His Human Hellion (Ultimate Passage Book 2) (6 page)

Marissa

Marissa was in that half-awake, half-sleep state, where things seem like a dream but at the same time seem like they’re real. She was in a car. No, on a plane. Something . . . and she was moving. She tried to sort it out in her mind, where she was in this dreamlike state, but was coming up blank. Sleep was determined to keep her eyes shut though her mind’s curiosity fought to open them. Curiosity won.

She opened them slowly, still unsure if this was a dream.
Maybe she was opening her eyes in the dream. Except she was in this pod thing.

Memories crashed into her consciousness, shoving her out of her dream-state, into a place where she was in a foreign place that did not intend her any good. Probably intended her harm, if anything. She looked around. The Asazi soldier was still in
his pod, eyes closed, that breathing apparatus over his face. She surveyed the room. There were six other pods, and two had the cover on. The rest were open. She squinted to see what—who—was in the covered one.

It looked like—she stifled a horrified cry—it was him. The one she killed. He was still in his bloody uniform. His scaly chameleon-like skin was a bone-white
, like a skeleton that had been left out in the desert, it looked weathered and bleached. She raised her fist to her mouth to bite on it, to keep from the wail that was rising in her lungs. Except that both hands rose when she raised one, not one. God, no. She was still handcuffed. This was no dream. Even in her semi- state, she’d hoped it wasn’t real.

A sudden bump and her pod was jarred. It
was like one of the rollercoaster-type rides at Six Flags. The one that takes you way up high, then drops you. Where you fall, but don’t really. The live soldier, the one that captured her, was catty-corner across from her in a pod. He stirred. She put the breathing apparatus near her face and feigned sleep, hoping he didn’t bother to look closely, because he was bound to see her veins pounding in her neck and temples.

Less than a minute later the lid to the pod she was in rose with a semi-quiet whoosh. She took a deep breath, slowly opened her eyes
, worried about what she’d see, wanting to keep her eyes closed. But self-preservation prevailed. She wanted no surprises, so she was better off with her eyes open.

It was him. Shit. More than just him. Half a dozen soldiers
in dark green uniforms, all Asazi, stared at her, their Asazi skin a dark orange-red. She knew that color only too well. Anger.

Then they
turned to look at the one she’d killed, still in his pod, then they turned back to her. There was no pity in their eyes, instead they gleamed with a cold hardness.

She
attempted to make herself smaller within the pod, wishing she could disappear, wishing she could become small enough to evade their accusing glares.

“Out, human.” The soldier who had
captured her snarled the command.

She tried to push out
, but with both hands secured in front of her, she had no way of gaining enough leverage to rise out of the cocooning pod. “M—” Her mouth wouldn’t work. Her throat seemed constricted shut. She tried to swallow but had no saliva. She dry-swallowed and tried again. “My hands. I can’t.”

The soldier reached down
, grabbed the cuffs from the linked chain holding the bracelets together and jerked her to a stand. She stumbled forward, headlong into one soldier’s chest. He shoved her backward. She bounced off the pod’s lid.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in that cocooned, semi-fetal state, but her legs said too long. She was wobbly and fell into
another soldier’s shoulder. He pushed her off, she stumbled into a different one. He shoved her away as if she were disease-ridden. She bounced off a wall. Tiny spots of white light appeared in front of her, obscuring her vision, making it seem surreal.

“Enough.” A voice commanded.
She thought maybe she knew that voice, but she wasn’t sure. Did she? She rubbed her temple with her adjoined hands. Everything seemed off. Was that Finn?

“Finn?” She leapt for the familiar profile, for the
familiar face. Her leap failed. She crumpled at his feet.

Tears spr
ang, and she closed her eyes against them. She wanted this to be a dream, though she knew that wanting it was futile. She pushed off the ground with her clenched, handcuffed fists, tried to rise to no avail. Marissa kept falling, unbalanced.

“Finn. Help me.”

“Marissa.”

Her name. That was her name
, but she was wrong, it wasn’t Finn’s voice. Hands went under her arms, pulling her to a stand. She wiped her eyes on her shoulders, wanting to unleash an assortment of profanities, angry at herself for having tears, for showing weakness, angry at her captors for bringing her here. Angry that her baby was in danger.

“What.” The word was full of venom and anger, and she couldn’t help it and wouldn’t have cared to stop the anger from showing if she could. She wiped her eyes on her shoulders and forearms. “At least cut me loose, there are enough of you to keep one little human woman from doing any harm.”

She focused on the man—alien—creature—whatever—in front of her. And then she recognized him. “Oh, God. I didn’t know. Kal. Kal, help me please. They’ve brought me here and—”

“I know.”

“You know?” Disbelief numbed her mind. “What do you know?”

“Too much.” He shook his head in sadness, his color a deep blue. “Release her.”

“But—” One soldier protested.

“She killed Merck.” Another one finished
the first soldier’s statement.

“She will not hurt me. Release her and take—
escort
—her to her quarters.”

“She has no quarters. She has a cell.”

“So be it.” Kal said. “Take her there.”

“But—” Marissa was confus
ed. What the hell was going on?

“I’ll be there shortly, wait for me.” Kal’s voice was calm.

Marissa fought the laughter of hysteria that threatened to burst from her lips. Wait for him? Like she had a choice? What choice did she have? None at all. Then she had to bite back the sardonic laugh that was rising in her throat. The irony of his statement was getting to her. Or maybe it was the situation. Or the pregnancy.

Two of the men put their hands on her elbows. Not loosely, but not so tight that she was threatened—just enough to remind her she wasn’t a guest, she was a prisoner.

They led her out of the fat, squat Blackbird wanna-be, onto a plank that resembled a horizontal fire escape grate.

The
surroundings reminded her of a Mayan temple that had gone through an apocalyptic, movie-set makeover. Large stones and boulders, square and rough, made a barrier. Within the barrier, buildings composed of the same boulders coordinated with metal scaffoldings to create a semi-primitive, semi-newfangled modernistic settlement.

“This is where Asazi live?” She looked at her guards. Stoic, neither looked at her. Nor did either answer. Great. As she was led down a pathway that was just wide enough for a car, she felt eyes on her.
When she turned her head fast enough she would catch a face peeking at her, but just as quickly vanish behind the stone or metal structures.

After a five
-minute walk, the soldiers led her to a large, imposing, carved-stone stairway that led into the ground. Dewy short moss covered the walls of the stairway, sconces lined the way every few feet, casting light as they walked further and further into the ground, further and further away from the vessel that could take her home. Marissa tried to see what was used for lighting but she wasn’t tall enough. She wondered if it were candles or electric bulbs, or maybe even something else.

She
kept her back straight, refusing to acknowledge her position of weakness or to show any fear. The part she couldn’t control was the fear that was setting in as she went deeper and deeper underground. It was claustrophobia and she had no control over it. Zero. Zip. The only thing she could fight to control was her breathing. Kind of. Though she felt that at any moment she would lose to the hysteria of claustrophobia and become a squawking, slobbering mess on the tunnel’s cobbled stone flooring.

The stairway dead-ended directly in front, but had a tunnel extending to the left and to the right. They turned right, the tunnel narrowed to accommodate three individuals side-by-side, but barely.
Great. More tunnels, more underground. She was more than ready to be in the open air.

The idea that this was where Finn grew up wasn’t lost on her. It seemed so dreary, so intense. She wondered if she’d feel
otherwise if her situation was at all different.

They continued down the cobbled, stone pathway of the tunnel, with doors made of steel or a similar metal on each side every few feet. Were these rooms homes? Were they cells?

She wanted to ask her captors, but knew she’d get the same non-response she already had, so what was the point.

They walked for a long time it seemed, though in her present state
of almost hyperventilation, she wasn’t sure that she was qualified to measure time. Finally, they stopped in front of a door that was larger than the others. One of the soldiers put a metal ID, one that looked like a thick credit card, on a square metal plate that was mounted just outside the door, at about the height of a door handle.

When he put the ID on it, the door swung open to a room. They stepped in, clear of the door which swung shut.

Now she was in a room, not much larger than her living room. The back wall was comprised of a series of doors, and between those doors, Marissa, and her captors stood a long, wide desk, attached to a half-wall. Behind the desk sat an Asazi soldier with a forbidding expression. He nodded to the soldiers, reached beneath the desk and pressed something. The half-wall moved, creating an opening.

“
Lesser League.” He said.

S
he had no clue what that meant. “What’s that? Where are you taking me?” She turned to the man at the desk. “What is this place?”

“Your new home, murderess.” His tone was stringent, caustic.
He looked away, disgust evident on his face.

She raised her voice to a yell. “Do you people—whatever you are—not recognize the act of self-defense? Do I get a lawyer? A jury? Trial? No such thing as innocent until proven guilty?”
She was on a roll, revving up, ranting, and pissed in a major way. She paused to take a deep breath.

“Keep walking,
human.” One of them interjected, prodding her.

She turned, her back stiff, allowing their hands on her elbows to guide her toward one of the doors, the one on the far right. Before she could
crash into the door, it swung open. Another hallway. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. How far into the bowels of this place were they taking her? The doors in this hallway were different. They had bars. Definitely a jail cell. Four doors down on the left, they opened one and stood back.

Marissa went in, turned around to face them. “Do I get some sort of representation?”

One of them closed the door. They looked at each other, back at her, performed a tight, simultaneous aboutface, and marched down the hallway, their boots clacking on the stone.

Why didn’t she notice their footfalls
when they were coming here, she wondered as they left, the echo of their steps behind them.

Within seconds, she was alone, in a place that had
no windows, bars on the doors, and walls made of large boulders that were stacked. The boulders reminded her of the shows she’d seen on the nature channel when they’d traveled to Maya territory, or was it Incan? Hell, she didn’t know, it could have been Aztec, for all she knew. It’s not like she paid all that much attention. Truth be told, Dad watched it while she did the books for
Two West Two
.

The only place she could sit was a stone bench with a black blanket folded at the foot—or head?—who could tell since there was no pillow.

A hole in the opposite corner . . . well, she didn’t want to dwell on its purpose. But damn, no toilet paper. What was a girl supposed to do? She’d deal with that issue when she came to it.

Footsteps approached.
Hopefully it was Kal. Her spirits lifted. She’d get answers. Help, released, something. Surely there’d be progress. And he could contact Finn. Her shoulders slumped in relief, tension evaporating, somewhat if not completely. Shuffling came from the other side. She moved toward the door, almost reaching the bars, when a woman appeared in front of her. An Asazi woman in a dark green uniform. Like a soldier’s uniform, like the ones that belonged to the soldiers that just left her. Her uniform was tailored, perfectly fitting to show of an athletic figure. She wore a badge on her chest, probably her rank. Marissa wished she knew more about ranks and what they meant, not that it mattered, but she was curious. The woman’s eyes were cold, blond hair long and loose. Quite a beautiful woman, though her icy demeanor worried Marissa. She tried to catch the name on the badge, peering, leaning closer.

Alithera.

Marissa knew that name. That was the name that Finn mentioned when he was talking to Kal. That he said he was Bound to. She knew that had to mean . . . something romantic. So, she was pretty sure this was not her new best friend. Marissa backed up. The woman opened the door with her badge and stepped in.