- NINE #2
The realization hit me like an ice bath.
I didn't want him back because it was the right thing to do, because we needed him to find Jade, or even because I couldn't stomach the thought of torture.
I wanted him back because I just did. I wanted him.
I wanted his condescending tones and his smirks.
I wanted his invasive empath abilities and the way he quieted my dreams. Because, while he was a genuine pain in the ass at times, grating and impossible, he had fed me, tended to my hurt feet, kept me safe.
"What are you thinking about?" Doyle asked as we sat in companionable silence, drinking water and munching on chestnuts and the couple blackberries he had found on his travels.
"We need to get Jasper back," I said honestly.
"I know... here's my plan..."
--
We stood at the edge of the property, each of us staring at it with dread. Doyle's hand grabbed mine; his fingers slid between mine. It was supportive, but at the same time, seeking support. It was a suicide mission and we both knew it.
We had decided to wait for sunrise, figuring the guards would expect us at night, would be on high alert.
But when they saw the sun rising, maybe they would think it was clear, would get careless, sneak off for a pee or fall asleep.
If they weren't slacking, in broad daylight, we knew we were fucked.
But it was really the only shot we had except waiting.
We had both agreed that wasn't an option, leaving Jasper to keep being tortured.
The sun was rising. It was almost time.
"Doyle, do you believe in prayer?"
"To a god?"
"I don't know... to anyone."
"Celestine," he said, his voice serious. "If you think you have any kind of connection to those angels of yours, now is the time to beg for any last favor they might be willing to give you. We can use all the help we can get."
As if on cue, a rustling noise had us breaking apart and stiffening. But then I felt it, a hot breath on my ankle then a wet nose on my leg. "Onyx?" I yelped, turning. And sure enough, there he was.
"Fat lot of help you've been, barguest," Doyle said, sounding annoyed at the glorified dog.
Onyx growled, the sound low and rumbling. I reached out, patting his head. "It's okay. I understand. I don't want to go back either."
I pet him absentmindedly as we stood there, my eyes closed, my attention focused on my prayer, hoping one favor wasn't all I was entitled to.
"Cece, we have to get going," Doyle said, making my eyes snap open.
"Whoa, what the fuck is with your eyes?"
"What's wrong with my eyes?" I asked, my hands flying up to my face.
"They're glowing or something," he said, brows knitted.
I blinked rapidly a few times. "Any better?"
"No, but we don't have time to figure that freakishness out. We have to go."
Then we moved, skirting the edges of the woods until we were behind the building where Doyle said the stairs to the dungeons were situated. We stood there for a second, looking at them. Doyle's hand grabbed mine again. "Ready?"
"Not even close."
"Me either," he agreed. "Let's go."
Then we ran, me trailing behind by the length of our arms, his hand dragging me along, not bothering to look back. There was no time for coddling me and I knew it.
"What are the chances it's not locked?" Doyle asked in a whisper as we moved toward the door.
"Slim to non... seriously?" I gasped as the door opened.
"Guess they're more worried about people getting out than in."
"Maybe it's a trap."
"Maybe, but it's too late to turn back now."
We inched down the stairs, the scrape of my woolen moccasins sounding loud to my ears. Doyle moved ahead of me into the eerie silence, peeking into each of the cells, back getting more and more tense as he moved. He made it to the final cell and turned back with a small smile.
Jasper.
Doyle produced something long and metal from his back pocket and inserted it in the lock, then stuck something else in there and twisted. I almost wanted to laugh at the carefree, boyish, sweet Doyle effortlessly picking a freaking lock.
But then the door slid open and the only thought I had was of Jasper.
I charged into the cell, the morning sun harsh on the crumpled form of Jasper on the floor, curled on his side, naked from the waist up.
I faltered a second, finding his body so still, so lifeless.
Then his chest rose with a ragged, strained breath and I flew at him.
I dropped to my knees beside him, pushing slightly at his shoulder.
His eyes opened slowly, guarded, as if he expected to see someone who wanted to hurt him some more.
His face wasn't the one I remembered. There was a nasty gash from his ear to the side of his lips, smeared with dried blood.
There were bruises under his eyes, angry and purple.
His lip was swollen, broken open, and bleeding.
I didn't have the stomach to look below his face. I knew it was bad and I needed to keep my food in my stomach.
"Cece?" his voice hissed out of his mouth, low, disbelieving, like maybe he thought he was hallucinating.
"It's me. Doyle and I are getting you out of here," I said, knowing my voice was thick with the tears I refused to shed.
"Can you stand?" Without answering, his arm raised, chains clanging with the motion, as his hand sought my face.
"Come on, stand up," I urged, slipping a hand under his arm and clumsily trying to pull him up.
The motion, likely sending off a shock wave of pain, seemed to wake him fully as he scrambled upward.
I looked over toward Doyle, ready to smile, when his entire frame stiffened. And I knew it was over. We were caught.
"Get him out of here," Doyle hissed, moving into the hallway as if to fend off whoever was coming.
"Doyle..."
"Get him out of here!" he snapped and, despite my chest constricting at leaving Doyle behind, I found myself moving, Jasper's weight making me slow and clumsy.
But two steps into the hall had me freezing anyway with the looming figure of a guard blocking our only escape. Doyle rushed forward, stepping between us and him.
But the guard raised a hand in a halting gesture.
"You don't have much time," he whispered, making my spine stiffen.
"Change of guard is in three minutes. I am going to yell," he said, his voice pleading with us to listen.
"And then you're," he said, pointing at Doyle, "going to knock me out.
You have one shot so don't hold back. And you need to run to the front of the property... "
"It's longer," Doyle objected.
"It's safer," the guard said, leaving no room for debate.
"Ready?" he asked, watching Doyle. I felt myself bending forward, knowing it was going to take everything in me to get Jasper up the stairs and across the field.
"They're her..." he yelled, but was knocked cold before he could finish, his body falling to the floor, twisted in an almost unnatural way.
I felt a split second of relief before Doyle turned, grabbed Jasper under the other arm, and we were running.
We barely rounded the front of the house when Jasper's body went limp between us, the dead of his weight making me buckle slightly before I pushed myself back up.
We made it to the well before we saw guards coming out from behind the house, yelling to each other. "They got him. Fan out."
My eyes found Doyle and I knew they were wide and hopeless.
There were half a dozen, each shooting off in different directions.
Then, bursting through the woods at the front of the property was Onyx, his powerful body making a bee-line for the house.
His gums were pulled back, showing off his impossibly sharp teeth, a constant, menacing growl filling the air.
"What the..." one of the guards yelled, dumbfounded for a second, then, "That's a barguest! Declan would want that. Someone get it." But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Onyx's body collided with his, sending them both to the ground. All I heard then was screaming.
I felt a pull and realized Doyle was moving away, taking the distraction as an opportunity to gain some ground. We made it to the shelter of the barn before we stopped, sharing a look we both understood: we would never make it.
But we couldn't give up, not when we were so close.
The door beside us burst open, making me gasp and Doyle start. Then there was Drake, face bruised, more plates sticking out of his skin than the last time I had seen him, all with bruises and dried blood around them.
"We have to get him out too," I said a little foolishly, a little desperately.
"That's kind," Drake said, shaking his head.
"But I am getting you three out of this.
It's too late for me." Then before I could object, he moved out from behind the barn and charged the center of the courtyard, going until the chain pulled him backward, almost knocking him off his feet.
He stretched his arms outward, his voice dropping into a soul-deep vicious growl, the sound carrying across the land loud enough to make my ears hurt.
And then he was changing.
Plates started forcing their way through his skin. He screamed at the ripping sensation, falling to his knees. The guards looked at one another, fear plain in their expressions.
Then, breaking through the absolute utter chaos in front of us, a voice I never expected to hear rang out clear and loud.
"If he changes completely," Amy said, her voice almost a little bored-sounding but I figured it for a mask, "you're all dead for what you have done to him in the past. Even as a beast, I'm sure he will remember who used to beat him. "
The guards nodded and moved to circle Drake, all hesitant, like they'd rather have all their toenails ripped out than have to deal with a changing draca.
Doyle and I shared a look, turned, and ran.