Hunted Survivor: Keyona Morgan

By Natasha D. Lane

I want to punch someone in the face. Preferably, the witch who's trying to kill me. 

 

After being tossed from 18th century France to 17th century Africa, I'm glad to be home. Too bad my body's damaged from all the time traveling, my family is treating me like I'm likely to crumble at any moment, one best friend is keeping something from me, my other can hardly look me in the eye, the third is missing, I'm seeing ghosts, oh, and did I mention the witch trying to kill me?

 

Want to make sure I get that in there. Real important.

 

Either way, I'm taking my life back.

 

I'm going to fix my friendships.

 

I'm going to find Jerome and bring him home.

 

I'm going to get my assassin before they get me.

 

And everybody's going to get their crap in order, so we can all go back to normal.

 

Jeeze. One bad trip down the time tunnel and my entire life is suddenly screwed.

 

Great. I'm really going to need a drink.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Natasha D. Lane
• Release date: Oct 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201943820

Natasha D. Lane

Natasha D. Lane is a friend of most things caffeinated, a lover of books, and a writing warrior to her core. As a believer that "the pen is mightier than the sword," she graduated from Juniata College in 2015 with hopes to become a journalist. Instead, life took her on a different path and Natasha found herself digging up a manuscript from her childhood. This dusty stack of papers would become her first novel "The Pariah Child & the Ever-Giving Stone." With one book under her belt, Natasha has gone on to write several other fantasy and sci-fi pieces including "The Woman in the Tree: The True Story of Camelot" and "Plugged In."

Book preview

Hunted Survivor

Keyona Morgan Book III

By Natasha D. Lane

All Rights Reserved

Hunted Survivor

Cover design by Elizabeth Mackey

Edited by Stephanie Diaz

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

The information in this book is distributed on an as is basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Involuntary Time Traveler (Keyona Morgan Book 1)

Unexpected Warrior (Keyona Morgan Book 2)

Other Books by Author

The Pariah Child & the Ever-Giving Stone

The Pariah Child: Sarafina’s Return

The Pariah Child: Serwa’s Descendants

The Pariah Child: Evley’s Descent

The Woman in the Tree: The True Story of Camelot

www.natashadlanewrites.com

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

My left eye was leaking. I felt the liquid pooling at the bottom of my eye patch as soon as I woke up. It was like that every morning. The thin layer of crust that formed across my eyes overnight would break, and then my eye leaked. The doctors had rebandaged and cleaned the wound multiple times. And still, it kept leaking, which wasn’t a great sign for my future eyesight.

Despite the nausea I felt, as the liquid swish-swashed beneath my eye patch, I knew there was no point in me removing the patch. The nurses would get to it at some point. With my luck, they’d tell me that my right eye was permanently damaged, that Lynn had left me with something to remember him by forever.

Or was it Jim? One of those guys from the plantation.

Turning to the left, I stared outside the window, noticing the pink sky peeking into view above Baltimore. The sun was going to be rising soon, but the city was already awake. I could hear cars speeding, truck doors shutting after morning deliveries, some shouting, and the occasional ambulance blaring a siren. Considering I was currently living in Heritage Hospital, the ambulance was becoming familiar background noise.

Really early in the morning, before everyone was rushing to work or before construction crews started, I enjoyed the sounds of the city. Later on, it’d be too much. There’d be too many people, too much yelling, too many...just too much.

Mom’s bringing the headphones today, I said to myself.

My face had finally healed enough that I could wear them. Before, the edges of the headphones pressed against my bruises, which covered pretty much my entire face. Probably from the backhand that had partially split my right cheek. And the bruises on my side, above my hip, were from where Nzinga had kicked me before the tunnel sucked me up and transported me away from her tribe and the war we’d been fighting.

Before it took me away from Desmond.

I shifted under the heavy hospital blanket. My eyes moved between the door and the skyline. The entire room had top-grade wards and a complex protective shield around it. After the assassination attempt, they—the government agents, and my family—had made sure I was moved to a private room. I had been so out of it I had thought the banging was someone knocking on my door. In reality, it had been someone trying to get through the second barrier, the one Gilly had put up around the agents’ shields.

I wanted to ask him why he’d put the second shield up. But he had removed himself as my doctor the next day, and he hadn’t stopped by to visit, so...

The bottom of my right foot itched. Slowly raising my leg, I moved the bottom of my foot along the bed until the itching stopped.

Gradually, the dark blue had disappeared from the sky. Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I closed my eyes and held my breath. I searched for that feeling, that this is the first time I’ve tasted air feeling I had experienced when Auntie had set us—me and...the other captives—free from the plantation, the last place I’d been before I finally made it home. But like every morning, I couldn’t find it. No matter how many deep breaths I took or how many times I replayed what happened...I couldn’t find that feeling.

I thought about the last thing I saw at the plantation.The last memory, the one from right before the government agents had found me and cast me back to the right time... I wondered if I was misremembering. The history books said Auntie was killed by a white maid at the plantation, an indentured servant. But the person I saw standing over her body was a Black man.

And I knew him, but I wasn’t sure where from.

Had I imagined it?

The hospital blanket felt heavy. Actually, it felt heavier each day. Maybe I was growing weaker. I’d spent almost three weeks straight in bed, so I didn’t expect much else. But I was getting used to how heavy everything felt. It was almost comforting at this point. I liked being weighted by something.

I stared outside until it was too bright and too noisy. Something shifted in the room, and the door swung open. One of my nurses stepped inside, holding her clipboard and wearing cupcake-muffin scrubs for a reason I couldn’t understand and really didn’t want to.

How we doing this morning, Keyona?

I smiled in response.

Nodding, she turned the smile all the way up. Still not very chatty, huh?

I didn’t say anything. Instead, I held back the serious eye roll I wanted to give her. Everyone was making such a big deal about me not talking. Literally everyone. My parents, the agents, my doctors—hell, even the janitor had tried me last night. I still hadn’t heard from Jerome or Ana because I was top priority security, and they apparently didn’t have clearance. Not like I had a say in the matter—a matter that definitely involved me.

I just didn’t understand why everyone was pushing me to talk about my time traveling. I’d open my mouth when I wanted to. Relive my trauma on my own damn terms. The attempted sexual assaults, the violence, damn near drowning, the racism, yeah, that was all mine to talk about when I felt like it. No sooner. Until then, they’d have to live off the crumbs I gave them. Oh, well.

Plus, there were still a few things I wanted to think about myself before I opened my mouth. Like, the assassin. I was sure it was the green-haired witch from France. I was also more sure that she really had it out for me—more than she already did—since her partner had died while fighting me. Yeah, I hadn’t pushed him. But, I was the reason he tripped and fell.

Now, if I only knew why either of them was after me in the first place. The lightning user, the one who fell, he had mentioned something about his boss and almost recruiting me. But who was his boss and what did they want to recruit me for?

Let’s start with your heart.

I nodded, sat up, and waited until the nurse put the oxygen mask over my mouth. This part hurt. Apparently, time travel really fucked up a person’s heart if it wasn’t done in small doses, which was why they had to be so invasive. I had been gone for seven months. Definitely not a small dose.

The nurse turned the machine to Level 6 before casting with her right palm. When she placed it against my chest, the part where my heart was, I jumped a little. My breathing ticked up.

Inhale and exhale with the machine, Keyona.

Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one currently having her heart roughly fingered. It was one way they checked for tears. Not deadly ones, but tiny, microscopic tears that could eventually turn into big ones that would be deadly. She’d scan my heart with the machine next.

Hmmm. Your reactions are good, she replied. Definitely an improvement from last week.

When the nurse stopped her casting, the top half of my back slumped on the bed. I really hated this morning routine. Having my heart touched like that made me feel like I was going to... like something bad was going to happen.

A white hollowed-out cube was placed on the center-right side of my chest. Warmth spread across my skin, and there was a bu-urrrr sound as it scanned my heart. The nurse held a screen in her hands, glancing from the machine to the screen and back again. She smiled.

All good there.

Next was my magic. This one was easier.

I placed my hands in the nurse’s and called some magic to my fingertips. Since getting back to the right time, my power had gradually returned to me. Definitely still not a hundred percent, but a noticeable improvement over the short-circuiting I experienced when I was with Desmond.

The bottom of my right foot was itching again. Not sure why. The gash had healed a while ago.

You have to stay still, the nurse warned me even before I moved.

She watched as I made my magic visible, showing it in tiny red shimmers at the tip of each finger. Pushing more into the simple cast, I watched as the shimmers grew brighter and the spirals of energy stretched taller. The first time I’d been able to cast in the right century again, I’d felt amazing. Not so much now.

Good, she finally said, jotting down a few things on her clipboard. Again, better than last week. You’re healing well. She patted my knee.

I wasn’t going to make eye contact.

Thanks, I replied.

We might even be able to talk about you going home in a few weeks.

No.

I wasn’t sure why I had that thought.

I’ll grab your breakfast. After another knee pat, she was gone.

I audibly sighed once she was out of the room and the wards had been reactivated. As usual, my chest hurt a little. More than a little, if I was being honest. I just wasn’t trying to focus on that.

Turning onto my side, so that my back faced the window, I grabbed the bed’s railings, then took a deep breath. Lifting myself up with only a few painful moans, I staggered to the bathroom. Because walking hurt so much, I had been avoiding it. But not moving wasn’t really great for my physical therapy. So, every few hours, I’d try to get up and move, even if the bathroom was my only stop.

Ow, ow, ow. Fuck.

I fell back onto the toilet, did my business, washed my hands, and hobbled back to my bed. Lying still was definitely better than moving around. At least when it came to pain management. My heart was actually racing with that little bit of work. But they said I was getting better.

Good, I guess.

I closed my eyes, ignoring the painful, gritty feeling in my chest, and focused on how heavy my eyelids were. Soon I felt nothing. I was barely aware of my own snoring. Then I didn’t hear anything, and my mind was empty.

Chapter Two

Someone was grabbing my hand. I jolted up and swung at them, calling to my magic, but I stopped when I saw a face that looked a bit like mine staring back at me.

Mom?

Her eyes were red. She smiled at me, gently grabbed my raised hand, then lowered it.

It’s only me, she said, squeezing my hands. She rubbed her thumb in small circles over my knuckles.

I stared at my bed. No Tia again?

The small circles stopped. My mom opened her mouth, then shut it before saying, She needs more time, honey. Seeing you, I—I mean, your sister...Tia still blames herself, so it’s difficult, you know? For her to see you hurt. Like this.

Hm.

She was silent for a moment before taking a shakey breath.

And Dad had to go into the office today. That’s the only reason he’s not here.

Okay.

My mom gave my hands one hard squeeze before pushing the silver food cart toward my bed. Nothing smelled particularly appetizing.

Breakfast is still here. And they brought you lunch a little bit ago if you want it, she said. I also brought something from home. Let me grab it.

Now that caught my attention.

My mom was searching through her oversized purse.

I would have been here earlier but security is still doing that copycat check on all your guests. Whatever spell they use takes so long. They told me it’s for accuracy.

The last few weeks, no one had been able to bring me any food. The agents—Vu and Collins—were wary of anyone who visited me. All guests were being checked for any copycat casting. Basically, they were worried the assassin would come disguised as one of my friends or family, and use poisoning as a way to finish me off. That was my guess.

My mom placed three Tupperware containers on the side of my bed. When she took the lids off, my mouth started watering. I had to swallow to stop from drooling. There was steak, mashed potatoes, and a slice of sweet potato pie. For a moment, I was about to ask her why she was baking in the spring. Then I remembered it wasn’t spring anymore. Tia had sent me to France in March.

It was now October.

Right.

My head started feeling cloudy. Probably the medicine.

I swallowed the pool that was my mouth, then said, Thanks.

She handed me a fork, and I immediately stabbed as much food as I could before stuffing it all in my mouth. A moan started in my throat, but I was too busy eating to let it out. Had her steak always tasted this good? Or was I imagining it?

And the mashed potatoes have garlic and cheese! Holy fuck!

For a while, my mom watched me stuff my face. Under normal circumstances, I might have been a little embarrassed, but I was salivating too much to really hone in on that emotion.

Plus, she had that look that moms got on their faces sometimes. The one they didn’t realize their kids could see from the corner of their eye. The one that told me to definitely not make direct eye contact with her for any reason during the rest of her visit.

She reached a hand up, tucked a loose loc behind my ear, and rubbed tiny circles along my back while I ate. If this had been before, I probably would have rolled my eyes or swatted her hand away. Instead, I just ate. After weeks back in my time, I knew she was really doing it more for herself than me. And I knew she had been crying before I woke up, so I’d let her have it. Not a big deal, really.

Honey?

Hm.

Mom took a deep breath. The agents stopped by the house again last night.

I scraped the remaining mashed potatoes from the last container and placed it by the bed’s edge. A familiar anger was rising up in me that I bit back.

And what did they want?

The same thing they wanted when they finally brought you home, she said, staring at me. They want to speak with you. Agents Vu and Collins have already spoken with Tia. Your part is needed to—

I don’t want to talk about it! I snapped. I told them that the other day. They keep trying and I’m—

Honey, they’re concerned about the timeline. They said tracking someone through time is difficult. Your part fills in the holes.

I...I...I...

Looking down at my hands, I watched as the two blurred into four. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew my shoulders were rising quickly, which meant I was breathing rapidly, which meant my heart was racing, which meant I was...I was scared.

You know you’re stubborn, right? I said, glaring at him.

You know you are, too, he said to me over his shoulder.

He had me there.

Keyona?

My eyes were watering.

Oh, baby!

My mother wrapped me in her arms before rocking me back and forth like I was an actual baby. Considering how much I was crying, I guess her response fit. The tears were streaming down my cheeks and my lips stung where the salt water landed. But I wasn’t sobbing. I wasn’t actually crying out. My eyes just had too much water.

It’s going to be all right, my mom whispered. It’s all going to be all right, Keyona.

Shape Description automatically generated with medium confidence

Exhausted. Lying in my hospital bed exhausted.

Yup, that’s exactly what I was. I wish I could have said my exhaustion was totally my broken body’s fault. But that would have been a cop-out. If I was being honest, I liked when my mom visited, which she did as often as she could.

I also really liked when she didn’t visit. The same for my dad. Someone always ended up crying. This time, it was my dumbass. Usually, it was one or both of them, then I’d end up comforting them or redirecting the conversation to stop all the sobbing.

It wasn’t like I didn’t understand why they were emotional. I was their daughter, they loved me, and I was pretty much damaged goods at this point. Physically and mentally. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how they managed to look at me all the time. Sure, my face was better than when I had first been pulled from Des, I mean, from the last battle. Yeah, definitely. That being said, I knew how bad I looked. Once a week, and once a week only, I’d force myself to inspect my face, then my body.

My last inspection had gone a bit better than the previous one. I was still a little shocked when I saw myself. Like, I knew it was me, just with more purple, blue, and some odd shades of yellow. And much more swollen.

And always in pain. For the most part.

Sighing, I turned and looked at the window. My mom had closed the curtains before she left, but I wanted them open for tomorrow morning. I breathed in sharply through my nose before pushing myself up, and out of bed. I hesitated for a moment, forgetting how cold the floor was.

I hobbled toward the window and snatched the curtains open.

A bad feeling crawled across my skin, giving me goosebumps.

Still holding on to the curtains, I made a slow pivot on my heels to look behind me.

I screamed, stumbled back into the window, and fell over onto the floor. From where I was, I could still see the man’s slippered feet moving toward my bed. Then he stopped.

He bent over, and leaned his