Rille (Tribes, Book 2)

Chapter 23

Brielle couldn't make out much beyond the blurry edges of her vision. She only knew that someone had changed her clothes and there was more than one person in the room with her. And the floor was cold. Really cold.

None of that boded well. Especially since Brielle remembered entering the restroom in a small shop, turning around to see who had entered, and then blackness.

She had definitely been kidnapped.

The harsh glare of a light hit the center of Brielle's eye. Immediately, her head began to pound. Brielle closed her eyes again to relieve the sensation.

She had to pull herself together. She wasn't the kind of woman to sit back and let someone take advantage of her. Nor was Brielle the kind of woman to allow anyone else to bully her. She grew up to be tough. She wouldn't go down this easily.

"Get her on her knees," warbled a voice through Brielle's foggy ears. A woman's voice, if she heard correctly.

Whatever was going on, Brielle didn't like the sound of it. Not that she could do anything about that, since her hands were tied. Literally. She could not move her hands from behind her back. That was a new development.

Few things frightened Brielle—or, at least, she would only admit to a few things frightening her—but being unable to defend herself was one of them.

Hands too small and dainty to belong to men wrapped around Brielle's biceps and hauled her up onto her knees.

Brielle wavered, the world spinning around her as though it might explode. She blinked, each lift and lowering of her lashes pulling the images around her into and out of focus. What kind of drug had they used to knock her out? The side effects were so strong.

A shake of her head did little to help her equilibrium, but in the hazy focus she had, Brielle made out a woman coming her way. A pretty woman, with a frightening look on her face and a wooden bowl in one hand. Brielle didn't dare try to ask what was in the bowl. She didn't want to know. Whatever it was, the smell wafting her way sent a flurry of panic straight through her core.

"What are you doing?" Brielle spat, though she doubted if her tongue formed the words properly.

No answer came, only a few unintelligible mutterings that swirled around the room like bats out of hell.

What kind of horror flick had she been dragged into? What were they going to do to her?

It would be better if it were a nightmare, but Brielle knew all too well that her nightmares were always reality. Since she was young, she had dreamed of the good and lived in the terrible. Why should she expect it to be different now?

The woman's long fingers wrapped around Brielle's jaw, her sharp nails digging into Brielle's cheeks to force her mouth open.

And Brielle had no choice but to do what she wanted. Her grip was firm and her intentions violent.

The liquid that poured over Brielle's tongue tasted like darkness. Like a witch's brew. It stung like needles piercing her flesh, spilling out of her mouth and dripping down her neck and chest like an out of control poison.

For a moment, Brielle could no longer breathe. She could only swallow and hope for the best.

Then, the bowl was gone. Only the odd sensations of bitterness and beestings were left.

But her vision was clearer now, her head a little less dizzy. Brielle swayed when the woman let her go, hoping to convince them that she still didn't see what was happening around her.