Page 12 of Stealing Embers
Moving my head, bad idea. It feels like the percussion section of a really bad high school band is banging away up there.
“We can’t dye or bleach our hair,” Karen responds absentmindedly.
The guy shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I know that. But what else makes sense? Her eyes are freaky enough. This is just going to make her stand out more.”
“Hey . . . you’re freaky,” I croak. I slam my lids shut over my very-not-weird dark blue eyes as a wave of nausea overtakes me.
“Shoot.” Karen’s concerned voice is back. “I’m sorry. Let’s get you up.”
“No. Lie here . . . and die.” Unless someone is going to knock me out for good, I’m not moving.
Steel emits a short laugh.
“Come on, help me get her up. We need to get her in the car. Drake has it running.”
Oh right, I’m being kidnapped. I almost forgot.
Do I even care anymore?
I think about that for a moment while footsteps shuffle around me. When hands reach under me and force me to stand, I decide that yes, I still very much care about being taken against my will.
I smother a whimper as I’m pulled to my feet. Groggily opening my lids, I concentrate on pushing energy into my right arm.
I learned to fight dirty a long time ago. Life hasn’t afforded me the luxury of honor.
Almost blindly, I strike out at the blurred figure in front of me. Even more of my vision has dimmed, but I’ll worry about that later.
There is a pain-filled grunt a moment before hot agony radiates down my fist and shoots down my arm.
I welcome the pain, because it means I connected solidly.
As hoped, the hands holding me fall away.
My victory is short-lived as I attempt to stumble-run away, only to find myself upside down over someone’s shoulder a hot second later. I stare down at a familiar pair of worn boots from my topsy-turvy perch.
Parking garage dude is also Bird Boy, who is also Steel? I guess that means the giant lion didn’t eat him after all.
Pity.
The fight has completely left me . . . and any minute, my breakfast may as well.
“Sick,” I manage to whimper-whisper.
“You’d better not,” Steel orders. “You already gave me a bloody nose. If you even think about throwing up on me, I’ll feed you to the Fallen myself.”
Who or what are the Fallen?I wonder—right before succumbing to the darkness.
Chapter Four
Light is the worst.
Grabbing a pillow, I shove it over my head to smother myself.
Oh, featherdown. Comfy.
I snuggle into the softness, refusing to fully wake. It’s like sleeping on a cloud. I like.
Wait . . . I don’t have down pillows. I don’t even have a bed.