Kelly Mendig - Three Days to Dead

“Arousing, huh?”

“Cute.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“A jackass.”

“You should get some rest.”

The change-up surprised me. I also wasn’t about to argue. I needed sleep, as well as the fresh perspective that came with a rested mind. The hard cement floor wasn’t conducive to comfortable sleeping, though, as Wyatt could certainly attest. He’d been caged up longer than I.

“Come here,” he said.

I did. He stretched out lengthwise on his side of the prison bars, facing me. I did the same, lying on my right side with my back to him. The barrier prevented much contact, but I felt his presence. His warmth and strength and life. He draped half of one arm over my waist. I reached up to clasp that hand, fingers tangling with his. It was the best we could do, but I’d take it over nothing.

We were together again, and we made a hell of a team. Faith in that helped me find some restless sleep, once again devoid of dreams or nightmares.

25:40

Hours passed in a hazy daze of sleeping and waking. Time spent not talking about anything important, just holding each other without really touching. The more I puzzled it out, the more confused I became, unsure of what was true and what was false. Memory and instinct vied for attention, but neither provided the answers we needed. Or a means of escape from our cells.

No one was left to look for us. Isleen and Rufus were probably dead. Max wouldn’t interfere. We had no more allies within the Triads. Hope grew dimmer with each passing hour, marked only by my increasing hunger and thirst.

At some point during our slumber, two bottles of water appeared outside of my cell. I scrambled for them, and nearly wrenched my shoulder out of its socket. No matter how I twisted and tried, they remained outside of my grasp, a full twelve inches from my fingertips.

“Use my belt,” Wyatt said, already reaching for the buckle.

“That’ll just knock them over.” Water had never looked so good, and I didn’t want to risk pushing them farther away.

I stood up and shimmied out of my jeans. They caught on my sneakers, so I yanked those off, too. I shook out the jeans, put them through the bars, and knelt. Holding one leg cuff in each hand, I flung the crotch toward the bottles. The makeshift net lassoed them in one try. I gave a cry of triumph and reeled them in, half an inch at a time so they didn’t fall over and roll away.

When the bottles were finally close enough to grab, I gave one to Wyatt and nearly dropped mine wrenching off the cap. I forced myself to take only two long gulps. More would make me sick. The tepid, plastic-flavored water sloshed into my stomach, bringing blessed moisture to my mouth and lips. The small gesture of anonymous mercy refilled my energy levels, and I found myself giggling.

“What’s the joke?” Wyatt asked, water dribbling down his chin.

“Nothing’s funny.” I tried in vain to sober myself. “Just never been so thirsty in my life.”

“Too bad they didn’t send along a couple of cheeseburgers.”

“Or some pancakes.” It felt like breakfast, but we had no watches. “What time do you think?”

“Morning. The sun’s up. I can feel that it’s warmer now.”

I took another sip and screwed the cap back on. I had half of an eighteen-ounce bottle and didn’t know when or if we’d be resupplied. It had to last.

“There’s one other thing I still can’t reconcile,” I said.

“One thing?”

I rolled my eyes. “Me, Wyatt. If they’re just waiting for my death, why sit on me until the clock runs out? Why not put a bullet between my eyes?”

“Does the phrase ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’ mean anything to you?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Why the theatrics if they only want me dead? What happens if I die before the end of the seventy-two hours?”

“Then the freewill contract is voided,” he said. “The deal was for seventy-two hours.”

“Although it seems the starting point is now in question.”

He nodded. “Anything that breaks the contract—”

“Like me being killed ahead of schedule.”

“—nullifies the terms, and I owe him nothing.”

I allowed a tiny flare of hope. “You keep your free will?”

Another nod. “The only profit and loss is between the two people who made the deal.”

“You and Tovin?”

“Right.” Then Wyatt’s face went slack. His skin paled to a shade whiter than any living human. His lips curled back. Sweat broke out across his forehead. He looked like a man on the verge of a heart attack.

“What?” I asked, my heart beating faster.

“Tovin. It’s been Tovin from the start. It’s the only explanation.”

“For what?”

“This.” He swept his arms out. “Us, locked in here instead of on morgue slabs. He planted the idea that we had a happy future. It’s the seed that’s sown this entire debacle. I believed him, Evy, so when you died I sought him out, and I never thought about how easy he was to find.”

A tremor clawed down my spine. “Whose idea was the resurrection, Wyatt?”

He looked ill. “His. Tovin suggested the spell with that line about something still left for you to do. It’s what convinced me to accept the deal. I didn’t even consider the price. I just wanted him to be right.”

I was finally tracking his thought process. Each missing puzzle piece, save one, was clicking into place. Tales of a happy ending when one couldn’t possibly exist. Halfies killing Jesse and Ash, and forcing me and Wyatt together. Kelsa admitting someone else had a purpose for me and that Wyatt was intended to find me dying.

The plan for the resurrection was to put me into the body of a dead Hunter—a Hunter who’d already been dead two days. If the clock had started then, as planned, the whole ordeal would have been over yesterday. Except something had drawn me to Chalice—a fortuitous turn of events I still couldn’t explain. The final piece of the puzzle.

“That son of a goblin whore,” I said. Another more terrifying thought occurred to me about the powerful elven mage. “Christ, Wyatt, does that mean he’s part of this alliance? And what about Amalie and the other Fey?”

“I don’t know.” His fists clenched and released, clenched and released. He seemed to vibrate like a live wire. “We can’t trust anyone, can we?”

“What about the Triads? They’re still human, run by humans. Surely someone can help us.”

“Maybe, if we had any way to get to them.”

Good point. “So what the hell does Tovin want so badly with your free will?”

“I have no idea.”

Wyatt was Gifted, sure, but his abilities were no match for Tovin’s. And there were easier ways of getting access to the Triads. Handlers had no high-level influence. If Tovin had truly gone through the trouble of setting this up from the onset, the payoff didn’t seem to match the effort. Not even close.

“Then I guess we’ll have to ask the bastard when we see him,” I said, relatively calm, considering.

“Thinking positive again?”

“I’m thinking I don’t like being manipulated. I’m thinking I don’t want the clock to run out in this cell without ever knowing the truth about my death. I’m thinking we’ll get out of here, because I don’t want to die. I believe we have a future, Wyatt, and I want it.”

Wyatt went absolutely still—an amazing feat that seemed to go on endlessly. Intense black eyes stared at me, through me. Sought the truth of that final statement. Giving him no reason to doubt—and suddenly very aware that I was still standing there in my panties—I stepped toward the bars. He mirrored my movements.