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

rather by an old woman who had died when they were very young. The name was all she had left them, and so had begun their journey on the streets. Memories of the old woman’s peculiar incense soothed her mind before the man’s voice slapped her back to the present.

“Being forthcoming will save you,” the man said, the light of victory ever-present in his eyes. Never tell others anything, the sisters had once vowed, and since then only Josmere had ever won their trust.

She could feel his breath on her face now, cold sweat trickling down her back.

Did this man have Yoma? He was too close, and she bit her tongue, refusing to even ask the question for fear of revealing something he did not know. The cold metal wall was near her back but her feet stayed their ground, fighting the urge to lean against it, knowing it would do no good. Whoever this man was, she guessed from his bearing and uniform that he was important enough to do pretty much as he pleased with her.

“Tell me who you were protecting, Layela.” She dug her nails into her palms. “Tell me who you were protecting years ago, at Thalos IV, that even a Kilita could not draw the information from you.”

Her head came up and her eyes met his so closely their noses almost touched. She sealed her lips and slit her eyes, determined to bear what would come, recognizing the need for control in his features. How had he found out? Her mind raced frantically. Could the Kilita have reported her? He wouldn’t have, not with his illegal use of his powers, so even if he knew who she was...If he had used his powers, she would have been easy enough to find, having insisted on using her own name for Sunrise Flowers, regardless of Yoma’s objections.

Yoma, why did you leave me?

Her breath was coming faster, and she knew she was betraying her fear. Still, she met his eyes and said nothing. If she began talking now, she might not be able to stop herself.

“I will show you no leniency,” the man said, his words not laced with madness or loss, but with the cold detachment of necessity. She could hear her sister joking about stiff military training.

He punched her hard in the chin, snapping her neck back. The force was so strong it threw her off her feet, banging her into the wall and onto the floor, ripping away the memory of her sister’s laughter and leaving only a loud ringing in her ears.

She tried to get up, but her arms were still bound behind her, her muscles screaming in protest. She bit down on her lip to stop a moan from escaping, and turned to her side to at least try to push herself back up. The door opened again, and she forced herself to rise faster, to face whatever was to come, but dizziness and nausea crashed into her in thick waves. Leaning her head down against the cold metal floor, she closed her eyes and fought to remain conscious. Her battered mind raced to find an idea, an escape, a moment of reprieve.

“Is this her, Chief?” she heard the colonel ask, and forced her eyes to open. The new arrival was looking at her intently, his orange-rimmed pupils giving away his origin, his stocky build announcing his sheer strength. It took only a second for her tired mind to recognize him, to remember the days she had spent in his grasp before he had managed to break her. She had thought she would never recover. It had been days before her sister had found her again, killing those responsible — all of them, save for the man with the ether, who was already gone.

It had been days of breaking, and months of healing before she could speak and move again. By then, Josmere and Yoma were used to sheltering her, to keeping secrets from her and leaving her in the dark. For her own protection.

A moan did escape her lips then, and she found the strength in her weary muscles to at least push herself up to a seated position. The handcuffs bit deep into her wrists, and her fingers worked frantically at pulling a pin free from the cuff of her jacket. With numb fingers she worked on the lock as the two men looked down at her — one with victory, and the other with hunger akin to lust in his orange eyes.

She felt the lock give way and her right hand was free.

“I need to know about her past, her family, her allies,” the colonel said, and the Kilita nodded.

“I can try,” he answered, his voice hoarse and thick. “But the last time, I couldn’t control it. I just unleashed her powers. And even then, the results were debatable.”

Layela narrowed her eyes as hatred renewed her strength. She would not let this man in her mind again. He would not have access to her powers and impose them on her. A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed hard. Her pin, barely two inches in length, was in her right hand, and the cuff was in her left. She would only get one chance.

“If you tell me willingly,” the colonel said gently, his voice still coated with honey. “I will spare you this.” The lie in his voice was all that she could hear, his curiosity about her powers so strong that it stoked every word. She was something different, and she knew that the Kilita had made that clear to him. A human with the power of ether.

She refused to look at them. She focused forward, taking deep breaths, forcing her muscles to resist the urge to run.

“I guess that’s a no,” the Kilita hissed, removing his regulation gloves — the same gloves Josmere was forced to wear. He took his time taking them off and securing them to his belt, and she was certain his orange eyes were glued to her. Adrenaline pulsed