Page 21 of Snapped
Chapter 12 | Fate In Motion
He would not cry! Eyes shut tight, fists clenched at his sides, August bit down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood. Hearing Maeve talk about missing Autumn, the obvious pain he heard in her voice gutted him. And what monster had Autumn sent? What in the hell was this woman talking about? Enough. He couldn’t listen anymore. August was about to turn and go back the way he came to catch up with Cillian and the others when the woman sitting on the bench across from where he sat, covered in darkness, spoke of his sister’s death. Struck mute, frozen in time, he could do nothing but remain kneeling behind the bush and listen.
Oh my God, Autumn, this is the woman you were in love with?A single tear trailed down his cheek as August’s mind flashed back to the last time he and his twin had talked. She spoke of someone she’d met at the palace with such fondness, telling her brother she was in love and was going to ask the woman to marry her. When she said yes, and Autumn was positive she would, they’d be on the next boat to carry them far away from the palace and “prying eyes”according to Autumn.
No! This can’t be right. This is insane.His momentary confusion and sorrow that always followed remembering his sister was washed away, replaced with anger and hatred when the woman, Maeve, spoke of killing Autumn if the murdering, spineless, bastard that was Gaeland’s perfect Prince hadn’t done the job already. His body moved of its own volition, fueled by grief and misery, pulling August from his hiding place in the bushes, moving him closer to the woman. He could only describe it as an out-of-body experience, his conscious mind running a few seconds slower than his actual movements.
Neither of them saw him until he had her much smaller body at his mercy, the dagger, a gift from his twin, pressed to the soft flesh of her neck. She was wild and determined to break free, squirming and attempting to overpower him to no avail. And then August was face-to-face with the man he’d followed up to the palace earlier in the day. He was tall and slender with shoulder-length brown hair. August zeroed in on his perfectly pink, pert lips, watching them move.
Shaking away his wandering thoughts, August tried to focus on what the man was saying. His words could only be heard as an echo, August’s brain stuck on consuming every square inch of him. Shaking his head and blinking a few times, the man’s words finally began to make sense.
“Who are you, and why do you hold a knife to the neck of the daughter of House Orion?” He was obviously someone used to getting what he wanted, judging by the way he stared August down, unperturbed at the sight of the crazy person holding a very sharp object and threatening life and limb. No, quite the opposite—the man exuded confidence.
August glared right back, ignoring the almost magnetic pull to the stranger, drawing on every ounce of strength he possessed to portray as much confidence as the man across from him before telling him he was fixing to kill Maeve, then go find Aiya and relieve her of the ability to breathe as well. “And I have no qualms about ending you too, if you get in my way,” he added for good measure. The words sounded hollow and unwarranted, his conscious mind finding it quite difficult to separate all the pieces of what was happening. His emotions were tangled with the knowledge of what he’d come here to do—fear caused by his immediate and all-encompassing attraction to the stranger, anger over the conversation he’d heard between Maeve and the stranger.
The man watched him for a moment without speaking, taking August in without breaking eye contact. August swore he could see the man’s mind working out all possible scenarios, seeing not fear, but intent in his brown eyes. Finally, the man cleared his throat. “What do I call you?” August was confused by the question. When he didn’t respond, the man asked again. “My name is Hector; I am the Captain of the Army of House Orion and that”—the man, Hector, pointed at Maeve—“is the daughter of my House. So, I’ll ask you again; what is your name?”
It infuriated August that this motherfucker, Hector, could stand there perfectly calm and question him like he was the one in control of things. “My name is not important.”
Hector cocked his head to one side and watched August for another moment. “Either tell me your name or tell me why you are here—what it is you hope to accomplish by this show of force on palace grounds.”
“My name is not important,” August repeated with a bit more venom in his tone, determined to ignore the tiny voice in his mind telling him to answer Hector, to move closer.
“Oh, but it is.” Hector took one step forward, cocking his head to the other side, not one ounce of apprehension in his eyes. “You can tell much about a person by their name.”
How the fuck is this asshole so calm?August inhaled, allowing the scents of the trees to ground him. The wind changed course, a gentle breeze caressing August’s skin, bringing with it the smell of water and sand.No, stop it, focus!August’s mind cursed at him. Glaring at Hector, he conceded, though he wasn’t sure why. Something about the man that was slowly but surely moving closer to him and Maeve unnerved him. “August, if you must know.”
Hector smiled then, literally fucking smiled. “August, yes, it suits you. Your personality is as fiery as your hair, Outkast. Now, tell me, what can I do for you that will get you to release Maeve?”
August snarled, tightening his grip on Maeve. “Stop. Talking.” He enunciated each word carefully, forcefully.
“Oh, God,” Maeve whimpered. Holding her body the way he was, August couldn’t see her face nor could she see him. “Red hair. He has red hair, Hector?” The gorgeous man nodded once.
Wait, what? Gorgeous? Get a fucking grip, August! You’re here to kill; you’re a fighter, not a lover. Stay focused!
“You, you’re…August…Autumn…you’re her brother, aren’t you?” Maeve finally put the pieces together.
August leaned down, growling in her ear. “Yes. I think I’ve said enough; it’s time to do what I came here for.” Looking up to meet Hector’s gaze, August saw the briefest flash of fear and hesitated. Trapped in those eyes across from him that held so much emotion, uncertain if they were green or brown—perhaps hazel, Hector’s eyes were wary but kind.
Maeve’s tiny, broken voice penetrated the fog that had settled in his brain and he noticed Hector had moved even closer, so he took a couple of steps back to put some distance between them once again. “I…I’m so sorry August; truly I am.”
“Don’t!” he barked. “Don’t you fuckingdaretry to justify hermurder.”
“Wait, you think…” Hector snapped his mouth shut mid-sentence when August pointed the dagger at him.
“Shut up! Just…stop talking. And back up; stop trying to get closer!” August drew the dagger up to Maeve’s neck again, taking several steps back to stretch the space between them out more, since the stubborn bastard didn’t take orders very well and kept creeping closer to them.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stay right here.” Hector held his hands up, placating him. “Do you know what happened that day, August? Why your sister was killed?”
Anger washed over him, making his skin prickle. The adrenaline kicked in, and the need to slit Maeve’s throat was so great, so strong. It felt like something or someone was holding him back though, figuratively speaking. The little bitch wasn’t even putting up a fight anymore; she all but fell into him, her body slack, shaking slightly as she cried.
“August?” The sound of his name gave August a brief moment of reprieve from his traitorous thoughts, and eyes focusing on Hector again, he shook off the intense urge to drop the dagger and go to the man.
“I said—” Hector cut him off before August could utter more than two words.
“No, you need to hear me out before you do something you might regret.” Hector briefly looked over August’s shoulder, an almost imperceptible shake of his head mere seconds before August heard rustling. Apparently, they weren’t alone anymore. Wait, why would anyone else be outside when Cillian, Robert, and the other rebels that came with them were already inside the palace? They’d either failed and been captured or killed or figured out something was amiss and fled. August didn’t know which scenario appealed to him more.
“August, what do you know about your sister’s death? What were you told?” Hector was slowly moving closer to them once again. The man was infuriating. Sexy…but infuriating.
