Saven Defiance (The Saven Series Book 4) Page 6

  I don’t argue any further. I’m too weak, in too much pain. Gritting my teeth, I attempt to sit up. The second my hands touch the floor, a sweltering pain rips through my limbs, and I scream from the top of my lungs. Tears cascade from my eyes like a leaky faucet. My chest heaves painfully as I sob.

  Logan climbs to his feet and shoots a volley of alien words at the two guards in the corridor. They barely bat an eyelid. Cursing, he screams a bit more and then storms back to the side of the cell. He crouches down on bended knee. “Try not to move, if you can. The skin is badly burned on both arms to your elbows.”

  I crank out a shrill laugh that’s part humor and part grief. “That’s all? Stars, it feels like my whole body is one giant mass of scorched flesh,” I admit truthfully. “I don’t think ‘not moving’ will be an issue. I can’t even flex my hand without excruciating pain.” As if I need to demonstrate that statement, I bend my fingers and piercing darts of pain attack me. My vision blurs as pain invades every part of me.

  Logan paces the cell in agitation. At least I seem to have distracted him from his own injuries. “Does Dante know about your gift?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I told him it was a tracking device. At the time, I thought it was smart to deflect his interest. Right now, I’m not feeling very smart.”

  “I wonder what he’s up to.” He scrubs a hand over his prickly jaw. “Dante is completely unhinged, and it’s only a matter of time before he goes postal. He wants us to pay, publicly, for our supposed crimes, but he didn’t elaborate beyond that. I hope the others hurry up.”

  Hope is beginning to dwindle, and it’s difficult to stay positive in my current condition. I can’t move a millimeter without extreme pain, and I’ll be more of a hindrance than a help when the time comes to escape. “Dante is completely delusional and hell-bent on world domination. He’s crazy.” Recalling our most recent encounter, I shudder at the thought of what he has planned for us.

  “Evana says his last interaction with my father had him completely incensed. She said she’s never seen him in such a rage. He went on a rampage through the palace, destroying everything in sight, indiscriminately killing anyone who tried to stop him, anyone who tried to help. Whatever Dad told him before he died pushed him over the edge.”

  Just then, an outer door opens, and the march of numerous footsteps gets closer and closer. Logan and I swap wary expressions. I can’t see much from my prostrate position on the floor, but the creaking of simultaneous door openings sends my heart rate into coronary-inducing territory.

  “This isn’t good, Sadie.” Logan hops up as several pairs of booted feet surround him on all sides.

  “Get. Up.” A voice resonates above me.

  “I can’t.” A searing pain spreads across my stomach as the guard kicks me swiftly in the gut. Logan yells at him in his native language.

  I don’t know whether I and pain exist on separate planes anymore. We are one and the same. I can’t feel my body anymore, only agonizing pain that I fear will define me forever. Hands lift me under the arms, and I’m wrenched off my feet. My guttural screams echo around the cavernous space. Once I start, I can’t stop.

  “Stars, can’t you shut her up?” someone asks.

  I’d actually welcome it. A fist in the face. I’d love to black out so I can’t feel anything anymore.

  Someone lifts my legs and hoists me over their shoulder. I scream my head off as my arms press against his upper torso. The pain is too awful for words. Another guard unpins my arms and carelessly tosses them so they dangle down the guard’s back. Bits of flaky skin flutter to the ground. My screams ramp up a notch. It’s a mix of pain and revulsion as I catch a glimpse of my injured arms for the first time. Bubbling blisters mark an uneven path along my raised red and black flaky skin. I look like something from a horror movie.

  Shuffling in the corridor momentarily distracts me. I lift my chin and watch as Logan wrestles with some of the guards, potent rage contorting his features. Still too weak and clearly outnumbered, he quickly succumbs. They take turns landing blows on his head and torso. Fire simmers in my veins, and I wish I had a way to release it, a way to halt the horrific beating Logan is being subjected to. He lashes out with his fists, and they continue torturing him.

  “Stop fighting, please.” I silently plead.

  He doesn’t even have the ability to respond. Blood glides off his injured face onto the floor.

  “Logan!” Evana cries out as he slumps to the ground in a crumpled heap. “Don’t ever forget how much I love you. Never stop fighting.” Tears course down her cheeks as she clutches the metal bars. I don’t even know if he heard her. Her anguished eyes lock on mine, devoid of all hope.

  “We will come back for you,” I mouth.

  Logan and I are removed from the dungeons in an incapacitated state. Logan is out cold, and I’m worried about him. Two soldiers prop him up by the arms—one on either side of him—as they drag him down successive corridors, up a multitude of steps, and out into, what I presume is, the main palace foyer. Logan’s booted feet scrape the ground as they trail behind his unconscious form.

  The noise of hundreds, maybe thousands, of voices, grows louder and louder the farther we walk through the palace. The guard carrying me slows down every few steps, his breathing becoming more shallow and erratic. Gradually, the others overtake us until we’re hanging at the rear.

  Good. Maybe, he’ll drop dead from the effort.

  A few minutes later, we emerge into a large courtyard. The white stone floor is rimmed by a multitude of differing shrubs, flowers, and plants, on all sides. It’s actually rather pretty. A floral aroma swirls around me, and the cool, early evening air is like a balm to my damaged skin. The noise of a large crowd is undeniable out here. Given how I’m thrust over the soldier’s shoulder, I’m at a significant disadvantage, as I can’t tell what’s ahead. I don’t know what we are moving toward, only that it seems to be the actual manifestation of Dante’s threat.

  My bones ache with the jarring movement of the guard’s laborious walk, but my arms don’t hurt as much anymore. Either I’m numb to it or I’ve grown accustomed to the pain.

  We walk for what seems like ages but is probably no more than ten or fifteen minutes. He comes to a standstill, tilting forward and pulling me down off his shoulders. Tiny darts of pain flutter up my arms, but it’s manageable. I look down at my arms and blink a few times. I could’ve sworn they looked worse, more damaged, back in the cell. Although, that might’ve been the lighting.

  Shoving a weapon into my back, the guard thrusts me forward until I’m standing alongside Logan. He has regained consciousness, thank God. His face is a bloody mess, and new lacerations join the medley of colorful bruising on his skin. His fingers twitch and I know he wants to take my hand. Reaching out, I clumsily lace my fingers in his. He glances down at our conjoined hands, a frown creasing his brow. Then his gaze wanders up my arms, and his eyes widen in surprise.

  I guess I wasn’t mistaken. “It doesn’t hurt as much now.”

  “How the h—”

  I shrug as we’re prodded forward, flanked by guards on all sides. The roar of the crowd terrifies me as we approach a massive open-air auditorium on the periphery of the palace. Row upon row of spectators fills the podium. Our faces stare out of two gigantic digital screens on either side of a large, raised dais, and the boisterous crowd starts shouting taunts at us. At least, I presume that’s what the vocal alien tirade is.

  Logan clings to my hand as we march up the steps to the podium. Holding his chin up, posture confident, he remains stoic as he steps onto the stage. Ever the solemn leader, even in apparent defeat. Dante stands in the center of the stage with a feigned heavy expression on his face. A line of guards stands beside an officious-looking older alien male, off to the side. Two ominous-looking copper-colored metal contraptions offer little in the way of comfort. Shaped like a cross, they have a myriad of hooks on the outer edges and across the center. Logan visibly stiffens, obviousl
y recognizing whatever is in store, while I’m happy to wallow in ignorance.

  We come to a complete halt directly in front of Dante. The group of guards stands to attention behind us. As one, they bow to their new king. He can scarcely contain his haughty grin.

  “What an egotistical maniac, and they are a bunch of idiots.”

  Logan squeezes my fingers, but he doesn’t reply to my jibe.

  Dante’s eyes narrow suspiciously as he spots the cuff bands still affixed to my wrist. “I thought I gave the order to remove those,” he snaps out gruffly.

  “We tried, Your Sovereignty. They wouldn’t come off.”

  Dante grabs my free arm and trails a finger along my injured flesh. It barely registers, but I wince out loud, purely for his benefit.

  “Take your hands off her.” Logan glares at his brother.

  Dante pins him with a hateful look. “You know, maybe I’ll keep her alive for a while longer. I wasn’t that impartial to sex with a human. She could temporarily ease my boredom.”

  Logan seethes but wisely doesn’t rise to the bait. I scan the crowd, hoping to spot someone familiar in the sea of faces, but all I see are riled-up aliens vocally clamoring for justice.

  “Your arrogance was always going to be your downfall, brother,” Dante says.

  The irony isn’t lost on me. What a douche.

  The crowd starts heckling, and the older male steps forward. “Your people are growing impatient. Let’s get on with this, Dante.”

  “My father would be very disappointed in you, Advisor Mellor.” Logan slants a heinous look his way.

  “Your father was an insufferable tyrant, and I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks of me. You had such promise, Logan.” He shakes his head.

  “Strap them in,” Dante instructs two guards. The dark-haired one clasps my hands behind my back as he wrestles me forward. Logan is being similarly restrained. He makes no protest, and I follow his lead. We are led to the strange high-rise crosses. The crowd hollers and cheers as we are strategically positioned into place. There’s a distinct clanking sound as bands whip around my neck and my outstretched wrists and ankles, hooking me into place. “What’s going to happen to us?”

  Awkwardly, I twist my head to the side to peer into Logan’s eyes. The steel band cuts into my flesh, drawing a little blood. “This was used during my grandfather and great-grandfather’s reign. My father retired it as other devices of death and torture were created. Dante clearly wants to stage a ‘show.’ Essentially, we will be hoisted high into the air and hit with a concentrated volt of electricity. It destroys our electrochemical structure from the inside out.”

  “So, we’re literally toast.”

  Guards finish pinning Logan in place and step back as Dante begins addressing the crowd. Logan and I continue to stare at each other, drawing quiet strength from one another.

  Dante puffs out his chest as he clears his throat. “Today we will punish my brother and his Eterno intended for their sins against the Saven. Tomorrow, we will begin the fight to reclaim our birthright as the most formidable superpower in the galaxy. Let this serve as a warning to anyone who dares to threaten my reign. I will not bow down. I will not be terrorized into submission. The Saven are a force to be reckoned with again.” The crowd roars its approval as I face the front. While most of them appear sated, pumping their fists in obvious support, there are pockets of dissatisfaction dispersed across the auditorium. Not everyone is clapping and cheering.

  A bright flash at the corner of my eye captures my attention. I eagerly scan the crowd for a sign, but there’s nothing. It was nothing. “They’re not going to make it in time, are they?” I twist my head back around to Logan.

  “I’m sorry I failed you, Sadie. That I couldn’t give you the life you deserve. I will love you for eternity, wherever or whatever that may be.”

  Tears prick my eyes as I stare at him. “I’ll find you in the afterlife, because my soul can’t exist without yours. Thank you for loving me, and you should have no regrets. You haven’t failed me. You’ve made my l—” I stop mid-sentence as I start to rise off the ground. My cross lifts upward at the same time Logan’s does. My heart rips a new anxious beat, and butterflies throw the mother of all parties in my chest.

  Crap. I really didn’t think it would come to this. My panicked eyes flit to Logan. He’s unnaturally calm. His quiet assurance seeps into me, cooling my frayed nerves. “I wish I could hold you in my arms one final time.”

  “I wish that too,” I tell him. “Don’t look away from me. I want to be staring into your eyes when the time comes.”

  “There’s no other view I want.”

  I smile at him, and my fingers twitch restlessly at my sides. Fire zings throughout my internal wiring, and I curse the irony. Griselda is going to get her wish after all, just not in the way she had envisaged it.

  A cold breeze wafts around my legs, and though I don’t look down—I refuse to look anywhere but at Logan—I can tell we are already dangling quite high in the sky.

  “What’s your best memory of all time?” Logan asks in a deliberate ploy to distract me. I love him for it.

  “When you kissed me for the first time in the cave. I’d never been kissed like that before. It was everything I’d ever dreamed of and more.” I don’t even need to think about it. That’s always been top of my list. “What’s yours?”

  “Holding you in my arms once we fled Amara. I never thought I’d get to experience that with you again. In that moment I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that I could never be apart from you again.”

  “I love you, Logan.”

  “I love you, too.”

  My chest heaves with the depth of the love in my heart. I cling onto it, blanking everything else out. We slam to a halt and I bite back my scream as the cross I’m hooked up to sways precariously. The wind is strong at this height, matching my fear.

  “Keep looking at me. Only me,” Logan coaches.

  A steady hum gains in velocity, and my entire body trembles as I shudder at the sound.

  “Look at me. I love you.”

  My lip wobbles as I stare at my boyfriend for what may be the last time. His steely demeanor calms me, and I just about hold it together.

  A succession of massive explosions rocks the ground below, and we sway dangerously from the aftershock. Screams and shouts filter through the air like background music in a movie. I can vaguely detect the sound of traded gunfire. My heart does a hopeful little jump, which is probably idiotic, because we are still suspended miles above the ground waiting to be incinerated.

  The panel at my back lurches dangerously, and my stomach drops to my toes. It’s just as well that I hurled earlier and I’ve nothing left to expel. The panel judders again, bringing new meaning to the phrase scared to death. I can’t contain my scream. My lungs let loose as we begin moving, descending lower and lower, faster and faster. My hair whips all around me, masking my vision, and I can’t see Logan’s face. My panic reaches life-threatening proportions. This is it, the moment where I have a coronary at age eighteen. I’ll be dead before we even crash into the ground.

  “Keep calm, Angel. It’ll be okay.”

  I’d snort if my body would cooperate, but it’s on lockdown mode. Shock has rendered me mute and devoid of response.

  I hum under my breath as we hurtle toward the ground. I’m not sure which is worse: being incinerated to a crisp or splatting the ground like a puddle of goo. At what feels like the very last second, we lurch to a halt.

  My breathing spews out in edgy bursts. I wiggle my feet, confirming that I’m still somewhat perched above the ground. “Oh my God.”

  “The others haven’t let us down.”

  “We’re not out of this yet.” My hair still covers my face, and it’s frustrating not knowing what’s going on. As my eardrums recalibrate, I listen to the sounds around me.

  It’s obvious that fighting, on a mass scale, is in full swing. Jumpy pops mingle with lurid explosions as guns, gre
nades, and God-knows-what sort of high-tech alien weaponry zings around the auditorium.

  It would be just my luck to get hit by a stray shot.

  The crowd still screams in shrill tones, and the frantic pounding of harried footsteps resonates clearly. The thump of many footsteps dancing a merry dance surrounds me followed by grunts and groans and the slap of bodies slamming to the floor.

  “You hanging in there?” Logan asks.

  “Funny! Ha! Just about. You?”

  “I’m okay, Angel. Stay calm. Help is on its way.”

  I shriek as I slowly start lowering again. The panel hits the stage with a quavering screech, and my heart tries to beat its way out of my body. Fingers brush my ankles and I flinch. “It’s okay, Sadie,” Ax says, “I’ve got you.”

  “What about—”

  “I’ve got him,” Haydn cuts in. “As soon as Axton releases you, you get the hell out of here. No waiting around for Logan. We will exit on different sides of the auditorium to divert attention and make it harder for Dante to recapture you both. The others will rally en route, and we’ll meet back at the rendezvous point. Axton has this.” There’s a brief pause. “You do, right?”

  “I’m not even dignifying that with a reply,” Ax hisses derisively.

  “You just did,” Haydn retorts.

  “Can we focus, please,” Logan interjects. “We need to get Sadie to safety.”

  “I said, I’ve got this,” Ax repeats, a note of frustration creeping into his voice.

  I test my ankles on the ground as they are freed. Something hard slams into the cross at my back and I jerk forward. Sounds of wrestling accost my ears. There’s a heavy thud, and then Ax is in front of me again, clearing the mass of hair off my face. I inhale sharply as I look into a strangely familiar yet unfamiliar face.

  Ax has cut his hair short and dyed it jet-black. Silky waves dip over his forehead, part concealing eerie ocean-blue eyes. His hair is shorn tight at the sides. He looks freakishly like Logan. The thought that he might have done this deliberately creeps me out. Does he think it’ll be easier to fall back into his arms if he looks like his rival? “What’s with the makeover?” I ask as he works to free the band from my neck.