Grace stumbled backward, her breath was short and rapid as her chest heaved in desperation to take in much needed oxygen. Her hands shook with adrenaline and were covered in fresh blood. All about her cell broken bodies lay motionless, seemingly cast about like large bloodied dolls. Grace looked at a dead man near her, his head was twisted in an awkward angle and he gazed at up her silently with his lifeless eyes. The other two guards lay in front of her within growing pools of their own blood.
These unlucky guards had come with intentions to rape her, she had defended herself nothing more. The Admiral Prideaux would not see it that way, he may have even ordered these men to do so, with the hope that she would reveal the location of the gold she had stolen.
Grace laughed and slid down the nearby wall to the floor. She then crawled to the spot where she hid the fragment of her Bloodsilk. Lifting the stone in the floor, she pulled it from its hiding place. It suddenly squirmed in her hand as if alive…it was hungry. Death hung in the air; fresh blood was everywhere. Grace could feel the cloth feeding and passing its boon to her. She began to feel calm and refreshed. She could feel her wounds closing and healing. Tonight, Grace would sleep for tomorrow the Admiral would have his revenge for the killing of his guards. But none would attempt to defile her the way these men had failed to do. Fear has a way of making others think before acting. It does not however stop a whip from seeking flesh. The Admiral Prideaux loved his cat ‘o nine tails and Grace knew its sting all too well. Being a prisoner of two nations had its benefits and death by the Admiral’s hands without approval was one of them. Grace put her Bloodsilk shard away. Then laid back, closed her eyes and dreamed of her ship…The Lokothea, she could almost smell the sea.
© Cathalson – 2011 / CANNOT BE USED WITHOUT PERMISSION.
“GRACE FLYNN” is held under TRADEMARK.