Page 35 of Wings of Lies (Daughter of the Seven Circles #1)

“Put that on your wounds.” I quietly mocked while pouring the powder into the cuts on my thighs.

I jumped as Aspen luscelered in front of me. “Don’t do that.”

He threw my shirt into my face. When I pulled it off, the slightest twitch in his lips slowed my movements. The potential view of his dimples filled me with an addicting anticipation and a sadness I couldn’t articulate. But with his smile, he radiated light, drawing me in to understand him again .

“Put them on. I’ll turn around. Tell me when you’re clothed.”

Them?

I looked into my arms and found my shirt, pants, and undergarments. My cheeks flushed at the thought of him touching them, especially unwashed. Mortification tempered the fluttering in my chest. I watched his back while I took off his cloak and dressed.

“Okay,” I said, already hating what was coming next.

Aspen faced me, keeping his eyes level with mine, as he crouched, needle in hand. “This will hurt, but I’ll try my best to make it as painless as possible.”

I searched his face, noticing the soft planes, the openness of his eyes, and the gentle sincerity in his voice—a night and day difference from the guy who withdrew behind a cold mask.

“Okay.”

He nodded to my thighs. “May I?”

For reasons unknown, I gave him a small smile despite my nerves and said, “Oh, are you actually asking, princeling?”

“I do, in fact, know how to do that, sweetheart.”

“Hm… could’ve fooled me with your grabby hands.”

Oh, hell no, I was flirting.

Long lashes hooded his eyes as he peered up at me with twinkling amusement. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” No.

My wounds were inches away from my bottom, inches away from an intimate area, and about to be touched by fingers that vibrated against my skin. I almost hoped for pain, scared of what else I might feel.

“Turn around.”

I bit into my cheeks and turned .

His fingers grazed around my wound, sending tingles into my skin and masking the painful throbbing. The sensation was—was—I couldn’t focus on it without feeling a different throb in a different area. I was lucky Aspen couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks or the way I bit my lip.

“Here I go,” he said, voice sounding shaky.

I tensed. The same odd warmth mingled with the tingles as he held my thigh and then stabbed.

The warmth and buzz pulsated into my body, distracting me from half the pain.

Each insertion made me cringe, but I couldn’t imagine what it’d feel like without his help.

When he moved onto my next thigh, his hands shifted higher—an inch from my butt.

I could not go through another tingly, slightly painful thigh stitching in silence.

“Whose Nalini?” I blurted out. Not the question I originally planned, but my habit of refusing to face the things I feared wasn’t about to go away because of my pretty mental speech from before.

He jerked back, and I winced as he poked me.

“I heard Hana mention her name when you two talked over me.” I didn’t want to mention the gruesome dream-walk I witnessed.

Silence.

I turned. “Aspen?”

Agony tore into his face, bleeding in his eyes and my mind before disappearing right as a red glow flashed and haloed his chin.

“No one,” he said, resolved as if she meant nothing.

I would’ve believed him if I had not seen and felt his pain or remembered how he brushed her hair back and bellowed to the sky.

He returned his hand to my skin, resuming the stitching, and the red light faded into his mark .

I should’ve let it go. But I had a sinking feeling I knew one reason why he might’ve changed.

Back aching, I turned to face the tree again. “I want to understand. One thing. Tell me one thing.”

His hands froze, and utter silence greeted me. Did that mean he remembered my words? Remembered that day?

“Just a sliver,” I whispered.

“Not the whole moon,” he whispered back in a broken voice.

An ache built in my chest from our combined pain, bringing tears to my eyes. He remembered. I almost wished he didn’t. I wished I didn’t, because it changed nothing. A heavy weight filled the quiet as he sewed the last few stitches, resting his hands on my leg.

“Nalini was the first person I ever loved.” His voice grew hushed. “Then she was murdered.”

A crushing weight enveloped my chest. I could taste his sorrow as it bled off my eyelashes and hit the corner of my lips. My hands twitched, wanting to push off the ground and comfort him. But he was my captor.

“All done,” he said.

Nervous, I flipped over and met his face. “Who did it?”

He stood. “Who did what?”

I furrowed my brows. I couldn’t feel his pain, and his chin glowed. “Who murdered Nalini?”

The red mark darkened from crimson red to red the color of dried blood.

“Nalini died because of crimes against my queen,” he growled.

I narrowed my eyes at his chin. “But she was murdered.”

He ignored me and turned to leave. I shot out my arm, stopping him. “Aspen. ”

He stared at my fingers on his as I watched the red light fade back into his skin. The mask covering the destruction in his face fell, and the block on his pain, like my touch brought him back to himself and reinforced our connection.

When he looked up from my touch and I saw the glassy blue, it was difficult to think of him as my captor. He looked more like a guy ruined by his past.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He pulled away from my hand, picking up his cloak to crouch down and cover my bottom half. “I’m your enemy, Lucille.”

He was right, and yet I already needed another reminder as he double-checked that he’d covered every inch of my exposed skin.

“Is this you giving me the moon?”

Aspen lifted his head and gripped my chin, staring at me with a severeness that stopped my breath.

“If I could ever give you the moon, I’d start by taking you away from here.

Then I’d ensure no one ever found us and destroy anyone who did.

But as you can see, Elora’s moon is blue, dyed by the sorrows of failure, broken promises, and power.

So I can’t give you the moon, Lucille. I can’t give you anything.

” He punctuated his words with the drop of his hand.

Brock rounded a bush just as Aspen stood and said, “Stay away from the water.”

“Everything alright?” Brock asked, glancing between us. I watched him note my state and pants off to the side.

“Yes,” Aspen said, then left, worsening the ache in my chest.

“Get dressed, we’re leaving,” Brock ordered.

“Drag your wrinkly ass back to camp, and I will.”

Shit. Why’d I say that?

“Watch yourself. Just because Prince Aspen’s had a change of heart about playing with our prisoners doesn’t mean accidents can’t happen. ”

That tidbit didn’t bode well for the butterflies confusing my mind about my princely jailor—not after his speech, when his words made poetic sense, but the emotion in his eyes told a different story. He was the enemy. I knew that, and yet something prompted me to reconsider.

Brock chuckled. “Don’t think that means anything, angel. The prince received correspondence after the Hellhound attack stating the queen wants you mostly intact and healthy.”

Is that why he continued to save me? For his worthless queen?

“Now you understand,” Brock smiled, sensing my emotional downturn. “Hurry up, or I’ll drag you back half-naked. She said mostly .”

At the tip of my tongue lingered curses and insults I wanted to spew into his loose-skinned face. Knowing his threat wasn’t empty, I kept the hateful words in my eyes, and my lips pressed together.

Like the despicable old man he was, he watched as I shimmied on my pants underneath Aspen’s cloak. My power tickled my fingers at the leer twisting his lips.

Why did Aspen leave me with him?

To my horror, I had to have Brock hold my arm to keep me steady on our way back. He didn’t trip me for fun like I thought he would, but he got in some shoves, laughing when I winced.

At camp, he dragged me past the doused fire and the demons, then shoved me into Aspen’s back. “Here, your prisoner,” he said, forcing me to latch onto Aspen’s arms so I didn’t fall.

Aspen turned, taking my arm to steady me, and eyed Brock. “You’re driving first, and she’s sitting up there with you,” he stated, dropping my arm to leave.

Brock grabbed him. “You need to re-cuff her, Prince Aspen. She can’t think she can escape. ”

The chill morning air heated to suffocating levels. A pulse vibrated through the building tension. Flames licked Aspen’s neck, trailing down to his leathered arm. He turned to face Brock, smiling with malicious intent. “If you want to keep that hand, I’d remove it, Brockalian.”

He snatched his hand back.

The heat died down, bringing relief to my sweaty forehead. Aspen pulled back his flames, only keeping them in his irises. “Do not touch me. Do not give me orders. I know how to treat our prisoners.” He stepped chest to chest with Brock. “You work for us. Go to your position.”

Brock licked his yellow teeth, fisting his hands. “Yes, Prince Aspen,” he finally gritted out, whirling around to the front of the carriage.

The flames calmed when he addressed me.

“Don’t you dare,” I said, not caring he almost incinerated Brock’s hand. If double-cuffing one leg still blocked my power, I didn’t need them attached to both. It mortified me to trip and shuffle around. But really, I needed to be able to run when the time came.

Aspen dropped to the ground, lifting my pants leg. He made quick work of unlocking and cuffing my other ankle.

I seared my gaze into his coffee locks, wishing to burn it all off.

He stood. “There’s leftover squirrel in the back.”

“To hell with your squirrel.” I turned and jangled like the prisoner I was to the front of the carriage.

“You need to eat.”

I snorted. “And you need to stop acting like you care, enemy. Your worthless queen will be just fine with a half-starved prisoner.”

If I turned around, I’d bet all my currently inaccessible powers on the fact that the prince’s eyes were back to flaming. That thought alone brought a satisfied smile to my lips as I sat on the driver’s seat next to the most loathsome fallen angel.

Brock may want to slice and dice me, and some part of me understood that. But Aspen, with his random laughter, the way he touched me, the way his voice broke—I honestly felt like it was all a twisted game.

I stared at my ankle cuffs and let the image and meaning pound reality back into me, wiping away the useless feelings attempting to surface for a guy who only wanted me for his queen.

Bastards. All of them.

“Always so angry or sad,” Brock commented.

“I can tell that pleases you, Searcher.”

He jerked. “How do you know that title?”

I smiled to myself, thinking about the man in my head, and shrugged. “How indeed.”

My smug smile dropped at the fist he slammed into our seat, missing my leg by inches. Two raps on the wood diffused the tension, signaling Brock to drive. He gave me one last menacing stare and picked up the reins.

“Accidents happen. Remember that.”

I’d have to be a lot more careful with my words around Brock, or I wouldn’t be able to escape if I was beaten to a pulp. But confirming that the man in my head wasn’t lying or a figment of my subconscious dreams was reassuring. Which meant I’d be gone by the end of the day.

Let’s hope my powers returned by then.