Page 12 of Sing Me Awake (Bonded to the Gods #1)

twelve

Dove

O nce again, a scream wakes me from my cocooned reprieve of soft wings and restful ignorance, and I’m running—

Running across beautiful mosaic tiles. The same tiles I scrub mud off each turn.

Not anymore.

Now, as I drip blood on her floors, I realize I’ll never see this place again. Not after what I just did.

This knowledge shatters me. My heart cracks into tiny shards, leaving no piece whole. Just a jumble of broken bits.

Pieces fall as I run, leaving a trail of devastation in my wake. Not even Wren makes a peep. Maybe I’ve killed her too in the breaking of my heart. My only home gone in an instant . The pain screams through not only my bones but my muscles and skin, my very marrow.

“SOMEBODY GET HER!” the loud booming voice reverberates down the wide hall. “She killed the high priestess!” I guess if anyone were to call me out, it would be old hag herself, Bridget.

When Kestrel found me naked, seated above a blue-lipped Cardinal with blood dripping from my fingertips, things did not go well for me. And Bridget was not far behind once Kestrel sounded the ear-piercing alarm to my wrongdoings.

Somehow, in the daze of my subconscious, I’d picked up Cardinal’s white robe before sprinting down the hall. In truth, I am just surprised that Bridget is still alive. Not that I have ever made a habit of killing people, but it seems my body and my mind are somehow in agreement that my silent torturer of the past eight rotations needed to go. Bridget was lucky she never laid a hand on me, unlike Cardinal.

My heart, however, is not in favour of all the bloodshed, which explains its need to dust the floor behind me with its shattering debris.

Doors start to open around me, and I begin to hear slapping feet as I push myself faster and harder than I ever have before, racing along the long corridor. There’s only one place I am truly safe, and that’s where I am headed.

Adrenaline spurs me on. The shouting behind me grows louder as I head into the lower levels of the temple, where the priestesses no longer reside. In a way, I am lucky Haven is seen as a peaceful kingdom right now. The need for wardens at the temple has become obsolete. Small mercies .

Little giggles start to flow out of my lips. “Lucky. Huh, so lucky.”

That’s when I notice the tiny drops of blood oozing from my left wrist; thin slits that were made on my arm so my blood could be provided for the ritual. Usually, they heal over quickly with my soothing rosemary balm, but that is back in my room. So, doing the next best thing, I bunch the silk covering my form and hold it to my arm as I run, hoping that will give it space to stem the small dribble of blood.

Sprinting past the hot springs and through the winding halls, the voices grow smaller and smaller as darkness makes itself known—in a different way this time. Running my hands along the walls, I use my knowledge gained over rotations of scouring these tunnels to find the one place I’m looking for, not chancing the light from my lantern when the only advantage I have is the darkness.

Suddenly, I detect a familiar piece of unravelling tapestry. I shuffle behind the fraying work of art and fumble along the edges of smooth stone until I find it—the two connecting circles.

Pushing my fingers down, a latch gives way, and I heave the stone door wide.

A cold breeze washes over my skin, matching the icy chill of death in my chest. And to think I was on the brink of death last night at my own hand, and now I find myself running from death again .

I am tempted to blame all the characters in my head, but really, the only person I can blame is myself and the growing rage that has been slowly building inside, rotation after rotation. A person can only handle so much.

My eyes are of no use down here, and my hands trail the walls again until the slight luminosity of the glow-worms lights my way forward.

Blood wooshes in my veins, urging me onwards as I grip the robe tighter, keeping it tightly pressed against my weeping wrist.

With my widening steps, I find myself hitting the entryway of the large cavern in record rhythm. The beating in my ears grows as I stop before the Goddess’s tree and look above to gaze at the almost fully rounded moon. “Goddess, please forgive me,” the words slip from my shaking mouth.

Taking a lick of my lips, I’m reminded of what I can only assume is blood now caking my face. Whether it is my own or Cardinal’s, I do not know, nor do I care. Rushing at the water, I sink down and harshly scrub at my lips, rinsing and spitting out the sacred, salty sea. A quick apology escapes me for sullying the Goddess’s sacred space.

Gazing down into the rippling water, I see shining green eyes staring back at me. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Tears spill down my face. What’s left of my heart completely shatters to pieces, and I have no way of fixing it. Numbness grips me, but the tears keep rolling down my cheeks. I seem to be apologising a lot these turns.

Getting up, I twist, making my way to the tree and the Goddess inside. If anyone can fix me and this mess I’ve made, it’s the Goddess . My song may not have worked the first rhythm, but I still believe in something. Something other than myself. I can feel it all around me.

Clumsily stepping one foot in front of the other like I’m stuck in a heavy dream, I crawl through the hole to find the statue in her usual spot.

Regarding the crystal Goddess, I creep towards her kneeling body and grasp her cold face in my hands.

“Please forgive me,” I say again and again in a warbled, shaking voice, the repetition of my words soothing my blemished soul.

And that’s when I hear it. Not Wren. Nor Argus. Not my own lies woven by the tragedy of my existence.

No. I hear a soft, soothing female voice singing a song. Her song. A song I’ve stumbled over so many rhythms before as I learnt, perfected and finally shared it with her. A song only the fae know. Because she is the fae Goddess, and us silly, stupid humans thought a fae Goddess would bow down to us after we pillaged her people.

Now, she sings to me. Of all the humans, she sings to me, a broken human girl.

Her voice surrounds me as I hold her cloudy face in my hands—a face I find all the colours of the rainbow in. She is purity, healing, wisdom and home.

Hearing her song lulls my body into a state of calm. Laying down at her feet in the roots and sand below, I whisper a quiet, “Thank you,” and close my eyes.

My body jostles, pushing breath out of my lungs. What is pushing my ribcage? Darn it. Not ideal .

Cracking my eyes open from the sleep that has decided to solidify around them, I take in a large foot. Unfortunately, my ears are not awake yet, and any noise the angry foot makes is lost on me.

I surrender my fate to the Goddess. If she deems this her will, then I shall comply.

Without any grace, expansive, strong hands grasp me around the waist, and I am hoisted up and up and up until my limp form is slung over a wide back. I freeze, my mind suddenly spinning around one possibility.

Breathing in deeply, I smell the recesses of a masculine form beneath me, mixed with a hint of sandalwood and spice.

WARDEN.

The name is an assault on my weary soul, and I squeeze my eyes tight.

Of course, it can only be a warden of the kingdom.

I am well and truly hung out to dry. I must believe the Goddess will protect me, song fated. And if not. If not… I am a dead woman walking—or hanging upside down, in this case.

In my compliance with my fate, I stay lax, opening my eyes to the person beneath me to find one very naked, almond-coloured, rounded bottom. My body gives a small jolt at the display.

Usually, the wardens wear all black, further covered in thin metal armour to protect them from attack. I never understood the need for the metal since Haven is a peaceful kingdom, but it is tradition. However, nakedness is definitely a new look.

I expect my body to recoil at the idea of his bareness, but instead, a fever seeps through me, stoking the coals left in tatters in my empty chest.

The lumbering male beneath me takes up a third of the space under the tree that could probably hold ten regular-sized humans.

He ducks his head to move through the opening, and a sudden rush of sound amplifies my hearing. The current of the sea hits my ears first, followed by the soft footfalls of the male beneath me. In fact, the way he moves does not denote the sharp, hard movements of a human warrior but instead a lithe agility. A trait only found in the shifter wardens of the royal family—the dyre wolves.

I moan.

No, no, no, no . It is just my luck that one of the king’s personal shifter wardens would be sent after me and not a regular human one.

I start to thrash my legs, but all I hit is solid muscle. The warm, extremely naked body beneath me grasps my bare thighs under my robe harder and gives me a firm smack on the ass. Naked dyre wolf prick , I growl inwardly.

No one will ever touch my body again. I won’t allow it. The thought bursts forth through my mind. A flush of rage sweeps over my skin.

Argus unfurls his wings and breathes smoke into my chilled lungs. My once frosty body takes on a newfound temperature from both the male surrounding me and the simmering coals being invoked by his rough treatment.

The wolf’s quick movements have already brought us well into the tunnel, now heading towards my secret door.

In truth, I forgot about the dyre wolves. It’s been so long since I have seen the large warriors at the temple. I knew they exist and that they have kept Haven safe over the centuries. I just didn’t think they’d be sent to find me.

“You killed the high priestess!” a shrill voice sounds through my skull.

“Nice to have you back,” I retort to the voice in my head.

“You know I cannot stand to see—” she croaks, and I finish for her.

“It’s okay. I was just worried you were gone for good. ”

Glowing stone walls glide by my upturned face, and I groan at the unease in my belly. Being upside down is not all it is cracked up to be. Bile slowly makes its way back up my oesophagus, especially at the thought of a blank-eyed Cardinal under me, very much dead.

“Please don’t puke,” Wren offers her helpful advice.

“ Sure, let me just get right on that for you ,” I scoff inwardly.

“You always were the more thoughtful sister.”

“Thank you?” I question, and a tinkle sounds in my head. Finally, I allow myself to breathe, held upside down by a wolf shifter.

“The dyre wolf wardens are hot. All big and rugged-looking. And his unmentionables must be twice the size of any I’ve seen.” My eyes roll inward at Wren’s words.

“If you are going to be in my head, at least provide helpful commentary.”

Moving swiftly through the darkness, I hear the creaking of a door. Soon, we are out of the damp sea salt halls of the hidden tunnel and in the labyrinth leading up towards the temple proper.

The coals within my chest glow with each step the warden takes towards my fate. A fate I can only hope the Goddess precedes over with grace and humility.

The shards lying in my dusty, dark chest cavity turn to slush as the coals glow brighter and brighter. This isn’t the first rhythm Argus has lent me his strength. Now, he lies in slumber, cloaking the large cave housing all my secrets. He’s given me life again in exchange for his own. I don’t know how far his well lies, but surely, it’s running low.

The surrounding air is quiet as the hulking wolf beneath me continues up the final staircase.

The shifter moves between thick, draped curtains, where I find flickering orange lights trailing shadows beneath my captor’s bare feet.

As I give a quick look up, I notice many velvet-robed figures in the crowd. By the size of the space, I guess we are in the temple receiving room—the very space Cardinal made her announcement last night.

Whispers follow my back, and I quickly shift my face so I’m looking at the hard muscles of the broad beast that has me slung over his shoulder.

In the flickers of the lamplight, I notice thin, white scars marring his smooth, brown skin. A sudden urge takes over my fingers, wanting to touch the raised white lines, but I hold the impulse firmly within.

The tension in my body holds me hostage, and to create some friction, I begin to squirm within the wolf’s stronghold.

A heaviness fills me as barbs are thrown my way.

“Killer.”

“Assassin.”

“Murderer.”

None of those words are the truth, though. None of the people surrounding me, rioting for my blood, will ever understand the depths of my despair. The endless abyss that houses every nightmare I’ve had to face in this life. The creature that was created from myth and legend by a hurt and abused child to find some semblance of safety. They will never understand .

The priestesses surrounding us gossip lowly, secretly in each other’s ears. I hear them loud and clear as the warden moves in the direction of the front of the large room, towards the dais.

My mind swims back and forth, swaying as strong hands grip tighter on my thighs.

I resolve to give the women around me nothing—nothing of my pain or rage. I have had enough of giving pieces of myself away just to survive. Because that’s all I have done since I threw myself at the feet of the high priestess: survive. Well, before that, too.

Surviving on the scraps of life. But you know what? I’m sick of surviving on scraps. I’m sick of people taking advantage of me.

The coals in my chest burn with wrath for all that was taken from me, the Goddess’s song on my lips.

My rage at an all-time peak, the shifter warden beneath me stops. The tight hold around my legs makes way for a light tug, and I slide over a hard shoulder and down a solid chest, where I’m stopped, strapped in by thick arms.

Shadowy amber eyes look down at me, encased in thick lashes and bushy, knowing brows. But what really catches me are two thin white scars over his left eyebrow, similar to the ones littering his back. I can tell he has a story. Maybe he knows of pain and loss, too. My body softens towards him at the prospect.

Melding to the heat of the body pressed to mine, I continue my perusal, meeting a slightly bent nose and a thick, short black beard covering the lower half of the wolfman’s face.

Finally, I find full lips, upturned canines on display.

“Behave yourself,” the roughest growl I’ve ever heard comes from the warden.

True to the rageful beast within and my newfound defiance, the steaming coals inside almost come alight with the prospect of a challenge, thinking it can take on this huge beast of a man.

Not even the fae can beat the dyre wolves that protect Haven. That knowledge is lost on me, though, as the simmering in my chest shouts to not back down—to never back down, to fight. I look into his eyes and whisper for only him to hear.

“Make me, wolf.”