My gaze moves to my mom. She sends daggers with her eyes to Marcus.
“What? Aren’t you happy to finally be reunited?” He bends down to get in her face. “It took longer than it should have. After all, you did try to hide her from us.”
“Go to hell,” she says, her voice raspy.
He chuckles, then straightens and turns back to me. “You’ll be taking her place, Eleanor. We’ll be using your new, young blood for our potions. Which is where we’re heading now.” He grabs the chain between my wrists and pulls up. A scream bursts from my throat, my wrists burning from the movement.
Wylla starts laughing, throwing her head back as if seeing me in pain is the funniest thing she’s ever seen.
Marcus pauses, my arms stretched above me. “What’s wrong with you, witch?”
“I just think it’s hilarious that you need to restrain her. You’re probably worried she’ll get away from you again, aren’t you? After all, you don’t want your big brother to get mad at you again.”
Big brother?
“Shut up, witch. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says and spits at her, tugging my wrists harder, forcing a whimper from me.
She grows serious. “What? I’m just pointing out your own insecurities. Can you not handle a little lycan without chains and bands? She doesn’t have powers like I do.”
He glares at her but doesn’t say anything.
“Thought so.” She shrugs one shoulder.
He growls and releases the chain, dropping me to the ground and giving my wrists a much-needed respite.
“I can handle her,” he says with a growl and gestures to one of the guards. “Release her.”
My eyes widen as the guard grabs one of my arms and unbinds me from the shackles.
I stare at Wylla. What’s her plan? Even if I’m free, what am I going to do? I don’t know the layout of this place to get out. And I can’t take everyone on by myself.
“Those too.” Marcus gestures to my bands.
If looks could kill, Wylla would be dead. Instead, she appears bored.
The guard hesitates and meets the other guard’s gaze.
“Do it,” Marcus yells.
“We don’t have the device, sir.”
He growls. “Watch them,” he says and storms off. He comes back, gripping the handle of a circular device. He pushes the guard out of the way.
A whimper escapes me as Marcus yanks my wrist to him. He sticks my wrist in it as if he were putting a bracelet on me. I watch in amazement as it shrinks down, completely enclosing the band. A magical device?
It clicks into places with a buzz, then a pop of release before the device slowly expands back out with the band. There’s a suction sound and pain flares in my wrist.
I can’t hold back a scream as the band pries off, inch by inch. My nerves are on fire, my wrist dead. I can’t hold it up or let it hang. Anything I do sends a shockwave through my system. Marcus pulls the device with my band off. He presses a button, and it releases the band, letting it clank onto the ground. Staring through blurry tears, I find bloody circular wounds dotted along my entire wrist.
Marcus inserts my other wrist, and the process starts all over again. A scream leaves me as my overly sensitive nerves take another hit.
When he removes the device from me again, I stare at the gruesome wounds. The bands have nubs along them that were embedded into my skin. The pain dulls as I’m flooded with warmth. My strength returns and overflows through me. I watch in awe as layer by layer my skin reattaches and heals.
He grins. “This is an unexpected surprise. You heal faster than I expected.”
I don’t think I did it on my own.
Helping Octavia ends up being an easier decision than I expected since our goals align. She wants freedom, which means ending Morbal. Something we were already planning on doing.
After Octavia explained the bands on her wrists, I ask, “And all the other stryxes?”
“Some want to be here, some don’t. Look for their bands. If they have one, they are on our side.”
“But…” Logan eyes Ariya and her bare wrists. Her eyes are golden now that she’s no longer shifted. The other two remain outside as we discuss, but both Ariya and the burly stryx, Ethan, have switched out of their beast forms.
“Except Ariya,” she says.
Ethan lays a hand on Octavia’s shoulder. He doesn’t say a word, but she gives him a subtle nod.
“You’re not a child of the Elite,” Logan says, eyeing Ariya.
She eyes him right back. “I’m not.”
“Then how are you tied to Linus?”
“I don’t think now is the time to discuss that. It isn’t important.”
He tilts his head. “You don’t have bands, why stay here?”
“Because of Tav,” she says, as if it’s obvious.
When she doesn’t elaborate, he opens his mouth to ask more questions, but Foster interrupts him. “I’d give it up, mate. She’s not going to answer your questions.”
Sophie lets out a sigh and asks, “And how is Linus tied to you?”
“I think I know,” Logan says.
I tilt my head. Wasn’t he just questioning Ariya how she was?
Octavia arches a brow and gestures for him to continue. “Be my guest.”
Logan leans against the wall. “I was told this story a few times growing up... Linus and Arlo, father and son respectively, were both turned by the lycan Elite, making them both head alphas—Originals. But the lycan Elite refused to turn my grandmother. My grandfather, Linus, wanting to live a long time with his wife, went to the stryx Elite instead.
“The stryx Elite promised Linus that if he were allowed to feed off of Linus and Arlo, he’d turn his wife. Linus of course agreed, but my father, Arlo, refused. Arlo believed they were trying to trick Linus. Going back to the stryx Elite, Linus offered himself, but couldn’t offer Arlo. The stryx Elite, displeased, killed my grandmother in front of Linus. Linus sought revenge and promised to come back and kill the stryx Elite and everyone in his family.”
Octavia sneers. “My father was a vile man. He wanted nothing but power.”
“And you don’t? I saw the power you held back there.”
“She was faking it,” Ariya says.
Logan straightens, his brows high under his shaggy blond hair.
“Ariya,” Octavia warns, moving forward, but Ethan holds her back.
“What? Why wouldn’t we tell them the whole truth?”
Octavia sighs. “Fine.”
Ariya turns back to us and sets her shoulders. “The display you saw when you first met us was fake. That’s not how she really is. She hates acting that way. It’s a scare tactic to be able to stay in control, even if half of them pretend to follow her, it’s better they fake it than not listen at all.”
“Because some follow Morbal,” Maria says.
“Exactly.” Ariya tucks a strand of her short hair behind her ear, revealing their slightly pointed tip. Is that another stryx trait I didn’t know about? “They want the power he can give them.”
“Which is?” Foster asks.
“He makes a witch create a potion—”
A grunt leaves me as a burning ache erupts around my wrists. I look down, but there’s nothing wrong. Is something happening to Ellie again? I hate how silent the bond has been since she’s been taken. I hate that I’m only able to feel her when she’s in tremendous pain.
“Ash, you alright?” Foster asks.
I look up just as a wave of agony courses through me, dulling my senses. My legs give out under me. Sharp stabs start in my wrists and spread through my entire body. Ellie. I can feel her pain. The full range of her pain. The emotional trauma she’s suffering along with the physical. My eyes tear up. What have you been going through, my little wolf?
Focusing just enough, I send strength through our bond, hoping that it’ll reach her this time. That it’ll help her be strong through whatever’s causing her so much pain and to h
elp her hold on.
When I come to, Foster and Logan are holding me up. “What happened?” Foster asks.
“It’s Ellie, I can feel her again.”
“The bands must be off,” Octavia said. “Can you pinpoint her location?”
I shake my head, leaning against Foster. “We haven’t completed the bond.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m not one to judge”—Ariya snorts and Octavia briefly turns her glare on her—“but that’s stupid.”
I let out a growl in warning.
“But,” she interrupts my growling and smiles, “I may still have a way to find her. If you give me some of your blood.”
I don’t understand how Wylla did it. My wrists are free. I’m unbound. I won’t do anything to compromise it.
Marcus and the guards usher me out of the cell, dragging Wylla and my mom in chains behind us. My mom struggles. Her breathing is heavy when coughs aren’t racking through her body. I grind my teeth whenever the guards yank her chain.
As we walk through the dungeon, there’s cell upon cell full of people, either in chains or with bands like I had.
What is this place?
One thing that’s clear is that Morbal and Marcus were kidnapping people.
It makes me sick to my stomach.
Before we reach the end of the dungeon, Marcus stops us by the back door and walks into a nearby room with the device. He comes back out after a moment with blindfolds.
“If you give me a hard time, the bindings are going back on. Actually, I think we should put the shackles back on.” He tips his chin to one of the guards.
The guard rushes back to the cell as Marcus and the other guard begin wrapping the blindfolds around our eyes.
It’s like a switch flips inside. Panic rises as my vision darkens. Even with my enhanced eyesight, everything is black, reminding me of the basement. Marcus’ putrid scent, the cold, dry air, the darkness.
Always the darkness.
I’m being swallowed by it. I start to hyperventilate. I’m surrounded by the hollowness of it. It consumes me.
The cold bite of the metal shackles as they’re wrapped around my wrists sends visions of the basement to the surface, and I’m that little girl once again, trying to fight off demons that I’m too weak against.
There’s no use fighting when the outcome will always be the same. I’m pathetic. There’s no point in living like this. But I can’t show weakness. Not in front of him.
I clench my hands in fists to keep them from shaking.
No, don’t think like that.
I’m not weak anymore. I never was.
Focusing on the one sense that will help me, I tap into my hearing because smell will send me back in time. Back to a place I don’t want to be.
Instead, I focus on the sounds around me that aren’t quite the same as the basement. Coughing, sniffling, and shuffling bounces off the walls behind and around me.
The door creaks open in front of us and Marcus pulls the chains between my wrists, and I’m dragged out of the dungeons.
I stumble on steps as I’m tugged up the stairs. He leads us up and down stairs, around multiple corners and halls.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when I hear the scuff of latches on a heavy door.
Marcus forces me inside whatever room he brought us to. Then there’s the thundering sounds of the door closing behind us.
The blindfold is ripped off, making my vision go white. My enhanced eyesight hurts against the brightness of the chandelier above. Once I get my eyesight back to normal, I find we’re in a throne room. At the top of a set of steps sits an empty black throne with spikes along the back, and in the middle of the room is a short black marble pillar.
A door on the side of the room catches my eye as it opens. A man comes out wearing a long dark trench coat as if it isn’t the twenty-first century. His dark hair lies on his shoulders, his matching dark eyes twinkle as they land on me, and I’m hit with a sense of familiarity. He looks oddly similar to Marcus. My gaze flashes to Marcus, then to the man.
Is this the brother? My stomach churns. Is this Morbal?
Marcus bows his head and pushes mine down, as he says, “Head alpha, I have brought them as you requested.”
Head alpha? This must be Morbal. But why does Marcus call him by his title and not by his name if they’re brothers?
I watch through my lashes as Morbal takes his throne and gestures for someone on my left to come closer.
The sounds of chains and shackles moving draw my attention. Wylla moves into my line of sight as she walks forward.
Marcus releases my head when Morbal gestures to the open door he came out of. A woman walks out holding a metallic black bowl, her wrists free from the bands. I glance at the guards and find their arms bare as well.
Does that mean they’re here willingly? How twisted can someone be to kidnap and kill people? For what purpose? For a potion?
Once the woman places the bowl on top of the pillar, she bows and moves to stand off to the side.
The scuff of the doors opening behind me draws my attention as more guards come in. They drag in a struggling, hissing man with glowing red eyes, fangs, and bands on his wrist. His nails are black and long and pointed. Is this a stryx?
Morbal frowns. “I didn’t want him. I wanted Octavia. I want this to be the most powerful potion yet.”
The guards share a look over the struggling stryx. “We couldn’t find her, head alpha.”
He sneers and lounges back, tapping his foot. “She’s always in the catacombs.”
“That’s where we looked, head alpha.”
“Well, look again,” he yells, pounding a fist on the armrest.
“Yes, sire.” They bow their heads. “What should we do with this one?”
Morbal’s eyes narrow on the stryx as he brings a hand to his smooth face. He appears young, in his twenties, not over a thousand years old. “Wylla, restrain him for now while they go searching for Octavia.”
“Yes, Morbal.”
His head snaps to her. “What did I tell you about calling me that? It’s Master to you.”
Wylla bows her head and apologizes. She turns toward the stryx straining against the guards.
Taking a deep breath, she holds out a hand, the band still encasing her wrist. Her eyes change from silver to a glowing lilac. Her long inky hair lifts and floats around her, her gown softly flapping around her.
Thin, luminous, lilac wisps of what I could only explain to be strands of magic leave her hand and combine into one thick strand and stretches throughout the room. Wylla almost appears unearthly, and I’m struck with a combination of fear and awe. Her magic wraps around the stryx like a tentacle, confining him in its grasp. She drops her hand once he’s trapped, but her eyes continue to glow.
I thought she had barrier magic—what the heck is this?
Morbal sighs as he waves the guards away. “Now with that taken care of...” His eyes lock back on mine and a slow smile appears on his face. “Eleanor, isn’t it? Marcus, why don’t you bring her over, and we can begin.”
Marcus pushes me forward, and I stumble to catch myself from falling.
I glare at them. “What do you want with me?”
Morbal’s brow rises, moving his gaze to Marcus. “I thought you would’ve told her. You do love to brag to our prey about what you’re going to do to them before killing them.”
A chill runs down my spine.
“We’re not killing her this time,” Marcus says simply as he grabs my chains and pulls me forward.
I glance back at my mom still by the door, then at the bowl. Is this where they’re going to make the potion? What kind of potion needs blood?
The bowl gives off a dark and ominous omen the closer we get.
Marcus stops in front of the pillar and grabs my arm. He forces my wrist above the bowl, moves my shackle higher, biting into my skin. The sinister warning grows stronger. I try to yank my arm away, but his grip is painful. If he tighten
s it even a fraction more, my bones will break. He partial-shifts a single finger while I try to pry him off me. He slices my wrist with a shifted nail and lets the blood flow into the bowl while I struggle to get away.
Morbal laughs. “It’s futile, girl.” He stands and walks down the steps to stand in front of the pillow. He reaches into his trench coat pocket and pulls out three vials. One is brown, one green, and one clear.
Holding up the clear one and twirling the clear liquid, he says, “Ready, Wylla?”
Through tight lips, she responds, “Yes, Master.”
Morbal’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything as Wylla steps forward to stand beside him.
He hands her the vial while blood continues to drip from my wrist.
I stare at Wylla. What’s her plan? She said she had one. It couldn’t have been just for the bands to be removed from me. I could shift right now, but what good would that do? While I take one out—if I can take one out—the other will be ready and on top of me in a second.
With the clear vial of liquid in her hands, her glowing eyes jump from Morbal to Marcus to behind me, then to me. She mouths, wait. And I’m hit with a sense of relief.
“Marcus, would you like the honors this time?” Morbal asks.
Marcus’ eyes light up. “Truly, brother?”
Nausea rolls through me. I was right, they are brothers. Brothers that are sick in the head. And I lived with one. I was imprisoned by one...and now both. What’s their goal?
Morbal sighs, exasperated. “Yes, truly.” Morbal draws closer and grabs onto my arm to keep me in place while giving the remaining two vials, the green and brown ones, to Marcus.
Marcus uncaps the brown one and holds it upside down over the bowl. Pieces of dark brown soil fall from the vial and join with my blood.
“The soil from the dried-up Fountain of Youth,” Morbal says, his eyes alight as he watches Marcus. “It was very hard to find.”
Marcus tucks the empty vial in his pocket before opening the green one. When he turns it upside down, a fine green powder cascades out.
“The algae from the rocks of the stream bed,” Morbal continues, his grip still tight on mine. He glances over his shoulder. “Wylla.”
Saving Ellie (Lycans Book 1) Page 37