Page 41 of Ensnared
I think about the cow carcass, which is the only other thing he’s ever brought me, and my lip curls involuntarily. “We still have some food left over from what I grabbed that time I went out. Speaking of, can I go out again soon? Or, like, where do we get food?”
“You’ll no longer be in charge of food location or preparation,” he says. “While I’ve been ignoring you, we’ve been working around the clock to restore some semblance of normalcy to the humans still in Houston. The supply chains for food, energy, and basic needs are nearly in place. Your first ten humans, who will see to your basic domestic needs, are arriving before sunset.”
“My domestic needs. . .” I swallow. “Ten is way too many. How about we take one. Or at most, two?”
“Ten’s a third of what the others have started with.”
Thirty? Penelope started by managing thirty humans? “I have a splitting headache from practicing for two hours with Penelope,” I say. “I think your ensnared is a real dud. You should adjust your expectations.”
He chuckles. “We’ll see.”
I try to move past him. It’s been a while, and I want to make sure the kids are alright in there.
He grabs my arm, and other than the time he healed me and the time he gave me a ride—in his dragon form—it’s the only time we’ve really touched. A thrill runs up my body, and it sets off a shiver that I can’t suppress. Quit it, I tell my ovaries again.
“Quit what?”
“Good heavens. I can’t even talk to myself anymore?”
“You talk to yourself often?” He frowns.
I yank my arm free. “What do you want?”
“You didn’t take this.” He shoves the box in front of me again. “It was difficult to make. I had to do it myself.”
I knock the lid off, but I have no idea what he’s giving me. “You made me. . .” I squint. “A pile of gold fluff?”
He sighs, reaches into the box, and lifts out the gold filaments. Then he shakes them from the point he’s holding. They’re apparently all attached in that one spot.
I still have no idea what it is, but it’s beautiful, at least. The sunlight glints off them, and they ripple in the light breeze. “Is it. . .a decoration?”
“It’s your visor,” he says. “You’ll wear it on your forehead.”
This time I’m the one laughing. “It’s supposed to be solid,” I say. “Like a crown for the front of your face, kind of.”
He frowns. “I made it exactly as they told me to make it.”
“Is it possible they were pranking you?” I wiggle my wrist, and the filaments ripple and twist in total abandon. “This looks like a tassel for a graduation cap.” I mean, it doesn’t, really, but it looks more like that than the visor Penelope was wearing. “Looks like we’re both duds.”
He grabs my wrist, and again, my stupid body goes haywire. My heart races. My breathing gets shallow. I should be scared of him, not panting from his touch. I steel my nerves, just as I would before a fight.
Clearly unaware of the storm raging in my traitorous body, Axel slowly guides my hand upward, until the mass of fluffy filaments, which are quite long, are centered over the center of my forehead.
“This will look ridiculous, like I’m some strange, exotic bird.” I can’t help my smile. Since he’s standing right in front of me, it’s directed right at him. “You can’t want me to walk around wearing a pompom on my head, surely.”
He blows on me then, bizarrely, his breath fanning out over my face, and something inside of me stirs alarmingly, like he’s waking up a hidden monster that lives in my body. He waves his free hand across the front of my face, and the filaments shift. “Now, call to it,” he whispers, his breath fanning over my face again. “Call to my magic.”
His magic.
He put magic into that blob of gold thread? I swallow, and then I reach out like Penelope taught me and I pull on the visor tuft, and it sucks in tightly against the space between my eyebrows, all the filaments binding together into bizarre golden lines.
He smiles, then, his joy unfettered as the insane thing he gave me shapes itself with guidance from his free hand.
“Not horns,” I say.
But it’s too late. He’s done, and apparently, so is my visor. I can’t see it, but I can sense it there, hovering in front of my face like a floating helmet that makes me look like his demonic accessory. Horn lady, the court jester for the gorgeous golden devil beast.
Ugh.
