Page 7 of Hearts of Stone
I press my calves together to feel the comforting weight of my short sword.I’ll take at least one of those shitheads out before they end me,I promise myself.If I could get two, I’d feel like it was a fair trade.
My eyes close as I let my face rest on my pulled up knees. It’s been a hell of a day, and I’m sure it’s far from over.Fuck.
Suddenly, a green light fills my cell.
Oh fuck, that’s the group with the two obvious military goyles.The way they stood, walked, gave it away. It’s odd, how eerily similar their stance and carriage is to human military. I can recognize it a mile away. It’s served me well in knowing which goyles to avoid. Or only take out from a distance.
Being given to a chime with two military officials was bad.Really bad.
A guard steps forward and unlocks my cage.
I quickly consider my options. Stab him: Good vibes, bad plan. Make him drag me out of here kicking and screaming: Badvibes, good plan. Walk out head held high... ugh, that’s the one, isn’t it?
Fuck, I’d rather stab him.
I stand up and shake my skirts out. The guard takes my arm roughly and I bite my lip, allowing it. I’m marched out a different door than I was carried through when I was thrown in this shithole.
I blink, trying to adjust to the bright light and I can’t resist the urge to yank my arm away from the guard.
The three goyles I pinned are all staring at me. They have their wings back and down, which I know is meant to show me that they are not threatening.
I snort and cross my arms under my chest.
The tallest, with a blue-tint to his grey skin, steps towards me slowly. One of the militants. The third, with a brownish color to his skin, is obviously some pencil pusher. A lab rat maybe.
Their technology has outpaced ours and yet, many of our living standards have gone backwards. No cars, minimal electricity, all guns and large weapons confiscated and destroyed, disintegration of mega cities in favor of compounds made up of thirty to fifty homes.
The leader smiles, the almost friendly look on his face making me recoil.It’s wrong, they are not calm, not good.
He holds out an open hand, as if he wants me to put my hand in his.A hand big enough that he could crush my skull.
“My name is Earl alpha Archibald Walsh. We are the Ryleck Chime. My bonded: alpha Ebenezer Walsh and alpha Theodore Walsh.” He gestures to the two males behind him.
I stand, staring at his extended hand.Chimes have sex. All members.
I raise an eyebrow. “Brothers? That’s kinky.”
Quicker than I can track, this gargoyle has a hand on my lower back as he leans down to whisper in my ear, “Watchyour mouth, bride. I’m not keen on allowing others to see your bare, upturned ass while you’re punished, but I cannot allow disrespect to stand. This will be your only warning to watch your sharp tongue in public.” He steps back, keeping a hand on me possessively. Or maybe he’s worried about what I might do.He fucking should be.
The other militant grins, “Not brothers, little bride. We take the name of our leader when we bond.” He slides closer to me, sniffing. The third goyle eyes me nervously.
The second continues, “Let’s take our bride home,” his voice huskier and lower than it was a moment ago. A look passes his face that I recognize. That any woman would recognize.
It burns the fear right out of me, fury settling deep in my bones instead.
The leader steps into me and scoops me up as if I was a wayward toddler. I quickly bend my knee, making sure my sheath is hidden. His body is hard, sturdy, heavy-feeling.
But I know that their flesh parts just as well as a human’s under a sharp blade. I hear the others follow as he leads them outside, in the open air of the evening.
“Hold tight, bride,” he whispers, “For you’re about to get your first taste of flight.” And he bends at the knees before leaping into the air, his wings flapping strongly. I bite down my squeak of fear. I will not show weakness to these statues.
My Mom had told me that when I was a babe, we flew on an airplane to Florida to visit my grandmother. It was right before the flights were grounded by the goyles. I don’t remember it, and our photos were lost. But I’ve seen the big metal birds, all rotting now, and stripped of anything useful.
Yet, I cannot imagine that that could have been worse than this. Each time the goyle’s wings folded down, his body dipped in the air disconcertingly. Occasionally he held them out horizontally and glided. I found that more stressing actually. Iwatched his wings flap over his arm, as I absolutely refused to rest my head on his chest. I saw the other two flitting in and out of view like overgrown insects.
I’m trying to track our general direction so I have some idea of where they live in relation to Sylrya. Generally north, it seems.
Soon enough, I’m jarred by a rough landing, but this big brick wall doesn’t seem bothered by it and he drops my legs and slides me down his body. His hands hold my elbows until he’s sure I’m steady.
