In the Shadow of the Goddess (Book 1 of The Fallen Gods Trilogy)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The arm constricted around Jill's waist and a fist came up hard under her ribs, leaving her wheezing for air. She tried kicking out but couldn't move her legs. Her arms were just as useless. The cramping eased, but her muscles were curiously inert.

Some plan, she mused, her thoughts scattered and chaotic. Apparently, Brexten neglected to mention this part of it.

"You must not have heard me." The voice came from behind, lips near her ear. "Don't make me repeat myself. Believe me, neither of us would want that."

"Damn it Rafe, drop her! She's flaring with enough power to blast your head off!" a second male voice blurted. Rafe...that name..."Her wards are down. Let me contain her first, then you can torture her all you like."

Torture? Jill flailed with all her strength yet could still barely move her arms. Even screaming took effort. Helpless, she felt something rudely slip down, around, and over her, centering itself firmly in the ground. It rang like the clearest of bells and shook her with the force of a jackhammer. It knocked her from Rafe's grasp and flat on her back. Her breath rushed out, leaving her lightheaded. For a moment, she thought she saw stars then a shimmering of iridescent light that could have been red or pink before it faded. Above her, she saw a bare raftered ceiling. She found its sheer blandness wonderfully calming.

The calm didn't last.

Rafe cursed before yanking Jill back to her feet, the knife again at her throat. Now, she shrieked in both surprise and pain, the knife nicking her throat. Rafe's arm was like steel around her mid-section. The other felt just as strong where it pressed against her breasts and held the knife at her neck. Though she couldn't see him, pressed against him this way, she knew he was huge and his body hard with muscle. A memory of her attack at the Hangman's Rest slashed through her brain. She started to whimper.

"Just what I need. More Shey'na'shen. They're following me across the bloody countryside until I'm goddamn tripping over them."

"Rafe. Let her go. You're frightening her when there's no need. She doesn't belong to Tamas."

Jill fought to wrench her head toward the source of the new voice, squinting into the shadowy half-lit room. Deep and resonate, definitely male. Something potent resided there.

"And you expect me to take your word for it, traitor?" Rafe sneered.

A beat of silence followed, then, "The magic she uses isn't tainted with corruption. And, she's traveling with a Sahen'chi and—" soft cursing there "—Prince Brexten."

"Bullshit. Brexten's dead. She cast a masking spell," Rafe stated flatly. The grip around her waist tightened. His arm pressed up hard over Jill's ribs and squeezed lungs already fighting for air.

"You idiot! She can't catch her breath!"

"She's a mongrel. She'll find a way," Rafe said. His mouth dipped close to her ear again. "In the meantime, amuse me with an explanation, sweetheart. A good one."

"Rafe, I said she doesn't have the taint! Let her go!"

"You've no authority here, Shey'na'shen. She's a prisoner, a mongrel, and—Fuck!"

A flare of power burst over them. He cried out in pain and dropped Jill. She tumbled to the ground, head down until she was nearly prostrate to the floor. She gasped deeply, rubbing her throat as if that might make the air flow faster, her need to breathe leaving her deaf to Rafe's tirade. Her skin felt slick to the touch, coated with a sticky liquid.