He has woken up twice with a start when he didn’t feel my arms around him and only went back to slumber after I rubbed his back or covered his head with my hand. I hate seeing him so terrified and cautious when what happened today is exactly what I’ve been trying to prevent for months.
He doesn’t deserve this. None of the other prisoners did either, but this little werewolf doesn’t deserve any of the torture he has lived through. My blood boils as I wipe a smear of blood from behind his ear, and when he trembles in my lap, the fury only multiples.
One thing I know for sure is if I survive this day, I’m going to rip this coven apartpiecebypiece.
I try to straighten my left leg to push the bone back in, but the slightest movement causes such blinding pain that I have to stop before I accidentally scream out. The icy breeze that follows behind the moon soothes my cuts, but also makes me aware that we can’t spend the night out here. Not only would we freeze to death, but the guard dogs would find us, too.
My movements become lethargic, making me painfully aware that I probably won’t make it through the night. When the boy sleepily nuzzles his head into the crook of my neck, I pray for a miracle.
I can’t let this little boy go back to that shithole.
AfterHarvey, my best friend, escaped two years ago, I stopped fighting back. I didn’t care if I died. But that changed when they threw this little toddler into my cold, blood-soaked cell a few months back.
Through one-sided conversations, because the little guy refused to talk, we bonded quickly. It took him less than two minutes before he trusted me enough to crawl into my lap and fall asleep on hisfirstday.
That night, this little guy built my heart up before breaking it just as quickly. If it took one gentle introduction from a stranger to unravel him, then I didn’t even want to think about the treatment he was used to.
That night, I stopped asking Fates to let tomorrow be my last day. Instead, I asked for another, not because I’m overly fond of living like this, but because now my survival was directly correlated to the survival of this 3-year-old.
‘I’ll get you out of here, monkey.’
It was this promise that started the shitshow I’ve been hosting the entire day. A promise that changed the course of my life. A promise that weighs more than my battered body can handle.
Taking in the addictive aroma of damp soil, I snicker at the irony. I’m the daughter of Horseman Death, and I fight against the death standing on my doorstep every single night.
The blood, the scars, the trauma, and for what?All because of a stupid fucking vision.
The top bitch of witches,Queen Vishaof the crescent moon coven, is on top of the list of people I want to kill byslowlycutting their guts out and then feeding it to them.
She was bestowed a gift at birth. A gift that became a curse for many. The gift of clairvoyance. Ever since she was young, she could glimpse into the future in her dreams. For years, she watched the snippets, but everything changed the night she sawa vision of her death followed by the destruction of her coven bymyhands.
That was also the same night she killed her husband, the king, to gain full control of the coven.A complete headcase,that woman.
According to her vision, I was destined to become the most powerful creature afterThe Almighty GodandThe All-knowing Fates, and coming to my full potential meant the end of hers.
Enraged by my audacity at thinking about killing the most powerful witch in the supernatural world, she hunted me down, a 9-year-old girl. Rather than keeping a clear head and attempting to fix her mistakes, she then proceeded toabductme from my home.
Now tell me one good reason I shouldn’t smash her face in and burn her precious coven to the ground.
Taking the Princess of Death from under her father’s nose was daring; I’ll give her that. She managed to trick her way into Papa’s kingdom and snatch me along with my best friend, who was just an innocent fourteen-year-old bystander.
Imagine her surprise and excitement when she found out the boy with me was none other thanthe Prince of War, the only son of Horseman War and next in line for the title.
The four Horsemen of the apocalypse, mighty warriors of the three sisters of fate and inevitable the doom of humanity. Conquer, War, Famine, and Death.
The fourare known to be fearless yet here I am, battling death and cursing another day when no one comes to my rescue.
Even the thought of being rescued makes me scoff. It’s been a whole ass decade, so if someone were coming, they would’ve by now. But dead people can’t rescue you, can they? The night before my last escape in which Harvey successfully made it out, the evil bitch told me about the attack.
The coven attacked the four kingdoms simultaneously, and almost no one made it out alive. The thought of losing my only family, the people I grew up with, the people I was destined to take an oath to protect, was anguishing enough before she threwhisarm in my lap.
My mate.My destined mate, who somehow figured out this coven was keeping me captive and left in pieces in his attempt to free me. The queen was kind enough to throw his arm in my cell so I could mourn the person I was supposed to spend my life with.
Holding that bloodied severed arm, I cried myself to sleep that night. I cried for my kingdom, my papa, my mate, and myself.
The following night, I helped my best friend escape so that the one person I loved and was still alive wasn’t stuck in this place with me. I couldn’t take another piece of my heart being destroyed by this coven.
I huff irately when the grease and dirt refuse to leave my face. The dirt might budge, but the dried blood would linger like it’s part of my skin. The heavy layer of dirt matted over my unruly brown hair feels oily near the roots and stiff at the ends with coated blood.
