Page 11 of Wings of Lies (Daughter of the Seven Circles #1)

What time did I come from? What did he mean? “I?—”

A pulse resonated in my ears. My gaze shot to the white flame covering his hands. It looked like mine.

The immense heat shriveled the hairs on my fingers and made me sweat, soaking into my shirt.

I tried again, about to give him my name. “I?—”

“Spit it out before I send you back to the hell you came from. I may not be able to kill you. But burning alive in this time will damage your powers enough to prevent you from jumping to another dream.”

My mouth closed. I didn’t understand what he meant about jumping to another dream, nor did I care.

He wanted to burn me alive.

I stared into his cold, merciless eyes and heard it—the musical destruction of ice.

His hateful words and the disgust curling his lip strummed the cord of pelting sleet.

It didn’t matter if this purple-tinted dream was real or imagined.

He awoke the icy vibrations deep within my core and enticed the melody of rage.

With the nameless tune surfaced an incessant itch .

A slight purple shimmer flickered to the surface of my fingers, cooling the searing waves of heat that threatened to blister them. It thickened the purple haze. “You don’t recognize me?” I said, tilting my head to the side.

He huffed, flames heightening. “The only thing keeping you alive on this dream-walk is the fact I don’t know your name or maker. The council will need it to find and eradicate you and your makers.”

I lifted my lips in a fake smile. Maker? Would it matter to him that he threatened his potential daughter and himself? Does it matter to me?

The unusual, addictive melody said no. My heart? Well, I couldn’t currently feel it.

“This is my memory. I control it,” I declared.

His wrath changed to a strange, considering look.

“No. It’s my memory you dream-walked into and gave power to.

Invade the body, you relive the experience.

Invade the memory, you give it and anyone in it the power to alter the memory.

A poor mistake on your part.” He smirked, then charged me, swiping at my legs and sending me to the ground.

I coughed as the wind knocked out of me, surprised by his speed. I stared at the man who was supposed to be my father in this wretched memory-dream, hoping it was a lie. Hoping all of this was a lie.

A ball of flames bounced in his hands as he stared down at me. “Tell me your name, your maker, and the time you came from.”

I sank further into the jarring noise. The itch scurried from the tips of my fingers up to my shoulders. “Go to hell, Fa?—”

Searing heat flew toward my chest. I screamed, flinging up my arms and meeting his flames, burning alive .

I woke up gasping, my eyes darting to my arms, and slumped. They were a little muddy and damp from the dirty sleeves sticking to my wrists, but they didn’t hurt, and I wasn’t burning alive.

“It was just a dre—” I stopped, twisting my wrist to inspect the Binding Rune.

It wasn’t a dream. I had dream-walked into his memory.

At least, that was what he claimed. I lowered my head into my hands.

The memory of the dream-walk had begun to fade, leaving me with my inactive rune, fragmented recollections of our conversation, and the unsettling knowledge someone was after me.

“Shit!” I lifted my head, eager to ask Oliver about dream-walks. Glancing around, I realized I sat in the tent he bought. I turned to my left, searching for him, and inhaled sharply.

The movement shot a line of pain from my shoulder down to my lower spine.

What the heavenly hell?

Confused and most likely a masochist, I reached back. My fingers sank into a hole in my shirt and brushed a bandaged area. I yelped, pulling back. What happened?

The last thing I remembered was Oliver lying concussed next to a tree. He could barely move. But he had to have put up this shelter.

Where was he?

I cringed as I stood. The half-zipped doors flapped in a breeze. I unzipped the rest, opening my mouth to call out for Oliver when I heard a soft snore.

He rested inches to my left, against the closest tree, covered in mud. Crusted drool lined the corner of his half-open mouth. The wheezing snores combined with his haphazard appearance eased the tension in my shoulders. Tension I didn’t know I was holding .

But we were both alive—dirty, exhausted, and not entirely whole, but alive.

“Oliver.” I nudged his boot. His body wobbled. “Oliver,” I said louder, nudging harder—still nothing. Worry crept in, thinking about his concussion.

I sank to the ground and grabbed his shoulders, wincing at my sudden movements. “Oliver!”

“What?” he groaned.

I sat back on my heels. “You sleep like the dead.”

He opened his eyes, head still resting against his shoulder. “That’s because I feel dead.”

“What happened?”

He nodded at my injury. “You got hit by lightning.”

“How?” How was I alive? How’d we escape?

“How’d you get hit by lightning? You never actually hid. How’d we get here? I scared them away and lugged your dead weight to this beautiful clearing. Hence the mud,” Oliver supplied.

I frowned. Dried blood surrounded the gash on his forehead. There was no way he scared them away. He couldn’t even stand.

“How am I not dead?”

“You’re not human, Lucy. Or at least not fully human.

Like most of us with angel blood, you heal fast and have tougher flesh.

” He stretched out his body unconcerned, then scowled.

“But carrying your limp body all the way here with two backpacks full of gear is something I never want to do again. So please refrain from getting knocked out next time. Or at least have someone else with you when you refuse to listen to instructions.”

I rolled my eyes. I’d try my best. But his story still didn’t make sense .

“How’d you do it?” They had us.

A mischievous grin lit his face as he waggled his eyebrows. “You’re not the only one with unique powers.”

“What are they?” Now, I was beyond curious.

He shrugged and stood. “Maybe you’ll find out one day.”

“Do you feel murdery when you use them?”

“Uh…” He looked at me strangely. “Sometimes afterwards.”

Okay, so maybe I was a Nephilim.

“What can you do?”

“Nope. Not telling.” Then, very maturely, he zipped up his lips and threw away the key.

“Why not? Come on!”

“Like I said, maybe you’ll find out one day. But today isn’t it. Give me a break, would you? I carried your ass through mud and hills, bandaged you, and laid you in the tent,” he said. “Possibly falling and dropping you a couple of times, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Sorry, you’re right. Thanks for saving me.”

He shrugged, looking guilty. I didn’t know why. He had done everything possible, and I was putting Oliver in danger.

“Oliver, have you ever heard of dream-walking?”

He frowned, brushing the mud out of his dirty hair. “No. Why?”

I glanced away. How much should I tell him? He had just risked his life to save me from elemental angels. If he knew someone was after me and that he might have to face more danger, would he still want to take me to Elora? I didn’t know, and I couldn’t risk it. But next time I could be prepared.

“Do you know what this is?” I showed him my wrist.

He grabbed it. “Yeah. It’s a faded Binding Rune created by an Archangel’s feather. Those runes are nasty little shits. Who carved this onto you? ”

“I don’t know. I barely remember it. But I think I’ve had it for years.”

Surprised, Oliver dropped my arm and stared at me. “Years? Your powers have been suppressed for years? Do you have any idea how unhealthy that is?”

“No. Memory issues, remember?”

He shook his head. “Binding Runes are supposed to be used for a year max. They suppress anything supernatural. They’re for children who grow into their power too early and have control issues.

It doesn’t happen often, so they’re not used often.

I guess I’ve also heard of angels carving them into prisoners of war to weaken them.

But they’re supposed to be temporary. You’re saying you think your rune was active for years? ”

I nodded. “It’d make sense. I’m terrible at controlling my powers.”

Oliver huffed. “That’s a fact.”

“So, can you help me learn how to control them?”

He grimaced. “I’m a terrible teacher.”

“Do you really think I could get worse?”

“Well, when you put it like that.” He stood, walking toward the tree line a few yards away. “Sure, I’ll help you after I hunt our dinner.”

My brows furrowed. “But it’s getting dark!”

“Exactly, we need a fire and food before the sun sets. Find some small sticks, would you?” he called over his shoulder, fading into the landscape of birch trees.

He was just going to leave me here alone?

I scanned the shadows between the endless white trees.

Oliver said he scared off the Powers. They should be gone or, hopefully, dead.

He wouldn’t leave me if they were still looking for us.

I kept telling myself that as I picked up kindling, and the itching and stabbing pressure crept along my arms.

They were signs of my power. It was the only explanation.

Every time I spiraled into my fear, the stabbing needles tore across my skin, and white flames erupted.

As for the ceaseless annoying itch, it only came when I was angry.

The purple flames came after, and sometimes music.

What they did, besides enraging me to the point of attempted murder, I didn’t know.

But I needed to find out, if only to help my mom.

It didn’t take long for me to have a pile of kindling in my arms. I set it near our tent, wondering what to do next. Oliver still wasn’t back. Although, if he was off finding food, it may be a while.

I walked to the edge of the birch trees. Their leaves rustled in a soft breeze, sending out a sharp wintergreen scent. It soothed my lingering itch but did nothing to the hovering pressure.

My toe edged the line between sun and shade, between looking for Oliver or sitting and thinking about who was after me.

Neither one brought me comfort. Both choices provoked the pressure beneath my hands.

I squeezed them into fists and lengthened them, hoping to relieve the pain.

But my power only listened to my emotions.

About to step into the darkening forest, a black shadow flashed in the distance.

A black shadow that seemed far too large.

Something tickled the back of my mind, almost like the shadow was familiar, but fear pushed the thought away.

My punishing power attacked me instead. White flames erupted from my skin, curling around my fingers.

I took a step back, holding them away from my clothes.

Then I took another until my boots hit our tent.

Where the hell was Oliver?