by Elle Lincoln
“What you don’t know is why we take them.”
“Sacrifice,” I wheeze out.
I let my eyes fall closed as the feeling of being human and kicked becomes too damn much for my body to comprehend.
He laughs, his body shaking in mirth. “You think that works?” I snap my eyes open to see him shake his head. “It doesn’t. We long ago realized it stopped working. No, those are just public executions.”
What the fuck? “Why?”
“Because they like it.” His voice holds that bloodlust that fueled the crowd. I hear his heart pick up. He enjoys it. Just killing people. “We don’t kill the humans though.” As though that makes it so much better.
“Why?” I grind out, before a door swinging open reaches my ears.
“We need them for when it finally happens.” I can’t tell if he’s actually crazy or a villain mastermind. It’s to be determined.
“What?”
“The merging of the worlds.” He throws me down.
My body hits the cold floor unceremoniously. My head once again snaps down and jerks against a stone. I turn over, breathing into the dirt. My eyes focus on the particles that fly from my nostrils as I distract myself from the pain.
“I’m going to need you to submit.”
“No.” Never. I will not.
“That isn’t going to work. See, we need you.” His voice sounds closer. I just want to close my eyes and fall asleep. I don’t even bother asking why, but then again if I wait I won’t need to. “My father believes you are a good asset, but only if you submit and work with us.” His voice is definitely closer.
“No.” My breath wheezes.
“That isn’t good enough. I need you, he needs you. But let me ask you this…” Oh, do please surprise me, my prince. “Would you rather he rules your earth or me?”
What fucking kind of question is that? Neither. I try to shake my head no.
“See, I’m being generous. Carrying you. Tending to you. I’ve even given you your very own room!” He really sounds like he’s being generous. I slit open my eyes. Why did I close them? The room looks like nothing more than stone.
I’m only seeing a very small portion, but still, it looks more like a cell. In a dungeon. I think I once said something about seeing new areas, but this really isn’t what I had in mind.
“My father,” he continues and I can’t believe he isn’t done monologuing, “would keep you in complete isolation until you submit.”
I mean, from my perspective, it kind of looks like they are one and the same. Besides, what could they even need me for? He probably just wants me to sift through his followers. Find out who is on his side and who isn’t. Blah, blah, blah.
“You are going to kill him for me.”
Yeah, I didn’t expect him to say that. I roll over, finally looking at him. It isn’t easy, every muscle aches and burns. But my head is slowly clearing as I get used to the feeling of being powerless.
Ryoden is standing at the door to my cell, and it is a cell, peering off into a room beyond. His eyes are glazed over. “It’s been far too long and we need a new king. And working with that bitch?” He spits. Whoever he’s talking about, he sure doesn’t like. Maybe I’ll like her. “His plans of grandeur will see us fail.” He finally looks down at me, his eyes wild and crazy. I realize then just how much he has been holding it together in the crowd. Here, with just us? His mask slips and the crazy peeks out. “He thinks these humans will convince the rest to follow us.”
I snort. That I fucking agree with. There is no way. Once humanity realizes there is something bigger than them on the food chain, they will head in guns blazing. I should join the army. Wait, I have one. A giggle escapes me. Oh, yeah, that might be a concussion. It explains a few things.
Nevertheless.
“Think about it. I’ll be back in the morning to begin your lessons.” With those parting words, the mask slips back onto his face, his shoulder rolls back, and he stands tall once more. He sweeps out of the cell and the tink of the lock echoes off the stone around me.
I close my eyes. We were wrong. They are keeping the humans in the hope that they convince the world to follow the Fae. I can’t think on it right now though. My body is fading and fast. Everything slips away to await my lessons.
I’m pretty sure it’s code for torture. Balor’s words haunt me in my dreams.
There are worse things than death.
I’m about to find out.
Chapter 19
Bette
Back in Hell
The steady drip of ice-cold droplets pierce my senses and awakens my skin to pain. I grasp on to the confines of sleep like sand slipping through fingertips. I squeeze too tightly, losing the blissful reprieve of forgetting. I don’t want to become aware, I don’t want to know what’s coming next, and I sure as hell don’t want to anticipate it.
This world, this life, has become more than I know how to deal with. Each step of the way I feel like a toddler stumbling on new feet. My stubborn human mind cannot grasp the entirety of the webs that are weaving around me.
Not until it’s too late, and I’m sore and passed out on the floor of a dungeon cell. A giggle escapes the clutches of my throat. Squeezing what is left of my sanity from my mind.
Everything hurts, like the morning after a bender, and my head feels cloudy. There are bruises in places I don’t remember hitting, and nausea cramps my stomach, threatening to spew the contents of liquor and fries.
Except... this is no bender. This is reality and I’m lying here because I’m a fucking idiot that doesn’t know how to look before I leap. One of these days I’ll learn. At least the guys are free. Unless that was also a lie. Something I suspect and yet hope isn’t true. Only time will tell.
I’m also pretty sure this whole magical dampening of my powers means I’m going to heal like a human as well. A rather unfortunate circumstance.
Can I die here?
I roll to my side, dismissing the thought as quickly as it comes. Some things you just need to push to the side and let go for now. I groan as the damn concrete digs into my side. My hands explore my torso, looking for major damage. A hole in my black shirt doesn’t reveal much except that the skin beneath is sore to the touch. I breathe deeply.
“Oh hell no.” Instantly regret it. Broken rib. Broken. Rib. That had to be where Sir Crazy Pants kicked me. “Thank god Kelsie takes after her mother.”
“Hello?” A voice reaches me, hollow and reserved. “Is someone there?”
I flick my eyes open, breaking through the grit of a coma-like sleep. “Yeah.” I cough and wheeze, freaking ribs.
“Oh, hello there.” His voice picks up in tone and I can almost taste his hope.
I don’t want to squash it too hard. “Hey.”
“I’m Aengus.” The hope in his voice is nearly suffocating me.
“Bette,” I cough out. Fuck, my lungs hurt. That bastard.
“So, I hear that you are the prince’s new plaything.” He speaks hesitantly, holding something there I’m not sure I’m ready to question.
I snort. “If by that you mean torture into submission, then yes.”
“Of course. He knows no other way.” His voice sounds closer. I peek from beneath my lashes. When did I close my eyes? No matter. “You are a pretty thing. A bit beat up though.”
Conversations like these never would have crossed my mind, not in a million years.
“So, Aengus. What brings you here?” There is a small hole toward the floor of the cell, where glowing eyes peer at me.
“Oh, my father.” I realize he’s moving his mouth to the hole each time he speaks. It’s endearing, really.
“Tell me your father isn’t the king.” I briefly remember seeing him sitting on his throne, stroking his white beard, and holding a stick. Cane. Something.
“Oh goodness no. Dagda is my father.” He sighs and I hear a thump that must be him smacking his head on the ground.
I think for a minute, knowing that name. “The god?�
� He’s who Morrigan was looking for!
“Oh yes, he’s like the godfather of gods.” He sighs. “You’ve seen that movie, yes?”
Is he? Did he just reference The Godfather? I giggle, albeit painfully. “Yes, I have. Morrigan is looking for him.”
“Oh, she won’t find him.”
“I gathered as much. She isn’t happy about that.”
“No one is.” I think that’s what he says but it’s quite muffled, leaving me to guess at his words. “The Fae have him. I went looking for him and here I am.”
“Doesn’t that make you a god?” Surely his godly powers can get him out of here.
“Oh yes. But alas, I am but a God of Love.” His sigh is so dramatic I almost groan. I can almost hear little hearts popping around his head. And yet, somehow, it is charming.
“Well, that isn’t going to help us, not at all,” I grumble, while slowly pulling myself into a seated position. What the hell did he kick me with? Steel toed boots?
“Not with this damn magical barrier.” He gasps. “Forgive my language.”
What? “Forgive what?”
“I said damn.” Again another gasp. “There I go again.”
I have got to be dreaming. There is no way in hell that I’m stuck here chatting with a god who believes damn is a bad word.
“Well, you are in fucking luck, because I’m a goddamn saint.”
The resulting reaction is comical and exactly what I need to lift my spirits. I don’t even feel bad about it. Aengus gasps loudly and I swear he whispers a little prayer.
“You are really a saint?” My humor fades.
“No.”
“But you just said you were a saint.”
“I lied.” This is not going how I envisioned. He is oblivious to my smartassery. “Have you ever heard of the Sluagh?”
“Bedtimes stories,” he scoffs, but I hear the trepidation.
“Not so much,” I tease, enjoying this upside in my situation.
“The story has it that the Sluagh keep the worst among the original prisoner. Never to see the light of day again.” The quiver in his voice is everything and I feel slightly terrible for teasing him this way.
He has the ‘never to see the light of day’ aspect correct, because they were in hell. Until the sun broke free of the clouds. I’d give anything to see the sun right now and it’s only been a day. Or a few hours? I’m not really sure. It’s dim and the only light is coming from a small glow in the hall. I’m guessing a torch.
“Well, that’s true. Balor is free though.” I realize something important. “Aengus, how long have you been here?”
“Thirty years, two days, and eight hours.”
I shush him before he can tell me the minutes or seconds. “How the hell can you even tell?” There is no light anywhere.
“I’m attuned to the days. Uh oh.”
“What? What uh oh?”
“They are coming. Just. Be complacent.” Is he for real? I don’t do complacency.
Sure enough, footsteps sound from the hall just outside the door. My head rolls on my shoulder and I watch in silence as shadows elongate my way.
Two men pause before the door and one jingles keys to open my lock. My body tenses as they enter and stand before me. I lean back, looking up, and a smartass comment tingles the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. Something in me doesn’t feel right and the menace rolling off of these men spoils my blood.
“Get up.” The harsh command is spoken without emotion.
I comply, not because Aengus has recommended I do, but because something inside of me is recoiling. My body shakes as my weight shifts to my feet. My muscles burn and my joints rattle. The sound is loud to my ears.
I don’t even get the chance to adjust as each man takes an arm and drags me from the cell. My feet scrape along the floor in my boots. Small mercy.
“Where are we going?” I’m not sure, but I worry I may get beat for asking that one question.
Silence meets my reply, and instead I focus on staying upright and keeping up with these guys.
The stone blurs, a damp stone coffin that they drag me through. My spine is burning with the need to flee. Yet I can’t. I’m powerless here. My body is like that of a human. We come to a door, wide and wooden with etchings of knives on its heavy frame.
I’m squashing the panic down as they push through and sunlight blinds me. I squint against the light, waiting for my pupils to adjust. But I fucking wish I’d gone blind at that moment, because the room before me is full of furniture I’m pretty sure is torture equipment.
Not only that, but my body burns as it begins the process of healing.
“That will be all.” The voice is deep, with that hint of smokers cough bound into the punctuation. I peer across the clearing to a man standing in front of another set of doors. I dismiss him to look around. It almost reminds me of an open oubliette. Except, above me is a viewing area where I see the king and his son perched at a railing, peering down upon me.
So my torture has an audience. This is going to go super well. I focus back on the smoker. His long, dark hair is stringy and his bushy brows pull down low against deep brown eyes. A sinister smile catches his lips. He’s wearing nothing more than pants in a tan color streaked with dirt. Oh, and he’s barefoot.
That kind of confidence only comes with knowing exactly how to torture others.
I dissolve, my body fights against it, but mind over matter and all that shit. It’s worth a shot so I dive for the wall. Where I instantly rebound into my body and fall on my ass. At least I’m healing.
Laugher echoes in my ears and the flight sensation rocks my body. I itch all over. I can’t fucking do anything about it. Not yet. Ignoring the pair of feet that crunch over the sand beneath us, sure to catch any spilled blood, I reach out to my guys.
Laughter bubbles through me as our minds link and a barrage of questions come at me.
Where are you?
Are you okay?
Bette!
We are coming for you.
Oh, fucking yeah!
“What the hell are you laughing at?” I roll my head in the sand toward the giant who is about to torture me.
“The voices in my head,” I whisper. No point in making him think I’m anything less than crazy. Because I am. Crazy, that is. I’m enjoying it actually.
“Get up.”
What is it with these bossy assholes?
Bette, who is that?
Do I tell them what’s about to happen? Do I block them? This is an action I really don’t know how to solve. Either way, right now the big guy lifts me up. I try to shimmer away but that knock on my ass sapped the last of my reserves. My body needs to heal.
“So, do you come here often?” I bet he does.
I’m eyeing the Saint Andrew’s cross he’s leading me toward. I’m gonna nope right out of that. I drop all of my weight and roll to the side and dart across the space.
I look back to the guy. I need a name for him. Rocky sounds appropriate. Or Rufus. He needs a silly name if he’s going to beat the shit out of me.
Rufus is smiling and it isn’t the happy kind of smile. It’s actually terrifying. I retie my hair in its failing ponytail and dance on the balls of my feet. Where I’m going to go, I have no idea.
Bette.
Not now big guy.
“If you submit then this will go a lot easier.” He cracks his knuckles and a chill runs up my spine. I’m holding on to my sanity by a single fucking thread and it’s about to snap.
“Nope.”
He looks up to the audience above and a single nod is given by the king. Who has yet to even fucking speak. Does he not have a tongue? A cat must have got it.
My sanity is slipping, which is the only way I can mentally prepare for this.
And by this, I mean the knife that slices through the air to embed itself into my shoulder.
“Oh shit.” I look down seeing it implanted up to the hilt in my shoulder. I don’t dare move as I s
tare at it. Rufus is still standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. I breathe out in huffs. Trying to pretend I don’t feel anything. But the sweat beading on my forehead tells a different story.
“Submit.”
“No.”
Another knife flies at me, piercing the skin of my other shoulder. I can’t hold it in and a scream leaves my lips. My knees wobble. I look down and right back up, trying to pretend this isn’t happening. It can’t be.
“Did you pull those from thin air?” My voice is strained, high-pitched as I speak through the pain that I’m not feeling right now.
I’m definitely feeling the pain.
“Yes.”
“Leprechaun,” I wheeze. I think I need to pull these from my shoulders.
Hey Patrick, you got a big sibling or cousin. Dark hair, big fucking guy. I try not to let them know there are knives in my shoulders.
My cousin, Arnold.
I liked Rufus better. Well, Arnold is here.
Bette, listen very carefully, ye need to get out of there. Arnold is supposed to be dead. If he is alive and there... Just get out of there.
Not gonna happen, I’m trapped.
I shut the link down. I can’t let them know what’s about to happen. I move my arm up and grip the one knife and yank. My eyes cross and I swear I black out, because the next thing I know I’m on my knees. One more to go. I yank that one free.
“Nice of you to arm me.” Sweat drips into my eyes and my body burns as it heals.
I understand this place now. I’ve nowhere to go. But it’s this small little pocket in this castle where they can torture immortals for fucking ever.
Balor was right. Oh, how Balor was right.
“Submit.”
No. But I can only shake my head as my wounds heal.
My knives disappear. Oh, that just isn’t fucking right. I push to my legs and stand tall. Again I try to dissolve, but all I manage to do is flicker in and out of existence.
“You aren’t much for a Sluagh,” Arnold comments. Fuck it, I’m sticking with Rufus.
“Haven’t fed.” I wonder...
He lets out a laugh. “You cannot feed on me.” He holds up one of those fucking rings. Oh, so it’s an all-purpose type of thing, is it? I need one of those rings. If only I can get close to him and snatch the fucker off him.