Fate and Destiny (The Fated Series, #2)

Chapter 20 - Hiraeth - Kallisté

He can't keep doing this. He comes in here and kicks everyone out of the cell and halls, closing both heavy doors so no one can hear whatever it is he's doing down here. I don't know what he does, can't feel it with whatever barrier goes up around her whenever he's with her alone. It's like an invisible wall that I can't get past. I can feel her heartbeat now, still weak and mysteriously still beating.

I would've thought she'd be gone by now – and it's not that I necessarily hoped for it, but she's getting worse every day and death would be a mercy.

As soon as the second door that leads to the stairs shuts, I can no longer feel her. I stay awake for the long minutes that pass until I can feel her again. Sometimes I think that perhaps her heart actually does stop, and other times I have a sinking stomach feeling that tells me it's something worse. I tried getting her to tell me what he does, but she's kept her mouth keenly shut ever since the first time he kicked us out. I can't even tell where her memory is at anymore, and that scares me more than anything. If she can't remember who she is, then they could reinvent her entirely and turn her to their side. She could be their most valuable weapon to use against Darius and the others.

Then there's reason number two as to why I don't sleep. The water wolf. He hasn't been back since the last time – and no, I don't know if it even has a gender. I was too frozen in fear to look. I don't know how much time has passed since then, only that it's felt like several days. Time down here is absolutely lost. I often think that every session marks a day, but those can have gaps in between them that range from large amounts of time, to entirely too short of ones. Then I tried marking them by whenever Arkyn kicked us out, but those quickly became after every session or every other one. There's no pattern as to when he comes, he just does.

The guard closes the door behind me, leaving me to stand in the middle of my dark room. Honestly, I'm scared to move. I don't have the same feeling that I did when the wolf first showed up, but that doesn't mean that it's not lurking in the corner, waiting to pounce the second I move an inch. My chest feels like it's closing in, my hands start to sweat, and still, nothing.

Sometimes I scare myself shitless. I'll shift slightly on my pile of hay, causing a few of them to poke me in the legs or the stomach and I'll jolt upright thinking it's one of the predator's teeth sinking in.

Taking a deep calming breath, I lean forward so that my tense legs are forced to catch me before I face plant. They don't. Instead, my feet stay strictly planted and I end up having to use my arms to catch me. Two things I learned from that. One: I need to come up with better ideas on how to control my fear. Two: I don't have the arm or core strength to catch myself properly. I'm fairly sure my forehead is going to have a bump blooming on its center in a moment or two. Not to mention that my nose will either be bruised or have some nice red scratches for the idiot guards outside to make fun of. Oh, and my hands are definitely rebroken.

I stay laying on the ground on my stomach, too tired and lazy and withering in too much pain to really move to the pointless haystack. It's not even a pile anymore, just scattered pieces of straw. I may be able to roll to the wall, but that still requires energy, and I don't have any. Let alone the motivation to do so. My back hurts, my stomach is empty and shriveling, and my hands still shake from the injuries, but at least I've gotten used to most of the pain by now. Although thinking about it now, they'll probably be barking by the next session, and I barely have any magic left in me to keep her alive, so sparing my pain is out of the question.

My dress is nothing more than a large rag covering a few pieces of bones and atrophied muscles. It's taking me longer to walk up the fifteen or so stairs than it did before, and soon enough the guard might just have to carry me up to my cell. I hate the idea, but what more could I do when raising my hand alone will take every fiber of my being. I'd be a useless thing...Saints that thought turned. I hate the idea of me being nothing more than a lifeless body being carried from one room to another. I hate the idea of not being able to do much for the girl now. If I am to keep her whole, then I need something – anything to keep myself up, and right now...well, I suppose I'll have to pray. A lot.