THE WARD

Commiserating over my wounded feelings and ego will have to wait for now.

Putting all the faith I have left in my instincts and the knowledge I've accumulated so far from T'aethi, Graham and Mason, I remain still as death.

" The wrist cuffs if you please, " Micah says, followed by a clink and then the brush of cold metal against warm skin. Goosebumps rise on the skin of my arms and unfortunately, that isn't something I can control. Micah chuckles wickedly, probably giddy as hell that he finally got what he wanted.

Pressing my blade holding hand on the floor, I let go quietly. Thankfully the excited background chatter covers the small sound of the blade scraping against stone.

Someone grips my other wrist and slides the cuff in, letting it hang loosely.

" Laethi erendi," Mason whispers under his breath, and before I have a chance to process that thought, I feel the cuffs snap around my wrists, followed by a series of sharp needles piercing my skin. It takes everything I have to endure the pain soundlessly. When the prods dig deeper into my wrist, pushing deeper into my flesh, cutting through muscle tissue, ripping tendons, scrapping against bones, a pained whimper crawls up my throat, and slips past my lips.

" Is she waking up?" Micah questions, concerned that his prized toy might be a little too much for him to handle in a conscious state.

" Impossible," Mason says quietly, " I've given her enough to put an elephant to sleep for a week," He says with outmost conviction. Anger simmers closer to the surface than ever before. I don't have a volatile personality, and manage to keep those violent emotions under control, most of the time.

The urge to pound flesh, and hear bone crack, see rivers of blood flow at my feet is getting increasingly stronger with each passing second.

Whatever is being silently discussed while I fume, bears little importance over the fact that I've been played. I'm such a fool.

The feel of metal sliding against my ankles brings me back to my precarious condition. One by one they slide over my skin, while Micah is giddy like a schoolgirl on my side.

" Maeder ghlaser," Mason says softly once both cuffs are on my ankles, and I don't have to guess what comes next. The cuffs snap around my ankles followed by the feel of needles sinking into my flesh digging in deep, until it emerges on the other side and connect with metal once more. The pain is excruciating, but if I've learned something in my life, I've learned to live with it, and I make it my asset rather than a weakness.

I don't know how many seals are there but I'm assuming that they follow a similar pattern as Micah drew on my skin the first time he'd captured me.

His scent mixed with the smell of musty air invades my nostrils right before he slides the collar around my neck, and that's when I crack an eyelid open, and see Mason looking down at me. I don't know if he noticed that my eye is not completely shut, but if he does he says nothing to Micah. My hand over the blade tightens, its sharp edge digging into the palm of my hand hard enough to draw blood. It trickles down with a slow but steady drip, drip, and for some reason, I find comfort in that sound.

" Anahi caedra soccori," Mason whispers so close to my lips, as he cinches the collar around my neck followed by the searing pain of needless piercing my skin.

" I believe that you should do the honours in adding the final piece that will change the world as we know it," Mason says and Micah cackles. Son of a bitch.

" How very generous of you Mr Kinnaird," He says smugly, " I didn't expect you to follow through with our deal considering.....you know that you two have become lovers," Micah adds, and I'd wish I could witness this conversation with more than just my ears but it will have to do.

Mason chuckles," Brute force doesn't always produce the desired effect. Sometimes," A hand brushes some stray locks of hair off my forehead, as he always does in his moments of tenderness," A willing participant makes a difficult task easily achieved. The love affair was a necessary evil," Whatever that statement evokes in me, I squash it down before it rises to the surface. Not now. Not yet. Not the right time.

Calm. Keep fucking calm.

At the sound of Micah's chuckle I ever so slightly open my eyes and watch him lean over me to place the final piece of the six seals. For a fraction of a second, I take in his strange features, my eye locking on the pulsing vein on the side of his neck.

By now it's instinct, my second nature, fuelled by my thirst for vengeance, of retribution for all that I have lost.

I put all the rage I've accumulated over the years behind that strike. I plunge the blade into the side of Micah's neck watching with increasing satisfaction the shock on his expression. Blood gushes out, pouring down on my face. I revel in it. I savour the taste of it. Instead of the metallic tang, I expect to feel in my mouth, it tastes sweet. Sweeter than anything I've ever tasted in my life. Vengeance is sweet.

With one final swipe of the blade I sever his windpipe, more blood gushes, he stumbles back, clutching his throat, the blade sticking out on the side of his neck. The front of his shirt stains crimson, as he struggles to cling to life.

" Pathetic, " That is all I have to say, as I climb to my feet, and look down at myself to see the seal lock in place. In the most morbid way, they are absolutely beautiful.

" Melendri" Micah garbles, blood gushing between his fingers. He is bleeding out before he can suffocate in his own blood and I find that is indeed poetic justice.