Davina (Davy Harwood #3)(5)

Wren sighed and stood to stretch. Her black leather stretched with her. As she arched her back with her breasts pointed in the air, she glanced backwards.

Tracey never looked away from the window.

Wren sighed again, but this time in disgust. “Give it up, Gavin. You can’t help Davy. None of us can, and unless you have magic in that tight ass of yours, there’s no way we’re breaking out of here.”

“Why do the Mori have magic? Why can’t we?”

Gregory’s bunk groaned in protest when he pushed down to stand, but when he stepped forward, a deep thud came from the ground.

“Stop.” Tracey looked now. “The Mori didn’t build this place for vampires of your size. They’re light footed and slender in build.”

“Yeah,” Wren bit out. “You could help us escape, make the bars crumble. Let’s not do that.”

Tracey shot her a look. “He could bring the entire building down, and who knows who he might kill in the process.”

The dark-haired dominatrix bared her fangs at her cellmate.

“You are being immature, Arwena.”

“Shut up, you two,” Gavin snapped and started to pace again. “It’s been three months, and you two have been at each other’s throat the whole time. I thought you were lovers, you used to love each other.”

“‘Used to’ is the operative phrase.” Wren sat on her bunk bed. Her shoulders slumped forward. All fight seemed to have left her in that moment.

A strand of golden hair fell over her shoulder and as she moved it back in place, Tracey flashed her deep blue eyes at her lover. A small frown appeared, but she didn’t allow it to last long. Wren seemed to be losing her fight every day they remained in captivity. And the regal Roane warrior knew one thing; they would all need to keep their rest for when they would fight free. They would get free. They had to. She glanced back out the window. If anything, she’d get free to find Talia’s daughter. She knew Lucan had taken her a year ago. She would have to be there, somewhere. She would find her sister’s child and take back what was left of her family.

Gavin had been watching the blonde. He saw the thoughts fly through her head, and then he saw when she dismissed Wren’s emotions. His own eyes hardened. He growled, “It doesn’t matter, Wren. Maybe you’re better off.”

Tracey’s chin tightened, but she never looked away from the window.

Gregory’s jaw clenched as well and he sat back down. His bunk shifted underneath his weight once more.

Gavin turned back and saw how his friend’s shoulders drooped. A sad expression came over him, and he knew the blonde Viking was missing the scatter-brained witch, for not the first time.

He stopped pacing and stood there, in front of the bars. They hummed with magic, and though his fingers itched to tear them apart, he knew he couldn’t.

Then he heard her scream again, and he gritted his teeth. One of these days he would find a way. He would help Davy. He had to.





DAVY


When the last scream left me, my body collapsed on the ground. The witches had been chanting again. This time, with each of their chants, my body lifted off the floor and rose in the air. I had fought it at first, rallying The Immortal inside of me to fight back. Nothing worked. No magic could leave my body. So now I let them try. I let them fling my body back and forth, up and down, upside down at times. I no longer cared.

It never worked. They never won.

They left again, quieted and confused.

I rolled over and tried to lift myself up. My arms fell underneath my weight and my face slammed back down. My nose hit the bottom cage with force and I groaned, but the pain was almost welcoming. It was nothing compared to what I’d endured. When I pushed myself to a sitting position, I felt the blood that came from my nose. I touched it with gentle fingers and found that it still remained intact. I hadn’t broken my own face, yet.

A soft laugh escaped at that thought, but I groaned instantly from the pain.

“You have hurt yourself.”

My head whipped up, but no one was there. There was no Lucan to taunt me.

“What is this?” I asked. It’d been a long time since I had a voice speak to me in my own head.

He laughed. “I am not The Immortal speaking to you.”

My shoulders sagged forward. “That’d be more helpful.”

He laughed again, softly. “They have been trying hard, have they not? The thread must be buried deep inside of you.”

“Can you help me?”

There was silence.

I heard my own breathing. In and out. Inhale, exhale. They were shallow breaths. They grew shallower by the second.

Then I heard his response. “I cannot.”

“You’re powerful enough to speak to me, to see what they are doing, but not enough to free me? What kind of a sorcerer are you?” My tone was loathsome.

There was a sharp intake of air and a powerful explosion immediately after. The force of it threw me against the far wall of my cage. For the first time, I didn’t feel the impact. As soon as my body fell down to the metal bars, I lifted my head once more and gazed around. He had gone. I knew that, but my eyes quickly searched for anything. And then I saw it. A small amount of smoke still floated in the air, near the top corner of the room. He had been watching from there and the next time he came, and I knew he would.