Luka wasn’t sure if she would last that long.
Chapter Twenty-One
My routine had changed. My days were no longer filled with walking and stretching. My body was too broken for that. After my first meal, Luka would take me to see Louis. The first few days I had resisted and screamed. It was no use, I ended up there all the same and I needed my energy to survive the torture. Now I lay limp as he carried me out.
My mind quickly slipped into the sanctuary of more pleasant memories.
Lucia’s immortal face was in front of me in all its beauty. She held my small head in her cold hands.
“Why are you crying?”
“Because it hurts.” My voice was so small, so innocent.
“Have you never felt pain before?”
I had been too slow and one of the fighters had kicked me in my ribs. Lucia had found me sobbing on the edge of the training pit. At the time, I was no older than thirteen and still weak with grief.
“Do you want to be strong, little one? Or do you want to cower forever?”
She had never spoken to me with such gentleness. It was a salve to my ragged soul.
“I want to be strong.” My voice was breathy from the pain.
“Then you must continue. There is no other option.”
I got back on my feet and did as she asked. It was a lesson she had taught me time after time. There is no other option, but to continue. To do anything else would betray the memory of my parents. I was not weak.
This would be the same. I had faced the pain already.
My only option was to endure, and endure I did.
Day after day, Louis inflicted her worse. Some days she used flames to burn my skin and other days she ripped out my fingernails one by one. I thought I knew what it meant to bleed, but I was wrong. Occasionally she grew frustrated with my silence and preferred to hear my screams and watch my blood pool on the ground underneath me. She never used a knife to cut my skin and it seemed the Hunter was content with that. Perhaps they didn’t want me to bleed out too soon.
The books Davis had given me on Blood Mages had theorised that they had a higher tolerance for pain than other Mages. It said Blood Magic came from the pain of the self-inflicted wound, rather than the blood itself. Blood Mages were used to wielding their Magic and holding onto their sanity when all others would break under the mix of power and pain. Perhaps it was true. Despite the all-consuming agony, I still clung to a small corner in my mind. They would not break me.
After she had her way with me, I was deposited back into my room and left to tend to my injuries. My clothes were reduced to rags. Parts of my body wouldn’t respond to my commands, the only respite was that those were the parts I couldn’t feel. When I tried to shift on my mattress my body screamed in protest, and pins and needles shot down my spine. My dreams were rarely pleasant. Sometimes I screamed out for Luka and begged him to kill me. Instead I was met with the mocking grey stare of the Hunter. Some nights I was a child again, trying to silence my Magic by smashing into a wooden totem until my knuckles bled. Or I betrayed my friends over and over, Loral, Erin, Jax and even Wesley made an appearance. My subconscious was relentless in its assault. It was almost as bad as the physical pain. The last few nights I stood over my targets and watched as the life drained from their eyes and their magic rushed my limbs.
Those were the worst nightmares, the ones where I was reminded of what a monster I was. A small voice told me that perhaps I deserved what was coming.
After a while I couldn’t decide what was real and what was not. The place I controlled in my mind grew smaller and smaller until eventually it was all I could do to keep silent. Those were the nights I prayed for the sweet release of death.
In the darkness I ran my blistered fingers over the sharp edges of the stone. A strained smile burned my cracked lips. The piece of slate had fallen from the wall in a session with Louis and I had stashed it in my underwear when her back was turned. It had taken me days of carefully grinding the edge against the bars to get it sharp enough.
A murky plan had formed in between episodes of psychosis. I needed to stay sane just a few hours longer.
My Luka had visited me last night. He had soothed my aching body and pulled together the ragged edges of my psyche just enough. Squeeze…Tap. Over and over, the wordless communication had kept me together. Upon waking, I cradled a vial that I had found under my pillow. It was solid in my hand, it was real. Wasn’t it?
The plan. I needed to focus on the plan.
I was counting on the fact someone would come when I screamed. No sound had escaped my lips for weeks. It was one of the rules I had created. On some days those rules were the only thing that mattered. No one but she would bear witness to me breaking. Someone would come to investigate. They would have too. It wouldn’t be hard to convince them I had finally succumbed to the collar, that I no longer had any information to give. When they stormed my cell I would kill as many as I could.
When I opened my mouth to scream, despair begun to worm its way into my head. I was too weak. The emptiness yawned open. It commanded the space my power had left behind. The black hole continued to expand, destroying every part of me that was left. I scrambled to keep a corner for myself. The collar was too powerful. I had overestimated my strength. There had been a reason for my silence.
Now the despair would destroy me.
Like a crystal vase that had fallen onto the floor, the last pieces of my sanity shattered. I couldn’t reach down and put it back together, it was too hard. The pieces had been broken beyond recognition, too damaged to consider saving.
My chest ached as heaving sobs racked through my frail body. The pain brought me back to myself for a split second. They would not break me. I slashed the sharpened stone down my forearm, from my palm to the crook of my elbow. My skin gave way easily and the sticky blood poured onto the floor, pulsing in rhythm to my weak heartbeats. Loud footsteps pounded the pavement. That had once meant something to me, but I couldn’t think of what. I’d once had a plan. Large bodies stood behind metal bars. I watched them through my nearly swollen shut eyelids.
The static became louder, muffling everything. At least there would be no more pain.
“Quickly get the Hunter!”
The Hunter. A set of grey eyes appeared in my mind. Desperately I clung to the image. It was something I wanted to stay for. Luka. Time had ceased to exist. There was nothing but the emptiness and the set of dark eyes. It stretched out in my mind, devouring all conscious thoughts. People left and returned, the set of familiar eyes appeared in front of me. I wanted to look into them forever.
“Get her out!” Someone screamed.
Something was brought to my lips, but I refused to drink. I wanted to go. This world held nothing for me. The screaming stopped. I was weightless. There was nothing, just the horrible static as it grew louder and louder. It was all I could hear, the waves of sound crashed into my skull. Before it could pull me under, the gnawing emptiness was consumed by ravenous power. A gurgled scream tore through the static. My body had betrayed me in the worst way. I was still alive.
“Rina, the collar’s off. You’re safe.”
Safe. The word seemed so foreign. He brought the Elect into the compound. He killed Rosie.
The betrayal stung deeper than any wound inflicted by my captors. He needed to pay. My Magic demanded retribution. It filled my chest, powered by my still spilling blood. I bathed in it. Thick black smoke rose from my skin, laced with gold. Power chased away the cobwebs of death still clinging to my mind.
If I couldn’t have death, I would have revenge.
I exploded. Gone was my careful control. My feet left the ground, pure power causing me to rise. The traitor fell to his knees. His skin turned ashy.
“Why didn’t you let me die!” My rough voice barely above a whisper. The memory of his apathy was a knife to my chest. His cold eyes had fuelled my nightmares for weeks. But when it had mattered, he had stepped in to prolong my torment.
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“Rina!” He stumbled toward me, weak under the weight of my power. The balls of my feet landed back on the wooden floor. I forced myself closer to him. The Hunter was bare-chested, shirt in his hand. He hastily grabbed at my forearm and tried to cover the bleeding wound.
I yanked away from his touch, but the warmth of his hands stirred something inside of me. The Magic dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, and the pain came roaring back in its place. My legs collapsed beneath me.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” the Hunter moaned.
Where was I?
From my position on the floor I looked around the room. I wasn't in a cell, but it was close enough. I sobered enough to really see the man crouched in front of me. The Hunter’s eyes were ringed with black circles and his skin was too pale. My mind was filled with mud, my thoughts moved too slowly. Was this real, or was I imaging the power singing through me?
Surely death would have been more pleasant.
“I'll run you a bath.”
The blast of power had finally knit together the skin on my forearm. I looked at the long angry line. Soon there wouldn’t even be a scar. My body was still littered with injuries. Even my power wasn’t infallible. The Hunter helped me to my feet, avoiding the most severe of my wounds. I desperately wanted to scrub the bruises from my skin. The bathroom was large and undecorated, just like the bedroom. It wasn’t how I had previously imagined the Hunter’s bedroom to be. In my imagination it was dark and homely, not this sterile environment. I sat on the cold tiles and the Hunter made his way over to the large bath. He hunched over the tub, steam rising from the water.
My emotions had been burned away with the power. I was numb. There was nothing left of me to take. My power had made me feel alive for a moment, but now it was gone again like everything else. I peeled off my stiff clothes layer by layer. They were ruined from blood, sweat and urine. Where was my burn bag? I couldn’t wear these again. Standing awkwardly in the centre of the room, I hobbled over to the door looking for the familiar bag hanging from the handle.
This wasn’t my bathroom. Where was I?
The Hunter pried the clothes from my hand and herded me toward the bath.
He hadn’t put the plug in. Instead I sat next to the running tap. I took the washcloth from him. I scrubbed the blood from my body. It wasn’t coming off. It was tattooed to my skin. I kept scrubbing with my good hand, desperate to rid myself of the pain that echoed in my brain. The water ran red until I grew dizzy. Handprints were painted in bruises over my body. I wanted them gone.
The Hunter left for a moment and returned with a number of vials.
“Drink please,” he said. “Why isn’t the bleeding stopping?” He asked more to himself than me.
I looked at my body. It was covered in a litany of cuts. Each one a reminder of Louis’s torture. My Magic wasn’t closing the wounds fast enough. I didn’t care if the Hunter had brought me a vile of poison to drink, I didn’t want to be in pain anymore. I plucked the first vile from him and let the sweet tasting liquid rest on my tongue for a moment before swallowing. He handed me the next one, and the next, until my wounds were crusted over and the bleeding was finally stemmed. They would scar. I hadn’t used Blood Magic to heal the wounds. My body would always bear testimony to the Elect’s brutality. It was lucky I had enough Magic left for the healing potions to even work. At least the worst of the pain had disappeared.
The Hunter snatched the cloth from me when my body was red raw and finally put the plug in the bath. I wrapped my arms around my knees and tried to reach for the amber stone that hung around my neck. My chest was empty. I had yanked it off months ago.
It was the only thing that remained of my parents and now it was gone. Like me, I was gone.
“This isn’t real,” I concluded.
“We’re in the Elect’s Headquarters. This is real, Rina.”
“I’m not in my cell.” I would humour him for now. When I awoke to find myself behind bars, the sadness could very well kill me.
“I told you I would come for you.”
“I want to leave.”
“We will, I swear it. You need to heal first. You’re safe for a few more days.”
That would have to do for now, a vague promise of freedom. The bath began to fill. In the dim light it was easier to inspect my body. The bruises had faded enough that I barely saw them. Still, my bones protruded from my elbows and wrists. All my strength was drained. My hand was the worst damaged. I couldn’t move it out of the claw position, and all my fingernails were missing. Strangely, when I looked at my mangled hand, I felt only indifference, like it didn’t belong to me.
The Hunter left me alone and came back some time later with a fluffy towel and clean clothes. The soft towel was scratchy on my sensitive skin. I avoided my reflection in the mirror and got dressed quickly. The clothes hung off me. They must have been the Hunter’s. The short walk to the bed left me out of breath and I crawled onto the mattress. It was too soft. My brain demanded rest and, without a beat, I fell asleep.
I was yanked violently from my sleep. My throat was hoarse from screaming and my muscles spasmed and cramped. I was pinned to the bed. I thrashed violently, snarling in the Hunter’s face. He hovered over me. “It’s okay.”
I nodded.
After that, the day had gone slowly. The Hunter had waited on me hand and foot. He brought me food and water every half an hour and hadn’t let me leave the bed. The food tasted bland in my mouth and on more than one occasion I had thrown it up. My Magic was partially back, but it felt sluggish in my veins. My mind wandered and replayed the moment I brought the stone down across my forearm again and again. I wept like a child.
The Hunter dutifully brought me pain potions every few hours. His betrayal was clearer than ever. He had forsaken me the same as everyone else. It didn’t matter the reasons. Only one thing mattered now. Pillows propped me up and he was laying at the foot of the bed in a sleeping bag. I was in a fresh pair of clothes and my hair was still wet from my fourth bath. The Hunter had eventually hidden the wash cloth from me when I reopened my scabs for the second time.
I doubt I had ever been cleaner, yet still my body felt dirty. My skin crawled with the thought that I was so close to the people who had tormented me my whole life, the people that had sanctioned the murder of my parents and hunted me like a deer. Judas was in this building. The horrors of my captivity were barely held at bay. The only thing that beat back at the torrent of cold despair was the thought of revenge. Revenge for my parents, for Rosie, for me.
The rebellion would have been temporarily disbanded, but they would rise again.
True rebellion never dies.
They would never trust me again. I couldn’t return to the cause. But I could make a dent in the Elect. Their goons would die at my hands. I would feel the Magic bleed from their bodies. My legacy would be one of death. The Queen of carnage.
“Luka?” I called, my voice small in the dark, it had to be early morning by now.
“Mmmm.”
“I‘m too scared to sleep.” I pulled the blanket up under my chin. “Do you have any sleeping potions?” The vulnerability in my voice startled me, I wasn’t used to hearing it. Maybe I was not as strong as I thought. Maybe the Elect had broken me. There was a rustling and he appeared beside the bed, flicking on the lamp.
I looked up at him, eyes wide. My arms wound around my knees and I let some of the torment leak into my expression. His gaze softened. He strode from the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Did he truly care for me? It doesn’t matter. He led the Elect to you. He dragged you to the torture chamber day after day.
I took stock of my power. It was erratic and sputtered occasionally, my rune work was going to be sloppy at best. It would have to do, I needed to act now before I ended up back in the cell. When he returned, I was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. He held a tiny silver vial in his hand and passed it to me. I palmed the cold metal. He turned off the
light and moved to leave. I crawled to my hands and knees and grabbed his arm. My power sparked when we touched.
“Please stay with me.”
He watched me a moment in the dark before letting out a resigned sigh, Luka sunk next to me. The warmth of his bare skin was glorious, I had forgotten how good it felt to be close to him. I rested my head on his bare chest and his arm wound around me protectively. My hand was trembling as I traced unsteady runes on his bare stomach.
“Are you okay?”
I couldn’t answer. Instead I pushed off him and sat up facing the edge of the bed. I wouldn’t win in a fight. I needed to play dirty. Revenge was just outside the door.
I let out a breath. This was my only chance. I popped the cap from the vial of potion with my thumb, silently. There were only two drops of liquid. It would work. I swiped the potion across my lips quickly and made a show of placing the vial back down on the bedside table, cap in place. His concern was palpable, even in the dark.
“You’re not going to drink it?”
My heart raced and my palms began to sweat.
Before I could lose my cool I climbed on top of him and straddled his waist. Leaning forward, I ran a finger down his cheek.
“I can think of a better distraction.” I didn’t sound sexy, I sounded scared. Still, he didn’t push me off. I could see the guilt warring on his features. Perhaps it was evil to take advantage of it. I found I didn’t care.
“Rina…” He hesitated, his warm breath tickled my cheek, his hands gentle on my hips.
“Please, Luka. I want to feel something other than pain.” My voice broke on the last word and I watched something change in his eyes.
My eyelids felt heavy, the potion was taking effect too quickly. I needed to act. I leaned forward and lowered my mouth to his.
Our lips met, briefly. I had only planned to brush my mouth across his one time. But Luka’s fingers dug into my hips and he dragged me closer, pulling my lips back down onto his. The pain disappeared for a brief, glorious instant. I inhaled sharply. My body was pressed against his muscled chest and I could feel the thunderous beating of his heart.
The Sanguine Door Page 24
