Page 62 of Red Fire

It takes some effort, but I manage it. My ribs are on fire. If I keep my right arm still, it helps somewhat.

“These pants are for you,” the nurse says. She gives me a pitying smile.

“Thank you.” I pull them on, careful not to move too much. Then my shackles are put back on, and the two guards drag me from the infirmary.

“Walk, scum!” One of the guards shoves me, and I almost fall.

I bite back a groan as agony rushes through me. I don’t say anything. If I retaliate in any way, I will be rewarded with another beating.

My hands are shackled behind my back, and I have another set of shackles on my feet, which are held together by a short chain. I have to take small, shuffling steps.

I squint. My face hurts, too, but it isn’t anything I can’t handle. Most of the blows were to my face. My lip is busted. There is a gash above my right eye. Both eyes are swollen; thankfully, they’re not completely shut.

I shuffle my way down a corridor, looking into each cell as I do, relieved when I don’t see Octavia.

My mouth is bone dry. My lip stings but I ignore it. I’m finally taken into a bright room. It’s small, with a mirror on one side. I recognize it from three years ago. This might not be the exact room, but it was one just like it.

A guard undoes the shackles on my hands. “Don’t try anything, or you’ll regret it,” he says unnecessarily.

What am I going to do here? Nothing. There are too many of them, with more in the corridor and more down the hallway.

The same guard pulls a chair out. “Sit!” he growls.

I do as he says.

“Hands on the table.”

I oblige. They’re dirty and bloody, just like the rest of me. The clean pants are a stark contrast.

He shackles me, chaining me to a steel hoop on the table. I could break it. I could free myself from these shackles if I tried hard enough, but again, what would be the point? I need to wait it out. This will be over soon enough.

Then all but one of the guards files outside, leaving the door open.

I look in the mirror and shake my head at how terrible I look. Dirt and grime mixed with blood are caked onto my skin. I look worse than I feel, except for my ribs, which look better than they feel. This despite all the purple bruising that has blossomed all over the right-hand side of my rib cage.

I turn in the chair, wincing when my ribs protest.

“Eyes forward,” the guard behind me barks.

Yep, just as suspected, there is a multitude of guards outside in the hallway. I sit and wait. It doesn’t take very long before the colonel walks in. I know it’s him by his scent. He is dressed in leather body armor and a mask.

I’m not sure why they still wear them. I’m surprised that Arctic hasn’t done away with them. Then again, they are a tradition for our people, and we can’t do away with everything.

He sits across from me. “You’re Creed,” he says. “Son of Benji and Pearl. Older brother to Levi.”

I swallow thickly and nod. “Yes, that is correct.”

“The same male who was convicted of violence against my nephew Chase.”

His nephew.

Fuck!

Oh, shit!

“Your chosen wanted to form a mating circle with Chase, and you disapproved. Is that right?”

“Yes, I was convicted, but I served my time.”