Easy for him to say. She lay perfectly still and focused on the steady drip of the water. He stretched the tape and placed it diagonally across her ribs. When the second strip went on, she felt a definite easing in the pain and sighed in relief. She thought she heard the old doctor chuckle.
He gathered the remaining supplies and tucked them into his small satchel, before he met her eyes. She was not sure what to make of the concerned gaze.
“Is everything going to heal up okay?”
He nodded, but his expression did not change. A combination of fear and uncertainty spilled across her, raising goose bumps on her arms. His gaze flicked toward the door. Before she could question him, a loud knock echoed in the dark space. The old doctor gave her another long look and turned away.
“Zakhod’te!”
The door swung open and loud footsteps approached. From the shadows, the same man emerged, a scowl on his face. He looked her over, his eyes lingering on her splinted wrist. An ugly smile curved his lips. He turned to the doctor.
She watched them bicker. The younger man gestured violently in her direction, yelling words she could only assume were insults or deman
ds. The doctor shook his head. He glanced at her and pointed to her bound ribs. Her hands rose to rest over the area, as the other man sneered at her and waved the doctor off.
He approached her with the confidence of someone who knew they outmatched their opponent. He obviously did not know much about her. She waited until he was in range before she lashed out with both feet, catching him in the stomach. He stumbled backwards into the shadows and she struggled to her feet.
The doctor simply watched her, as she raced across the room toward the door. It was unlocked and the rusty handle turned without a sound. The room spilled into a narrow, brick-walled hallway. The shadows were less dense than in the room, broken by dim light bulbs every few yards.
She glanced both ways. The hallway was deserted, the only noise faint and coming from somewhere above her. The stone ceiling was low, less than two feet above her head, giving the impression of a basement or cellar. Her gaze darted to the doors along the wall.
All of the doors were made of the same dark wood. She hurried down the hall, sticking to the deepest shadows, and randomly chose a door on the left. She reached out to grasp the handle and paused. Anything could be on the other side. She pulled her splinted wrist against her chest and pushed the door open.
The room was completely empty. A light near the door showed a cave-like space, the brick walls wet with water and covered in patches of algae. The air was filled with the same damp scent as the room where they had dumped her. She frowned and backed out of the room, rushing down the hall to stand in front of another room a few doors down.
A door flew open down the hall and the man stumbled out of her room, yelling in Ukrainian. He whirled around to face the opposite direction and she took the opportunity to slip through the door in front of her. She closed the door and leaned her weight against it, her heart beating fast in her ears. His yelling slowly got further away until it faded to silence.
She let out a shaky breath and turned to face the room, cradling her ribs with her good arm. Her eyes widened in alarm. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, illuminating a nightmare interrogation room. Two chairs sat in the center of the room, directly beneath the light. A few feet away, a surgeons table lay occupied.