Eternal: More Love Stories with Bite by P.C. Cast

Author:P.C. Cast [Cast, P.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-01-21T07:00:00+00:00

The Other Side

Heather Brewer

Blinding pain ripped through Tarrah's shoulder and she wrenched away from it, snapping from sleep and shuffling off her disturbing dreams like she would a too-heavy blanket. She opened her eyes, but was no better off for having done so—the room was pitch-dark as night, its blackness weighing down on every inch of space that surrounded her. But that wasn't the strangest part of what had woken her; not by a long shot. She was on her side, her hands bound behind her, something cold and metal linking her wrists— handcuffs, she was almost certain.

The floor felt like concrete. It was some kind of stone, so cold and hard that her skin burned against it painfully. She couldn't help but wonder how long someone would have to lie on cold concrete to make their skin feel like it was on fire, but imagined it would take a few hours, at minimum. And judging by the rumbling of her stomach, it had been at least that long. Stretching out her shivering fingers, which were all but numb from being bound for who knows how long, she brushed their tips against more metal—a cylinder, like a pipe or pole. The cuffs attached her to it. She was tied up, trapped, in a dark place, and had no memory whatsoever of how she'd gotten here. Terror painted her insides, but she forced herself to remain calm. Her hands slid along the pole, feeling, hoping that she'd be able to either yank or lift her way free, but her explorations found nothing but metal . . . that is, until they met with flesh.

Someone else's flesh.

Hands, cool and still, also ringed with handcuffs, also attached to the pipe. Tarrah jolted at the touch. The hands were larger than hers, masculine. Her thoughts skidded to a hall. Now there wasn't just the mystery of how she got here to solve; there was also this.

She wondered briefly if the man she was attached to was dead. He might be, and if he was, who had killed him? Shaking, Tarrah turned her head, scraping her cheek on the concrete as she tried impossibly to get a look at her fellow prisoner in the darkness. She squinted her eyes, wanting to get a good look but hoping to block out any gore—if there was any gore. If he was a corpse, she didn't really want to see. She didn't want to see him anyway, she had to see him, had to know if she was lying in a cold, strange room handcuffed to a pole with a dead guy.

But she could just barely make out his silhouette in the darkness.

Parting her now trembling lips, amazed by the aching dryness of her mouth, Tarrah whispered into the air, hoping like crazy that he'd respond, even with something as insignificant as a grunt. Anything at all that indicated life. "Hey . .

Her voice seemed horribly foreign and somehow wrong in the blank emptiness of the room, but she had to speak.

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