A curt knock brought him to the present. “Enter,” he said.
Two panting guards stumbled in and bowed lowly. His captains in command of both regiments stood before him, looking very flustered.
“Captains, what news?” Sitting on the edge of his desk, interlocking his fingers, he observed them. Adair smelled the tension rolling off them in waves. He would maintain order.
“In search for the escaped rebels, we have come across another just outside the gates. He is asking for you, and sir, he is covered in fresh blood.”
Very intriguing.
“Very well. Bring him in, but to the dungeons first. I have instructions for the current matter at hand.”
The next half an hour he spent explaining what exactly was to be done in regard to Emory. Nothing was going to go amiss. Not this time.
Chapter Forty-Four
Brokk
Strange tubes had been attached to his body, his blood swirling through them. Struggling for breath, Brokk fought to live.
He cracked an eye open, his left too swollen shut to move. The basement was currently empty, his only company a dimly lit candle. He had no idea how much time had passed, whether he had been here for weeks or months.
I will not break. You are Brokk. Foster. You will not fall. This had become his daily mantra, his lifeline.
He had undergone a series of torture, both mental and physical. Their approach, though, was completely foreign to him. Why were they collecting his blood? The tubes encompassed different parts of his body, all of them funneling to a clear basin near his feet. There were too many tubes to count, but he could hear the gentle trickle as the blood was drained.
Brokk felt lightheaded, his palms becoming clammy. Focus. He had to escape. Or he would die. The clarity of this sang through his body as gentle creaks of footsteps sounded, and the door creaked open. Peyton appeared, all business as usual.
“Ah, dear, things are coming along nicely here, aren’t they? The Oilean will be pleased.”
He rasped, “And where are the demons?” He didn’t recognize his voice; it was a hoarse grumble.
“Ah! He does speak. And I wouldn’t tell you even if I wanted to.” She flashed a brilliant look at him, having taken on her younger form.
She continued to bustle about, humming a gentle tune. Brokk could feel the edges of his consciousness being pulled at, and he licked his lips. They were gone then, temporarily at least. He took a breath in, his mind felt clear and crisp—even if his body felt like it had been chewed through a mill.
They had left him not drugged. He hid his grin. Usually, they dosed him up with a serum concocted that wouldn’t allow him to shapeshift, but for whatever reason... It clicked together. They needed his blood clean for their purpose.
This would be his only chance.
It would be a longshot. But he would try—or die doing so. It had been awhile, but it was as familiar as breathing to him. He closed his eyes, letting go. His body cracked swiftly, and with a growl that ripped through his entire body, he flung himself forward, ignoring the pain. The tubes ripped from his body—his blood flying everywhere—but he had only one target.
Peyton turned around just as he collided with her, and they were sent crashing into the brick wall. She was stunned and, with strength he didn’t know he still had, slashed his claws across her chest, black blood pouring from the wounds. Her eyes went wide, and with his ears back and teeth bared, he lunged toward her jugular and ripped it apart. It was only until she stopped struggling that he stopped.
Panting heavily, he staggered back, eyes flicking toward the stones. It was pulsing an eerie green hue. Brokk could sense the energy building around the stones. A strange noise cut through the air, and the power kept building, like a bomb. He had to get out now.
He set out in a gallop, crashing through the door; it broke apart in a thousand shards of wood. He took the stairs almost in one leap and came into the kitchen, a thousand scents overwhelming him. In that instant, the basement exploded from underneath him. Yelping, he was thrown back but, regaining his balance, hurled himself through the nearest window, shards of glass exploding around him as he was thrown into a blistering light. The sun.
Blinking hard as Brokk readjusted, he pushed himself forward and set off at a run, and each time his pads pounded the earth, it echoed his freedom. Trees blurred around him, and he relished the outside world in its light.
What he had gone through rippled through him, his body painfully reminding him of what they had done. He looked back over his golden fur and saw, to his delight, smoke curling toward the sky where the cottage had been. They couldn’t follow him or send Peyton after him. For the time being, he was free.
His tongue licked the blood from his muzzle, and he looked to the sky. Dusk would be upon him within the hour and, with that, the night. To the west lay the Academy...but beyond that? He had always been loyal to Memphis, but he needed answers about his past. He couldn’t let his friends die—if they weren’t already dead.
Slowing to a trot, Brokk came upon a rushing river. He lowered down to it, the cool water rushing over his muzzle as he lapped it up. He could already feel his body healing itself with a renewed pace and sighed in satisfaction.
First, he would find out what happened to Black Dawn, which meant paying a visit to the Academy. After that... His muzzle curled into a snarl over his glistening teeth. After that, he would find his doppelganger, destroy him, and then find his answers.
He set off at a
