Elusive Memories (The Hunted #1)

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  “Your mother isn’t like us,” a man said. Sam felt like she should know him, but no name or relationship came through the haze.

  “Then what is she?” Her voice was small and confused. She was young, though she didn’t know how young.

  “She was born without a Gift. A Gift like mine, yours, and grandma’s.”

  “Is that why she can’t be an elder?” she asked, sorting through her confusion.

  The man nodded. “Yes.”

  “But she wants to be one! It’s not fair.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  Sam dragged her eyelids open, struggling to put the memory into context. Or was it a dream? It felt like a dream, but something about it bothered her.

  Someone kicked her. “It’s about time you woke up.” A man’s voice. Not her guard’s. Agony sliced through her side, tears pricking the corners of her eyelids. “Come on, get up.”

  Another kick came, followed by more pain. She curled up instinctively, protecting herself. “Please. Don’t.”

  Rough hands closed around her arms and yanked her up, whipping her head back. “You think you can have the run of this place?”

  He let go of one arm and she sagged at the pain snaking up her side. Before she could take a deep breath and fight the torment, a fist plowed into her jaw. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth. She spit at him. He pulled back and hit her harder.

  The room spun as she struggled to regain balance and footing. The darkness barely revealed the outline of the man—a guard?—holding her. But maybe her inability to see was because the outline kept shifting and becoming two, three, four, before turning to one and repeating the process.

  Her stomach lurched, but nothing remained to throw up. He shook her, rattling her teeth. “I said, you think you can have the run of this place, memory-bringer?”

  The name sparked something within her. Memory-bringer. Was that what she’d been dreaming? Sam closed her eyes, willing the room to stop moving. She might not have had anything in her stomach, but that wouldn’t stop her from heaving, and the stinging sensation that came with each breath warned her that her side couldn’t take that kind of violence yet. She bit down on her lip until she tasted more blood.

  He tossed her to the ground. She landed on her shoulder with an involuntary whimper and slid across the floor. The cold hurt almost as much as the landing. “Get up. We’re throwing you in the hole and I ain’t gonna carry you there, memory-bringer,” he sneered.

  She shifted to roll onto her stomach, but stopped. Why was she listening to—obeying—this man? She slumped back down, resting her head on the ground. The cold felt good, her jaw huge and raw, pounding in time with her heartbeat. Even if she wanted to say something, she doubted she could.

  He uttered a curse, bent down, and grabbed her arm, nearly pulling her shoulder out of its socket when he stood. She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from crying out. “Get. Up. Before I decide you’re better off dead instead of half-dead.”

  “Do as he says, Sam.”

  He spun around toward Amy, dragging Sam with him. Sam stumbled. He yanked her, causing her to bump into him. “Shut up, you useless whore. We expected more from you.”

  Sam squinted in the direction she thought she’d heard Amy’s voice and saw a blob moving forward. No, backward. What did he mean? They expected more from Amy? A fresh wave of nausea washed over her and Sam shut her eyes. No matter what it meant, Amy was right. She couldn’t fight like this.

  Chapter Three