Read New Olympus Saga (Book 3): Apocalypse Dance for Free Online Page A
Authors: C.J. Carella
certainly prettier than Christine’s own washed-out pale gray-blue peepers. She was wearing a gorgeous lavender gown and matching slippers, and had an amazeballs pearl and rubies necklace, among assorted other fine bling. She looked like a fairy-tale princess, ready to star in her own Disney animated feature.
Except for her aura. Her aura definitely wasn’t Disney feature material. It belonged in a David Cronenberg-Rob Zombie collaboration. Oh, so ugly. It was worse than Kestrel’s, worse than Lady Shi’s even, and she’d been a murderous sociopath with a heart of stone. Only Mr. Night’s aura had been worse than this.
One more guard walked in, pushing a wheelchair. A wheelchair with strategically-placed straps for wrists, legs, chest and neck.
The guy with the mismatched eyes spoke. “She will sit on the chair now.” Between the funky German accent and his referring to her in the third person, Christine didn’t realize he was talking to her at first, and she didn’t do anything for a second or two, which was too long to suit him. He gestured to one of the guards, and he shot her in the leg.
The pain was immediate and crippling. She ended up on her hands and knees, blinking tears out of her eyes.
Her feelings-block was up, but some of the agony must have seeped through. she lied.
“She will sit now!”
She sat down, and the guards tightened the straps on her. The one around her neck, right on top the disruptor collar, made it hard to breathe. To keep herself from having a panic attack, Christine described to Mark what they were doing, trying to sound cool and detached.
she said.
Their conversation came to an abrupt halt when weird-eye stepped over and slapped her face, hard. One, two, three slaps. Her face stung and she had to fight not to start crying. Assholes indeed.
“She will all commands obey, and she will not hesitate. Is that understood?”
“Yes.” She was humiliated, terrified, mortified, and sooo very pissed off. Slappy was going to regret laying hands on her.
Mark said when she described the guy.
Mark clamped down on a burst of rage before it could hurt her much.
While she’d been having her mental chat, the psychopathic fairy princess had been talking in Ukrainian with Slappy Bad-Eye. He turned back to her. “The Lady says you are comely, for an American; they are usually too fat for her taste. She adds that if you are cooperative, she may let you share her bed with the Iron Tsar.”
“Uh, thanks?”
Bi-Clops barked an order in Ukrainian, and they all walked out, except Christine, who was wheeled out. The whole place looked like a hospital, clean and institutional-like, with white walls and tiled floors. There were drains every few feet, though, and she didn’t think they were there in case the roof started leaking. She kept sending an ongoing report to Mark, which she found helped relax her. Forcing herself to pay attention to her surroundings was a lot better than wondering what they were going to do to her.
Mark said.
Except for her aura. Her aura definitely wasn’t Disney feature material. It belonged in a David Cronenberg-Rob Zombie collaboration. Oh, so ugly. It was worse than Kestrel’s, worse than Lady Shi’s even, and she’d been a murderous sociopath with a heart of stone. Only Mr. Night’s aura had been worse than this.
One more guard walked in, pushing a wheelchair. A wheelchair with strategically-placed straps for wrists, legs, chest and neck.
The guy with the mismatched eyes spoke. “She will sit on the chair now.” Between the funky German accent and his referring to her in the third person, Christine didn’t realize he was talking to her at first, and she didn’t do anything for a second or two, which was too long to suit him. He gestured to one of the guards, and he shot her in the leg.
The pain was immediate and crippling. She ended up on her hands and knees, blinking tears out of her eyes.
Her feelings-block was up, but some of the agony must have seeped through.
“She will sit now!”
She sat down, and the guards tightened the straps on her. The one around her neck, right on top the disruptor collar, made it hard to breathe. To keep herself from having a panic attack, Christine described to Mark what they were doing, trying to sound cool and detached.
she said.
Their conversation came to an abrupt halt when weird-eye stepped over and slapped her face, hard. One, two, three slaps. Her face stung and she had to fight not to start crying. Assholes indeed.
“She will all commands obey, and she will not hesitate. Is that understood?”
“Yes.” She was humiliated, terrified, mortified, and sooo very pissed off. Slappy was going to regret laying hands on her.
Mark clamped down on a burst of rage before it could hurt her much.
While she’d been having her mental chat, the psychopathic fairy princess had been talking in Ukrainian with Slappy Bad-Eye. He turned back to her. “The Lady says you are comely, for an American; they are usually too fat for her taste. She adds that if you are cooperative, she may let you share her bed with the Iron Tsar.”
“Uh, thanks?”
Bi-Clops barked an order in Ukrainian, and they all walked out, except Christine, who was wheeled out. The whole place looked like a hospital, clean and institutional-like, with white walls and tiled floors. There were drains every few feet, though, and she didn’t think they were there in case the roof started leaking. She kept sending an ongoing report to Mark, which she found helped relax her. Forcing herself to pay attention to her surroundings was a lot better than wondering what they were going to do to her.
Mark said.
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