Page 15 of Restored

My energy wanes at a rapid rate, and I’m helpless to stop it. I look around for any other weapons but unsurprisingly, find none.

A trail of warmth trickles from my nose, the droplet of blood splashing onto my boot.

It hits me all at once. My already weakened power drains too swiftly and not of my own accord. My knees hit the ground so hard it makes my teeth clang together. My head swims and my vision becomes spotty.

I grab at my head, melding into a fetal position. My brain pounds painfully against my skull and a dry sob leaves my lips. To have my power so violently stolen from me evokes a bone-deep fear.

I think I am begging the man to stop, but I can’t focus on anything else besides the agony of having my power reserves drained. I can’t even scream. My veins feel like they are on fire, a sign I am near burnout.

All at once, the pain stops. My body sags into the dingy floor as I gasp for air. I don’t even have the energy to raise my pinky finger.

The floor creaks as Ledger makes his way to me. “Sorry about that, nothing personal.” His voice is smooth, calm even, and it makes me furiously angry.

He pulls me into his arms, and I can’t seem to contract even a singular muscle to fight him. A garbled moan leaves my mouth as my head lulls. My vision blurs, darkening around the edges.

Thea sobs as we walk through the house towards the front door. “Please don’t hurt her,” she pleads with my captor.

“You speak a word of this, and we will take your son’s other hand.” A gruff voice threatens, which just makes Thea sob louder until she’s promptly cut off by the front door slamming.

“I can’t believe that worked. I wish I could stay to see the look on Sandor’s face when he wakes up and realizes she’s gone.” The words drift in and then out of my ears.

My breathing is shallow and labored as my head swings limply. Panic creeps into my consciousness, and I can’t seem to get enough oxygen into my lungs. I think of my mother, Maddox, and the townspeople. They need me. This couldn’t happen. How could I have let this happen?!

I am placed on solid ground, feeling the coolness of the cobblestones against my skin.

“Breathe, blondie. Don’t go dying on me now.” I can feel his lips brush the shell of my ear before the world goes black.

Pain slapsme back to consciousness. There isn’t a place on my body that isn’t aching. My wrists are tightly bound behind me, and the rough bark of a tree scratches against my back.

It is still dark out; I’m not sure of the hour but I figure I couldn’t have been out for too long.

With the light from the moon, I can make out a camp about thirty feet away with a few tents next to each other. I can’t see horses but can hear them nickering. The camp appears quiet, and I wonder where everyone is.

I pull uselessly at the bonds and let out a frustrated noise, cursing myself.

There is shuffling beside me, and I turn to see a boy who can’t be older than sixteen, sitting on a stump.He fidgets, staring at me, looking unsure. “Oh! Uh, um hello,” he starts nervously. “I’m Cam.”

I stare.

“Are you thirsty?” He gestures to the canteen in his hand awkwardly.

My mind reels and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. My throat is scratchy and dry. I nod over to the boy, accepting his offer.

“Okay.” He makes his way over to me, uncorking the canteen. His hands tremble as he brings it to my lips. The water is warm as it slides over my tongue and down my throat, but I’m grateful, nonetheless.

I study the boy as I drink. He’s skinny and tall. The dim light of the lantern glows off his short blonde hair.

I roam the length of him, my eyes snagging on a tear in his shirt. The fabric is stained a dark red. When he pulls the canteen away, I watch him walk back over to the log. He winces as he sits, and that’s when I know I have my opportunity.

“I’m Layla,” I start. “Are you hurt?” I ask innocently, my face feigning concern. “I saw you wince.”

His eyes drift down to where I am referring, and he waves me off. “It’s nothing, just a flesh wound.”

“Those are some of the most dangerous ones. I’ve seen many men with flesh wounds. Wounds too shallow to kill immediately but deep enough to sting, to bleed, to becomeinfected. Wounds that are difficult to keep clean that end up festering.”

I see the moment he second-guesses himself. His hand drifts down to his wound.

“I could look at it for you,” I offer.

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