Page 102 of Her Tortured Beasts

I have every desire to destroy the person who did this.

“What made the wound?” I ask between gritted teeth.

The Collector hovers near me before crossing her arms. “A cattle prod.”

My eyes near boggle out of their sockets in morbid disbelief. “You didn’t!”

“Do as you are told or I will have you shot in the leg.”

I huff in disgust before crouching down to look at his face better. His eyes are closed, long silver lashes sweeping downward. I wonder what colour his eyes are. His mane reminds me of Scythe, and my heart pangs for a moment before I realise the strands of hair emit their own gentle glow.

I shake my head.Magnificent.

“Who are you?”

I inhale sharply from the shock. His voice is like a moonbeam on an open field. It’s somehow dark and light at the same time.“My name is Aurelia.”

“You are like me.”

I want to smile at the joke of that.“I could never be.”

“I’ve never met a humble Boneweaver.”Dry amusement marks his tone.

My body freezes as his words hit home. I’m almost terrified to ask. “You’ve met other Boneweavers?”

His eyes blink open. The Collector gasps.

It’s irises of the lightest purple that greet me. Appraise me. Like lavender under the sun.“Many of them,”he says. “Are there none left here?”

My throat is suddenly tight.“I don’t think so. I’m alone. But…what do you mean by ‘here’ exactly?”

He blinks at me, and for a moment, he seems infinitely sad.“Unicorns travel between worlds, Aurelia. But promise me you’ll not tell her that.”

My heart pounds and I place a hand over it.“I will take it to my grave.”

“What is he saying?” The Collector asks with a voice like a knife. “He’s speaking to you, I know it!”

I cast her an annoyed look and find her expression full of jealousy. “He’s saying it hurts. He’s saying he needs the moon and an open field.”

She waves her hand, irritated. The roo next to me moves, and suddenly, the end of a gun is pressed against my shoulder.

I close my eyes in dismay before sending my power out, lingering at the edges of this magnificent creature. “May I?” I ask out loud. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

He blinks once with certainty and I allow my lips a ghost of a smile before I push my power towards that awful wound. My avian power practically rushes at it, eager to help, eager toplease. The tissue above has to be sheared off to allow the newer flesh beneath to proliferate. My power sloughs at the rotten skin, urging it to leave, urging white blood cells to pool over the bacteria. It hurts him, I know it does, but the creature doesn’t move as he closes his eyes once again.

His scent is mild, as if all his power has retracted into himself to preserve his strength. But his scent is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s wild and powerful, like a thousand horses galloping over a plain, but also sweet and sensual, like a lover’s caress. It would have been enough to enamour me, was I not already fated to be regina to five others. No wonder The Collector is besotted and obsessed worse than any dragon in a treasure haze.

Sweat trickles down my spine, and I waver on the spot a little as my power funnels itself into him. His body seems to gobble it up, a never-ending stream of hunger. Frowning, I withdraw, glancing at my captor.

“I’ll need to come back. The wound is deep.”

She nods curtly from where she watches me, before turning on her heel and leading the way out.

I rise to my feet, casting another sad glance at him.

“Lorian,”he says softly.“Let everyone know that my name was Lorian.”

I turn to stare at him. He thinks he’ll die here. He thinks this is the end of him, and perhaps it is.

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