Page 20 of Bound By Darkness

“Goodness! What’s wrong?” Gwen replied as her fragile frame leaned to pick up the scattered chair.

Not a wrinkle across his forehead formed as he sat up. “Then it is your name,” he said, his fingers curling slightly.

“How do you know my last name?” I ground out as I inched toward the kitchen door.

The exit. He wasn’t blocking it anymore.

“Her wounds!” Gwen yelled. “Thalia, you need to be careful about reopening your stitches?—”

I panted as I slid around the counter. “How do you know that name?” The King told me he hid it. The day I’d arrived at the prison he said my family name would disappear along with them for the curse I’d been born with.

How did he know?

How did he know?

Ivan stood, his large frame swallowing the light as it reflected from the window. His steps were wide and calculated as he approached from the side, his eyes dimming. “Some nightmares don’t disappear.”

Everything came crashing around me in the too-smallkitchen. My back hit the door as I fumbled with the iron knob, my hands sticky from the jam.

The knob wasn’t twisting.

The door rattled as Ivan placed his hand against the flimsy wood. His eyes were soft as silver stared into mine. “I know about the curse of the Carr family and what you possess.” He took a deep breath. “I need your casting. The darkness you shield from others. The darkness gifted to you at birth.”

The doorknob twisted underneath my fingers as it opened.

Heknew.

The door. I needed to run to the door. The roaring of my blood blocked out any other sounds as it pulsed throughout my body.

Ivan blocked my path, a solid wall of muscle standing between me and freedom. His shoulders were weighed down as if chains were linked across his back. “Sorry to disappoint, but you won’t find the freedom you seek beyond that door.”

Chapter 8

Stitches

THALIA

A knock sentmy heart racing as I shifted in bed, my hands reaching for the nearest item I could find.

“Thalia?”

Snatching the book from beside my bed, I held it tightly as Gwen’s frame appeared from around the door, a metal tray shaking gently in her hands. “Hungry?”

I lowered the book, my head shaking. “I don’t want anything from you people,” I said, my back curling against the headboard. It still stung from yesterday. A few stitches had most likely reopened.

Gwen took another step.

I raised the book slightly, my eyes watching every movement.

“A book?” She rolled her eyes. “Stop being stubborn and eat,” she muttered, setting the tray before me.

Cinnamon porridge and red berries sat in the middle with a cup of amber liquid at the top. Sniffing, I glanced between her and the tray, my fingers grabbing the cup gently before smelling it again, testing for any ailments that would render me useless.

“Eat girl. It would be useless to kill you after I spent so long tending to your wounds.” She pointed to the cup. “Drink it,” she said before walking over to the desk in the corner. She pulled out a small kit.

I reluctantly took a sip. It burned slightly, hints of sugar and orange lingering in my mouth.

Gwen sat on the edge of the bed, a sewing needle resting between her thumb and pointer finger. Thread and fresh linen rested on the green cotton dress she had chosen to wear today in heir of summer. “Drink the rest of the liquid. It’s a tonic to stave off infection, and increase the healing process. Now, turn around so I can sew your reopened wounds from yesterday.”

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