Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
The sound of Striker’s voice jolted me awake. The sound of him cursing, in fact. Swearing, yelling, cussing out the little army of assholes that had decided to set up camp outside my prison.
My mouth was dry and tasted like dirt. I must have drifted off. It was a blessing; waiting for torture was often worse than the pain itself.
“No, you fuckers,” Striker roared. “Not yet.”
A chorus of disappointed male voices muttered and moaned.
“The alignment of the planets made it too hard to open the gateways, but once Jupiter moves into Uranus, he’ll be here. A couple of hours, maybe.” He paused. “None of you went in?”
“No, sir,” voices chorused. “She’s still alive though. We can smell her and hear her. She’s still breathing.”
“Good.” Striker let out a loud huff. “Although we probably should give her some water or something to keep her that way until the King gets here.” His boots scuffing through the hard-packed dirt outside grew louder.
I rolled into a ball, sitting up. The animal skin hanging over the door was swept aside; I narrowed my eyes against the sudden flare of light.
Striker stood in the doorway, fully nude. He must have just shifted back. He stared down at me for a moment, chuckling softly to himself.
I turned my head away, facing the corner of the shack. I couldn’t look at him. The sight of his squat, naked body turned my stomach—a reminder of my scheduled torture—and he knew it.
“I gotta admit,” he drawled. “It feels good to see you like this. Tied up, lying in the dirt, useless and helpless.” He shifted the animal skin up further, letting in more light so I could see him clearer. “An uppity bitch like you will always get what you deserve.”
My disgust overrode my fear, and impulsively, I decided to bait him. He wasn’t stupid enough to step inside the cabin and get into the ward with me, but maybe, if he was angry enough…
I let out a sad sigh. “Who hurt you, Michael?”
His smile disappeared. “What?”
“Someone must have hurt you so badly,” I murmured, letting my eyebrows droop. Even if he did step into ward with me and the manacles stopped me from accessing my magic, I’d get a punch or two in. Maybe if Striker got angry enough, he’d knock me out.
Connor would punish him for it. That, at least, would make me happy.
I gazed up at him, blinking back fake tears. “Did something happen to you when you were a kid?”
He mouthed for a second. “Shut up.”
“A woman hurt you, didn’t she,” I whispered, shaking my head sadly. “Who was it?”
“N—Nobody,” he bit out. “No one can hurt me.”
“But someone did. It helps to talk about it, you know, Michael.”
Bronwyn would disapprove of me weaponizing therapy.
Or maybe she wouldn’t, considering the current power dynamic.
I injected more sympathy into my tone. “There must have been something that happened to make you so angry and bitter about women. You’ve gone through some terrible trauma, haven’t you?
” I sighed again, letting my bottom lip wobble.
“Shut your whore mouth,” he snapped, his face trembling in anger.
“It was your mom, wasn’t it?” I shuffled back, sitting up straighter. Locking eyes with him, I stared. “Your mom chose your dad over you, didn’t she?”
Striker’s eyes widened; his mouth dropped open.
Holy shit, I’d scored a direct hit. Although it was a common scenario among incels and domestic violence offenders. An abusive, overbearing father and a passive mom who was scared for her own life. “You took a beating from your dad, didn’t you?” I said softly. “He wanted you to be more of a man.”
“Shut your whore mouth!” Striker took a step forward. His face had gone red.
“But your mom didn’t stop him, did she? Your dad beat you bloody, and your mom told you to just stop provoking him. Stop angering him, and everything will be okay.”
Striker took another step forward. “No,” he grunted. His whole body shook.
“You hate her for being weak. You think women are supposed to be weak, and now you hate any woman who stands up to abusive men. Because your mom never could.”
“Bitch, if you don’t shut your filthy hole right now—” He took another step closer.
So close. Just one more step. I stoked the heat in my belly, sending power all through my limbs, electrifying them with magic.
With enormous effort, I kept the sad, sympathetic expression on my face.
“I understand, Michael. I understand what you’re feeling right now, so many emotions.
So much shame and anger. You’re so mad with your mom because she wouldn’t protect you.
You hate her, because she loved your dad more than you. She chose him.”
He clenched his fists. “I said shut up!” His foot stepped over the line.
I pushed. “Freeze.”
Striker froze, his eyes wide. I held my hand up, palm out, and shoved him with my magic. “Up.”
He rose three feet into the air, his feet dangling helplessly. I splayed my fingers; his arms and legs stretched out, taut. His eyes bulged, and he bared his teeth.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking.” Rolling to my feet, I kept my hand up, holding him in the air.
My siren command would wear off too soon, but I could keep him in the air longer.
I’d held Grisela for a minute or so. “You think I’m going to tear off your arms and legs. Pop your head like a pimple, maybe.”
A vicious shadow drifted over his eyes. He didn’t care. He dared me to.
“I mean, I might do that. Considering the current situation, you deserve it. But,” I sighed deeply, “I know this is useless. I’m still stuck in this ward, with these darn manacles.
There’s a whole army of your vicious bastard shifters out there, ready to tear me to shreds.
Killing you wouldn’t really help me. No.
” I paused and stared into his eyes. “The only person it would help would be you.”
I took a few steps forward, looking up at him.
“You’re in pain, Michael.” This time, I didn’t really have to fake the sympathy in my expression.
“You’ve been suffering your whole life, and I’m sorry you had to live your life in such agony.
You don’t know what love is. You don’t know happiness or pride or joy.
The only emotions you ever experience are anger, hate, and bitterness.
” I shook my head. “Living like that is absolute torture. If I killed you now, I would end your suffering.” I paused. “It would be a mercy.”
The hatred in his eyes really was something. If Striker could move right now, I had no doubt he’d rip out my throat without a moment’s hesitation.
“You’re not angry at me, Michael,” I murmured. “You’re angry at your mom.”
His fingers twitched. My strength was waning, but I decided to keep it up.
As far as revenge went, this was better than pulling out his fingernails.
“To make everything worse, you know in your heart it wasn’t her fault,” I continued, keeping up eye contact.
“Your father was a monster. He was the abusive one, not her. But there’s no point hating him, because he was always stronger than you, wasn’t he?
You couldn’t do anything about him. So, you decided to blame your mom instead. ”
A faint scream hit my ears; someone very far away was shrieking in agony. I ignored it.
“It wasn’t her fault, Michael. Your father hurt her, too.”
Another scream echoed through the woods.
Time to hammer in the big nails. “And you turned into him. You became exactly like your dad.”
A bone chilling roar joined the screams, almost drowning them out. The sound of it turned my bowels watery—a primal response. Run. Run!
My logical brain kicked my lizard brain. Where the hell was I going to run to? I was still stuck in a ward and chained to the wall with magical manacles. No, I couldn’t run. If I was going to die today, I’d go doing something I loved.
Telling off a man for being stupid.
I gave Striker a small smile. “You became the thing you hated the most. Angry, bitter, abusive, tyrannical…”
The roar cut me off. It was much closer now, I couldn’t stop my knees from shaking. The shifters outside were scrambling. Between the bone-chilling roars, I heard them screaming.
“Call the others!”
“They’re too far away!”
“We need backup!”
“Striker! Striker! Help! Hel—” An odd, wet tearing sound replaced the shriek of fright.
My arm trembled with exertion. What was going on?
Just then, the animal skin was torn off the door, and a man strode in.
My heart almost burst out of my chest. “Donovan?”
It was him, looking glorious in full armor and heavy battle leathers, holding an enormous broadsword in each hand, his hair, loose and wild, streaming around his furious blood-spattered face and down his back.
I almost screamed in relief. Striker wobbled in mid-air, but I flexed my fingers, pushing him up again. Okay, now this wasn’t such a great idea. Striker was stuck in the ward with me, and my strength was fading fast.
“Chosen!” Donovan dashed towards me, hit the ward, and stumbled back, cursing long and loud. His head whipped around quickly, examining the edges of the cabin, assessing the ward that trapped me. “Cecil! Get here, I need you!”
Cecil was here, too? But how?—
I saved my breath, because I needed every ounce of strength to keep Striker in the air.
Oh, goodness, there he was; I caught a glimpse of Cecil out of the now-open doorway, riding on the back of an enormous dark brown beast, moving too fast for me to see. More screams, more thuds. A tree crashed to the ground.
Donovan locked his jaw and shoulder-charged the ward, bouncing off again. “Cecil! Now!”
“Come-ing,” Cecil sang out from somewhere behind the cabin.
My arm shook. “Hurry,” I spat out. If I let Striker touch the ground, he’d have his hand wrapped around my neck in seconds.
He knew it. He stared down at me, his dark eyes dripping with malice.
“I’m here!” The doorway darkened; Cecil struck a pose, spreading his hooves wide, cocking his golden hip, and tossing his icy-white mane back.
Both his glittering horns were stained red with blood.
“Oh, no, this isn’t suitable at all,” he said, wrinkling his long nose.
“A little too rustic for my tastes. They might as well have thrown you into a cave, Chosen.”
I gaped at him. Cecil seemed… bigger. Not in size, though. Behind him, the enormous brown beast dashed past again, letting out another roar that made my knees shake.
A bear, my brain supplied helpfully. They’d brought a ferocious brown bear with them, and it was tearing Striker’s men to little pieces.
My hand trembled with exertion. Striker’s bare feet brushed the ground. I locked my teeth. “Hurry!”
“Well, hello to you too, my good bitch.” Cecil sauntered forwards. “Forgive me for wanting to make an entrance. I thought we were coming here to save you, but you look like you’re doing fairly well for yourself, what with this nude cop hanging in the air like this?—”
“Cecil!”
“Okay, okay. Now…” With a flourish he knelt down by the edges of the ward. “Oh, this is nice.”
“The ward is anchored to the ground in blood,” Donovan bit out, his head whipping back and forth from me to the open doorway. “It’s not attached to the walls.”
My arm shook. Black spots appeared at the edges of my vision.
“Not attached to the walls, huh? I suppose that makes it harder to break, if it’s anchored to the ground itself.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully
“Cecil…” My voice trembled. “Hurry.”
The bear galloped past again, holding a severed arm in its massive jaws.
“I got it!” Cecil dropped to all fours; the normal-horse stance looked absolutely bizarre on him, because he barely ever did it. “You’ll have to jump, though. In the air, a whole foot, if you can manage it. On three, everyone jumps. Ready?”
I panted, confused and absolutely exhausted. What the hell was he doing?”
“One… Two…” His horns puffed, and golden sparkles erupted.
“Three!”
Time slowed; a million things happened all at once. My strength gave out, my magic faded, and Striker fell to the ground, as if in slow motion.
I lifted my feet and jumped in the air pathetically, only rising a few inches—the heavy chains held me down.
Big squares of light suddenly flashed under my feet. I came down on hard plastic, my legs buckling underneath me.
Striker let out a vicious snarl and leapt towards me, clawed hands outstretched.
At the same time, the far wall caved in, and the massive brown bear smashed his way into the cabin, skidding wildly on the brand-new light-up disco floor that appeared beneath my feet.
His unholy roar drowned out all sound, and his massive bulk blocked most of my sight as he slid on bloodstained paws towards me.
I lurched backwards; Striker’s claws missed my neck by a fraction of an inch.
The bear didn’t stop. Massive jaws opened and snapped shut on Striker’s head.
I gaped, as the bear pinned giant paws on Striker’s chest, wrenched left, then right, and tore Striker’s head off his shoulders.