Oct 9, 2014
Slowly, his vision adjusted. He wasn't sure what he'd expected--that it had been a nightmare perhaps, that he'd wake up tangled in silken green sheets, warm and at home. Safe.
West tried to sit up or at least change positions, but his head was still heavy, weighed down by that thick fog. The uneven stone floor scraped his back as he shifted, irritating the angry red lines burning between his shoulder blades.
The ropes were gone, he noted with some relief. Instead, he'd been bound in leather cuffs and that damned collar was still cinched tight around his throat.
"Well," Westel closed his eyes as a bead of sweat slowly trickled across his forehead, "I'm fucked."
