Stolen Song (Paranormal Prison) - Autumn Reed ,Ripley Proserpina Page 0,15

and...I was right. It was missing.

She rolled her eyes at me. “Yes, you can speak. Might as well.”

“What happened?” The words came out so hoarse, my suspicions were immediately confirmed—I had lamented. It was practically undeniable, at this point.

“Well, I can’t say for sure.” She ran a finger over the collar, which was sitting on a table next to the bed. “This little beauty sends me an alert every time you speak, and you sure had a lot to say early this morning.”

“I don’t remember,” I croaked, sounding more like a frog than a woman.

“So you say.” Brina crossed her arms over her ample chest. “Personally, I think you’re full of shit.”

I clamped my mouth shut, instinctively knowing that arguing with her wouldn’t end well for me.

When I didn’t respond, she sat on the bed across from me and glanced down at her clipboard. “Then again, you were in excruciating pain for more than two minutes. I can’t imagine that you would do that to yourself on purpose. Which begs the question, why do it at all?”

“I don’t have any control over my laments.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “So, you do remember.”

“No, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Banshees are such peculiar creatures,” she said, studying me like an ant under her microscope. I was tempted to ask her what kind of fae she was, but that was considered rude where I came from. “You look like a sweet, innocent little virgin, but you have the voice of a killer. Are you a virgin? I’ve always wanted to know if that rumor about banshees was true.”

My skin heated under her stare, and I worried that she’d see the truth written all over my face. “I don’t know how that’s any of your business.”

She laughed cruelly. “I’ll take that as a yes. It’s a pity you’re stuck in solitary confinement. I’m sure you could find someone in here to take care of that little problem for you.”

Though it was a struggle, I pushed myself up into a seated position, my legs still straight due to the shackles. It was bad enough dealing with Brina when I was upright. Having her sitting there laughing at me, judging me, while on my back was unbearable.

“Am I going back to my cell now?” I hoped the change in subject would be enough to distract her from my sexual inexperience.

“No, I can’t chance putting the collar back on you right now. You’re too weak.”

“Like you care.” The words, though a terrible idea, spilled out before I could stop them.

The doctor’s eyes flared with something akin to respect. “There’s that Fair Folk fight I’ve been waiting to see. And, no, I don’t particularly care if you live or die. But it’s my job to keep my patients alive, and I take that job seriously. If you perish in here, it won’t be on my watch.”

That was comforting.

She stood, sauntering back the way she’d come, and disappeared behind a swinging door. Exhausted after the short confrontation, I lay back on the bed and groaned. Would it have been too much to ask for her to give me a pain killer or two?

My head was aching...well, actually, my entire body was aching like I’d been trampled by a dozen wild horses. And, now, I just wanted it all to go away. The pain and confusion and frustration.

So, I closed my eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Imogen

The next time I woke up, I immediately knew something was different. A new scent lingered in the air; one I was as familiar with as my own shampoo. Well, the shampoo I’d used back home. Here, I was lucky to get hosed down once a week.

Still weaker than I would have liked, I pushed myself up, surprised to find that I was alone. I inhaled deeply, and no, I hadn’t imagined it. Fresh water, musty earth, and wild daisies filled my senses, practically taking me back to my favorite loch in Tuatha.

But, how?

A faint scratching sound reached me, and I glanced down to find a mouse sitting at my feet. I watched in amazement as he worked to release one and then the other of my ankle shackles. When he was done, he sat back and looked up at me.

“Thank you...” I didn’t know his name, but I was sorely tempted to call him Gus Gus. Not that he resembled the chubby mouse from Cinderella in any way. “My little hero,” I finally finished as I shook out my legs, trying

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