Heavy footsteps halt outside the door at my feet. Then a hand seizes the handle in a forceful grip and yanks it open.
Light pools inside for a tense beat, before a massive shadow steps in and blocks it all out.
A man climbs into the carriage, filling the entire cramped space with his bulk. He does not hurry. He moves with the quiet, predatory assurance of someone who knows he owns the moment. The heavy wood frame gives a small, stressed groan under his shifting weight.
I blink up at him, fighting the exhaustion, but my sight says blurred and shimmering at the edges. His shape looks carved entirely from dim, unforgiving outlines and angles. A powerful, broad set of shoulders and long thick arms. His head is bald and scrapes the low ceiling. A face filled with pockmarks and a vicious scar running from left temple to right cheek fills my vision. There is nothing familiar or comforting in his features.
My internal alarm spikes.
He crouches over my body, taking time to study me in the gloom. "You're a wake," he mutters, the sound a dry rasp devoid of curiosity.
Before I can react, he reaches forward. The brush of his rough hand scrapes my skin as he tugged the blindfold back into place and tightens it further. The scratchy fabric presses hard against my eyes, instantly plunging me back into darkness. My pulse spikes, a frantic bird battering my ribs. My breath quickens into thin, useless pants.
I push back away from him, about the only thing in my control I could do, but I manage only to aggravate my torn wrists.
The pain is biting, an unbearable burn that takes my breath.
"Up." The command is flat.
Before I can process it, he hauls me upright. My useless knees buckle instantly. Pain flares through my torso, hot and bright enough to rip a thin, involuntary cry from my throat.
I scream. It is a sound of pure agony and terror.
His response comes fast, a fist to my stomach, where I already hurt, knocking the precious air from my lungs. My body folds, and the air shoots out in a rough gasp.
I can't breathe.
I can't move.
"Make another sound," he dares, his voice dropping, settling low and chillingly calm against my ear. "I'll silence you for good."
My throat closes around the next breath. It isn't so much the pain from the blow that seals it. It I the consuming fear wrapping tight and bitter under my quaking heart.
I can't move. I can't fight. I can't even make a sound.
He grabs me again in his rough grip and drags me, my back scraping across the straw strewn floor. Every joint in my body protests, sending sharp, radiating stabs of pain through my limbs. He doesn't slow his pace and hauls me out.
The night air strikes my face; cool, damp, and smelling of earth and raw stone. A shocking contrast to the stale heat inside the stuffy carriage. Light filters through the blindfold, not much, but I can see shapes and shadows.
The place is too quiet, too isolated.
The world shifts violently under my boots as he forces me forward, my feet dragging across the cobbled ground. A second set of footsteps follows close behind.
I turn my head in the direction of the other man. His frame is much smaller than the one dragging me along. Every step I take, I risk tripping over my feet.
Sharp barks cutting through the fragile silence, snaps my attention forward. Dogs. Several of them. Their angry growls rise as we draw near. The pack is restless, perhaps stirred by my scent and presence, throwing themselves at the chain-link fence.
They fell quiet, silenced by the second man who yells for them to quiet. I can hear the desperate, rapid scraping of claws against the pen doors, followed by the shuffle of bodies pacing the confined space. They know I'm fresh meat. They want in.
I swallow hard, forcing down the bitter taste of fear and dryness in my mouth.
We pass the kennel, the frantic scraping of claws and dog noises receding behind us. The man guides me sharply toward a narrow decline. One step. Two. My balance wavers on the uneven ground, and my full weight pitches forward, only his grip keeping me from tumbling.
My captor's grip tightens on my elbow and grunts, urging me to step down.
I hesitate, no way of knowing the depth of the steps before me. My first foot landed awkwardly. My knee buckles. I quickly righted myself, finding my footing.
The roughhewn stone steps were chipped and crumbling in some places, snagging the soles of my boots. It becomes noticeably cooler, and drafty with each step we descend deeper beneath the ground.
My bare shoulder brushes the stone wall to my right. Moisture slicks the gritty surface, and I flinch at the unexpected slime that slides against my skin.
A heavy door creaks open ahead of us, quickly stealing my attention. Bright light breaks through the cloth blocking my vision. My heart gallops. The hinges groan in loud, wrenching protest against their age and the stone around them as the door is pushed further open. The man shoves me through the threshold.
Despite the shift from dark to light I'm shivering in this cold place. My breaths are laboured, dragging in the thick air that settles heavily on my skin.
Somone slams the door shut behind us, most likely the other man. The shattering echo ricochets through chamber I'm standing in, a loud, seal-tight bang that marks the moment of finality.
Where ever I am, the uncertainty of it is a darkness that feels more solid and real than the blindfold itself. The silence is absolute. Crushing.
Footsteps shift somewhere off to my left. Lighter, not one of the two men. Somone else. Waiting.
The orchestrator of my abduction.
"Bring her," a female voice cuts through the silence.
I brace my feet, refusing to move.
My captor's grip tightened on my elbow. "Move," he barks, and yanks me forward.