Chapter Three
He skimmed the paper in his hand.
“It’s hard to think with the whines of a fully grown male filling the room.” He flipped the page.
“Shut it, Rogue.” The sound of flesh striking flesh gave way to the scent of fresh blood. It annoyed him to have his study dirtied like this, but it was the closest place to drag this idiot.
He looked up then, cocking his head at the male on his knees, nearly in pieces between his escorts.
“You’ll never win this. Our support is much larger than yours, and my people are waiting. Hang onto that crown for us a little longer, Prince.” He watched the disgusting mix of blood and saliva as it pooled from the male’s mouth.
Then he made the unwise decision to spit, just missing his mark.
Rowan stilled the blows of his escorts with a wave, the silence permeated by the labored breaths of the rogue.
It just had to be the night of the full moon that this grunt was caught skulking near the castle, his only grace being the interesting letter he carried–one with news Rowan had been waiting for.
A smile touched his features as he dipped his head, dark hair curtaining his face, before he stood abruptly, the motion startling the male.
He closed the distance between them in a couple of strides, stooping to kneel a breath away.
“I don’t care how many of you there are, misguided by that overreaching uncle of mine.” The male’s eyes widened at his knowledge.“But focusing on the now–your life’s precarious position–I have something for you to do.” Rowan folded the letter, pressing it against the male.
“Continue as you were.”
The confusion would’ve been more amusing on another night. “Are you waiting on a countdown?”
The escorts stepped away as the male scrambled to the nearest window, plunging himself into the night in an explosion of fur.
If the rogue was truly a fool and spoke a word of his run-in, he’d be dead by his uncle’s hand.
“Have the study cleaned.”
“Yes, Prince Rowan.” They turned and exited the room, in search of a maid.
“Those with power are always seeking more,” he muttered.
“Your Grace, excuse me, your mother thought you may still be up. There’s the final list she wishes to go over before our departure to America.” His mother’s assistant, Morgan, spoke from the other side of the door.
He blew air before stepping into the hall.. and pulling the wagging bitch into his study.
“Your Highness, it reeks of blood in here.”
“Mm, you’ll get used to it.” He held her facing against the door frame, working the skirt of her dull attire over her hips.
She whined, “Does it have to be here–”
His hand stilled on her waist. She cut herself short, sensing his disdain.
“My dear Morgan. What is it that I like most about you?”
He freed her of her underwear, guiding his dick over her warmth, before shoving it to the hilt. Her moan was deep as her head rolled to rest on his shoulder, her insides quivering around his length.
“That predictable obsequious nature of yours,” he continued, “don’t forget that.”
He drowned any response as he pumped her full of him, taking what he needed. Before long, her body slid to the floor, a heap of a mess.
“I’ll be sure to let mother know you’ll be a minute.”
He left, closing the door as she worked to gather herself, before taking long strides to deal with more annoying things.
“Rise and shine! Wake the fuck up, and line up!” An overly eager male shouted down the corridor, causing Laura’s ears to twitch. Her eyes opened at the soft click behind her. She must be getting used to the injections, waking proved easier lately and she didn’t have to bother with the usual ensuing headaches, though her body still felt the weight of it.
She pulled her hair over her face to check its color before flipping to see the wall of glass, previously separating her from freedom, sliding up. No guard, no clinician.
Murmurs began among the captives. Murmurs that soon turned to roars.
Confused, and pessimistically hopeful, Laura poked her head out of her cell. She noted others doing the same; however, some casually walked out, lining up in front of the only door not made of glass.
Not waiting for an invitation, Laura slid out with the rest who decided ‘why not?’, before the guards could get to her cell and drag her out like the other, less willing, captives. She found herself between two curious-looking examples of non-humanoid, who seemed as thrilled as she felt about this sudden change of pace. She glanced around as they waited, taking in all the details she could, in this likely one-off chance of consciousness on the free side of the glass.
They stood for eight minutes.
She was two away from biting something before the friction of metal opened to reveal a freight elevator. She was slightly shocked. She hadn’t heard any noise, not once in her stay, to indicate this lift existed. She didn’t have much time for thought though, as the line pressured her to shuffle forward with the rest of the group.
Tightly packed, and surrounded by uniformed guards, one of them pressed a button on the keypad, and the lift began its awkward ascent. Some audibly wept, while others grunted and growled. All sounds were met with a gruff ‘shut up’ by the smallest guard.
The anticipation was building. She could smell it in the air. What were they to expect once the lift reaches its destination? Terrible thoughts, all concentration camp style, were becoming harder to ignore.
“I’m excited.” Laura’s intrusive thoughts were interrupted as the smell hit her a second before the raspy voice whispered. She turned to see a young woman of similar height, with blonde hair and green eyes.
“Cecil.” She breathed in the peppermint. It was a contradiction to the image rooted in her mind, but she was glad to be able to interact closer with something of a companion. “Wait, why are you excited?” Laura watched as the woman practically bounced.
“It’s outside time. Doesn’t happen often,” she responded.
In the time Laura had been here, this was her first time experiencing it. Here she was, thinking she had all the routines figured out. It was clearer, following that piece of news, to differentiate those who were more recently awarded the title of captive.
The lift came to a screeching halt, jolting everyone a little bit to the right–then a bit to the left–as it stopped. The door opened slowly, and the guards at the front began ushering everybody out. Laura obliged, as she watched a guard kick out a weeping man.
It was early enough to still be dark outside. She thanked every god and goddess that the moon was obscured and not at the height of the sky. Laura could see clearly, however, and noted those who had vision trouble. The guards, as the ones who hadn’t donned night vision gear, were very clearly squinting, and attempting to orient their heads for better positions of sound.
There were more captives present in the courtyard; scents she didn’t recognize, presumably from other corridors. She took in beings of all shapes, sizes and.. matter.
Hell, if shifters weren’t enough.
A cackle saw her turning to observe Cecil as she bounded around the large area, drawing Laura’s attention to where they were exactly.
Which wasn’t really of help, as the–at least–three hundred-foot high, tightly meshed cage surrounding the courtyard did jack shit to help her pinpoint in the way of visuals. But the smells...
Laura took a deep whiff.
It smelled very salty. She could hear waves a few miles from where they were, at least in three directions. That meant they were most likely on a partial island, or an eroded cliff face. Probably on the Atlantic Ocean face, based on the salt.
“Next!”
Those who had chosen not to loiter were in line to receive what smelled like toast and eggs. Not wanting to miss a valuable meal, Laura followed suit.