by Sara Page
I turn from him, feeling anger threatening to overcome my pity for him. “So it’s all selfishness then?”
“No, not all of it.”
Then what is it? I want to ask but know if I keep pushing this, I’m just going to end up hating him. And I don’t want that. Stars, I don’t want to hate him. I should just stick to the original plan.
“Ameia?” Vis asks.
“Yes?”
“Please dress and prepare yourself for the day. As soon as you’re ready, we must make our way to the pit to collect Warrick.”
Chapter Fourteen
I ready myself as quickly as possible, anxious to free Warrick. I haven’t felt right since we’ve been separated. I need to see him; I need to touch him. It’s a strange urge to feel for someone I hardly know, but if time truly passes so much quicker, how long have we been connected?
Having showered the night before, I simply wash my face and dress in my laundered clothes, thankful I wasn’t provided with a new, indecent garment for this occasion. Unfortunately, my shirt stretches tight across my belly, and there’s no mistaking or hiding that I’m pregnant now. I’ll probably only be able to squeeze one more day out of it before it no longer fits.
Two days. I have two days to figure out a way to escape this hell. Two days to come up with a master plan. What if Warrick can’t help me? What if I can’t escape? It’s too terrifying to even consider the ramifications.
Already, I feel sick with too much knowledge. What I wouldn’t give for the sweet bliss of ignorance. What I wouldn’t give to have Beast and Striker back. To feel safe and protected.
Exiting the facilities, I find Vis fully outfitted in his armor now and standing by to accompany me.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice colder now, distant. He holds himself stiff and formal. I almost can’t believe I let him hold me last night. Did that really happen? Or was it my sick and twisted imagination?
“Yes,” I answer and motion for him to lead the way.
Out the door he leads me. A step in front of me as we travel down several spiraling staircases, until it we reach one that feels like it never ends. Again, the lack of technology is evident. Instead of lifts or elevators we must descend the levels by foot. The way the staircases are shaped and the walls encircling us, I come to the conclusion that we’re in some kind of tower.
I think I remember seeing flashes of a tower or two when Warrick was carrying me towards the palace.
Like before the further down we travel, the lower we go, I feel a pull—something tugging, urging me closer. As we continue to descend, dipping below the surface, the feeling only seems to grow and grow.
The air cools, gravity thickens. There is moisture beading on the walls and misting the air. I think we’re below ground now but it’s simply an educated guess. There’s no tell-tale sign of the change, nothing but my senses to differentiate this staircase from the rest.
“Not much further, princess,” Vis informs me as my steps begin to lag. Another spiral, another long set of twisting steps.
It feels as if we’ve been walking for miles but it’s not the distance that weakens me—after sitting around for so long I need the physical exertion—it’s the constriction tightening in my chest.
“What is that?” I finally ask. The tug is so strong now it’s a struggle to keep myself from running ahead of Vis to meet whatever lies ahead. I’m filled with such… anticipation.
“What is what?” Vis asks as if he doesn’t understand the question.
“The pull… the tug…” I struggle to explain to him.
He whips around suddenly. Reaching out, his hands grab me just in time to keep me from crashing into him. “You feel it?”
“I feel something…” I answer cautiously, unable to find the words to accurately describe the sensation and a little alarmed by his reaction.
It’s hard to tell beneath his armor but Vis’ grip tightens on my shoulders and he seems to be disturbed by my answer.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” he answers. “But to be safe, don’t let go of my hand.”
I grip his hand tightly, and we resume our trek downwards. I feel better with him by my side, relieved even by his protection. But with each step down the smooth, black staircase, it feels like the pressure increases, the line connecting me to something tightens. And just to prove that I’m not crazy the ends of my curls lift into the air, pointing towards the source.
“Vis,” I gasp and his grip nearly crushes my hand. I cry out as my bones are ground together and pain shoots up my arm.
With a muttered curse, he releases my hand. “I’m sorry, Ameia.”
Cradling my hand protectively against my chest, I accept his apology without question. “It’s fine, I know it was a…”
“Ameia,” King Zar’s voice booms out, cutting me off. “Come to me.”
I feel a sharp jerk and find myself stumbling forward, down a couple of steps before I can stop myself.
“Fuck!” Vis yells out, stomping down behind me.
“What is he doing to me?!” I cry out, gripping the railing to keep from rolling down the last few flights of stairs.
“I don’t know,” Vis answers gruffly. “Just hold on to me. I don’t want you to break your pretty neck.”
Vis grabs me, swinging me up into his arms and walks so fast he’s nearly sprinting.
“Ameia,” King Zar’s voice booms ominously.
I wrap my arms around Vis neck and feel a scream bubbling up inside my throat as another sharp jerk pierces through my ribs.
“Come to me.”
I’m bouncing in Vis arms as he races down the remaining steps. He’s traveling faster than I could ever hope to travel yet the sensation doesn’t abate, it only increases.
Something is going to give. My body can’t take this. The line reeling me in is so taut I fear it might snap, breaking me with it.
“Stop, please stop,” I beg, blackness creeping into the edge of my vision.
The sickening pressure eases almost all at once, like a switch being flipped off. I’ve lost time again, I realize. Panting as I gather my wits.
“Put her down,” the King’s voice booms louder, closer.
Vis gently lowers me down to my feet, helping me stand. With my feet under me, I straighten and turn, sensing Vis hastily stepping back.
I blink and see we’re in a large open room now. We must have reached the bottom of the never-ending staircase. Then, as my eyes adjust to the dim lighting and I take everything in, I quickly realize it’s not a room at all, but a gigantic roughly carved cavern.
The domed ceiling above us is jagged, and covered in hundreds of sharp, dripping stalactites pointing down at us. Their sharp tips aimed directly at our heads. While the floor is smooth, made of natural stone and completely unremarkable, save for the pit of moving darkness swirling in the center of it.
Beyond the pit is the King, seated regally upon a throne that has been carved into the side of the cavern. All around the King, painting the stone walls, are the unmistakable dusky silhouettes of Ravagers. Shadows with glowing ruby eyes, laughing and carrying on as if they’re holding court.
I shiver, unable to repress the dark thought that we’re inside the mouth of some gigantic beast who’s about to swallow us down it’s black throat.
“My princess,” the King’s voice beckons and I take an involuntary step towards him before pulling myself back. He is the source, the thing sucking me in. “Thank you for finally joining us. I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
Like I even had a choice, I think bitterly but wisely don’t say it.
He stares at me across the distance, his lips curling up into a smirk that reminds me all too much of his son.
I’m at a loss of what to say, of what to do.
“Thank you for having me,” the polite reply automatically springs to my lips.
Just when I was beginning to feel like this place couldn’t get any worse, that I was beginnin
g to understand it, I have to struggle to accept this new madness.
The King can draw me to him, and worse of all he can make it hurt if I try to fight it.
He throws back his head and laughs. His entire court erupts, echoing his jubilance. I shiver, goosebumps breaking out across my flesh just from the clear undertone of menace to it.
This place is all kinds of fucked up.
Behind me, Vis steps closer. I feel just a little bit better knowing he has my back as some of the shadows separate from the group surrounding the throne. They slither along the walls, surrounding us.
Why am I here, again? I try to remember but the pit keeps driving me to distraction. The way it swirls and beckons, it keeps drawing my focus. Why did he summon me to this place?
Why do I want to touch it?
Oh, yes. I lick my lips nervously and wait for a lull in the laughter to ask, “Where is Warrick?”
The laughter dies away and the King’s eyes blaze at me from across the cavern. “Straight to the point, my dear. I like that. Would you like me to retrieve him?”
“Yes,” I immediately answer.
“Why?”
Why? Why do I want Warrick? Again I’m at a loss. I can’t very well explain I want Warrick because I need him for my escape plan. Nor can I tell him I want Warrick because I have this crazy desire to save him. Not to mention I’ve grown quite attached to him over the past twenty-four hours. Or has it been two months?
Rising from his throne, the King glides forward, his shadows trailing wispy tendrils behind him. He walks across the pit as if it’s solid and he has no fear of falling through it.
“I can leave him in the pit, if you like. I have no more use for him. You are here—he has fulfilled his sole purpose.”
Vis begins to growl behind me.
“Unless, of course,” King Zar laughs. “You choose to reject him. Then he might be useful again.”
The King stops in the center of the pit, and it looks as if he’s drawing from it. Tendrils of darkness float upwards, wrapping around his legs and slithering upwards, disappearing into his rippling chest. “Do you reject him, Ameia?”
Dammit, I’m not prepared to be put on the spot like this. If he makes me choose now everything is going to go to shit. “No, I don’t reject him… yet…”
The King clicks his tongue in a disapproving manner and he shakes his head. “You can’t remain indecisive forever, my dear. It’s time to make your decision.”
But, “I’m not ready yet.”
I don’t want to make a decision. I need this decision as a bargaining chip.
The King just stares at me for the longest time, and I can’t help it. Once more my eyes latch onto the hypnotizing swirl of the darkness. What is it?
“Then he will remain in the pit until you’ve decided.”
“No, please.” Dammit. With a great deal of effort, I lift my gaze back up to him. “Don’t do that.”
“Why?” He asks, his tone curious. His head cocks to the side at an unnatural angle.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I stare back into the pit and I can’t even imagine what Warrick might be experiencing. Is he suffering? Is it further changing him? How can I allow it? Can I stop this?
To save Warrick or doom my children…
“He’s mine,” I declare, my words cracking and betraying my confidence. “And I want him back.”
The King’s head snaps up. “You’re accepting him?”
Everything inside of me is screaming no, don’t do this you fool but my lips are saying, “Yes.”
“Ameia,” Vis gasps softly behind me.
I want to cry. My eyes burn and swell with the pressure of tears. Already, I can feel any hope of escaping, of fleeing this nightmare slipping through my fingers. But no, dammit, Ameia, don’t think like that. There has to be another way. There has to be. I’ll just have to find it.
I can’t leave Warrick in the pit because I can’t pretend I don’t know what might happen if I do. What if he dies? I can’t live with that on my conscience. I refuse to live with his death on my hands.
“Very well,” the King sighs as if he’s disappointed in my decision. He bends down and his hand dips into the darkness as if it’s a pool of water. I hold my breath as I watch him. Then quite suddenly he pauses and looks up at me. “Are you sure? You can turn away now. You can be free of him…”
There’s no doubt now, I can tell by the way his mouth gleefully turns up in the corners that he’s cruelly mocking me. I walked right into his trap.
And it’s too late to go back.
I clear my throat and will my voice not to break as I confirm. “Yes, I am sure.”
The King nods and his arm sinks deeper, disappearing up to his elbow. “He’s around here somewhere… Ah, ha!”
Straightening to his full height, the King lifts the form of Warrick out of the pit by the back of the neck as if he weighs nothing. Warrick just hangs limply in the King’s grasp – unconscious or dead. Frowning, the King gives Warrick a sharp, hard shake, but it fails to wake him.
“I’m sorry, Ameia, but he might be broken beyond repair.”
All around us the shadows erupt into another round of jubilant laughter.
I swallow back a scream as the King tosses Warrick’s body through the air. Vis yanks me back just as Warrick lands with a sickening thud where I was standing.
“But he is yours, my dear. Consider it my gift… if you can fix him.”
Chapter Fifteen
“No,” I moan and drop to my knees beside Warrick, fearing that he’s already dead. He doesn’t move, he just lies there on the cold, stone floor, motionless.
Lifeless.
Bending down, I press my ear against his chest.
Thank the stars, he’s still breathing.
“Warrick,” Vis groans, dropping to his knees beside me. I glance over at him and his face is twisted into such a tortured expression I can’t stand to look at it.
“He’s still alive,” I gently inform him.
With a stiff nod, Vis grabs onto Warrick’s shoulders and shakes him. “Wake up, you idiot.”
How many times have I heard Vis call him that? How can he even dare to call him that at a time like this?
“He’s not an idiot!” I snap at Vis and shove him off of Warrick. Shaking him isn’t going to help him so I throw myself across Warrick’s chest to shield him. “You’re the idiot if you think it.”
Vis glares at me, and for a moment I’m afraid he’s going to lash out at me in retaliation. But then he shakes his head as if he’s clearing it and draws back.
“You’re correct,” he says quietly, his gaze tearing from me to sweep across the area, surveying the threat. “He’s not the idiot—I am.”
Something inside me aches to hear him say that, but I don’t argue with him. There’s no time for it. I turn my attention back to Warrick and reach up, pressing my hand against his cheek. “Please, wake up, Warrick. Please,” I plead.
Warrick remains unresponsive.
Right now the King has turned his back to us as he returns to his court. But who knows how long we have before he decides to acknowledge us again.
“We have to get him out of here,” Vis warns.
And I know he’s right. Ever since the shadows stopped laughing, all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck have been standing on end. “How?”
“We’ll have to carry him.”
“How?” I repeat the question. It seems an impossible feat, even for a Ravager Warrick is massive. A great big black hulking behemoth. One of his legs probably weighs about as much as I do.
“If you help me, we can do it.”
“Warrick, please wake up,” I plea more desperately. Bending down, I even press a kiss to his lips.
It does nothing, Warrick appears to be unaffected.
“Ameia, we must go,” Vis hisses more urgently and I glance up to see we’re drawing a crowd—a crowd of vicious looking Ravager shadow men. They’re surrounding us, coalescing into one large
mass of menacing blackness.
“Alright,” I’m forced to agree, and lean back. “Tell me what to do.”
“Just help me lift him.”
Getting his feet under him, Vis pushes Warrick to his side and then grabs one of Warrick’s arms, throwing it over his shoulder. Bending towards Warrick, he ducks his head down and wraps his arms around Warrick’s chest.
“Help me, Ameia,” he urges me. I scoot around Warrick’s other side, wrapping my arms around his width, just below Vis’ arms.
“On three,” Vis huffs.
“Okay,” I agree.
“One, two, three.”
We both push up but I have to hold back. I don’t want to strain too hard, afraid the exertion will harm the babies or throw out my back. Warrick is so heavy, so densely packed with muscle, I hear Vis grunting, straining. Using all of his strength, all of his might only to lift Warrick a few inches.
“Damn it all,” Vis curses and drops Warrick back down.
Tears of frustration sting my eyes and I’m at a loss of what to do. Maybe if Warrick was able to help, to participate in some way, we could manage it. But as dead weight, he’s simply too heavy. There’s no way we can get him up, much less carry him up all those stairs.
It’s hopeless.
“We can’t leave him,” I croak.
Since the King glided away, I’ve picked up snatches of the shadows whispering among themselves, sounding entirely too eager about the prospect of Warrick being left behind. I try not to listen too closely to what they’re saying. Words such as tender and meaty being tossed about disturb me on a deep, visceral level. I truly believe they mean to eat him if we leave… I have to find a way to “fix” him.
Vis nods his head, hunched over in defeat. “You go, I will stay.”
“No,” I refuse, shaking my head. “I’m not leaving you either.”
“Then what do you propose we do?” Vis asks angrily.
“Give him a reason to want to wake.”
“By all means, princess,” he says, making room by scooting back. “Be my guest.”
Biting my lip with uncertainty, I glance down at Warrick. I know I made the suggestion but I honestly have no idea how to go about it.
