Everything hurt, especially his eyes and the back of his head. He could smell blood, and taste it too, coating his teeth and gunking up his throat. He felt he might be sick, but there was nothing he could do for it. His shoulders were twisted back at a miserable angle so his wrists could be cuffed to the back of the chair. He would have to test the structure of his seat, as soon as he could, if he wanted to get out of his shitty situation. Though he didn’t know who had conked him over the head and dragged him off to God-knows-where, but his money was on some demon or other, though it was equally likely it could be a Warlock. He certainly hadn’t made any friends.
His thoughts felt swimmy, like he was struggling to remain cognate from one thought to another. He thought it might be a sign of a concussion, but wasn’t entirely sure. Somewhere along his skull there was a fracture, he could feel it thump, thump, thumping with his pulse. Dizziness was nothing compared to the overwhelming state of nausea and the uncoordinated relays between his nerve endings.
Voices came from somewhere beyond his vision. He opened his eyes to total darkness and closed them again. It didn’t matter if he could see, then, so long as he could hear.
“We need to get in touch with ( Appoloin ) if we’re going to get rid of this guy. He’s trouble, I’m telling you. The longer we have him in our hands, the more dangerous this situation gets. We need to get him out of here and get paid as soon as we fucking can. This guy spooks me.”
Graeme smiled alone in the darkness. He thought of Gabriel, and the way she felt like electricity when she was close to him. Like she was charging him up.
Curious, he strained against the handcuffs and felt them bend. He strained harder and they snapped. He wanted to laugh, to dance around the room and make a scene and let them see how right they were in fearing him. Instead, he would revel in their deaths at his hands, he would take his pleasure at showing them what to fear when their throats were in his fists and their last breaths were a gift to them from him.
As they died, he felt stronger. Every corpse was another day he’d had to heal, each one improved his general state incrementally. He couldn’t wait to tell Gabriel how easy it was becoming. How they nearly fell at his feet dead. How he barely had to lift a finger.