Page 19 of Feathers and Thorns

Evelyn brought in the mending kit and began to redress his wound. “You really shouldn’t have angered it. You pulled out your stitches. They will have to be redone,” she admonished.

“It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t let her leave.”

“Don’t put that on me. Soren leaving was based on your actions alone.” She placed the antiseptic on his side, and he sucked in air angrily. It burned as if she had shoved a red-hot poker into his bare skin.

“That hurts,” he ground out, the pain shooting to his groin.

“Don’t pout,” she replied before pressing the cloth back to his skin.

He glared at her. “Did she say anything else to you?”

She looked at him sympathetically. “She said to tell you she was sorry.”

He let out a defeated breath then downed a glass of scotch before leaning back to let her begin stitching. The feeling of the thread weaving his skin together was as painful as it was unnerving, but the buzz of the alcohol helped.

When she finished, she cleaned the area again and wrapped him in a fresh bandage. Then she admired her handiwork. “Good as new.”

“Thank you.” He had to admit she was good at what she did. He realized now he often took the sisters for granted. He had gotten so used to them always being here that he had forgotten to show his appreciation for their loyalty.

“You and your sister deserve a better life than this,” he admitted.

“You’re not forcing our hand, Rook. We like living here. We love nature, the amenities help, and sometimes we even enjoy your company. Don’t sell yourself short. We stay because we choose to.”

“If you ever change your mind?—”

“We know where to find you.”

Meena walked in, carrying a tray of stew with a toasted baguette and some freshly churned herb butter on the side for dipping. “Lunch is ready.” She beamed. “Glad to see you all fixed up.”

Her positive attitude never seemed to waver. It used to annoy him, but the place needed something to brighten it up. She was like the sun—warm and inviting, always there when you needed it. He was thankful to have these two women to keep him company, and they had taken such good care of him all these years. He loved them like sisters and was thankful they chose to stay with him, as intolerable as he could be.

He spent the next two days resting, but sleep did not come easy. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the look of betrayal on Soren’s face. During the waking hours, he would look in the mirror, disgusted with what he had become. His father had taken a motherless boy and had turned him into a weapon. He had been trained, and tortured, and taught how to show women a good time. He didn’t even really know who he was. His personality seemed fractured from everything he had endured.

He had grown up under Corvus’s wing. His father had instructed that Corvus be in charge of his training, and the creature had reveled in it. He’d spent countless hours siccing the kestrels on him, allowing him to heal only long enough to start fighting again. He had been scarred a million times over, but to the naked eye, he was an untouched piece of art. Honed and crafted by a thousand taloned hands, he was ruthless and exuded danger. Even the girls were scared of him when his true temper broke through his cool façade.

With Soren, he had felt as though he was starting to find who he was. Little glimmers of who he wanted to be would spark and die out, but they had given him hope. The longer he’d spent with her, the brighter each spark had shone. Now he felt like the depths of the Obsidian Sea, where no light dared to enter.

Many times, he found himself pacing the halls, wondering where she had gone off to, and then he would return to his room when he realized she was gone. No one had explained what the absence of a person was like. They only said they would miss them, or that it hurt when they left. No one told you what it was like to enter their room and feel the emptiness they had left behind. The sheets still mussed, worn clothing laying in a heap on the floor, a water glass with barely the hint of a kiss on its rim. They didn’t tell you what it was like to live in a mansion but know your home was somewhere else.

On night five, he got drunk. Evelyn had advised against it until his wound was fully healed, but he had disregarded her advice. He should have listened.

When he woke up the next morning, he discovered that he had trashed his entire bedroom, almost lighting the place on fire in his rampage to erase Soren.

He looked at the splinters left behind from the chairs and remembered the little game they had played. How could she have ever thought he didn’t want her in that way? Her beauty could rival the late queen of Patrivah’s, if it weren’t for her smart mouth.

Her mouth, he thought. The things she could do with that mouth. He smirked a little, remembering a particularly enjoyable afternoon they had spent in the library.

He shook the thought away. Thinking about his body merging with hers only upset him further.

On the morning of the seventh day, he looked down to find the gash had healed and tested his flexibility. He was pleased to find that he was back to feeling one hundred percent.

He called a family meeting at breakfast, requesting the girls dine with him.

“I’m going after her,” he stated bluntly.

Evelyn didn’t hesitate to respond with, “Then we’re going with you.”

Meena nodded in agreement, her face serious.

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