Hunted (Dark Secrets Book 1) (23 page)

It was probably his fault the Takers killed Blake and almost got Scarlett, Holly and Ben. It was probably how he followed me when I was on the tracks.
Trained soldier,
I sneered.
Trained Taker!

I should have stayed with Kallie.
Or Jesse,
I thought defiantly.

Now I would die here
—wherever here was. And no one would know.

Something still didn't make sense.

I tried to let the hate simmer—it was more empowering than the hopelessness. But every time I did, it succumbed to a deep unfathomable sorrow that hurt even more than the fiery pain. I had loved that boy—and believed him when he told me he loved me too.

'I vow with all of the blood in my body to protect you and keep you safe.'

Deceiver! Harden yourself, Freya. Not feeling has got to be better than this.

Okay
… but… why didn't the Takers get us while we were in the forest? We were there for over a month and were never attacked. And he had wanted us to stay there—
“You said the Takers have never found you in the forests' back country? Why don't we stay here then? Never resurface?”

I didn't have an answer and my burning hot brain couldn't stay on task. If I had the
Brísingamen
I would gratefully exchange it for a drink of water. It was probably a good thing I didn't have it. I had no idea what it could do, but if this Taker leader guy wanted it so badly it must have been something wicked powerful.

But that led me to a new thought
—Theron knew the necklace had been on the table. Why hadn't he given it to him? I thought he had. But he couldn't have. The leader had said, "Let her burn," so I would cooperate and tell him where it was. I had nothing to tell. Wait a minute! Maybe Theron didn't tell the leader because he wanted to keep
Brísingamen
for himself and overthrow the Taker leader. He would become leader himself.
That
made sense… maybe—I couldn't think clearly.

I took a deep, wretched breath while misery baked my being. The rest of it still didn't make sense. And why were they bleeding me out? What was this leader going to do? Torture me to the brink of death then bring me back to do it again? I didn't know what had happened to the necklace and he would never believe that. I was screwed. I had no bargaining chip, no tactic to work from. I couldn't fight
—I couldn't even lift myself from this table. And…

And the leader
—he had probably killed my mother.

I let go. My battle was over. I had nothing
—no answers, no weapons, no Theron, no mother… I couldn't lift myself from the table to find a phone and call for help. Nothing else existed but my wretched condition. Could I will myself to die?

"Four of you to guard one helpless girl? Isn't that a bit excessive?" the intimately familiar voice jeered condescendingly from out in the hall.

"What's it to you, Hawk?" another voice sneered back.

"I've been ordered to bring the girl to Morag," Theron stated.

I squeezed my eyes shut.
"Please no!"
I pleaded into the darkness.

One of the guards answered with a huffed laugh. "I doubt she's in any condition to be moved."

"That's no concern of mine." Theron's voice became gruffer, more authoritative. "Orders are orders. Now, are you going to open that door or do I need to inform Morag you were uncooperative?"

I raged,
He doesn't deserve anything but a slow death!
I wished one of them would give it to him!

"I'll just radio him to make sure you have your time straight," a guard said.

"Whatever," Theron answered.

Suddenly I heard grunts and the sounds of bodies slamming into the door and walls. The door was kicked open. The bright light flooded into the room from the hallway and blinded my dark-accustomed eyes.

I might have screamed from the sheer shock of it all, but my voice had dried up a long time ago.

I felt the pressure from the wrist and ankle cuffs release. A hand came under my head and lifted it as another hand squirted a thick tasteless liquid into my mouth and down my throat. I squinted my eyes. Theron's head was right next to mine.

"Hate… you," I breathed raggedly into his ear.

He hoisted my broken body over his shoulder. I groaned in torment. He shoved me up further for a more secure grip. The impact of his shoulder into my emaciated stomach forced the contents of whatever he had squeezed down my throat back up. I puked them over his back. That made me smile.

His every motion twisted me into excruciating misery. So this is the way they treat prisoners here? The least he could have done was wheel me out in a chair or on a stretcher. He walked us out of the room. I squinted again. The four soldiers guarding the door lay motionless on the floor.

What in the world?

Now Theron was moving fast—rounding one corridor and then another. He slung me around with careful speed, cradling me in both of his arms before stuffing me into some sort of slide—no it was a chute. My eyes still hadn't adjusted and keeping them squinted was making me more unbalanced. But he didn't drop me or let go of me. He held onto me as he slid his right leg in, sat, and then contorted his left leg in. He reworked me onto his lap and secured my head to his chest with his hand. Then I felt us falling. We landed in a heap of something soft. It was warmer and much dimmer. I was able to open my eyes completely.

A laundry room?
He delivered me to a
laundry room
? We must have come through the laundry shoot.

I still couldn't talk, and Theron was moving much too quickly. I was back over his shoulder again. In the center of the concrete laundry room floor was a large drainage grate. Theron pulled it up easily and slid it over to the side.

"I pried it up earlier," he said as he lowered us down into the hole and eased down a ladder—slowly, one agonizing wrung at a time. It smelled damp and dank. I couldn't move my body at all and I scraped constantly against the rough concrete tubing.

Once we were at the bottom, he laid me on the cold, hard floor and shimmied quickly back up the ladder.

I wanted to get my legs up underneath me and run—and never stop! But I was so debilitated. I tried making a fist. If he came back I could give him one right across that mouth of his that had kissed me, full of lies. I was too weak. I could barely control my fingers.

I heard the grate scrape across the floor and connect back into place. I tried hard to get a bearing on my surroundings. Concrete (or rock?) and water
—that was all there was. We were in an underground drainage tunnel. I lay on a raised rock wall while the water rushed past me in its channel. I had no idea how deep it was. If I could just roll…

Theron was back. "You're burning up," he exclaimed, feeling my cheeks and forehead with his hands.

He frowned and forced more of that thick liquid stuff into my mouth then swiftly but gently pulled a pair of soft pants onto me, then a pair of socks. He must have had them hidden down here.
What was he doing?
He looked angry—and scared. He grazed my shoulder slightly with his fingers and I cried out involuntarily. He contemplated the black, blue and purple bruises covering my forearms from where they had stolen my blood and the infected gashes from where Mikkelsson had cut me. He wrapped a thick, warm blanket up and around my shoulders then squirted more of that stuff over my tongue. I realized I was famished for it and began to gulp it down fervently.

"Not too fast
—just a little at a time. Your body can't take too much of it yet," he said. He picked me up in his arms, wrapped the entire blanket around my body and trudged through the thigh-high current.

"Not
… bringing… Morag?" That's the name he had used with the guards.

"No, Freya!" He didn't stop to talk or even look at me. He was intent on his footing.

I swallowed. The leftover moisture coated my throat. "You… came… for me?"

That stopped him in his tracks. He gazed down at me with pleading, agonized eyes. "Of course I did." His voice broke. "We can talk later; right now I have to get you out of here."

I couldn't compute it all. I was tired, confused and afraid. I felt like I could lose consciousness again at any moment. Theron began running at full tilt. I didn't know how long we went or how far, but the water seemed to be getting louder. It roared in my ears and made my head throb. That's when I heard the voices shouting from somewhere behind us. "Search in both directions," I heard echo through the tunnel.

Just then we came to the mouth of the system. Theron was holding me as we stood on the edge of the world. The tunnel emptied and water dropped in a massive waterfall at least forty or fifty feet high.

"No… I can't." I whimpered to Theron.

"Please trust me again," he said in the softest voice.

I swallowed. The voices were getting closer. Theron put my legs down into a standing position. We both knew I wouldn't be able to support my own weight. He secured me to him with his right arm, turned my head away from the leap and covered my mouth and nose with his left hand.

I closed my eyes. I would have died anyway. Better this. It was quicker.

We were dropping in slow motion. I could feel each droplet and stream of water soak into my skin and hair. I was freezing cold, yet it did nothing to quench my fire.

I heard Theron's heart beat in his chest and felt as he hitched in his own breath. I followed his lead and sucked in air as deeply as I could. As I did, his hand clasped over my mouth more firmly and he pinched my nose closed.

My feet broke the surface of the icy waters, and I lost consciousness.

I danced an exquisite dance with death.

I was listless and powerless as the music played outside of me, under an alien sky.

In one moment, the colors of the world around me spun out of control. I couldn't balance it.

I was dead. Dead, gone—drifting away through a pink-hued sea.

At least the fire had ceased. Cold tendrils enveloped me now.

But Theron was shouting at me.

"Breathe, Freya! COME. ON. AND. BREATHE!" He pushed on my chest and leaned with great force into my lifeless corpse.

A deluge vomited from my dead body. Theron swiftly shifted my head to the side.

But my wretched human existence had had enough.

I could see the two of them engaged—Theron and Death. It was not a battle of strength or wits—only will. Death cloaked me again in his seductive grasp. Chills overtook me, then my body began to convulse.

"Fight it! You have to fight it," I heard Theron's voice pleading softly. Begging. Desperate.

My body was constricted, so I couldn't move. Something was wrapped tightly around me. I wasn't dead—yet. I knew because I could feel the heat again. I tried to open my eyes. It was a tentative motion. I wasn't sure if the world would be calm and still.

Glimpses of Theron flickered in and out like pictures on an old television set. Bad reception. He was singing to me and jostling me. He was carrying me. I was cradled in his arms. I became distracted by our surroundings. I was hallucinating. I decided I could only be sure of one thing
—nothing was real. The sky swirled velvet above my head in shades of royal violet. The trees were dense with metallic golden leaves as if they had each been touched by Midas himself. The trees' thick wide trucks were as smooth as blown glass and painted a rich, deep maroon. Soft pink-tinted clouds scattered across the impossible violet sky.

"It's just a little farther. Freya, please stay with me." My betrayer was wrestling with my dance partner and I couldn't decide who it was safer for me to stay with. Or if I had a choice.

Then I saw my breath. My beautiful breath—as if summer had lost its way and winter had taken its place. I was alive. Mist puffed from my lips just like it did on Christmas morning when the backyard had been dusted with snow and Piper and I rolled in the white crystals until we were so cold we had to go back inside.

My mind protested,
It's summer…
but as soon as I thought this, powdery snow began to drift down out of the alien canopy. Floating—swirling—spiraling—down, down, down. The delicate icy flakes were like prisms. They caught the light and held it—like shimmering iridescent diamonds. They alighted on my face and into my lashes.

I was Alice, fallen down the rabbit hole. Or Dorothy who had been lured into a lovely field of poppy flowers. It would have been beautiful if it hadn't been a trick
—a delicious deception.

Then Theron threw me hard onto the ground and dragged me under a growth of golden bushes. He covered me with his body. I heard an engine. Something mechanical stirred the wind above our heads. But the jolt of the ground took its toll, and I spun away again, leaving him there alone.

~

Firelight rippled against the stone layers of the walls around us. It was warm. Not fire. Not ice. For the first time I actually felt warm. I could feel the blood in my cheeks. Even my toes and fingers were comfortable
—cozy. I opened my eyes wider as they were able to focus.

Arches National Park
, I thought. But how would I have gotten there? Where had I been? I forced my mind to remember. New Orleans. Yes, but no. I was on a ship. I breathed out through my nose, frustrated. The walls held the colors of Arches' ancient rock and stone. They were magnificent amber, orange and cream layered with tangible red rusts. My gaze followed the wall to the ceiling. I was in a cave. And I could hear someone crying.

"Please
—please don't die. I'm sorry. Oh, Freya, I am so, so sorry. I have so much to tell you—so much to explain—so many apologies… " Theron sobbed. He had been pacing back and forth but now dropped to his knees on the unforgiving floor, burying his face in his hands. "I love you—I have loved you since I met you—I never meant for them to get you—oh, God—I thought I could protect you—I thought I could keep you safe. Freya, please don't die."

He had rescued me and had done everything he could to keep me alive. I wasn't hallucinating anymore. My mind was clear. The fever must have passed.

"Just because you rescued me doesn't mean I'm going to forgive you," I managed to push from my vocal chords.

He pulled his face up from his hands. His eyes were swollen. "Freya," he breathed. He stood up and rushed beside me, sliding back onto his knees. He pressed his hands gently onto my cheeks and then my forehead. He stared at me, wide-eyed, "I thought I lost you."

"Yeah, well, you can start those apologies and explanations anytime now," my voice cracked.

"I'm so sorry, Freya. I love you so much." He wore the expression of a man who had almost lost his whole life.

I suddenly realized I was constricted. "I can't move."

"You're bundled. Here," he said, loosening the blanket he had tucked in around me and helping me free my arms.

"My shoulder," I marveled, "I can move it."

Another pained expression flashed over his face. "It was dislocated
—I set it right while you were out." He gulped air. My tough soldier boy broke. His shoulders heaved and his tears fell into a beautiful rain over my face.

My anger melted and I reached up and lifted his hair back from his eyes. "Shh
—shh. I know. I know."

He hovered his head over my stomach, touching it with his forehead. I stroked his hair and closed my eyes.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Abelard catacombs"

I had never heard of it. "I'm really hungry."

He lifted his head. His bloodshot eyes brightened. "I can take care of that." He made his way over to the other side of the room where a small camp stove was lit. "It's only broth with a few noodles," he said as he ladled soup out of the pot and into a cup. "Your stomach will have to work back up to solid food again." He set the cup beside me and helped me sit up against the stone wall. He had softened it with several blankets.

"How long have I been out?"

He blew over the contents of the cup to cool it then handed it to me. "Six days here in the cave and another three to get you here. And Morag had you for three
—before I could get to you."

Twelve days,
I thought as I sipped my broth. It was good. Really,
really
good.
It coated my throat and eased into my empty belly.

Theron stood back up, combed his fingers through his hair and started pacing again. "I tried to think of a way to tell you
—to explain it all so you would understand. But every time I rehearsed it in my head I knew you would just think I was insane." He paused to look at me. "I wanted to tell you everything from the very beginning. I kept thinking if I just waited for the right time—but there was never a right time." He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "It's no excuse and I'm not trying to justify my waiting—but you knew your mother better than anyone and you were convinced she was crazy." He looked at me with sincerity. "I was so sure if I told you, you would disappear—run off and leave me—and I wouldn't be able to protect you from Morag… " His gaze fell to the floor. "I obviously failed at that anyway." He looked visibly disgusted with himself and started to pace again. "Everything I told you about myself was true —my name, my mother dying, how I grew up and what I was—I just left out the most incriminating parts." He stopped and searched my eyes.

"I'm listening."

He nodded.

"My father did send me to a military camp, only it wasn't on Earth," he continued, searching my eyes.

"Go on," was all I could muster. I allowed the delicious broth to comfort me.

"I come from another solar system called Novia. It's where all the Takers come from."

"So you're a Taker?" I asked slowly.

"No, not exactly," he explained. "I didn't even know about the Takers until that morning at the bookstore. And even then I didn't know for sure that they were Novian. I didn't know that until I checked out the eyes of the guy that Blake killed."

"How could you not have known?" I asked skeptically.

"I was sent personally by Morag to track you and bring you back. I had no idea he was sending others or what their missions were." He paused and considered. "It will make more sense if I explain the Novian galaxy and its politics."

I had nowhere to go.

"Novia has three suns, six moons and twelve planets
—four per sun. Each four planet group rotates around its sun like Earth does around your sun."

I nodded,
Of course.

"Unlike your solar system, each of our planets support life and they are all home to thriving societies. We resemble Earth's humans with only a few variations and genetic differences; nothing like Earth's crazy alien ideology."

"Like violet eyes?" I asked.

"Yes. All Novians have violet eyes." He let that sink in before continuing. "All of our inhabitants can travel between planets
—like you can travel from state to state. And all of the planets have been at peace for over two thousand years except for one—Cathal," he added with a bitter tone. "I was born on Arcacia. Like the other planets it has no pollution, no crime or violence. Diseases have been eradicated and, unless a tragic accident occurs, our bodies can live up to three hundred years. But my father exiled me here to this planet. Cathal is a mess… "

"So, you're saying we are
not
on Earth, nor are we still even in the Milky Way galaxy, but that we are in fact on some far away planet I have never heard of called Cathal?" I interrupted calmly. I mean, wouldn't any rational person make sure they understood that correctly?

"Yes, Freya. That's what I'm saying. And Cathal is like the worst torn up places on your Earth."

I wished he would stop saying
your
Earth. It made me feel like my head was swimming again.

"The people of Cathal ravage each other with war and fighting. The planet is polluted and sickness is still deadly and prevalent. The Council of Twelve has been trying to rehabilitate it and promote peace there forever."

"The Council of Twelve?" I inquired.

"Each planet has an emissary
—like a president—who helps to make laws, keep friendly relations and promotes peace between the planets. You know the saying, 'All for one and one for all?'"

Oh yeah.
I knew the saying. I had never taken drugs before in my life, but I was beginning to wonder what was in that soup. I looked down at the puddle that remained in the bottom of my mug.

"I was raised to learn to fight in the child armies on the streets of Cathal. Everything I told you about my upbringing and training was true."

I remembered. He had compared it to Chechnya, a war torn country on Earth. I had read about it in the papers and heard about it on the news. They would steal children from nearby villages or even hijack school buses. The children were unpaid, abused, neglected and experienced situations that no person should, especially a child.

"I was one of the best. And no one was better at tracking," he said.

I could believe that.

"I was called in by my captain almost a year and a half ago now," he recollected. "He sat me in his office as if I were an actual asset
—sat me in a big comfortable chair and gave me a drink with bubbles in it. It wasn't like soda—it tasted bitter and nasty. 'I have someone who wants to meet you.' It was Morag. He was a celebrity—the emissary of Cathal—and he started spouting about what a fine soldier I was. 'The best of the best. That is why your government is calling on you for a special classified mission. How do you like that, Hawk?' It didn't matter what I liked. I said, 'Yes, sir,' and he handed me an envelope. 'Open it up, son,' he said as if he had handed me a gift." Theron paused his pacing and took in a sharp breath. "It was a picture of you, Freya." He watched my expression.

"Of
…
me?
" I stammered.

He nodded. "You must have been about thirteen or fourteen years old. You were wearing a pink ball cap and had shoulder-length light brown hair. You looked
—so sad." he said.

I remembered that pink ball cap. I also remembered searching the streets for my mother when I owned it. I hadn't cared about any of her precautions
—I had thought she was out of her mind. I had no thought of the satellites or street cameras she had warned me about. I had only cared that I had lost the only thing I had in the whole world that I loved.

Theron continued, "Morag said you were an interplanetary threat; that you had intelligence secrets and had to be recovered at all costs. They didn't even know your name. They had me memorize your face." He got a faraway look in his eyes. It was almost like the look my mother had when she thought about my father. "I would look at the photo and draw your picture and what you would look like from different angles. They condition you to not think for yourself here
—but you were all I thought about." He smiled at me. "And I couldn't even begin to imagine how you could have been an interplanetary terrorist." He barked a laugh. "Soon they started me tutoring me about Earth. Each and every day I would sit for hours in front of a darkened glass window with a hidden woman sitting on the other side. It was nothing new. They don't like their soldiers having personal or intimate contact. All of our teachers were these nameless faceless entities on the other side of the glass. Anyway, she taught me everything about Earth: its geography, history and various religions; also, English and its slang and common vernacular." He came and sat down next to me. "She did something really strange and seriously risky."