The Dragona seemed to go very still. Then she said, “Where I come from, ruthless is a way of life. But even so, that woman takes things to an entirely new level. It has made the underlords restless. They do not like things they cannot control.”
With that, she turned and vanished into her room. I stood, staring, as she quietly closed the door. I lacked the knowledge to put what she’d said into context. But even so, the undercurrents had been ominous.
It sounded as though Isobel might be upsetting more than just Cara’s people with her antics. But was that a good or bad thing?
I really had no idea.
12
Rafael
I drifted in a world of random images, while pain throbbed on the fringes of my consciousness. Awareness meant acknowledging it, as well as the causes—Isobel and Finn.
Better to stay unaware. I embraced the partial oblivion, along with the scattered visions.
Marcus, as both man and a beast, shrieking as the Bellatis shot him full of darts. Havoc, his eyes gleaming copper, running between me and Finn’s blast.
I shied away from those thoughts. Didn’t want to know if they’d failed to get away.
My surroundings swirled, the colors blurring and blending together, before settling.
I was seated in what looked like a library. Surrounded by books, I paged through one almost too heavy to lift. I tried to flip to the index, but my fingers wouldn’t obey me.
It was as though I was trapped in another person’s skin. The hands that flipped the pages were not my own. Smaller, the bones much finer—a woman’s hands?
The hair lying across one shoulder was the color of ink. Who was I?
A tall blonde that seemed vaguely familiar sat across the table from me. Another woman approached and lowered herself on a chair. She had horns curving gracefully from her head—a Satyr.
“So, Riley,” she said. “Did you find anything?”
“No.”
The feminine voice reverberated clear through, snapping me out of my mind and back to reality.
Riley. Her name wasRiley.
Reality was not where I wanted to be. My first awareness was the restriction along the back of my neck.
The collar.
My fingers itched to touch it. Not just to touch. To rip it off before I started screaming.
I knew how it would end, so I resisted. Instead, I practiced deep breathing. Which only resulted in me sucking in a lungful of moldy, fetid air. Very different from my previous accommodations.
I opened my eyes and stared with resignation at the jagged stone ceiling. My last clear memory was of Finn sending a blast of energy through the icefire whip.
It must have knocked me cold.
My head ached. This was what I got for having a conscience. And for what? No guarantee Havoc and Marcus would get away. Isobel could track their collars, after all. Why had I ever considered this plan a good idea?
Answer: I hadn’t. However, I also couldn’t come up with anything better. No matter what I tried, the odds would have been stacked against us. At least I’d bought them a chance.
As I lay on the disgusting old cot, I rubbed at my arms—the burns were still raw. Had the bloodpower affected my ability to heal? My hands shook as though my energy was seriously depleted. Which, after facing down Isobel, it likely was.
A commotion from down the hall had my heart in my throat. Voices, many were male and some deep enough to be Dragons.
The hunting party had returned.
