Dead Embers (40 page)

And then they all suddenly went out as I slipped into a sea
of black.

Sounds bombarded my ears, demanding my attention. I
struggled to identify the muffled noises while grasping at the threads of my
slowly reawakening consciousness. But I was still too groggy, and it all
blended into one garbled mess.

Precious seconds ticked by before I registered the hard,
ridged surface beneath my legs and hip. My wings, crushed beneath me, cushioned
my upper back against the discomfort, though one of them ached from my recent
entanglement with a certain frost giant.

The hollow sounds of a car engine and traffic filtered to my
buzzing ears. So, at least I knew I was being driven somewhere. But why? Had
this all been a setup just to capture me? Or was I just incidental?

Unable to see anything, I tried to relax, to force my
breathing back into a more even pattern. The gentle sideways sway of my body
made it clear I lay in some kind of vehicle. A truck or van, from the feel of
the bed of iron beneath me.

My hands and feet tingled, bound too tightly, and the heavy
weight at my hip confirmed my sword remained untouched. Strange they hadn't
removed my weapon. I needed more information, and panicking got me nowhere.

I listened. And a strange awareness took over me. My
breathing softened until I could barely hear my heartbeat any longer, and yet
the rhythm of three different, nearby hearts filtered through to my inner ear.
It seemed more as if I'd sensed the sounds rather than heard them. How was this
possible?

Each heart beat to a slightly different rhythm. One sounded
so odd I wouldn't have been surprised if it suddenly stopped mid-beat. He
needed a doctor. Stat.

A second heart palpitated wildly. I was comfortable in
assuming that guy was scared gutless. The third heart tapped away in an even,
consistent, almost mechanical fashion. As if no stress touched him, no fear
plagued him.

I now knew there were three abductors within the confines of
the vehicle. Three men who knew how to incapacitate a Valkyrie. That knowledge
made my own heart beat faster than was safe. I'd been so stupid. I should have
gone back, found out what had happened to the rest of the team. I should have
had backup when I entered Brody's cell. Now look what I'd gotten myself into.

My determination, even after getting separated from my team,
had been for nothing. There had been no Brody, just a frost giant lying in wait
for me, pretending to be my foster brother. If Brody was really a frost giant,
I'd happily eat my sword.

My heart plunged. The kidnappers must have known where we
were at all times. The more I thought about it, the more I suspected a set up.
Surely Karl and Erik and their teams had taken the necessary precautions to
verify the security of the mansion? But the whole abduction process had seemed
way too easy. Was it really possible I'd been set up?

My thoughts went straight to Karl. And then I shook those
suspicions from my head. Maybe I didn't like the guy, but just because he got my
hackles up didn't mean he was a traitor. Besides, I wasn't the best judge of
character, what with the whole Mika debacle.

The driver took a sharp left, throwing me into a roll across
the bumpy metal floor. I slammed into the opposite wall, cracking my temple
against bare metal. Warmth bloomed on my forehead, and I knew I was bleeding.

The van straightened, and I tried to stop my body from
rolling back to my old position, but momentum took over and my body tumbled,
unchecked.

My torso hit something solid, and one of my captors, the one
with the sluggish heartbeat, grunted. Before I could properly register that he
was actually seated right beside me, he growled and smashed his booted foot
into the side of my face, catching my lip and splitting the soft skin. Rubber
treads dug into my cheek, and I tasted copper and dirt as my split lip gushed,
mixing with whatever coated the thug's boot. I would've shuddered had I been
able to, but all my body and mind were capable of was to blink and swallow.

Pain ripped up my cheek, throbbing in parallel lines where
the tread marks of the boot had slammed into soft flesh. Moisture trickled from
my eyes, and I gritted my teeth against the buildup of tears.

I almost yelled with the agony. That boot had done some real
damage. I turned away from my attacker, swallowing a pitiful groan. No way was
I allowing him to see or hear my pain.

I blinked and a sudden red haze clouded my vision. My anger
surged as I realized the moisture at my eyes was not tears. Blood leaked into
my eye, marring my vision in a reddish haze. And then it dawned on me: I could
make out the red haze.

Despite the blackness of the fabric blocking my eyes, light
still filtered through. Not that I could see much, but at least the hood was no
longer blindingly dark. That darkness had been way too full of the unknown. A
million questions ran through my head. Who the hell were these thugs? What did
they want with me? How did they know exactly how to knock me out? And the drug?
What had they used on me?

The vehicle turned again, and another involuntary roll away
from my attacker provoked another kick. This time the boot landed in the middle
of my back, sending spasms of agony up and down my spine, spikes of pain that
drove deep into my skull. I whimpered. Which was not the right thing to do. I
merely received another boot to the back of my head.

Just before I slipped into the welcoming darkness again,
shouted words filtered through to me.

"What the hell are you doing?" The low, hard-edged
voice questioned the owner of the boot.

"Nothing, man." Boots snorted, then hacked phlegm.
"Just keeping the mutant quiet."

"Keep your filthy hands off her. We have strict
instructions. And one of them was to not harm her. If we get into any trouble,
you're on your own." The more I listened to him speak, the more I
struggled to place the voice. Did he sound like some famous TV personality? His
voice was naggingly familiar.

My attacker grunted but said nothing. The square toe of his
boot still pressed into my side. In the darkness, he dug the steel-tipped boot
harder into my ribs, until unconsciousness wrapped me in her warm and welcoming
embrace.

***

I came to as we took another turn, finding myself on the
other side of the van. This time I desperately rolled against the momentum of
the turn to keep myself away from the guard. A patch of agony simmered against
my ribs, answering the pain in my skull. The moist warmth at the back of my
head spoke of more open wounds.

Fury ripped through me, stronger than the pain. These thugs
had no idea who they were messing with. It was a pity they'd used metal
handcuffs to restrain me. Otherwise I'd have pulverized the lot of them by now.

A cell phone sang an inappropriate tune: "The Ride of
the Valkyries." Was that supposed to be a freaking joke? Or maybe they
were just
Star Wars
fans and had no idea of its connection to my kind.

"Vincent! I thought I told you all personal cell phones
are off limits during the mission." That voice again. And this time I knew
I'd heard it before. It felt so familiar that it sent shivers of fear up and
down my spine.

"Yeah but . . ." Boots—or, rather, Vincent—started
to reply.

"Do I need to remove it until we are done here?"
The voice turned icy. Hard. Deadly.

Something clicked, like a phone snapping shut. Vincent had
complied.

Another short beep sounded within the confines of the van.
"Yes, sir." Vincent's boss answered his phone. "Yes, sir. Very
well, sir. We will be right there." And then the phone beeped again.

All the time I'd been struggling to identify the voice, to
put a finger on its familiarity. Now at last everything fell into place, like
one-hundred-pound puzzle pieces.

I knew those tones only for one reason. The owner of that
cold and deadly voice had done everything in his power to find me. In fact,
he'd shot me not so long ago. I felt a certain satisfaction that I'd been able
to put a name to a voice.

The speaker was a man I wanted to kill with my own two
hands. A man who'd probably been the one who'd shot Aidan smack bang in the
middle of his forehead.

A man who worked for Aidan's father.

Worthington.

Every muscle in my body froze, petrified with shock.
Worthington had finally fulfilled his boss's orders. My blood simmered, anger
and hatred for Worthington almost boiling over my self-control.

Only a handful of months ago, this man terrorized Ms. Custer
in an attempt to find Aidan's book. And to kill me.

The book had confirmed the existence of the Valkyries and
pointed straight to me as a descendant of the great Valkyrie warrior Brunhilde.
Descendant, clone, whatever. Made no difference now.

The van came to a sudden stop, halting my instinctive need
to lash out at the thug even though I was bound and blinded. I had to remain in
control, to keep calm, take stock.

The brakes ground and clicked, grating on my ears. Vincent's
last kick to the back of my skull had given me a monstrous headache, one that
pulsed and throbbed behind my eyes. Dried blood crusted at the corner of my
eye, and I still tasted copper every time I swallowed. Two doors slammed up
front and the rear doors of the van were flung open, allowing light to filter
through the fabric of the hood.

Vincent must have stood up, because the van tipped to the
side. Probably way too overweight to be healthy. From the sound of his sluggish
heart, he'd see the end of his days soon—if I didn't get to him first.

Rough hands gripped my feet and dragged me along the floor.
My skin snagged on the rivets of the metal floor, and I sucked in a cry of
pain. But I couldn't hold back the moan of agony when they yanked harder and my
skull bounced against the floor.

More hands pulled me into a sitting position. I lolled
forward, relaxing my body. Could I make a run for it? No, too late. A sharp jab
in my arm made me wince. More drugs to keep the mutant compliant? I was getting
tired of all this poking and abuse.

Although I'd had every intention of bolting for freedom,
shoving the thugs aside and running for my life, I just couldn't summon the
energy. Or the inclination.

My mind swirled. The last thing I remembered was being
thrown over someone's shoulders like the proverbial sack of potatoes. And
before I slid all the way into my mire of unconsciousness, my stomach clenched.
Was he really strong enough to take both my weight and the weight of my wings?

Then everything went black.

***

During the next few hours, I slipped in and out of a
drug-induced sleep, my throat parched, my body numbed. Whenever I blinked, I
got the vague sense of bright lights and white walls. Masked people walked
around the room, held me down, drew my blood. Masked people, emotionless eyes.

I awoke as one man tied a rubber strap around my arm and
tapped a vein. And suddenly panic seemed to rush through my body like a living
drug. I struggled against the pull; I couldn't let it in, couldn’t allow myself
to lose what little control I had. One thing I knew was that this masked guy
wasn't going to get off easy, not if I could help it. Especially since I hadn't
given him permission to take my blood.

The man tapped my vein again, and while his attention was
diverted I tried to move my other hand. Only to find it tied securely at the
side of the gurney. My one free arm would have to do.

I waited until he leaned forward. Just until he was close
enough. Then I slammed the back of my hand into his chest. And sent him flying
halfway across the room. My head fell to the side and I watched as he crashed
into a cart piled with steel medical instruments; the impact sent silver
sliding across the floor.

It didn't take long for more masked people to rush toward
me, to grab my arms and legs.

To jab me again.

***

When I surfaced again, my head still lay to the side, a dull
ache gnawing at the top of my spine. I could feel the coldness of wet fabric
against the skin of my cheek. Had I been crying?

I cracked open my eyes to a row of red blurs. A few blinks
helped create a little moisture in my dry eyes, and the blurs condensed into a
whole lot of fat vials filled with bright red blood. The mean throb in the
inner elbows of both my arms confirmed the blood in the vials came from my own
body. Despite my horizontal status, a wave of dizziness passed over me.

That much blood!

I swallowed and struggled to control the muscles in my mouth
and tongue. Fear spliced through me. How long had I been unconscious? What had
they been doing to me?

A rush of air and the low hum of voices outside the room
broke me free from the whirlpool of horror that filled my thoughts. I shut my
eyes again, listening to the soft susurration of paper shoes on tiled floor;
people bustled around the room in silence. I waited as the door opened and the
sounds of voices drew closer and closer. A multitude of footsteps confirmed
that a small group of people had walked into the room, their non-papered heels
tapping the tiles. They were deep in a discussion; words like
"mutations" and "cellular regeneration" filtered to me.

"Gentlemen, the only thing I can tell you at this time
is that the mutant is not leaving this facility until we have completed all
necessary tests. General Hammond, please feel comfortable in the knowledge that
you will be the first to be advised should her physical condition change at
all."

Mutant? Really?

The cold, hard voice wasn't familiar. Not Worthington. After
his little speech, a tense silence permeated the room, short but so charged
that even I could feel it despite being unable to feel the rest of my body.
Then another man spoke, his deep tone demanding and arrogant. The tone of
someone used to authority, someone who did not tolerate failure. "Dr. Lee,
I would expect nothing less than complete transparency. I hope you understand
how important this creature is to the government. We need to know everything
about it."