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In exciting news, the author of The Duke of Snow and Apples reported that she participated in a blog pitch for Deb Werksman of Sourcebooks who asked for a full of the manuscript. Werksman told the author that Werksman remembered the author’s first page from First Page Saturday here at Dear Author. Congrats!
Darkness. Pain. Disgusting stench. Clicking. Moans. Unbearable heat. Surely she’d arrived in hell, yet she could not give up. Too much rode on her survival.
She wanted to move, but her limbs remained unresponsive. Even thinking was a struggle with the drugs in her system. The constant beckoning of unconsciousness ate at her and battered her already frayed nerves.
She heard two muffled voices; before there had only been one. The creak of the door to her left announced the arrival of her visitors. They did not speak and her terror spiked. Silence was always bad.
Her fear was confirmed when one of the visitors roughly reached into her mind. She yelped and feebly tried to block the intrusion. She failed and pain, sharp and hurtful, rose up. She almost vomited right then as her body spasmed.
“Why do you continue to resist, Girl? Give in. Give me what my master desires.”
“No,” she moaned. The hateful stabs of her captor’s cruel mental touch brought tears of hopelessness.
“Stop playing around, Nolen. Master Helsmith will be here soon and we still have nothing,” complained the second person in the room.
“I know that, Calen. She’s just being stubborn. Isn’t that right, Serafyna?”
The slap, when it came, was not unexpected. She had lost count of the number of times Nolen had hit her. She winced and remained silent. Her tears had stopped. Crying only encouraged Nolen to greater acts of torture.
“Nolen,” Calen whined. “We need that information.”
“Shut up, Calen! I will loosen her tongue and enjoy every moment of it.”
Serafyna tensed at Nolen’s words. Her heart raced and filled with dread. She wanted out of this hell, but no savior was coming for her. No one knew she was even here.