hard way with those other boys…"
"Fine. I want to know as soon as she wakes up. Are we clear?"
One of the voices sounds oddly, ominously familiar, but the fog that I'm in is making it hard to listen, even harder to figure out if any of this is real. More images drift through my mind: Mollie's glazed-over eyes. Edith kissing Hunter. Hazel and the twins, trapped in the burning apartment. Most of all, though, I see visions of the guys running for their lives from the pursuing hunters. My heart aches - I was so cruel to Hunter, and now I may never see him again. What if I never see any of them again? The most precious thing in the world to me, they've been torn from my grasp by one treacherous betrayal.
And then I lose consciousness once more.
I'm surprised to find that I'm not dead when I finally stir, my eyelids fluttering against the bright fluorescent lights. The pain in my skull has come back with a vengeance, and for a moment I'm struck by a wave of agony so intense that it makes me want to retch. I double over, clutching my stomach and dry heave . How long has it been since I've eaten something?
My head spins, my ears ringing, and it's all I can do to sit there in a shaking heap as the dizziness starts to clear. Eventually, I'm able to force my eyes open, although the harsh lights make it hurt to do so, and look around.
I'm in a room as nondescript as it can get. The walls and floor are made of concrete, and the lights make me think I'm in some sort of basement or storage facility. What did Edith call it? A safe house?
Seems pretty far from safe to me.
I'm surprised to discover that I'm not restrained. I'm slumped forward in a hard wooden chair. My clothes are the same soot-stained ones I had on when the apartment caught fire, and my hair is hanging around my face in dirty clumps. Slowly, agonizingly, I struggle to my feet, having to pause with my hands on the chair to keep myself from passing out from the pain in my head. Once I'm sure I'm grounded, I straighten up and take a slow, shuffling step towards the door in the back.
Even before I reach it I realise it's a pointless exercise. It's padlocked shut on my side, and I'm willing to bet it's been enchanted. Why else would they leave me in here alone with no restraints?
Still, I can't resist the urge to summon a burst of flame from my dragon form, breathing it directly into the padlock for several moments. The metal doesn't even change colour. Of course. Why would it? It's not like I've ever been able to catch a break before.
I let out a yell of frustration and drop my head against the door, banging it uselessly with my hand as if that will somehow change my situation. The gesture sends a fresh stab of pain through me. God, my head hurts -- I go down hard.
The sound of bolts shifting on the other side makes me jump, and for a single crazed second I wonder if my frustration actually worked. But then there's the sound of shuffling feet and I take a few steps back. I'm still weak from the spell and my injuries, but I'm already preparing to fight, my hands clenching into fists as I back up a few steps.
Then the door swings open and Hawthorne, the man who started all this, strides into the room. The smug bastard is smirking, like this is all some big joke to him. And he doesn't look the least bit intimidated by my posture.
I raise my hand to cast a spell, but he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Ms. Brix,” he says, his tone as self-righteous and condescending as ever. “We’re underground right now, miles away from anyone who will be able to help you. And we’re not alone.”
He steps aside to reveal the hulking form of another man, who immediately shifts into a siren. Before I have time to react, he’s already growling, “Don’t. Move.”
For the second time this week, I’m under the thrall of a siren, and I drop my hands weakly to my sides. Still, I’m able to force myself to speak. “Where are we?”
“Nowhere special,” Hawthorne replies. “The important thing is that we’re safe from prying eyes. Like your