Siren's Song_Cassandra Palmer Series by Karen Chance

Author:Karen Chance [Chance, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Karen Chance
Published: 2019-09-11T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Five

J ohn came slowly back to something like awareness, albeit with a swimming head, a throbbing jaw, and a brain wondering why everyone seemed to feel the need to belt him in the face.

Or why he kept having all these confusing visions. He could see it all so perfectly: the rock cut corridors splashed with moonlight; the fiery, flying bats, their eyes glowing orange from reflected flames; his own labored breaths smoking in the cold air in front of him, while white hot terror clawed at his insides. But none of it made sense, because none of it was real.

The memories of Cassie he’d been having were vivid, picture perfect recollections of past events. The ones with Caleb, on the other hand, were strange fever dreams he didn’t understand at all. And, frankly, didn’t want to understand.

Like why someone was trying to strip off his trousers.

“What are you doing?” a woman’s voice asked sharply, as John fought his way back to full consciousness.

The tugging stopped. “We gotta find out if he’s a war mage.”

It was a somewhat nasal man’s voice that time, probably the one with his hands on John’s arse.

“Why would he be a war mage?” the woman demanded.

“Cause he just took a crap ton of magic to the face and didn’t even blink? Normal mages would be a shiny spot on the floor right now. So, ten to one, he’s got a silver circle tat somewhere on his body—”

“Who cares?”

“—or a black, depending on which group he’s with.”

“And again, we care about this because?” The woman sounded impatient—and American, albeit with an odd accent hovering around the edges of a few words. Strangely, her voice also sounded distant.

Or maybe that was John. He was trying to concentrate; he was trying hard. But the voices kept fading in and out, close one minute and far away the next, whilst his gut roiled.

At least he was face down, so he wouldn’t choke on his vomit, he thought vaguely, as the man’s voice came again.

“Well, for one thing, if he’s silver, we probably shouldn’t kill him, us being allies and all—”

“I wasn’t planning on killing him,” the woman said, which was news to John, considering the ferocity of her attack. “And will you stop trying to take his pants off?”

“I told you—they all got a tat.”

“On his ass?”

John finally realized why he couldn’t move. His hands were cuffed—in front of him. That made the woman—the master vampire, he assumed—either amazingly careless, or so overpowered that she wasn’t in the habit of needing to worry about little things like captured war mages.

John felt his lip curl.

“It’s usually on one of the arms somewhere,” the man was saying. “So they can recognize each other easy, you know? But maybe he wanted it someplace else.”

“For what?” the woman demanded.

“I dunno. Maybe he’s a special agent or something.”

“Why would that make him put it there?”

“Well, who would check there?”

“You’re checking there!”

John had also been gagged, which did exactly fuck all to stop silent spell casting.

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