by Sara Page
Another roar erupts, this time sounding much closer. Something about the sound makes me want to get the fuck out of here, now. Whatever that is I don’t want to meet it.
But Striker told me not to move. He also told me to be quiet…
Frozen with indecision, I hesitate until I’m sure I hear Striker scream out, “No. Ameia!”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What do I do? Is he in trouble? Does he need my help?
The ship groans, and then the floor and walls vibrate with an ominous shudder. Sliding my hands all over the smooth walls, I search for the switch that will let me out.
The roar erupts again, sounding like it’s just on the other side of the wall. What the fuck is that? It’s too damn close, and it’s too damn terrifying.
It’s a monster. Only a monster could make that sound.
And I have the worse feeling that it’s coming for me…
Seriously, sometimes it just plain sucks to be such a pessimist.
Get a fucking grip.
I still, holding my breath. My ears straining. If I’m in a closet, then I must be in a room. And whatever is making that noise is somewhere in the hallway.
That is if we’re still even on the ship.
Don’t even go there right now.
The roar shatters the silence. It’s closer. It’s in the room now.
Adrenaline floods my veins, and my blood pumps even harder. I want to move, I want to run, but I’m paralyzed with fear. My body refuses to obey me. It’s just like one of those bad dreams where you know you need to move, you need to scream if you want to live, but you just can’t….
The roar booms closer, vibrating the walls of the small space I’m trapped in.
What the fuck is that? What the fuck! It sounds like a lion that was mixed with a fucking demon.
I press back into the wall, wishing I could push through it. I cover my mouth with my hands, muffling the sound of my freaked-the-fuck out breathing.
I need to get out of here, but how? This closet or whatever it is might as well be my coffin. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a switch on the inside of a closet, they can only be shut from the outside.
Something slams into the wall in front of me and I scream against my hands.
Please let this be a nightmare, please. I passed out while the ship was malfunctioning and any second now I’m going to wake up in Striker’s arms…
The monster roars and it’s so close, so loud, I have to cover my ears with my hands. I try not to scream, I do, especially since I can’t muffle it now but it’s all instinct. My body is taking over; I just can’t help it.
It knows I’m here. I screamed, I fucked up.
Something, probably the monster, slams into the wall again. The wall begins to cave in before it just pops right back out.
Please, don’t let it get in. Please, for the love of the stars let the power of Ravager engineering hold up…
There’s another slam and my teeth sink into my lip as I bite the next scream back.
If I get one wish granted in my life, for the love of all, let this be the wish.
Another slam, another roar.
Please, whatever cosmic force is out there, I don’t care about me, just protect my babies…
“You have to push the fucking button, you idiot.”
Who was that? There’s someone out there?
There’s a lot of huffing and puffing. Then it dawns on me. Someone is going to let the monster in?!
The wall in front of me slides away and I’m greeted by a screen of thick impenetrable darkness. I stare into it, trying to stare through it. The only thing more terrifying then seeing the monster is not being able to see it.
It’s there, I just know it is. I feel it in the very fiber of my soul.
Somewhere close someone is breathing heavily, as if they’ve been running and can’t catch their breath.
“Are you sure?” a voice booms above me.
I tip my head back and look up but there’s only more blackness there.
“Mine,” the monster growls and something yanks me out.
Chapter Six
I must have fainted or lost consciousness again.
I wake up and all I see is black. I’m almost overcome with immediate and overwhelming despair. I’m getting so damn sick and tired of being blind—of literally being kept in the dark. When this is all over with I plan on sleeping with the lights on from now on. This darkness crap is for the Ravagers.
Something jabs me in the stomach and I realize I’m moving. Bouncing a bit, in fact.
Huh?
I try to push at the thing jabbing me in the stomach, and though I can’t see, I’m pretty sure half of me is upside down. Hands unable to reach my stomach, I’m blocked by something long and hard, so I push up instead. With a lot of pushing and straining, I manage to right the upper half of myself.
There’s a grunt and the bouncing stops. Something is constricting around the back of my thighs, stopping me as I slide down.
Am I being held by someone?
I turn my face, reaching out with all my senses, trying to get a feel for what’s going on. There’s a snort and a warm puff of air hits my cheek.
I jerk back and blink. Straining my eyes, I catch a brief glimpse of red glinting in the dark.
I must be on the other side, fuck.
“Keep moving,” a deep voice orders from far away. It has that metallic, metal scraping against metal sound that Beast and Striker always get when they’re outfitted in their armor.
Ravagers? Most likely. But are they friend or foe?
“Hello?” I ask softly. Hoping against hope they’re friend and taking me home.
“Mine,” a voice growls ominously right next to my ear and the constriction against the back of my thighs tightens.
Fucking fuck. This so can’t be happening. That voice doesn’t sound familiar. It’s not Beast or Striker. Is it? I’d swear I’d know them anywhere… but stranger things have happened…
“Drek?” I ask tentatively. There’s a silent pause. “Striker? Is that you?”
I cry out when I’m forcibly thrust up and tossed back over what I’m assuming is a shoulder. I hit at the back but it’s completely solid and useless. If I keep this up I’m only going to hurt myself.
“Keep moving!” is called out, and I hear boots hitting the ground. It sounds like there are dozens passing around me.
What the hell do I do? Demand they stop this at once? Piss them off? Should I even tell them who I am? What if that gets me into even more trouble?
“You heard him,” says the voice I recognize from the closet. “Keep moving. Play with your toy later.”
“Mine,” rumbles out of the thing holding me and I close my eyes, fighting back tears.
Why do they keep saying that? I already have two husbands…
Fuck my life.
No.
No freakin’ way.
Not happening.
But what is happening is that we’re moving forward, and I’m useless, just hanging over this things shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
I bounce for some time, gritting my teeth against the discomfort before I can no longer take it. The shoulder is too hard against my stomach and I worry about it hurting my babies.
“Please,” I ask softly, nicely. “This hurts. May I walk?”
We stop and there’s a long, silent pause. Are they considering it?
“Please,” I implore. “I would be extremely grateful.”
“Keep moving!” is barked out from behind us.
There’s a grunt and then I’m pulled down, but instead of my feet hitting the ground, I’m moved and swung up until it feels like I’m being cradled in a pair of cold, steel-like arms.
Shit.
Hot puffs of air hit my forehead and I lean back as far as I can to escape it. The hold around me tightens and I’m brought up against a chilly, steel-like chest.
“Thank you,” I squeak, even though this isn’t exactly what I
had in mind. Still, comfort wise it’s an improvement.
I can’t see, but I can sense something coming closer to my face. The hot puffs hit my nose, and there’s nowhere for me to lean back.
“Mine,” is rasped before I feel a cold nose nuzzling against my nose.
Gods, help me.
I clench my teeth together and it takes everything I have to just endure it, to not fight or snap back. To not piss the person, or thing, nuzzling my face off.
Stop it. Please.
We jerk forward, and thankfully the nuzzling stops.
“Keep moving, idiot, or Brax is going to have both of our asses.”
There’s a grunt of acknowledgement and we’re moving forward once more, the thing carrying me cradling me almost protectively in its arms. Instead of bouncing roughly, now I’m gently swaying.
I don’t know how long we walk but I press my lips together and remain quiet. I listen, reaching out, trying my best to see like Striker taught me.
But I can’t, dammit.
I’m too confused. Too disoriented. Or perhaps, I really don’t want to see. I don’t want to see the monster carrying me. Perhaps in this instance being blind truly is a blessing.
What happened to Beast? What happened to Striker? I rack my brain, trying to remember as we march on but there’s nothing. I heard Striker call out before the monster pulled me out of the closet. But that was it. There’s nothing else in my brain.
If they’re dead, would I know? I’d like to think I’d know. I’d like to think there’d be this giant, gaping hole aching inside me, but I can’t be sure. I want them to be alive. Oh, how I hope with every fiber of my being that they are. If I lose them… I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. Just the thought of my babies never knowing their fathers nearly brings me to tears.
I sniffle loudly and bite the inside of my cheek, trying to hold the utter despair back. The arms around me tighten and there’s a grunt, but thankfully whoever is carrying me doesn’t nuzzle my face again. I don’t think I could take it without snapping at them.
I feel our destination before I catch a quick glimpse of it off in the distance. All the little hairs on my body stand on end, as if my entire body was rubbed against a carpet, and point ahead of us. The air has a smell now, like o-zone and sulfur. I have to breathe through my mouth to keep from gagging.
Even the hair on my head begins to float up. My curls drawn towards whatever we’re approaching like a magnet.
What the hell is that?
Colors flash. I catch glimpses of purple and yellow sparks. Misty, swirling waters. Towers of obsidian. A palace of darkness. A light flashes so bright it hurts. I look away.
Turning my head, behind me is just an ocean of red stars.
No, those aren’t stars, I realize and let the shadows creep back into my vision. Those are eyes.
I turn my face into the one carrying me, trying to come to grips with this revelation. Am I in the middle of a Ravager army?
We stop and I try my best not to freak out. Remain calm, I urge myself. Grogan told me too much stress isn’t good for the babies, and I’ve had my fair share of stress. Maybe… maybe this isn’t what I fear. Maybe we’re in Blackspire, and these are just the good Samaritans helping me out. So far no one has hurt me, yet. In fact, the one carrying me is awfully protective.
I can hear a lone pair of boots stomping the ground, approaching us.
“Warrick,” a grating voice barks out.
The one holding me grunts in acknowledgment.
“You and your prisoner are expected inside.”
Prisoner? I’m a prisoner? Well there goes that whole good Samaritan theory.
“Commander Brax, sir?” The only other voice I’ve heard speaks out.
“Yes, Vis?”
“Should I accompany him, sir? For communication?”
“Yes, that’s probably for the best.”
I feel their eyes upon me. Slowly, deeply, I breathe. No sudden movements. Maybe if I remain quiet, maybe if I remain sweet, they’re assume I’m passive.
I can totally play submissive.
Something cold touches my cheek and I’m so stiff, so tense, I don’t jerk away but I do gasp.
“Get a move on it,” the Commander barks.
Once more we’re moving forward, but the closer we get to the place we’re approaching—the towers of obsidian—the more it feels like we’re being sucked in. With each step forward my stomach sinks and my mood dips. I’ve got this horrible feeling… this heavy sense of foreboding and dread. I can’t explain it. Perhaps it’s because of the situation and how utterly screwed I feel. But honestly it feels like something is sucking all the happy thoughts and positive energy right out of me. But that’s not possible, is it?
“Fuck, I hate coming here,” the one the commander called Vis grumbles. “I’ll never get used to this shit.”
The one carrying me only grunts.
“Like it even bothers you,” Vis says with disgust. “You should be used to it by now.”
This time the one holding me snorts in answer. I don’t think I’ve heard him speak a word besides mine yet.
“Yeah, yeah. Just keep moving.”
We walk in silence, not another word spoken, and I struggle to make sense of our surroundings. Most of it is a blurry fog. I’m only catching flashes and glimpses of the things we pass. A dark drawbridge over a pool of inky water. The ground becomes a stone paved road. I’m certain we pass through two towering doors and enter a building.
Even if I could somehow manage to escape my captors, I’d never be able to find my away out of this place.
We walk for a time more and my mood grows blacker, darker. Matching my surroundings.
Vis asks, “Is she crying? You know he’s just going to love that.”
A chilly finger swipes across my cheek, slipping across the wetness. I didn’t even realize I was crying…
“Halt! Who goes there?” a new voice calls out.
I turn my head, hiding my face and my tears against the cold chest.
“Warrick and Vis.”
There’s a pause.
“You may enter.”
We step over a threshold, and the one holding me just stops, tensing.
He’s afraid. I don’t know how I know but I can sense his fear as if it were my own fear. It’s too much, I wish he would take it back. I’ve got more than enough fear of my own.
“Keep moving,” Vis snarls under his breath.
I fight the urge to beg, to plead for them to take me back because I know it will do no good.
“Dammit,” Vis curses and we stumble forward.
I bite my tongue to keep from crying out. The shadows here are thicker, yet they flicker as if they’re moving. Dancing. Though I’m afraid, I still feel the force pulling, urging me closer.
“Bring her closer,” a voice booms. I don’t know where it comes from, it feels like it emanates from all around. Scraping against my bones, echoing in my marrow.
“Do it,” Vis hisses and we take another step forward, then another.
No. My brain repeats over and over. This can’t be happening… it’s too much… and yet I can’t fight the pull.
“Don’t,” I plead then immediately choke on the word. I begin to cough as if my throat is punishing me for what I just said.
“I’ve waited so long for this,” the voice slaps against my ears. “Bring her closer. Give her to me.”
“Mine,” the one holding me says gruffly and we take a step back.
There’s a laugh. This awful, twisted laugh that rings in my ears and digs under my skin.
“Has she accepted you, Warrick?”
Arms tighten around me and we take another step back.
When no answer is forthcoming, the booming voice puts the question to me next. “Do you accept him?”
My coughing stops and I gasp in a much needed breath. I stall by noisily sucking and swallowing air.
Gods no, I don’t want to accept him. I don’t k
now him. I don’t know who he is.
What he’s done.
“Do you accept him, Princess Ameia?” the voice softens and presses.
I can’t. I bite my lip hard and resist the urge to shake my head. I just can’t.
I know that Beast and I just had this talk. We discussed what it’s like for those who are rejected, and I would never wish to inflict such a fate upon another person. But how can I just accept the stranger holding me? What about Striker and Beast? What if he’s done something horrible to them?
That awful laugh rings out again, mocking me as it rings in my head.
“Give her to me. She rejects you, Warrick.”
I feel the one holding me sagging forward as if he’s defeated. The arms around me loosen and we take a step forward.
Is he going to hand me over?
“No!” I cry out in panic, terrified that I’m about to lose the only protection that I have left.
“No?” There’s a flash of red. I feel and sense something drawing closer. A mass looms over me with unmistakable menace.
I think of Beast, and I think of Striker. My two guys. My two strong men. They need me to be strong. They’re out there, I just know it. I was confused before but I can feel something inside me calling out to them now, reaching them. I just need to freakin’ suck it up and do this.
“I’m not rejecting him.”
The one holding me, Warrick, draws in a deep, shuddering breath.
I steel myself, hoping the conclusion I’m jumping to is going to save my skin.
“You’re accepting him then?” The voice asks with such displeasure I’m half tempted to do just that. My inner brat seriously wants to do it just to spite him.
“No. I’m not accepting him,” I clarify softly.
There’s a bark of laughter in answer.
Before he becomes too amused I add, “He hasn’t even asked me yet.”
The laughter dies away, and the arms holding me tremble. Warrick nuzzles his face into my hair, his breath warm against my neck. I clench my teeth together and endure it.
“Clever girl,” the shadow looming over me purrs. Before I can feel too much pride in my quick decision, he tells me, “Such cleverness should be rewarded.”
