Page 59 of Wings of Lies
I was weak, useless, and a liability.
Just like I was for my mom. I couldn’t even protect her.But how could I if I couldn’t even protect myself?
I thought I was at least good at surviving, that I could eventually escape and survive until I found her. But it seemed I was failing at that, too.
A bubble of laughter surfaced, moving the nails of the Hellhound, and making me choke on the warm blood traveling up my throat. Soon, it’d be diving its big tongue into my mouth to slurp that up. But I couldn’t help but find it funny how irrevocably naive I’ve been and how alone I truly was.
I thought I’d at least have more help or someone to guide me to my mom. First, the voices, but they never came back. Then Oliver, but he betrayed me. There was the dream-walk of the stranger who helped me, but who knew where he was? Now, it was just me and the hope of finding the only other person who cared about me.
My captors may care. In the way one cares about a mess they have to clean up, or maybe another dangerous creature would eat my leftovers. Then they wouldn’t have to bother themselves by cleaning up my dead carcass.
As the numbness crept up my calves, it brought me back to the nightmare in Marcus’s cement cage, of me struggling to beat the darkness and that unrecognizable male voice demanding I fight.
But what hope did I have of fighting off a beast ripping apart my body and draining me dry? I wasn’t strong enough for this. If my mom was still alive, I hoped she’d forgive me.
I let the Hellhound drink from me, waiting for the rest of the numbness as an annoyingly sweet melody whispered in my ears. Second by second, the music gained volume. But it wasn’t the normal clashing ice or a haunting melody. No, this was… jazz music.
It filled my chest with warmth and comfort, bringing to mind a steaming cup of hot chocolate and ending with a soft, off-tune hum.
My mom’s voice.
A treat before death.
Bittersweet tears trailed down my cheeks. I wished I could remember more. But if I had to die with her voice in my ear, I would.
The melody and numbness both climbed, two crescendos racing for two different peaks—one of light and one of darkness.
I closed my eyes, giving in to her hum, feeling guilty for the smile that twitched underneath the lingering agony.
She’d never know I gave up. But that didn’t lighten the guilt as I rasped, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
I let the music and light take me under.
My body limply moved from an uncomfortable tug. An unnatural sound and a hiss spliced through the music. Weight lifted off my chest, and I figured I was seconds away. Sound was the last to go, but I swore I heard my name.
“Did she do this?”
“Reduce a Hellhound to particles of dust. Looks like it.”
“But the cuffs,” someone said, shocked.
There was no answer to that. The humming jazz faded along with their voices.
Something tugged at my legs, bringing me back.
“She’s still losing blood.”
“Just leave her. We’ll find another one.”
“No, we’ll take her to the closest healer,” the voice said through my fuzzy hearing. I couldn’t tell who it was, but I heard the irritation.
Pressure tickled my back and knees.
“Fine. I can carry her for you, prince.”
“I’ll carry her. She is my duty.” He paused. “My duty to her.”
My sides stretched and bent in his arms, and I screamed bloody murder. He stiffened, adjusted me, and I flew back to the unconscious world—or possibly death.
