When next I woke, I was in a car with windows tinted so dark it was a wonder the driver could see anything. The scent of leather filled my nose, and I lifted my head, grimacing as my cheek stuck there momentarily. But as I shuffled into a more comfortable position, I soon wished myself unconscious again as nausea almost took hold.
Samuel was driving, with Finn in the passenger seat.
I wanted to scream, but with a gag in my mouth, all I could do was make a muffled whimper.
"Shut up, bitch," Samuel snarled, never taking his eyes off the road. "So help me God, you make any sound that brings your friends on us, I'm going to tear your throat out."
I cowered against the seat, trembling as old fears resurfaced, and for a moment, I found myself back in that dark place from which I'd only just climbed out after weeks of healing.
But then new strength resurfaced, and though I was still aching inside from Kira's loss - which I knew to be true - I took hold of that strength and gripped it tightly, as would a drowning man grip a life preserver. Right now, I was way out of my depth, but I refused to give in and drown. I had too much to live for, and I knew what I'd do the moment I got out of this mess. Samuel was going to regret putting me through this latest nightmare. I had no idea how I'd get him back, but as the car snaked its way through Reading, I knew I'd find a way.
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Those hopes almost seemed dashed when we arrived at Folkestone, and I grimaced when I saw we were going to catch the Eurotunnel. Fat chance of me doing anything once we're on the other side of the Channel, I thought gloomily.
As the check in process began - for which purposes I'd been untied, but warned to keep my mouth shut - I sat back, reflecting on the events which had brought me here. Had Archie been complicit? I dismissed that thought immediately. Werewolves had a finely-tuned bullshit meter. But then again, I'd never had dealings with the Windsong pack before. For all I knew, they were good bullshitters, able to out-bullshit even the best werewolf's bullshit meter.
He hadn't told me about Doreah's death, after all. Nor had he told me Kira was dead.
So had it all been a big set up? Given that Samuel and Finn were in cahoots, it was clear Archie had been involved in someway. Certainly I'd heard no hue and cry set out after us, which meant that Finn had soundproofed the room to ensure no one came running. But surely someone would have noticed I was missing.
Unless Archie had either fooled Ethan into believing I was going to be returning to Penzance, or worse.
I shivered. There was no use reflecting on what had happened to bring me here. What I had to concentrate on was surviving. But Samuel's grim face and snarled threats made it clear.
I was in for a world of hurt worse than what he'd put me through followng the aftermath of the battle.
Which presented another problem. How the hell had Ethan known what was going on?
And how had Archie known of Simon's, Mum's and Dorothy's backstories?
None of it made any sense to me, so I decided to do what I did best; put it aside and worry about it later. Right now, I had to survive.
No matter what the cost.
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We arrived in Calais under blue skies, but I had no chance to enjoy the scenery. The moment we were safely out of sight of the terminal, Finn unlocked the passenger door and tied me up again, being quite rough about it all the while. I made no complaint, however, deciding not to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting me. I detected disappointment on his face before he blindfolded me, before throwing me roughly on the backseat. "If you fall off, it's your fault," he said bluntly, before slamming the door shut.
I grimaced as the car got going, but, rather than give into Finn's predictions, I rolled myself over as far as I could against the backseat, thus ensuring I wouldn't fall, no matter how roughly Samuel took the corners. And he took them like a racecar driver, which had me wishing either for death or the intervention of the Gendarmerie nationale.
Sadly, neither of those things happened, and I settled down for a long, miserable ride.
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Several hours later, we arrived at our destination, but it wasn't until I'd been hauled out of the car, carrried across gravel, up stairs and down corridors, before being thrown on a bed, that I had my cables ties undone and blindfold removed. I blinked to adjust my eyesight, noting the opulent furnishings which greeted me. At least it's better than a box, I thought sourly.
Finn studied me as I lay there, his face impassive. "You're not to leave this floor," he told me. "You have more than enough room to exercise, and you should do so. You also have all the facilities you need, and your meals will be brought to your room at breakfast, lunch, and dinner time. And you will eat every bite. If you don't, you get no food for however long is decided."
I took a deep breath as I sat up. "I understand, Alpha," I said, keeping my eyes on the lavish gold and green bedspread. The bed was huge, with ornate cedar bedposts, gauzy lace curtains which fluttered in the breeze coming through the open window. I could just make out a city, but I had no idea where we were, and that, I knew, was going to make life difficult for me in terms of trying to get help.
Finn's words shattered that illusion. "You will get no help," he said. "No one will talk to you, and you are not to talk to the person bringing you your meals. You will not speak unless you are spoken to, and you will keep your eyes averted when speaking to anyone, no matter their rank. Do youn understand me?"
God, I thought. It's like being in the forest again. "I understand, Alpha," I said, trying to keep old memories from resurfacing. It's not my fault, I reminded myself. None of it is. I held tightly to that, refusing to let the old tides of shame and humiliation and self-loathing from dragging me back down into their black depths. I was not giving in this time.
"Good." Finn turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him. I shivered and looked at the clock. Quarter to six French time. Deciding to stay where I was until I got my dinner, I resolved to explore my new prison afterwards. I was still scared half out of my wits, but in the morass of the half-truths, lies, and misdirections I'd been dealt with ever since reaching Reading, I found one truth that couldn't be tarnished - the molten core at the centre of my being which had awoken the night James had kissed me. It was still there, and I grabbed onto it, holding it tightly. It hadn't gone out, which meant that, depsite all the lies I'd surely been told, James still longed for me.
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