Chapter 37Kallan pushed open the thick oak door of Borg's cell, spilling light across the stone that struck the bloodied mass hanging on the wall like a tattered tapestry. With a flick of her wrist, a single ball of light rushed to the ceiling where it hovered, casting a tinge of blue around the room as she closed the door behind her.
The door's thud jarred the room and encouraged Borg to raise his head. Streaks of black flowed free from the nape of his neck and painted the back of his shoulders. Kallan clenched her teeth against the rising need to vomit.
“So,” Borg grunted. “Ever victorious, the Queen of the White Opal appears.”
His black hair dripped with blood too thick and too fresh to dry. Something white, which Kallan guessed was a bit of his tooth, rested on the floor beside him.
