A/N: Okay, so it's been over two (three?) years since I last updated, but after someone else reviewed I went back and reread the ending of that last chapter and decided I should at least continue with something. Forgive any universal discrepancies, I haven't read a Mercy book for a year or more and I'm just trying to continue the story at this point. Also, I didn't do much editing except for chance things I saw, so be kind if there are a ton of typos. I wanted to get this to all of you as soon as it was finished. Enjoy, fair readers!
Chapter 9 –
The table beneath my back was frigid against my skin, seeping through tissues and into my bones. I shivered and moved to wipe my face but my arm was bound at the wrist next to my side with abrasive old rope. Upon cursory inspection, I found my legs to be bound at both the knee and ankle. A growl ripped from my chest at being so restrained. It would appear that my family had grown weary of our chase and went after me and mine at a moment of calm. To my shame, I had not been watching quite so closely as I should have. Though it would not do to keep berating myself, I continued to criticize my carelessness as I strained at my bindings. How could I have been so stupid as to not be scanning my surroundings?
My thoughts strayed to my son and, unable to see much in the darkness, I raised my nose to scent the air. There was no trace of my Caleb or Samuel. The smell of my mother, however, was overwhelming. A silent snarl gracing my lips, I rolled my eyes around wildly, looking for her. Her scent was far too strong for her to have left. With a deep breath I growled through my teeth, "Mother. Lovely seeing you again. Care to show your face like a civilized being?"
A sardonic chuckle echoed around me. "When my daughter is now little better than a dog? I think not. Especially when she refuses to come to heel."
"Woof."
A barbed whip snaked out, biting at my ribs. I inhaled, taking in air enough to pain my lungs before letting it out in a laugh. I quipped, "You've gotten rusty, Mother."
The sounds of machines coming to life, whirring at my mother's behest rumbled beneath my ears. The table I was on separated, baring a frame upon which I was bound and the separate metal slab that had held my back. The bitch that haunted my thoughts and nightmares lurked behind me: I could feel it. There was no other reason for it to be so cold at my back unless a freezer was open or my mother the Ice Queen was there. Her heart was cold enough to suck the heat out of a volcano. The whip whistled through the air once more and tore a line across my back. "Not quite, Siobhan." The whistle, the pain. I felt hot rivulets of my own blood run down my back. I could just imagine the smile she would have on her face. "I shall break you yet," she murmured, though she paused and posed more loudly, "Though I know that physical pain has not had the effect upon you it once did when you were a child, I have other means now to cow you." She barked an order in Irish and my cousin James led in Caleb.
My boy was struggling and looked afraid, James smacked him, barking that he shut up and stop fidgeting. A growl roared out of my chest, pulling and straining at my bonds. When that failed, I began hurling curses at James, promising death if he didn't unhand my son. He sneered at me. "Oh, really, and how are you going to do any of that, cousin? Spit on me, eh?" I stopped suddenly. Glaring malevolently, I focused on James and only James, murmuring a curse that would leave him writhing in agony. My mother tried whipping me, viciously to earn my silence as James let go of Caleb and dropped to the ground, clutching his stomach. I refused to yield, eventually growling out the words through clenched teeth as my cousin wriggled, silent and strained, trapped within his own personal hell. My mother had other plans. She intercepted my son as he ran to come to my side, whipping a knife from her back pocket; she grabbed him by the neck with her free hand. He choked, coughing and clawing at her hand even while she pressed the blade to his cheek. He was having trouble breathing and I was torn between inflicting more pain on my mother's toady and stopping for Caleb's sake: Luckily, my maternal instinct won out and I stopped. Tension knotted my muscles into violent cables around my body, bleeding, bruised and crying out at the abuse.
Focusing on my mother, I didn't even glance in James' way when I replied, "No, James. I tore you apart from the inside without touching a hair on your head." Mother was smirking, the blade pressing into the cheek of my son. Caleb was quivering: his fear bit into me, the scent hitting my system and the sight of that terror in his eyes infuriating me at my own impotence.
Smirking, the Ravenwood matriarch raised a brow, her face looking almost exactly like mine, but older, crueler, lined with the cold-blooded sins of her life. She inquired drily, "If you children are quite finished, I'd like to get to the point."
"Of course, Mother," I simpered, taking great pains to avoid panting and betraying weakness; the sound of my own blood pattering onto the floor in sluggish, steady rhythm. "I'd prefer you to get to the point. My indulgence won't last long, and next time James'll be dead. I won't be looking for pain."
"Words, Siobhan. You haven't the facilities to kill your own blood. That damned conscience always kept you from that."
"Yes, but that was before he slapped my son. I've no qualms killing scum that beats children for the wrongs of others." My brow rose meaningfully at her, eyeing the knife. The psychotic bitch then grinned and pressed the edge closer to his cheek. Caleb yelped, sniffling and crying out to me in Irish, telling me how frightened he was, how he wanted me to help him. I clenched my jaw: if she saw him as my one major weakness, she'd lay him on a slab, tie him down, and torture him for hours before my eyes before I broke. I couldn't let that happen. So I attempted to ignore the cries of my child, my baby boy being cut and half choked by his own grandmother.
Her voice cold, calculatingly and sickeningly amused, she asked, "So you care for this filthy whelp, born of our rivals more than your own true born family? Is that it?" The eyes, blue as my own but infinitely more bitter cold, a gateway to the frozen waste that she dared call a soul, scrutinized my reaction: the most minute details would not escape her.
"Of course not," I scoffed, heart breaking at the look in Caleb's face. "But considering I've spent the last seven years rearing him in accordance to our laws and the hope of infiltrating his father's family, I thought he would make as good excuse as any to exact revenge on that sorry excuse for a male you dare to call my relative." I met her gaze levelly, daring her to say different. "And perhaps the animal I share space with keeps a softer place in her heart for him than I. I find small indulgences keep her more complacent." It was believable; it had to be. My only attempt at bluffing her out was to make her think I'd matured, that I'd come into my Ravenwood heritage and developed into the leader she wanted me to be: her.
Her mouth pursed and she sneered in disgust, dashing Caleb to the floor. As she came over to me, she barked over her shoulder: "Get up! Imbecile, get your brother and bring in the wolf. Preferably whole." Groans and the sound of cloth scraping on stone echoed off the walls as my cousin rose from his spot on the ground. James, before he left, grabbed up a cudgel from the wall of weapons and torture devices, He had death in his eyes as he stormed in my direction, taking aim and swinging at my leg. I focused on the cudgel, forgetting my mother, uttering a spell to set the implement on fire, burning his hand. He yelped, dropping it. My mother beat him to the retaliation, however. With a great smile, she had pulled another blade from her pocket and now plunged it into my side. From the agony that exploded there, it was not just a steel blade: it was silver, and it was magicked to thirst especially for the blood of 'weres. I grunted, barely withstanding, but she pushed harder and then twisted and to my shame, I screamed. It felt as though the burning was spreading through my veins, my abdomen. She wiggled the blade back and forth within my side and I cried out, shuddering and biting my lip nearly through. Breathing was pain, so was moving. The cruel mistress which had so lovingly kissed my side seemed to be sapping my strength, the magic and silver spreading through my system for minutes as my mother watched with immense joy as I hung on the square frame, head hung down, bleeding from my side and my back. I looked up, eyes straying over her shoulder, finding Caleb crouched in a corner, hugging himself and wanting to come to me. Seeing my eyes on him, he started to get up. Thankfully for us both, my look stayed him.
Mother leaned in closely and muttered in my ear, "That was for running away and not letting me kill the child when I wished. Though your idea has some merit, I doubt it'll work, though he's strong; you've taught him well. We could easily use him as a slave until we find a better purpose for him to serve." She grabbed the knife once more, pulling upwards slowly. I choked on my own curse, pain constricting my throat. Cold sweat glazed my body like the glistening oil on a perfect golden Turkey though not nearly as appetizing or joy bringing. "And the point, my dear, is that you are going to atone for your sins and then you will comply with whatever I tell you. If I say shift and kill, you will. If I say jump, you jump. If I say come, you run to me bowing and scraping. I will not have this sort of disgrace left upon me; I refuse to allow my own daughter, my chosen successor, to cause dissension in the ranks, am I making myself clear, Siobhan?"
I murmured, barely more than a whisper my reply. Had she been a wolf, she'd have heard me. As it was, she leaned her head in closer, "What was that?" she bid me speak louder, her teeth together in an almost mocking imitation of baring her fangs.
I licked my lips, hissing as she jiggled the handle. My throat convulsed as I tried to swallow and then clear my throat. Aiming at giving a louder retort, my lungs took in more air, causing pain to knife through me. "I said, 'Take out the goddamn knife, or y-you—'" I broke off, running out of air. Wheezing in a couple shallow breaths, I finished, "'or you can rot in hell.'"
She tore the blade from my side, leaving a messy, bloody, meaty gash behind blood rushing to meet the air. With the hilt of the blade, she bashed at my jaw, smearing the red mess from my side across my face. I was beginning to black out from blood loss, almost glad of it, when she put her hand to my side and began healing her own handiwork. Enough to keep me alive, but not enough to ease the pain a new scar could give me. She'd done this often enough in my childhood, or things like it, that I knew exactly when it would start, when it would end, and how she would test to make sure I would die of internal bleeding before I'd made myself useful. She appraised my side for tell tale signs of blood pooling then took the index and middle fingers of her right hand and jabbed at the scar, mimicking a knife. I stiffened, barely restraining a yelp. Soon, the door above and to the left of us opened and James and Angus came down carrying Samuel between them. He was chained in what I assumed to be some sort of silver alloy because he wasn't struggling. My heart clenched and my wolf clamored for retaliation at the lines of agony in his body and strain in his face.
Unadulterated anger seemed to consume his eyes at the sight of me and his nostrils flared catching the scent of my blood then the much weaker one of Caleb. His head rotated to my boy and he glanced between him and me before he'd changed tact appraising my mother and me. He took in the blood staining my mother's hands. He could clearly recall her face, every act she'd committed against me, every harsh word he'd vicariously lived through my memories; unadulterated hatred shadowed his eyes. His mouth was bound and gagged, and his face was swollen in several places, but that didn't stop the obvious spark of defiance that he barely kept in check. His knuckles were bruised and split, as was his jaw, though he was healing reasonably well. I thanked whatever gods out there that Samuel—I was fairly certain he was still in control though the way my vision wavered brought an element of doubt to cloud my judgment—was old enough that his wolf had sense enough to assess the situation rather than rashly bull rush into a catastrophe and overpower his bodily companion.
My mother stalked toward the other wolf. My own inner beast struggled against our fatigue and tried to wrest control from me. I barely succeeded in keeping her in line. If she, my wolf, that is, showed any feeling at all, Mother wouldn't stop until she'd exhausted every potential weakness. Instead, I hung limp against my bonds, trying to find something close to focus, clarity. Bloodloss and pain left my vision unclear.
"So this is the mongrel to whom my daughter has attached herself?" God, how I hated that condescending snarl she called a voice. You could practically feel her hypocrisy radiating off her in waves. Her footsteps echoed as she circled Samuel, assessing him. The frustrated mumble of rebellion against restraint ambled over the airwaves from the direction of mother's imperious tapping. "Honestly, Siobhan, you have the worst taste in the weaker sex."
I lifted my head, scratchily retorting, "Apples and trees, mother. Apples and trees." She threw an unimpressed glare over her shoulder at my reference to her brief affair with my father—it had been a major disappointment to my mother when it turned out he had a spine and a heart. My grandmother had had him killed not long after I was born, but that was a different story.
Grabbing Samuel's chin, my mother dug her fingers into his cheeks and chin, staring directly into his eyes. Keeping my ears open, I glanced around, faking restlessness and pain to get a better idea of who all was in the room. My cousins were still standing on either side of Samuel; if it weren't for the silver chain in their hands, I would have encouraged their captive to rip their throats out with relish—not, of course, that he would have required coercion.
I had to find someway out of these chains, someway to get Caleb, Sam, and probably kill James on my way out—that would make a statement. Unfortunately, the torture had left me weaker than I needed to be to take on my mother with any sort of confidence. I might be her superior in overall power, but my mother had years more experience and fought dirty. For me to challenge her, I would need all my blood—there was power in blood and without all mine, I would be the underdog.
My mother would die at my hands, but that day wouldn't be today.
Mother was on one of her monologues when I returned my full attention back to the room. I turned my eyes to James and called, "Hey, Jimmy boyo! Have any of the ladies stopped laughing at you when you take your shorts off?" My smile was full of cruelty and malice. True to form, Cousin Jim's face turned red and he took a step toward me. Backhanding him, mother paused her insults to Sam to tell Jim to stand still and hold the damn Were. Mother ripped a small throwing knife from her hip, landed it in my thigh and went back about her business. I grunted and ignored the flare of new pain. It'd missed bone and major blood vessels so I wasn't worried; as far as I was concerned, scar tissue was past being an issue. "So that's a 'no,' then. Aw, poor Jimmy! Is that why you and Angus seem so cozy, nowadays? Both of yeh can't get any ladies—or lads, yes I remember those magazines, Angus!—to stop dyin' of laughter as soon as they see those tiny breakfast sausages hangin' between your legs! I know I never stopped."
James and Angus both were ready to rip me apart limb from limb. Samuel was throwing questioning glances at me whenever my mother stopped to reprimand her idiot nephews. Admittedly, I was bound and severely injured and taunting men twice my size, which on a normal day is pretty crazy considering they were spellcasters, themselves. Not up to my caliber, but they had been able to create that illusion in Mercy's garage. When I began outright guffawing at them, barely able to breathe, my sanity case was far from helped. "God, you're dumb as stumps and impotent! How I wouldn't want to be either of you. I bet you're both still countin' with your fingers once you're done draggin' your knuckles around like Neanderthals. But honestly, I've seen women more well hung than either of you goons, and they could do multiplication!" Shaking my head, I sidled down a bit. My mother had stepped to the wall to choose from her multitude of torture devices and weapons. I used the opportunity to get in my final jab. "It's a good thing I'm to inherit the family line because if it were left solely to the both of you, we'd be bones before we got heirs, waitin' for you to figure out that you can't make babies bonin' each other." James roared and let go the chain running toward me while Angus grabbed the closest blunt object and started toward me.
Jimmy landed two punches on me when the curse I'd begun muttering kicked in. The second time he touched my bare skin, his hand stuck and his face went slack but for his eyes. It was a mind control spell that, while powerful, usually was dangerous because of its need for skin-on-skin contact to connect the spellcaster with the subject. His eyes were all that showed his thoughts were his own, but his voluntary actions were not. Angus yelled at James to move out of the way, his club swinging like a major-league batter's for my ribs while I commanded James to duck down into the line of the bat. James' eyes were terrified, realizing his mistake and knowing exactly what I was doing when Angus realized he was too late to stop the club's motion. Just before the wood smashed into my cousin's thick skull, I held his gaze and growled viciously, "I warned you to keep your hands off my son, Jimmy boyo."
The chains holding Samuel loosened just enough and I murmured a small charm to undo the lock, watching the silver slither to the floor like a waterfall. Samuel, not Sam, but normally gentle, kind, somewhat broken Samuel, took the opportunity to leap at Angus and methodically beat him into a pulpy grey and red smear on the floor.
And in the moments between James' blood splattering and dripping from my face and Sam leaping through the air, my eyes locked with my mother's. In that instant, my lips already forming the words that would knock her out, I promised that I would come back for her, and I would crush her like a bug beneath my palm. I was tired of running and tired of games.
For a fraction of a second, just as she was collapsing, I caught something in Mother's eyes I never thought I would see: real, fear.
I knew two things for certain as the grunts and thumps of Samuel's retribution echoed in the chamber. With the image of my unconscious mother in my eyes, I decided that I would do anything necessary to keep Samuel for myself, as my mate. My wolf howled in exasperated approval, having known I would eventually come to the same conclusion given enough time and somewhat angry for having taken so long to come that end.
And, with the surprising agreement of my wolf, that my mother would pay for all she'd done, and it wouldn't be quick or painless or merciful. We would take our time and make her suffer for our boy and the pain our mate endured under that blasted silver. We would let her live and worry for the day that we came seeking retribution. Her end would be cold and calculated right down to her last drawn breaths.
No one who threatened our son or our mate would ever live to tell the tale. That was for damn certain.
