Page 70 of Wings of Lies
He flinched. I grimaced, hating myself for the slip-up. He wasn’t anything but a cold asshole, taking me against my will. I bit the sandwich then, hoping to take off his fingers. To my disappointment, my teeth only grazed them, sending a jolt I wasn’t expecting into my lips.
I jerked back at the same time he did. The large mouth of food was hard to chew. Eventually, it sank like a tasteless lump in my stomach as we glared at each other.
Satisfied, Aspen brought forward his hidden jangling hand. I broke our glaring match as I took in the sight of a pair of black metal cuffs.
“You’re not putting those on me.”
“And since when did you think you had a choice?”
I hated him.
“Do you ever tire of the constant arrogant mask you wear? Or have you been wearing it so long you forgot what it’s like not to be a princely asshole?”
With the cuffs in hand, he dropped to my ankles. “These won’t electrocute you, but in exchange, they suppress everything but your healing,” he said, unphased by my insult. “You won’t be able to feel your powers or melt them off like the last ones. These cuffs only come off by key.”
“Don’t put them on me. Please.”
I needed to practice my powers and learn how to control my dream-walks. I also needed to find my mom and then escape.
My Glory woke up from my panicked thoughts, poking me.
Aspen’s eyes flashed, like my begging pissed him off. “You should never have come to Elora.”
“Aspen,” I pleaded.
Before my Glory could surge and I could use it against him, he tore open the cuffs and hastily snapped them onto my ankles, brushing the sliver of my skin exposed between my pants and socks. My Glory vanished, and tingles skittered up my legs from his touch.
“Put your boots on, and let’s go,” he demanded. But his demand seemed guilty and painful. Yet, I didn’t gather that from his tone and couldn’t see his expression.So why did I think that?Before I could analyze his face, he luscelered out the door.
I clanked my way down the hall, taking small steps to prevent pulling on my stitches, feeling more like a prisoner than ever.
Hana was in the kitchen washing a pan. She glanced up at the noises of my chains, yellow pupils narrowing. “He wasn’t always like this,” she said.
But it didn’t matter what my princely jailor used to be or that he had moments where he may be one percent less of a terrible person. He was still an asshole, bastard, and every other curse word. I glared at the black metal around my ankles—and I was still his prisoner.
“Thanks for saving me,” I said, bitter.
“Don’t give up, Lucille,” she whispered.
Ignoring her comment, I touched my frizzy waves. “Do you have anything to keep my hair out of my face?”
After putting my hair up with a rubber band and bobby pins, my ankle cuffs dragged along the threshold, quieting when I walked out onto the grass. The soft clinking turned to a harsh clanking when I hit gravel. I stumbled as my chains caught on rocks, righting myself before I face-planted. When I looked up, I saw my absolutefavoriteangel.
Brock stood at the front of an upgraded carriage, and by upgrade, I mean less boxy with a fancy paint job and two small windows instead of one, but it still appeared old and rickety. He met my glare with a cocky lift of his mustache and a smug glimmer in his pink eyes. “Nice cuffs.”
My fingers twitched, wanting to flip him off. But I wasn’t feeling another injury just yet. I trudged to the back of the carriage. Cacus and Bael, the demon grenades, were already huddled inside. Dreading the pain I’d soon feel, I placed my hands on the wooden ledge. Before I pushed myself up, a hand grabbed my shoulder.
“You won’t be back there.”
I turned to glare, quite done with Aspen’s touches. Not understanding my clear as dayback the hell up eyes, Aspen continued to grip me firmly. The tingling sensation hid behind my barrier of clothing.
“Did you hear me?” heasked. “I want you in front with Brock. It won’t jostle your stitches as much. You’ll be in less pain despite the company.”
“Are you going to let go of me so I can move up front?”
He let go, only to grab my wrists. His stupid hands tingled against my skin, and it felt good. The tingles always felt good, and I hated that just like I hated his gentle hold.
I pulled, trying to get away. He dropped my unwrapped wrist to rub at the stubble on his jaw but didn’t let go of the other. “Is it feeling better?” he asked.
