Part 16 (1/2)

I can't tell whether he's being truthful or not.

I crane my neck to look over his shoulder. A few tents are lit up, and I can hear the faint sound of gunfire overlapping the desperate cries from the people in the grates.

”Blaise.” I grasp his arms as I'm jarred around. ”We need to free the people in the grates.”

”We don't have time.” He charges toward the fence.

”Just go back and unlock the grates,” I plead. ”Give them a chance. It won't take very long. I can still hear gunfire, so everyone's probably still distracted.”

Blaise shakes his head. ”I can't do that. It's too risky. We need to get you out of here.”

”Please,” I beg. ”There's been too much death already ... I need to help them.”

He glances down at me, torn. ”If I can get you somewhere safe, I'll try to come back and unlock all the grates. But only when you're safe.”

The last thing I want is for him to wander off by himself. I want to beg him to turn around now so we can free the prisoners together, but he unexpectedly slams on the brakes.

”How the h.e.l.l did you get out here?” Blaise growls, his arm muscles tautening.

”I took a shortcut,” Calla answers. ”When I saw you run, I figured you'd end up here.”

I turn my head to look at her. She's leaning against the fence with a bag slung over her shoulder and blocking our escape route.

”Get out of my way,” Blaise warns in a low tone. ”Or I'll make you move.”

”While I'd love to see you try,” she sneers, straightening her stance, ”I didn't come here to fight. I came here to help.”

Blaise trades an unsure glance with me, and I shrug. I have no idea why she'd want to help us since the last time I saw her she stabbed me in the chest.

Blaise warily eyes Calla over. ”How do we know we can trust you?”

”It doesn't really matter if you do or not.” She slips the bag off her back and tosses it at Blaise's feet. ”There's some food, water, and medical supplies in there. The guards abandoned their posts to join the fight, so you should be able to make a run for it without too many problems.” She walks by us, heading back across the desert land toward the tents. ”If I were you, I wouldn't come back for the prisoners, but it's your call.”

Blaise turns, shouting after her, ”Why are you doing this? It makes no sense.”

She stops, half-turning. Her gaze flicks from me to Blaise. ”She saved me, so call us even. I hate being in debt to people.” With that, she hikes off, vanis.h.i.+ng in the dusk.

Blaise hesitates, looking back and forth between the camp and the fence. ”Why do I have the feeling there's more to it than what she said?”

”I don't know,” I say. ”But she might really just want to help.”

”You give her too much credit.” Blaise eyeb.a.l.l.s the bag Calla left. ”I have a feeling this is going to come back and bite me in the a.s.s.”

Still, he sets me down on the soft dirt so he can slip the bag onto his back. Then he bends the wire fencing, creating a wide gap, before scooping me into his arms and slipping out into the night.

”How are you feeling?” he asks as he tears up the b.u.mpy path toward the cliffs.

”Okay.” I touch my hand to my chest. ”A little tired, but I-”

A sharp, cold object slashes into my ankle.

”f.u.c.k.” Blaise skids to a stop then spins around. ”What was that?”

”A ... dart...” Numbness swims through my body, dreamland poisoning my veins.

”I'm not letting you get away!” Wrath yells. ”She's going nowhere. She's way too valuable.”

”Why won't he just f.u.c.king die?” Blaise mutters. He dithers, moving forward then backward as if deciding whether to run or stay and fight.

I don't get to find out what his decision is as the dreamland pulls me under.

Chapter Seventeen.

Guilt ”You want to see what I can do?” the visitor whispers in my ear. ”Close your eyes, and I'll show you.”

I shake my head, skittering back until my back b.u.mps into the moonstone wall of my cell.

The visitor trains his silver eyes on me as he stalks forward. ”Come on, don't be shy. I'm hungry and want to play.”

I shake my head, flattening my back to the wall.

If only I could run ... if only I could get past the iron circle ...

”You're scared.” He crouches down in front of me and clasps my arms. ”You probably should be.” He leans forward until his lips hover over mine. ”I have a feeling you're going to taste amazing. At least, that's what I was told.”

”Why are you doing this?” I whisper, trembling. ”I didn't do anything.”

His brows rise to his hairline. ”You speak?”

I swallow hard, forcing down my nerves. Maybe, if I talk to him, I can convince him not to hurt me?

”I do, yes.”

”I've never met a Nameless who could talk before.” He deliberates something, seeming torn.

A spark of hope surfaces inside me.

Maybe he won't hurt me.

But then his eyes narrow, and his fingernails cut into my wrists. ”You're not supposed to talk,” he growls, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng silver. Then he smashes his lips against mine.

I jerk back, my head slamming against the moonstone. No. No. No. I don't want to do this.

But he climbs over me and forces me to lie down. I try to scream, but his lips come down on my mouth again, smothering the noise.

I don't want to be here.