Page 170 of Heir of Illusion

My attention flits to one of the new faces, a tall man with dark hair. I recognize his voice as the person who was shouting before. Clyde.

“She was dead and now she’s not,” he continues, his brown eyes brimming with suspicion. “You know as well as I do what that could mean.”

Thorne stiffens, his fists clenching at his sides. I summon all of my bravery and meet his gaze again, finding it locked on me. The blue of his eyes is glacial as suspicion creeps into them, making my forehead wrinkle. I open my mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but Clyde’s insistent tone rings through the room again.

“We need to see if she has the?—”

Thorne silences him with a glare. The man purses his lips, his body practically vibrating with unspent anger as he crosses his arms.

“Lift up your shirt,” Thorne commands, his attention focused on me once more.

My head snaps back. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” There’s not an ounce of warmth in his voice as he speaks. “If you are who Clyde suspects you to be, the evidence on your back will be undeniable.”

My brows shoot up at that statement. Who the fuck do they think I am? And what evidence is he referring to?

“But,” he continues, “if there’s nothing there, then you’re free to go.”

Something ugly twists in my stomach. “Go?”

He nods, his jaw clenched tight.

“But I?—”

“You what?” he demands, his tone full of ice.

I take a step back as I realize the mask he used to wear has slipped back on. He’s cold again. Indifferent. Completely the opposite of the person I’ve come to know over the past few weeks. The person I’ve come to?—

I cut that thought off as I force myself to ignore the painful cracking in my chest. Now isn’t a safe time to acknowledge vulnerable emotions. Not when the lines of friendship are so quickly shifting around me.

He arches a brow. “What will it be, Angel?”

My stomach shifts uneasily. The way he said my nickname just now felt wrong. A taunt instead of an endearment.

“Why are you acting like this?” I whisper, wishing I could take the words back immediately. They give far too much away.

Something flashes behind his eyes, but he doesn’t respond.

“Why are you waiting for her permission?” Clyde demands as he stomps toward me. “We should just hold her down and look for ours?—”

“No one touches her,”Thorne growls.

His menacing stare stops the man in his tracks. The space around him darkens as shadows stretch across the hardwood. The protective reaction has a spark of hope flaring in my chest, but when he turns back to me, his gaze is even more frigid than before.

“If you have any hope of leaving this room again, you will show us your back. Otherwise, we’ll keep you here until you comply.”

Air catches in my throat as the threat falls from his lips. This can’t be the same man who risked his life to free me… What’s changed since he used the sword to remove the collar? What’s made him become so cold toward me? Is this all because of one little lie?

I glance toward to the others, searching for an ally among the crowd. Griffen and Fia keep their faces blank as they stare impassively at the scene before them. For a moment, I think I spot a faint trace of guilt swirling beneath Griffen’s cool exterior, but it’s gone before I can be sure. The reality of my situation sinks in, making my limbs heavy and weak. Deciding it’s better not to drag this out and give them a chance to change their minds about holding me down, I turn around and lift up my tunic, exposing my back.

Gasps echo through the chamber immediately.

“No,” Fia breathes. “It’s not possible.”

“The proof is right there,” Clyde argues.

Turning my back to the ornate mirror, I twist my head around to see what has them so shocked. My eyes go round as I find a giant red tattoo covering most of my back. The crimson lines span from shoulder to shoulder, creating a symmetrical design. It takes my brain longer than it should to realize they are in the shape of wings.

---