Kidnapped Love

Chapter 27

Chapter 27:

The black void of unconsciousness gives way to fractured shards of memories, each one piercing the darkness like flashes of lightning. My mind, once ensconced in a painless sleep, begins to stir as distant, muffled noises intrude upon my tranquility. I float toward wakefulness, tethered to reality by the sounds that grow clearer with every passing moment.

A persistent ringing fills my ears, a high-pitched echo that bounces around the caverns of my skull. It's disorienting, yet it grounds me, pulling me further from the brink of oblivion. Sirens wail somewhere in the distance, their shrill calls intermingling with the chaos that now starts to form a coherent picture.

"Find the necklace. Nobody runs until I have it!" The voice cuts through the noise, angry and panicked. It's a voice that commands attention, rough and grating like sandpaper against skin. Byron's voice.

His words send a ripple of fear through me, though I cannot see him. His imposing figure looms in my imagination: the intimidating bulk of his broad shoulders, the brown hair that crowns his head like a dark halo, and those muscular arms capable of inflicting so much harm. His raspy deep voice has always been a harbinger of trouble, and even now, in my vulnerable state, it triggers a primal urge to flee.

I remain still, caught between the desire to escape and the need to understand what is happening. The sirens draw nearer, a symphony of urgency that signals help or heralds a new kind of danger. Byron's command echoes in my mind, a mantra of desperation. The necklace, the cursed object of our current predicament, remains hidden, its location unknown even to me.

The fear that grips me is not for myself, but for what Byron's frantic search implies. The power and significance that my necklace holds are far greater than I can comprehend. And if Byron is willing to tear apart the world to find it, none of us are safe.

A soft groan escapes my lips, the pain at the back of my head a sharp, uninvited guest. I try to draw in a breath, but my throat betrays me, tight and unyielding, turning each inhalation into an arduous task.

"Please," a masculine voice breaks through the haze, its warmth like a beacon in the dimly lit room. "Akila, wake up."

I force my eyelids open, battling against their weight. Above me, blue eyes swim into focus, ringed with fear yet glinting with relief. They widen, as if drinking in the sight of my awakening. The room is still a blur, shadows clinging to corners where danger might lurk, but Derek's face anchors me to the now.

His features come into stark relief one by one—the deep blue of his eyes, the black hair that frames his face, the strong lines of his cheekbones, the chiseled jaw that sets with determination. But this man, this shield against the chaos, bears the marks of our shared ordeal. His lips, once smooth, are marred by a line of blood, and swelling distorts their softness. His cheek blooms with the angry hues of a bruise, a tapestry of pain etching across his skin with every passing minute.

Derek's gaze holds mine, a silent plea without words. My chest rises and falls in shallow tides, each breath a whisper against the storm inside me. I want to speak, to assure him, but no words find their way past the tightness in my throat. Instead, I search his battered face, finding solace in the familiarity of his concern, even as it mirrors my own fear.

Derek's hands are a tender vise around my face, his touch feather-light yet full of an urgency that seeps into my foggy consciousness. "You need to stay awake. Help is coming," he says, words etched with command and concern. My eyelids flutter, heavy as lead, and I fight against the pull of darkness. A gentle tap on my cheek from Derek's fingers jolts me back, a silent chorus of 'stay with me' resonating in each delicate prod. "No, no. Stay awake. Please stay awake," he pleads, his voice a thread fraying at the edges.