Blood Sport by Rhiannon D'Averc

Author:Rhiannon D'Averc [D'Averc, Rhiannon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-29T16:00:00+00:00

Eighteen – Will

I had no idea of how much time I had slept for, but by the light, I knew it had to be a new day. My body ached, cold touching each one of my bones with cruel fingers, making them feel so sharp they might break my skin. Even the places on my side where I had lain against Ram all night ached in new ways, complaining of the contortion, his bones fetched up against mine.

My head swam, spinning at the same rate as the clawing in my stomach. There was a demon living inside there, trying to suck down every ounce of me from the inside, and I could feel every effort it made. How long had it been now since I had eaten? Coming up on seventy-two hours, if I had the days right.

“What hunt?” I asked, through dry and cracked lips. Nothing Joe was saying made any sense to me, and Ram had gone strangely quiet. Was this some kind of riddle? I could barely hold onto each word he said. An image of baying dogs flashed through my mind – absurdly enough, an image from a tapestry I had seen hanging in some stately home on a visit with the Ambassador, oddly angular dogs and horses running after a faded beige fox.

“That’s all I know,” Joe said sullenly, slumping back down against the wall. He was clearly done with the conversation. I didn’t know that I had the strength to continue it myself. Beside me, Ram inched closer, nestling against my side. I leaned my head against his shoulder. It was easier than using my neck to hold it up.

“I won’t let them take you,” Ram whispered, so quiet I almost thought I had imagined it.

I must have dozed off. My neck was cricked from laying at an angle when I jerked upright, reacting to the noise of the metal door clanging open. My body tensed, the muscles sending new shoots of pain through me as they gathered and bunched. I shrank against Ram, unable to help myself. I felt him shuffle against me, turning, like he was trying to hide me from view.

Two men entered the room, stepping in and looking at us with a show of slow disdain, smirking. Their clothes were fresh and clean, their bodies strong and vibrant. They crossed the room slowly with swagger, as if they had all the time in the world and there was nothing we could do to stop them.

They had a point.

“Good morning, sunshine,” one of them said, in a broad Cockney accent, accompanied by a sally in Joe’s direction. His arm shot forward and there was a buzzing noise, a yelp of pain from Joe. There was a long, thin stick in the strange man’s hand. A cattle prod, I supposed. I had never actually seen a cattle prod in person. That was something new, at least, I thought distantly.

“What a beautiful day,” the other proclaimed. He made a dancing step in our direction, holding out a prod of his own and sparking it close to our faces.

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