Rope binding together two dainty, feminine hands over a dark backdrop of concrete.
Where am I?
“Brooke.” I shot forward on the sofa. “Fuck, you’re okay. Thank god you’re okay.”
Footsteps plodded into the living room. Ria’s wide eyes met mine. “What did you just s—”
“She’s in my head,” I said. “I hear her thoughts. She’s tied up, but she’s alive.”
“Send her a message back,” Ria said quickly. “Ask her where she is. Tell her—”
“She doesn’t know where she is. But how do I do that?”
Her face screwed up in confusion. “What?”
“Send her a message—how do I do that? She hasn’t heard my thoughts before. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Ria’s breaths stopped. Her eyes were still wide, and she stayed silent.
Another ache throbbed though my ankle.
I looked down, and again, saw the dark backdrop beneath Brooke’s white sneakers. She wore the same jeans she’d been in last night, but a splotch of red descended the bottom.
Ria gasped.
My gaze shot her way. “What?”
“This is how,” she said. “The bond. You’re how.”
“I’m how what?”
“How I’ll get a spell to work.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
BROOKE
Stuck.
I was stuck.
My eyes were too heavy to open. Like they were caked shut. I tried to lift my hands to rub them, but scratching, aching pain stabbed through my forearms when I tugged.
Stuck. I was stuck.
Using my shoulder to rub them, fighting through the thick layer of crust, finally peeling one open, my gaze caught rope.
Rope tied around my hands and a dirty cement floor beneath them.
My heart slammed against my ribs, drowning out the throb in my skull. My eyes sprung open, and I jolted backward.
Where am I?
I tried to open my mouth to speak, only then feeling cotton around my lips, tasting dirty fabric on my tongue.
I jolted backward, head slamming into a stone wall.
Trying to see through the crust lining my vision, my head tilted from left to right.