I look down at my hands and notice with a flinch that three of my nails have been broken, dried blood crusting my fingertips. The bastard must have torn the blanket I had used to cover myself with from my grasp.
I freeze as a hot breath sears my cheek. When I look up, Domanikk’s bright yellow eyes are staring directly into mine, his face so close I see my reflection in them.
“Finally, she wakes.” His voice is a slow, oily drawl that settles over me like a film. “Hey there, sweetheart.”
The endearment feels like a cold finger tracing my spine, and the fine hairs on my naked body stand in frantic protest.
“Who goes there?” Rawson’s gruff voice shouts into the darkness, both Equitae turning to look towards the treeline.
Out of the corner of my eye, a small figure emerges from the treeline’s shadows, moving slowly towards us. The sway of her hips and the curve of her silhouette tell me immediately she’s female. As she draws closer, my instincts prove right—black curly hair cascades wildly past her strong shoulders, luminous green eyes bright with curiosity, a wicked grin playing across her stunning Fae features.
“What trouble have you boys been getting into?” she asks, her voice sharp and sultry.
Rawson dips into a strange stooped kneel as he says her name—”Ceira”—looking so awkward with his bulk that I have to bite my tongue not to laugh.
“Dom, what the fuck is that?” Her eyes widen, the words vibrating with a quiet, dangerous rage.
She joins us and pokes my side painfully with the toe of her leather boot. Then she notices the two other prisoners and groans. “Shit, you two are idiots. You can’t bring them onto Heartwood soil. He will kill you.”
“We were just debating that. I guess we could just leave them out here? When the sun comes up, the Barrens will do the rest,” Rawson suggests.
Ceira bends down in front of me and grabs my cheeks roughly, her hand around my throat.
“What’s your name, bitch?” she demands, the insult—bitch—hissed with enough force that a fine mist of spittle settles on my skin. I stay silent, staring into her green eyes with as much defiance as I can muster.
Pain stings as her palm slaps my right cheek, with enough force I almost tip over. She unsheathes a small silver dagger from her belt and runs the sharp blade down my stinging cheek, over my jaw towards my throat.
“Hold on, Ceira.” Domanikk steps forwards, clasping her wrist and stopping the dagger from moving any further. “The others haven’t made it back yet. Let’s just take them back to Heartwood and see what he wants to do with them.”
“If you want to take them back, you can be the one to explain this shitshow to him,” Ceira replies, drawing the dagger away—but not before nicking my jaw. Blood runs and drips to the floor.
I let out a small, ragged breath of relief as she stands and walks away.
“At least put a hood on her before you go,” she shouts over her shoulder, stalking back towards the treeline.
Domanikk grabs a black cloth hood from beside me, and as he reaches out to put it over my head, I flinch away.
He leans in, a husky laugh brushing against my ear.
“Oh, come now. You act as if I’m a monster. Darling, I’m just a beast who enjoys a little disobedience … and I find the thought of taming you absolutely intoxicating,” he whispers. The hood comes down over my head, and I’m alone in darkness once again.
Chapter Eighteen
Alaya
My legs tremble beneath me, muscles burning as I stumble over roots and uneven ground. We’ve been hiking for what feels like miles through this thick vegetation, and my thighs shake with each step. I trip again, my knees buckling.
I throw my hands out blindly to catch myself, and pain shoots up my arms, making me grit my teeth. My palms, already scuffed from earlier falls, feel sticky with sweat and blood now. My bare feet throb, my body aching from the gruelling pace they force us to maintain.
A hand grabs my hair and drags me back up as I scramble to get my feet back under me.
“Move it,” Rawson growls behind me, shoving me hard in the middle of my back—nearly knocking me down again.
“Not long now, darling,” Domanikk whispers from beside me, and I feel a finger trace my cheek through the fabric of the hood. I shudder at the touch.
“Do we tell him who she is?” Rawson asks.
“You know I don’t lie to him.”
