Into the Fire (The Unseelie Court Book 4), Gwen Rivers [read full novel .TXT] 📗

of my poor wolf. Trapped beyond the Veil, held there by the threat of looming madness. I have no doubt Aiden will find me, eventually.

I stare at the medical equipment lying well out of reach. Scalpels, scissors, bone saws, scanners. The ominous blinking red light from the camera in the corner.

Will there be any of me left for him to find?

Eventually, two guards also wearing cleanroom suits enter the medical torture room and wheel me—gurney and all—to my cell. The guard steps to the door and presses a button on a remote. With a hiss of hydraulics, the metal bands part. The door is sealed behind them before I sit up.

First thing I do is reach behind my head and unfasten the straps of the gag. I hurl the thing with all my strength against the far wall. It bounces then rolls to the middle of the floor.

My hands shake as I raise them to my sore lips. Blood crusts one side of my mouth, but at least the wounds have clotted. My wardrobe—or lack thereof—is a bigger problem. I am freezing with nothing more than a scratchy sheet to warm myself. What, do they expect me to make a toga out of the thing?

“So this is how it’s going to be,” I snarl at the camera. “No clothes, strapped down like a lab rat. I have rights, you know. I want a lawyer.”

There is no reply, not that I really expected one.

Wrapping the sheet around my nude form, I move to the bed and sit with my back to the cold concrete wall. Can an immortal die of exposure? I doubt it. Most of the fey have spent their lives going without clothing. It’s still not a comfortable proposition.

Footsteps sound in the corridor. A slot opens beneath the oval door, a bar of light shining down on the dim gray floor tiles. Through the slot a tray is shoved then the mini hatch clangs closed. The footsteps recede.

I move forward and study the tray. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes smothered in gravy and anemic-looking green beans. Plastic wrapped disposable flatware, a paper napkin, and an empty metal cup. One would think the FBI would feed their prisoners better than my high school cafeteria.

“Hey,” I say up to the camera on the wall. “Something to add to your file, I’m a freaking vegetarian.”

I can’t hear a reply, but, in my mind’s eye, I imagine them scowling at their notes. Some prune-faced man jotting down a note, the serial killing vegetarian.

The Fates are not without a sense of irony.

Ignoring the food, I pick up the cup and head to the sink. The water out of the tap smells like chlorine but I drink it down anyway. At least it’s coming from their communal plumbing so I know the water isn’t tainted. After another cupful, I set it on the sink and then slink back to the lumpy mattress and wait.

My best chance of escape is as soon as possible. If I linger, time will be my worst enemy. My muscles will atrophy and my mind will grow sluggish. Especially if the diet around this place doesn’t improve. They know about my goodnight kiss and though Freda trained me to use various weapons, I don’t have any within reach.

Surprise is my only advantage.

In spite of my resolve, my body is exhausted and soon my eyes drift shut.

“You,” Underhill hisses as she looks down at the flickering image as the glamour melts away. The woman on the ground is all too familiar. One of her jailers.

She didn’t have Váli at all.

On the slab, Loki laughs, the sound hysterical. Beside him, his wife shivers.

The fate, Atropos, looks up at her. “Power-hungry as always, Pharaildis.”

Underhill’s nostrils flair in outrage. “You are interfering with the natural order.”

“I am,” the Norn wipes the blood off her chest, showing the flawless skin beneath. No mortal weapon could kill her. “Nic and Aiden have born the weight of everyone else’s misdeeds. Someone needed to interfere on their behalf.”

“There’s got to be more to it.” Underhill narrows her eyes on the Norn. Why would this ancient creature risk her position for Nicneven and Váli?

Unless…

Loki laughs. “The One True Queen is coming.”

“No,” Underhill whirls and storms from the cavern.

“My lady? What of the prisoner?” Fenrir asks.

“We can’t hold her.” Underhill turns back and smirks. “It matters not. By her actions, she has sealed her fate.”

“Stand up, face the wall, hands behind your back.” I jerk awake as the disembodied voice echoes into my chilly prison.

Addy. My heart pounds.

“Move.” The command comes again.

I hesitate and then do as I’ve been told. My cover has always been a normal teenager. Playing a scared, confused girl instead of an immortal fey should help me gain….

Well, not their trust, but maybe security will grow a bit lax.

When I am in place, more footsteps come. There is a hiss, like an airlock being unsealed and then two figures swathed in cleanroom suits appear. The fabric is so white they glow under the harsh fluorescent lighting. The duo step in unison over the threshold and enter my room.

The larger of the pair holds some sort of weapon on me. Not a gun, but something that looks sort of like a Taser. Message received. I do anything squirrely, I get zapped.

The other moves forward and snaps a pair of handcuffs on me. Then produces that damned hood and slips it over my face.

Okay then, time to meet the wizard.

With the hood and cuffs in place, they wrap some sort of sarong style outfit around my body. The fabric fastens with Velcro and feels like terrycloth. Not that I’m in a position to complain. I am escorted out into the hall, barefoot. It’s just as bright out here and I wonder why whoever it is I’m going to speak with doesn’t just come to my cell.

Unless this little outing isn’t for a pleasant conversation. The US government wouldn’t have me executed sans trial and sentencing. At least I don’t think they