Integrity cut him off. “That's the only thing I'm sure of. Galia is not dangerous. I don't think she has it in her to be dangerous. Besides, if she flipped out, I'm sure I'm stronger than her. She's so small and thin, a stiff breeze could beat her up.”
“I don't know.” Ben frowned, adjusting his grip on her hand and twining their forearms. “If anything happened to you . . .” He trailed off, holding her arm close to his side.
“Don't worry about me. I'm not the one that sneaks out of jail on a regular basis.” She could hear her pulse, blood whooshing by in spurts. Reassured, she savored the euphoria that came from being with Ben, directing the conversation to inane topics, hoping that he would never let go of her hand.
Đ
Galia and Integrity had been carefully bland since Galia's revelations. Conversation was kept on wonderfully boring topics, things that didn't matter and were easily forgotten seconds afterward. Galia had fallen back into curtsying and referring to Integrity as “miss.” Integrity had told her not to, but her half-hearted objection fell flat on its back.
Ben had not come back for nearly two weeks and, while Integrity missed his visits, her life fell into a different routine to help pass the time, including sleeping more than twelve hours a night out of sheer boredom. Eventually she was desperate enough for a change of pace to hazard questioning Galia.
Galia was moving silently about the room, collecting used clothes and bedding to take to the laundry. When her back was facing Integrity, she asked, “So, Galia, you know how you told me everyone's a vampire here?”
Galia faltered for only an instant before continuing with her work. “Yes, miss. Is there something you wished to have clarified?”
Now that she'd started, Integrity wasn't sure where to go. “Um, everyone is a vampire?”
“Excepting you, miss.” Galia slipped one of the many pillows effortlessly from its case. How does she do that? I always have to shake it for a minute-and-a-half to get anywhere.
“So, even Ben?” Realizing that she was shifting her weight far too often, Integrity forced herself to hold still.
Galia's gaze flashed at Integrity briefly. “Yes, miss. Even Ben.”
Striving to keep the disbelief from her voice, Integrity pressed on. “So what do vampires want with me? Shouldn't someone have just sucked me dry and let it be at that?”
Galia removed another pillow case and shrugged. “I cannot say, miss.” Gathering the bed linen and clothing in her arms, Galia asked, “Will there be anything else?”
Integrity shook her head and watched as Galia left the room. “That's one relationship that will never be the same,” she muttered to herself. She resigned herself that any further questions would be fruitless. What had she hoped to gain, anyway? There was no understanding an insane person.
Đ
As Galia was leaving Integrity, Paul, the younger guard, jogged down the hallway after her. “Galia!” he called. When he caught up, he smiled widely. “Hey. I'm supposed to take you to meet up with the king and queen. They just told me over my headset.” He gestured toward his ear, stumbling a bit over his words. Galia nodded silently and they moved off down the hall, side by side. Occasionally Ben would tell her to turn or wave his arm in a general direction. The trip was short, and Galia thanked him when he stopped before a closed door. “You're welcome. If you need anything, just ask me, okay?” His eyes looked hopeful. She touched his arm lightly, smiled, then rapped lightly on the door. It opened silently and she walked in.
One of the hundreds of rooms in Westmarch, Galia was sure she had been here before, but she didn't remember it specifically. The subtly expensive décor flowed seamlessly together. To her right the leaders of Westmarch sat side-by-side on a low couch. Galia walked to them and dropped a deep curtsy, keeping her head bowed until she received some sign from them to raise herself again, this time a demure cough from the queen.
“Galia, is it?” the king asked lazily. Avoiding his gaze out of respect, Galia focused on his other facial features.
“Yes, your majesty,” she responded.
“You're the one who cares for the girl?” The queen's voice was somewhat strident, not as smooth and polished as her husband's. Galia could easily imagine her voice raised in anger.
“Yes.”
“What can you tell us about her?” The king seemed somewhat bored with the whole conversation.
“Forgive me, but what exactly does your majesty wish to know?” Galia bowed her head once more, briefly.
The queen's sharp eyes never left Galia's face. “What is her current status?”
“Human, my queen.” Galia forced her features to remain calm. What could they want with Integrity?
“You're positive?” The king sat up straighter, more focused on the turn the conversation had taken. Galia nodded. “Interesting.” He thought for a moment, then said. “We believe that this girl may be the Destine.” The queen made a sharp movement, emitting a noise of objection. The king patted her hand lethargically. “Calm yourself. What harm can this servant do?” Turning his attention back to Galia, he ordered, “You will speak of this to no one.”
“No one, my liege.” Galia was struggling to order her thoughts, the puzzle pieces falling into place faster and faster.
“There, there, my lady,” the king said soothingly, and condescendingly, to the queen. She pulled her hand away from his, crossing her arms firmly over her chest. Turning back to Galia, the king pressed on. “We do not know whether or not this girl is the one, and we wish to ascertain the truth. Will you help us with our task?” The question was placed habitually, the king knowing that no request of his could be turned down. He did not wait for a response. “Now, we must know as much of this girl as we can. Tell us everything you can. Details, my girl, details.” He leaned back into the sofa and looked expectantly at Galia.
Taking a short breath to brace herself, Galia began relaying all the information concerning Integrity that she could bring to mind.
Đ
Ben was able to visit sooner than normal, and Integrity was ecstatic. She still hadn't fully come down from the high his last visit had produced, and his reappearance made her head swim. When she was with Ben, she could ignore all of the bad around her. Life was more than just bearable, it was enjoyable.
Integrity had found a pack of playing cards in her room several days ago, and she got them out now. “Wanna play War?” she asked Ben, glad to have something to play besides Solitaire.
His face lit up. “I haven't played War in years. You're on!”
Sitting cross-legged, the two became so engrossed in the game that they had to stifle their cries of triumph or defeat frequently. When the sharp knock at the door, only once, came, they both spun to stare at the door. It opened swiftly to reveal Bowman. Integrity was struggling to come up with some excuse to explain Ben's presence when the guard spoke.
“Sorry to bother you, miss, but I need to take you somewhere.”
Integrity turned her head enough to look out of the corner of her eye, but when she didn't see Ben she looked all around. When her eyes locked on to him, crouched by the side of her bed, out of Bowman's sight, her breath caught. She forced her eyes to pass on as though she had seen nothing out of the ordinary. “Let me just find my shoes.” She hoped he couldn't hear the tremor in her voice.
Bowman began to walk across the room. “They're there. I'll get 'em.”
Integrity's gaze flashed to the far side of the room where she had carelessly tossed her shoes the last time she'd dug them out of the closet. She raced across the room toward the shoes. “I've got it. Don't worry.” She was relieved to see that, though he looked puzzled, Bowman had stopped his advance into the room. She jammed her feet into the soft, floppy shoes, then turned to face Bowman once more. “Okay, I'm ready.”
Bowman hesitated. “You should change into pants.”
Integrity's stomach clenched. Why did she need to be in pants? She pawed through her closet, looking for one of the few pairs she ha
d, keeping a weather eye on Bowman the whole time. She finally found a pair and said, “Okay, I'll change.” She stared at him meaningfully, and he exited the room. She took a deep, shaky breath. Ben gestured for her to remain silent, so she slipped into the bathroom and changed her clothes as quickly as she could, her feet catching in the legs of the pants in her haste. She ripped the shoes off in disgust, then tried the pants again, forcing herself to slow down. It'll take less time if you get it right the first time.
Back in her room, she walked quickly toward Ben. “What--”
He cut off her harried words. “It'll be okay. I'll wait until you go, then sneak out. Go to the door before he comes back.” Ben never stood, keeping himself concealed in case the door opened again.
Slightly sick, Integrity turned and stumbled toward the door. This was so much worse than when Galia had discovered them together. Galia wouldn't do any harm, but the guards . . . they could have Ben killed. Integrity swallowed the excess spit her mouth seemed to be creating, then grasped the door handle and turned it.
The first part of the journey she took with Paul and Bowman was spent worrying about Ben and his safety. As the path became increasingly familiar, Integrity began to fear for herself. She became more certain with each step that they were taking her back to the room where the woman had fought with her.
I think I'm having a panic attack, she thought, feeling detached. Her breath was coming in short, noisy gasps that she did her best to disguise, while her heart sounded like a hum in her ears rather than individual beats.
The room was much the same as it had been previously, bright light in the center, the seats cast into shadow. There were even a similar number of people as before. This Integrity noticed briefly, focusing her attention instead on the major transformation that the room had undergone. Reaching from the floor to high in the air were thick metal bars, so new they gleamed in the reflected light from the ceiling. These bars enclosed the entire center “stage”, only varying where a single door allowed access. Why do they need bars? What are they protecting the audience from?
In a daze, Integrity walked to the door and entered the arena silently, knowing that it would be pointless to resist. She heard metal sliding on metal as the door behind her was locked.
For an excruciatingly long time, Integrity remained within the bars, alone and the focus of all attention. No one spoke and she had no idea what was expected of her. The silence pressed on her chest, making it even harder to breath. She tried to hide the fact that she felt like she was going to pass out from lack of oxygen.
A door on the fringes of the room slammed against the wall as it was thrown open. Integrity watched, fascinated, as Bowman and Paul reappeared, holding tightly to the arms of a very average looking man, who walked placidly to the door woven into the bars. Bowman ordered Integrity to back away, and she did so, walking backwards as quickly as she could. The lock slid open, the door swung silently outward, and the man walked into the cage. The door closed slowly behind him, the clink as it closed soft and non-threatening. The lock slid back into place and the silence descended once more, absolute and impregnable.
Integrity stared at the man, and he stared calmly back. What's going on? I don't think we're going to fight. So why are we here? Who is he?
The man had short, thin brown hair and a thick mustache, neatly trimmed. He wore slightly dated glasses and smiled inanely. He wore a dress shirt, open at the collar, and no tie. He looks like someone you'd see reading non-fiction at a corner table in the library, she thought.
He walked slowly toward her, his leather loafers clacking with each step. Integrity didn't know what to do. If I back away from this guy, everyone will laugh. Still, Integrity felt something akin to malice emanating from the man, touching her skin lightly like waves of heat from an open oven door. She felt her clenched hands perspiring. She wiped them nervously on the legs of her pants. The man smiled, a little bigger than before.
He stopped in front of her, closer than she liked. “You are beautiful,” he said, softly, confidently. Integrity shuddered in repulsion. His eyes were opened a little too wide. Unable to stop herself, she took a small step back. “Don't you like compliments?” he continued. With a jolt, Integrity realized why this man repulsed her so much. Though they looked nothing alike, his mannerisms, the way he moved, all mimicked Glegnar. Bile rose in her throat, and she pushed it back down. Fear was creeping up her legs, threatening to engulf her. She was trapped here, with nowhere to go. She knew no one in the audience would help her. She backed further away. The man came closer, reaching out to touch her hair. She felt her knees trembling, thinking in a vague way that shaking knees were only supposed to happen in books.
“Don't touch me.” Her voice was weak, barely more than a whisper, and it cracked as she spoke. The man smiled wider and advanced more aggressively, his presence enough to push her back, no physical contact necessary. She felt the cold metal bars push relentlessly into her back and knew that she had nowhere to go. The man would stop her if she tried to dodge around him; he was far too close for her to make it. Her vision was blurring, and she blinked rapidly, trying to focus, to make her mind come up with a solution. When the man reached up and touched her face, his hands cool and damp, she reacted instinctively. She kneed him with all the force she could muster, then broke free when he collapsed to the ground. She ran to the door and began shaking it violently, knowing in her mind that it would not open for her, no matter how hard she tried. She wanted to stop, but her body and mind seemed disconnected. She felt as though she had lost all control of herself.
Something made her turn, slowly. The man was crawling to his feet, forcing himself to straighten. He no longer smiled. Any sense that the man was harmless had disappeared, wiped clean like a chalkboard. There was no trace of that man anymore. His hair mussed, glasses askew, the man looked extremely threatening. Though she knew he was no taller than herself, Integrity felt as though the man had grown several feet in those few seconds. She backed up against the door behind her. Once more, with seemingly no control over her body, she moved a good distance away from the bars around her, giving herself ample room to move.
The man stayed where he was, and the two stared at one another. No further coherent thoughts graced Integrity's mind. Her feelings numbed, her awareness of anything but her opponent melted into obscurity. Nothing mattered but overcoming.
The pair stared at one another intently, faces contorted into hideous masks of what was once there. The girl took the offense this time, approaching the man in a rush. She swung her fist at his head, but her aim was wide and she stumbled a step or two forward when he moved out of the way. He grabbed her by the hair and flung her to the ground, her hip and elbow grating along the rough cement beneath her. He kicked her viciously in the ribs, the hard toe of his shoe feeling like a knife plunging into her side. He called her a foul name as he brought his foot back to connect again. Despite the pain, the girl forced herself to roll out of the way and get to her feet, one arm cradling her rib cage protectively.
The two faced one another once more, breathing heavily. They both attacked at the same time, raining blows on one another. The sound of flesh meeting flesh sounded like a hammer striking a two-by-four. They separated once more, blood trickling from Integrity's split bottom lip. She ignored it and studied her opponent, bent forward slightly, arm still protecting her ribs. Realizing that the girl was not going to attack again, the man straightened and wiped spittle from his chin. “You're not going to get away,” he growled, a sick smile twisting his features. “There's no place for you to go. You're mine.” He raised his hands and moved forward to grasp her, a hoarse laugh erupting from his lips.
Just when the man's fingertips touched her arms, the girl sprang into motion. The arm that had cradled her ribs shot into the man's abdomen, causing him to grunt and clutch at his stomach. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she grabbed him by the hair and drove his face into her rising knee. Her fingers slipped from the sparse hair, so she a
djusted her grip to his ears and smashed his face into her knee again and again. The man collapsed; she was unable to stop his body from slumping to the floor. He lay unmoving, and she watched him. A sob sounded from between her ragged breaths, and she drew back her foot and kicked his still form in the stomach as hard as she could. The soft shoe offered no buffer and she felt her toes begin to throb painfully. The sobs coming more and more frequently now, she dropped to the floor and stared at the man's mangled face through her tears.
As the pain settled to an even level, her thoughts began to assemble themselves once more. She noticed that the man's face was a dark red color, then connected that his face must be covered in blood. She wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to slow their flow so that she could see him better. What she saw made her stomach turn and her head reel. She was fairly certain that his nose was broken. She wasn't sure how her knee had managed to split his forehead open like that. When she shifted she could feel the sticky weight of his blood on her pants, over her aching knee. She forced herself not to look, grateful that, when she had to deal with the mess, her pants would hide most of the blood since they were black. She stared at the unconscious form before her, her breathing juddering, halting now that she had stopped crying. While the fear still sent adrenaline pumping through her veins, the weight of guilt began to press down on her shoulders. She knew she had done nothing wrong, that she had only been protecting herself, but the remorse and shame came nevertheless. She had never hit someone with the intent to do them serious harm, and now she had gone too far and continued to hurt a defenseless person. She tasted bile in her mouth. It wasn't so much that she regretted it for the man's sake as for her own; she had thought she was a better person than that, that she wouldn't be the type to take cheap shots to make herself feel tough. The tears began seeping out of her eyes once more. Appalled with herself, she crawled toward the prostrate figure and used the hem of her shirt to stem to flow of blood from the cut on his forehead. She felt herself gag, and forced her mind to block the things that made her so sick--the blood, the smell, her own self-hate, and being so near to someone she had been willing to kill. Numb, she only noticed that someone was helping her to stand and walk when the man's face moved further from hers, though the sight would remain in her thoughts forever.
Integrity: Book One of the Destine Series Page 10