Page 15 of Scarlet Wars
“So,” he said casually, watching me over the rim of his smile, “where you headed? Canadian border?”
I jerked my head up, panic clamping down hard on my chest. How did he know that?
“Don’t worry,” he went on easily. “I’m not a mind reader. You’re not the first one to head north after learning we’re surrounded by wizards.” He chuckled. “But I must warn you, my buddy’s up in Canada and he told me they’re everywhere, not only in the US. If I were you, I’d stay right where you are.”
He didn’t know. He didn’t realize I was one of these ‘wizards.’
Relief loosened my lungs, a little, and I drank again, greedier this time.
I’d finished half the bottle when something shifted. My legs felt oddly loose beneath me, as if the ground had softened. My grip slackened as I lowered the bottle, a sudden dizziness washing through my skull.
Huh.
My eyelids grew heavy.
That’s when I felt it—the tension sliding back into his posture, the friendliness draining from his face like it had never been real to begin with.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asked, colder now.
My stomach twisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Why did my voice sound so wrong?
“Sure you do,” he said, smiling again, though this time it was all teeth. “Nobody crosses the border on foot unless they’ve got something to hide.”
I turned to run.
I didn’t even get a step.
His hand snapped around my wrist, grip iron-hard. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Panic surged, white-hot and blinding. I fought him, kicking wildly, but my body felt sluggish, uncooperative.
His other hand dove into his pocket, and before I could scream, the world went black.
I woketo the sound of chains rattling.
My head throbbed, and the faint smell of damp earth filled my nose. My arms were tied behind my back, my wrists bound tightly in cold, unforgiving metal. The dim light of a single, swaying bulb illuminated the small, dirt-floored cellar.
“Ah, you’re awake,” the man’s voice said from somewhere in the shadows. It was different now, no trace of warmth or friendliness, only malice.
I struggled against the chains around my ankle, the metal biting into my skin, but it was no use. He stepped into the light, his smile a chilling leer. “You really shouldn’t accept drinks from strangers.”
Terror clawed at my throat, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a scream tore from my lips, raw and desperate.
It was cut short by the brutal impact of his fist punching my cheek. Pain exploded through my skull, and my vision blurred as tears sprang to my eyes.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, his tone dripping with venom.
Before I could even catch my breath, his fist drove into my stomach, once, twice, with merciless precision. The air rushed from my lungs in a choking gasp, and I doubled over as much as the chains allowed, heaving and gagging against the pain radiating through my torso.
He loomed over me for a moment, his shadow swallowing what little light the room offered. His lip curled in disgust before he spit on me.
Without another word, he turned on his heel, boots crunching against the dirt floor. The sound of the heavy door slamming shut echoed in the small, suffocating space, leaving me gasping with the metallic taste of blood thick on my tongue.
The cellar was silent except for my ragged breathing and the faint creak of the chains as I shifted, testing the restraints. Pain throbbed through my cheek and stomach, but the adrenaline kept the worst of it at bay, for now.
A soft rustling noise cut through the stillness.
