Rapture (Elfin Series) (30 page)

I couldn’t visit her in her dreams. When I tried to espy her, my spirit was sent flying back to my body with such force that I was bruised all over. Whoever held her hostage was magical, and they had her in some sort of protection force field; or they had cast a spell to make connecting with her impossible. I could only imagine how frightened she must feel. I must find her. We had to save her.

Olivia

My captor finally spoke in a deep, threatening tone. He came in early this morning and released my hands. He spoke much deeper than was natural, leading me to think he was masking his true voice.

“Quiet. Don’t make me regret letting you move around freely,” he demanded.

I was too weak to run as it was. I didn’t need any other bodily harm. I waited until he left to slowly peel the blindfold off my eyes. The light blinded me and I had to squint until I adjusted.

When I finally pulled myself together, I sat up. Everything around me spun and blurred. I grasped my head in an attempt to stop the movement, but nothing worked. My temples ached and my neck felt too weak to hold me up. I gradually leaned back down to rest, trying not to make myself physically ill.

I laid in pain when I remembered the groan from yesterday. I looked to the left but there’s only a small window too high for me to look out of. But on my right…I noticed another bed. A body was there, broken and mangled. The chest on the body slowly rose, so I knew whoever this was, was alive. The sight of the injuries made me queasy. The smell of sickness filled the air. This person was lying there, dying.

I forced my body up and swung my legs over the side. My feet felt weird on the floor. It’d been so long since I walked. I doubted I could move them completely, but I had to try. This person needed help, and I couldn’t just let them die when I might be able to assist. I gripped the side of the bed and stood unsteadily. I paused to let my legs strengthen but they couldn’t. I slid my body down into a sitting position, and rested for a moment. I scooted my body across the floor, slowly inching my way to the other bed. I slid my body, then, rested. My breathing was labored. This required much more energy than I expected.

Finally, after twenty minutes of moving and stopping, I made my way there. I pulled myself up to my knees, and gasped at the horror in front of me. A broken, tattered body lay in front of me, the face too battered to be recognizable. The hair was matted in blood and dirt, the clothes torn and frayed. I slowly reached out to touch the limp hand in front of me.

Warmth.

This guy was definitely still alive.

I mustered enough strength to find supplies to help me. I rose unsteadily and leaned against the footboard to regain composure. I looked around to see if there was
 
anything
 in this room that could help me. I saw a small dresser by the door, so I inched closer. My feet shuffled loudly because I was too weak to actually lift them off the floor. I forced my body, doubling over in pain with each movement. The only thing that kept me moving was knowing I may save this person’s life. As I got closer, I became more and more disoriented. I was about a foot away when I fell forward. Luckily I was able to brace my fall with my hands and the dresser caught me. Panting, I stood for a few moments. My limbs were heavy, and my chest tight. I finally caught my breath enough for the room to stop spinning. Then, I searched the drawers. I found clothing and sheets in the top, towels in the second, the third was locked, and the fourth held the gold. There was a small first aid kit and some gauze laying there. I grabbed it and a towel before I realized it may be too much for me to carry back. I just threw them at the area near the headboard before the return journey. 

When I eventually made my way back to my destination, I’d grown tired from all the movement. Being held captive for so long had made my body unable to function properly. I gingerly cleaned the guy’s hair with water and the towel. I worked carefully to not hurt him when I removed the dirt and dead skin from his face. He didn’t move, but I heard a small groan when I touched his cheek. The more I worked, the faster my heartbeat became. I knew this guy…very well, actually. This broken and mangled body before me was Aiden.
 

Please Enjoy this Excerpt from
The Deaths of Me

By Cydney Lawson

***

There’s nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won’t cure.

--Jack E. Leonard

Rory couldn’t scream anymore if she tried.  She held as still as possible which wasn’t very. Stop, stop, stop, she silently prayed. The incisions were everywhere and they were deep.  Every inch of her skin was either bleeding or covered in blood. 

A nervous, overly-bronzed young woman rushed in and squatted next to a man who called himself a doctor. Yes, Rory had seen her plenty of times. She was the appointed ‘nurse’. Tendrils of dark hair had escaped from her white hood. Nervous blue eyes flitted to Rory’s face as she snapped out, “Are you sure we shouldn’t give her something for the pain?”

“PLEASE!” Rory cried out into the chrome room. Her voice was a broken gospel.

The ‘doctor’ glanced over his shoulder at the worried woman and shook his head before making another incision with a new silver blade down her thigh. Rory choked back her whimpering gasp. The fluorescent light glint off of the sharp instrument as if it were mocking her. “No,” he said, and his voice was law. “We can’t chance it. The Phoenix must remain alert.”

The fear and exhaustion clashed in Rory’s brain, so that the pain was almost an afterthought. For the third time since being kidnapped, she was going to die. Rory knew it and still the panic came fresh and tangible. She begged, bartered, threatened; anything to get the man to stop what he was doing. Humans weren’t supposed to be this ruthless. They had to know better.

Then it came. Death for Rory was never swift. Death for Rory came in a torrid cycle of flames. First, two fiery wings sprouted from her shoulder-blades and yanked up into the air almost immediately. The flames burned her skin as she flapped her graceless, wounded wings.  The burning was the only thing that didn’t hurt anymore. The fire started from her feet and ripped fierce ribbons around her calves and thighs, shooting up her body and scorching her nerves. All she could see was red shadow. Her arms shot out streams of fire afterward, nearly setting the entire room ablaze. But the humans were clever and had learned to use steel cabinets and counters: nothing flammable.

And at last, Rory’s hair set itself alight, claiming her soul and her body to ashes, as she whispered, “Please.”

Hurting people is my business.

--Sugar Ray Robinson

A cold drop of water hit Ivy’s bright red hair with an audible plunk noise. Even a sound as small as that echoed ominously in the murky, sunless cave. It was hard to believe that somewhere, above the caverns Ivy was standing in, Atlanta traffic crept, inch by agonizing inch. Ivy’s black steel-toed boots thundered as she made her way up to the Council. Her knees did not shake. Her lip did not quiver. And of course, her heart did not beat. Vampires couldn’t show signs of nervousness, and so Ivy was stoic as she approached the stone steps. Even though her mouth was dry and her mind was whirring like a slot machine.

She dared a quick look at the ceiling. Nothing but hanging stalagmites and shadows. Ivy thought it was disgusting that Underdwellers like herself had to meet secretly in the hollowed-out underbelly of the city to avoid the humans when they wanted to gather in bulk. What could humans really do to most Underdwellers? It was by her own conscience and carefully practiced patience that she didn’t slaughter at least one pimply pre-teen a day. Humans, for the most part, were pathetic and—ironically enough—beneath her. They walked around in the sun, ignorant to what lay just beneath them, waiting.

Snapping herself out of her daily mental loathing, Ivy came upon the cave’s opening. Suddenly, the room beyond the dank hallway she’d been walking down swelled out into a grand cavern. Candles hid in the natural nooks and crannies of the old walls, lending a leering glow to the otherwise gloomy domain. She would have shuddered if she could have without being noticed. Though the chamber was at least twenty feet high, her boots ceased to make sound at all as she approached the lone bench in the room. Behind it were rows and rows of benches, made for rare occasions when a plethora of Underdwellers had something urgent to discuss. Ivy stopped walking and stared down at her feet before stomping. No sound at all.

Ivy hated enchanted rooms.

She looked back up and paced forward, ignoring the eerie stillness of the chamber. She nearly let out an annoyed hiss as she came upon the dozens of wooden crosses making up the perimeter of the panel. The simple symbols made her veins constrict and her mouth dry out. She turned her contemptuous gaze instead to the Council of the Covenant, and stared each of them down. These were the people who had demanded her presence, never mind she’d been vacationing in Prague.

At the far left there was the robust and friendly Pompeii Leodus, the most well-known diplomat from the largest pack of werewolves in recorded history. But then, Ivy thought smugly, when were the lycanthropes ever prone to honesty? The man was not hairy, and from what Ivy could tell he didn’t stink like many of the dogs tended to, but it made him no better than the rest. Treaty or no treaty. His bright eyes were set square in the middle of his face, too close together for Ivy’s liking. She certainly didn’t trust his slicked-back raven hair.

Then on the far right there was Queen Cayleigh, a fairy if Ivy had ever seen one. Around her pointed face, her hair was an auburn mess, intertwined with branches that seemed to grow directly from the roots. Ivy did not bow to her.

Sure, now she was protected by the Treaty of Nature and Dark, but Ivy would never forget that the Queen had been the last to sign her people into alliance with all other Underdwellers. The Queen seemed unusually excited; her eyes were bright with dark mirth, and Ivy wanted to be the first to smack that self-righteous grin off of her face. Her kind had taken away the closest thing she’d ever had to a brother. A debt Ivy would love to repay.

And in the very middle was Marcus, the leader of the Blue Moon clan. Ivy sighed internally, visibly relaxing at the sight of him. The Blue Moon vampires were the Full Moon vampires’ sister clan. Ivy was a Full Moon vampire and had the tattoo in elf’s blood on her wrists to prove it. Marcus had recruited Ivy into the Covenant, basically saving her life. His hazel eyes, broad shoulders, and propensity for laughter were branded in her head and her heart. He was like the uncle she never had. Finally, she thought as she caught the twinkle in Marcus’ eye, someone with some sense. This meeting was anything but expected, and Ivy was not a fan of being blind-sided.

Queen Cayleigh spoke first, and Ivy reluctantly turned her attention to the fairy monstrosity.

“Ivy Parker, you have been summoned by the Order of The Covenant—”

“I solemnly swear and all that crap to protect, serve, kill for the cause of all Underdwellers and freaks.” Ivy smirked inwardly, keeping her cool on the outside. She couldn’t hide it; she got her kicks by pressing buttons. After five-hundred years nothing else was really fun anymore. At the disapproving look of the Council, she amended the vow, this time reciting it correctly: “I solemnly swear to uphold the Standards of the Covenant by any means necessary. May all humans remain under the realm of my protection or may I commit my soul to eternal torment.”

Marcus nodded in approval, but his eyes were tight.  Either the crosses were bugging him as well, or Ivy wasn’t exactly making their clans look too good. 

The queen piped up once more, her voice drowning in a heavy Irish accent, and Ivy could barely contain her exasperation. “We apologize for the precautions, Miss Parker.” Her freakish eyes examined the crosses guarding the bench as if to double-check that they were still there. “But we’ve heard many things about you.”

“What, someone told you I was a Christian?” Ivy gestured to the row of crosses. “That part of the job application is private, your Majesty.” 

She knew exactly what they’d heard. It wasn’t that she was a kill-for-hire and a ruthless one at that. The Council had been the ones to recruit her, and she owed them a debt. No, it was more likely that they knew she was beginning to exhibit signs of light sensitivity recession. She was becoming old enough that the sun was losing its restraining effects on her. Finally, Ivy would reach a level of strength that only a few hundred vampires ever had, Marcus included.

She wasn’t surprised that the queen was especially nervous. But if she thought that Ivy was going to upset the Council all over again by murdering the queen of the fairies, she was sorely mistaken.

Queen Cayleigh’s fingers stretched out over the table in front of her, as if she were itching to strangle something. Ivy plastered on an innocent smile.  Her fangs extended slowly, stretching down to her bottom lip. She had always wanted to taste royalty.

Ivy’s normally bright green eyes had dulled, due to lack of feeding, but they were no less menacing as she daringly glared at the queen. The queen was almost beautiful in a threatening way. Her eyes were wide and completely blackened. She was thin and regal with an air of amusement that made her victims, or subjects, feel as if they were always the butt of some horrible joke. And as for the things she referred to as hands, Ivy made a note to watch out for those talons. But she was more than confident that the odds were in her favor.