Page 108 of Wings of Lies
“Who’s Lilith?”
He straightened, composed his face, and stepped back. “I am loyal to my queen.”
I panned between his face and the thing beneath his chin. Goosebumps danced along my spine at whatever the hell that was. It controlled him and what I could feel from him. He didn’t know it. He thought it was a scar.
“Who’s Lilith? She murdered your mother?” I asked again.
Aspen didn’t respond.
But how much did it control him? And why did it fade sometimes but not others?Before I could ask questions or test my theories, clip-clopping and rolling wheels invaded our moment.
We climbed in the back next to Cacus and Bael, who were crunching on—I didn’t want to know.
I sat away from them, glancing at Aspen’s chin as he rested his head against the carriage wall. Then, I took in the rest of him, finding glistening red on his leg.
“You’re bleeding,” I said, keeping any traitorous concern out of my voice.
He grunted.
“So, you’re not going to do anything about your leg?”
Aspen side-eyed me. Any lingering tension from our heated exchange was safely shut away, forgotten, or ignored.How was it so easy for him? Did our conversation blip out of his mind, or did the scar force away his emotions?
“It’ll heal,” he said, taking me out of my puzzling thoughts. “Just like your ribs, wrist, neck, finger, and ear have.”
He was paying close attention.
I raised my finger to my ear, finding smooth skin.
“We heal fast, Lucille.”
“Can you at least put a cloth to it?”
The corner of his lip twitched. “Sure.” He did, up until the carriage stopped.
I climbed out, eyeing Aspen as he winced jumping to the ground. I winced with him. So he could bind and tend to my wounds, but not his own. I shook my head and grabbed my blankets from the back to set up my bed. It was best to keep up pretenses.
Brock, swollen and bruised, set up a fire as he shot me glares where I rested on my blankets. Aspen skinned the meat Cacus and Bael caught. It still surprised me they could catch anything without shoving it down their giant gullets.
When the meat was ready, Aspen limped over with a plate. I peered up at him from under my lashes, the heat of the fire blocked by his body.
“Heals fast?”
“It was deep. It won’t heal in a couple hours, Lucille,” he said, exasperated.
“So, sew it up.”
He handed me the plate of squirrel and ignored my comment. I grabbed it, but he wouldn’t let go when I tugged. Masked by the shadows, I couldn’t see his expression. I dropped my chin to the plate, hoping he’d get the message, and instantly regretted it.
Buttons.
Buttons I ravenously wanted open hours ago stared at me. They were barely visible, but I could still see their silver outlines. My cheeks flushed as an unwelcome shot of desire hit me, along with the mortification of the direction of my dirty thoughts. I looked back up at Aspen, palms slick against the warm metal in my hands.
“Scared, Lucille?” he mocked.
“Only of the truth,” I whispered.What would I do with the unwanted attraction I had for him if somehow he wasn’t the reason behind all his terrible actions? Would it change anything for me?
I didn’t know, and that scared me more than if I did.
