CHAPTER TWELVE
A banging erupted inside my head, waking me from the deepest sleep I’d ever had.
Pound-pound. Pound-pound. In time to my heartbeat.
The worst headache in existence resided inside my skull. I moaned in pain, but the sound was muffled. My brows pinched as my tongue caught on a piece of cloth pressed between my teeth and over my tongue. My blue eyes gradually opened to the piercing light that awaited them.
I squinted against the sunlight, trying to make sense of…everything.
I had my back shoved up against a thick black pole, and my arms pulled back around it with a form of restraint locking my wrists together, trapping the pole against me. Cuffs bound my feet, tugged tight with a black, long chain tying them to the pole. A piece of material had been shoved into my mouth and tied around the back of my head to hold it in place.
The pole was stuck down into the lushest brown sand.
I struggled to test the cuffs. And it was a struggle, my entire body weak. It was as if I had been awake for a full month and running a marathon the entire time. I could hardly shuffle my feet enough to kick up the plentiful sand.
I groaned and managed to lift my head to evaluate the rest of my surroundings.
It didn’t get any better.
In a large circle, black poles were erected in the sand.
And against each one of them was a furious captive attached to it, trying to free themselves.
Theron. Finn. Mina. Wolfe. Alaric. Cassander.
Rune’s pole was directly to my right but more than four body lengths away. His golden eyes were on me, grunting and growling while he jerked on the binds holding him captive. The gag in his mouth stretched his lips, but he hissed around it, “You took forever to wake up.”
I blinked gritty, dry eyes. “What is happening?”
“Nothing good,” he spat. More struggling, banging his body against the pole, though his head teetered with it. He repeatedly blinked through the drugs in his system. “Beautiful?”
I think I accomplished lifting my brows in silent question.
He understood. “You should have taken that other fucking train.”
I nodded. Or I was pretty sure I did. “Where are we?”
“Still in King Central Province.” His eyes looked to the concrete structure towering over and around us—half of it crumbling and broken—his head tipping to the side beyond his control. He swallowed slowly before he slurred, “An ancient coliseum. Gladiators used to fight here.”
I slowly looked back to the center of our circle. What I had been trying to ignore.
There was a sword.
There was a sleeping Poppy, not attached to any structure.
And there was a flat rock where a man sat with his hands peacefully on his lap. His eyes were closed as if he were in deep slumber sitting ramrod straight. He only wore a pair of black pajama bottoms, the rest of his considerable, muscled body bare to the eyes.
It was Godric King.
“Fuck,” I groaned. And tried to pull at my bonds.
Then Poppy stirred. Her fingers twitched in the sand.
Cassander went crazy, bashing back and forth on his pole, trying to rock it loose.
It was no use. The pole had to be attached to something below the sand. It wasn’t moving.
I squinted when his eyes…turned completely white. Then flashed back to normal.
He shouted in a rage and shook his head of silver hair like an animal.
Poppy hissed and lifted the side of her face from the sand, tiny grains falling from her skin and large clumps still sticking to her red curls. She grabbed her head with a trembling hand and barely opened her eyes, squinting at all around. Brown, bloodshot eyes widened as she evaluated the scene around her, her jaw dropping open. She garbled with heat—slurring, “What is happening?”
Through his gag, Theron barked, “Get up now, Poppy! You need to help us.”
She didn’t hesitate, though it took her a few tries to get to her feet. Her arms shot out to her sides, wobbling on her feet. Her petite frame teetered back and forth until she steadied herself. Then she walked forward two steps, and then jerked to a halt, stopping dead in her tracks.
“Fuck!” Cassander snarled. He thrashed at his restraints again.
We all stared down at her right ankle. Buried beneath the sand was a chain—attached to a solid cuff around her ankle.
She shook off her surprise and continued moving toward Theron.
Almost to him, her right leg stopped moving. She hopped forward on her left foot, her right leg extending far out behind her. The chain had reached its full length. Poppy grunted and stretched her arms out in front of her. The tips of her fingers barely brushed the front of Theron’s suit jacket.
She grunted, sweat glistening on her brow as she struggled to pull forward. “It won’t work.”
“The sword,” Theron growled. “Try cutting the chain.”
Her nostrils flared as she hopped back to stand on two legs. “Or my ankle.”
His head nodded, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Theron blinked, opening his eyes again, repeatedly blinking through his drugged haze, and growled, “Get it done.”
Poppy teetered back to the sword, her legs giving out once beneath her. She clawed at the sand and shoved herself back to her feet. Sand sprinkled down to its home as she walked forward, determination glinting in her eyes. Her gaze caught on Godric for a heartbeat, traveling over his entire frame before she took a deep breath and passed by him to stand on top of the flat rock right next to him. She maneuvered around his body to where the sword sat behind him, centered on the rock.
She grabbed the hilt of the sword…and then grunted.
Poppy tugged. Growled. She bent her legs and put strength into it.
The sword didn’t budge.
Her muscles started to quiver. Her face turned balloon red as she gritted her teeth.
Her small hands eventually released the handle. She rose to her full height and pressed her right hand to her forehead, staring at the stuck sword. “There has to be some way to release it.”
Theron’s voice was muffled behind his gag, but it was clear in the quiet. “Did he leave you with any weapons?”
Poppy hopped down from the rock, her gait steadier. Her hands flew over her body. Pockets. Boots. A sheath under her shirt. Nothing, utterly nothing. Red hair flew out to the side as her attention snapped to Godric. She swallowed heavily, her throat bobbing. Her voice was quiet. “He left one weapon.”
She put one foot in front of the other to stand directly in front of her lover.
Her eyes ran over his features with such tenderness.
Poppy bit her lower lip and then she pulled her gaze away from his face and down to his lap. She bent over and grabbed his hands. I squinted, unable to see what she saw. With a heavy breath, she lifted a foreign object from his lap and backed away slowly from him. She swallowed, her face paling as she stared into her lover’s face, continuing to take steps backward, away from him.
Gripping the object down by her side, she muttered, “He left me Godric’s gun.”
Then her lover’s eyes opened. Peaceful and calm. “Hello, Ms. Carvene.”