Chapter 15 - Wings of Lies

After a terrible night’s sleep, icy water jolted me awake, splashing over my face and soaking my shirt. I gasped, coughed on the water that went up my nose and looked wildly around. My princely jailor stood over me with a large bucket in hand as I sat on a pad with soppy blankets.

“What the hell was that for?” I shouted in between coughs, goosebumps growing goosebumps as the morning chill brushed against my skin.

His eyes were alight with satisfaction as he pressed his lips together.

Invisible fingers strummed two cords in my core.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” he stated.

“What, and you couldn’t shake me awake? You had to dump a damn pail of freezing water on me?” My nails bit into my palms. Or no, one palm. My other tweaked with pain and hit the stiff cloth wrapped around my hand and wrist. Did he splint it?

“Clearly, you’re not dying, and now you don’t have to wash off in a stream,” he said, pulling my attention back to him. “Now get up.”

His cocky words plucked the cords, enticing the itch. The crashing musical ice started. Blood rushed to my cheeks. In seconds, I stood, shoving my hands into his chest, chains jangling, and wrist protesting. A pulse of purple light flashed before the cuffs around my right wrist electrocuted me.

He didn’t re-cuff my broken wrist. Why? To satisfy his conscience? I doubted he had one. My power vanished, replaced by lingering aftershocks that made my knees wobble.

“I—” I dropped my hands quickly, ignoring the throbbing in my left one, and stared at the white frost coating his chest. Was it going to dissolve his leathers like the sleeping bag? Part of me hoped it did; another knew if that happened, I’d be executed. But the ice did nothing.

He stepped forward, and I stumbled back. He took another step forward, and I took another step back until my legs bumped into Brock’s tree stump. I tilted my head up, holding my breath. He appraised me with unreadable eyes and intimidated me with his nearness. His hand rose, and I flinched, expecting him to hit me or worse. Last night, I insulted Brock, and he broke my wrist. Today, I accidentally attacked a prince. Would he break my arm or leg? I leaned back as far as possible, squeezing my lids shut, and waited. A light flashed, and I opened my eyes, squinting at his raised hand covered in flames the color of his eyes.

The heat painfully licked my skin, and I fell over the stump. I hurried back a foot with my splinted wrist clutched to my chest. His hand moved, but instead of burning me alive, it brushed the leather on his chest, thawing the ice. His threatening irises, wreathed in blue fire, trapped me.

What was he? An angel?

He lowered himself, placing his elbows on the stump. The heat from his flames burned my cheeks, threatening to take out my eyebrows. While he smirked, his power retreated into his interlacing hands, but his eyes were still consumed by fire.

My heart abused my sternum, pushing at the needles beneath my skin.

“Don’t. Do that. Again, prisoner.” A light flashed beneath his chin, and the blue fire flashed brighter in his eyes before he stood and left.

I let loose a breath, taking in three more. He had flames and, by the looks of it, could control them ten times better than I could.

My wrist throbbed, pumping along with my erratic heart. Chills skittered across my back. I wished it was caused by my soaked shirt, not the guy packing up the janky carriage with the two monsters.

“Huh.”

I scrambled back from Brock’s voice and stood.

Brock sneered. “Scared?”

Yes. Not that I’d tell him that.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen the prince attacked without getting their head severed or burned off.”

Great. I already didn’t want to move from my spot. My wet pad laid unrolled in hopes that they’d leave me behind.

“I suppose the need to keep you alive restrained him.”

“So, he won’t kill me?”

Brock eyed the wrist clutched to my chest, crouching down. “Kill, probably not. She wouldn’t be too happy about that. Maim, on the other hand, I’d be surprised if you didn’t break a few more bones.” His mustache spread with a knowing smile, rolling up my blanket and pad.

I backed out of reach. “She who? Your sovereign?”

He stood with my supplies. “You’ll find out.”

“Sweetheart,” my princely jailer sang. “Time to go. Don’t make me chase you down.” His eyes pulsed with blue flame.

A flash of irritation overpowered my apprehension. I should’ve pushed him harder. Dragging my feet to the carriage, each slide and pull stirred a question of whether or not I’d be safer with them or on my own. That was if I could manage to escape.

Right now, I’d be lucky enough to keep my life.

He met me at the back, the monsters already stuffed inside. “Next time, I’ll drag you by your feet if you take that long.”

“I’d like to see you try,” I snapped with false vibrato.

His rosy lips squeezed into a hard line. With two abrupt steps, he backed me into the ledge of the back doors. He leaned down, his mouth brushing my ear. A tingle of a different sort sent a shiver down my spine.

“Don’t make me do something you’ll regret,” he whispered, reaching for my legs.

Was he going to grope me?

My Glory prickled, but before it surged and my cuffs shocked me, he picked me up and threw me in. My bottom hit the exact second he jumped, straddling me with his feet.

“Hands,” he demanded, reaching out and caging me in with his boots.

“Why?”

His scar pulsed with a red light.

“I said, give me your damned hands! Now, prisoner!”

The glow in his irises convinced me to lift my hands. He unlocked a cuff from my uninjured wrist, grazing my skin. Tingles surfaced, and his tight hold eased with the light beneath his chin. He widened the cuff and latched it around my splint, loose enough to slide around the thick cloth without pain.

“Does that feel okay?” he asked.

Stunned by his gentle tone and question, I nodded.

Brock shut the doors, dimming the janky box. My princely jailor dropped my wrists and straightened. He stepped over me, and I wiggled to the side, far away from the monsters and the confusing prince. Brock signaled to the horses to move, and we were off. Yay.

Bump after bump shot into my boney butt and vibrated up my spine. Did this dirt road contain nothing but potholes? Or was this another form of torture?

Fortunately, last time, I was knocked out for most of the ride. This time, I had to listen to Bael and Cacus hiss about food and feel my princely jailor’s gaze. I think I’d rather take the agony of my Glory over this.

As time passed, I slept against my better judgment. It was the closest thing to knocking myself out, and I hoped to dream-walk again. The last few dream-walks gave me pieces of my past back and more questions, but it was better than nothing.

Sleep came and went. Flashes of colors to darkness to whispered words I forgot, then to the waking world. The day turned to night, but except for a couple of mortifying stops, we never made camp. Brock and my princely jailor traded out driving multiple times, and we continued like that.

My two meals a day consisted of apples, cheese, and dried squirrel meat chucked at me whenever Brock or the prince felt like it. Sometimes, I only ate one meal, not because they didn’t give me food but because any food I couldn’t catch was fair game for the monsters.

After the fourth day, my will hung on by threads. I stared at the splint on my pinky finger. It wasn’t there yesterday. Brock broke my finger for insulting him a second time after he stared at me like a perv during our bathroom break. He stomped on my hand as punishment. I think he hoped to break all my fingers but only managed one. When we returned to the carriage, my princely jailor grabbed my hand. He panned from my crooked pinky to my tears to Brock’s face, and his eyes lit with blue flame. He jerked me from Brock’s grasp and helped me into the carriage without a word.

Today, I woke to find it splinted. Brock would’ve never helped me, and the monsters were too idiotic to know how to splint a bone. They’d probably chomp it off as a solution. So that left my princely jailor as my secretive nurse.

I glanced at the corner where he silently slept. We spoke maybe eight sentences to each other in the last four days, in between his grunts and glares.

His knees were tucked to his chest, arms draped, and head leaning back—the same position I found him in the first time. Except now, instead of a perfect head of silk, it lay flat and glistened. Creases formed at the corner of his eyes.

A bad dream? I sure as hell hoped so.

With that sword attached to his hip, I could only imagine the amount of killing he doled out. All the muscle that swallowed his body and the blue flames that flashed in his eyes didn’t exactly say pacifist. I bet monsters haunted his dreams. He deserved every second of the pain that pinched his face.

I looked away, glancing at the quiet monsters. All six beady eyes were closed. Returning my gaze to my princely jailor, the hilt of his sword gleamed in the dim light.

What were the odds I could stab them all and live?

But before I got my desperate ass killed, a jarring impact thrust me forward. My wrist wrenched against their chains, palms splayed to catch myself. I gasped at the impact, my broken bones giving out, face-planting.

The carriage rocked back and forth, then jolted again from another slam, tilting the carriage onto two wheels. I tumbled headfirst into the wall, lying on my back when we banged down, level.

Brock shouted something, and the carriage picked up speed.

“What the hell is it?” I shifted onto my forearms and knees, looking for the prince. He stood, arms spread, bracing himself in the corner with glowing irises.

Cacus and Bael hissed at the next hit, lumbering toward the back doors, nearly crushing my body as I rolled out of the way. Our hasty speed abruptly stopped as the whole carriage skidded to the side. Yips and throaty growls drowned out the horse’s whinnies.

“Go! Get out of here!” Brock yelled.

A loud, throaty squeal punctured the increased yips until it stopped, along with my heart.

We were stuck.

They slammed into us again and again, rocking the carriage but unable to tip us with Cacus and Bael distributing their hulking weight. A slam splintered the wood near my princely jailor’s face. Their growls became louder. Almost as if they were excited by the wreckage.

Was no one going to answer me?

“What the hell is attacking us? Wolves?”

The growls quieted for a moment, followed by the clang of metal and grunts. The prince cursed, lunging for me just before the next hit. His arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me to the center, away from the shuddering walls. He pressed my back tightly against his chest, refusing to let me move. The pounding of his heart hammered into my spine, quickening my own.

With his free hand, he reached for the pommel of his sword, unleashing a long blade with scrolling blue symbols lit up with the flame that wreathed his eyes. Heat pulsed off the fiery waves, scalding my exposed skin. I shrank back into the prince, unable to escape his vice-like grip.

“Hellhounds,” he finally replied.

Cacus and Bael snickered like they enjoyed that fact. I couldn’t say I was surprised. They seemed both dimwitted and gruesome enough to enjoy our possible demise.

The growls and slams died down while the clanking metal increased. He released me, giving my flushed skin sweet relief.

“We need to leave this carriage and help Brock.”

“Wait, what?” This carriage was the only thing separating us. “Is that our only option?” Brock could rot in hell for all I cared. I wasn’t going out there. I didn’t know how to fight. I didn’t even have a weapon. Not to mention, my powers were currently out of commission. I’d been zapped so many times I assumed only an immense amount of fear or anger would get them going, and even then, the damned cuffs prevented that!

My jailor scrutinized me, jaw muscles pulsing. “This carriage will be splinters of wood if we don’t leave it. They don’t eat animal meat. They killed our horses to prevent us from moving.”

The wooden carriage abruptly rocked. I fell into him. His fingers dug into the sleeves of my shoulders.

“They feed off fresh angel blood, so they won’t stop. And Brock is alone out there.”

“I don’t care!”

He placed me behind him, turning his pissed-off fiery eyes on the black and red runed backs of Cacus and Bael.

“Take off my cuffs,” I demanded, palms sweaty.

He shot me a glare. “No.” Then yelled, “Now!”

Cacus and Bael pushed open the splintering doors, jumping out one after the other. Their feet pounded the ground with their weight. The prince landed softly behind them, sword raised and ready. I refused to move from my spot.

“Cacus, go help Brock,” he commanded.

One of the black beasts lumbered away toward the sound of a fight at the front of the carriage. And despite wanting nothing to do with the beasts, I wished Cacus would stay.

I crumpled to the planks.

Skeletal hounds surrounded us. Shadows undulated around their bones, like a messed-up kind of fur. Although, that did nothing to soothe the thoughts of death as their chests were at the same level as the ledge of the carriage.

“Get out,” he demanded, giving me a quick, narrowed glance before returning his attention to the skeletal death hounds.

“Take off my cuffs,” I begged, scooting closer, holding them out. So what if I looked pathetic or weak?

Fleshless bony heads snapped their jaws. They bayed and licked two-inch-long fangs, staring with blood-colored eyes. My bladder threatened to give out at their piercing sounds and did, just a little, as they prowled toward us.

“No.”

“Aspen, please!”

He flinched like I’d hit him. I never used his name, never wanted to. It was different with Brock. His name sounded like an insult. But Aspen… Damn it. I liked his name. And I didn’t want to like anything about him. But right now, I’d try anything.

“Get the fuck out of the carriage!” he seethed.

“No!”

He backpedaled to the ledge, attention on the snarling smokey beasts inching their way nearer, reached back and latched onto my ankle. Stunned by the soft buzz of energy tickling my skin, I didn’t fight back as he dragged me. I was about to slam into the ground when, at the last second, he picked me up and set me down.

What was that? Not that odd change of behavior, but the vibrations from his hand? I shot him a look, but he pushed forward to Bael, ignoring me.

I didn’t think we stood a chance with only three of us, practically two and a half, against five hulking beasts.

White puffs of steam diffused from the Hellhound’s nostrils, clouding the area and infusing the air with a rotten egg smell. Their shadowed fur faded to light gray, indiscernible against the trees.

Scratch that. They didn’t stand a chance. There was no we, as I scrambled underneath the carriage, hands jangling against my pelvis. Millions of needles probed my skin, answering the call of the pressure squeezing my chest.

The prince’s attention flickered to my retreat. “If you run, they will kill you.”

Exactly why I was hiding, not running.

“Take off my cuffs, Aspen.” I inhaled and added, “Please.” Hoping he understood how much that cost me. A cordial please to my careless jailor who didn’t deserve any civility from me. But my Glory climbed, stabbing me, and in a matter of seconds, I’d be a writhing, debilitated snack—easy eating.

I needed his help. I really needed to keep breathing.

He stared me dead in the eye and shook his head. “Stay there.” Then he charged into the steam with his sword raised, Bael following with his pounding strides until they were both faint blobs of color.

Defenseless, I squirmed further back. Shadows flashed through the white clouds, snarling and yipping. At times, a blur of blue followed, but only the clang of metal proved the prince had made contact.

I flinched with every sound, with every flash, Glory stealing my strength as I lay belly down between the two wheels of the carriage. It was coming. I only knew that because I could grind into the skin of my cheeks, nearly biting through, and no longer feel it. One minute. Two. I shoved my mouth into the corner of my elbow, and it peaked. I muffled my scream as a jolt of electricity seared into my body, sending me to darkness.

You have no one to blame but yourself.

Don’t be a wimp. Come here.

Stay here. Stay safe.

Escape your cage.

Fight it!

I’m sorry, Lucy.

There once was a daughter of⁠—

Hushed clanking woke me from the cacophony of voices. Blinking, I twisted my head, finding a battlefield void of steam with added bodies and chaos.

My eyes latched onto the prince. He arched his flaming sword up and down, slicing, stabbing, and twisting into two Hellhounds. Every slice created a charred line that partially disintegrated bone, deterring them from the sword but not stopping them from attacking. On his other side, Brock swung a flameless sword at a different set of hounds, chipping away at bone with little impact, which had to be why they fought him with more brutality than the ones that hesitated against the prince.

Good. Hopefully, the repulsive man got what was coming to him.

To the side of Brock fought Cacus and Bael. And they were— Snickering at their Hellhounds? Yes, snickering. Dimwitted beasts. But the Hellhounds seemed to keep their distance, jetting around them in circles and never engaging. It was almost like Cacus and Bael had some plague. Still didn’t stop them from swiping and kicking the Hellhounds, laughing the entire time.

A red light flashed in my periphery. Glancing back at the prince, I scooted farther away from the Hellhounds now spewing red flames from their nostrils. Wasn’t the damned cloud of steam enough?

They shot at the prince’s head. He ducked, swinging up as he stood, and cleaved through the skull of another. The head charred in half, dead. He was on to the next, dancing with death and the hounds of shadows. Transfixed, I watched in horror and awe.

He whirled, twisted, and slashed, never slowing, never hesitating. When he used all his momentum to slide under his last hound, eviscerating its underbelly and rolling to his feet right as it slumped, I couldn’t help but be impressed. He sprinted over to Brock. Who struggled with a sword that was equivalent to a dull steak knife.

Brock swung wildly at a hound licking a glistening red off its claws. Based on the blood bleeding into his cloak, it had to come from Brock. Bit by bit, he carved into the Hellhound’s neck, and despite the fact he was carving through, the hound only dodged, too fixated on the blood.

My eyes widened as another Hellhound, the largest in the pack, left Cacus and Bael in favor of Brock. Head bowed low, saliva oozing down its canines, it crept up behind him. Six feet, five feet, four feet...

He was about to die, and nothing pleased me more.

Days of his abuse, and I hoped the hound slaughtered him in the most gruesome of ways. But before the hound attacked, the prince intervened with his flaming sword. Two inches away from cutting into its side, the hound twisted, snapping its jaw around the blade, teeth disintegrating. It didn’t whine or whimper. No, the Hellhound yanked the blade from the prince’s hands, flung the sword to the edge of the trees, and circled him.

Weaponless, reevaluating his position, he fisted his hands before his face.

Was he going to box with the Hellhound?

He’d die, too. For some horrifying, unexplainable reason, that scared me. Like the thought of him dead was inconceivable, it couldn’t happen. An hour ago, I thought about stealing his sword and killing him. But now, with death staring him in the face, I didn’t want him to die. Why?

I glanced at his sword near the tree, thinking foolish things. No. Just no. If they died, I could escape, find Magda, and then my mom. They needed to die.

But if the Hellhounds lived, I’d die.

The hound snapped at the prince, going for his legs. He jumped back, hands erupting in blue flames. That seemed to pause the hound briefly before it attacked his legs with renewed vigor, forcing him to back up.

But why go for the prince’s legs and expose its neck when it was tall enough for more vital strikes? The Hellhound didn’t even make contact. What was it doing?

Movement to the side captured my attention.

“Aspen, watch out!” I yelled.

Damn it! Why was I helping him?

He pivoted at the last second, a claw snagging his elbow as he turned, and the two hounds collided. They fell into a pile of tangled bones and shadows. The prince, not giving them a chance to recover, punched them with his flaming fist, leaving charred marks on their muzzles.

I officially had a new definition of crazy and hated myself for helping him.

I’d never escape.

He boxed with two sharp-toothed, fire-breathing, steam-snorting hounds crafted of sharp bones and wispy shadows, blurring as he pivoted and ducked, smashing his fists into any and every part of their bodies. Aspen luscelered around, which meant he was an angel or at least part and untouchable.

Almost.

One Hellhound sank its teeth into his arm before he dodged it. In turn, he grabbed ahold of the Hellhound’s jaw, obliterating it and the rest of its head.

Heavenly shit.

He was lethal. I mean, I assumed. But to see it, to know he was the one holding me captive. My stomach rolled. I needed to escape. With them distracted, this may be my only shot. So what if there was a chance I’d die in the forest? At least I’d have a chance, as minuscule as it was, better odds than staying with them.

With my forearms and some interesting wiggling, I pushed back toward the front of the carriage. No one noticed me or even glanced at me the entire time they fought.

Almost out, I ducked under the front axle at the moment something sharp stabbed into my legs. I screamed, clawing into the dirt as a Hellhound dragged me. Blinding agony shot up my legs, and I scrambled for the harness of the dead horses, latching on. I shrieked and immediately let go, unable to win the game of tug-of-war with it tearing the flesh in my thighs. It continued to drag me.

My Glory prickled.

Gravel and dirt scraped against my palms until we stopped. Pain speared up my spine as the Hellhound released me, swiping at my side to flip me over. Blood seeped into my joggers with each pound of my erratic heart as I met red sentient globes of death.

The Hellhound licked the yellowing bones of its muzzle. I squirmed back, whimpering. It followed with slow, measured movements as if liking the game and knowing I wasn’t going anywhere without the ability to stand. Still, I shoved back foot by foot until it took one long stride and stepped onto my rib cage. Pressure compressed my chest, and like it thought I needed more pain, the Hellhound sank its claws into my sides. Breathless screams ripped from my lungs. Its nails twitched, digging deeper, and blood spread into my flimsy t-shirt. A long, skinny tongue shot out and lapped at all the glistening red.

It moaned in pleasure, lapping quicker. Like a drug addict seeking more drugs, it jerked back on its claws, shredding, digging, and slurping up more of my blood. Agony worked its way up my shredded throat, begging me to scream, only to get lost in my wet, stuttering breaths.

The teasing needles of my Glory hovered, refusing to build further. Even if it did, what good would it do? It’d only knock me out. But if my cuffs didn’t knock me out, the lack of blood would.

My feet tingled, not a prickling tingle that hurt, not a buzzing warm tingle from the prince’s skin, no, a numbing tingle. The blue sky became fuzzy around the edges.

Time seemed to stop as I squeezed my eyes shut while it drank my blood like a damn vampire. Shame and confusion overwhelmed me as I waited for the end.

I was weak, useless, and a liability.

Just like I was for my mom. I couldn’t even protect her. But how could I if I couldn’t even protect myself?

I thought I was at least good at surviving, that I could eventually escape and survive until I found her. But it seemed I was failing at that, too.

A bubble of laughter surfaced, moving the nails of the Hellhound, and making me choke on the warm blood traveling up my throat. Soon, it’d be diving its big tongue into my mouth to slurp that up. But I couldn’t help but find it funny how irrevocably naive I’ve been and how alone I truly was.

I thought I’d at least have more help or someone to guide me to my mom. First, the voices, but they never came back. Then Oliver, but he betrayed me. There was the dream-walk of the stranger who helped me, but who knew where he was? Now, it was just me and the hope of finding the only other person who cared about me.

My captors may care. In the way one cares about a mess they have to clean up, or maybe another dangerous creature would eat my leftovers. Then they wouldn’t have to bother themselves by cleaning up my dead carcass.

As the numbness crept up my calves, it brought me back to the nightmare in Marcus’s cement cage, of me struggling to beat the darkness and that unrecognizable male voice demanding I fight.

But what hope did I have of fighting off a beast ripping apart my body and draining me dry? I wasn’t strong enough for this. If my mom was still alive, I hoped she’d forgive me.

I let the Hellhound drink from me, waiting for the rest of the numbness as an annoyingly sweet melody whispered in my ears. Second by second, the music gained volume. But it wasn’t the normal clashing ice or a haunting melody. No, this was… jazz music.

It filled my chest with warmth and comfort, bringing to mind a steaming cup of hot chocolate and ending with a soft, off-tune hum.

My mom’s voice.

A treat before death.

Bittersweet tears trailed down my cheeks. I wished I could remember more. But if I had to die with her voice in my ear, I would.

The melody and numbness both climbed, two crescendos racing for two different peaks—one of light and one of darkness.

I closed my eyes, giving in to her hum, feeling guilty for the smile that twitched underneath the lingering agony.

She’d never know I gave up. But that didn’t lighten the guilt as I rasped, “I’m sorry, Mom.”

I let the music and light take me under.

My body limply moved from an uncomfortable tug. An unnatural sound and a hiss spliced through the music. Weight lifted off my chest, and I figured I was seconds away. Sound was the last to go, but I swore I heard my name.

“Did she do this?”

“Reduce a Hellhound to particles of dust. Looks like it.”

“But the cuffs,” someone said, shocked.

There was no answer to that. The humming jazz faded along with their voices.

Something tugged at my legs, bringing me back.

“She’s still losing blood.”

“Just leave her. We’ll find another one.”

“No, we’ll take her to the closest healer,” the voice said through my fuzzy hearing. I couldn’t tell who it was, but I heard the irritation.

Pressure tickled my back and knees.

“Fine. I can carry her for you, prince.”

“I’ll carry her. She is my duty.” He paused. “My duty to her.”

My sides stretched and bent in his arms, and I screamed bloody murder. He stiffened, adjusted me, and I flew back to the unconscious world—or possibly death.

The darkness I witnessed in our mind connection and the sense of contentment from her emotions confirmed that my Soulhound was sound asleep.

Rune!

Nothing.

Rune! I yelled again, sending her a sense of urgency and anger.

She blinked open an eye and slowly opened the other, irritated with me for waking her up.

Bark bordered her peripherals, and a forest spread out before her. She was bedded down in a hollow tree, her favorite place to sleep.

Where is the female? I snapped. It was like dealing with a damned teenager. I’d make Rune come home and take her place if I could, but that wasn’t possible.

She sent me a feeling of annoyance and walked over to the clearing she was supposed to be watching, finding it empty.

Fuck!

Find her!

“Hey, sweetie, wake up. I need you to drink this,” a gentle, high-pitched voice coaxed.

Too much pain and worry remained on the other side of this dreamless world. The worry felt off, but I didn’t have the energy or clarity to pinpoint why.

“Come on.” A hand tilted my head up. Barely aware, something pressed to my lips. “That’s it. This will help your bleeding.” A terrible taste entered my mouth. I took in some liquid, but most of it slid past my lips as my head lolled to the side.

There was a deep sigh as I settled back into something immovable but warm.

“Wasn’t she supposed to drink all of that?” A voice accused behind me, hot and sharp.

“Yes,” she said with concern. “Hopefully, it will be enough for now. After I stitch her, I’ll have to make her bindings tight. Once conscious, she’ll have to drink more of the coagulation serum. Until then, she will have to be checked frequently.”

Something moved from underneath me, making me groan.

“Will she live?”

Silence.

“Will she live?” The voice demanded. I cringed. The volume of their words snapped into my ear.

I heard another heavy sigh and then felt a lot of agonizing pressure. My head rolled back and forth as I whimpered, wanting the pain to stop.

“I’ll do my best. Now let her go so I can start.”

The ground moved a lot more this time, and my pain skyrocketed. Retreating from the pain, their voices softened.

“You will save her.”

“Careful, it sounds like you’re worried, Aspen.”

There was a grunt and what sounded like a door opening. “Only because she needs to be whole for my queen.”

“Your excuses seem to be weaker and weaker each time you visit.” Silence. “Nice job on the tourniquets and bandages,” she said begrudgingly after a moment.

“Learned from the best.”

An amused huff was the last sound I heard before fading to a numbing blackness.