The Exiled

by Frost Kay

  He didn’t. If anything, he stepped closer.

  “I asked you a question. Where the hell have you been?”

  She shrugged. “Running.”

  “Running?” he bit out. “In the dark?”

  “Is that a crime?” Hazel asked dully. “Will you sell me once again? Maybe to your buddy Marco?”

  “Marco?”

  “Never mind,” she muttered. Her bed was so close, and she didn’t owe the man in front of her an explanation. If he wouldn’t move, she’d just go around him.

  Hazel slipped from his shadow and took only one step before the most intimidating snarl she’d ever heard froze her in place. The monster stepped into her space and lifted her chin. His eyes, like chips of onyx, were fixed on her cheek.

  Her very bruised cheek.

  “How did this happen?”

  She kept her mouth firmly shut. Inside, she railed at herself to speak the truth. Abuela would most likely send her back to the farm to harvest, which meant dealing with Marco. She didn’t want to garner any more of his attention than she already had.

  “How?” he growled, leaning into her face.

  “I’m clumsy in the dark,” she woodenly repeated the story she’d made up three days ago, still reeling from the gentle way he cradled her face, “I’ve been working long hours and coming home when the sun has already set. I fell.” A shrug. “I can’t help being human.”

  Her skin heated beneath his palm as he continued studying her face. What was he looking for? If he thought she would give up her secrets, he’d have to do better than that.

  “Abuelita,” he called.

  “Si, mi hijo?” she answered from the porch.

  “Is this the story she told you?”

  “Si.”

  “And you believe her?”

  Hazel held her breath. The old bat knew she hadn’t fallen in the dark.

  “The niña hasn’t given me any reason not to.” She tapped her cane on the porch. “Now, she’s home safe and sound. The rest of you can leave.”

  Hazel pulled back from the monster and carefully picked her way through the herb garden, her feet leaving footprints in the damp earth. She plopped down on the porch next to the old woman, the uneven wood digging into her butt, but she didn’t care. It felt good just to be sitting. A moment longer on her legs, and they probably would have given out.

  Three out of the four avian warriors murmured polite goodnights and launched into the air, not sparing her a second glance. Thank goodness. Jameson leaned against one of the porch supports and grinned at her.

  “Causing mischief again, sweetheart?” he teased.

  “Mischief seems to find me,” she mumbled, her attention seeking out the dark form standing among the herbs. That and dark winged dragons.

  A hand touched the top of her head, and Hazel peered up at the woman sitting in her weathered rocking chair.

  “You look a fright, niña. What have you been up to?” Abuela asked.

  “Running.”

  “Running for the sake of exercise, or running from someone?” the old woman questioned.

  Hazel leaned her unbruised cheek on the arm of the rocking chair. “A bit of both, maybe.”

  Jameson abandoned his perch and sat on the other side of Hazel, his feathered wing brushing the back of her arm. For the first time, she didn’t pull away. She was just too bloody tired. And why should she anyway?

  “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us what is wrong,” Jameson muttered. “Contrary to your belief, were not monsters. We don’t want to see you hurt.”

  There were some that wanted to see her hurt, but she couldn’t think about that or she wouldn’t sleep tonight. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re far from fine, niña. You’re lost,” Abuela said, her smoky voice blending with the night.

  Truer words had never been spoken. Hazel was so lost. She didn’t know who was friend or foe, Tainted or Untouched, the heroes or the villains…

  Most of all, she didn’t know who she was. Before leaving Harbor, Hazel thought she had moral lines, but in the process of trying to get home, she’d hurt a friend—something she’d never thought she would do.

  “How do I find my way back?” she wondered out loud. “I belong nowhere.”

  “You keep moving forward. One day, you’ll find your place,” the old woman commented.

  One day seemed a long time away.

  Twelve

  Noah

  He tipped his head back and flexed his wings, tempted to fly away to get his emotions under control. As it was, rage seethed just beneath the surface. The girl could lie until she was blue in the face, but that wouldn’t change the shape of the bruise on her face.

  Someone had clearly backhanded her.

  A shudder rocked him as he wrestled with his temper. Who dared lay a hand on her? He had one guess, but there wouldn’t be any proof. Marco and his minions were very good at hiding their crimes and scaring others into silence.

  Noah released a hiss of breath. He’d thought the Untouched would have more sense than to lie for the bastard. Marco must have done something pretty heinous to shut the girl up, which made him angry all over again as he remembered the acrid scent of terror and hopelessness wafting off his slave.

  It took him another five minutes to reel in his temper. He turned and walked back to his grandmother’s home. He masked his surprise at the scene that greeted him. His abuelita carefully sifted through the girl’s silvery-blonde hair with her black claws as the Untouched leaned her cheek against the arm of the rocking chair, looking for all the world like a cherished granddaughter. Something pulled tight in his chest at the picture they made. His attention moved to Jameson’s wing, which was flared slightly to cocoon the girl.

  Logically, he knew his friend was just being kind to the girl, but the completely wild side of him wanted to tear Jameson’s arm off. Noah scowled at himself. He needed to fly to clear his head or spar or something. Usually, he wasn’t so territorial. It was damn inconvenient.

  He stopped at the foot of the porch. “Abuelita, she clearly needs her rest and some healing paste. Do you have some?”

  “Si, mi hijo. It’s on the counter inside. Why don’t you help Hazel with her face?”

  Inwardly, he groaned at the steely glint in his grandmother’s eyes. He wasn’t going to get out of this one. Nor should he. Legally, the Untouched’s care was his responsibility. Noah squared his shoulders and nodded to the door.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he said, more gruffly than he meant to. He expected her to argue, but she didn’t. How surprising.

  The girl didn’t meet his eyes as she stood but bent and kissed his grandmother on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered before squeezing Jameson’s shoulder once.

  Noah’s back molars ground together when her hand lingered longer than necessary on his friend’s shoulder. She skirted around him and opened the door to the small home. He watched as she moved to the back cot and sat. He hesitated to go inside. It wasn’t improper, but being so close to her was difficult at times.

  He flicked a glance at Jameson, who smiled wolfishly.

  Noah shot a glare at him and stepped inside, his wings brushing the door jamb uncomfortably. The room was warm and smelled like his abuelita, a mixture of rosemary and mint.

  “Don’t let all the heat out,” his grandmother called.

  He pulled a face and closed the door, knowing exactly what his wily abuela was up to. Noah searched the countertop to his right and spied the little clay jar holding the ointment. He plucked the paste from the wooden top and dragged a stool over to the silent girl.

  “You don’t have to help me,” she said, her voice low and scratchy like she’d been crying. “I can do it.”

  His lips thinned, slightly offended at her offer. She was his responsibility, and while he didn’t relish doctoring her, he wouldn’t be so dishonorable not to care for those who were his own.

  “I will do it,” he snapped, sitting on the stool a lit
tle too hard. The wood groaned but miraculously held. His abuelita needed a new stool. He’d make a note to stop at the carpenter’s tomorrow.

  “Suit yourself,” she muttered, still pointedly looking away from him.

  It bothered him. A lot.

  “You’re going to have to face me.”

  A small flicker of satisfaction lit in his chest when her jaw flexed. He got a reaction out of her, and it felt like he’d just won something. Reluctantly, the girl turned to face him. His nose wrinkled in distaste when he got a better look at the sickly green bruise that covered her entire left cheek.

  “When did this happen?” he asked gruffly, opening the jar that smelled like patchouli and mint. Noah dipped a finger into the paste and waited for her answer.

  “Four days ago.”

  Four days.

  His opposite hand clenched around the earthen jar. The blow must have been extreme to damage her face so. It probably knocked her off her feet.

  Noah exhaled, his nostrils flaring. He was going to kill Marco.

  “It’s really not a problem to apply the paste myself…” she trailed off when he lifted his face and her gaze darted to whatever expression was plastered across it.

  “I already said I would do it.”

  “You don’t have to growl at me,” she muttered. “It’s clear you’d rather be anywhere but here, and so would I. I was trying to put us both out of our misery.”

  “I’m not miserable.”

  “Well, good for you.”

  He frowned at her and swiped some of the paste over her cheekbone. She flinched and pulled back.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “I’m sure.”

  “I’m trying to help you,” he bit out. “You could try being a little more thankful.”

  “I never asked for your help,” she whispered.

  Noah tipped his head back and prayed for patience. She was determined to get on his last nerve. “It’s my duty to help all those who are mine. Just because you’re not of my people doesn’t mean I’m going to treat you poorly.” He dropped his head and reached for her face—a heart-shaped face, he noted. As gently as he could, he rubbed more of the paste on her cheek.

  “I’m not,” she murmured.

  “You’re not what?” he asked, making sure to get every inch of the bruise and trying not to focus on how silky her skin was.

  “I’m not yours.”

  He met her blue eyes. “Under law, you are.”

  A thread of steel and rebellion entered her gaze that simultaneously irritated and excited him.

  “I will work to pay for the supplies I’ve used while staying here. But hear me now, Monster. You will never own me, and this cage will never hold me. I will slip through your fingers.”

  Noah brushed his thumb over her uninjured cheek and smiled when she didn’t pull away. Whether she liked it or not, the girl was warming up to the monsters.

  “My name is Noah, not Monster. I can easily become a monster if you insist on calling me one.”

  Her jaw worked, and her eyes flicked to his wings. He extended them a touch and hid his smile when her eyes widened. She might not like the Tainted—hell, the Untouched might hate them—but she was fascinated with the differences between them.

  “All done, Untouched,” he said, pulling back.

  “My name is Hazel, not Untouched.”

  His eyebrows lifted, and he peered at her from beneath his lashes. “Hazel?”

  Her lips pursed. “I’ve refrained from calling your people Tainted. I’d appreciate the same courtesy.”

  Tit for tat. “Agreed.” Noah held his hand out, and she eyed it like a snake before slipping her hand into his.

  “This doesn’t mean were friends,” she stated. “We’re enemies.”

  “And you’re my indentured.”

  She yanked her hand out of his and turned her face away. “No one owns me.”

  That, he didn’t doubt.

  Noah closed the door behind him and walked to the edge of the porch, gazing at the night sky. Jameson had disappeared, and his grandmother sat quietly on her chair.

  That was not a good sign. She had something she wanted to say.

  “What is it, abuelita?”

  “Has she been cared for?”

  “Hazel has.”

  “Hazel?” she questioned.

  Noah turned and leaned a shoulder against the wooden support beam. “She was tired of being called Untouched.”

  “I see,” she muttered. She groaned as she pushed up from her chair and gestured toward the garden. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  He offered his arm, and his abuela slipped her hand through it. They moved into the garden, crickets singing a nighttime song.

  “The niña is something special,” she finally said. “If you hold too tight, she’ll disappear.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  His grandmother slapped him on the arm. “You’re being deliberately obtuse. Don’t think I can’t tell what’s going on.” She touched the tip of her nose with a claw. “I can smell it all over you, just like I could smell it all over your father before he snatched your mother away.”

  “She’s an Untouched.” And ugly. But he kept that part to himself.

  “True, but that matters not in this instance. You recognized her scent that first night.”

  “She’s not the only one.” He sighed. “There are others.”

  “You’re right. Biologically, you could have many partners, and yet, she’s the first one you’ve stumbled across. That’s interesting, no?”

  “It’s not fate,” he muttered. Such a thing didn’t exist. It was pure pheromones—science. Anyone could be compatible.

  “I’m not saying fate. I’m just pointing out that another of her clan was infected and changed. He didn’t die. When was the last time you heard of that?”

  It was rare. Most died when infected, not that there were many who were Untouched and infected by the virus.

  “Times are changing, mi hijo. There are new dangers in our world, and we need to be united against them. Maybe it’s time that the Tainted and Untouched joined together.”

  “You want me to take her as my mate?” It was out of the question, not to mention unappealing. The memory of her soft skin under his hand flashed through his mind, and his body heated. He didn’t like the idea, but his hormones sure did. The randy bastards.

  “Possibly, but what I want the most is for you to bridge our people however you see fit. Change is in the air, and you’re the next generation. It will either be blood or compromise. I don’t think you’re ready for the war that’s on the horizon.”

  He thought of the strange flying device they’d knocked from the sky a week earlier. It was old tech; however, it looked brand new. It was perplexing and worrisome. No one he knew owned tech like that.

  “She won’t ever side with us,” he mumbled.

  His grandmother scowled up at him. “Maybe if you keep acting like a brute and dealing in absolutes. Open your eyes and look past your prejudice. You could do so much.”

  “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “I know you are, but there may come a time where sacrifices must be made. You need to be prepared.” His abuela sighed. “I don’t say these things to dishearten you. You’re Blooded, which means you have obligations to your people, ones that are not always easy.” She squeezed his bicep. “I’m afraid you have many trials ahead of you.”

  “Such is our lot in life.”

  She patted his hand and unwound her arm from his. “Such is our lot. Now, get home before your mama worries about you.” Without thought, his gaze returned to her home and the girl inside it. “I’ll keep her safe, mi hijo. No one will hurt our Hazel again.”

  Noah wiped all expression from his face, hating that his grandmother seemed to be able to read his thoughts. “Buenos noches, abuelita.”

  He kissed her on each weathered cheek and watched as she shuffled back to her porch and disappeared inside. His wings un
furled and his knees bent, eyes already on the sky. At least there was one place he could be free.

  The skies.

  Thirteen

  Hazel

  “You’re quiet today, niña.”

  Hazel blinked back the fog that had hung over her head for the past two days. “I’m tired is all,” she muttered and then plopped a dollop of masa in a corn husk. Carefully, she added a bit of sauce and chicken before rolling the husk shut and twisting the top.

  When Abuela had mentioned making tamales instead of farming that morning, Hazel jumped at the chance. She would have mined coal with her bare fingers if it meant getting away from Marco. Since their row, he’d been particularly foul to everyone. He seemed to exude hostility and aggression from the pores of his skin. Harvesting crops had never been so stressful.

  Every time she turned her back, Hazel expected one of his henchmen to stab her in the back or tear out her throat. Each alternative had given her nightmares that kept her up all night and left her senses dull the next day.

  The only bright side of it was that she’d made a friend. Mariah.

  The mousy woman was the one responsible for finding Matt. If it wasn’t for her help, things could have gone a lot differently. She’d made a point to harvest near Hazel both days and even introduced Hazel to her son, Bastile. The little boy was the homeliest thing she’d ever laid eyes on, but it somehow worked for the little one. When he grinned, exposing his huge, disproportionate front teeth, Hazel couldn’t help but smile back. His goofy antics had a way of making her laugh, too.

  “There’s a smile,” Abuela said.

  Hazel glanced at the old woman. “You know, it’s rude to watch others.”

  “Observation is key to learning.”

  “And just what are you trying to ascertain?” Hazel asked, reaching for another damp husk.

  “Who you really are.”

  Hazel’s brows lifted. “That seems like a deep subject for the morning. You know I’m not awake yet.”