Lucien growls. “What law?”
The guard controlling the vines sneers down at us. “If a fae reveals our world to a human, they either become responsible for them, or the humans are put to death to preserve our privacy.”
I blanch. There is no fucking way that I walked into a stupid hippie-flower circle and came out the other side just to be killed by some guy that gets off on murdering humans. It’s too ludicrous to be anything other than an acid trip and I refuse to believe it.
“Just let us go home. No one would believe us anyway,” Lucien rationalizes, but the sneering guard just tsks under his tongue.
“Afraid that’s a hard no, little human.”
Bitch, you’re like half our size.
Obviously the ring leader, he gestures for one of his buddies to hand him a serrated dagger and crouches down, grabbing a fistful of my hair and tugging my head back to bare my throat. He presses it to my skin, and my jerking only makes the first cut my own fault.
There’s a loud, dramatic, feminine groan as Cambria stomps back over. “Damn it, where’s Illiah? You know full well he could just wipe their minds and we could forget about this.”
One of the guards watching the show flicks a tongue over one of his pointed teeth. “Vacation. Won’t be back for a month.”
Cambria curses. “Of fuckin’ course he’d be on vacation,” she mumbles. “Fine!” she snaps. “I’ll take the stupid humans. You’re gonna’ have to get your rocks off somewhere else, Rickon,” she directs her anger towards the man holding the knife to my throat, so at least one of the psychotic three stooges has a name to make this less confusing. He gives her an appraising once over, but she slams that door closed fast. “Don’t bother going there. Even I’ve got standards.”
He barks out a laugh as he rises to his feet, releasing his death grip on my hair and dropping me to the ground. “I sincerely doubt that.”
Despite his acidic words, the bindings around us loosen, letting one of our hands slip free. Before I can even question it, one of the nameless guards is tracing his fingernail across the back of my hand and I’m gritting my teeth. The smell of flesh burning as he carves into my skin makes me gag, and a few grunts make it clear it’s happening to the others too.
When he finally drops my wrist, I’m panting and sweating, but I never let them have the satisfaction of broadcasting my pain. I’ve taken my fair share of ass kickings over the years, but this is on a different level. This goes beyond skin deep pain to settle into my bones and bleeds into every muscle of my body. Yet still, I was trained to handle situations like this without showing weakness, and I’ll be damned if I let something like this break me.
I risk a quick glance at the others. Dorian in a similar state as me, but Lucien? You can’t even tell he’s in pain. Not only isn’t he shaking or sweating like us, but his eyes don’t radiate seething hatred or malice. They show nothing at all. A soulless, icy glare akin to that of a stone sculpture, devoid of all feeling.
Even Cambria, who a man is still carving away at instead of burning, remains stony faced, but she can’t hide the hatred emanating from her in waves. Her eyes bore daggers into Rickon’s skull as he moves from the first hand to the other, followed by her chest directly over her heart. When he tries to cop a feel while shoving the blade deeper, she smacks him, hard. Blood spatters onto his face from her still bleeding wounds, but the sick fucker just grins, pressing harder into her skin while she hisses in pain.
After several agonizingly long minutes, Rickon steps back from her and wipes his bloodied hand on his pants. The three of us are released from our bindings and I get to my feet in a hurry, despising feeling so vulnerable.
Rickon licks a drop of blood off of the tip of his knife before stowing it. “No second chances, even for you.” With that, he and his buddies move on as if they can’t be bothered to waste any more time on us, leaving a gruesome mess in their wake without an ounce of remorse.
While the brand in my hand never so much as bled, cauterized instantly, the same can’t be said for Cambria. Her wounds are openly weeping and her once white shirt is thoroughly soaked through at her chest, like a giant, scarlet mark of shame.
“Come on,” she states, jaw still tightly clenched and sounding defeated.
“Where are you taking us?” Lucien demands, and something tells me he hasn’t fully comprehended what just happened here, what I’m still trying to wrap my head around. But even I can appreciate how much a stranger just suffered when she very easily could have left us to die.
“Home,” she retorts coldly, helping pull Dorian to his feet as he’s still staring at her from the ground, entranced. “So let’s get moving before you end up having to drag me there, since it’s not like you know where you’re going.”
She starts walking and I share a look at my friends, debating for a minute if we should just haul ass back to the stupid circle and try to get home before the guards can catch us. But as soon as the thought occurs to me, Cambria hisses in pain and I start walking towards her instinctively. The engraving on her chest is only getting worse and now her stomach is soaked in blood too, matting her shirt to her skin.
She turns back to glare at us impatiently, already pale. “I don’t know about you three, but I’m not enjoying the whole scarlet letter look. So if you could get your asses in gear, that’d be lovely.”
Walking away, she doesn’t turn around again, instead keeping her head held high and actively ignoring the people staring at her. They gawk, point, and gossip with amusement, not even trying to hide their disparaging remarks.
When she stumbles, Dorian is there offering his hand, trying to help her, but she brushes him off. She keeps her chin up high, lest she show weakness in front of this bloodthirsty crowd. He picks up on it and stops trying to help, biting his tongue and glowering at the others on the street instead.
We carry on in tense silence for quite some time, moving past the affluent houses to what is a weirdly pristine version of an apartment district. Gone are the magical houses and in their stead are nearly solid white, plain buildings. They’re no more than rectangular boxes with windows, not so much as a speck of dirt to be found.
Cambria’s steps come slower and her feet drag more between each step, but I do her the courtesy of pretending not to notice. She’s made it this long without collapsing; I’d hate to rob her of that strength when she’s this close to the finish line.
She heads towards her building and Lucien, ever the gentleman, opens the door for her as she mumbles a weak ‘thanks’. We step inside, a series of stairs leading to each floor that she begins to trudge up, letting her composure slip a bit now that we’re off of the street.
“Cambria, please,” Dorian finally asks, his voice strained. “Let me at least help now that there’s no one around?”
But the stubborn girl shakes her head, gripping the railing and tugging herself up slowly, one step at a time. “Walls have eyes,” she mumbles with a heavy breath, sweating and pale. “Nowhere is safe but home.”
