MENA
The room is cold. The stone of the floor bites against the bare skin of my legs, freezing me to the bone. My body has stopped shivering, and even I know that is a bad thing. My left ankle is rubbed raw from the freezing steel cuff latched around it. I can almost smell the coppery tang of the blood running down my foot, but the blood has run cool now.
My shoes are gone, and so is anything else that could be used as a weapon or a lock pick.
So cold.
And dark. I can’t see my parents, but I know they’re there. I heard my mother whimpering a few minutes ago, but she hasn’t regained consciousness yet. My father has been silent as the grave, and I don’t know if he’s true dead or not. I guess all my time as a Gentry didn’t pay off as well as I’d hoped. Or maybe I’ve been without food and water so long I have lost what senses I do have.
So much for all the training my father put me through. He taught me how not to get caught, not what to do once I was. I should have run the first time I felt the eyes on my back. I should have run as far and as fast as I could.
Sorry, Papa.
My parents got here after me. I was alone for a while, and the silence was enough to drive me insane. Just the sound of my mother’s breathing eases my nerves, even though I know my nerves should be shot to hell since I’m stuck in this dank prison cell for God knows what reason.
A man brought them in, one on each shoulder, plopping them down like sacks of grain on the stone floor. It was hard to see his face, the glaring light blinding me for long after he left us all alone.
I’ve been here for days.
I think.
There isn’t a window in this cell, but I feel the time passing in fits and starts. It has been so long, I think this must be an interrogation tactic. Other than my secret, I’m not sure what else I am supposed to know.
I hear a long groan coming from my father, and listen to his breathing go from nothing to labored, to panicked.
“Papa?”
“Mena? Baby?” Sometimes it stings that he never asks after Aurelia, it’s like he’s wiped her from his mind.
“Yeah, Papa, Mama is here too, but she isn’t awake yet.”
“Jesus. Do you know why we’re here? I didn’t see anything coming. I didn’t see…” he trails off.
My father’s visions aren’t always right, but Aurelia got her Seer gene from him. He is the first male Seer in over a millennia, a fact he has been able to hide due to his eyes looking perfectly normal, if the palest green I’ve only seen on one other person – my twin. It’s probably an old wives’ tale, but I’d heard male Seers were killed at birth. The longer I’m in this cell, the more I think that the rhetoric and horror stories my parents have told me over the years have been true.
Why else would we be here unless someone found out my family’s secrets?
My mother stirs again, whimpering a low, pained moan before gasping an agonized breath. Her chain rattles in a horrible clank before my father calls out to her.
“Rhea, darling, are you all right?”
“Kale? What happened?” my mother groggily asks.
“I don’t know. Mena is here with us.”
“Mena? Baby? Are you okay?” her voice is shrill now, wide awake.
“I’m fine, Mama. What is this place? I’ve been here for days waiting for the two of you to wake up. Did I do something wrong? I was good, I swear it.”
I did everything I was supposed to do. Everything. What did I do wrong?
“I know you were, baby. I don’t know why we’re here. Kale? Do you see anything that could help us?” she whispers her question to my father.
“You know I can’t see around Mena, darling,” he whispers back.
Of course. If you want to keep a Seer as weak as my father from his power, you put them in a room with an Aegis. Someone knows. Someone knows about all of us. My body turns to ice because I know, I just know I’m going to die in this room. Maybe once, maybe a thousand times, but I know death is coming.
And now I know what my mother meant.
Death is not the worst thing. The worst thing is waiting to die.
Time passes, my parents discuss quietly ways to escape, with no new plan sounding better than the last discarded one. They don’t consult me, but that seems like a good idea. I’m probably the reason we’re here in the first place.
I’m the reason my sister left broken-hearted. I’m the reason she and I drifted apart before she left us altogether. I’m the reason Mama and Papa nearly shunned her and continue to refuse to speak of her. You can’t trust your secrets to someone who isn’t capable of keeping them.
There was no way we could trust her to keep our secrets. No way. The Primary would be inside her head, inside her memories, practically inside our lives.
Everything had to be kept from Aurelia.
Everyday with Aurelia with us was a constant struggle. Don’t draw attention. Don’t make waves. Don’t do this. Only do that. Be nice. Be proper. Do what you’re told. I was lauded for being the better sister – the more obedient one anyway – when I hated every second of it. I hated being alone when I was half of a whole. When shutting my sister out made my soul shrivel and die within me over and over again.
Now, I’ll die for real.
My thoughts are interrupted by the ratchet of the lock turning, and that cold, numbness is gone. In its place, I don’t feel the hopelessness of impending death.
I feel the fear of the unknown.
Someone turns on the light, and when the brightness no longer singes my eyes, I realize I knew nothing of fear.
A man is standing in front of the closed door. I might find him attractive in other circumstances. He is not overly tall, probably matching my height of five-foot-ten. His hair is long and blonde — like the hippies I used to see so much of – tied back from his face with a leather thong. His muscles are thick and given the Soldier’s breastplate and combat skirt, it confirms the theory that we are being held by the Primary. His face is blank for the first few moments, and the full force of my terror slams into me when I see the leer ghost across his expression as he comes for me. Before he makes it to me, I go numb, and for a while I am thankful.
Thankful I can’t feel it, thankful I can’t process it. I always thought that if something like this happened to me, I would fight, I would struggle, I would claw and scream and rail.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t do any of those things. Because I just couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I just couldn’t believe…
What I did do was cry.
It isn’t until he’s finished with me and what was left of my sanity and innocence lies in tatters on that stone floor, that the real horror begins.
That itch, that urge to release my power can’t be contained anymore. When the numbness and shock fades, all I’m left with is disgust and pain and revulsion. I am disgusted with my own skin that smells of the man who robbed me of everything, with the dress that hangs in tatters from my shoulders as I kneel on the stone, with the blood that stains my thighs and the gritty floor.
With my father’s screams of vengeance and my mother’s sobs of horror.
I can’t hold it.
I can’t keep it inside.
The power builds in a crescendo, starting from my stomach and radiating out through my limbs like a brushfire, igniting everything that lies in its path. My pulse races and a buzzing starts, I think it’s my mother’s voice. In the back of my mind, I know she is trying to talk me down, trying to sooth away a hurt that will be with me for the rest of my short life.
I can’t hear her words, though, and I think even she knows it’s too late. I look at my parents as the ice blue light emanating from my hands makes the room glow. I see them reach across the space between them so the tips of their finger touch.
That’s the last I see as I close my eyes as a scream rips from my throat and the power wrenches itself out of my skin, sending great arcs of electricity through the room.
When I regain consciousness, I wish my body couldn’t withstand the power I hold under my flesh. I wish I were blind.
Or dead.
Anything but to see the rubble of that stone room and the ashes of my parents.
Anything but to hear that damned door open again.
Anything but to hear the Primary’s disgustingly sweet voice congratulating me on killing my parents.
Anything.
It feels like an earthquake, but I know it’s just me. Just like on the horrible morning so many years ago, I have blown up a room. It has been too long since I had this much power coursing through my veins. Iva used to drain me, keeping me weak and docile, practically sucking the marrow from my bones. It still surprises me that it took so little time to build the energy back.
The bed I was lying on is decimated, blown apart and melted in pieces, flung like bomb shrapnel. I'm crumpled in the wreckage of what’s left of my bed on the remnants of the floor. The hard handrails that once helped me steady myself are nothing more than a blob in the rubble. And the floor…
There is a two-foot-deep crater where my bed used to be, and I have blown through the flooring straight into the foundation, practically sitting in a bowl of ruined stone, metal and plastic. The walls are scorched in veins of smoldering black, and the sprinklers that once ran in exposed copper pipes along the ceiling have melted into twisted bows of metal. The curtain that briefly gave me privacy disintegrated to nothing, while the ones in the adjacent bays are still on fire along with the beds they used to surround.
It takes me a minute to remember that I wasn’t alone down here and I look to the far end of the room and sigh a deep breath of relief that those curtains aren’t on fire even though they are blown back to reveal an unconscious man in the hospital bed. His bed has moved out of its position and has slammed into the nearby wall, thankfully staying upright. My deep breath is cut off by a choking cough from the smoke.
Over the sound of my lungs refusing to work, I hear a boom, boom, booming coming from the steel door and a squeal of the metal grating on itself.
I don’t think they can open it.
Burning alive is not an option for me, but death by asphyxiation is completely possible. It’s not my favorite way to take a dreamless nap, but I’ve done it before more times than I can count. I worry more about the immobile Wraith lying in the bed at the end of the room. Fire won’t kill me, but it will kill him.
A thick swirl of black smoke, thicker and denser than the fire wafts into the place just before me, twisting and writhing before coalescing into the shape of a large man. Asher emerges from the smoke, his eyes frantically searching the room until they land on me.
“Mena,” he almost whispers when he sees me. “Are you all right?” he asks as he jumps down into the pit of debris eyeing me warily as he goes.
I don’t blame him.
I’ve been here for one day and I’ve already ruined the place, injured someone and set fire to the house. I am a Murphy’s Law trifecta of destruction.
I’m not safe to be around people.
I hurt everyone.
I kill people.
“Don’t help me,” I choke out, “help him. The fire won’t kill me. Get him first,” I insist.
His face twists at my demand, and he considers it for a few seconds before he growls under his breath. He turns swiftly, stalking to the inert man in the bed and grabbing him before smoking out of the room.
He’s not gone for too long, though, before he comes back to me.
“You should have brought a fire extinguisher with you. I melted the sprinklers,” I say as I point to the copper pipes that now look like spun taffy.
“I don’t think a fire extinguisher is going to cut it, Princess,” Asher says as his lips pull into a half grin.
“Ready to get out of here?” he asks as he holds out his hand for me to take. I ignore his outstretched fingers and try to stand on my own, but my legs won’t do what they’re supposed to do and they certainly don’t freaking work.
As much as I don’t want to hurt him, I need his help. It shames me to be so reliant on someone else, to need something so vital as a rescue from this burning room. My hand shakes as it hesitantly reaches for his. I wince right before our skin touches, praying I don’t hurt him.
Hurting Asher is the absolute last thing I want to do.
My body relaxes marginally when I don’t accidentally juice him again. He doesn’t wait for me to relax any further and leans down to grab me up into his arms. At first, my body is rigid; my limbs as stiff as petrified wood, but for some reason as soon as I feel his warmth against my skin, my muscles loosen. Even in this smoldering room, his heat calms me, eases an ache in my chest like my own Fireskin would. Strange.
My respite is short-lived. As soon as my muscles relax, I feel as though my insides are trying to come up my throat. Blackness swirls around us in ribbons of dense smoke. Asher’s arms clutch me tighter and then I feel as though I am being blown apart, every molecule of my body feels as though it is being ripped and stretched.
It takes but a moment, and then the agony stops as suddenly as it started. I realize I have wrapped my arms around his neck, my chest pressed to his, my fingers fisted in the fabric of his dark blue shirt.
I’m shaking, I know, and I can’t seem to stop. For so long, I have shut out pain and fear from my mind just to survive. It has been ages since I’ve felt any form of hurt. Since I’ve felt real fear. So long since my emotions haven’t been dialed down to nothing. But they are turned all the way up now, and I can’t seem to shut it off. It has been so long since my brain has been awake and aware while my body just rolled through the motions. Now, my body and mind are one entity and it can’t decide between frightened at the display of my own power and calm now that I’m being held so tightly, so reverently in his arms.
My calm is obliterated once the shouting starts, and all I’m left with is fear. People surround us. Their voices echoing in the open space of the gym. I can’t understand what they’re saying, but the threat in their tone causes my breaths to speed up. For a reason I cannot explain, I clutch Asher tighter. He feels safer than anyplace I’ve ever been. I wish we were in a bubble.
I wish people would just stop talking.
Stop shouting.
Stop being so obnoxiously loud.
Asher’s chest rumbles against mine, a menacing growl sounds in my ear and the noise dies down almost immediately. I want to ask about the man that was in the room with me, but I can’t bear asking anyone else. I don’t want Asher to put me down.
He doesn’t.
He carries me to a bench and sits down with me in his lap holding me just as tight as I am him. We are in a large gym, with a boxing ring and weights all around.
“Asher, is the man okay?” I pull back my head to whisper in his ear. “I didn’t hurt him, did I?”
“I don’t know, Princess. I know he’s alive at least.”
“I guess that’s good. I’m sorry I caused this mess. Umm…” I pause, “Do you think I should apologize to John?”
He chuckles as if I just asked the most absurd question he has ever heard.
“Probably,” he rumbles as he rubs his chin and surveys the damage I caused just to the steel door. The metal is bowed into the room like a bubble waiting to burst.
“Do you think you could coach me on how I’m supposed to say sorry for blowing up the house? My people skills haven’t been utilized in a little bit and even then, I’m not sure I knew how to apologize for something like that.”
“It’s easy, Princess. Just say you didn’t mean it. Tell him it was an accident.”
“One hell of an accident, huh? I think everyone would be better off if I were still in my cell. If I wasn’t here,” I say, my voice rough with remorse and the realization that every single person in this house would be safer if I weren’t in it.
Hell, this world would be safer if I weren’t in it.
“Don’t think stuff like that. We’ll worry about arrangements later if you decide you don’t want to stay here. Now, your sister looks like she’s five seconds from ripping my head off. Do you want to talk to her? Because you don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to. I can take you away from here. I can keep you safe until you heal. Until you fix yourself. Until you get control,” he murmurs in my ear as his hand comes up to rest on my exposed cheek. It is rough and warm, and I feel my muscles ease by degrees, gradually loosening their vice grip on his shirt. He is offering me a lifeline, a choice, an option other than relying on my sister and her friends – a way to heal without the microscope. And he’s doing it discreetly, murmuring in my ear, giving me a tiny bit of privacy. I feel so thankful that my eyes prick with tears.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get control of this,” I admit, and that fact shames me to my core. I should have control of such an innate part of me. Captivity or not, torture or not – I should have control of this.
“Don’t feel too bad. Your sister blew up a room here just a few weeks ago. You’re not the only one. Granted it wasn’t on the same scale, but she still fried the place.”
“What do you mean fried the place?” I ask as I push back on his shoulders to look him in the eyes.
“He means I’m an Aegis, just like you,” Aurelia says, her eyes narrowed to slits, glaring at Asher.
Uh-oh.