Chapter 14 - Wings of Lies

“Look how tiny the female is,” hissed a voice.

“Why would she want someone like her?” hissed another. Each letter ‘S’ was a drop of water hitting a hot stove.

“We should eat her.”

“Eat what? Look at her skinny arms and legs.”

The raspy voices slowly pierced through the jumbled dream-walk of the stranger and dull throbbing in my skull. What did they just say? Something about eating?

“Idiot! Remember the last time we ate a prisoner?”

“What about just a nibble?”

“No.”

Were they talking about eating me? Awareness shot through my drowsiness. It took every ounce of willpower not to open my eyes or scramble away from the voices. Maybe if I continued to act asleep, they’d leave me alone.

“But I’m hungry, Cacus,” he whined closer to my ear. Hot, pungent breath hit the side of my face. I tensed, fighting the urge to lean away, and heard a soft chinking. Warm metal slid against my wrists, forcing my arms behind my back—the cuffs.

The throbbing in my head screamed at me through my rising panic.

Breathe. Don’t let them know you’re awake.

“Oh! Bael, we’re almost to Chatoyant Forest!”

“Yant Foxes. My favorite.” His spoiled egg breath shifted away.

My neck hovered at an awkward angle, nearly touching my shoulder. Despite my muscles screaming at me to shift, I figured it best to stay this way until I understood what was happening.

My bruised head bounced painfully against a wooden wall. After the fourth bounce, I stiffened my lolling muscles—a small change. One I hoped wasn’t too noticeable. But it was worth it as it saved my head from the constant bruising. Unlike my bottom, which absorbed every bump from every nook and cranny we dipped into. Did they know how to drive?

A soft clip clop interrupted the hissing voices of Cacus and Bael. They were arguing over how many Yant Foxes they’d eat. Better than eating me. But what was that clip-clop noise?

Horses?

I ached to open my eyes and squeezed them tighter as the jostling reached a standstill. Keep them shut. Don’t move. Pretend, Lucy. Pretend. But the tightness in my neck cramped, shooting a biting pain into my muscles. I jerked my hands, wanting to massage it. Metal clanked against metal. I stiffened, hoping they didn’t hear. Stay still, Lucy. Stay—shit! Unable to withstand it, I straightened my neck, waiting for the pungent scent and hisses to descend. When they didn’t, I risked a peek.

I was in a carriage.

The tan, boxy thing, illuminated by one small window, revealed a figure hidden in the corner.

A guy slept wedged between boxes, with his knees bent and head tilted back, which was good. What wasn’t good was the familiar uniform hugging his toned frame, only black instead of blood-red and with an azure blue emblem. The colors must be a ranking.

Hissing erupted, making me rethink the idea of opening my eyes. Slowly, I turned to my right, thinking it was too late to return to pretending.

Maybe it wasn’t too late. But how could I possibly close my eyes again, knowing three feet away, hunched two scaly monsters? My fingers hooked into a plank groove, barely preventing me from scooting away. But I was already moving too much.

They filled the back half of the carriage with their bulbous bodies. Horns jutted from their unnaturally large heads. At first, they both crouched underneath the square window, staring at something. Then, one hissed and shoved his shoulder into the other. Their horns scraped across the top of the wooden ceiling as they fought. A small circle of light flashed through the gaps of their shoving.

A peephole underneath a window?

My eyes widened as one slammed the other into the wall, rocking the carriage and dislodging my weak hold on the wooden plank, sliding me forward. I cringed at the sound of my metal chains dragging. But they took no notice, too occupied with shoving each other.

With small movements, I glanced to the corner, wondering about the male, and met drilling blue eyes.

Shit, a hundred times over.

We stared at each other, neither moving nor blinking. Under his scrutiny, tiny beads of sweat condensed on my forehead. I wanted to drop my eyes, but something predatorial held me. I swallowed. His searing gaze followed the contraction of my muscles, making me inhale my spit. My face flushed as I held back a cough, then hacked, lips failing to muffle the noise.

“Shit!” I squeaked as one of the black creatures yanked me into their arms.

“Bael! She lives, and her eyes! She will be pleased.” The creature rasped. Bael turned his head toward me, and my stomach dropped to my toes.

I was going to die.

He laughed with a mouth of sharp, crimson teeth. “Afraid pipsqueak?” he hissed.

Afraid? Was I afraid of the three beady eyes the same color as its razor teeth and the symbols dotting its entire body? Was I afraid of the slits it had in place of a nose or the slimy scales that squeezed against my body, preventing me from moving?

No, I was terrified.

The thing squeezed me harder as it laughed with his buddy. A familiar pressure stabbed at the invisible barrier under my skin.

Bael crowded in. My heart pounded against Cacus’s large bicep, compressing my jerking lungs.

“She smells good, brother.”

“So, what about that nibble, Cacus?” Bael shifted his weight between his feet, shaking the carriage. “Please, please?”

He was begging to eat me? To take a nibble?

I shook. Bael’s red razors glinted in the window light, slick with saliva. A glistening glob trailed down his chin while he widened his lipless mouth. Rotten egg breath heated my face, and I realized Cacus had lowered his mouth to my ear.

“You don’t want to eat me. I—I taste bad!” I stuttered out. Black specs seemed to think it was a good time to invade my vision.

I was about to pass out, and they were going to eat me.

Caucus and Bael laughed before they both drew in and sniffed.

“No, you smell delicious.”

Bit by bit, the stabbing sensation ripped into my barrier, seeking the outer portion of my skin. Please surface! It couldn’t be like with Marcus’s goons.

Its sticky lips pressed against my neck when it happened—a flash of light, a sharp jolt of pain, hissing, rocking, hands jerking, and a tingle.

One moment, I was about to be snacked on, and the next, my back was pressed against a chest angled away from the hissing things. The scaly creatures bared their teeth, holding their arms to their chests.

“Stupid beasts. She’s not a snack! She’s our prisoner!” I flinched at the ferocity of the male’s voice in my ear.

“But it wouldn’t damage her too much. Just her ear?” Bael supplied, hopeful. The thing sounded like a little kid begging for a second cookie after dinner. They were insane! What were these things?

The guy behind me snorted with disgust. “She is not for you. Find a snack in the forest, or next time, I’ll take the teeth you cherish.”

He jerked me around to face him. But my focus lingered on Cacus’s and Bael’s hissing. Pointed black tongues came out of their mouths and wrapped around the wounds on their arms. I shuddered.

“You.” A calloused hand came up and gripped my chin, forcing me to look at the guy who held me, shocking my skin with pinpricks of electricity.

Full lips pressed into a line, right at my eye level. His grip on my chin tightened, and the pinpricks of electricity increased. I dropped my gaze from his grimace, finding a bright red scrolling scar beneath his chin. I followed his chiseled jawline up his sweeping cheekbones and landed on his pissed-off bright blue eyes.

“Try something like that again, and it’ll hurt you more than us. Understand?” He punctuated his question, which wasn’t a question, with a shove, pushing me away like he couldn’t stand to touch me.

Unbalanced with my restrained arms, I fell into the wooden wall. Stunned, I leaned there, flickering my eyes between the bulky black beasts and the guy with the indifferent expression.

“Did you hear me?”

My fingers dug into my palms. The cords in my center hummed, plucked by his domineering tone.

“Go to hell.”

Cacus and Bael snickered to the side of us, shutting up quickly with a jerk of the male’s head. I guess my new jailor was an asshole with authority. From the way he not only bruised my chin but shoved me into the side of the carriage, I knew he was as bad as Marcus and Oliver. A wash of betrayal and defeat struck. How would I ever find Magda and my mom now?

Oliver gave me up. He was the first person I trusted, and he placed me back into their arms. Now, here I was—cuffed, with two creatures who looked like nightmares and a guy with a penchant for rough handling. I had no clue where Marcus and Oliver were. Maybe this was their hired help.

Was this what she meant when she said to come to Elora? A weight settled on my shoulders and burrowed into my chest. Was this all one big ploy?

“Get out. It’s time to set up camp,” snapped an older man from behind the bulbous bodies of Cacus and Bael.

Graying hair and a long beard peeked through the small gap between the creatures. From the wrinkles on his forehead, he appeared to be in his sixties. A gray cloak flowed behind him over a gray tunic and pants, dull and different from the casual, more modern clothes I wore. Even the full garb the younger man wore was different.

Carriages, old clothing, stiff leather uniforms, strange creatures—This was Elora?

The older man stood chest-level with the carriage. One long scar ran from the start of his nose to the middle of his cheek. It moved as he pursed his lips impatiently, watching the younger man grab supplies in the back. The creatures pushed each other, hunched and shambling the few feet to the back opening.

I thought about refusing to leave the carriage, but the empty, enclosed space brought back memories of my cement closet. So, I followed behind the things. Weak and unused to the weight of the chains, I tripped out of the carriage. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for another crack on my skull. But before I could suffer another head injury, a shot of electricity hit my bicep, and my descent stopped.

What the hell was that?

I narrowed my gaze on the tingling hand.

“You know, you squeal like a little female,” Blue-eyes remarked.

Did he mean little girl?

The sensation of skittering bugs replaced the odd tingles. “At least my face doesn’t look like one,” I said, cringing. That was the worst-timed impulsive comeback I’d ever said and a complete lie. I wished he looked like a little girl and not like some male model or handsome storybook prince.

His face turned cold, or colder, and he let go. The electricity and itch disappeared, and I landed in a painful heap on the ground, my left hip taking the brunt of the fall.

“Ouch.” Wincing, I lifted my torso, brushing off as much dirt and gravel as possible, which wasn’t much with my wrists locked behind my back. Gravel dug into my tricep. Great, more scrapes and bruises. I couldn’t brush it off, so I left it between my dirty, ripped skin, glaring at the stupid pebbles.

That annoying itch started back up, growing when I glared at my blue-eyed jailor, who had the audacity to smile smugly as he jumped gracefully to the ground. I wanted to grow claws like the beast unpacking our gear and wipe that smile off his perfect face.

I stood, looking around. White trees about two feet wide bordered the clearing, wrapping around us. Their peeling peach flesh and golden leaves were similar to the trees I left on Earth. The only difference was what hid underneath. Instead of another layer of white or tan bark, iridescent scars reflected off the lowering sun.

Strange.

“Where are we?”

When I first got to Elora, it was night, which meant by the light shining through a cloudless sky, I had been knocked out for… I didn’t know. Long enough for it to be afternoon again, but that could’ve been hours, days, a week. Based on the state of my clothes, I assumed it was through the night and the better part of the day.

“Elora,” Blue-eyes said.

“Elora is the world. Where exactly in Elora are we?”

“She’s smarter than she looks,” Blue-eyes mocked, handing over supplies to the snickering monsters.

I gritted my teeth, catching a piece of my torn cheek that I always bit into. “Well?”

“Well, you better get used to disappointment. Your questions aren’t worth our answers, prisoner.”

Asshole.

I analyzed the five feet separating us and the iridescent birch tree line. It’s not like they were paying attention. If this was my only chance at escaping and finding my mom, so be it. I was already cuffed. What more could they do? Without a second thought, I ran. Before I sprinted all of three steps, my face slammed into a woolen cloak, and Graybeard shoved me to the ground.

He squatted, looking smug. Unguarded disdain pushed at his bushy eyebrows. “I’d refrain from making that mistake twice. Next time, I won’t be so nice,” he said, standing and walking back to the others. They carried wood, blankets, pans, and other odds and ends to the center of the clearing.

I yanked at my chains and yanked again. The metal cuffs dug into my bony wrists. That damned Nephilim!

Whether Oliver, his name made me sick, found me, or Marcus, I would have still ended up where I was now. The little bit of freedom I had was an illusion. I wrenched at the cuffs until warmth slid down my pinky finger. Then, the itching came. Great. I didn’t need ice right now. I needed my Glory, which meant I needed fear.

I closed my eyes and pushed my rage away with thoughts about my mom and what could be happening to her. The itching faded, replaced by poking and pressure.

That’s it. Come on.

My mom was always there for me. The pieces I remembered from my last dream-walk enforced that notion. And someone took her from me.

The poking turned to stabs.

“Meditating isn’t going to help you,” Blue-eyes called out.

I ignored him. The moment I melted these off, I would need to lusceler away.

What if someone was hurting her?

My Glory surged. Needles stabbed me, and a powerful shock jolted into my body. I screamed.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Scared and stubborn, I tried again, pushing past the pain. My Glory tried to erupt, and a larger bolt of electricity slammed into my body, locking up my muscles. I fell forward, about to faceplant into the ground.

Gravel crunched, and Blue-eyes caught my shoulders.

“Stop! The cuffs prevent the use of power through electric shocks.”

I stopped. But not because he looked ready to slit my throat if I didn’t. The electricity scrambled my thoughts, and I couldn’t take the pain.

Would I ever see my mom again?

Once he realized I could hold my torso up, he released me and stood. I vacantly stared at his black leather boots, refusing to test if my legs would hold me until the lingering vibrations left.

“What do you want from me?” I whispered, trying to hide the fact that my throat was tightening. His hand moved in my peripheries, latching onto something near his hip. I lifted my gaze an inch and saw the top of a sword.

Part of me thought it’d put me out of my misery, and another part bristled at my weakness.

“Probably nothing you’re thinking about right now,” he said, fingers flexing on the hilt.

If I had any energy left, I would’ve scoffed. He had no idea my thoughts were bringing me to a suffocating place. A place where rage, fear, and hope dug their own graves, hanging on by fraying threads.

I lifted my gaze, forgetting to hide my pain, as I stopped at his dark-lashed eyes.

“Then what?”

He released his hand from the pommel, crossing his arms. “I’m here to ensure you get where you’re supposed to go.”

“Which is where?”

Why did I have to sound like that? So… pitiful.

He stood there and watched me hunch in on myself, lying in dirt and gravel. Swallowing, I shoved down the tears threatening to spill and welcomed the distraction of a different sort. “I need to pee.”

“Brock will take you.”

As if signaled, the older man came around the corner of the carriage. Or that’s what I thought it was supposed to be. It was more like a dirty, run-down, wooden box on wooden wheels—a thing of the past, much like the clothes they wore.

“Brock,” I pushed the harsh syllable out of my mouth, testing it out. “And you are?” I didn’t care, but the more logical part of me figured it was best to know.

“Aspen,” he stated with something I couldn’t pinpoint in his expression. There was no similar inquiry, which was what I expected. I was a prisoner. My name didn’t matter.

Scar-faced Brock grabbed my bicep and led me away like the captive I was. We walked into the forest of birch trees that were not birch trees. If I ignored the iridescent scars, they reminded me of the forest I had camped in with—I cut off the thought. I didn’t want to remember who caused this. Not while a calloused hand now dug into my bare skin, shoving me on. Each shove and stumble cut away at the little hope I had left.

“Here,” Brock pointed to a spot, moving in front of the tree to give me privacy. If you called two feet privacy. Prisoner, I kept reminding myself. I wouldn’t get the luxury of freedom or being more than a few feet from these—I still didn’t know what they were. If they were in Elora, they couldn’t be human. Angels, possibly, but I didn’t think to look that closely at their eyes. Those other creatures, Cacus and Bael, weren’t angels.

But then, what were they? Monsters? Demons? Some other creature species?

Inch by inch, I tugged down my joggers with my cuffed hands. Luckily, they were loose and untied, or I would’ve had to ask for help or wet myself. At one point, Brock glanced back to see what had been taking so long, and I shot him with my fiercest glare. He sneered in reply.

The surrounding area had no chirping or skittering animals to interrupt the silence. Instead, we were left with the noise of my dribble and the crunching taps of Brock’s foot.

Paused in a crouch, I shook myself like a wet dog, deprived of the luxury of toilet paper. Just one more thing to be happy about as I struggled to inch my pants up. Before they reached my upper thighs, a hand latched onto my arm, yanking me away from the tree.

“Let’s go.” Brock shoved me forward. I tripped on my joggers, exposing more of myself. Mortified, I arched back to grab them, hurrying to pull them up, only to be shoved again. They fell to my hiking boots.

“Come on, put them on already,” he taunted.

The smile in his voice as he viewed my exposed privates twisted my stomach. My cheeks heated, and my throat tightened. The tears I tried so hard to hold back fell as I shimmied them up. Once they were in place, he continued his shoving, like I needed another reminder of how helpless I was.

“What do you want?” I cringed at the weak whine of my voice.

“Nothing.” Brock changed tactics, latching onto my arm, and dragging me behind him instead of shoving. The tip of my hiking boot caught onto a thin root, unbalancing me as Brock’s fingers pinched my skin, forcing me to regain my balance or be dragged.

“Then who does?” He stayed silent. “Who do you work for? Marcus? Are you a part of the Tenebrous Kingdom?”

“Seems you know more than Marcus,”—he spat his name—“let on.”

“So, you work for Marcus?”

His fingernails dug into my skin, almost piercing through. “Never. Now shut up.”

We broke through the trees, and Brock dragged me to Aspen. Who sat on a dead log sharpening his sword. Brock shoved me in front of him, making me stumble, and left. I clamped down on my cheeks, tasting blood, welcoming the physical pain over the emotional one.

I stared down at Aspen, hoping he couldn’t see the dried streaks of tears that stuck to my cheeks.

“I see Brock didn’t have to carry your limp body back. Wasn’t sure after your foolish display from earlier.” He continued to move the whetstone across the edge of his curved blade, brown locks hiding most of his face.

I refused to say anything.

“You didn’t listen to me.”

Listen to him? About what? Being a prisoner without the right to know things?

“Why would I listen to a word you have to say?” I snapped, clenching my teeth as I spoke to hold back more tears.

He finally lifted his head. Coffee locks scattered across his forehead as his eyes narrowed. They roamed my face, glanced on either side of me, and then back to my face. Despising his attention, I dropped my gaze to his neck and the silver chain that partially hid beneath his stiff leather uniform. I imagined choking him with it. The skittering of feet prompted me to imagine more ways I’d kill him to escape. The only good thing about my purple power was the ease at which it shoved every emotion away except my blistering anger.

“Cacus and Bael should be finding our dinner. I’d say make yourself useful, but the cuffs hinder that. I guess go sit somewhere until we eat.”

“Oh, and sweetheart?” My gaze jumped back to his at the condescending endearment. “Don’t try to wander off. Not only are you powerless, but these ancient forests would swallow you whole and kill you. That is, if I didn’t catch you first.” His glacial eyes flashed a bright blue before settling back to their normal color. It happened so fast that I was sure I was imagining things.

“Whatever you say, asshole,” I said, then turned and left to find a place to sit.

Far from them, on the opposite end of camp, seemed like the best choice. My back and wrists rested against one of the peeling white trees, shoulders aching—especially the one hit by lightning. I sat at an angle and faced the thicker part of the woods. They beckoned, whispering of freedom, of answers.

I shot a glance at Aspen, still sharpening his sword. A few feet away from him, Brock stoked a fire. But no one paid attention to me. The temptation to run and find a way to Magda’s was there.

I knew they were paying attention. It may not look like it, but they knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. And if by any chance my jailor told the truth, then I wouldn’t make it a night out there, not with these cuffs on and not with having no supplies or survival skills. That was what Oliver was for. Now, I had no one.

A heavyweight replaced the anger simmering in my core, removing the itching tickles.

I was helpless and alone. With no answers.

Something flashed in my peripherals. I stared in between the dimming gaps of the white trees, waiting. But the shadow was gone.

A twig snapped on my other side. I jerked.

“Jumpy?”

I squeezed my fists at his voice. Glaring, I tilted my chin up, eyeing two specs of red hidden in his swaying beard. His yellow eyes narrowed into the forest. I swung my neck back, looking again, but there was nothing.

“What’s out there?” I asked, regretting that I was talking to him but needing to know if my other jailor told the truth.

Brock grunted. “Anything and everything. From creatures that would burrow into your stomach to eat your intestines to healers that would attempt to save your life for a few coins. We’re in The Divide. A place where there are no rules or laws for anyone. It’s a free-for-all of sorts. Some live here, and many die here.”

The Divide, so we weren’t in the Tenebrous Kingdom yet.

“You’re actually telling me?” I hadn’t expected such a thorough answer.

Weren’t his eyes just yellow? Now, they were the color of a fall leaf before it crinkled and fell.

His arms crossed. “Makes my job easier. So, you don’t think you can run off like all the rest.”

All the rest?

I opened my mouth and forgot what I was about to say as the burnt orange turned green. “Your eyes.”

A slow, pretentious smile answered me, covered partially by his thick mustache. “That sliver of hope I still feel in you, it’s best you drown it. No one is coming. No one is getting past our group. And running will get you killed. You wouldn’t survive out there.” He nodded down to my cuffs. “Not even a night. So please, save Prince Aspen and me the inconvenience of having to find your bleeding carcass.” With that beautiful description, he turned away and ended our conversation with a “Dinner’s ready.”

He felt my dimming hope? What hope? I could barely feel it. He must’ve sensed the particles of dust squashed beneath the boots of betrayal and capture.

Marcus handed me over to a prince. Or maybe handed isn’t the right word. Before they knocked me out, Marcus sounded surprised that some prince had shown up. He wasn’t expecting him. But they all must be from the Tenebrous Kingdom, so why would it matter to Marcus if he took me to his sovereign or Prince Aspen?

My bottom and back were stiff by the time I decided to stand. As much as I tried to ignore my stomach, its screams were too loud. It didn’t help watching the four figures eat Cacus and Bael’s catches. Although, how did they manage to collect food for everyone else and not just eat it all themselves? Maybe they had their fill of Yant Foxes before they came back.

Nightfall crept in, casting long shadows across the campsite as I made my way over to the sputtering fire. Luckily, my princely jailor was gone. He disappeared into the woods along with the disgusting creatures. Brock was the only one left by the campsite.

“What can I eat?” I asked, keeping a safe distance away. Brock had utterly mortified me, but I was also starving.

Brock peered up from his stump. “Squirrel and rabbit,” he stated, holding out a metal plate with two chunks of meat, staring back into the fire as he did.

Was I supposed to grab it with my teeth? Or was this another reminder he was giving me, wanting to break down the last of my hope and rub the dust in my face? He smirked knowingly when I didn’t take it.

I bit my lip, feeling the itch, hating him even more.

He set it beside him. “Prince Aspen has your keys.”

Great.

I stood and waited for his arrogant bastard to return. While I did, a neon orange bug the size of a piece of rice landed on my arm. Another landed next to it.

“Firewings. Don’t let them bite you,” Brock said, unconcerned despite his warning.

I looked warily between him and the orange bugs. “Why?” They were cute.

“It burns. And once bitten, it’s a beacon to its swarm that they’ve found a meal.”

Wonderful.

“But don’t squash them either. It’ll end with the same result.”

Gritting my teeth, I asked, “What the hell do I do then?”

He shrugged, then said, “They don’t like fire.”

That was ironic.

I leaned my left side near the fire. The uncomfortable heat pinkened my skin, and the bugs flew into the night sky. I followed their bright bodies, wishing I could escape as easily as them.

The food was cold by the time my arrogant jailor came back. But it didn’t matter. I’d eat it. My body needed food.

As he approached, Brock gestured to my plate, then my hands. “She can’t eat. And if I fed her, she’d likely bite my fingers off.”

He never offered that option. Although, the thought of maiming one of them brought a twinge of happiness. But it wouldn’t have made a difference. I’d rather kneel on the ground and shove my face into my plate of food like a stray dog than let those worn, calloused fingers come near me ever again.

Like I had a choice.

My princely jailor walked directly into my path, adorned with a cloak similar to Brock’s, only black. He inserted himself in the small space between me and the fire. I wished I could have held my ground and make him back up a few steps, so he’d catch fire. But this was where hopes and wishes died. Instead, I was the one to back up.

“I don’t think she has the guts to bite anyone’s fingers off. Do you?”

I narrowed my eyes. A trickle of indignation tickled the tips of my fingers. “Wanna find out?”

His cold gaze slowly roved over me, taking in everything from my wavy limp locks to my scrawny ankles. By the muscle pumping in his jaw and the ire warping around his chilling gaze, I could tell he found me lacking.

“No. I want you to eat your food and be quiet,” he snapped, walking around me to unlock my cuffs.

The release of my wrists eased the tension in my shoulders, pulling out a blissful sigh from my mouth. Finally, I stepped toward my plate, eager to sink my teeth into the food, not caring it had a rubbery sheen. Inches away from snatching up the plate, my arm jerked back, tethered to something.

What the…

My eyes traveled down my arm, to the metal cuff, to the other metal cuff attached to a thick muscular wrist, and back up to the expressionless mask on my princely jailor’s face.

“Seriously?”

“The cuffs don’t work unless they’re both locked,” he stated, glaring at me like I was the one who forced him to cuff himself.

“Uh, you couldn’t, I don’t know, cuff the same wrist twice? Or lock them in front of my body instead of chaining me to…” I eyed him up and down, giving him a taste of what it felt like, and snorted. “Well, you.”

He tensed as his eyes… Glowed? The firelight highlighted his left side, leaving his right in shadow. But both his eyes and something red under his chin were lit.

“Remember she wants her alive, Prince Aspen,” Brock said, carving into a chunk of wood. Unphased.

“Eat your damned food!” my jailor yelled, taking one step closer.

“Gladly!” I screamed back but lost my bravado when his eyes erupted in blue flame.

“Scream at me again, and I’ll dump you and your food into the fire!”

Frozen, I stared. What the hell was that?

“Eat!”

I stepped back from the ferocity of his voice, no longer craving to test him. What in my right mind made me want to in the first place? He had flames for eyes. He was corded in muscle and wore a sword and daggers on his hip that couldn’t possibly be for show. And I had what? Ice and flames when I was emotional? Powers that the cuffs now blocked unless I felt like electrocuting myself.

My shoulders slumped as I turned. His one step closer barely gave me enough slack to touch the plate with my fingertips. After wiggling it into my palm, I stood and gazed at the rubbery thighs. Bits of white fuzz speckled the meat. Despite their gross state, my fingers trembled from holding back. My hunger was a needy, depraved thing.

“Is it drugged?”

“No,” he said at the same time Brock said, “Maybe.”

Believing the princely jailor, I jerked my chained wrist, latched onto the bony meat, and devoured every morsel. Cooled juices slid down the sides of my cheeks, and I ended up wiping them with my bare arm.

“Cacus and Bael have better manners than you do,” Brock said, lip lifting in disgust.

I found that doubtful and flipped him off. “Go to hell.”

In less than a second, something swiped at my feet, and I fell onto my back, bones and plate flying from my hand while the other dangled in the air.

“Insult me again, and we can have some fun,” Brock said, stepping on my wrist. Without his full weight, it wasn’t too bad. Until he put more weight into the step, then pivoted back and forth, grinding my bones together. My gasps turned into whimpers. “Would you like that?”

“No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t,” I begged.

“That’s enough, Brock.”

Brock jerked his head up, shot my princely jailor a scowl, and then glanced down at me disgusted. “Glad we understand each other.” He pressed harder, giving me his last punishing pivot. I cried out, and my princely jailor shoved Brock off me.

“I said stop!”

But he couldn’t get Brock off me fast enough. Agony slammed into my wrist, and it snapped.

I bit my lips hard, muffling the wail, as Brock stalked off.

Tears trailed silently down my cheeks as I lay on the ground, refusing to move. My dangling arm lowered. The chain jangled, and with a soft chink and snap, my unbroken wrist flopped to the ground, heavier.

“You should have never come through that portal.”

I twisted my head to meet his glowing eyes. Rage, unlike any I’d ever seen, twisted his princely face.

And I—weak, alone, broken—agreed.