It doesn’t break the skin, just indents the flesh as she glides the blade down my leg. I try my best not to shake, but fear… fuck... fear makes me lose myself.
“Now, do I bleed it out of you? Or do I use other ways to rid you of that blasted power?”
Her eyes squint in consideration, her red mouth screwing up to the side. I’m pretty sure whatever way she chooses, I’m not going to like it.
Iva’s known for tossing spells around like Skittles. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s Primary or because she’s one of the oldest, but none of the others have been known to cast spells. But who knows what she’s picked up in her long life.
Iva sets the knife down at the side of the table and places her slender hands tipped with blood red nails against the skin of my face.
Nope.
I don’t like this already.
When the chanting starts, I can’t focus on anything else but the pain. Like being covered in fire ants, or battery acid, or fire - if fire could actually burn me. Iva’s fingertips are digging into my cheeks, gouging my skin, the tiny bite of it is almost pleasurable compared to whatever spell she’s casting.
I can’t think.
I can’t breathe.
All I can do is lay here and pray this agony isn’t killing Rhys too.
* * *
I wake up in the gray, sterile, room from hell, again, seriously contemplating how many times I’m going to pass the fuck out in this hellhole.
At least I’m alone. Or at least, I think I’m alone. My head feels like it's filled with cotton, all sounds are muffled and muted. I’m not feeling any pain, though. That or my pain receptors decided to say, ‘fuck it’ and bailed on me while I was passed out.
I take advantage of my painless state and dislocate my left thumb.
Nothing. No pain at all.
I hope Rhys isn’t the recipient of it all. That would suck. I shimmy the cuff off and pop my thumb back in place. I bring both my arms down and shake the blood back into them. While I can’t feel pain right now, I do notice the half-numb feeling of the loss of circulation.
Now I have the arduous task of stretching my body off this table to try and reach the downed Soldier on the floor. I realize the Morganite blade is on the table just between my feet, so I move the blade from between my legs and gently place it on the ground. For as strong as they are, the wrong fall can shatter a Morganite blade into a million pieces.
The soldier I took out earlier is lying in a lump where he stumbled away near the end of the table. He is wearing the traditional Soldier garb of a steel breastplate held on by straps of leather and leather combat skirt.
That’s it. No under clothing, no tunic, nada.
I always thought it was a waste to have the Soldiers dressed as eye candy when the Oracles were blind.
The key to the shackles is clipped to the leather-studded belt holding his skirt up. I feel the chain pulling on my ankle, but I’m not bleeding, so I figure all’s well.
Just. One. More. Inch.
I nearly fumble the keys as I bobble them in my hand, and now I get to do the semi-hilarious half-crab walk back on the table.
I’m out of the shackles within seconds, and as I stand, I get my first real look at myself. I look like a horror movie reject in my blood-covered bra and panties. If the guys from the Black compound could see me now, I’d likely get laughed at for days. My thoughts go to them, and I hope everyone is okay. I scoop up the blade and quietly pad over to the door.
The door is unlocked, but I shove the cold keys into my bra for lack of a better place to put them, and I make my way towards the light. The hallway is at odds with the cell I just vacated. The rich wood paneling is tastefully adorned with paintings older than Iva, carefully lit to enhance viewing pleasure. Plush Persian rugs run the length of the hallway, and delicate but functional sconces light the way. Several doors line the hallway. My biggest fear is someone walking out of one of them, so I beat feet and silently get the fuck out of there.
I see the shadow of a figure moving up ahead, and before they see me, I move into the shadow of a doorway. I recognize Javier walking towards me, and I reach behind me and silently open the door, my back to the opening. I look over my shoulder to a black, silent room. No movement, no breathing. The smell is awful, though, as if someone or something has died here. I step into the room but leave the door open; sure he will come to investigate either the smell or the open door.
Sure enough, he does come, and even as I stop breathing, waiting for him to enter, I’m smiling. I keep the grin on my face as I efficiently cut off his head, and my grin widens as the cinderblock cell lights up while I turn him to ash. There is a figure on the bed, a woman. She’s not moving. Her matted brown hair covers her face, and as I check her and feel she is not true dead. From what I sense she’ll be out for a few more days.
Dead weight.
I can’t help her now, though, so I promise myself when I get out of here, I’m bringing people back with me to free her and anyone else being kept and tortured here.
I make my way out of the room and down the rest of the hallway to come to a large landing. Across the landing is a grand staircase, and on the opposite side is the stairwell leading to the kitchen that the servants use. I keep to the shadows and pad down the servant’s steps leading to the kitchen. It is bustling with women preparing a meal and me rushing in the room, a bloody, panty-clad woman, is going to go over like a fart at high tea.
I wait there trying to decide if taking a hostage is necessary for me to get out of here, or if these ladies are too busy to notice me. I hope for the best and choose option two. Crouching low I make it fifteen of the twenty feet to the door before a very young Gentry woman notices me. She may look young, but her soft brown eyes are haunted. She knows what’s chained within these walls. I put my finger to my lips, and she nods, looking away as if she’d seen nothing.
The next five feet are simple, and the door makes nary a squeak as it opens and shuts. I move from the warmth of the house to the cold, damp, darkness of the night waiting for me outside. I’m not sure where the hell I am, but the weather and tree line suggest the Pacific Northwest. The house sits atop a lush foothill of a verdant mountain. Somewhere in Oregon, possibly.
I can see some cut-up, dirt-covered, feet in my future.
Forests. Wilderness. Yuck. I hope there are trails that lead down the mountain, but I’m guessing the likelihood of that is slight.
The forest is louder than I expected. The trees rustle in the wind, bugs trill and chirp in the fading light, but I’m still the loudest thing here. As carefully as I step, and as slowly as I’m walking, I still make a huge freaking racket. I stop, trying to sense if anyone is following me, I feel nothing, so I pick up the pace figuring if slow is loud, then I might as well go fast.
The descent becomes sharp, and before I know it, the trees are starting to thin and then abruptly stop at the precipice of a cliff. I scramble to slow down and skid to a stop on my ass, my fingers scrabbling in the dirt and leaves to grab anything I can hold on to. I have two choices. I can try and climb the steep mountain I just skidded down, or I can try and phase and coast down this cliff.
While I do have wings, I have never flown. My primary feathers were cut by a Morganite blade when I was tortured by Iva long ago, so I know they’ll never grow back. But in the last one hundred and sixty years, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands, and I have studied bird anatomy. A bird can still coast with their secondary feathers. I might as well try it. It’s not like the fall will kill me.
I haven’t phased in some time, and in the absence of my feathers and flame, the burn of transformation has returned. The Fireskin is first, coating my hands to my limbs to my torso. The flame only burns for a second before it starts to heal. The cuts and scrapes on my feet and legs are closing; my thumbs no longer feel swollen and tight. My pain receptors haven’t come back yet, so I’m not sure if the pain has receded.
The wings are next, bones crunch and crac
k swiftly before the added weight of my feathers rests on my shoulders. It’s been too long. I stretch them, shaking them to adjust to their size. They’ve grown a little in the last ten years or so as they are known to do, and from what I know of our species, they won’t get much bigger. Thank God. They already reach the forest floor, the tips slightly bent and dragging.
They have changed color over the years. As a child, they were fluffy and white, with the barest hint of yellow on the coverts. As a teenager, they were bright orange and yellow. Now they are almost blood red at the tips of the feathers, bleeding to a candy apple red to amber. They are adult wings.
Even if they are mostly useless.
I stretch them out once more and allay my fear as I jump off the edge of the cliff. The ground rushes at me rapidly, and I’m positive I’m about to go splat before the feathers catch the air and I glide the rest of the way down.
I circle my feet in a running motion like skydivers before they land, but I fail miserably and completely biff the landing, eating dirt like a pro.
Well, at least I didn’t die.
The loud crack of footsteps sound swiftly to my left, but I’m still dazed and spitting out forest bracken to even react. Three pairs of black leather motorcycle boots attached to jean-covered legs appear before me. Two large pairs and one small, dainty, girly, pair. The small ones are tapping a single foot as if irritated.
I look up and see Rhys, West, and Evan, standing arms crossed looking pissed. It is completely possible I should have waited before jumping off a cliff.
Oops.
15
My Wife Is a Crazy Woman
RHYS
The SUV is full of people and pissed off energy.
Aurelia was held for a week before she escaped, and six days of that she was completely inert. The first day she woke up, she broke out. I don’t know if that’s scary or sexy as hell. I’m leaning towards sexy, because I haven’t seen my mate for a week, and it doesn’t matter if I was out for six days of it.
I still felt her gone.
Our bond has strengthened exponentially since we finally came together. I can sense her better than I ever could before. I knew where she was immediately upon waking, and the five of us got on a plane. I have never been happier to have rich friends; rich friends with private planes.
The closest airstrip is in Eugene, and from there we rented a car to get to the isolated compound in the Willamette National Forest.
Aidan and Ian are still sitting in the third row of the SUV; irate that West, Evan, and I left them with the rental when we saw my beautifully insane wife jump off a goddamn cliff.
On untested wings.
On untested, clipped wings.
So much for our rescue attempt.
Ian is still recovering from severe blood loss and irritated he can’t help more. Aidan is angry his half-brother is injured, pissed he got knocked out mid-battle, and that he didn’t notice Javier was a Revenant. Evan is mad we didn’t get to kill anyone, and I’d venture a guess West is angry for the same reason. I’m just happy to find Aurelia alive and relatively unharmed and close to me.
We stop at a Mom & Pop bed and breakfast on the way to Eugene to let Aurelia clean up and dress in something other than a blood-covered lingerie set. It’s probably fucked in the head, but seeing her bloody, half-naked and armed, made my dick stand at attention. And I’m positive I’m going to utilize this room’s full potential when I fuck my woman on every available surface until the others pound our door down when it’s time to go.
I don’t care if we need to get as far away as possible from Iva and her fucking Soldiers. I don’t care if we have bigger problems. I don’t fucking care.
I need her.
Sneaking her in was easy with the bevy of Wraiths in attendance, and by the time I get to our room, she’s already in the shower. The bathroom is simple and warm, decorated with white subway tiles and plush green bath rugs. Behind the waffle weave shower curtain, Aurelia is wet, naked and soapy. The water is tinted red from the blood washing from her skin.
I have this illogical urge to fuck her against the shower wall, but I don’t try and rationalize it, I just start stripping off my clothes. I’m in the shower before a word is spoken. Not that words are needed.
We both feel it. The necessity for the connection we share. The need. I don’t even wait for her to be clean; I just lift her against the cold tile, grab my dick to line it up with her slit and slam her down on my cock.
“Yesssss…” she hisses, her fingers snatching my hair and yanking my face to hers.
Our tongues collide, and I could give a shit about the rest of the world. All I care about right in this second is her wet heat on my dick, her lithe, corded body in my hands, and her taste on my tongue.
She writhes, trying to make me fuck her harder, faster. More. The noises she’s making, God, I love those fucking noises. I thrust harder, making her breath hitch, her fingernails gouging the skin on my shoulders, inciting a growl from me. I dig my fingers into her hips, slamming her down faster and faster until her wail of a moan signals her orgasm.
I lift her off of me; spin her around, pressing her steaming body against the freezing tile, and start fucking her from behind. She’s tight as a vice this way, and I know I’m not going to last. I reach around, clutching her beautiful lush tit in my hand and move my other hand down to play with her pretty little clit. I pinch her nipple and clit at the same time wrenching a scream from her as she comes again, ripping my orgasm from me. My groan is muffled when I sink my teeth into the flesh at her shoulder, just shy of breaking the skin, earning me a shuddering whimper and a final squeeze of her hot pussy.
I gently pull out and turn her so I can kiss her soft lips. Our afterglow is interrupted by an icy blast of water earning a grumble from Aurelia since she still has to finish her shower in the now freezing water.
I step out and redress, sitting on the toilet lid so I can talk to her. She was semi-manic after her brief flying episode, and it took an hour to get her to phase back. Maybe it was the trauma or maybe it was because it’s been nearly a decade since she’d last phased. In that hour, she told us everything, or what I’d hoped was everything given the lack of clothing when she escaped. As she was talking, I got a good look at her wings, and it took every ounce of strength I possessed to hold onto my rage. I thought either Evan or I knew everything there was to know about Aurelia, but I had no idea her wings were clipped. I had no inkling that something so basic for a Phoenix had been ripped from her.
I can’t believe I missed something so vital. It makes me wonder what else Iva has taken from her.
The way she told it, Iva thought she could remove her Aegis. That scares the shit out of me because if she did remove it, one leg of Aurelia’s protection is dust. And if she didn’t, Aurelia’s Aegis could come back at any time.
She could hurt someone.
Kill someone.
I doubt Aurelia can take one more ounce of guilt.
I’m still working up the courage to talk to her about our next move when the shower shuts off and my shivering so-cold-she’s-turned-blue woman shudders her way out of the tub. I wrap her in towels and open the cabinet in search of a blow dryer.
“Stop, baby,” she says, staying my hands as they raid the last cabinet. She knows something is still bothering me by my slamming of cabinets and drawers I guess. “If you want to know something, just ask. If you want to tell me something, just tell me. I love you, and I’m so happy we made it back together. So whatever it is, I can take it.”
“Did anything happen in there? Anything that you didn’t want to say in front of the others? Like why you escaped wearing only panties?” I ask this, but I really don’t want to know. Knowing will result in me getting us killed because I’d be going back to that compound to kill anyone I could get my hands on if they so much as touched her.
“No, baby. There was a Soldier who tried to get frisky, but my last act as an Aegis shocked him bad enough to make him piss hi
mself.”
The anger that throbbed through me slides away. “My bloodthirsty wife.”
“Wife, huh?” she says with a smile.
“Well, we’re already bonded, might as well call a spade, a spade. If you want the party and pretty dress you can have it, but it doesn’t change the fact you’ve been my wife for a very long time,” I say. I know that while Lucien was her husband once, our bond trumps his claim on her. Iva bonding us annulled their marriage, at least in our world, it’s as if their union never existed.
“I want the party and the pretty dress. And a ring. A big honking, sparkly, competes-with-the-sun size ring. But later. Deal?”
“Deal,” I say as I take her mouth in a fierce kiss.
“Anything else?” she asks when we break for breath.
“How do you want to play this? You escaped, yes, but we didn’t win, Gorgeous. And now you’re down a power, and we don’t know when or if it’s coming back. We need to decide where we’re going.” She considers this for about half a second before she answers.
“I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed. Evan, John, and their entire crew can come with us, I have the room. My house is secluded, secure and has my studio. I need to shake this off and think of a new plan to get this bitch. There were prisoners there, Rhys. Who knows how many there are. We have to stop Iva before she finds us. And we have to save those people.”
“I think we can do that. I know the Wraiths will help. In combat, they are far superior to us. And you’re right, we can’t let her take another life. Let’s talk to the others, see if they’re onboard.”
She nods and moves me aside to grab the dryer and get to work on her heavy fall of hair. I leave the bathroom to collect a fresh set of clothes and whatever else Evan has procured for her in the last hour. I open the door to find the manic pixie holding three bulging shopping bags emblazoned with the names Lucky, Victoria’s Secret, and Ulta.
Scattered Ashes Page 13
