Page 57 of Wings of Lies
He flinched like I’d hit him. I never used his name, never wanted to. It was different with Brock. His name sounded like an insult. But Aspen… Damn it. I liked his name. And I didn’t want to like anything about him. But right now, I’d try anything.
“Get the fuckoutof the carriage!” he seethed.
“No!”
He backpedaled to the ledge, attention on the snarling smokey beasts inching their way nearer, reached back and latched onto my ankle. Stunned by the soft buzz of energy tickling my skin, I didn’t fight back as he dragged me. I was about to slam into the ground when, at the last second, he picked me up and set me down.
What was that?Not that odd change of behavior, but the vibrations from his hand? I shot him a look, but he pushed forward to Bael, ignoring me.
I didn’t think we stood a chance with only three of us, practically two and a half, against five hulking beasts.
White puffs of steam diffused from the Hellhound’s nostrils, clouding the area and infusing the air with a rotten egg smell. Their shadowed fur faded to light gray, indiscernible against the trees.
Scratch that.Theydidn’t stand a chance. There was nowe, as I scrambled underneath the carriage, hands jangling against my pelvis. Millions of needles probed my skin, answering the call of the pressure squeezing my chest.
The prince’s attention flickered to my retreat. “If you run, they will kill you.”
Exactly why I was hiding, not running.
“Take off my cuffs, Aspen.” I inhaled and added, “Please.” Hoping he understood how much that cost me. A cordial please to my careless jailor who didn’t deserve any civility from me. But my Glory climbed, stabbing me, and in a matter of seconds, I’d be a writhing, debilitated snack—easy eating.
I needed his help.I really needed to keep breathing.
He stared me dead in the eye and shook his head. “Stay there.” Then he charged into the steam with his sword raised, Bael following with his pounding strides until they were both faint blobs of color.
Defenseless, I squirmed further back. Shadows flashed through the white clouds, snarling and yipping. At times, a blur of blue followed, but only the clang of metal proved the prince had made contact.
I flinched with every sound, with every flash, Glory stealing my strength as I lay belly down between the two wheels of the carriage. It was coming. I only knew that because I could grind into the skin of my cheeks, nearly biting through, and no longer feel it. One minute. Two. I shoved my mouth into the corner of my elbow, and it peaked. I muffled my scream as a jolt of electricity seared into my body, sending me to darkness.
You have no one to blame but yourself.
Don’t be a wimp. Come here.
Stay here. Stay safe.
Escape your cage.
Fight it!
I’m sorry, Lucy.
There once was a daughter of?—
Hushed clanking woke me from the cacophony of voices. Blinking, I twisted my head, finding a battlefield void of steam with added bodies and chaos.
My eyes latched onto the prince. He arched his flaming sword up and down, slicing, stabbing, and twisting into two Hellhounds. Every slice created a charred line that partially disintegrated bone, deterring them from the sword but not stopping them from attacking. On his other side, Brock swung a flameless sword at a different set of hounds, chipping away at bone with little impact, which had to be why they fought him with more brutality than the ones that hesitated against the prince.
Good. Hopefully, the repulsive man got what was coming to him.
To the side of Brock fought Cacus and Bael.And they were— Snickering at their Hellhounds?Yes, snickering. Dimwitted beasts.But the Hellhounds seemed to keep their distance, jetting around them in circles and never engaging. It was almost like Cacus and Bael had some plague. Still didn’t stop them from swiping and kicking the Hellhounds, laughing the entire time.
A red light flashed in my periphery. Glancing back at the prince, I scooted farther away from the Hellhounds now spewing red flames from their nostrils.Wasn’t the damned cloud of steam enough?
They shot at the prince’s head. He ducked, swinging up as he stood, and cleaved through the skull of another. The head charred in half, dead. He was on to the next, dancing with death and the hounds of shadows. Transfixed, I watched in horror and awe.
He whirled, twisted, and slashed, never slowing, never hesitating. When he used all his momentum to slide under his last hound,eviscerating its underbelly and rolling to his feet right as it slumped, I couldn’t help but be impressed. He sprinted over to Brock. Who struggled with a sword that was equivalent to a dull steak knife.
Brock swung wildly at a hound licking a glistening red off its claws. Based on the blood bleeding into his cloak, it had to come from Brock. Bit by bit, he carved into the Hellhound’s neck, and despite the fact he was carving through, the hound only dodged, too fixated on the blood.
