Bound by Prophecy

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-two

Trapped

I had plenty of time to think about what Morgan had said, because every attempt I made at falling asleep, William created some new form of torture to wake me. Presently, he'd slapped me, quite hard, and was standing in waiting to be certain it had taken.

"Okay," I said, forcing my eyes open. "I've got it."

His gaze narrowed on me.

I pursed my lips. "Listen, how about you let my arms down for a while-"

"Silence," he said tersely.

"Why? Morgan doesn't trust you to-"

My words cut off as he slapped me again, though I was clearly awake. Clearly.

"Boy, he's sure got you-"

William backhanded me. This time my only response was to turn my head as I spat blood.

I would have to think of something else. I was tied near the center of the room, in plain view of not only William, but three other battle-trained men. I could only assume the cameras hidden among the library shelves were still operational, which meant several more guards watched my every move from the safety of Council's private security office. Between me and that office were untold sentries, key-coded locks, and alarms. They had placed me in the archive for a reason. It was the most secure room on the property.

I racked my brain for a way to disable the cameras, the four men, those blasted ties cutting off circulation to my hands, or any portion of said list, but my mind was too addled from lack of sleep. I wondered vaguely if Logan had realized I was missing, if he'd waited at the drop point, or if someone from the Division had found him. But I couldn't even be certain what day it was. Judging from the severity of my wounds, I might have only slept hours before Morgan had woken me. Or it might have been days.

I could remember the pain, a bullet tearing through my side, one cutting my chest and striking bone, another in my leg... and Emily. The flash of sneaker as she disappeared into the trees. I hoped she wasn't still sealed within the chamber. I hoped someone had gotten her out. Not Morgan, surely. He would have said. He would have been proud.

And then his words were swimming through my mind again, and I couldn't fathom their full potential for harm.Brianna's mother had not merely been a prophet. She'd had the power to release our kind's abilities. And they had known. Brianna first, but Emily, the realization only coming as she'd spoken the words in my room, that their mother had been taken before Morgan had gotten this sway. This new power. Her sickness, her panic made sense now. But as she'd doubled over, I'd spotted her mark, and everything had changed.

And that was our one saving grace. No one knew but the three of us. No matter what happened, Morgan would not fulfill the prophecy. Even if he captured Brianna, if he tricked the Division into giving her up, if he used his sway against them, he would still have the wrong girl.

Emily was the chosen.

"You're going to die, traitor-boy," a voice hissed from beside me, "and your dragon blood can't do a thing to stop it."

I stared straight ahead, but I could see the man in question. He leaned back in his chair, thumb playing patiently over the hammer of his pistol where it lay on his leg. The barrel casually pointed in my direction, but there was no threat of him using it. It would be Morgan's doing, not one of these men.

A low grumbling laugh followed, but William cut him off. "Silence."

The laughter ceased, but the man's mouth remained tweaked in a nasty grin.