Fields of Thunder

by Aliyah Burke

  “Jackass, if I want to call you a motherfucking monkey, I will do it. You are nothing important. Tie him up.”

  “You sure know how to make friends, Blake,” Haley said.

  “Suck this,” he retorted.

  Her laugh was cold enough to make Altair wish for a blanket. Whatever her comment, he couldn’t make it out as the creature looped rope around his midsection, securing him to the chair.

  “Get out of here,” Blake growled at the being, which lumbered off.

  “You know, Blake, you should be nicer to them. They don’t always behave the way they should and sometimes they snap. You will be the first one he goes after.”

  A bucket of water soaked him. Altair choked and sputtered as he opened his eyes. This space was a bit larger. He recognized it for what it was—another cell. He looked around, noting how far the door was from his position. There was a table partially hidden in the shadows that had a dark covering over it, where the two people stood.

  Blake wasn’t anything impressive, but Haley—she reminded him of someone from a movie. The way her tight clothes were molded to her body amplified her muscles. Her hair was in an Afro, except for the thin braid from her right ear down that had some bead on the end.

  “Grace Jones,” he rasped.

  She turned her head and smiled. One that had less warmth than her laughter. “Thank you,” she said. “See, Blake? Some men know a beautiful woman when they see one.”

  “He’s also been drugged and beaten. Who says he’s in the right frame of mind to know whether or not you truly look like Grace Jones, who, by the way, is way more beautiful and sexy than you will ever be.”

  She flipped him off before sashaying over to Altair. Sliding her hand along his jaw, she gave him a predatory grin. “They say you are with Roz. Is this true?”

  He yanked his head from her touch, instantly regretting the jerk for the spiking pain in his skull. “Why? You want her for yourself?”

  Her fingers bit into his chin, holding him where she wanted him. She lowered her face to his, her perfectly straight, white teeth flashing. “I wouldn’t mind having her ride my face or fucking her with my strap-on, but no, I was just wondering if you thought she was coming to save you or if because you are a man”—a lewd leer—“did you think you did not need her?”

  He yawned and worked his wrists, trying to loosen the ropes.

  “Did I shock you?” she asked, sitting on his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “My saying I wanted to fuck your mate?”

  “Should it have?”

  “You’re not going to say it’s a waste of a beautiful woman who wants to sleep with another woman?”

  “The waste is you working with the New Order. I do not give a damn about your sexual preference.”

  “Ohh,” she purred. “Are you sure? Perhaps you would like a threesome with the two of us. I can do that as well.” She tangled her fingers in his hair. Beyond her, he could see Blake becoming more and more upset. “As for working for, you have it wrong. I’m part of the New Order.”

  “There is a difference?”

  She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. “Oh, definitely.”

  “Get off him, Haley.” This order came from a new male.

  She tugged his hair and bit her lower lip as she shrugged without repentance. “Until later, lover.” She walked away, adding an extra swing to her hips.

  “I was wrong about one thing,” he called out after her.

  She turned back. “What’s that?”

  “You are no Grace Jones. She oozes sexuality and grace. You are trying to shove it down people’s throats. He was right. You do not hold a candle to her.”

  Her screech of rage reached him about the same time she did. She backhanded him, rocking his head with the force of her blow. He wasn’t sure at first how she’d moved as fast as she had, nor generated the power behind her strike. But now he knew.

  “Fucking bastard,” she seethed.

  He touched his tongue to the blood on the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. But you are still no match for Grace.”

  Her rage gave her gaze a hint of red. She sneered down at him. “Says you, but in a little while, you’ll be dead and I will still be beautiful.” She walked out, slamming the door closed behind her.

  Altair looked to the man whom he didn’t know. He had no expression and the black of his clothing blended well with the shadows he stood near.

  Blake stood before Altair and smacked him twice on the left side. “You need to focus on me. Don’t worry about the man over there.”

  Altair stared at Blake, unimpressed by either of the men present. However, he didn’t believe it was just the two of them in there. Someone else was observing this.

  “Tell us what you know of the vineyard.”

  “Provides grapes which are then turned into wine and sold.”

  His ear rang with the punch Blake delivered to his jaw. “Don’t get fresh. Tennesol Winery. What’s their security like?”

  “I do not know.”

  “How dumb do you think I am?”

  He blinked and opted not to respond, letting his silence do it for him. Blake flushed with anger.

  “You live there. You have to know.”

  “I do not live there.” He flashed a glance to the silent one in the back. “Do you New Order people not share information? The ones who broke into my home know I do not live there. You even sent a demon to try to kill me.”

  “You will tell us what we want to know.”

  “Then I suggest you ask questions I know the answers to.”

  Another jab to the jaw. Altair knew this was going to get worse before it got better.

  * * * *

  The manacles dug into her skin, tearing more with each move she made. Roz struggled to open her eyes, her energy depleted. The room offered no light, so she just closed her eyes again. No point in struggling to do something she couldn’t utilize anyway.

  She flexed her fingers, wincing as the small, needlelike points inside the cuffs cut her with the movement. Her feet weren’t touching the ground, so that added weight also increased the pain in her wrists.

  “Guys?”

  “Where are you, Roz? We have been trying to reach you.”

  “I don’t know, Billy. How long has it been since I called out last time?” The sound of his voice helped calm her racing heart.

  “A week.”

  “That long? What about Altair?”

  “No sign of him either. There was an altercation at his place but we can’t find him either.” Tiarnán added his deep voice to the conversation.

  Panic laced her. She’d failed him. Somehow this plan of theirs to see what They wanted from Altair had gone horribly wrong. Tears pricked her eyes and she didn’t even try to contain them.

  “You have to find him.”

  “We need to find you.”

  “I’m not going to be any help in that, Tiarnán. They’re keeping me in a room without any light. I can’t see at all. I’m hanging from the wall—not even my feet are touching—and before you ask, no I don’t hear anything either. No water, not muttered voices, not even rats.”

  “You have to do better than that.”

  “Don’t admonish me, Cale. I don’t even know if there’s a goddamn floor beneath me or if I’m hanging over a pit.”

  “I’m admonishing you because I can feel your pain. We all know the only time I can feel that is if it’s serious.”

  “There are little points inside the manacles. Since I’m hanging, they are constantly digging into me. I’m weak. I don’t know how much blood I have lost—I feel it running constantly down my arms—and I can’t feel my sign. All I feel back there is a patch of pain.”

  Even talking to them was exhausting and she panted.

  “Rosamund, calm your heart. You need to conserve your energy.”

  “Lian. I don’t know how.”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice the immoveable force she remembered from growing up and trai
ning. “You know how. Do it now.”

  She called to mind the places she found the most peace—with her horses. The open fields dotted with hills as the warm wind blew over the grass and through her hair. The strong body of the horse beside her, lending her its strength.

  It worked—she calmed herself. Then the imagery changed. The sky grew dark, rolling with clouds. Thunder boomed as lightning spat from their depths to strike the ground, setting the fields on fire.

  All around her, smoke billowed and chaos ensured. The horses panicked and began running for freedom. Only she knew that way wasn’t to freedom but to their death. She cried for them to stop, the rain not soothing the flames but the whipping winds fanning it. Growing them until they were uncontrollable.

  She tried to run, tried to grab the mane of a passing horse. Finally, she sank her hand into one and pulled herself up. The bay quarter horse—the stallion—from the picture in her office at Altair’s house. Beneath her, the animal trembled with fear but remained steady.

  Amidst the confusion, she tried to figure out what would be the best thing to do. She had to turn the horses. Leaning over the stallion’s neck she whispered to him, “Let’s go, boy.”

  It was what he’d been waiting for, springing away in a flash. He easily overtook his herd and as they began to turn them a voice reached her over the rain and thunder.

  “Help me, Roz.”

  She didn’t have to look. It was Altair. Squinting through the deluge, she found him dangling between Uma and Hara. Her heart stopped then pounded out of control.

  “Altair.” Her scream was sucked away by the wind and the roar of the wildfire.

  Her horse whinnied and the herd responded, turning as one toward her mate. She’d been wrong before when she’d told Brenn about the fields of thunder. This was it. She was in it.

  The looks on Uma’s and Hara’s faces told her what she needed to know. They weren’t expecting her to find them. Then in the next second, They pierced Altair with their hands that had been transformed into long pikes.

  Her cry was unstoppable—it ripped up from her gut and poured from her.

  “Roz!”

  “Aminta?”

  “Stop, please. You’re killing yourself.” The plea was evident but she couldn’t slow her heart anymore. All she knew was she had to find Altair. Somehow.

  “Follow the horses.”

  “What?” Dracen’s question broke in.

  “Please, Dracen. Follow the horses. Just follow the horses.”

  Her energy gone, she couldn’t maintain a connection any longer. Never had she felt so alone. She opened her eyes and squeezed them shut a second later. The room was filled with the lightning bolts she’d first seen when she’d met Altair and found the artifact.

  She gathered herself then lunged forward, praying a floor existed beneath her. The pain in her couldn’t be explained but it radiated through her entire being as she broke free, only to be amplified when she landed on a spike on the floor—it shoved up through her right shoulder.

  Whimpering in pain, she moved her feet, locating two more spikes. She tried calling up a sword but nothing happened. She tried once more to contact her brethren. Again, a fail.

  Roz lay there as her blood drained from her body. She had nothing more to give. Nothing more to try.

  A convulsion rocked her. Then another—and another. She recognized the healing touch from Cale. How did he reach me? She didn’t fight it—not that she had energy to do so—but she didn’t tense either. Five more pulses hit her and she could feel the blood slow to a trickle.

  Then she was again alone. Stronger this time, however. She struggled to her hands and knees, ignoring each bite from the cuffs. Blind in the dark, she inched her way along, searching for a door and a way out. Her hands didn’t find a door but they found an edge.

  “Where the hell am I?”

  She wove and crawled until she hit another wall. When her fingers trailed over a hinge, she nearly wept with joy. Or was that whooped? Either way, elation hit. Doors meant a way out and a chance.

  Unfortunately, she’d exhausted her small reserve and collapsed just before it. She allowed herself a few moments of breathing time before she got back to it. Fumbling up the wood, she found a large ring and used it to haul herself to her feet, legs trembling like sticks in a storm beneath her.

  “This thing is massive, wherever I am.”

  She couldn’t reach from edge to edge with her arms. Granted her wrists were still secured, but she had to go fifteen steps in each direction before reaching the door’s frame. She pulled. It didn’t budge. She pushed with the same result. Either it was locked or she was just too weak.

  She refused to give up and with a yell—probably more like a whimper, but in her mind it was a loud, courageous and very scary cry—she threw herself into the pull. Her reward was the movement. It took her five more tries before a sliver of light attempted to banish her dark world.

  She marveled at the door, the thickness of which was wider than she was if she stood with her back to it. She could have put three of her there and the door would still have been wider. Roz stared back at where she had been kept.

  Four other bodies hanging from the wall had been with her. All dead. The path she had traversed getting to the door had holes in it, only a winding trail avoiding spikes got to where she was. She had no clue how far down the drop-off or holes went for from where she was. She couldn’t see the bottom, and Roz had no intention of leaving the door.

  Using the door and wall, she made her way to the opening and slipped through. The floor looked like an abyss, it was so black. She hesitated to put her foot on it at first but it held.

  She shuffled down the expansive hall, not sure where she was going to end up. All she knew? It would be somewhere other than where she’d been. Nothing moved in here, not even the air. As she progressed, she looked up at the height of the door she’d come through.

  Even Inaki would have room to spare if he were to enter these doors. That knowledge didn’t sit well with her. She was in no shape to fight anyone, least of all someone or something who needed doors this size to get in and out of the rooms. She spied a little hole in the wall and went to it.

  Okay, so it’s not a little hole, but compared to everything else it is. Plus side, I can fit in here and hopefully get some more energy back. She wedged herself in and glanced at the blood on her arms. Terrified, she stared back out to the floor she’d just been on. Nothing she could see. Hopefully she hadn’t just laid a trail for whoever had her to find her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Altair watched the man through his one eye that hadn’t swollen shut. They’d dislocated his shoulder again. He bled from many cuts and he knew he’d lost some teeth.

  The man cracked his neck and flexed his fist. The muscle. Blake had since been replaced by a short man named Lamar. That was where Muscle came into play. Lamar didn’t get his hands dirty.

  “Are you sure we can’t persuade you to talk?” Lamar asked, from where he stood in the corner by that same table.

  “I will give you nothing. You may as well kill me.”

  His grin bordered on sadistic. “Trust me. That will come in time. The only question is, do you die quickly and painlessly, or do I get to play with you as I have done so many others?”

  Without bothering to respond, Altair worked his wrists again, the ropes nearly loose enough for him to get free. He turned his head and sent another stream of blood to the floor.

  “Still determined to be a tough guy.”

  “As determined as you are to be an ass.”

  “I think you need a few more reminders of how hard Pietro can hit.”

  He wiggled another loose molar. This dental bill was going to be a good one. Altair watched the man approach, pure pleasure on his face. He was one of those men who got their rocks off on beating up people who couldn’t fight back.

  The punch landed him on his back again. And as before, the man jerked him upright and settled the chair
.

  “So cocky when the one you strike can do nothing in return,” Altair said, spitting blood in the man’s face.

  He sneered. “You are tied up for his piece of mind—not mine.”

  Altair returned the look. “Easy to sound brave when you are not the one tied.”

  “I’m trained in martial arts. I can kick your ass any time.”

  “Oh, now you threaten the beaten and bleeding one. Must make you feel like such a man.”

  He bared his teeth and stepped closer.

  “Stop, Pietro. He seeks to provoke you. Besides, what I have here will make him talk.”

  Angling his head, Altair saw the instruments he also knew well. More torture was something he would have been fine going through the rest of his life without experiencing again. Regardless, he kept his expression still, unwilling to give them anything but a hard time. He worked his wrist, sighing in relief when the rope allowed him to slip free.

  “Now you will really bleed.” Pietro’s grin was evil.

  “As will you.”

  He lunged at him but drew up when Altair didn’t even flinch. Glaring, Pietro stepped aside as Lamar wheeled the table closer.

  “It would have gone much easier for you, young man, if you had answered our questions about the estate.”

  He doubted that. Tilting his head to the left, he blinked away the blood that ran down his face.

  Lamar lifted a silver instrument. “This,” he said, his mustache twitching. “This is a corneal forceps with teeth. I’m sure you can guess what its purpose is.” He exchanged it for something else. “Rib spreaders.” Those returned to the table. “I have vascular scissors, sternum scissors, tissue forceps, and more to make your time with me delightfully unbearable.”

  “Flunked out of medical school, did you?”

  A flush hit Lamar’s skin, the first sign of agitation. “You should mind your tongue if you plan on keeping it in your mouth.”

  “Hard for you to get answers to your questions then.” He rotated his ankles, making sure the blood was flowing well. Wouldn’t do to get free only to collapse because his legs were unwilling to work.