“No, don’t hang up! Callie? Don’t leave me!”
But of course, Callie couldn’t hear her. Nobody could. Her spirit exploded in a hundred fragments, as if it was a real thing, a delicate piece of china thrown against a concrete wall. Skye lowered to the ground, throat burning from her terrified whimpering. The noise filled the basement’s oppressive, tomb-like silence. The chill of damp cement combined with the basement’s musty, moldy smell created a dismal effect. It was like being trapped in a coffin.
You have the power. Okay, she had done it once before tonight, had managed to stave off Claribel’s attack, if only for a few minutes. For all she knew, those few minutes may have saved her life, or from suffering more permanent injuries. That psycho fairy had years of pent-up vengeance to unload on Skye before the Queen interrupted.
Her own shallow breathing was unnaturally loud. She touched the iron medallion on her chest and brought Kheelan’s face to her mind’s eye—the sharp planes of his cheeks, the full lips that rarely smiled in simple pleasure but were instead firmly clamped with determination.
She could be just as focused and determined. Too much was at stake to fail. Her breathing slowed to a normal rate as she concentrated on Kheelan’s face. This was the true value of the medallion. It offered little physical protection from the fae, but something more important. The promise of love, a happily-ever-after mortal tale of courage and strength.
As Rowena and Lawren’s daughter she had fused within her DNA and psyche the skill of witchcraft and a wee bit of fairy magic. She turned her back to the window where the glowing Dark Fae eyes watched. Skye rubbed her palms together, activating their chakra centers to raise energy. She visualized a widening gap in the space between her wrists and shackles. The concentration was exhausting and trickles of sweat formed between her breasts and at the back of her neck. The air stirred around the cuffs as she manipulated the energy between them.
It could have been five minutes or it could have been an hour, but she knew when it was time. Skye stared at the cuffs and hopefully jiggled her right wrist. The space between skin and metal was noticeably wider, perhaps a precious inch. Careful not to accidentally tighten the restraints, she contorted her hand to slip through the metal prison.
Success. Skye grinned at her free hand and rapidly slipped the other out of the second handcuff. First obstacle overcome.
Skye studied the chain attached to her leg shackles and then looped over a concrete column, bound with a lock. She would have to pick that lock. She ran a hand through her tousled hair, hoping for a barrette or bobby pin in the tangled mess.
There wasn’t.
But there had to be something she could use to break loose. Something small and metal . . . the glint of her belt buckle shone in the moonlight, like a lucky talisman. Perfect. Methodically, she worked the metal prong in its center, back and forth, until it broke off. Skye inserted it into the padlock and twisted it around inside until it clicked and gave way. Mindful of a possible audience at the window, she gently lowered the chain to the floor, making as little noise as possible. At least she was untethered from the column and her hands were free.
No alarms or screeching erupted from the rear window. Skye hunkered in the dark shadows, hoping those glowing eyes outside the basement window weren’t nocturnal like a cat’s. She took the broken-off piece of metal and inserted it into one of the leg irons.
It wouldn’t give.
Damn it. She bit her lip from crying out and drawing attention. Tears leaked from her eyes – part anger and part despair. She’d been so damn close to breaking free.
There must be something she could do. Skye ran through a dozen hopeless scenarios until she hit upon one that held a smidgeon of possibility. She would have to move fast. The guarding fairies would discover she was partly unfettered once she made her move. Step-by-step she plotted her course. Satisfied, she touched Kheelan’s medallion for courage.
Do it now.
Skye leapt to her feet, still shackled together, and hobbled over as quickly as possible to the back wall. A loud cry arose, like the screeching of a league of demons. She had tried to mentally prepare for the inevitable uproar but the wild, inhumane wailing paralyzed her a moment.