Page 48 of Wraithwound

Lena slowly drew her gaze up to his. He looked better. Although unlike last time, it did nothing to curb her annoyance.

“What key?” she asked.

He gave her ankle a pointed look. Oh, that key.

“I have no idea,” she replied, giving him a look of her own.

She hadn’t even considered looking for it. In the moment, it hadn’t even crossed her mind. Lena pulled her boot off as he turned and continued to scan the area.

Not a moment later, he bent over and snatched something from the ground near the now slumbering fire. It must have fallen out when he collapsed. She knew the moment he came upon the realization, too, because his cheeks reddened.

Lena smirked.

Clenching the key in his fist, he walked over to unlock her chains and looked stunned at the condition of her ankle. It was mottled with bruises of purple and deep black that spread into her foot. She couldn’t help but be impressed at how bad it looked, her mind automatically filing through the physiology behind the injury. But she just stood and walked off in the direction of the bushes, limping slightly.

Her ears picked up the melodic rush of a stream nearby, and she wandered on, following the sound. It wasn’t long until she spotted it, the water gleaming in the morning light. She made her way to the water’s edge and sat, gingerly slipping her foot into the cool stream. Lena leaned back onto her arms and tilted her head back, eyes closed to the blinding brightness.

As if the sun’s rays had slowly thawed something cold and numb within her, she let her mind wander. A deep and heavy sadness settled over her like a blanket.

She had completed the turn; Henry’s soul was lost. She knew it, deep down, and now, she was just waiting to lose herself. At any moment, the wraith could be unleashed upon the world to cause more destruction and harm. To kill. Consume.

To consume someone’s soul was to consume all that made them human. Their hopes, fears, and dreams. To destroy families and impart on them the same grief that had almost killed her.

Sure, she was still herself but for how much longer? It was the waiting, the absolute uncertainty of it all, that she couldn’t cope with. She wouldn’t wait to find out. She couldn’t.

The soldier’s angry voice cut into her thoughts. “We’ve got to move!” he shouted from somewhere behind her.

Oh, Cross was cross.

A ghost of a smile formed on her face.

She must have saved the most unskilled soulbound soldier in existence because how was it that he’d almost gotten himself killed again? He was so lucky that he’d collapsed within the range of her chains. Well, within dragging range.

Lena took her time at the stream washing, and when her ankle was sufficiently numb from the cold water running over it, she made her way back. She pulled her boots on without protest and stepped up to the horse that would carry her away from here.

They traveled with minimal stops the entire day and then for most of the morning the day after. They finally stopped in a grove of trees nestled inside rocky outcroppings. It was a cloudless day, and the sun was high in the sky. Lena peeled off her cloak the minute her feet touched the ground. Cross glanced at the heavy cloak now lying on the rocky ground. Seemingly immune to the hot sun, he still wore his own cloak. Lena pulled on the front of her garment, willing the air to cool her skin as she ducked into some shade.

He still hadn’t spoken to her, opting instead to go about his tasks in silence.

Sore and stiff from the ride, she had just been released from her chain when her shoulder began to prickle. Instantly, the hair at the back of her neck rose, and her senses heightened. A chittering sound from the trees nearby sent a chill up her spine. She’d heard the same noise in MountTier before that winged creature had landed in the field.

Lena whirled to warn the soldier, but he was nowhere in sight. The stallion tied nearby began to whinny. She sank further into the shade of the trees, trying to decide what to do, when the clash of steel rang out in the distance.

Guided by the commotion, Lena ran, ignoring the pulsing in her ankle. She could hear a gruff voice projecting off the stone nearby, “Still alive, Cross?”

“Disappointed?” Cross asked.

“Somehow I knew you’d pull through,” the voice retorted.

The moment she cleared the trees, Taryk’s green-eyed gaze snapped to hers. He was clad in grey leather armor, an ornate sword gripped tightly in his hand. Cross subtly angled himself so that he stood in front of her, but Taryk merely peered around him, a violent glint in his eyes. His cropped blonde hair and pale skin stood opposite to Cross’s brown hair and tanned skin. He was just as tall and muscled as Cross, but the way he carried himself seemed less graceful somehow. Still just as deadly though.

Good.

Lena stepped past Cross, walking towards him. Cross grabbed her wrist, stopping her, and she flinched, turning to face him. At the sight of the fear in her eyes, he dropped her wrist, a question forming in his eyes.

“You said you’re dutybound to protect me, but he’s not,” she said, pointing at Taryk.

“Lena. Don’t,” he cautioned.