Page 13 of Blood Skye (Skye Druids #6)
Chapter Thirteen
Carlyle’s softly spoken words hit Song right in the chest. She didn’t want to feel anything, especially about Carlyle . But there was no stopping it. She would never forget the way his voice broke on the words and the haunting sadness in his eyes.
She stood in the room she had woken in and stared at the bed where, not too long ago, she had relished the feel of his hand on her back. No one did anything out of the goodness of their hearts. There was always an ulterior motive. She couldn’t afford to forget that a second time.
As it was, she was lucky Carlyle hadn’t asked her anything personal. It had physically pained her to keep the truth from him. He had done nothing but administer the spell, going so far as to argue that any discomfort was entirely her fault for attempting to keep information from him.
The sad part was, she had used something similar in the past with that very argument. Despite her many disguises and alias, Song didn’t pretend she was something she wasn’t. She had accepted what she was long ago. It was better that way—easier, even.
She left the room and went in search of the stairs. She turned a corner, thinking she might have found them, but discovered the laundry area instead. Her jeans and camisole had been washed, dried, and folded atop the dryer. The cashmere sweater was on a drying rack. She lifted it to find it still damp. To her surprise, she couldn’t find any stains on it. She had been sure blood must have leached into the fabric.
Song grabbed the jeans and the cami, and as she turned, she spotted the boots she had worn sitting beside Carlyle’s , drying. She started to leave, only to draw up short at the sight of Carlyle in the laundry room doorway, his hands braced on either side of the doorjamb. His turquoise eyes scrutinized her. She had thought the interrogation was over. Seemed she was wrong.
“ Will the elders harm my father?” Carlyle asked.
She held her clothes against her chest like a shield. “ They always do whatever they want.”
“ That isn’t an answer.”
“ It’s the only one I have to give.”
His nostrils flared as he drew in a breath, his gaze darting away for a heartbeat. “ It’s my father. Can’t you understand how important family is?”
“ Do you think you’re the only one with family?” she shouted, the words exploding from her without thought or hesitation. It had been many years since she had lost her temper in such a way. Song turned her head to the side, wishing she could take it back.
When they came, his words were as soft as a whisper, persuasive and coaxing. “ Do the elders have someone in your family?”
Song pressed her lips together. Her stomach roiled, and her body heated, causing her to sweat. She didn’t want to give Carlyle anything he might use against her. She didn’t care how bad the pain became. She wouldn’t tell him about her sister.
To her shock, the agony from before was no more than a dull ache. She fought against the lingering effects of the spell. Even when she gagged and turned away in case she vomited, she said nothing.
“ I don’t have to be the enemy,” Carlyle told her.
She gripped her clothes as the nausea returned. “ How else am I supposed to look at you after this spell?”
“ I imagine you would do a lot more to get the information you wanted if our situations were reversed. That’s the difference between us,” he stated icily.
Song snorted. “ There’s no difference. You set out to kidnap me and use a truth spell to get whatever you needed—without care for what might happen to me or any family I might have. We’re not different, Carlyle . You’re just like me.”
He walked away without saying more. She sagged against the dryer and dragged in mouthfuls of air as her skin began to cool. Only when she knew she wouldn’t be sick did she leave. She discovered the stairs and hurried down them. Song couldn’t get away from him fast enough. She came to another space as big as the one above. There were six rooms. A main bedroom, along with three others, a workout room, and another small room off by itself.
Song pushed open the door to the last room and was greeted by an array of plants. It was warm and humid. The moisture was thick as it pressed against her skin. It was like she’d stepped into a rainforest. She spotted two wicker lounge chairs set apart amid the various plants. The sound of running water caught her attention. She wove through the foliage to find it. As she did, she tested the soil in the pots to find it moist.
She continued on, but it wasn’t flooring she encountered. Instead , it was water. A small stream about eight inches wide ran along the floor. She followed it to find it meandered through the room before doubling back and disappearing under a wall. About six feet away, she discovered the sound that had drawn her. Water flowed down a rock wall to trickle into the stream.
Upon closer inspection of the plants, she saw black tubing connected to the pots and realized they were being irrigated by the flowing water. The water appeared to be recirculating, though there was likely an outside source.
Song spent more time in the room before she chose the main bedroom as hers. If she was going to be held captive, then she would take the best. She tossed the jeans and camisole onto the end of the bed and sat.
Carlyle had given her everything she had. It rankled. There wasn’t much she could do about it now, though. Eventually , they would leave the bunker, and she needed to be ready to strike out on her own when that happened. She had clothes, money, and cars stashed in different areas of the UK . It was just a matter of getting to them.
Maybe then she could figure out what was going on and why the team had targeted her. As much as she wished otherwise, she couldn’t barge into headquarters and demand answers from the elders. If London wanted to take her out, they would do it the moment they saw her, regardless of where that might be.
Song racked her brain for why the elders would have sent a team after her. She had been close to the deadline for finding whatever was in Mason’s desk, but she hadn’t missed it. She had been close before, and London had never reacted that way. Why now?
But she knew the answer. Even if she didn’t want to think about it, she knew. Because she had been sent before. When the elders were finished with someone, they wanted them gone. It was done quickly and quietly.
Yet that hadn’t happened at the manor. The team had been loud, shooting up the place like gangsters in a movie. They hadn’t come at her with magic. They hadn’t been lying in wait at her flat. Why ? The only thing she could come up with was that they didn’t want the Druid community to know it was them. Even though everyone in the London organization would suspect such.
Unless the elders never let it be known that she was there.
That was the most likely conclusion. She was a weapon they used in their game of dominance, authority, and influence. Power was all that mattered. With her help, they had garnered a lot of it. She’d removed obstacles, obtained blackmail material, and administered just the right amount of pressure.
London had turned on her. The why didn’t matter. There was no coming back from that. The moment she showed her face, she was dead.
She glanced at the ceiling, her thoughts drifting to Carlyle . Her next option was to align with the Knights and the Skye Druids . Which really wasn’t a choice. She would spend all her time trying to convince them without them believing anything. It would be a waste of everyone’s time.
That left her with one decision: to go it alone.
If she could get to one of her stashes, she could make her way out of the country. She might live for another year or so before they found her. Because the organization would locate her eventually. London had too many strings to pull, and too many who owed them something.
Song thought about her sister. There was no way she could get word to. If she was even alive. Song shook her head. She couldn’t think about that now. First , she had to get out of the bunker. After that, she needed to get to one of her stashes. Only after that could she focus on discovering if her sister was still alive.
And then…well, it would all depend on what she learned.
She saw a remote on the table next to the plush, king-sized bed with its black bedding and bronze sheets. She settled amid the numerous throw pillows and spotted the eighty-inch TV on the opposite wall. She pressed the ON button on the remote.
There were no channels for her to look through. Instead , there were thousands of movies and television shows. She scrolled through the list for several minutes before she found a listing for Soundscapes . Song selected that, and it pulled up hundreds of different tracks. She tried the beach and was shocked when the top LED light strip changed to blue to mimic the sky while those around the bed and baseboards shifted to beige for the sand, all while the sound of waves surrounded her.
Song tried a few more before choosing an underwater one. The lights all shifted to blue while the speakers filtered in the cacophony of underwater wildlife, like the clicking of whales and dolphins and the movement of the water. The lights fluctuated in a wave, like currents beneath the water, immersing her even more. On the screen, she watched stingrays glide through the ocean alongside turtles, fish, eels, and octopuses.
All five of her senses were plunged into the soundscape. It cleared her mind and eased her fight-or-flight response. The lower her stress levels became, the more her muscles eased. And the clearer her mind got.
She had many selections at her disposal when faced with acute stress response, but she had never tried this before. It was another tool she would add to her arsenal once she got free of the bunker and Carlyle . And London .
Song didn’t know how long she sat in the soundscape before she heard Carlyle’s voice in a one-sided conversation. He must be on a call. The bunker had everything else, why wouldn’t it have mobiles and possibly even computers?
She scooted off the bed and began searching through the room and the huge closet, only to come up empty. Her gaze lifted to the ceiling again. She needed that mobile. Not to place a call but to search. Everything hinged on whether the authorities had been called to Mason’s manor. She could ask Carlyle , but it would come with a hundred questions before he told her anything. If he told her anything. To bypass that, she needed to offer a trade.
It was a good thing she knew what he wanted.