Page 105 of Reaper's Quest

I feel in fucking pain.

I jerked against the binds. Binds that refused to give.

“We have plenty of time to explore all the possibilities.” He began poking, prodding, extracting.

And the torture became never-ending.

A needle pierced my skin,and the world became unfocused, turned black. Time was lost. When I opened my eyes, I was no longer tethered to the ground in my cell but strapped to a surgical chair in some sort of laboratory. A stockpile of medical instruments, ideal for torture, filled the surface of a nearby metal rolling table.

My left arm and hand tingled, the flow of blood restricted by a tourniquet, and an intravenous line siphoned blood from my right. I shivered, the room too cold and me absent of clothing.

A too-bright light shone in my face, and I squinted to make out the finer details of my surroundings…or the faces of my torturer and that of the assistant who shuffled at the edge of my vision.

“You awoke too soon.” My torturer tapped the side of a syringe he held in his hand. “A situation that will soon be rectified.”

“Why the rush?” I wiggled my shoulders against the straps holding me in place. “We have yet to hold a productive conversation. One where you explain the purpose of all this. As well as why the room is so damn freezing and why I’m absent of any clothing.”

Because I was…utterly naked.

“I find it easier to monitor your healing and collect viable samples when clothing isn’t in the way.”

Every possible fluid had been taken from me.

Every. Possible. Fluid.

Additionally, hair and skin and fingernail samples were collected. And my seed, in the most humiliating way.

Samples preserved in vials awaited further attention. When in my cell, I’d been cut and carved, and my pain tolerance tested. What would happen to me in a space equipped for dissection?

“I hope everything you’re doing here ends up being a waste of your time.”

My torturer chuckled. “You’ll find I’m rather persistent. We’ll keep taking and testing until we find the answers sought.”

I didn’t think to question who the “we” was my captor referred to, as my vision swam, producing two versions of him, both smothered in a plethora of colors. Not only was I now seeing double, but my recently developed aura-detecting ability was smashing into chaos.

Using two fingers, the bastard tappedmy vein then inserted the needle and injected a drug. The liquid scorched a path through my limb, returning me to oblivion.

Days later (at least, the passage of time felt as long) and the bastard had yet to explain what he’d meant when he’d called me a soul hunter. He likely never would. But I suspected he engaged in mind trickery. Wordplay meant to keep me unbalanced as the torture played on and on.

My muscles weakened from lack of nutrition, and the cuts upon my body healed far too slowly for my liking. Filth and dried blood covered meeverywhere. And somewhere within the pit of exhaustion and screams and agony, I’d lost track of the minutes, hours, and days.

When I laid prone upon my bed of wood I tried to decide if, beyond my windowless cage, the citadel sat beneath the light of the sun or the moon. From the moment I’d opened my eyes to find myself trapped in the cell, telling day apart from night had been impossible.

A cough rattled in my chest, awakening aches I’d thought had faded. I tilted my head to the side of the wooden bench I lay upon and spit up blood.

Each trial used me as an experimental guinea pig, and the sadist in charge cared nothing for his test subject, only that I be kept alive. When left awake through the process, he expended no effort to make me comfortable. If I were going to survive, find a way out of this situation, energy conservation and restoration were essential.

So…sleep. I needed to sleep. Only my mind refused to settle.

Is Aldine, now improved, searching for me? Did Raven return to find me missing? If so, does she care? Is shelooking for me? Am I lost to them, and is my situation solely dependent upon me to change?

“What is the black stuff?” The voice sounded small, that of a child.

What in reaper’s hell is a child doing in a place such as this?

I cracked my eyes open a sliver and glanced to the wall of bars and the space beyond. A young girl stood on the other side, her hands wrapped around the iron rods. Her gaze sharpened and her skin almost as dark as the shadows surrounding her. Unlike my captor or the individuals who had stood with me on the train platform so very long ago, swathed in a haze of green, an inviting pinkish aura hugged her small form.

I wanted to ask who she was or why she was here, but words—actually speaking them—took energy. Energy I currently lacked.