Read Online Phoenix (dystopian romance) (Theta Waves: Episode 1) by Thea Atkinson - Free Book Online
Authors: Thea Atkinson
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She had to get loose before he fell on her, wrapped those meaty fingers around her neck. Had to.
She screamed when he touched her, like a fool. Who would care if she died. No one. Who would come to her aid? Not a soul. Help didn't come in new Earth. No one cared. Not really. Least of all for someone accused of doing the unpardonable crime of religion mongering. She screamed again for good measure when his hands pulled at her shoulder, twisted in his grasp, kicking where she could. She grunted in pleasure when she felt her foot land on bone. She even dared face him so she could glare at him in final victory.
Ezekiel stood there, his charcoal hair covering one eye, the other wincing in pain.
"Idiot," he ground out. "Get up."
"I will not," she said. If he wanted to kill her, he'd bloody well have to do it while she was lying on the floor.
"I said get up," he twisted her to the side, the chair moving along with her. "We don't have much time."
"What do you mean?" She couldn't see anything now except oak boards, but she could feel that he had her by the wrists. A quick twist and her hands were free. They fell beside her, limp and bloodless, and she had a hard time manoeuvring them at will. It would take a while for sensation to return. She did her best to use her cheek and side to manoeuvre so that she was away from the chair, tried to sit up. Chest heaving, she scanned the area. A pool of blood was rapidly moving toward her and in the moment she noticed that it was the mayor's, she could have sworn all blood left her brain as well. Shock, must be, she thought stupidly.
She looked up at Ezekiel. "What's going on?"
He reached out for her again, and twisted her to unsteady feet. "I've just done a very stupid thing," he said.
She was trying to find some balance, working to process what had happened, sidestepping the double pools of blood that were creeping across the floor, trying to meet. The mayor looked decidedly grotesque with his double grin, one on his face the other smiling bloodily from his throat. The executioner died holding onto his stomach; a whiff of bowel flared her nostrils. The sour taste in the back of her throat made her gag and she stumbled as she tried to wrench her arm out of Ezekiel's grasp.
All at once her brain leapt into focus. "You saw it," she said. "You saw it all."
"I saw enough," he said, tugging at her. "But that's not why."
"Why then?"
He looked like he would actually tell her, it looked like he would reach out to her, let his fingers move to the back of her neck just where his gaze was resting, but even when she thought he'd speak, he grabbed her hand and pulled her, running from the room.
Just outside the door, her stomach finally rebelled. She let go a stream of vomit that burned her nose as she ran, hunched over, trying to keep up with the arm that was being pulled along ahead of her. It was no use, the heaves overtook her and she couldn't keep up with Ezekiel's pace, ended up being drug along with dribbles of vomit beading on the floor of the hallway. He was relentless, not stopping to see if she was okay, only dragging her forward all the time, step after step, down the oak paneled hall. Too upscale to be in the Eastern end, she realized. Somewhere through the trembling that had begun to overtake her body, she understood that while she'd been out, comatose with ecstasy, Ezekiel had brought her to the more affluent western half. She tried to wipe a shaky hand against her mouth, but the jostling running and dodging through hallways, to the door of the back staircase, only made the vomit smear across her chin and into her hair.
"Stop," she gasped. "You have to stop."
"The hell I do," he said. They'd reached the stairwell and he yanked open the door.
Looking down, Theda could see a window on the landing that indicated they were at least six floors up.
"I can't go anymore."
"Yes, you can."
"What did you see?" she asked, thinking to slow him down long enough for her to quell her
She screamed when he touched her, like a fool. Who would care if she died. No one. Who would come to her aid? Not a soul. Help didn't come in new Earth. No one cared. Not really. Least of all for someone accused of doing the unpardonable crime of religion mongering. She screamed again for good measure when his hands pulled at her shoulder, twisted in his grasp, kicking where she could. She grunted in pleasure when she felt her foot land on bone. She even dared face him so she could glare at him in final victory.
Ezekiel stood there, his charcoal hair covering one eye, the other wincing in pain.
"Idiot," he ground out. "Get up."
"I will not," she said. If he wanted to kill her, he'd bloody well have to do it while she was lying on the floor.
"I said get up," he twisted her to the side, the chair moving along with her. "We don't have much time."
"What do you mean?" She couldn't see anything now except oak boards, but she could feel that he had her by the wrists. A quick twist and her hands were free. They fell beside her, limp and bloodless, and she had a hard time manoeuvring them at will. It would take a while for sensation to return. She did her best to use her cheek and side to manoeuvre so that she was away from the chair, tried to sit up. Chest heaving, she scanned the area. A pool of blood was rapidly moving toward her and in the moment she noticed that it was the mayor's, she could have sworn all blood left her brain as well. Shock, must be, she thought stupidly.
She looked up at Ezekiel. "What's going on?"
He reached out for her again, and twisted her to unsteady feet. "I've just done a very stupid thing," he said.
She was trying to find some balance, working to process what had happened, sidestepping the double pools of blood that were creeping across the floor, trying to meet. The mayor looked decidedly grotesque with his double grin, one on his face the other smiling bloodily from his throat. The executioner died holding onto his stomach; a whiff of bowel flared her nostrils. The sour taste in the back of her throat made her gag and she stumbled as she tried to wrench her arm out of Ezekiel's grasp.
All at once her brain leapt into focus. "You saw it," she said. "You saw it all."
"I saw enough," he said, tugging at her. "But that's not why."
"Why then?"
He looked like he would actually tell her, it looked like he would reach out to her, let his fingers move to the back of her neck just where his gaze was resting, but even when she thought he'd speak, he grabbed her hand and pulled her, running from the room.
Just outside the door, her stomach finally rebelled. She let go a stream of vomit that burned her nose as she ran, hunched over, trying to keep up with the arm that was being pulled along ahead of her. It was no use, the heaves overtook her and she couldn't keep up with Ezekiel's pace, ended up being drug along with dribbles of vomit beading on the floor of the hallway. He was relentless, not stopping to see if she was okay, only dragging her forward all the time, step after step, down the oak paneled hall. Too upscale to be in the Eastern end, she realized. Somewhere through the trembling that had begun to overtake her body, she understood that while she'd been out, comatose with ecstasy, Ezekiel had brought her to the more affluent western half. She tried to wipe a shaky hand against her mouth, but the jostling running and dodging through hallways, to the door of the back staircase, only made the vomit smear across her chin and into her hair.
"Stop," she gasped. "You have to stop."
"The hell I do," he said. They'd reached the stairwell and he yanked open the door.
Looking down, Theda could see a window on the landing that indicated they were at least six floors up.
"I can't go anymore."
"Yes, you can."
"What did you see?" she asked, thinking to slow him down long enough for her to quell her
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