Ex-Lieutenant, Ex-Sergeant, Karrin Murphy was a lot of things. She was a fighter, a marksman, a decent cook. She was pig-headed and bold, unwilling to back down against the nastiest and most powerful of supernatural creatures. She was not, however, a goddamn damsel. She was not the princess in the tower. She was not bait and she sure as hell was not happy about being forced into that role.
It had been a year since Nicodemus’ foot had come down on her knee and given her one of the most agonizing injuries she’d ever endured. Tendons destroyed, a bone cracked, the joint damn near rendered unusable. It had been the quick action of Dresden and Butters that had gotten her to the hospital in time for it to be stabilized and an impossibly perfect surgical team that had kept her from needing a knee replacement. The fantastic condition she’d been in at the time hadn’t hurt either.
Only a year of recovery time had passed, she was able to walk now without any cane or crutches. That had been a nice change of pace but she had only just begun to train again with her doctor’s clearance. A year of almost no working out had left her weaker than she was used to. Unprepared for when the arms wrapped around her throat and waist. Unable to do more than thrash as the world faded into stark blackness.
She’d lost track of time by now. She’d been in the damn room for at least a few days, although the single light overhead didn’t give much in the way of an indication of passing time. A nasty cut lay across one cheek and her skin was peppered with bruises. Her lower lip had split a long time ago and the blood wasn’t fresh anymore but it still hurt like a son of a bitch. Her arms were tied behind her in the chair and her shoulder ached with the position.
They’d demanded over and over to know the location of Harry Dresden. The Winter Knight. She wasn’t sure what court they were – Summer, wanting to kill the Knight to weaken the court? Winter, wanting to take his place? Hell, something else entirely that just hated Harry? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t talking. Truthfully it was getting hard to. She was parched, exhausted, hungry and aching. It was becoming an exercise in futility trying to wriggle out of the bonds on her wrists and she had the worst neckache from sleeping in this damn chair.
A hostage. Seriously. This is embarrassing. Murphy groused to herself as she looked around the room for the billionth time as if this time there would be a heretofore overlooked sharp edge to slice through the damn ropes.
( askthewizardpi )