Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
The throbbing in my head finally wakes me up.
Each breath I take feels like a mouthful of gravel sliding down my parched throat.
A chemical residue lingers on my tongue, and the taste of it heightens the nauseous feeling pinging around my stomach.
Sand crunches beneath my face, sticking to my cheek as I slowly try to lift my head.
The air is stifling and thick with the smell of rotting meat, iron, and sweat.
I gag and swallow down the will to vomit.
Pushing myself up on an elbow, I slowly take in my surroundings.
Sandstone walls surround me on three sides.
No windows. The only source of light is coming through the bars, toward the front of the crude cell.
Claustrophobia claws at my skin. This prison wasn’t built but carved.
Created to keep things from ever leaving.
The uneven floor digs into my side as I shift my weight and try to sit up.
Dizziness comes in heavy waves. I decide to pace myself and try something different.
I crawl over to the metal bars and place my face between them, peering out through the openings.
The sun beats down in the center of a pit-like room, shining through a large opening over a hundred feet up.
The sky is clear and bright. I’m no longer anywhere near Kintoira. That much I’m positive of.
Numerous cells line the outer edges of the circular pit, but if anyone’s inside any of them, there isn’t any movement.
“Hello,” I call out, voice cracking over the words.
The rustle of robes comes from the shadows of a cell a few rows down.
I press my face farther into the bars. “Hello, is anyone out there. I need help,” I whisper through the pain in my throat.
The scent of decay hits me in the face as the figure glides closer.
I push back and fall on my ass, scooting farther back. It stops directly in front of the bars—the same ones that my face was just pressed into—and grips the metal with both hands. Fingers with flesh hanging from the bone wrap around the bars, and black liquid seeps down the metal.
I don’t move. I don’t even blink.
It drops one of its hands and pushes the decrepit-looking hood back from its face.
The face of a man, or what was once a man, looks back at me.
Dead skin hangs in ribbons along his jaw and cheeks.
His eyes are sunken and void of color. They haven’t completely rotted yet, but they look like they’re on the cusp of it.
His lips, thin and covered in the thick black liquid, pull back to reveal sharpened teeth, yellow and decayed.
And then he smiles.
The sand flies up as I scramble as far back as possible. I tuck my feet under me and press my back into the jagged rocks.
“So glad you could join us,” it rasps in a voice that sounds like it’s choking on blood.
It spoke.
Wraiths do not speak.
Holy shit.
What in the fuck is going on? What drugs did they give me? Wraiths don’t think except for the sole purpose of feeding. Yet this one not only tried to communicate, it’s now staring at me expectantly like it would like a response.
I shake my head back and forth. “This isn’t real,” I whisper. “This is just a nightmare.”
I’m still drugged and unconscious. This is just my mind playing tricks on me.
I need to wake up.
“I’ll agree, you are in a nightmare,” it chuckles darkly, before coughing and gurgling. “Although you’re wide awake, I’m afraid.” It pushes its face into the bars, flesh sticking to the metal and tearing. The smell is overpowering, and I swear I can taste it on my tongue.
“Where am I?” I ask against my better judgment.
The wraith grips the bars tighter. “In hell,” it says through a sardonic smile.
The loud slam of a door makes me jump. The wraith doesn’t turn around to look, though.
His gaze is on my mouth. He’s practically salivating.
Without a doubt, he’s envisioning how my soul will taste when he places his rancid mouth over mine.
When he feasts on my tongue before tearing my existence from my body and then moving onto my flesh.
Another figure draped in heavy robes comes into view to stand a few feet behind the monster in front of me.
I’m not sure why, but for some reason, I have a feeling the monster in the back is ten times worse.
They’re of a smaller stature, and their robes are newer and brighter.
The red fabric hangs loose on their frame and covers their shoes.
“Come now, Frederick. You’re scaring the poor girl.”
I know that voice. I recognize it, but I’m not sure where I know it from. It’s young, boyish even. And Frederick? Who the hell is Frederick?
Sharp rocks continue to dig into my back. I’ve pushed so far back that there isn’t anywhere else for me to go. My limbs still feel heavy and sluggish, making any kind of escape attempt impossible.
The man in the red robes steps forward, directly next to the wraith. Neither the smell nor the threat of the monstrosity at his side seems to bother him. He makes a gesture with his hands, and the wraith backs off, but not before looking down at the man.
Disdain, if a wraith can even have that, flitters across its decaying face. He moves back to the shadows from which he came from.
“Welcome, Norissa. We’re so happy to have you,” the man says in a smarmy voice.
Despite the heat in the air, I shiver. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”
“It figures you wouldn’t even recognize my voice. Always so much better than the rest of us, weren’t you? Important, right?” His tone went from cocky to downright hateful.
Small fingers reach up and pull his hood back.
I close my eyes, a weak chuckle slipping through my lips. I should have seen this coming.
“Disappointed?” he mocks, stepping closer to my cell.
“You would know, wouldn’t you? I’m sure that’s the general consensus where you’re concerned,” I reply in a raspy voice.
The bars shake as he jumps forward, gripping them and rattling them in anger. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he says, spit flying from his face into the sand below his feet.
I bite my tongue. I need time to regain my strength and can’t do that if I push him too far.
He steps back, seemingly appeased at what he observes as obedience. “Finally, seems you’re learning your place.”
I grind my teeth but don’t answer. It fucking kills me not to, but I don’t.
He rubs his chin with his small, childlike fingers.
“Do you know how hard it was to get you alone? Away from the watchful eyes of your guard dogs?” he asks me calmly.
“I’ve been waiting weeks for the perfect opportunity, and finally one presented itself.
I won’t lie, I was a little disappointed by how easy it was in the end. It was almost like you gave up.”
I bring both hands in front of me, raising my middle fingers.
A sharp laugh leaves him. “Thank goodness. I was worried there was nothing left for us to break.”
I keep my face neutral, but inside, I’m panicking. This does not sound promising. I’ll die before I beg, but that doesn’t mean I’m eager to be tortured. In fact, I’d like to skip that step altogether if possible.
The air hangs thick and unmoving between us. Sweat beads along my neck and temples, trickling down into my torn shirt. Each breath I take feels labored, as if the putrid air itself doesn’t want to be drawn in.
“I’ve worked so hard behind the scenes, and you didn’t even know.
Couldn’t even appreciate the amount of effort I put in.
” He walks back and forth in front of the rusty iron bars, seemingly content to just hear himself talk.
I let him. It will buy me some time for these drugs to work their way out of my system.
Giving me some kind of chance to fight back.
“I mean, c’mon.” He chuckles, throwing his hands in the air.
“How do you think you became a lieutenant the night you arrived?”
He looks at me expectantly, like he wants me to join in on this game.
Scoffing, when I just stare at him, he continues talking as if he never stopped.
“I needed you to step up and fail miserably in front of your classmates and professors. I needed to add a little extra pressure during Asylamation week for you to crumble. To lose all credibility.” He licks his thin lips.
“With any luck, you wouldn’t survive the trials.
So”—he sighs for extra emphasis—“I put a little whisper in dear ole’ Father’s ear to make it happen. ”
He tilts his head and raises his palms like it’s the most obvious answer in the world as he keeps pacing.
I snort under my breath.
His head whips in my direction, eyes narrowed, but he continues as if I didn’t interrupt. “Unfortunately, you didn’t fail, which put a kink in my plans. Have to say, Pops wasn’t too happy with you,” he snarls. “Or me.”
I blow out an exaggerated breath. “I’m sure it’s not the first time the general was disappointed in his son,” I respond dryly.
Eryk Porter stares at me for a solid thirty seconds before throwing his head back and laughing.
It crosses my mind that he might actually be crazy. Nothing like the way he portrayed himself during our time together at Kintoira. He was as bland and forgettable as humanly possible. But maybe that was more strategic than genetic.
“Feisty. I like it,” he answers. “Can’t wait to bleed it out of you.” His eyes have taken on a maniacal appearance, and I fear that my time is running out.
I wiggle my toes and curl my fingers in the sand. The feeling is coming back, making it easier to control them. As much as I don’t want to, I have to keep him talking.
I clear my throat. “Why all the interest in me? Who cares if I survived the first week or died trying?”