Destiny's Blood by Marie Bilodeau (best authors to read .TXT) 📗

A guard grabbed her arm and wheeled her around, grinning wildly at his captive. His face loomed over hers. Layela quickly brought up her knee and made contact, and the guard was down and moaning.

The quick movement made her dizzy and she took one step back to gain her bearing, but another guard kicked her down. She landed hard on her side and back, the cuffs biting deeper into her wrists. Warm blood pooled in her hand.

She raised her legs and kicked, satisfied with a connecting crunch. Quickly, she pushed herself up, as much as she could with her hands still bound. Before she could get up and run, an arm locked around her neck and pulled her to her feet.

She would have gasped if she could breathe, but no sound could escape her. The guard choked her a second longer and then threw her into a small metal room. The door shut behind her, the air suffocating, and memories assaulted her — memories of another small room, alone with her nightmares and her pain.

She bit back a scream and pushed herself to a sitting position, her arms aching, her wrists bleeding, and fought the urge to cry.

CHAPTER 4

She’s in there like you asked, Colonel,” the guard said, and failed to salute him properly. Dunkat felt some of his elation teeter at the guard’s carelessness, but chose to ignore him. Proper military training was not necessary for prison guards.

Not that the military itself bred discipline.

“Dismissed,” Dunkat merely said, and the two guards left, a few crude comments spoken when they foolishly believed he was out of earshot. They could think whatever they wanted about what he would do with the girl, but to speak of it was suicide. He would make sure they learned some discipline before his departure.

But for now, he had to keep his goal in mind. Too much lay at stake to be distracted by the stupidity of an insignificant few. Alone in the corridor, facing the door where his prize lay within, Dunkat allowed himself a rare moment of self-indulgence. He smiled, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He felt the book of his life quiver at the thought of closing its darkest chapter, while opening its greatest one.

Had he not chosen to believe long ago that the immortality of the soul was just a story to make bearable the injustices of this world, Dunkat might have felt his father’s presence near him. But he was gone, and nothing remained of him except Dunkat himself. That was enough.

He opened his eyes, the muscles of his face regaining their familiar position as he dropped the smile. In one quick swoop, he crossed the threshold before any more thoughts assailed him.

The room was well lit, like everything else in this metal prison, but even had it been dark, even if only shadows dwelt here, he would have known her as she stood defiantly before him. He knew her for who and what she was.

Her eyes, dark, deep blue, captured the light and refused to release it. Her hair, spilling around her high cheekbones, was so dark a brown it would appear black. And even if none of those features leapt out, he firmly believed that her look and stance would have given her away. He was even pleased to see that whatever fear she might feel was kept locked away, not revealed in even the faintest movement.

“How old are you, Layela?” He asked softly, like an old friend would. Maybe he could gain her trust, and discover what she knew.

He held her eyes, and she refused to break contact with his. The only sign of intimidation came when she lowered her head slightly, and suddenly her cheekbones did not seem as high, nor her stance as straight. The light seemed to even reveal some of the fear in her eyes.

In the silence that followed his question, Dunkat felt for one moment that he might have been mistaken. For one instant the doubt lingered, but then she moved again, slightly, and the light caught her eyes again and stayed there, held within, and he knew that she was the one.

He smiled and took a deep breath. She mustn’t yet be twenty. The perfect age.

“Don’t be afraid,” he repeated, his voice losing none of its thick softness. “I just need to know a few things about you and your family.” At the mention of family, her eyes slit just a bit and he knew he had hit a sore spot. He could feel victory within his grasp.

“If you tell me what you know,” he said, taking an eager step forward. “I’ll let you go.” The lie came easily, unravelling like silk from his tongue. She stood her ground as he came nearer, and still refused to speak. But now he could feel it. He could sense the fear, the anxiety, the hatred. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of them, and he could feel them coat him like warm honey.

He would break her.

i

Layela stood her ground. Military training electrified every movement of the tall, imposing man before her. His eyes were cold, his deep voice low and sickening, and he kept moving closer.

Her heart beat into her ears, and she fought the urge to breathe deeply through her mouth. He seemed fascinated with her eyes, and although their night blue colour often gained her unwanted attention, never before had anyone been fixated by them.

“Tell me about your family, Layela.” His voice broke through the sound of her heart. “I know your last name isn’t Delamores.”

She jerked a little, and his eyes flashed with victory. How did this man know so much? What else did he know? And how could have found out about…her heart skipped a beat, then two, and the rush in her ears was all she could hear.

Only Yoma knew that was not her name. Even though it was the name that the two siblings shared, it had not been given to them at birth, but