Breathing Fire (Heretic Daughters #1)(3)
It took a lot more self-control than I cared to admit not to retaliate to both the blow and the word, but I made myself at least appear calm. “I hear he’s interviewing applicants to replace me nightly,” I dared to say, standing up to face him again. I saw the punch coming, and braced myself. The back of my head hit the wall at the back of the room. I saw stars.
CHAPTER TWO
Happy Place
Not fighting back was much harder than I had thought it would be. My nails dug so hard into my palms that I felt the skin split. My plan would be much more effective, though, if I didn’t leave a scratch on either one of them. I repeated this to myself, over and over again.
I thought that watching me fly across the room actually made Mav feel better. He was noticeably calmer when he said, “You and your sister haven’t registered with us for over five years.” Actually, it was closer to seven, but I wasn’t going to correct him. He continued, “I know I don’t have to tell you the kind of trouble I could give you for that. In addition, you were both registered as weather-witches. You’re gonna have to do better than that this time. You don’t have a high-ranking boyfriend to protect you anymore.” He was downright smug by the end of his little spiel.
“Are you implying that I’m not a weather-witch?” I asked him. I wasn’t, of course. Not even close.
“Don’t push me,” he snarled.
I tried to smile pleasantly at him, but knew I fell far from the mark. “Would you like me to go make it rain? Or better yet, I could make it about a hundred and ten degrees outside, with no humidity. That one’s my specialty.” Yes, it was a bad Vegas weather joke. They didn’t laugh, either.
I got a hard punch in the stomach for the comment. I spit out a large mouthful of blood.
“You are going to give us some straight answers, Jillian, or we will be making you very sorry,” Michael threatened.
“In that case, I should tell you that my name hasn’t been Jillian for years.” He slapped me for that comment.
“You’re going to tell me what you really are, or I swear I’ll make you sorry,” Mav said.
“I’m not telling you a damn thing. You couldn’t beat it out of me. I doubt you could even hold me down long enough to try,” I said, and it was a dare that I knew these knuckleheads couldn’t resist. I’d learned a long time ago that if you suggested something to someone, if it was something they had already wanted to do, something they were already considering, they would almost always take you up on it. This was especially true if you were dealing with idiots.
“Hold her,” Mav told Michael. They were cooperating faster than I could have anticipated. They were really stupid. Which was good. I had kind of been counting on it, though I couldn’t exactly get excited about having the shit beat out of me.
Michael gripped my wrists from behind, more tightly than he needed to. All the better, I told myself, though the feeling made me want to fight harder. I let myself struggle against the hold, just hard enough to guarantee that my wrists would be bruised.
“What the f**k are you? And how old are you, anyways? I heard that you met Dom when he was just fourteen! That was fifty years ago…”
I definitely wasn’t going near that one. My age was a touchy subject, to say the least. Physically, I could have passed for being anywhere between twenty-five to thirty-five, but that was no reflection of my actual age. My kind did not age physically. Or die of natural causes, for that matter.
Mav proceeded to batter me up. There could be no doubt that he relished the opportunity. Sadistic bastard. He landed a solid punch every time I answered one of his questions with an impassioned, “Go f**k yourself!”
It hurt. God, did it hurt bad. And I’d been through some pretty rough stuff. I’d been alive for a very long time, and my life had never been easy, or painless. Nevertheless, getting the shit beat of you never failed to suck. I tried to take my mind elsewhere. I thought of other places, better places. Nope. The beating still sucked royally. I tried to make my mind go to a happy place. Did my mind have a happy place? Apparently not.
“Damn,” Mav said at one point. “Dom told me about this. He told me that your hair and eyes shifted color during sex. I never realized it’d be so pretty. Does this mean you’re turned on?” he asked, leering at me.
I spit in his face. He punched me in the jaw, hard.
“I think it means she’s pissed,” Michael answered for me.
“It means I think you should go f**k yourself,” I added helpfully. Pain had never been a good enough excuse to make me shut my mouth. My breath whooshed out hard. A solid punch to the ribs will do that.
I lost track of time as the beating seemed to last forever. The bastard even made me black out at one point. I had reached my absolute limit when I called a halt to it.
“Enchanter,” I finally gave an answer to his favorite question. It was a lie, but not a real obvious one.
“Bull,” Mav snarled, and smashed his fist into my ribs. He loved that spot. I coughed up more blood, spitting it in his direction.
“Wait, wait,” I said when he went to punch me again. I had really reached my limit. I knew it for certain because the panic in my voice had become very genuine. “I am an enchanter, and I can show you.” He paused, and I continued. “I can make you do my will. For instance, you’re not going to tell Dom that you ever saw me. In fact, you won’t tell anyone that you know where I am.”