Chapter 40
Scott grabbed his head. The pain was excruciating.
He gingerly felt along the back of his skull and found the wound.
Even that soft touch made him nearly pass out and gag with nausea.
It took several minutes of breathing through his mouth before he attempted to open his eyes. The place was dark and frigid.
Shrill wind sounded all around him as he shivered. He touched the ground beneath him. Hard stone. He tried to use magic to create some light, but nothing happened. That was when he realized he could no longer feel his magic.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured.
The soft, maniacal laugh that greeted his words immobilized him. He couldn’t tell if the person was male or female. He squinted into the darkness but couldn’t make out a form, no matter how hard he tried.
“Who’s there?” he demanded.
The silence was worse than the laugh. He knew that whoever it was observed him. Without his magic, he was defenseless. Exposed. He could deliver a solid punch, but even that would be hard to do when he couldn’t see past his hand in front of his face.
Scott crawled, feeling with his hands to find a wall.
The cold seeped through his clothes and into his body, causing him to shake.
He clenched his teeth together to keep them from chattering.
He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious and on the frosty stone floor.
But he knew that the kind of cold that surrounded him wasn’t something he could survive without proper clothing and heat.
Finally, he found the edge of a wall. It gave him something else to think about rather than how cold he was.
Scott rose to his knees and then to his feet, all the while learning the uneven rock that made up the wall—a support that curved toward him.
He was in a fucking cave. Was he still on Skye? Or had the mist taken him elsewhere?
Scott kept still and willed his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
No matter how he strained, he couldn’t see any farther.
At times, the wind became so loud that it sounded like a train barreling toward him.
Other times, Scott heard soft dripping coming from somewhere.
He needed to know the size of the area around him.
He lifted his hands to see if he could touch the ceiling.
When he couldn’t, he kept his hands raised and returned to the wall that he’d found earlier.
In three steps, his palms felt the stone.
He slowly moved his hands over the undulations of rock as the ceiling curved down to the wall.
The hairs on the back of Scott’s neck rose, reminding him that someone was there.
He wanted to call the bastard out, but whoever it was liked this game they played.
Well, Scott didn’t intend to play. Not in the way his captor might want.
Scott braced his hands on the wall and gradually walked to one side, counting each step.
At ten, he reached the back wall. He repeated the process.
Thirteen steps until he reached the other side, though he hadn’t moved in a straight line.
It was more of an inward progression, then back out.
He tried to put the image in his head in case he needed to move quickly.
The second wall was eleven steps. When his hand touched bars instead of a wall, he stilled, incredulity settling over him.
The laugh sounded again. This time louder, longer. His captor was enjoying this. The bastard.
A multitude of retorts filled Scott’s head, but he didn’t utter any of them. Scott wouldn’t give the wanker the satisfaction of knowing how unsettled he was. If only Scott could see a face or hear a voice. Something. Anything!
He squared his shoulders and counted his steps across the bars—fourteen and a half.
So, the front of his prison was wider than the back.
Scott wasn’t finished, though. He walked seven and a quarter steps to the middle of the wall of bars.
Then pivoted and walked straight to the back wall—just over ten steps.
Scott now had a mental picture of his jail.
He just hoped it would be enough if and when the time came.
Scott moved to the farthest back corner and pressed himself against the stone, hoping his captor couldn’t see him. It was colder here. He wrapped his arms around himself and clamped his teeth together. He thought of his da, his sister, and Filip. Elodie. Beautiful, brave Elodie.
There were so many things he wished he would’ve done and said.
But wasn’t that what everyone thought when they found themselves in a situation that could potentially lead to their deaths?
People always wished they had hugged their loved ones more.
Said, “I love you” more often. Told those who mattered that they meant something.
The problem was that no one ever thought their last day would be their last day.
Scott certainly hadn’t. He’d foolishly believed that Elodie’s cottage was safe.
And it was. On the inside. He’d been outside, though.
He hadn’t even had time to shout a warning or use magic before the mist consumed him.
He shuddered as he recalled the revolting feel of it consuming him. Yes. Consumed was the right word. It had devoured him. He’d thought he was dead. The entire event had occurred so quickly. Too quickly. He was just thankful that Elodie hadn’t been with him. Though, why wasn’t he dead?
Scott’s lungs locked as the truth slammed into him. He was alive because his captor wanted something—Elodie.
He squeezed his eyes closed, fighting against the powerlessness that gripped him.
He couldn’t warn her. He couldn’t even protect himself.
Scott fisted his hands in fury. Elodie and Filip would look for him.
Elias would join his sister. No doubt Rhona and Balladyn would, as well.
What about Ulrik, Eilish, Broc, and Sonya?
They had a tremendous amount of power between them.
Scott forced his screaming lungs to unseize so he could suck in a breath.
He gulped in the air as his mind realized the enormity of the people who had been at the cottage.
Was it just Elodie that his captor wanted?
Or was it Rhona? Balladyn? Could it be Ulrik?
Maybe Broc? Eilish or Sonya? What about Elias?
No, not Elodie’s brother. The mist had tried to kill him.
Scott’s heart thudded painfully. There were so many potentially awful outcomes if they came looking for him. If? They would come. Scott just hoped that he had enough time to shout a warning. It might be all he could give them.
It had been too easy. Kerry had anticipated more of a struggle from Scott. It maddened her how effortlessly she’d taken him. Especially after he had battled her mist so effectively before.
She stood in the cold, dark caves of the Red Hills. One Rhona had put her in a short time ago. Kerry knew everything there was to know about the cell. The width and breadth. The blast of cold air that came from one of the back corners. The undulating ground.
The unforgiving bars that impeded her magic.
She had expected to be locked inside the cell until she died of old age—or Rhona killed her. Instead, the Druid leader had released her. That hadn’t been the first of Rhona’s mistakes, but it was the gravest.
Kerry couldn’t wait to show Rhona just how stupid she had been, but it wasn’t time yet.
Kerry had made good headway over the last few days.
Yet there was more to do. Rhona had to suffer, and with her, the Reaper who had dared to interfere with Druid business.
Kerry hadn’t intended to involve the Warriors from MacLeod Castle yet, but as one of them was here, she could test her strength on them.
Same with the Dragon King.
They were all meddlers. Intruders who had no business on Skye.
As for the two Druids, the one from Dreagan and the other from MacLeod Castle, she could use them. They were just the sort of Druids she wanted on Skye. She needed powerful leaders like that. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure if they would follow her. Not now, at least.
They only listened to Rhona because of her position. One that Rhona wouldn’t always have. Once Kerry took over, those Druids—like everyone else around the world—would heed every word she voiced. As well as beg to come to Skye.
“Aye,” the Ancients whispered.
Kerry smiled. If anyone ever doubted her, all she had to do was tell them that the Ancients guided her.
Of course, she could do that now, but it wouldn’t be as impactful as what she planned.
There wasn’t time to take the long way to her goal.
To debate Rhona in front of others. To have an all-out battle with the current Druid leader—because that’s what would happen.
The Ancients had shown her all of it. Including the path she was on now. This would be the one that turned the tide for the Druids forevermore. Everything she did was for her people—at least the ones who lived through it.
She had been startled to discern how easy killing was—and how little she felt after.
She’d assumed she might be remorseful and be unable to carry on with the plan, but that hadn’t been the case.
In fact, it had been the opposite. Removing the Druids who could pervert her cause for justice rejuvenated her.
The addition of the magic of those she had slain had been a surprise from the Ancients. And that made ending the Druids’ lives that much easier.
Kerry whispered to the mist that hung high against the cavern’s ceiling. It would wait for the others to enter before it moved again. Then she turned on her heel and went out the secret tunnel.