Alias: The Doyen Series book 1

(28) FREEDOM-SORT OF

PICTURE: Imagine the fire is a ball like Aisling describes. Pinterest doesn't have pictures for creepy insane weirdo writers like me

The door opens again a few days or weeks later, I'm not sure. I immediately jump up from my seat on the floor and go into a fighting stance.

I'll kill him before he lays a hand on me again.

But it isn't Devin that answers the door. Instead, it's a younger girl bringing me my ration of food. She's the only 1 who ever brought me food, though I don't believe that she does it out of the kindness of her heart, and she's human. Every time she comes in, she looks me up and down and turns her nose up like she's better than me.

Like I'm scum.

She could be pretty if she wasn't such a snob. She has the blondest red hair I've ever seen and large round aquamarine eyes. I avoid her eyes because they remind me too much of what I am missing not too far away.

I am going insane sitting in a dark gray box with very little food. I tried to carve little lines in the solid rock of the room since Day 1 to keep track of the days. It didn't work, however, and I only ended up breaking my nail into the quick.

So, naturally, when Shirley Temple walks into my cell for the third time, I've decided my plan attack down to the T.

My i's are dotted and my t's are crossed.

I'm ready.

I wrap by arm around her neck the second she turns to leave and place my hand over her mouth. She tries to break free by biting my fingers, causing blood to ease down her throat. I barely notice because of the adrenaline pulsing its way through my veins.

I am electric.

She is gagging.

I am seeing red.

I will no longer hear my brother's tortured cries. I will no

longer be locked up in this cell. I will no longer be a prisoner.

I feel the growl form in my throat before I can stop it. Instinct makes me sink my teeth into her neck.

She tries to scream out, to fight back, to kill me, but she's only human. She has no chance.

I snap her neck.

Her body falls to the ground, lifeless.

My brain hardly registers the fact that I have murdered someone when I walk out into the dark hallway.

I am an electric wire. Buzzing, thrumming, pulsating with energy and currents. I am deadly and powerful and unique.

Looking to my left, I see 3 witches—I assume—running my way. I feel the pain begin to overtake my frontal lobe.

This trick has gotten old; I think to myself. Is this all they know?

"Enough!" I yell out and throw my hands vaguely in their direction. I watch a large blue orb fly out of my palm and hit the 1 in the middle.

The other 2 glance at their friend, back at me, and at each other. I feel my anger rising, boiling my blood and making me see stars.

Imagining 2 more fire balls in my hands, 1 in each palm, I feel the heat before I see them. The 2 orbs have 20 different shades of blue in them, all swirling around and ready to attack. I fling my wrists forward and aim at each witch.