Page 17 of Feathers and Thorns

Her whole body stiffened as the grip loosened enough for her to look up into Rook’s sapphire gaze.

A smirk pulled up the corners of his lips. “Hello, little bird.”

Soren’s shock at hearing his voice was short-lived as images of her father’s body ripped through her vision. The fear that, moments ago, had threatened to take over her entire being was quickly replaced with searing hot rage for her father’s killer. She cursed herself for dreaming up such useless attire.

A quick glance around showed little for a way of escape.

Before he could spew more lies from those all-too-familiar lips, she twisted from his grasp and grabbed the nearest oil lamp. She used the glass encasement to knock him out cold before holding her open palm to the flame to rouse herself from the nightmarish hellscape her mind had created.

* * *

Soren’s eyes flicked open. She could not yet move. The sleep hormones that usually failed her had decided to do their job for once, rendering her immobile.

Enara had rolled over, stealing her cloak and the warmth that came along with it, but another jacket had taken its place. It smelled of wood and tobacco, smoky and mysterious, much like its owner.

The tracker was attractive, Soren had to admit, but he was hung up on another woman. Too bad, she thought. He could have been a fun distraction.

Her body still refused to grant her motion, so she resigned to settling her mind to hopefully rest for at least another hour or so. But then her father’s decomposed body flashed across her eyelids the moment she closed them, and the fist around her heart tightened.

Panic in the form of darkness settled over her. A distorted figure of no discernible age or sex sat on her breastbone, crushing her below its impossible weight. It would suffocate her if she didn’t do something.

She wanted to scream, but no sound came out. It was as though her lips had been sewn shut. She wracked her brain for anything that could save her, and the image of Rook standing over the beheaded kestrel came to the forefront of her mind.

He was a light amongst the shadows, cutting down the creature that had tormented her. She focused on the memory, and the black beast slowly slunk back to the dark corner of her mind that stemmed all panic and fear. The pressure on her chest eased, and oxygen returned to her lungs.

Her thoughts were still filled with images of Rook, and she cursed herself. She had been furious when he’d appeared in her dream like some white knight from one of her stories. She had wanted to douse him in the oil from the rest of the lamps and set his body aflame in the hopes he would never wake up again.

However, as before, in the mansion, something inside her broken heart had stilled her hand. The anger never retreated, and neither did her feelings for him, but she would not think of that now. Now, she would name all the constellations, mapping each star point as she created a galaxy in her mind. Here was where she could lay her head without the fear of bodies or betrayals. Here, she was safe.

Rook sat up, inhaling sharply as pain shot through his torso. His head was pounding from where Soren had accosted him in her dream.

I should check on her, he thought.

He looked down to see a cloth bandage covered in blood and began unwrapping it slowly. He hissed as he peeled it away, burgundy flecks falling onto his sheets as he tugged. He then set the fabric aside, revealing an angry gash about four inches long, marring his hipbone. He assessed it angrily, cursing his father for turning his creatures on his own flesh and blood. Thankfully, being half-immortal allowed him to heal quicker than most. A week from now, there would be no trace of it. He would have to rest in the meantime.

He struggled to shove his legs into a pair of loose trousers as more injuries from the encounter made themselves known. Then he grimaced at his reflection, noting the thirty-seven cuts and gouges that marked his previously perfect skin.

“None of this would have happened if I had just followed my damn orders,” he swore at himself.

He’d spent all of his formative years training for this and hadn’t made it more than a few weeks before the little bird had crawled under his skin. She was insufferable, stubborn, and had the vocabulary of a scorned bar wench, yet she was beautifully broken, just like him.

Before he realized what he was doing, his feet had taken him down the hall to the door that separated them and knocked twice.

No answer.

He just needed to see that she had come out of the rumble in better shape than he had, and then he could go about healing in peace.

He knocked again.

Nothing.

Maybe she was in another room with her friends.

He not so secretly wished that the kestrels had taken them out. It would make everything so much easier without Soren continuously worrying about them.

He checked the other bedrooms, his frustration building with each empty space he came across. He was about to check the sitting room when Meena walked out, almost running into him.

“Oof!” She bowed, flustered. “Sorry, I thought you were still asleep. I was just coming to redress your wound.”

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