Chapter 33 Death Lurked Nearby
Death Lurked Nearby
River’s scream came out as a strangled gasp as the reality of her situation slammed into her.
The puddle she’d stepped in wasn’t made of water at all. Crimson, bright and fresh and utterly wrong, painted the floors.
And the walls.
And the ceiling.
Sitting in the middle of the floor, discarded like a piece of trash, was Taliyah’s head. Her black eyes were wide with fear. Her mouth was frozen in a soundless, eternal scream.
The vampire’s head had been torn from her neck, as if she were made from paper. Her limbs had been ripped from her body, and they were scattered throughout the room.
The overkill had River’s stomach churning. Before she could be sick—before she could do anything at all—she noticed the chair in the middle of the room.
Sands save her, it was empty.
The rope that had been tied around the shifter was on the ground, shredded.
She opened her mouth and shouted for help. Or at least, she tried to.
Before a sound could escape, a hand clamped down on her mouth. Long claws protruded where fingernails should’ve been, and they dug into River’s cheek and throat.
Bear shifter, her mind reminded her.
At least now she knew how Taliyah had died.
Another arm banded around her middle. The shifter held her tight against him.
Oh, gods.
Before River could fully descend into the panic threatening to take over her, her body was already reacting to being grabbed. Thank the gods Ember had insisted they take self-defense classes in Lakewater, because that might save her now.
The goal is to get away, the instructor always said, reminding them that nothing was off the table. Hitting, kicking, scratching, and biting were all fair game. Get away and scream “Fire.”
Because studies had shown that people were far more likely to help in the case of a fire than if a woman was calling for help.
Right now, River couldn’t scream at all, but she tried everything else. She kicked his shins, stomped on his feet, and struggled against him, trying to loosen his hold.
Nothing worked.
Remembering the dagger, she angled it upward and slammed it back. Maybe she’d hit his side, and—
The arm banded around her chest disappeared for a single moment as he snatched the dagger out of her fingers.
“Cute,” her attacker said as he threw it away. He yanked her guns out of her holsters next, tossing them away as if they were nothing.
The sound of them falling wasn’t loud enough to draw attention, and River whimpered. The knife in her boot was too far away.
The hand around River’s mouth tightened, and the rebel leader grabbed her once more, dragging her back. She gasped, scratching at the arm covering her mouth with both hands, trying desperately to pull it away from her. If she could just loosen his grip a little, she could scream for help.
Nikhail would come, she was sure of it.
She dug her fingers into his skin, but all that did was make the bear shifter laugh. The low, oily sound brushed her ear, and she wanted to throw up.
“I would stop doing that if I were you.” Pinpricks of pain erupted in her neck as the tips of his claws broke through her skin.
River trembled, and her hands fell to her side.
Taking advantage of her fear, Harringdale dragged River backwards, towards the bathroom and out of sight of the bunker entrance.
Away from Nikhail.
No, no, no.
Over the years, River had had a lot of nightmares.
Most of them were about her storms, but occasionally, others snuck in.
She’d dreamed about moments like this—being dragged off into darkness by a man with violence in his heart—but even the worst of her nightmares didn’t compare to the reality she now found herself in.
Fight back, she urged herself. Don’t go quietly.
She called more magic to her hands. Formed two more daggers. Slammed them both into Harringdale’s thighs.
“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, releasing her waist long enough to wrench her hands up and press them against her chest. He held her like that, her hands pressed against her chest, so she couldn’t form any more daggers. “You’re going to pay for that, and I’m going to enjoy hearing you scream.”
There was something about the way Harringdale spoke, the eagerness in his tone, that told her he was speaking the truth.
River’s pain would bring him great joy.
“I know who you are,” Harringdale murmured as she went limp in his arms. “River Emeline Waterborn.”
He rattled off her birthdate and the name of the hospital where she was born.
Despite herself, River gasped. How did he know these things?
As if he could read her mind, the rebel laughed.
“Oh, you stupid, na?ve little girl. Do you think that’s all we know?
You Representative families are all the same.
Sauntering about the Republic as if it’s your playground, thinking you’re fucking untouchable.
You’re all wrong. We’ve spent years studying all of you.
Watching you. I know far more than you think. ”
River’s heart hammered in her chest, and tears pricked at her vision.
The steady, low rumble of Nikhail’s voice reached her ears, but it was far away. He had no idea what was happening. No idea that somehow, the sedation had worn off, and the rebel leader had taken River.
Was holding her hostage.
Gods fucking above, what a way for this day to come to an end. The joy River had felt only minutes ago was gone now.
What was Harringdale’s plan? Did he want to use River as a bargaining chip to get out of here?
He had to realize that wouldn’t work. The Chancellor had let her own son-in-law be murdered on television. She wouldn’t care that River was in danger. Wouldn’t care that a madman was threatening to kill her.
And when she refused to help, Harringdale would kill River. She knew that, just as she knew the sky was blue.
Oh, gods.
River whimpered as the reality of her situation set in.
“Imagine my surprise when you ambled past me,” Harringdale said, his claws tightening. Warmth trickled down her throat. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if your brother had walked by. The Waterborn heir.” Disgust dripped from his tone. “But you. I did not think I’d see you down here.”
His nose trailed along her hairline, and River wanted to vomit. “You’re far too pretty to be a soldier, Doctor Waterborn. This life isn’t for people who look like you.”
She hated the way he spoke about her, as if he knew her. As if he understood the troubles River had faced during her life.
“I know all about your family. Your mother, cold bitch that she is. Your brother.” The rebel leader tapped the tip of his claw against her neck. “And your father.”
River stiffened. She couldn’t help it.
A repulsive chuckle escaped Harringdale’s lips. The hand around her throat squeezed, cutting off her air. The arm around her middle tightened, drawing her flush against him, her back to his chest.
“You loved him, didn’t you? That’s what my sources say.”
Gods, how dare he speak about her father as if he knew her?
River tried to elbow him in the stomach, thrashing against his hold, but nothing was working. He was so much stronger than she was.
“Tell me, how did it feel to find your father dead? Did you scream when you saw him?” Harringdale clucked his tongue. “Or did you cry? I bet you look lovely when you cry.”
Disgust twisted River’s stomach. She would’ve thought that she would feel grief at the mention of her father’s passing. Sorrow, too. She did feel those, but the emotions were muted. Overwhelmingly, River felt angry. It bubbled and churned inside her, growing hotter with each passing moment.
How dare this man speak of Cyrus Waterborn as if he knew him? How dare he bring up his death in passing, as if it hadn’t been one of the most devastating moments of River’s life? How dare he try to use River’s pain to hurt her more?
The anger was good. Useful in a way that her fear hadn’t been.
Her vision sharpened. The tears that had been threatening to fall dried up. Her stomach settled as fury became her primary focus.
How dare Gale Harringdale do this? How dare he hold her hostage after everything else River had already gone through? It wasn’t fair that this was happening now, when she and Nikhail were just at the beginning of their journey.
If she and Nikhail had had more time, they could’ve lived a wonderful, fulfilling life together. She could see it all now, unfolding in flashes in her mind.
Going on dates. Moving in together. In this hypothetical future, they adopted a cat. Got married. Bonded.
River imagined that in this alternate life, the one they would never get to live, she returned to Lakewater General Hospital.
She became a successful surgeon, and when she came home, Nikhail would be there.
Always supporting her, always in her corner.
Perhaps, many years down the line, they might’ve added a child to their family.
A young fae, gifted in either water or air, whom they could love and spoil and cherish.
They would’ve been happy in this other life. Of that, River was certain.
At least she had gotten the chance to tell Nikhail she loved him.
She would hold on to that and treasure it, even when Harringdale’s plan to use her as a bargaining chip failed.
Nikhail was the best thing that had ever happened to River, and she would gladly let her last thoughts be of the air fae who had stolen her heart.
Death, River’s old adversary, lurked nearby.
She could feel it in the chill in the air. In the way her hair stood on end. In the cold that consumed her body, unwilling to let her out of its grasp. She and death weren’t friends—how could they be since, as a doctor, her life’s calling was diametrically opposed to death?
River was not death’s friend, but there had been points in her life when she’d wondered whether death would be better than dealing with the mess that was her life. It certainly would’ve been easier.
On days when the weight of River’s curse had felt unmanageable, when everything had been dark and heavy and even getting out of bed had felt like the greatest of chores, she used to wonder if death would be simpler.
Back then, after the Incident, River had held on for Ryker and her father. It wouldn’t be fair to leave them, and she hadn’t wanted to hurt them.
But now, the clouds had parted. The darkness was gone, and River felt like she could see a future for the first time in what seemed like forever.
One where she wouldn’t have to be alone, constantly fearing that she would lose control.
She could picture herself living alongside the man she loved, and she wanted it.
Now, Gale Harringdale wanted to steal that from her. As if her life was his to take.
And that made River furious. Because what the fuck? How dare he do this to her? She gritted her teeth as anger flowed through her, bringing clarity to her situation.
Fuck Harringdale for taking her hostage.
Fuck him for hurting her and thinking she was a weak little girl that he could threaten.
Fuck him for thinking that he could take River’s life just because of who her mother was.
Anger cleared River’s mind, and as it did, she came to a stark realization. She wasn’t ready to die. Not now. Not when she had so many reasons to live.
She would not go quietly into death’s waiting arms. If Harringdale meant to kill her, he would have to come up against the force of a hurricane.
With her newfound clarity making it easier to think, River reevaluated the situation. The claws digging into her neck. The blood trickling down her skin. The way Harringdale breathed against her as he dragged her back against his chest.
Every point of contact was brimming with wrongness.
Harringdale was still raving in River’s ear, blustering on and on about how the Representatives and the Chancellor had caused him great harm. The more he spoke, the clearer it became that the man was downright delusional.
At another time, River would’ve felt bad for him. He clearly needed help. There were people who were equipped to deal with mental health issues. Doctors who could evaluate Harringdale and medicate him. Try to bring him back from the edge that his mind was currently at.
But there was a time and a place for medicine, and it wasn’t here. Not only that, but River wasn’t the right kind of doctor to help the rebel, and it was evident he wouldn’t accept it anyway.
River forced herself to focus on the situation at hand. There was still a knife in her boot, and perhaps if she broke his hold on her arms, she could get it and turn it around on him before he ripped out her throat.
It seemed unlikely, though.
But even though the rebel leader had tossed aside her weapons, and even though her hands were pinned to her chest, River wasn’t defenseless. Guns were manufactured. They were weapons made by people desperate to be stronger than nature had intended.
River was already a gods-damned force of nature. She had been born with the potential for destruction running through her veins, and power was her birthright.
She was starting to understand where Nikhail and her father had been coming from when they insisted she wasn’t cursed. How could River call her storm a curse when it might be the only thing that would save her from this evil man?
Her storm was a part of her, and if Nikhail loved her, he loved her storm, too.
It was that thought that had her reaching within herself to the brimming well of power inside her. Her arms were bound, and she wasn’t sure that this would work, but she had to try. Either way, she was certain she would only have one chance to try and free herself.
She would have to make it count.