Page 114 of Wrapped in Their Arms

Tonight, they were getting out, no matter what the cost, he promised himself.

They were going to get out or die trying.

63

BRIGHT

Bright sat at the massive dining table, his stomach doing uneasy flips as he watchedBurnsilently push at something green and gelatinous on his plate with the edge of his fork.

The huge slab of dark rock that made up theTrollox’s“dining table” wasn’t just cold beneathBright’selbows—it felt like it had absorbed the misery of a hundred unwilling meals.Everyscrape of cutlery against it echoed like a scream down a well.

Across from him,Noellegave the table a wary glance before gingerly lowering herself into the booster seat.Shewinced as she sat, andBright’sheart gave a painful twist.

Gods, she’s still sore—of course she is—BurnandIwere so rough with her.Lastnight should never have happened.

He glanced sideways at theDarkTwin, who was studiously not looking at anyone or anything.Hisjaw was tight and his broad shoulders were hunched like he was expecting a blow.

Bright could practicallyfeelthe self-loathing radiating off his best friend.

He wanted to reach out—to say something,dosomething—but what could he possibly say?

There was nothing else we could have done.Thunewould have shocked all of us.Noellebegged him to do it, for fuck’s sake—because she didn’t want all of us to suffer.

ButBurnwouldn’t hear any of that.He’dalready made himself judge, jury, and executioner and convicted himself of the worst thing aKindredmale could do.

Bright’s gaze drifted toNoelle.Shewas carefully cutting something that looked like purple sausage with blue specks into tiny, manageable bites, her face pale but composed.Shedidn’t seem angry—not withBurn, not with him.

If anything, she looked…sad.Tired.Bruisedin ways no one could see.

She doesn’t blame us,he thought.ButBurndoesn’t believe that.He’sconvinced he’s some kind of monster.

Bright’s own plate looked like a nightmare.

There was something lumpy and grayish-beige in the center, steaming faintly and oozing a faintly iridescent slime that puddled at the edges of the huge plate like motor oil.Besideit sat three bulbous fruits—dark maroon with hair-fine fuzz.Allthree were pulsing slowly, like hearts.

The smell was…overwhelming.

Rotten eggs…diesel fuel…and something oddly metallic, like blood and battery acid all met his sensitive nose and made his stomach turn.

Across the table,Cookiebustled in and slapped down another bowl of something wet and sludgy in front of each of them.Themixture shifted as it landed, revealing what looked suspiciously like a floating eyeball—which promptly sank out of sight again.

Bright swallowed hard.Thefood was definitely getting worse…it was like the alien chef was channeling his master’s sadism into his cooking.

Please don’t make us eat this.Justonce, can’t the torture be optional?

“Eat up, piggy-wigs,”Cookiegrunted cheerfully.“Needyou full of strength for tonight.OldThune’sgot big plans for you!”

Bright’s appetite—what little remained of it—died a swift and merciful death.

Across from him,Noellegave him a shaky smile, then poked at the gray lump on her plate with the side of her spoon.

“It’s, uh…so colorful,” she said faintly.

Bright smiled back, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Gods, she’s brave.Idon’t know how she’s still smiling after everything she’s been put through.

He looked over atBurnagain.TheDarkTwinhadn’t touched his food.Hishands were clenched in his lap, and his gaze was locked on the far wall.