Trial by Thrall (Trial #2) Read online

  “Just, uh, samples, right?” I ask.

  “We need to know how this gift works, why a Kingmaker can heal when we can’t,” one of the surgeons answers. “It might be more than samples.”

  Fuck.

  A fifth strap is tightened around my waist and a sixth around my forehead. Someone slides a heart monitor over my index finger and a blood pressure cuff around my arm. Everyone in the room looks towards the monitor when it activates.

  My heart rate is over two hundred, my blood pressure jumping by ten every five seconds.

  “Conor,” someone says. “Put her under.”

  I ‘ve never heard more terrifying words in my life. Conor rests a hand on my shoulder.

  “No, wait!” I cry, my panic bubbling over. “Conor, just –”

  A cold, heavy wave of blackness smashes my mind.

  Chapter Ten

  I claw my way out of the darkness once or twice and am pushed right back under. The realization I have no control over my own mind freaks me out for the two seconds when I emerge, and it’s not until the third time my eyes open that I’m able to break away from the forced state of unconsciousness. Someone’s face hovers over mine.

  God, not her. Siobhan, the redheaded nurse with a temper. Her presence hits me with the force of a hammer. I’m so not ready to be yelled at again. She’s talking to me, her voice warbling in and out, with none of the words making it through my heavily sedated mind.

  She forces me to sit, and I groan and blink away the film from my eyes. This is what it feels like to take too much N-Thrall and alcohol. My head throbs, and my body is so heavy, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stand again.

  She’s still talking, this time to someone else with her.

  I recognize Aoife’s blue eyes and dark hair.

  Both women are worried. My empathic ability returns before my other senses clear, and I can identify … urgency. Fear.

  I just want to sleep this off and wake up later, when I can handle whatever this mess is. Leaning back, I close my eyes.

  “Leslie!”

  Siobhan can wake the dead with that tone. My eyes snap open, and I stare at her.

  “You have to get up, now!”

  “Holy … shit …” I groan and make an attempt to obey before she yells again. She and Aoife help me sit.

  Why are my feet strapped to a table?

  An even better question: where am I?

  I gaze at the operating room around me, unable to place why I’m here. In the distance, I register warm pain but can’t identify from where. It kind of feels like it’s all over, from my wrists to my abdomen to the bottoms of my feet.

  Lifting one heavy hand throws my balance, but I manage to bring my wrist to my face. Pink, new scars line the inside of my arm, from my wrist to my shoulder and onward to my chest. Pulling the gown away from my torso with clumsy fingers, I almost laugh. A massive, thick scar runs down the center of my ribcage, but it’s the markings on me that I find somehow funny. Someone drew all over me in a thick black pen.

  Siobhan releases my legs.

  More of my instincts are awakening, including one that warns me I shouldn’t be laughing. I don’t have any time to figure anything out, though, before Siobhan is dragging me off the table. My legs don’t work, and she careens into a wall beneath my weight. Aoife scrambles around the operating table to wrap an arm around me and help support me.

  They half carry, half drag me out of the operating room and down a hall. Something very important is at the back of my mind, struggling to wiggle free of the heavy darkness. But my first focus is on not being dragged, so I channel what energy I can into my feet and manage to help the two women a little bit.

  They’re silent as we stagger through the corridors towards a destination I’m completely unaware of. My legs begin working five steps before they duck into a dark room.

  Siobhan flips on a light, and I giggle when I see we’re in a janitor’s close. Shelves of pungent cleaning products line one wall and a floor buffer takes up one whole corner.

  They lower me to the ground, and I grimace. The floor is cold against my bare ass.

  “Go. I’ll wait here,” Siobhan tells Aoife.

  Aoife dashes out of the tiny room. Siobhan closes and locks the door behind her, her fear even stronger. Or I’m waking up finally. Testing my body, I try again to remember what happened and study the scars lining the inside of one arm. They run along the other, too, and my legs, all over my abdomen … I touch my neck to feel it there, too, though my face is clear of scarring.

  This reminds me of something, and my confused mind fixates on the random thought.

  “What was her name?” I ask.

  “What?” Siobhan gives me one of her looks. “Whose name?” She’s pacing in the small space before the door, hands clenched behind her back. “Aoife?”

  “No. Jack’s girlfriend.”

  “Who is Jack?”

  “The Nightmare Before Christmas,” I answer and rest my head back against the wall behind me.

  “Isn’t that a movie?”

  “Yes! Exactly.”

  “You’re thinking about a movie?” Siobhan is glaring at me. “Do you have any idea how close you came to dying?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” I reply. “You really don’t remember Jack’s girlfriend?”

  Her mouth drops open, closes, and then she shakes her head.

  I sigh. “Maybe if people keep trying to kill me, I deserve it.”

  She shoots me another look of irritation, and her gaze lingers then softens.

  I’m actually serious – sort of. I’d never admit something like this if my head wasn’t filled with wool.

  “You don’t deserve it,” she replies reluctantly. “You’re probably the only Kingmaker in history I’ll ever say that about.”

  “Because I saved fae-bies.”

  “Because you’re different. I’ve seen half a dozen come and go, and none of them were like you. None of them tried to understand us and none of them cared that our children are dying.”

  It’s a nice thought, to know I’m different, until I recall my father. In his letters, he seems to have been trapped by what he was. The Community hates us, but I don’t think we have any more of a choice about what we are than they do.

  My strength is returning faster, perhaps because of my ability to heal.

  “Is this a rescue or …?” I glance around. “Not really?”

  It’s her turn to sigh. “I’m numbing your pain. You should be almost fully healed.” She grabs a shopping bag off the shelf and sets it down beside me. “Here. These should be close to your sizes.”

  I peek into it to see folded jeans and a t-shirt, along with sandals.

  Getting dressed is a chore. I don’t hurt, but neither can I shake the sluggishness or the headache or the nagging sense I’m missing something important.

  “Ah! Samples!” I exclaim. “Did it work? Did they find a cure?”

  “No.” Siobhan’s voice is soft. “This isn’t fae magic we’re dealing with. It’s Kingmaker magic. They should have known better than to mess with it.”

  “Oh.” Disappointed, I finish tugging on my t-shirt and then stand precariously. “What exactly did they do?” I ask, puzzled by the scars all over me.

  “Everything they could think of. They vivisected you. Removed all your organs, took samples from every part of your body several times over, then sewed you back up, thinking you’d be dead. But you healed overnight, so they did it again.”

  My jaw is slack. Is she … serious? I stare at my scarring.

  “Sally,” I manage. “Jack’s girlfriend.”

  “Maybe I should’ve left you on the table if you’re going to talk nonsense!” Siobhan snaps.

  “Stop with the yelling,” I say, grimacing at my headache. “I’m two feet away.”

  “You’ve got the sense of that mop!”

  I clutch my head. “Okay, okay. I get it. This is serious. I almost died. You rescued me. I’m tracki
ng.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “I’m sorry they didn’t find a cure,” I add more quietly. “I really wanted that to happen. I didn’t feel anything they did to me, and I obviously survived. I won’t be wearing a bikini anytime, though, but it’s a small price to pay for the potential of a cure.”

  She looks ready to yell and I cover my ears. This woman gives me serious flashbacks to Mrs. Anderson and second grade.

  Siobhan shakes out her shoulders. “Thank you,” she says, forcing herself to calm down. “I guess I should appreciate that you’re not angry with the fae for this.”

  “You’re good people in a bad situation,” I reply with a shrug.

  “Yeah, we are.” Her anger fades to sorrow. “I never saw that movie.”

  “Trust me – as soon as you see Sally, you’ll get it.”

  She gives me a faint smile and then shakes her head again.

  “So, uh, why are we hiding in a closet?” I ask.

  “The people who did this wanted to do more to you. Aoife didn’t know what the real plan was, that they wanted to vivisect you instead of taking samples. When she found out, she came to me for help. I’m the senior nurse on staff, and I’ve been taking care of her daughter. She didn’t know who else to turn to,” Siobhan explains. “We had to wait until the others were gone, and you were strong enough to move. I don’t want to risk confronting them, so we’re staying here until it’s safe.”

  “How long was I out?” I ask.

  “Two days.”

  “It’s day six,” I murmur to myself. My last day as a fae. If they had waited until tomorrow to help me, I’d be dead. As it is, I’ll probably never know for certain what Tristan plans to do or what happens to Aoife. Tristan will shut me out of his life as fast and absolutely as Ben did.

  That hurts. Bad.

  “How do you feel?” Siobhan asks.

  “Relatively good. A little tired.” I test my body. “Can we leave the closet now that I can walk?”

  “No. Aoife went to tell Tristan everything.”

  I look away. I feel it then, a different kind of pang. She’s afraid, not for herself, but for her friend. “What does he do to people who disobey him?” I whisper.

  “It depends. There are different punishments for different problems. But this is really bad.”

  “They said the punishment among fae for taking a life is death and having their souls shredded. But I’m not dead, right? Maybe that matters?” I ask hopefully.

  “No.” Siobhan’s quiet answer is firm. “Never in the history of the fae has anyone attacked the mate of a leader. It won’t matter that you’re a Kingmaker, or that you’re only here for a few days, or that Aoife is the very best person I know and made a mistake. Tristan will have to respond without mercy.”

  I swallow hard. Tristan’s going to punish Aoife, no matter how little she knew of the real plan. She, her husband, their daughter … none of them will survive this. Tristan’s edge is subtle, but if he’s willing to let dozens of newborns die when I can help, he’s not going to hesitate to make an example out of someone, if needed, to maintain order.

  I don’t want that.

  I really do cause chaos and death wherever I go.

  “Are you hungry?” Siobhan reaches for a brown paper bag on the shelf.

  “No.”

  “I don’t know what’s normal for a Kingmaker, but you seem pale to me.” She studies me. “You need to eat.”

  I accept and open it. Someone made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My stomach growls at the scent, and I devour it, the candy bar and bottle of water within minutes.

  Warmth and … worry reach me, along with the intensifying of a familiar rocking. I sigh to feel Tristan close.

  A light tap sounds at the door shortly after, and Siobhan freezes.

  “It’s Tristan,” I tell her.

  She unlocks the door and opens it, stepping aside quickly.

  Tristan is unreadable and tense, and he’s controlling my access to his emotions. I can’t recall when I’ve ever been happier to see someone. I’m not always sure what to do when he’s like this, but a hug always seems to work.

  I wrap my arms around him and breathe in his scent, melting into him. The rocking passes between us, strong and steady, a sort of couple’s heartbeat. His arms circle me, and he hugs me to his hard frame.

  “Leslie,” he whispers. Restrained emotion renders the single word hoarse and low. Slowly, his barriers start to lower. I recognize the power of fury, the depth of his worry, the shimmer of hope and relief. His feelings are intense and beautiful – and all for me.

  This is magic in its purest form.

  “I’m okay,” I tell him, marveling at the complete access I have to him.

  “Okay,” he repeats and shifts back to see me. He takes my chin between his fingers and lifts it, frowning at the scars along both sides of my neck. His arm tightens around me, and fire flares in his eyes.

  “Like Frankenstein,” I say and take his hand.

  “At first, I thought you left because you were angry at my response to your question,” he says. “I didn’t look for you until that night. God, I’m a fucking fool!”

  Answer to my question … it takes a minute for me to understand what he’s talking about.

  Five shadows, four people. Everything is coming back.

  “Come on. I’ve already ordered those responsible arrested. I’m going to get you settled then take care of them,” he adds with furious determination. “Siobhan, is she well?”

  “Yes, sir,” Siobhan replies with a bow of her head. “She’s healthy but will need some rest.”

  Tristan takes my hand and leads me out of the closet, his pace slow, for which I’m grateful. As well as I know him after our time together, I’m still not about to trip in front of him.

  “Where’s Aoife?” I ask, glancing around the hallway. “I want to thank her for helping me.”

  “She’s with the others,” he says through gritted teeth.

  I gaze up at his profile, feeling his anger. I want to tell him not to punish them, or at least, to plead Aoife’s case, but now isn’t the right time. This much I can sense.

  So I say nothing.

  We return to his apartment. I have no chance to talk to him about what happened before he sweeps me up into his arms and kisses me hard and deep enough that I lose all sense of where I’ve been for two days and can think of nothing I want more than us naked in bed.

  His fear and despair emerge as his guard drops completely and we claw at each other, tearing each other’s clothing off, and stumble to the bedroom.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tristan is relentless in bed. We stay there all day, until dusk claims the sky, and I’m too tired to move. He’s holding me as if acutely aware this is our last night together.

  When we’re both spent, we lie beside each other in silence. The fingers of one of his hands trace down my body, following the line of scars that will forever remind me of the trials. I have a few from the run in with Ben’s ex, but this is completely different. There’s no part of my body that hasn’t been butchered, with the exception of my head.

  As hard as we fucked, Tristan remains angry. I’ve done nothing to settle this emotion within him, even if he’s far calmer now than before.

  “If this were my trial, I’d have failed,” he voices at last in a husky voice. His fingers are caressing the skin between my breasts and the thick scar from where his people cracked open my ribcage and then opened my chest to get to my heart.

  The whole experience is surreal. I felt absolutely nothing, which is what weirds me out. They literally tore my body apart – and I slept blissfully and awoke with nothing more than a headache. I owe Conor a thank you note for keeping his end of the bargain, assuming he’s alive.

  “Do me a favor. Make me Community leader or exile me. I don’t want a mate,” Tristan adds.

  I snort. I can hear his resolve, and it amuses me to hear similar words from him that I heard from
Ben. “Imagine having three,” I tease and open my eyes to see his features.

  His are grave, and I can’t help wishing he’d smile. I love his dimpled smile.

  “I can handle anything but your pain,” he whispers.

  “I’m okay, Tristan. Really,” I tell him once more and shift onto my side to face him. Our lower bodies entwined, we gaze at one another in the fading light of day. “I can heal, and they meant well.”

  “Don’t.” Fire flashes in his eyes.

  I lean forward and kiss him until he relaxes again.

  “I know what you’re going to ask me,” he adds when I lean away. “The answer is no.”

  “I still have to try. I feel responsible.”

  “They chose to do what they did.”

  “I chose to give them false hope despite you warning me not to.”

  “Leslie, they defied every fae code and directive, not to mention they cut you open.”

  I shift onto one elbow. “And if I can still plead their case, then you should listen to me!”

  “This is an internal fae matter and, as of tomorrow, you’re no longer fae.”

  Frustrated, I sit, unable to think of Aoife without needing to help her. I also sense I’ll never win this battle with Tristan, that he’s as resolved as Ben was to handle the traitors in his ranks with little mercy.

  Tristan mirrors my movement.

  “I know that’s not what you want to hear.” He cups a cheek with one hand and shifts my face until he’s gazing into my eyes. “This is my decision, my clan. I will always show compassion where I can. You know that, right? That I’ll never act without thought, never issue the ultimate punishment unless it’s absolutely necessary?”

  “I do,” I whisper. “But I have a feeling it’s necessary this time.”

  “It is.”

  His confirmation crushes me. “What happens to them?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay steady.

  “Capitol punishment is quick and painless. At sunset, we’ll go to the ocean, to a bluff untouched by man, where all of nature is present. They’ll wear white, and any fae family member who wishes to attend is welcome to. If they ask for forgiveness, I grant it. It takes nothing more than a touch from me.” He rests his hand on my head.