Chapter 143: Awakening

[Rosalynd].

The room is cold and the air tastes stale. I am lying in a bed, covered with a sheet, but the surface is hard and unrelenting. It doesn't have the smell of a hospital, but it also doesn't have the smell of home either, which means that wherever I am, I am not safe. Because if I were safe, one of them would be here. My boys would never leave me.

Which means that someone else must have me. And I can only think of one person who wants me this badly.

Vincent. My father. Grand Warlock of the West Coast.

The last thing I remember is falling right after Slone, in her confused fury, pushed me off the roof of Evander's casino hotel. She blames me for everything terrible that has happened to her and I can see why. But I didn't make her final decisions for her, that was all on her. I am sad about the loss of her child. No mother should feel their child slip away from them like that, but I will not apologize for defending my family and keeping them safe. She had no problem threatening my mate, his father, and our son. She would have gutted them in from of me if she thought it could get her what she wanted.

This doesn't mean I don't care about Slone. Part of me will love her for the rest of my life. Even though she and I are not related, she is the closest thing I've ever had to a sister and the first person to ever show me love and compassion.

"I see you are awake," a gargled, strained voice answers. "You might as well open your eyes, Rosie, and see the damage your deranged husband did to me."

I open my eyes a crack and even this effort feels like too much. Everything on me hurts despite my body's amazing ability to heal. You can't fall from the roof of a building without suffering at least a few aches and pains, and as it is now, I feel so weak, my arms and legs so heavy I wonder how long it has been since I tried to move them. How long was I asleep? One day? Two? A week?

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I forgot. Vincent said you'd probably need these until your eyes got used to being open again." she puts a pair of glasses on my face. I used to wear my glasses all the time, but the longer I spent around the supernatural elements of my life, my glasses were forgotten. Who cares if you're farsighted when you have the far vision of a wolf and the night vision of the Fae? Does it matter if some of the near details are fuzzy when you can see auras?

As soon as the basic frames are on my face I blink in surprise and recognition.

"Slone...What happened to you?"

She looked like the fashion model version of the Bride of Frankenstein. She is still beautiful and dressed stylishly, but across her chest and neck is a poorly healed, gruesome patchwork of stitches and scar tissue, as if someone had to sew her back together after being split in half. Rather than hide the damage, her dress is low cut, putting it on display as if it were a point of pride.

"Your husband, the tall dark one with the red dreadlocks. He thought it would be fun to pull a burning sword through me and leave me for dead on the rooftop in revenge. He didn't hesitate, by the way."

"Evander..." say as I close my eyes, remembering his touch and the sound of his voice.

"Oh yes, that's right. That's your leprechaun's name. Anyway..." She begins twirling her hair absently as she paces back and forth along the end of my bed. "That is neither here nor there. I'm here to fetch you for the master."

"Master?" I shake my head woefully as I look at her deformed state. "Does my father make you call him master? That's sick. What a twisted sick thing to do. And he got you pregnant? Slone..."

"Don't you DARE pity me, Rosalynd Reid!" Her lips curl into a snarl. "You are merely a prize to him. A means to an end. A token he hopes to trade in for something better. I am his treasure, his queen! He can have a thousand more of you if he wanted to and he will, just as soon as you are well enough to trade."

"Trade? What do you..."

Slone doesn't explain and doesn't let me finish my sentence. Instead, she comes over and grabs me by the arm roughly, hauling me into a seated position. I scream in agony and she slaps me, hard, across the mouth.

"Shut up, you worthless whore!" She yanks the covers from the bed and pulls me the rest of the way up. "I told you to stay away from him and you couldn't. I told you to be happy with what you had, but no! You had to take the one man I loved. You had to take my spot in the coven. And now, finally, you will serve your original purpose and get the hell out of my life!" She is breathing heavily, the effort of lifting me mixed with whatever agony she must be in from her own injury mixed with the exhaustion of screaming at me.

"Dear God, did you gain weight?!" she looks down at my softly curving belly, containing my growing babies and smirks as if she is in on some kind of joke. "Of course you have. Silly me. Now stand up!"

I try but I cannot. My legs are useless. I cannot get my feet to work, as if my brain has forgotten how to send a signal to make them move.

"They aren't working," I apologize. "Maybe you should set me down."

"You're probably faking it," she rolls her eyes. "Melodramatic as usual. That's fine, princess, I have another way to get you to him.”

Slone lets me fall backward onto the bed. Grumbling and cursing under her breath, she heads back into the hallway. After a brief bit of rattling, the door is pushed open as she pushes in what looks like an archaic wheelchair, with wooden parts and old squeaky wheels. It looks like something out of a movie from the 1950s, which for all I know is exactly what it is.

She slams the chair against the bed as she makes room for the door to close behind her. Lifting me up by the armpits, she drops me into the chair, not caring if I land well or get injured on the way. As soon as she adjusts me so that no part of my body gets in the way, she opens the door and pushes me into a long, dank hallway.

“Let me give you the grand tour,” she laughs manically as she sweeps my chair around in a dizzying manner. “This old airstrip used to belong to a famous actress who needed to have easy access to transportation at the drop of a hat. So she had this warehouse built to house all of her planes as well as provide apartments for her employees. But then one day she ‘disappeared mysteriously,’” Slone made air quotes above her head as she continued, “and this old property went unused until Vincent purchased it and had it refitted into his laboratory.”

As we roll through what used to be a warehouse, I can see why it is so cold. The floors are concrete and the walls are a basic white. The only windows are so high up that they barely provide any ambient light. This whole facility is probably cool all year round.

She makes one more sharp turn, pushing us through a set of wide, double doors.

At the end of the large open room is a man wearing a long apron and oversized latex gloves.

Upon hearing us enter, he turns, flashing a movie star perfect smile.

"Welcome, Rosalynd. Welcome home. "