Uncaged by Alisha Paige Page A

“Christ! You are a witch! You use your own filthy blood for your death rituals!”
                  “No, no! That’s not true. I was attacked the other night!” she screeched.
                  “By who?”
                  “Vampires!”
                  The man laughed. “Sure, miss and my mother’s the queen of England too. Come with me.”
                  Wren screamed when he pushed her toward the front door. More men, clothed in black, rushed in. They wore hoods on their heads. Bruce fought the man beneath him, pummeling him over and over. The man was a bloody mess, unrecognizable, now lying in a fetal position, his pistol lying a few feet away where Bruce had knocked it out of his hand. Bruce never saw it coming when another man hit him in the back of a skull with a thick stick. Bruce fell on the man in a heap while Wren was dragged outside to a waiting carriage. The man kicked Bruce in the sides and helped the injured man to his feet. The man spat blood on Bru ce’s back and left him there. The few people that witnessed the incident were whispering to one another. Amelia fell to her knees to tend to Bruce. She rolled him to his side and mopped a bit of blood from his temple.
                  “Bruce, Bruce!”
                  Bruce moaned and opened his eyes then sat up quickly. “Wren!”
                  “They’ve taken her, Bruce!”
                  “No!”

Chapter 7
     
                  Wren awoke freezing, shackled to an iron bar, lying in the back of a rickety wagon. The wind was blowing in icy gusts, chilling her to the bone. Her teeth rattled and shook as she shivered to keep warm. She bit her tongue once, tasting coppery blood when the wagon hit a muddy hole. She glanced up at the sky. Giant, gray storm clouds boiled in the distance. The smell of autumn rain was in the air, mingling with the wood smoke that puffed from the many cottages they passed. She had no idea where her captors were taking her though she knew she was in dire trouble. Witchcraft was a serious offense, though the ferocious witch hunts of the 17 th century were a thing of the past. Nevertheless, it was well known that small country towns still held ridiculous superstitions and even witch trials. She was likely being taken to await her fate in a jail cell, though she already knew too well the fate of those accused of black magic. She shivered at the thought. Where was Bruce?
                  Thunder rumbled through the sky as another village came into view. Wren watched as a young woman ran outside to retrieve her laundry from a line hanging between two giant oaks while balancing a crying babe on her hip. A bolt of stark white lightning struck a nearby tree. The baby wailed louder as the woman reached for the last pair of breeches flapping in the wind and then darted inside, dropping a tiny child’s smock on the dry ground. The miniature dress tumbled onto the road where the wagon flattened it. Freezing raindrops fell in torrents, stinging Wren’s face. She buried her head beneath her arms, but the shackles only allowed her so much movement. Within seconds she was drenched. The wagon picked up speed, jostling her from side to side. She heard a whip crack and a man yell at the horses as another fierce bolt of lightning streaked across the road. Wren fell over sideways when the wagon made an abrupt right turn, into a field of sunflowers. The tall, willowy flowers slapped at the sides of the wagon as they journeyed forward. Bees swarmed, disturbed by the storm and now a runaway wagon.
                  Wren scream ed as rain pelted her and angry bees buzzed around her face and stung her arms. Just when she thought she’d die of bee stings, the wagon tumbled out of the field and stopped. Wren slapped at the remaining bees and shook her hair out. She thought her heart would stop when a man