Page 85 of The Alpha's Seer

My head throbs, but it’s nothing compared to how my lungs burn for air. I’m gasping, choking, and coughing all at once, and terror takes over.

I’m going to die.

Stars appear in my vision, my body trembling as I buck and writhe on the stone floor, suddenly aware of the restraints around my waist, wrists, neck, and ankles.

I can’t breathe.

Something is blocking my airways; something vile, sour, and wet.

A rag, maybe?

But it’s been shoved too far into my mouth, and it’s creeping down my throat. My body begins to reject it, and I shudder as vomit fights the rag, giving me zero oxygen. I try to scream, but no sound comes out, and just as I feel my body stop fighting, I hear a voice.

“The Seer is awake.”

The voice doesn’t seem familiar, but I don’t have time to think when someone rams their fingers into my mouth, tugging out the rag, and the vomit hits the ground after.

“Fucking hell,” the voice says with disgust. “Dirty bitch.”

A sting hits my cheek, a hard palm slapping me as a punishment for somethingtheydid to me. Fingers rake across my scalp as my head is dragged upright, and suddenly, I’m blinded by a bright light. I gasp and go to shield my eyes, but the restraints hold me in place. I can see the shape of a man hunched in front of me, gripping my cheeks with his free hand.

“Some Seer you are,” he taunts with disdain. “You didn’t see this coming, huh?”

“She’s awake?” a new voice asks, and this voice I’m familiar with.

This voice haunts my nightmares. I know him.

The burned man.

I back into the wall as he moves forward, temporarily blocking the harsh light that’s blinding me.

“Get out,” he mutters to the other man, who scuttles out the door with insect-like movements.

I shudder, and my stomach churns.

What are these monsters?

“Blair,” the burned man rasps, crouching to stare into my eyes. “We meet again, but this time for real.”

He’s hideously burned, his features twisted in a grotesque fashion, and one of his eyes has completely melted into nothing but a ball of skin. He’s scarred all over and has no hair on his head; even his nose has melted… and where his lips should be? It’s just a gaping hole.

I shudder with revulsion when he reaches out to stroke my hair, a soft sigh leaving the hole in his face.

I don’t want him to touch me, but he does. He strokes my cheeks, trailing the tear stains like they’re riveting to him. He strokes my eyebrows, almost in awe.

“Look at me.” His voice is faint and rough, like he’s choking.

I wish he were.

I don’t want to look at him. But I know if I don’t, he’ll do something far worse than make me look at him. So I lift my gaze to his, startled when I see an eye that mirrors mine. My stomach drops, and he nods like I’m finally understanding something he’s been trying to tell me. I look away, a sob caught in my throat.

Why does he have the same eye color as me?

It has to be a coincidence, because I can’t entertain anything else.

I can’t.

I need Calix.