She looks at me, searching for intent, but I have none other than to serve her. If she sees that, I don’t know. The emotion reflected back at me is intense confusion and pain.
The lock flips, echoing off the rock walls. Morgan takes the keys back and steps over the threshold, peering into the dark.
“Hello,” she calls in a nothing more than a whisper. “Damien? Sam? Clinton?”
The response is the clank of chains. The scrape of metal against the floor. She pushes deeper into the cavernous dark and I wait at the entrance, keeping guard. She doesn’t speak but chokes back a sob, and I know she’s found them.
I’m moving to help her when I hear footsteps on the stairs. I take a deep breath and prepare for another fight.
Chapter 31
Morgan
I see Sam first, his pale skin stained with so much dirt that it was hard to see him. He’s curled in a fetal position and my heart nearly cracks at the sight. I fight back a gag at the smell, then the tears when I look at the sores on his back.
“Sam?” I touch his shoulder. He flinches but doesn’t respond otherwise. “I’m here. I’m getting you out of here, okay?”
Again, no reply. I reach down and touch him, feeling for the cuffs around his wrists, and shove the key into the lock. Then I do the same for the ones around his swollen, stiff ankles.
“Hey,” I say, pressing my forehead to his. The faintest energy pulses between us. “You’ve got to get up. I can’t carry all three of you out of here.” His eyes flutter and he blinks like he can’t fully focus. I kiss his brow. Then his nose. My lips are wet from tears of anger. I kiss him on the mouth and finally, I get a reaction. It’s nothing more than a sigh and a deep groan but he’s alive. I kiss him again, pressing my warm lips against his chapped, cold ones.
“Stand up if you can—or at least sit. I’m going to get the others.”
He nods, like a man coming out of a dream, and as much as it pains me, I leave him to feel around the dark crevices of the cell. It only takes a moment before I bump into something solid. I hold my hands out, palms flat and hear a hiss. He’s chained to the wall, upright. He sways back and forth.
“Clinton?”
I feel his chin, his chest. A low growl rumbles in his throat and I say, “It’s me. Morgan.”
“Don’t trick me, witch.”
“What?”
“Kill me if you want, but don’t put on the face of your enemy.”
I touch his cheek and he flinches, turning away. “Clinton, it’s me.” I stroke his chest, feeling the bumpy, raw scabs that have recently healed over. He fights me but the energy burns between us—like it always has. He may think it’s magic or the Morrigan fucking with his head but I push on, lifting on my toes and whispering in his ear. With every word his shoulders loosen, and he turns his face in my direction.
“Morgan?” His voice is a whisper—a hope.
“Yeah. It’s me. We’ve got to get out of here.”
I unlock his chains and thankfully he’s stronger than Sam, able to move a bit faster, but I don’t know how long it will last. What’s happening with Dylan upstairs? Where are we even going to go? And Bunny? He said he would guard the door, but I sure as hell don’t trust him.
“Damien’s over there,” he says, pointing toward a small window. It’s dark outside but faint moonlight filters in the glassless, barred windows.
It doesn’t take as long to find him. His body is lit by the moon. He’s asleep on the floor but wakes seconds before I reach him. Dark rage fills his eyes but it shifts immediately when he sees me. “Babe?”
“Yeah.”
“You came.”
“Of course I came,” I say, relieved I don’t have to convince him it’s really me. He moves slowly, but he too can move. Blood clots at the edge of his swollen, bruised mouth and I touch his head, feeling unfamiliar stubble from the weeks of growth. I nearly burst into tears when I see him. I’m just so happy to have him and the others back.
Or almost back.
“Bunny,” Clinton says, his words slurring. “He…”
“I know.”