Shots of pain bolted from the base of her brain, down her spine, and out her arms and legs.
If Owen was trying to torture her for information about his father, he was an amateur. He hadn't attempted to threaten her with pain before inflicting it, nor had he established any kind of cause and effect with the pain. Pain for lies; no pain for truth.
She knew that, and physical torture had never been her weapon of choice. She killed as a means to an end, or in fits of rage. But torture, well, when she wanted to inflict suffering, she preferred the longer-lasting, psychological variety.
And even she knew that Owen was breaking all of the cardinal rules of extreme interrogation.
Which meant he wasn't torturing her for information.
Which meant she was powerless.
The corners of her mouth turned upward in a slight, but determined grin. She kept her mouth firmly shut, refusing to cry out, as the bolts resumed their course through her central nervous system.
A lady is always in control. She is always poised. She is always beautiful. She does not bother others with her petty concerns.
Cora's voice danced through Regina's mind like a catchy lyric from an unwelcome song.
If Owen wanted to break her, he'd have to do better than this.
This kind of pain she was comfortable with.
"Daniel!" Regina couldn't believe her eyes. She was back by their tree, and he was there. She threw her arms around him. "Daniel! I've missed you so. But I've never forgotten you. I've carried you with me always."
"Shhh," Daniel held her tightly, stroking her back. "I'm here now. We're together."
Regina pulled back to gaze into his face. "We are," she smiled. "That's all that matters."
"This isn't working," Tamara declared, placing the tazer back on the tray.
Owen didn't respond. He looked down at the woman who had ruined his life, disconcerted by the pinched, but contented expression on her face, and even more disconcerted by the knowledge that she was conscious and still unresponsive to his administrations.
"She almost looks . . . happy," Tamara commented.
The frown etched deeper into Owen's face. Perhaps he had underestimated the woman on the slab. With her expensive taste and meticulous appearance, he'd assumed that she was accustomed to comfort and ease. But she'd taken more voltage than the dragon . . . with a smile.
"Owen," Tamara snapped, irritated that he hadn't yet responded. "This isn't going to work unless her body thinks she's dying. Aside from the burn marks, she doesn't seem to be distressed, let alone dying. We need a new approach."
"We do," Owen confirmed, an excited gleam in his eye. The Evil Queen would not be smiling much longer.
Regina and Daniel raced across the meadow. With Rocinante galloping beneath her and the wind whipping her hair and cloak straight behind her, her blood pounded with the sheer freedom of it. And with Daniel riding Achilles beside her, she knew she would never have to decide between freedom and loneliness ever again.
"Mere moments on this device, and her body will eject her magic faster than you can say 'Abracadabra'," Owen said, strapping Regina into place.
Suddenly, Regina was ripped from Rocinante's back, and the meadow dissolved around her. Instead of Daniel's kind eyes, she saw two malevolent orbs mocking her.
"Welcome back, Your Majesty," he said, disdain and hate twisting his voice.
Regina's eyes narrowed threatening as she tried to piece together her situation. 'Your Majesty' triggered cascading memories of castles, isolation, and desperate anger. It was familiar. Yes, she was the Queen. And, despite the signals of pain with which her body was bombarding her brain, she had the oddest maternal impulse toward the grown man in front of her.
Owen. He was Owen. He'd grown up well. Shame she didn't get to see it. She could have taught him so much if he'd just stayed with her, allowed her to be his mother. They could have been happy together.
But he left her. And she'd finally gotten Henry. And now he was going to leave her too. For his "real" family.
She was almost someone's real family, once.
Pain seared through her brain, branding her neurons and blasting her synapses farther apart. She could feel every cell in her body screaming.
This was far beyond the simple punishments of her childhood. Far beyond her mental tricks to escape the temporary pain.
This pain was never-ending. She would be stretched and pulled until her joints popped apart and her muscles and tendons ripped from the strain. The pain would continue indefinitely. Until she died. Essentially, the pain was permanent.
But she could handle permanent pain.
She laughed. From the bottom of her darkened soul through her mangled heart, she laughed. She wasn't The Queen; she was The Evil Queen. Pain and fear were her constant companions. They were her tools to wield.
And now Owen returned them to her.
She laughed.
Owen snarled at her laughter as Tamara looked upon the morbid scene in revulsion. Their science experiment had become personal and bloody—descriptions she conscientiously avoided.
Regina was cognizant of Owen screaming into her face, but she couldn't decipher the words.
He had come back to her. All these years, and he had found her.
Her mother had come back to her. After the curse.
That's what family does.
They find each other.
And Owen had found her.
And he was inflicting pain, and he would succeed where so many had failed—he would kill her. Without remorse.
Maybe she had taught him something after all.
She laughed. She had won. She did get everything.
Her son had come back for her.
And she wasn't going to die alone.
.
.
.
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