Blood for Breakfast (Sydney Newbern Book 1) by Helen Bell

Author:Helen Bell [Bell, Helen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-16T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Fear pumped adrenaline through my veins as I punched, kicked, and struck the guards, but after a few moments, the lady boss lost her patience. With a snap of her wrist, she sent me hurtling to the ground. Pain exploded everywhere. She straddled me, her hand around my neck, anchoring me to the floor. She was way stronger than the guards. Her mouth opened, and she released a long threatening hiss, her lips drawing back, her fangs exposed. They were large and long. An Ancient. Crap. I wiggled beneath her, straining to push her off me, but to no avail.

She laughed at my useless attempts. “Such an ignorant mortal, thinking you can best me. At least you’re not a coward like all of your kind. If you didn’t reek of sickness and demons, I’d feast on every drop of your blood.” Her face scrunched a bit, and she got back on her feet, as if she was not able to stand my stench any longer.

I sat up. “You should be thankful for my sickness; it’s the only reason I’m not enjoying kicking your ass right now. And by the way, you psycho leech, the last I checked, it’s your kind who lives in the shadows, afraid to be discovered by us—the humans.”

My big mouth earned me a painful kick to the stomach. She knew how to hit, I’d give her that. Her blow shut me up. Curled up in a fetal position, I gasped for air, coughing blood. The two guards stepped up to me. One restrained me while the other started to take off my clothes. Too weak, I didn’t have the strength to resist them.

“Wait!” The leeches’ boss stopped them when I was down to my bra and underwear. The stony floor was cold against my bare skin, and I quivered. Her cold touch didn’t help when she took my left hand and inspected the tattoo.

“What in the name …” she whispered. “Who cast this on you, mortal?”

“Still trying to figure it out myself,” I answered.

She dropped my hand and looked at the guards. “No one harms her. Take her upstairs and call the witch. She needs to come over. It’s urgent.”

A surge of relief coursed through me. I wasn’t going to be tortured to death. Yet. The ink in my palm had bought me some time to think of a way to break free.

The guards threw my pants, undershirt, and sweater at me, but not my jacket. “Put them back on.”

After I did, they grabbed my arms and steered me outside the entrance hall and to another large room where we climbed a curving stone staircase. On the second level, we turned right and moved down a long, dimly lit hallway. At its end, they flung me into a small room.

They closed the wood door behind me, and I heard the lock click into place. Alone, I surveyed my new surroundings. An arrow-slit window across from me let cold air and moonlight filter in. Without my jacket, my body trembled.

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