Page 33 of The Shadow Prince's Ruin
“I know he’s still in the house! I knowyou two!”
I stall, taking it in. He believes in me so much? Over his own blood? How foolish of him, yet how sweet.
I roll the mysterious item with my feet, from one corner of my trap to the other, and I’m pretty sure I hear some splashing, as if it’s a jar with liquid inside. For a moment, I consider whether I can smash the glass somehow, use it to cut the binds on my wrists, but then it hits another jar and my heart soars. High-pitched noises are easier to notice, so I put my hope in the clinking glass and grab the jar between my feet to repeatedly slam it against the other one.
The shooting pain of a cramp is replaced by an icy sensation, then a burn as the liquid spills over me. The tiny space I occupy fills with the absolutestenchof potent alcohol. It’s so intense I could get drunk on the fumes alone, and having to inhale through my nose isn’t helping. I rattle the broken glass with my legs anyway, because I’m not giving up.
Not on myself, and not on Hawk!
The voices outside my prison go quiet, and then, the box containing me rattles, as if a huge bassal has captured it with its jaws in an attempt to reach my flesh.
“Wet… how do I fucking open it?” Hawk roars to an echoing silence.
“Just calm down!” his father yells, so I rattle the glass with even more fervor despite pain shooting up my leg.
I don’t like to admit to weakness, but I am frightened. If Hawk had left me, would they have disposed of me? At this point, I’m not sure what might be worse—being murdered or turned in to Lord Kyran as a proven fugitive. But I don’t get to entertain this empty worry for much longer, because something clicks, and then light hurts my eyes as the lid above me opens. Hawk is only a dark silhouette at first, but I recognize the width of his shoulders and take a deep breath of fresh air, released from the pungent trap.
I look up at him, unable to extend my arms, but he’s leaning down to unbuckle the belt tying me to the interior. Relief floods me from the tip of my head to my toes when our eyes meet. I’ve never felt this way before. Someone has my back just because they want to, not because I will be useful to their cause.
We’ve just met, and yet he believed my intentions over his family.
Despite what he’s been through with thisKevin, his heart is so open. It makes my own crack and let in his light.
His mother’s whisper is barely audible to me, but I still hear it as Hawk removes the wet gag from my lips. “He should have been knocked out until morning…”
Maybe I would have been. If I werehuman.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hawk snaps as his big, warm hands cradle my head and wipe away my sticky drool. He’s tense as a storm cloud ready to burst, but while he’s addressing his parents, his gaze remains focused on me when he pulls me up and against his chest. It is only then that I realize they’d locked me inside their sofa.
What kind of people have a trap like this in their living room?
“It was for your own good!” Hawk’s father yells, but doesn’t dare approach. “This boy will be your downfall! He will talk to the cops!”
“My hands are tied,” I whisper, curling against Hawk. I try to ignore the ache in my leg, where glass cut into it, but I’m still dripping blood.
He frees my hands, and when he starts rubbing the red marks around my wrists, where the string dug in a bit too tightly, I’m overwhelmed by this display of care. I’ve once again faced my own fragility tonight, but Hawk’s not only here to have my back but also won’t be swayed from believing in me.
I couldn’t have hoped for anyone worthier to have as my Dark Companion.
“Are you okay? How many fingers do you see?” he asks, showing me three.
“Three,” I whisper and as soon as my arms are free, I wrap them around his neck. I want to bask in the safety of his hold. I love feeling so small next to him. It’s as if he can hide me from the world and I won’t even feel shame over needing his protection.
“I’m talking to you, Hawk!” His father steps closer, looming over us like a malicious giant ready to take my savior away. But my promised pushes his arm under my knees and lifts me as if I were a cat, not a grown man.
“First aid kit. Now,” he demands, placing me on a large table.
His father raises his hands. “It’s barely a scratch. I wash my hands of this!”
But Hawk’s mother brings what he asked for without meeting his eyes. I bite my lip when I look at the gash above my ankle where glass slashed through my jeans. She stands aside and doesn’t say a word when Hawk cleans my wound. Even though it hurts so much and I’m bleeding, the wound is shallow enough to not need stitches.
I fight not to flinch when Hawk presses a bit of gauze to the cut, and wraps my leg with fresh dressing. I bite the inside of my mouth, but two fat, shameful tears still slide down my cheeks. Why am I a wimp who cannot control this physical reaction? My brother would have laughed in my face. No wonder even my own mother didn’t think I’d amount to anything.
I take a deep, shaky breath, avoiding Hawk’s gaze, but instead of rolling his eyes at me as anyone else would, he cups my cheeks and kisses the tears off my skin.
“It’s okay, the cut is shallow, and nothing will happen to you on my watch.”
I nod at him, unable to gather any sensible words to such a display of affection. I’m not used to it. I’m not used to relying onanyone else or them actually caring. I’m not even sure I deserve it until I prove myself worthy.
