CHAPTER 39: WHO IS THERE?

(Amaia)

I am breathless, and the sweat pours out of every pore of my skin. There is hardly any ventilation and dampness in this forsaken place has my breath coming in pants.

My whole uniform is soaked and clings to my skin. I want to shed it and cool down.

I drop the broom and stumble out of the cell I have been cleaning to head towards the tap.

It’s a rusty, old thing, fixed on the ground with a single steel pipe. I twist the knob, and it screeches before emitting air, and then the water comes pouring out.

Bending down, first I wash my hands, scrub them and wish for some soap. But I have to make do.

I place my lips against the tap and drink as if I had been travelling through a desert without water for days.

The water is salty, and I am not even sure if it’s clean, but I don’t care. It soothes my throat and I can finally breathe.

Once I have my fill, I close the tap and straighten. Using my sleeve, I wipe my lips like an uncivilised person, but there is no one to watch me.

Returning to the cell I continue to clean until I can’t even stand. Gathering all the filth and dust in a corner I approach the lantern and use the small knob to lift the glass. Blowing out the flame I submerge myself in darkness before flopping on the ground.

Taking off my long shirt, I crumple it and place it on the ground where my head will rest and place the matchbox underneath it.

I lay down with both my hands under my head. The stench has reduced, at least in this cell from all the cleaning and scrubbing I have done.

No concept of time here but I am sure it’s past midnight by now. My stomach grumbles because I didn’t have any dinner. Nothing to eat so I push down my hunger and close my eyes, trying to sleep.

It’s eerily quiet and loneliness creeps over me. Alnitak’s passionate kissing session and then the events with Alnilam play like old movies in my mind, the ones Alpha Kalistian still had and will let me watch on some old VCR he had kept.

My fate literally hangs in the hands of a man who holds such a low opinion of me, who most likely would have expelled me from the Academy had my secret not been revealed.

But a part of me, that irrational, stupid, love-craving part of me holds onto the notion that Alnilam will not betray me.

Mosquitoes bite me and sing their stupid songs in my ear. Buzzing all around.

Furiously, I swat them away and hope they don’t leave my face with red blotches.

I am not sure when the sleep takes me but I am startled awake by a faint whimpering. Confused, I let my eyes adjust to peek through this thick veil of darkness but can’t make out anything. It’s pitch black and awfully quiet again. Did I hear someone whimpering in my dream?

And then there it was again, a slow tortured moan of pain. It comes as a haunting whisper, as if travelling through the very walls of this forsaken place, and carries over with the air before seeping into my very being.

Something flickers in my heart and it’s more than fear.

Every hair on my body stands erect as a shiver courses through my body and I grab the matchbox from under my shirt. My hands tremble and I open it to light a match.

The flicker comes to life with a whooshing sound, and I place my other hand around it so it won’t go out. There is hardly any draft but one can’t be too careful.

Getting up, I approach the lantern and light it up. Taking it off the nail, I leave the cell and carefully advance forward. My feet remain agile against the stone ground as I keep the lantern up for maximum light.

Another pained groan comes hurtling through the air making me freeze on the spot.

Yanna had said this place was empty, then who is it that I keep hearing? My legs shake but I keep moving, cell after cell.

My desperate eyes observe every one of them, and they are empty, but the sound is clearer now, as if I am getting closer to whoever it is.

From the sound of it, he seems like a male. Maybe there is a prisoner down here and they forgot to inform me or maybe it is done on purpose to scare me.

Whatever there is, I am about to find out. My magic thrums in my veins, and I have to keep it contained if I don’t want Alnilam breathing down my neck again. Being a werewolf/warlock hybrid he can sense my magic. And if I am not wrong any rogue magic that is performed in the continent of Tarathia.

But my magic is restless as if searching for the person who appears to be in pain. My feet finally halt in front of what appears to be the last cell and I turn towards my right side, holding the lantern in front.

What meets my gaze has me sharply gasp and the lantern almost stumbles out of my hand.

A man is leaning against the wall with his arms and legs coiled with heavy iron chains. He has one leg up while the other is casually resting on the ground. His arm rests on the top of his bent leg, and his hand dangles down. Dressed only in tattered rags of a black robe his ghostly white skin is mostly on display.

Tattoos like smoke crawl all the way from his neck to the side of his handsome and deeply chiselled face, but it’s the eyes that have me in a trance.

Deep red like the freshly spilt blood, such rich shade, and they stare directly at me with such intensity that I forget to breathe.

My hand grabs the iron bar, and I steady myself as his curved lips move and he utters only one word to make my world crash and my magic lose control.

"Mate!"