The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

strength had left him, and he began to cough. I hope Slaíne’s hidden the key away.

Gone were Aidan’s impressions of Dewhurst’s thoughts and whims. They were replaced by a dull ringing in Aidan’s ears as the nausea subsided. He gagged twice and then was still.

Dewhurst swore. “Someone, clean this mess up.” With that said, his Pull retreated as he ran to and up the staircase.

Despite the command, the guards didn’t remain behind; Aidan felt all of their Pulls retreat, and heard their feet scrabbling up the stairs not seconds after Dewhurst had used them. It was now only Slaíne and him.

“What did you do?” Slaíne whispered, her voice awed. “Ne’er seen nothing quite like that.”

Aidan attempted a chuckle, but it came out as a grunt. He blinked several times to clear his vision, but everything looked filmy and distorted. “Are they gone?”

“Yeah. Guess they can nay stand the smell down here no longer.” She then called them something rather colorful, and this time Aidan did manage to laugh.

“Do you have it?” he murmured.

“The key? Yeah. Should I use it?”

Aidan hesitated as she placed a cool hand on his throbbing forehead. “It might be best to wait until I’ve regained some strength. What are you going to do, carry me out of here?”

Slaíne was silent. “He said three days he’d give you before…well, you know.”

“Yes, well—”

“Oh, for the love of mercy, what are you afeared of?”

Aidan groaned, and Slaíne pulled away her hand. “I’m in no mood to argue, so—”

“Never mind all that.” With that said, she took the key, went to his feet, and undid the shackles binding him. “There. Now, would you mind bringing that sword out, or do I gotta do everything myself?” She stared at him expectantly, until with a roll of his eyes, Aidan Summoned the sword.

Slaíne picked up the blade after it had clattered to the ground. “Right. They will have heard that, no? Get up.”

Indeed, there were more shouts overhead, and several Pulls returned to the mouth of the cell. “C’mon,” she insisted.

Trembling, Aidan raised himself to a sitting position. From there, he got to his knees, his muscles protesting. But soon he was able, with Slaíne’s help, to rise to his feet. Just in time, too.

Though the guards who had retreated were slow in their return, Aidan had just managed to ready himself as the first one came into view. “What’s all this?” the one in front asked.

Mercifully, Slaíne had thought to hide the blade behind her back. Even so, the men were eyeing her warily. “What? You afeared of me?” she said.

One laughed. The other one looked taken aback at her cheek.

Aidan knew what she was going to do before she moved, and he was helpless to protest or stop her. So as she ran the first man through with her silver blade, Aidan Dismissed the belt holding up the other man’s trousers.

The first one collapsed with a gasp, red blooming from his stomach as he toppled forward onto the floor. The second one stumbled out of his drawers and moved to pick up his blade, which had clattered to the ground, but Slaíne was already upon him, slicing him across the throat.

The guard’s hands went up to his neck as he sputtered blood, and she pushed the blade clean through his throat until it emerged on the other side. Dying, the man collapsed.

Aidan latched on to the deceased’s Pull, Dismissed it, and watched as the light left the second man’s eyes, Slaíne hastening his end like a dread angel of mercy. Once that man had passed, Aidan latched on to that Pull and Dismissed the second body. His head spun and his muscles spasmed beneath his own weight, but they’d only spent two minutes of precious time. “I don’t know if this is a good idea….”

But Slaíne would hear no complaints. She pocketed the key and came to where Aidan stood swaying slightly. Mercifully, his vision had cleared, and he could feel some of his strength returning, though not what had been lost in the weeks of being under-fed, bled, and remaining inactive. Putting one arm around his waist whilst holding the sword in the other, she helped him hobble toward the prison door, which remained ajar. No calls of alarm had been taken up, so they made their way up the stairs.

With each awkward step he took upward and away from the iron, the more like himself Aidan began to feel. But it wasn’t enough. He was getting lightheaded, and his knees began to buckle.

Slaíne swore below her breath and nearly lost hold of him. “Sir, you gotta keep goin’.”

But he sank onto the step he was on and clutched his head. His ears rang, and a vision overtook him. It was of a man, perhaps in his twenties, standing on Aidan’s family estate.

“Need some help?” the man asked sotto voce.

Aidan could feel himself being shaken, knew that Slaíne was there somewhere, tugging on him and urging him forward. Weary beyond belief, Aidan could do nothing but nod.

The familiar stranger gave Aidan a piteous smile before saying, “This is going to feel peculiar.” And with that, Aidan returned to the moment, Slaíne standing over him instead of the stranger.

“Blimey,” she murmured, her face red with exertion. “Can you walk?”

Aidan opened his mouth to answer, and that is when he first felt it, the sensation of becoming too large for his own skin. He had experienced something similar the night previous when the guards had come in to beat him, but that had only lasted a moment. A great swelling of strength and energy took over him, clumsily controlling his movements. Soon he was upright, walking with Slaíne as though his body were making its own decisions.

Slaíne gave him a confused look, but moved ahead of Aidan, sword raised as they crept around a corner. “Can you feel any Pulls, sir?”

Aidan closed his eyes and concentrated, but whatever or whoever was controlling his body was interfering with his ability to