Page 4 of On Wings of Blood

Some might even have called him unattractive. He certainly wasn’t my type. I preferred a bulkier build. Darker hair. Still, I couldn’t deny there was something about him. A sense of barely coiled power and dangerous cunning that simmered beneath the surface of his facade of tight control.

As I stumbled down the mountain of rotting corpses, he slid off his horse. Holding the crossbow in his left hand, he strode towards me. He carried himself like someone unused to having his authority questioned.

Piercing gray eyes glinted and I felt myself being assessed from head to toe. His eyes lingered slowly on every inch of my flesh, stripping away all of my modesty.

He took a step closer towards me, sniffing the air in a way that reminded me unbearably of Barnabas. I caught the scent of green apples wafting off him, just before I snapped and backed away from him. Later, I would wonder about that. He smelled fresh. Nothing like Barnabas or the rancid corpses.

Still, I couldn’t bear that gaze raking over me any longer.

“Take a good, long look, why don’t you?” I tossed my long hair over one shoulder and was disconcerted to feel it fall on bare skin. “I assure you, it’s the last one you’ll ever get.”

One brave soldier hooted with laughter somewhere down the line. I grinned towards the soldiers, daring them to laugh again.

A glare from their young commander silenced them all in an instant.

The young man sneered. “I was trying to understand Barnabas’s strange fascination. You smell absolutely revolting. But then, I suppose lying on a pile of corpses tends to do that to one.”

He turned to one of the soldiers. “Get her some clothes.” He snapped his fingers. “No, on second thought, give her your cloak. Take it off. Now.”

I saw the soldier’s eyes widen. “But, my lord, my prince,” the man whispered, glancing at me surreptitiously. “You saw what she is. Her hair... She bears the mark...”

A prince, was he? He was certainly haughty-looking enough to be one.

“I know what she is,” the commander responded. “Better than you do, I have no doubt. Now give her your fucking cloak. We’re taking her back with us.”

Hurriedly, the soldier unfastened his cloak and tossed it over to me. I caught it gratefully, trying to ignore the look in his eyes. Fear or revulsion, I couldn’t quite tell.

“Prince or not, you’re quite mistaken if you think I’m going anywhere with you,” I declared as I accepted the cloak and wrapped it around me. “Thank you for the cloak, but I’ll find my own way home from this place.”

Part of that was true, at least. This wasn’t home. I doubted I’d ever get back there again. But I could leave this hellhole into which I’d fallen.

A moment later I found myself wishing I hadn’t spoken.

The young commander had mounted his horse. Now he turned to look down at me disdainfully. His nose, I noticed, was not only hawk-like but crooked, as if it had been broken before, perhaps more than once.

There was something about him that made me unable to look away. His eyes locked with mine in a silent challenge.

“If only the decision was yours to make. It isn’t. But if you plan to make this difficult...” He gestured to another soldier. “Find her proper clothes. Then bind her.”

And they did.

We rode towards a city, a strange procession of soldiers, horses, and me, staggering in front of the commander’s horse, my wrists chained together as I trod over uneven ground.

I could feel the prince’s eyes on me, sense his cold amusement each time I tripped and stumbled.

I’d already developed a seething hatred for my new captor, but I managed not to turn my head and look up. Not once.

Eventually though, he spoke.

“Where do you come from?”

I ignored him.

“I asked you a question. Clearly you didn’t belong in that place. So where do you come from? What were you doing there?”

I heard the snap of a whip and flinched.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

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