Page 92 of Wings of Lies
Aspen dropped to the ground, lifting my pants leg. He made quick work of unlocking and cuffing my other ankle.
I seared my gaze into his coffee locks, wishing to burn it all off.
He stood. “There’s leftover squirrel in the back.”
“To hell with your squirrel.” I turned and jangled like the prisoner I was to the front of the carriage.
“You need to eat.”
I snorted. “And you need to stop acting like you care, enemy. Your worthless queen will be just fine with a half-starved prisoner.”
If I turned around, I’d bet all my currently inaccessible powers on the fact that the prince’s eyes were back to flaming. That thoughtalone brought a satisfied smile to my lips as I sat on the driver’s seat next to the most loathsome fallen angel.
Brock may want to slice and dice me, and some part of me understood that. But Aspen, with his random laughter, the way he touched me, the way his voice broke—I honestly felt like it was all a twisted game.
I stared at my ankle cuffs and let the image and meaning pound reality back into me, wiping away the useless feelings attempting to surface for a guy who only wanted me for his queen.
Bastards. All of them.
“Always so angry or sad,” Brock commented.
“I can tell that pleases you, Searcher.”
He jerked. “How do you know that title?”
I smiled to myself, thinking about the man in my head, and shrugged. “How indeed.”
My smug smile dropped at the fist he slammed into our seat, missing my leg by inches. Two raps on the wood diffused the tension, signaling Brock to drive. He gave me one last menacing stare and picked up the reins.
“Accidents happen. Remember that.”
I’d have to be a lot more careful with my words around Brock, or I wouldn’t be able to escape if I was beaten to a pulp. But confirming that the man in my head wasn’t lying or a figment of my subconscious dreams was reassuring. Which meant I’d be gone by the end of the day.
Let’s hope my powers returned by then.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
The first half of the day was long and uneventful. The orange trees were pleasant to look at. But my eyes grew heavy after the first couple hours of the same scenery, lack of threats or unpleasant conversation. With thoughts of my mom firmly in my mind, in case my powers returned, I let the soft clip-clop of hooves put me to sleep.
They were always purple,which kind of annoyed me. But I suppose it helped to distinguish between a dream and a dream-walk. This time, I dream-walked into the body of my five-year-old self.
“It hurts, Mommy.”
She crouched in front of me, holding my tiny hands, frowning. “What does, love?”
“The flames,” I whispered, like talking too loudly would make them come back.
She tilted her head to the side. “What flames?”
I rubbed my arm up and down. “The white ones on my skin.”
Her eyes widened. “But you’re only five.”
“Almost six!”
“Yes, almost six in two months.” She gave me a small smile, but a tiny line formed between her eyes. I didn’t know why. She hadn’t found my stolen brownies yet. I checked under my pillow.
