Page 46 of Wraithwound

Lena’s gaze slid to the shackles and then back to him.

“How is it that you’re still human?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to be the expert on wraiths?” she said.

“You don’t exactly present like a typical wraith,” he snapped. When she didn’t reply, he tried, “What’s your name?”

“Why bother asking if I’m just going to end up in a dry grave?” she asked, looking away. The soldier stared at her, until she said, “It’s Lena.”

She didn’t bother asking his name in return.

After a moment, he walked over key in hand, but before unlocking the metal clamp, he wrapped another chain around her waist. When he was sure it was secured, he unlocked the shackles at her ankles.

He didn’t seem concerned that her hands were free. Lena did her best to block out the memories of what she had done with the nails that now sat on permanent display.

When he was finished, she held up her wrists. Crouching down in front of her, he lifted his gaze to hers, his piercing blue eyes searching her face. As if finding whatever he was looking for there, he shook his head and stood.

“I don’t need to shackle your hands,” he said and turned back towards his tent.

Lena understood the words he left unsaid. He wasn’t afraid of her, and he didn’t need to worry about her harming him. She suspected that he was plenty dangerous, even without weapons, especially now that he was healthy again.

The soldier shifted his focus to packing up the small camp and gave Lena some privacy before they set off. She imagined she’d be walking beside him as he rode. Instead, he lifted her atop his horse. The beast eyed her warily and swished its tail but responded well to its rider.

They traveled in silence for a long while, seemingly headed towards the plains, a place she’d never been, although she was familiar with the stories about the terrors that dwelled there. She’d heard stories of the spindly-legged creatures that crawled down from the trees at night, and the flat, leather-backed monsters that would pop up from the ground and crush a human whole.

Irritation seemed to leak from the soldier with every step. After several uneventful hours, he pulled the horse to a stop.

They had reached more rugged terrain, craggy outcroppings surrounded by expansive browning plains that exposed them to harsh sunlight despite the chill in the air. Vegetation emerged from cracks and crevices in the rocks, and the area was dotted with the occasional tree. The soldier found a shaded area near a rocky outcropping and tethered his horse to a low hanging branch in the shade. He did the same thing with Lena, securing her chain to another tree nearby.

“You haven’t asked where we’re going,” he said in clipped tone.

Lena stared out into the plains. The hills visible in the distance covered by sand and small patches of grass reminded her of the dunes she’d stood upon with Henry. Her heart suddenly ached at the thought of him.

“Does it matter?” she asked.

“That you haven’t asked? I think it does,” he said.

But Lena couldn’t bring herself to care about his astute observation. The grief she felt was oddly reminiscent of the numbness she’d come to know so well, but now, it was accompanied by something new.

Anger.

She realized she was angry at Henry. So angry. For giving her his soul, for trusting her when she didn’t deserve it, and for the position he’d put her in. Because while Lena had cared little for herself, she would give anything for her brother, and he knew that. He’d used that against her. Lena let the anger burn in her throat.

But had he really?

Lena shook the thoughts away, her anger banking. She wouldn’t do it again. She wouldn’t blame someone else for her choices. This was on her. All of it. The broken trust, betrayal, ruptured relationships. Her loneliness and unhappiness. She had chosen all of it. She had killed that man in the forest, entered a city full of people as a half-turned wraith, and gone to see Ada and Eduard who had paid for her selfishness, her recklessness, with their lives. She had killed them. Murdered them. She wouldn’t give the wraith the opportunity to hurt anyone else.

Lena shrugged.

The soldier passed her a bit of dried meat, which sat on her lap undisturbed while he ate. He seemed to notice this too.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Nobody,” she said.

“There has to be something different about you. Perhaps from your life before the wraithwound?” he tried.

“No, I wasn’t much of anyone then either,” she said.