Page 21 of Wings of Darkness (Daughter of the Seven Circles #2)

Chapter

Fourtee n

LUCILLE

A strange gurgling noise jerked me awake. My heart raced as I scanned the dim room. Rune slept soundly beside me, her shadow fur curled around her like a soft, soothing blanket. But Oliver… he was gone. His side of the bed lay undisturbed, perfectly made, like he’d never been there at all.

“Oliver?”

Did he go to his room?

Throwing off my covers, I sat up—and found myself clothed in a Hell Squadron uniform. My brows furrowed.

Purple didn’t ring my vision, so it wasn’t a dream-walk. But then… where did this uniform come from? And who dressed me?

A choking sound sputtered through the cracks in the door—ragged and desperate, like someone gasping for air.

I shot out of bed, my gut twisting at the horrifying noise .

“Oliver?” I shouted. The word rang out as I slammed open the door and froze. “Oliver!”

He lay on the settee, his neck sliced.

Without thinking, I luscelered to him, my hands shaking as I pressed them to his wound. Blood seeped between my fingers, and Oliver’s terrified eyes locked onto mine, his lips parting in a desperate attempt to speak.

“Stop! Don’t!” I yelled, pressing harder, but the blood kept flowing—hot and thick—dripping down my wrist and soaking the velvet cushion. His chest heaved as he gurgled and choked on the blood spilling from his mouth.

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

“Help!” I shrieked. His pulse was fading. “Someone! Please!”

But no one came.

“There are three classes of power in our world—physical, mental, and runes. Which do you suspect this is, daughter?” The king’s voice rebounded off the walls of the sitting room.

I whipped around, searching for him, but he was nowhere to be found. My hair prickled, every strand standing on end as his chilling presence pressed in on me.

“Help him, please,” I begged, turning back to Oliver—and found an empty settee. The floral pattern was undisturbed. Pristine.

I shot to my feet. “What?—”

The room dissolved, shifting into a different nightmare—one I’d already lived.

Cold metal chains pinched my skin, their unforgiving grip splaying me out for Michael’s eyes. He circled me. A grin twisted his lips as he turned his black blade this way and that, eager to press it into my flesh.

The king’s words vanished, replaced by suffocating panic.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head vehemently against the table. “You’re not real.”

My heart pounded, lungs straining as I fought to breathe. Michael’s eyes twinkled with disgusting relief, like he’d finally get to unleash his pent-up sadistic nature.

“You’re not real!” I shouted, my voice trembling. My body betrayed me, trembling harder.

I had to wake myself up. I couldn’t live through this again, nightmare or not.

He laughed in my face, raising the dagger.

I recoiled, twisted in my chains. Uncontrollable tears slipped from my eyes. I wouldn’t beg. I refused. But I knew what happened next.

“Answer the question, Lucille, and it’ll stop,” the king’s voice sliced through the fog of my panic, making the scene waver.

I froze, latching onto the disruption. Something about it tugged at my mind, demanding I remember. The thoughts hovered just beneath the surface—so close I could almost reach them. And then Michael’s dagger glinted.

It plunged toward my arm.

“This isn’t real,” I choked out, losing my moment of clarity. “I need to wake up.”

“You’re right—it’s not real. But if it’s not real, then what is it?” His words were like pebbles dropped into still water, fracturing the nightmare’s surface .

The dagger hovered inches from my skin, the scene blurring again, and with it, everything—Michael, the chains, the dark basement walls—distorted, shifting in and out of focus. For one fleeting moment, I felt the tight grip of confusion.

It’s not real. Shifting in and out of focus. Distorted.

I’d seen those words. I’d read them late last night.

There are three classes of power in our world—physical, mental, and runes. Which do you suspect this is, daughter?

Michael’s dagger solidified, sinking into my skin.

The fiery slice tore through my arm. “Mental! Hallucination!” I forced out as Michael dragged the dagger up my arm, sawing apart my flesh.

I screamed and screamed, my voice raw. I couldn’t take this.

I thought he said it’d stop. I thought answering would make it all end.

But then, just as quickly, it came to an end.

Something—someone—released the hold on my mind, and the hallucination dissolved.

I jolted awake, my body thrumming with the aftermath of the pain.

The King of Hell sat in a chair near my bed, casually resting his head in his hand.

His legs were stretched out, his posture too comfortable for someone who’d just subjected me to two horrific hallucinations.

If not for the lingering white glow in his irises—or all the information I’d gathered about his powers—I might’ve convinced myself I’d dreamed it all.

I flung off my blankets, my pajamas sticking to the sweat sheening my body, and stood in front of him, heart pounding.

“What the hell was that?”

He straightened in the chair, his eyes narrowing. “Watch your tone with me.”

“Tone? Tone ?” I scoffed, not giving a damn if he was my father or the king. He’d forced me to reliving the worst moments of my life. What kind of father does that?

“I haven’t even started with my tone. Why did you put me through that?” I demanded, curling my hands into fists to hide their spasming.

His gaze flicked to them, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He rose from the chair, towering over me.

“I’m beginning your power training,” he said, his voice flat.

I stared up at him, shaking my head in disbelief.

I hadn’t expected an apology, but his lack of empathy hit harder than I thought it would.

Last night, Cato had given me the tiniest shred of hope that the king might be different.

That maybe, just maybe, I could have some kind of relationship with my father.

But after what he’d just done? After he forced me to experience Michael’s torture, Oliver’s death? I was kidding myself.

“So these torture sessions will continue?” I accused.

“Yes. You’ve pushed me from your mind before. Until you learn to keep me out, we’ll continue with the hallucinations.”

The urge to argue clawed at my throat. I had no qualms about snapping at the king. But the longer I glared at him, the more I noticed his no-nonsense expression—the same one my mom wore. A pang hit my chest, and I ended our stare-down, refusing to waste my breath.

“There are three classes of powers in our world?— ”

“Mental, physical, and runes,” I interrupted, barely containing my bitterness. From his icy silence, he didn’t seem pleased by my interruption, but I didn’t care.

“You can use all three: your hallucination and glaciation powers, and the power to give runes. The rest of your Infernus you gave away,” I added, proving to him I’d done my reading.

He nodded, and I almost thought the quick gleam in his expression was approval—but I refused to hope. Casually, he adjusted his suit jacket and waved a hand over the door. A glossy layer of ice coating the wood evaporated, and the frosted door handle returned to a metallic black. I frowned.

He’d locked us in?

“The majority of beings who live in our world have physical powers. Only some have the ability to control the mind or use runes.”

His words stirred a memory, pulling my focus from my unease. “Like your general?”

“Yes. But he’s not the only one who can influence the mind. And as you well know, anyone with the ability to carve runes can control you.”

I grimaced. How could I ever forget?

“Are you saying that learning to shield will help me resist runes?”

“Some,” he answered, giving me a knowing glance. “But not all.”

“Not a Wrath Rune.”

The brief tightening of his jaw told me all I needed to know.

I shook my head, wishing it could’ve been that easy.

“Do you not wish to shield your mind against those who would influence it?” he asked, as if he were disappointed in me .

“I do,” I shot back. “It’s your methods I hate! ”

“My methods?” he mused, his hand resting on the doorknob. “Did you read all the details of the powers of hallucination?”

“Yes,” I said immediately, though the words felt hollow. I couldn’t quite recall everything. I’d nodded off, and half the information I retained from the last hour was fuzzy.

“If you had, you’d know that hallucinations can be created one of two ways: by projecting a scene into someone’s mind, or by projecting an emotion and allowing their subconscious to create the scene.

” He gave me a cool side-glance. “Now, how could I have projected a scene of Michael’s torture if I was never there? ”

“You could’ve stopped it!” I exclaimed.

Facing away from me, he opened the door with a flick of his wrist. “Yes. And you could’ve as well.”

Oliver fell in with a loud thud, offering a sheepish grin. The king glanced down at him briefly, grunted, and stepped over his sprawled body.

“Retain more of what you read, daughter. I’ll find you for our next session in a couple of days.”

Hearing my second door close, I sank back onto my bed, dropping my head into shaky hands, hoping they’d be still by the time we went to the arena.

Oliver scrambled over to sit beside me. “That was the longest hour of my life,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know whether I should’ve called for help or… just wait.”

Alexei’s ungodly trumpeting started.

Oliver nudged my shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “I’ll be fine. Just had a rough power lesson, is all. ”

“And… we’re good, right?”

I lifted my head from my hands. His concern tugged at my heart. I grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“Yes, Oli. We’re good.”

He’d only asked questions I never wanted to think about. That didn’t make him the bad guy—just a smart one.

He squeezed my hand back, warm and reassuring. “You sure you’re okay?”