Page 6 of Shackled to the World
Calling upon the particles wasn’t as hard as trying to control them. Her head throbbed as the beginning of a headache built behind her eyes and exhaustion crept over her, as if giving him the particles instead of reabsorbing them had taken something out of her.
As soon as she entered, Mason spun from the stove and scanned her from head to toe, taking in all the details. Only when he was satisfied that she was whole and without a scratch did he grunt a welcome.
He lifted the plate next to him and carefully pulled off the lid to reveal mounds of breakfast food. Ever since she was taken from the woods under his care, he’d been hovering and feeding her every chance he got.
She was trying to be understanding and gentle, but she missed the old way of things.
I want my friends back, dammit.
She pushed aside her annoyance, tolerating his need to coddle her. She’d give him one more day, then she was going to kick his ass. She forced herself to smile and accepted the plate…then nearly grunted. The damned thing had to weigh at least five pounds. “Thank you.”
When she would’ve turned away and scurried to her room, he cleared his throat. “I’ll be walking you to class this morning.”
He sounded nervous, like it was a date or something, and her annoyance with him faded, her smile turning more natural. “I’d like that. Give me a few minutes to get ready.”
But as she placed her foot on the bottom step, yelling erupted from the basement. She hesitated for a second, the impulse to walk away so strong she actually took another step, then she sighed and retraced her footsteps until she was facing the basement door.
Sweat broke out between her shoulder blades, her heart began to pound so hard against her ribs she was having trouble catching her breath. Even though she knew nothing in the basement would hurt her—that she could leave any time she wanted—it took a concentrated effort for her to function past the paralyzing fear that wanted to take root.
Logan was trapped underground somewhere because of her. She couldn’t afford the weakness of being afraid. Her fear of her uncle had gradually faded to rage over the past week, and her anxiety turned into determination.
It didn’t matter where her uncle went to ground. She would rip the earth apart until she found the rat bastard and make him pay.
For every wound her uncle inflicted on Logan, she would bring him back from the dead just so she could kill him again.
More yelling erupted, interrupting her murderous musings and annoying the ever-loving crap out of her. Her anger surged forward, a familiar friend that never went away anymore, and tiny particles swirled around her as she yanked open the door and stomped down the stairs, her plate of food balanced precariously in her hand. That she was losing control, summoning the afterworld unconsciously couldn’t be a good thing, but at the moment she didn’t give a shit.
Ever since Terrance and his brother appeared on her stoop a week ago, they hadn’t stopped squabbling. She wanted to give them time to work out their differences, but their constant bickering was going to make her lose her ever-loving mind.
Terrance stood beside the bed, his hands on his hips, glaring down at his sickly brother. But she could see the exhaustion and helplessness underneath his fierce facade.
“Enough!” When Terrance turned toward her, she shoved her plate of food at him. “Go get ready for class. School starts in an hour.”
He automatically accepted the plate and turned to go, so dejected and beaten down he didn’t even protest, and she swallowed the rest of her sharp words. It hurt to see him so broken after everything he’d sacrificed.
She and Kevin remained silent until Terrance trudged up the stairs, the door softly snicking shut behind him.
“You can keep your pity to yourself. Whatever you’re going to say isn’t going to change anything.” The sullen kid lying on the bed crossed his arms and turned his head away from her.
The kid was right. Nothing she said would reach the stubborn fool, so she didn’t try.
“You blame your brother for saving you.” Annora turned away from the sulking boy and curled her nose up at the stink permeating the basement. It was almost worse than when her uncle turned off the toilet in her cell when she refused to obey him. “And you won’t get any pity from me. You did this to yourself. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
That caught his attention—if the way he stiffened was any indication. “He should’ve left me to die.”
Annora snorted at the absurdity. “You should know your brother better than that. I’ve only met him a few times, and even I know he would never abandon you.”
At least the kid had enough shame to hunch his shoulders, then muttered under his breath, “He’d be better off without me.”
“Oh, you won’t get an argument from me. You’re weak, wasting away, allowing your self-pity to destroy what little remains. After everything he sacrificed for you…hedeserves better.” She crossed her arms and glared at him, pleased when his dull brown eyes turned spiteful. “But what happens to lone wolves?”
The kid looked at her silently, refusing to speak.
“I mean, everyone knows his involvement in procuring the drugs. They’re not going to welcome him with open arms. Even if they do accept him into a pack, he’ll never be happy, never be complete. He’ll never rise above being a virtual slave, a punching bag for the rest of them.”
Using her foot, she nudged the clothes and rotten food scattered on the floor, disgusted by the mess. “Even I kept my cell better than this,” she muttered in distaste.
She thought she would have flashbacks being underground again, but the comfortable room was big and spacious, taking up the whole span of the house. The bedroom barely took up a quarter of the area, the rest of the basement cluttered with training equipment and sparring mats. Windows lined the top edges of the room, admitting streaks of sunlight across the floors and walls.
