There was an audible gasp from the gargoyles encircling me. To be Wingless was a fate worse than death.
Wingless lived a life of solitude. Never allowed to enter another clan, their existence never acknowledged. It was like living death for our kind.
But that was not the worst part about Alasdair’s judgment.
“No,” I rasped as two grim faced sentinels gripped my arms, turning me so that my back was to our clan leader.
I searched desperately for my mother in the crowd. “Mother, please do not let them do this.”
My pleas were useless. Fiona had left long before the judgment was handed down.
“I, Alasdair, son of Meara and Bryne, sentence Cashiel, son of Fiona, to a life without wings, without clan, and without hope,” firm hands gripped my wings, close to where they met my shoulder blades.
“Father, please,” I whispered hoarsely.
As clan leader, Alasdair was never allowed to acknowledge his young. This was out of fairness to the rest of our kin. A good leader was supposed to be impartial, and this was the gargoyle way of doing that. But I always knew who he was to me.
My mother used to whisper about how her heart sang for the gargoyle, a connection even stronger than life mates. It meant that they were born to be together, and I was the product of that union.
Alasdair paused for a breath, and for a moment, I was sure he was going to change his mind about all of this.
Then his grip tightened and he began to pull.
I would never forget the blinding pain of having my wings pulled from my back. Each tendon and sinew began to snap and grind. My mind and body rejected the burning sensation crawling up my spine.
Flying was my greatest joy. Gliding on updrafts of air and seeing the land from the eyes of birds was my favorite pastime.
I had always been the best at it out of everyone in my clan.
But that was all over now.
“Gan sciathán, gan sciathán, gan sciathán,”the gargoyles around me chanted, their taloned feet stomping the ground.
With one final shout, Alasdair tore my wings from my back and sealed my fate forever.
I was Wingless now.
And being Wingless meant a life of misery.
One
The sound of the fire poker clattering to the ground was the first thing I heard over the roar in my ears.
Confusion filled me as I stared down at the crumpled form of my husband at my feet. I couldn’t remember why he was there or what had happened.
What Icouldremember was Mike coming home from a day at court in a vile mood. Nothing I did could soothe him. He’d been a thundercloud all throughout dinner. Then I accidentally knocked over his beer. Unforgivable in his eyes.
Everything was a blur after that.
My throat burned and I brought my fingers up to cup it, prodding and hissing at the tenderness I found there.
The fucker had choked me, I realized as I took two big steps back away from my unconscious husband.
This complicates things, I thought to myself as I turned on my heel and hurried through the sliding glass door that led to the garden.
For the better part of a year I had been carefully planning my escape. Scraping whatever money I could get together, figuring out bus routes, and where I would go if I managed to get away from him.
After being married to Mike Campbell for almost five years, I was more than ready to get out.
