Chapter 30
Flynn drifted in and out of consciousness, shaking with fever and chills as the blackness came and went. The ice went straight to his heart, and a few times he lost his breath, as if it had stopped beating.
Each time, his body fought its way back.
Dimly, he felt someone strip him naked and bind him, wrists and ankles, tight with leather straps and magic. Later—how much later?—he was dragged over stone floors, head bumping and grit in his mouth, and always that icy, suffocating pain.
Finally it stopped and he lay on the stone floor, an open space yawning behind him. Someone hit his face, hard, and he tasted blood in his mouth, but it cleared the blackness from his vision.
Ragnor swam into view, looming over him with his legs splayed, contempt on his face.
“So,” he said. “Twenty years late, but the last of the Al-Maddeiri Lion Guard finally succumbs. You should have stayed away, Arflyn. Instead, you delivered to me your dragon princess, and she will give me such power…”
At least she wasn’t dead. Kira wasn’t dead, and that fucker wasn’t going to have her.
“Nothing to say, Lion?” Ragnor gave him a vicious kick. Flynn tried to spit at him, but his mouth was dry and he couldn’t even manage that.
Failed, a voice said inside him.
Fuck that. Kira wasn’t dead. And Sloan and Caitlyn might still be out there.
“I saw you spying on me, tonight,” Ragnor said. “I knew the two of you would come. The fabled House of Al-Maddeiri and their brave lions!” He laughed. “They were always so arrogant, always such fools. You and she are no different.”
“Fuck…you,” Flynn managed. “You’re so fucking powerful, then try to kill…me.” Because he wouldn’t fucking die.
“All in good time,” Ragnor said. “All in good time.”
He laughed again, low and maniacal, and then shoved Flynn with his foot. He fell into the abyss, down, down, down, until he hit hard stone and everything went completely black.
But he fought his way back. He awoke in the dark, with every bone and muscle screaming in pain.
He was still naked, forearms and ankles bound tight together, and there was the taste of old blood in his mouth, like rusty iron. But he wasn’t dead, so that meant his shifter healing was working.
Kira! He reached for her in his mind, but it was like grasping at fog. He couldn’t tell if she was hurt or well, alive or dead.
She couldn’t be dead. He’d have felt that. He’d know.
And she wasn’t screaming, so that bastard wasn’t hurting her. Yet.
He tried to flex his wrists. His bracelets were gone, of course. No power, no defenses, no way to contact Kira. No way to walk between worlds, even if it would work inside this hole.
He tried to sit up, but the black ice still lurked in his bones, and his body wouldn’t obey him.
A bug crawled across his leg. Fuck. He hated bugs. It hesitated, moving back and forth, and the tickling of its many legs drove him crazy. He wanted to squash it, and he couldn’t move.
Fuck the bug. He couldn’t move, but he could observe. It was dark, even to his cat vision, but it looked like he was in a rectangular hole about eight by ten. A scattering of moldy straw on the floor.
And no way out.
No doors, no windows. Far, far up—maybe twenty-five feet—he saw a pale square cut by horizontal and vertical lines. A ventilation grating.
And above that, darkness. He was in an oubliette—a dungeon only accessed through a trap door in the ceiling. The walls would be smooth, unclimbable, and the only ventilation through that shaft.
Which he couldn’t reach, even if he could Change. Lions were powerful jumpers, but he’d never reached anything that high.
He was fucked. The only hope for Kira was Sloan and Caitlyn. They had to have gotten away. Ragnor would have taunted him about that, too, if they hadn’t.
The bug on his leg moved, and his skin itched unbearably. He longed to squash that fucking bug with every fiber of his being, but his body was still too sluggish.
What was that evil bastard doing to Kira? How much time had passed? She’s not dead, he told himself again. You’d know.
But would he? The two of them hadn’t ever finalized their bond. He’d been too fucking stubborn—too fucking sensible. More like, he hadn’t had the balls to make her his, and now she was alone.
He closed his eyes, trying to fight off despair. He’d fought all his life. First for the House of Al-Maddeiri. And afterwards, he’d fought for survival. He’d fought Alexander Fucking Grant’s guards and scientists. He’d fought for his crew.
He’d fought for Kira, and what good had it done?
He was so damn tired of fighting. He had nothing left.
Flynn.
Her voice was nothing but a whisper in his mind, so soft he thought he was imagining it.
Kira?
Their connection clicked into place. A sense of her presence flowed through him, like warm sunshine and cool water, washing away some of the black ice. He felt strength flooding through his limbs.
Flynn! He could hear the relief in her voice. Then anger—but not at Flynn. He told me you were dead. I didn’t believe him.
I should be, he said. I fucked up.
Don’t. One word, but he could almost feel her hand on his shoulder. Don’t do that to yourself. We knew the risks going in. Now we focus on getting out. Where are you?
Oubliette, he said. Even without the bonds he’s got me in, there’s no way out. What about Sloan and Caitlyn? Did he get them too?
I don’t think so. He didn’t gloat about it, the way he did about you. But I couldn’t ask.
No. If Ragnor didn’t know about Sloan and Caitlyn, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to give them away.
They’ll bring backup, Flynn said. They’ll get you out.
Her voice was firm. Get us out.
They’d probably never find him. But he wasn’t telling her that.
I’m sorry I failed you, he said.
Stop that. You’ve done everything you could possibly do.
Not enough. You deserve everything.
I have everything. I have you. Heart to heart, magic to magic. I love you.
The words pierced the walls he’d kept around his heart for so long. All this, and she still loved him. It took his breath away.
And he took too long to answer.
I love you too.
Nothing. Dammit, what was happening to her?
Kira?
She was gone. There was only a great aching emptiness. He’d lost her.
Then the rage came. Not again. Fucking never again.
Heart to heart, magic to magic. He was part draken, but first and foremost, he was a lion—and a Bad Blood.
Bad Bloods felt. Bad Bloods loved.
Bad Bloods protected each other. They fought to the end—bloodied but unbroken.
Never give up. Never say die.
The bug moved again, and Flynn squeezed his ankles together viciously. He felt its hard outside shell crack, the soft, gooey insides trickling down his skin.
A shell couldn’t protect you forever. Not when the world was full of rocks and hard places.
He felt inside him for Kira’s dragon power, for his own strength. For the magic Israel Jonas had gifted him when he claimed his territory, and for the power that fueled that magic—the heart and soul of the Bad Blood Crew.
Slowly, slowly, he used his magic to burn away the drug, the icy darkness, the despair. Dim and far away, he felt his lion return to consciousness inside him, heard him roar.
Wake up, brother, he told it. We’re going hunting.
His lion burst from his skin, breaking the bonds on his wrists and ankles. His huge body nearly filled the small room.
Flynn eyed the grating above him. It was too far, but it was the only way out.
He fixed his mind on Kira. Her strength, her courage, her sassy, sexy mouth. Her taut muscles and silky skin.
Her vulnerability, and her fighting spirit.
Her love.
He leaped for the grate, came short, and fell back down.
He tried again, and again, his claws scraping down the stone wall.
Again. One claw caught the metal mesh, but there wasn’t enough leverage. He fell again, blood trickling down his paw.
Focus.
He regrouped, leaped, scrabbled at the wall. And fell.
Again.
And again.
And again.