CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Ilse blinked, the pain in her head immense. But the splitting headache was the least of her concerns. As her consciousness returned, she felt the bindings around her wrists chaffing against her skin. Her arms were pulled behind her back.
She felt the sticky stain of blood along her temple, down her forehead, holding her hair against her skin. She groaned, her eyes blinking, and she looked desperately around the room.
As she came to, and her vision returned, she bit her tongue again, tasting stale blood. The pain in her head and mouth faded to horror.
Two figures were tied onto chairs against the wall. All three of them were in a basement, or a cellar, by the looks of things, beneath the shed. Dusty tools and old pickling jars rested on cobweb covered shelves. A low
