Page 33 of Wings of Lies (Daughter of the Seven Circles #1)

Chapter

Twenty-One

I didn’t wake up. Only because I never went back to bed. It wasn’t for a lack of trying. I focused on my mom, closed my eyes, and tried to dream-walk to a memory of her, but my mind wouldn’t shut up.

The last dream-walk left me with a lot to think about.

Aspen flung off his blankets, standing. He yanked his sword belt to his hips, buckled it, and barreled off into the brightening forest.

Guardian, my ass.

I stood too, removing my blanket in a less forceful manner.

I ran a hand through my hair, removing the bobby pins and rubber band.

At my nape, my fingers yanked on a ginormous knot.

Wavy strands tangled around my hands, ripping out, making me cringe.

Looking at the loose strands, I grimaced at the dirt and grime under my fingernails and in the creases of my fingers.

Gross .

I bent down to wipe off the dirt on my bed when something slammed into my butt, making me face-plant. A rough hand wrenched my head back, pulling me from the ground.

The lovely itches that enjoyed tormenting my skin came to life, but this time, I didn’t hear the musical sounds of ice. No, what I heard was the dark and seductive music that came alive when I wanted to strangle Oliver.

Brock whispered into my ear. “Sometimes, when the prince goes hunting, I enjoy sharpening my knives on our prisoners.”

A tiny coil of black flame circled my pinky. That shouldn’t happen with the cuffs. But that was twice my powers had breached them.

Brock jerked my head back, exposing my neck and pressing a dagger to my skin. “Did you hear me? You wouldn’t mind that, right?”

This was one time I didn’t want to feel the seductive rage of my power.

Not when it had the habit of making me indifferent and impulsive with my words.

Brock didn’t let insults slide. He wanted to punish and abuse with every chance he got.

In the back of my mind, I knew that. Yet the compulsion of my power leaking through the cuffs said I didn’t care.

“Actually, I don’t think there’s a time I’ve ever enjoyed your disgusting Fallen hands and their wrinkly creases.”

See, rational Lucy would’ve steered clear of poking that wound. The Lucy who suffocated on her breaths would’ve kept her mouth shut. But not this Lucy. Nope. I couldn’t even feel the fear of what Brock would do because of how easily I succumbed to the addictive song .

He started to saw into my neck as he ripped at my hair. I bared my teeth against the pain, hissing out spittle.

“If I could, I’d kill you right now. I’d carve off each appendage as slowly as I could, and seeing as your new cuffs block all your powers but healing, I’d let you heal.

Then cut again.” He pressed harder on his knife as he moved it, smiling as blood trickled into my shirt.

“Then let you heal.” He took away the knife and waited for my skin to knit back together the slightest bit before pressing it back into the wound.

Dots speckled my vision as I fumed with both pain and rage. Right before I either erupted in the dark flame attempting to consume my finger or pass out, a blur of black slammed into Brock and ripped him away.

“What did I tell you about touching her?” Aspen seethed. His fist gripped the collar of Brock’s shirt, bringing them nose to nose.

“The queen said mostly .”

Aspen scoffed, shoved Brock away, and slammed a string of squirrels into his chest. “Cook these,” he demanded.

Brock sent him a heated glare, but Aspen didn’t see it as he turned to me. His eyes latched onto my neck, making the blue of his eyes spark. “There’s a river,” he said, gesturing behind him. “To clean that and wash yourself.”

Aspen held my gaze for a long moment before crouching down and pulling out a key. “Give me your ankles.”

I glared at him, having difficulty coming down from my rage.

“Come on, Lucille. Turn over.”

His voice seemed different now that I remembered the sound from before, when he’d say, “Stay here, stay put, stay safe. ”

I glanced at his neck, finding the chain and the peeking ruby wing. The deadly music and rage quieted, replaced by a fragile confusion.

I turned to my bottom and placed my ankles in front of him, watching as he unlocked one and re-cuffed it to my other leg.

Maybe away from Brock, I could work up the courage to ask him about the memory, if he’d even tell me the truth.

He went from spewing words of safety to taking me against my will.

He pocketed the key with his eyes drilling into the cut on my neck like it personally insulted him.

“I’m not undressing in front of you.”

He stood, pulling me off the ground. “I know how to turn around and close my eyes.”

I eyed him skeptically, then gestured forward. “Lead the way.”

We walked into the forest. Aspen kept close by, panning left and right in search of Hellhounds or other creatures I didn’t want to know about. His hovering behavior lasted as long as the walk did, which wasn’t long.

Red grass stretched from the ground, brushing against our leathered thighs and weaving between orange and white trees. Large rocks with moss the color of Aspen’s eyes jutted into the slow-moving water. I may hate everything about my situation, but Elora made it hard to hate its beauty.

We stopped by one of the large rocks. I turned to him and pointed to a tree far enough away. “Go stand there and turn around.”

He clenched his jaw. I could see the protest stewing in his eyes.

“I am not undressing with you this close even if I am your prisoner. So, we can stand here and glare at each other all day, or you can go over there and wait until I undress and splash into the water to turn back around.”

Surprising me for the second time today, he conceded, giving me a sharp nod.

“If you run?—”

“Yeah, Yeah, big bad Aspen will come and chase me down. I got it. I won’t run,” I said, huffing.

His lip twitched, almost like he was about to smile, but he turned around too fast for me to know. I waited until he neared the tree before I undressed, watching him the entire time.

My jacket and shirt came off easily, as did my boots and socks.

My pants were another story. Gently sliding the stiff leather over my stitches, I pulled them down.

The first leg slid off with no trouble, but when I did the same to the second, it wouldn’t budge. I tugged and kicked, cursing the cuffs.

“Do you need help?” Aspen asked, voice muffled.

“No,” I snapped. “You could’ve tightened the damned cuffs.”

“You could be grateful I took them off at all,” he called back.

I rolled my eyes. This wasn’t exactly off in my book.

Toes needing a break from the cold rock, I plopped on the ground, letting out a squeal as my warm butt hit the stone.

Did not think that one through.

“Sure you don’t need help?” Aspen asked. And I swore I heard a smile in his voice. But my arrogant princely jailor didn’t smile or offer help. Maybe the Aspen from before would, though. So, which Aspen was this?

“I’m fine.”

I fussed with my pants and cuffs. When that didn’t work, I stood, placed my freed foot on the loose material, and wrenched my leg back. My pants shucked off. I smiled for a split second before my wobbling balance had my arms pinwheeling in the open air.

Squealing, I splashed into the river.

It was cold. So cold.

Breaking the surface, I sputtered.

Aspen stood on the rock I fell from, took one look at my face, and laughed. Dimples indented his cheeks, and joy sang in the creases of his face.

My eyes grew twice as big as my stomach fluttered at the throaty noise.

I knew that laughter. I knew those dimples.

I knew the playful tilt of his head and the wonder soothing his normally tight-lipped expression as he held me with his vibrant blues.

I was drowning in a sea of pure manifested joy—all light, all goodness, all him—the Aspen Hana spoke of—the Aspen I once knew.

So, what the hell changed? What happened to him?

I wanted to ask, but I feared what he’d say or wouldn’t say.

“Did you want to wash your pants too? Or did that little shriek and flailing limbs mean what I think it meant?” He pointed at my pants floating next to me.

I balled them up and chucked them at his face, keeping an arm around my breasts. “I said not to look!”

He dodged them and shrugged. “You yelped. I had to make sure you were okay.”

Had to make sure I was okay? I haven’t been okay since the moment he took me.

He pointed again. “I think you forgot something.”

The tail of the gauze wrapped around my ribs and floated beside me. I unwound it, curious about how well the wounds were healing.

“No blood. That’s good,” he said, nodding at the soppy fabric .

Yes, it was.

“Can you turn around again so I can check them out without your prying eyes?”

He did but didn’t look happy about it.

I inspected my rib stitches. They still had a little blood on them, but they seemed to be healing nicely.

In another day, I bet they could come out.

Now, I didn’t know about my thigh stitches.

They were tender to touch, more so than my ribs, but I wasn’t about to ask Aspen to look at them, so I assumed they were fine.

While he continued to look the other way, I wiped down my skin and combed through my hair, wishing for a bar of soap and warmer water as I stared at the ruby gem glinting on his neck.

I wanted to ask about it. I just needed to say a few words to figure out what was happening.

But they stayed trapped in my throat, forced down there by all he’d done and hadn’t done in the past week.

“You have about two more minutes, then I’m turning around.”

After one, I yelped as something long and slimy slithered between my thighs, and he turned around anyway.

“What?” he asked.

Spinning, I looked for the creature that had my heart stuttering. After a few anxious moments of not seeing anything, my heart and breathing calmed, like nothing happened.

“There was something in the water.”