Page 41 of Wings of Lies (Daughter of the Seven Circles #1)

Aspen, an inch taller, met Brock boot to boot, sneering down at the old male. “Will that be before or after I show the queen the tip of her ear?”

Brock sent me a murderous look. “The queen said, mostly intact. She’ll end up torn apart, regardless.”

Aspen corralled him in with a hand, jerking his face. “And I told you completely intact. Touch her, and next time, I won’t hit you with just my skin. Now go get the demons and the rest of our stuff.” He shoved Brock away, waited till he left, and limped over to his dimming sword.

“Come on, we’re not far now,” he said, pulling up the intricate metal. His hand brushed against my palm as he passed me, sending tingles shooting up my arm. “Not getting any younger,” he called when I still didn’t move.

“You’re technically not young at all,” I yelled back.

He laughed. My heart revolted in the best way.

“By angel standards, I am. Now come on, sweetheart.”

I turned to face his back, keeping my feet planted. “Why do you call me that?”

He stopped. “Because I want to. ”

“Do you call all your assets, sweetheart?”

A heatwave rustled the hair around my cheek as I waited for him to answer.

He refused to turn around and meet my gaze, so I drilled holes into his cloaked back.

The same cloak he swaddled me in at Hana’s and used to cover me after the Tusoteuthis attack, calming me with his touches and sewing up my legs.

Why was he so contradictory? Was it all for his queen?

“No, just you.” His three words carried on an air of breath, floating to my ears and stabbing a resurfacing ache.

“Well, stop,” I said, finally following him.

We walked in tense silence. I distracted myself by analyzing the unique bushes. Their blue-tipped spikes jutted into our path, looking ready to stab anyone who dared to touch their velvety blue leaves.

“They’re Blue Morsus bushes, lined with microscopic bumps that will cut you and burrow into your skin. They slow an angel’s healing process.”

I veered to the center of the road and thought I heard a chuckle.

Eventually, the feeling of being cooked in an oven lessoned.

“We’re close.”

Goosebumps rose along my arms. “To the boundary line?”

“Yes, we’ll make camp tonight and be there by late morning.”

The tension withdrew from my shoulders. I still had one more night.

“I’m sorry, Lucille.”

I stopped, utterly stunned. Never in my wildest imaginings did I believe sorry was in his vocabulary. He turned around, and I swore if I were still moving, I would’ve tripped over my feet at the openness that lay in his eyes and the sorrow bleeding through our bond.

“I’m sorry for?— ”

“Stop.”

He took a step toward me. “Luc?—”

“Stop apologizing for something you could change!” I snapped, putting distance between us. He followed me until the strides of his legs gained on mine, and he grasped my elbows. The moment he touched me, I lost it.

“I do not want your moon. I do not want your slivers. I want nothing from you. In one moment, you trick me with your sweet little words and actions, then the next, you call me names and let Brock abuse me. My guardian?” I scoffed. “We may have a bond, but you are no guardian.”

His face paled, and I saw and felt a split second of guilt and horror wedge between the indifferent mask he was trying so hard to put back on.

I tried to wrench out of his grip and away from the feelings that had infiltrated my mind at his touch. He soothed something in me, something I thought only my mom could do. But his touch was a lie. Everything was.

“You’d think a guardian would be someone who risked everything to keep the other person safe.

Everything.” I spat. “If anyone was ever my guardian, it was my mom.” An ache traveled up my throat, and damn it, I didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“But someone took that from me. And now you’re taking the rest.” This time, when I yanked on my arms, he let me go.

“Your apologies are worthless when you are in control of my freedom or my death.”

His chin erupted in a deep red light, and his lips flattened.

“My queen wants you. I am loyal to her. ”

I took in the twitch in his eye, the red glow beneath his chin, avoiding his plush pink lips. “Why? Why are you loyal? What could she possibly give you? Is it just because she’s your mom?”

The exuding red light flashed off for a moment as agony tore into his eyes and through me.

Did the red light somehow affect our bond? Was that why I only got blips of his emotions at random times?

“She’s not my mom,” he said, jaw fluttering as he gripped his sword so tightly I thought his knuckles might pop out. But the unending pain and guilt making his eyes glassy vanished as his scar illuminated. “I am loyal to my queen.”

“So, you’re blindly loyal?”

“No!”

“Then what? Does she have your mom?” Because the pain and guilt I could taste coming off him was a lot like how Oliver was talking about his sister.

“No, she doesn’t.” He took a step forward, eyes lit up with softly repressed rage, and I, for once, held my ground.

“Does someone else have your mom?”

“No.”

Why was I even trying to figure this out? The damage was already done. But I stared at the flickering light beneath his chin.

“Why does your scar keep glowing?” I asked.

“What?”

Against my better judgment, I placed my thumb over his scar. It zapped me on contact, and he flinched. But the glow receded.

Going off a hunch, I met the hovering flames in his gaze and asked, “What happened to your mom? ”

His face dropped as a sickly color washed away the rosy pink of his cheeks. Agony and guilt reared their heartbreaking heads, urging me to rub my sternum. “Murdered.”

I swallowed back my tears, hating that he confused me so thoroughly. Why should I care that his mother and first love were murdered? Isn’t it what he deserved for what he did to others? To me? And yet, for some reason, a deep-seated part of me hurt.

“How?”

Aspen’s eyes glinted. He knew how she was murdered.

“She—”

The scar zapped me as he fought to get the words out.

“Lili—” He tensed.

“How Aspen?”

“Lilith!” he seethed as the scar sent a bolt of searing pain into my thumb and up my arm. I gasped, letting go.

“Who’s Lilith?”

He straightened, composed his face, and stepped back. “I am loyal to my queen.”

I panned between his face and the thing beneath his chin. Goosebumps danced along my spine at whatever the hell that was. It controlled him and what I could feel from him. He didn’t know it. He thought it was a scar.

“Who’s Lilith? She murdered your mother?” I asked again.

Aspen didn’t respond.

But how much did it control him? And why did it fade sometimes but not others? Before I could ask questions or test my theories, clip-clopping and rolling wheels invaded our moment.

We climbed in the back next to Cacus and Bael, who were crunching on—I didn’t want to know .

I sat away from them, glancing at Aspen’s chin as he rested his head against the carriage wall. Then, I took in the rest of him, finding glistening red on his leg.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, keeping any traitorous concern out of my voice.

He grunted.

“So, you’re not going to do anything about your leg?”

Aspen side-eyed me. Any lingering tension from our heated exchange was safely shut away, forgotten, or ignored. How was it so easy for him? Did our conversation blip out of his mind, or did the scar force away his emotions?

“It’ll heal,” he said, taking me out of my puzzling thoughts. “Just like your ribs, wrist, neck, finger, and ear have.”

He was paying close attention.

I raised my finger to my ear, finding smooth skin.

“We heal fast, Lucille.”

“Can you at least put a cloth to it?”

The corner of his lip twitched. “Sure.” He did, up until the carriage stopped.

I climbed out, eyeing Aspen as he winced jumping to the ground. I winced with him. So he could bind and tend to my wounds, but not his own. I shook my head and grabbed my blankets from the back to set up my bed. It was best to keep up pretenses.

Brock, swollen and bruised, set up a fire as he shot me glares where I rested on my blankets. Aspen skinned the meat Cacus and Bael caught. It still surprised me they could catch anything without shoving it down their giant gullets .

When the meat was ready, Aspen limped over with a plate. I peered up at him from under my lashes, the heat of the fire blocked by his body.

“Heals fast?”

“It was deep. It won’t heal in a couple hours, Lucille,” he said, exasperated.

“So, sew it up.”

He handed me the plate of squirrel and ignored my comment. I grabbed it, but he wouldn’t let go when I tugged. Masked by the shadows, I couldn’t see his expression. I dropped my chin to the plate, hoping he’d get the message, and instantly regretted it.

Buttons.

Buttons I ravenously wanted open hours ago stared at me.

They were barely visible, but I could still see their silver outlines.

My cheeks flushed as an unwelcome shot of desire hit me, along with the mortification of the direction of my dirty thoughts.

I looked back up at Aspen, palms slick against the warm metal in my hands.

“Scared, Lucille?” he mocked.

“Only of the truth,” I whispered. What would I do with the unwanted attraction I had for him if somehow he wasn’t the reason behind all his terrible actions? Would it change anything for me?

I didn’t know, and that scared me more than if I did.

He stumbled back, letting go of my plate as if he could read those thoughts in my eyes.

We all ate silently, one of us glaring, one of us staring, and me questioning.

When night fell, there was no king.