Page 13 of Wicked Dove
The device on the wall chimes, cutting through my thoughts as the door opens nearby. The woman steps inside, and as foolish as ever, I follow her. I step inside, only for the door to slam shut behind me, making me startle.
Gulping, I turn my attention to the room, noting a bed in the center with a bunch of machines surrounding it. I don’t like this. I don’t even know whatthisis, but it’s a no for me.
“I’d like to check out, please.”
Ignoring me, the woman sighs. “Get comfortable on the bed, Miss Blackwood.”
I snicker, waiting for the joke, but when she gives me a pointed look instead, I know there’s no humor here.
“Seriously, let me out,” I insist, the urgency clear in my voice as her lips twist with distaste.
“Are you going to make this harder than necessary?”
“That depends on what your intentions are,” I answer swiftly, watching as she rolls her shoulders back.
“Last time. On the bed,” she orders, making my chest tighten as my hands ball into fists at my sides.
“Listen here, lady, I—” My words transform into a screechy yelp as I’m lifted off the floor. The next cry for help is lodged in my throat as I whip through the air, slamming against the thin mattress a second later.
Staring in horror, I splutter, pressing my palms into the sheets as I try to shuffle back off the bed. “What the hell? I don’t consent to this!” I yell, but before I can even swing my legs over the side, cuffs snap open at the foot of the bed, locking my ankles into place, then at my sides, restraining my wrists.
Fear prickles down my spine as I stutter over my words. “L-let me o-out.”
“It won’t hurt, Miss Blackwood. I’m simply testing your magic,” she states, still ignoring my actual presence as I scramble to save myself.
“I don’t have any magic. Please,” I beg, trying to sit up, when I catch another glimpse of brown leather out of the corner of my eye wrapping around my throat, rendering me completely helpless.
“Your marking says otherwise,” she states, making me frown.
“It’s a tattoo,” I insist, assuming she’s referring to where she touched my neck. Instead of answering me, she turns the screen around in front of her. I don’t really understand what it’s showing; all I can see is the fact that there’s bright green writing flashing across.
Magic confirmed.
“You’re mistaken. Just let me go,” I beg, fighting against the restraints, but she continues to ignore me. The sound of one of her machines whirls into action, leaving me lightheaded asa bright light focuses on me. “Please,” I repeat, desperately, as something clamps down on my head.
I scream in anticipation, the sound waning when nothing happens, but the moment it mellows, pain consumes me from head to toe. My scream turns into a roar, rippling through every inch of me. When the excruciating pain subsides, I glare at her.
“You said it wouldn’t hurt,” I cry, tears slipping from the corners of my eyes.
She smirks at me, the hint of malicious intent nothing but a whisper in the curl of her lips. “Huh, I must have got it wrong.”
Before I can protest, I’m consumed with torture once more, only this time, I don’t hear my screams as the familiar tendrils of darkness claim me.
My breath catchesin my throat as I wake up, startled and panicked, but I stay perfectly still while I assess myself from head to toe. My mind is sharp and alert, fueled by fear and panic as I realize I’m no longer strapped to a bed against my will. Instead, I’m curled up in the fetal position.
The sheets beneath me don’t feel any different, but when I squint, the surroundings that greet me have changed. Without thinking, I spring to my feet, stumbling over my jelly-like limbs, but I barely take five steps before I am stopped by a pane of glass that runs from the ceiling to the floor, trapping me.
Again.
My chest rattles with each breath, fear ready to take over. Determined not to let them control me again, I punch the glass.
Once. Twice. Three times.
“Let me out!” I scream, my heart pounding wildly in my chest as I continue to slam my fist into the glass.
No response comes, nothing at all.
I try to calm my breathing, but it’s futile. I can’t handle being caged like an animal any longer. Lifting my fist to slam the glass again, I’m met with resistance as fingers curl around my wrist, halting me.
