by Cara Villar
It was all about control with Ambrose, I’d learned. Containment of emotion, of holding back everything he could so I could not guess at his thoughts, only theorize at what went on behind those dark brown eyes. They could be as warm as melted chocolate, or as frigid as frozen earth and just as impenetrable.
Those times…those were the times that hurt the most.
It was day twelve when it happened. I was watching for the Chameleon female in the opposite cage again, trying to not think about the fact that I’d been gassed three days previous and had awakened with sticky inner thighs. If I thought about it, I might cry or be sick again.
The Chameleon and I had a game that she seemed to enjoy. I’d stare and study until I found her, while she shifted colors and froze when I wasn’t looking. My head would always get an ache shooting up the back of my neck, probably due to the gassings, but the distraction helped dull the pain. I’d been sitting in the corner of my room, back to the wall and hip pressed to the glass, staring at a banana tree in the corner of her habitat that had a weird line coming off it and I was trying to decide if it looked like a hip or not, when I heard it.
Voices.
Faint, but there, and I would never have heard them if not for my enhanced hearing. But then…I pressed my hand to the glass. The soundproof glass. I shouldn’t be hearing anything at all, despite my Immortal senses. And yet I was.
I couldn’t wrap my head around the realization. I’d existed for a week with nothing but my own voice, breathing, pulse and the occasional visit from Ambrose. I never heard anything unless I made the noise myself. I never thought the quiet I craved while in the Vampire clan mansion and in Chicago would become so oppressive so quickly. There wasn’t even a breeze in the room, it was that air-tight, the air conditioned so thoroughly that it was neither hot nor cold but just right. Nothing changed in my glass cage. The very thought that sound could penetrate…
I tilted my head, strained for further nuances. It was so faint that even my own breathing seemed to overpower it. Aligning my senses to enhance my hearing to full capacity, I began to make out words…
“…wants the Fae Prince moved to cell thirty-two.” I could barely make out what he was saying over the heavy thumping of boots, but there were words. “Assign Edwards and Barks to clean out the Gryphon shit…”
“What about his brother?” another voice, male. Both voices were male, and getting closer. “Fucker’s been feral since Lord Ambrose took the other ones head for hurting the freaky half-vamp chick.”
Were they talking about me?
“Gas him.” A cold reply. “Double the dose, and then shift him to fifteen.”
And then they were in sight. Two guards, both stocky, both dark. One I’d been referring to in my head as Nose because his was crooked and flat, like he’d been punched too many times right in the middle of his face, giving him a kind of snarly Rocky thing going on. The other was Nod, simply because his general response to Nose was to nod in acquiescence to whatever Nose told him to do.
“Between the Succubus and the Nephilim?” Nod snorted, strolling towards me, stun-gun at one hip and a dagger at the other. “You’ve a sick, sick mind.”
Nose laughed. “The Succubus is hungry and the Nephilim is bored.” He shrugged. “And it’ll give the Gryphon something new to scream at.”
Nose suddenly shot out his boot and kicked the glass at my hip. I jerked in surprise as the sudden movement, and Nod laughed. Neither of them stopped walking however, and their voices were lost to me once my concentration was gone. But I’d definitely heard them…
That meant the glass wasn’t perfect.
I scrambled up instantly and unsheathed my claws, digging at the seam of the carpet that lay flush to the glass, ripping it free along with the padding, revealing concrete and wood trimming. Out the corner of my eye, I saw the Chameleon shift all her coloring to come stand at her glass wall and watch me, wide-eyed. I paused to look at her. Her hair was long and dark, her eyes a pale amber, her skin was dusky, and her features leant itself to a European heritage. She was stunning, her figure lithe. I envied her, her height, damn my short legs.
I yanked my head back down to the floor, digging my claws into the wood to rip it free. I coughed against the dust from the concrete, snapped a plank of wood, scratched my arm on a nail and skinned the knuckles on both hands. I pressed my face close to the glass, right where it met the concrete and looked for any imperfection, any flaw, any blemish or defect.
I froze, staring, unbelieving. Shocked.
So shocked that all I could do was stare at what could possibly be my escape.
A crack in the glass. A fine fracture in the fortifications of my prison. A splinter of hope in my cage.
I glanced behind me at the camera, then above me at the other, then out of the glass at the Chameleon. Her hands were pressed to the glass, her eyes wide, flicking between me and the splinter in the glass she couldn’t see.
Now or never, Red.
The thought was like a faint push in my skull, a pressure that I almost recognized and yet…it slipped away, and I was left sitting there staring at a Chameleon. Tearing my gaze away, I started using my claws to scrape away the concrete around the crack, exposing more of it, gauging the extent of the damage. Occasionally, I stopped to tap the glass, listening to nuances, then I’d press my face to the cold of it, peering up and down the tunnel, straining to hear if anyone was coming, then I’d go back to scraping.
I was frantic. What felt like hours were only minutes, and that was still too long. Any moment whoever was watching those cameras would see what I was doing and one of the guards would come down, gas me, and I’d be moved again. Vulnerable again. I couldn’t hesitate, think twice, or make sure. It was now or never.
I got to my feet and looked around. All I saw was carpet, rugs, vanity, bathroom, four-poster bed.
Four-poster bed. Four… posts. Big posts.
I yanked up my stupid dress skirts, producing a tear right up to my hip, leaped onto the bed and started ripping the canopy down from the nearest post. Shoving all the froth out the way, I pulled back to the opposing corner, glanced at the wide-eyed Chameleon, and then launched myself at the post.
A loud crack, followed by several splintering crunches, and the post was tipping forward. My feet kept slipped on the bed sheets and the carvings in the wood bit into my shoulder as I growled and gritted my teeth and kept on shoving. To avoid falling flat on my face, I swung down and started yanking, twisting, and wiggling the post until it finally jerked free, the heavy base clunking to the ground. I dragged it to the glass, braced my feet, hefted the post like a golf club and declared, “Here goes nothing,” as I swung it into the glass right above the crack.
The resounding gong of the glass was deafening, and the shock of it staggered me, reverberated up my arms. I gripped the severed post harder, braced my feet again and swung. And swung. And swung again. My arms began to ache from the rebound, but I kept swinging. My ears began to bleed from the sound, but I kept swinging. And finally, a different kind of crack rent the air.
A stark white, jagged line shot through the glass, paused, rent the clear surface again, paused, split.
I was panting, heaving air into my lungs, watching as iridescent red magic rippled over the glass with each splintering stretch. The Chameleon had her hands pressed to the glass, watching in shock and hope as my glass wall fractured. Bolstered, I hefted the post again and swung higher, aiming for the split.
On impact, a bright white light sent me flying back onto my ass, crackling in my ears and smelling like burned hair, and the unmistakable ripping sound of glass spider-webbing apart. I rolled into the vanity with a grunt, but was on my feet and running back to the glass a split second later, eyes skimming the shattered glass even as it still stood.
The broken webbing exploded outward, the original split camouflaged by the explosion of other potential shards decorating the glass wall like the patterns of ice. From floor to ceiling and wall to wall, the shar
ds sparkled and wove and spread like a jagged web everywhere.
Everywhere, but the door that Ambrose came and went by.
I cautiously put out my hand, and momentarily marveled that it went straight though. No red shimmer, so harsh blood-colored crackle. And then I was in the hall, and staring at the Chameleon, who was frantically saying words I could not read and banging her fists on the glass that I could not hear.
Glancing up and down the hall, I darted over, pressed my hand to the glass where my door had been.
A red ripple. A flash of heat on my palm.
I jerked back as the glass dissolved before my eyes, fizzling out like mist, and the Chameleon was in the hall with me, her bright eyes fierce and her mouth set in a determined line.
“Thank you” she said, with a regal incline of her head, her voice surprisingly clear when I expected it to be as husky as Jade’s
“Anytime,” I replied, then added, “I’m Red.”
She stared at my face. After a moments silence, she replied, “Lola.”
“I’m going to try and get everyone out of here, Lola.” I told her straight.
She nodded. “You do that side, I’ll do this side.” She turned to follow the way the guards had gone. “There’s a fire escape back that way,” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder, “but if we let out these ones first—”
“They can run on ahead and let out the others.” I jogged to the next glass wall. A hulking male form in gray sweats jumped to his feet, his dark skin and pale eyes striking against the stainless steel minimalism of his cage. “Good plan.”
I pressed my hand to the glass panel and a red ripple rolled across the surface. The hulk moved toward me, towering taller than Vince. When the door cleared and I stepped back, the hot, heady scent of bear Shifter rolled towards me, mixed with an exotic spice I’d come to associates with Moors. Interesting mix.
I glanced over at Lola, who was sending a being no taller than me zipping up the corridor. I craned my neck to look up into his nearly white irises of the bear. “Exit is that way.” I pointed. “Can you let out others on your way?”
The big man stared at me, then nodded, and took off running after the little one.
I moved onto the next, and repeated the process, and then the next. As I pressed my hand to the third one, alarms began to wail. The sound was deafening after the silence of the past week and the soft murmurs from the individuals I released. The variety was shocking. Gremlin Fae, Wiccan Merfolk, several kinds of mixed and rare Sprites. A Were as pale all over as a thousand year old Vampire, and a Vampire with skin sparkling sky blue and eyes are dark as a clear night sky. The rarity and variety was shocking.
At the end of the corridor, Lola and I quickened our feet, knowing that the steel-paneled door ahead of us with the flashing red light above it could burst open anytime and Ambrose’s guards come piling through.
The first thing I saw when I pressed my hand to the glass of the last cage was black feathers, glossy and hinting at a deep blue. As the glass cleared to a hollow doorway twice the size as all the others, a giant black wing shifted and a dark head of wavy hair appeared. A male in a black tank and sweats tried to lift himself to hands and knees, but could lift no further than elbows and belly.
This must be the Gryphon they were talking about gassing.
“Help…”
I was already in the habitat, a sandy floor and walls and ceiling painted to look like clouds, gripping his arm and heaving him off the floor. His great feathery appendages dragged on the floor as I hauled ass down the corridor.
“Red.” Lola was suddenly on the other side of the Gryphon, swinging his other arm over her shoulders, another Amazonian-like female with midnight skin and white dread locks coming to relieve my shorter form of the Gryphon’s weight.
“He’s been gassed,” the Amazon said, her nose wrinkling at the unnatural scent.
“Double-dose,” I agreed. “I heard them say—“
Suddenly a metallic thunk sounded behind us. The steel door. Heavy footfalls pounded quickly towards us, and fear shot across both females’ faces.
“Get him out of here,” I said, slipping the bracelets from my wrists. “I’ll hold them off.”
As I turned to go, Lola gripped my arm. “So many owe you their lives today,” she said.
I fought the lump in my throat and stared bleakly at her. “They owe me nothing.” Because the man who did this to them was once my husband. “Go. Quickly. I will follow.”
Lola nodded, and then they were gone, black wings sweeping the corridor floor.
I turned just as guards closed in, Alexander behind them with his customary death-stare plastered across his stern face.
“Go after the freaks,” he commanded, and a dozen or so black-clad men went jogging past me. Alexander’s eyes were bottomless pits of merciless jet. “Take her down, men, but don’t kill her. She’s the boss’s wife.”
And that was all the permission the guards needed. With snarling smiles of anticipation they all came at me, fumbling over each other in the narrow corridor like over-eager pups. I sucked in a deep breath laced with the scent of Vampire, new by their power levels that they were too new to take me, and launched myself amidst them.
I shot out one hand and wrapped the chain around a throat, yanking hard to sever the head clean off as I spun with the other chain, flicking it out to slice open a throat. A gleam of dark metal, and I barely managed to twist fast enough to dodge the blade aimed at my shoulder. I wasn’t fast enough to avoid the one going for my ribs, and the slice burned across skin and bone.
I hissed, baring all my teeth, and the guard jerked back in surprise. I grabbed the arm of the first blade wielding guard and jerked. As he stumbled forward I rammed the heel of my palm into the back of his elbow, breaking it, then dipped to catch his blade as he dropped, screaming, to the floor. I leaped back to avoid another knife slice, then flicked out a wrist to capture his freehand with a chain. I pulled, he spun, and the guard’s blade I’d procured was in his throat. He gurgled an outraged, shocked cry and fell to the floor.
They weren’t truly dead, for they were Vampires, but they were out of action.
That was good enough for me.
I lifted my eyes to meet black eyes, and stepped back when dark brown burned into me with a fury so pure I felt it down to the very essence of myself.
Ambrose. And he was pissed.
“Alexander,” he murmured softly, his voice barely discernible over the alarm. “Do not interfere.”
The black-eyed Vampire grinned maliciously at the command. “As you wish, Sire.” He stepped back, giving Ambrose space, and something cold and terrified shivered down my spine.
My breaths came faster. My heart began to pound. My blood roared in my ears. I knew the symptoms of fear, of panic, the adrenaline only making the sensations more intense, but I couldn’t stop any of it. The very idea of fighting Glenn—Ambrose—left me weak-kneed and nauseous. I could never beat a Vampire his age. His power and strength out-stripped me like a marathon runner a fat kid.
I spun and ran. I didn’t get far.
With a cry, I was jerked to a halt by a savage grip on my nape, spun by the bruising grip, and slammed into a rock solid chest. With another cry, my head was wrenched back by my hair, and uncompromising cold brown eyes glared into mine.
“You,” Ambrose voice was low, bland, but his eyes were fierce, “set free my treasures.”
I think he’s going to kill me. I think I’m going to die. “Yes.” My voice was a wavering whisper.
“They were mine.” His grip on my neck and hair tightened, and I grimaced at the pain. He is going to kill me. I am going to die. Might as well go out with a fight.
“No longer,” I told him. “Now they are free.”
“No!” Ambrose snapped, giving me a rough shake. “No.” He shoved me away.
“Yes!”
His hand whipped out so fast I didn’t even get a chance to think about blocking it. Before I knew it, I wa
s spinning away from an explosion of pain in my face and the taste of blood in my mouth, my already throbbing headache shooting up to full-blown pulsating. My knees throbbed from hitting the concrete, and wobbled when I pushed myself to my feet and straightened to face him.
“You are going to learn that defying your husband will not go unpunished, Willow,” Ambrose said coolly, rolling up the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, not a hair out of place, his face schooled to be perfectly expressionless. Yet his eyes scalded me with his fury.
I lifted my chin. “I am not your wife, Ambrose. Willow died the same night Glenn did.” She died when I was raped.
Ambrose’s lip curled back to display massively elongated canines, “You’ll always be mine, Willow.” His eyes flared with gold, making the fury all the more sinister. “Always.”
Ambrose flew at me with vampiric speed. He slammed into me with vampiric strength. The impact shattered ribs and sent me flying down the hall. Landing stole what little oxygen was left in my lungs, and the pain searing through my body as I slid across the floor made dark splotches dance in my vision.
It had no time to clear.
Before I could regain my senses, Ambrose had gripped my ankle, lifted me off the floor, spun me and slammed me into the glass wall of one of his cages. Given how much it had taken me to break that glass wall in my cage, I expected the impact to kill me. As it was, my shoulder, ribs, hip and head blasted with pain, something in my knee and ankle popped from his unrelenting grip on me. The glass spider-webbed in an instant, and as I fell to the floor, a kick to my stomach scooted me back the single foot gap to slam against the glass wall again.
The impact shattered the glass.
It rained down on me like a sparkling shower of stinging death, and the scent of my blood perfumed the air.
I’m going to die.
A hot hand on my wrist pulled me away from the wall. Pain lanced my body and glass bit into my skin. I cried out as my eyes latched onto the furious gaze of a man I had once loved, right before he drew back a fist and punched me.