Page 144 of Dawn of Chaos and Fury
“My Lord? Have I displeased you?” she asked, trying to think of anything she might have done to set him off. To deserve this type of discipline.
“Of course not, my flower,” he said, coming around to stand in front of her.
“Then…why?” she asked, willing the tears not to pool in her eyes. He hated when she cried. It showed too much emotion.
“What is the one and only thing I ask of you?” he asked, his tone hardening at her continued questioning.
Her eyes dropped to the floor, bowing her head. “Obedience, my Lord.”
“Exactly. You will do this because it is what I want from you,” he snapped, the sound of his zipper reaching her ears. “Now, give me your mouth before we go.”
She gritted her teeth at the slice of pain, looking down to see the knife still deep in her flesh.
“You always cut too deep,” Lange snapped, snatching the knife out of her hand.
These godsdamn Imps. But pain was the only way to be pulled from their grasp. The Imps made one relive the nightmares of their past, only freeing them when they made an offering of pain.
They all kept knives on them right now for this very purpose, and it was fine. They all healed fast enough, and she’d take the Imps over the Sprytes or the Dread-Nymphs.
“What was it this time?” Lange asked, eyeing the gash on her arm that was still heavily bleeding.
“Nothing,” she replied, holding out her hand for her knife.
“Sure. Just like every other time,” Lange said flatly, ignoring her request.
Eviana just shrugged. It wasn’t her fault they couldn’t keep their misery to themselves when they experienced their worst memories. The gods knew the Imps had plenty of material to choose from in her case.
They kept walking, the forest floor crunching under their shoes and boots as they went. Corbin had shifted back to his Fae form the morning after they’d entered the woods. They hadn’t moved much those first few days, instead taking the time to rest and refill their reserves. The Imps had let them be until the third day. Now they were a daily nuisance.
“Maybe if you talked about it, it would…help,” Lange trailed off when she sent him a dubious look.
“Does talking about your past help?” she retorted dryly.
“Yes.”
She tsked under her breath, rolling her eyes. Lange didn’t push further, which was just as well. She had no plans to tell him about the night Valterborrowedher to Mansel for a week. How, even though she knew it was pointless, she still asked the Lord not to make her do it. How she was obedient in the end, but Mansel was still socreativein his efforts at the Villas. How she begged the gods and the Fates that she wouldn’t fall pregnant.How she’d tried to cry when it was confirmed, her face buried in a pillow while Valter took what he wanted from her, but she’d trained herself not to shed tears long ago.
Talking about any of that wouldn’t help anything, though Lange and Corbin were constantly speaking with each other as if it would. Their voices were always low, especially after an Imp got to one of them. Gentle touches and soft kisses. A comfort to each other.
But she kept quiet, leading the way and letting them follow. She knew it was only a matter of time before a Dread-Nymph found them. Then they’d realize how littletalkingabout it helped.
Slowly the light filtering through the trees started to fade, the woods becoming cooler with each passing hour. They always held out as long as they could, but when they estimated there was perhaps an hour left of light, that was when they would find a place to stop for the night. Being in the Dreamlock Woods was risky enough. Moving about in the dark was downright stupid.
Corbin went off, just out of sight, to gather sticks and wood for a fire. With his Shifter senses, he was the most capable of finding his way back and sensing danger on his own. She and Lange worked on clearing a space for the fire and trying to put together some kind of meal. One would think they’d at least be able to hunt wildlife, but living creatures of all kinds were sparse in the woods. The animals that were here hid their presence as much as they were trying to keep their own quiet.
“He’s been gone longer than usual,” Lange said, facing the direction Corbin had gone.
“He only left a few minutes ago,” she replied, returning to her task.
“A few minutes? He’s been gone for nearly an hour,” Lange retorted, a breeze blowing through the area with his agitation.
She glanced up at him from where she was fishing various items out of the pack. “You’re being overly dramatic.”
But truly, it had only been five, maybe ten, minutes. Not anywhere near an hour.
“I’m not being dramatic,” Lange bit back, taking a few steps toward the trees. Then he stopped, cocking his head. “Did you hear that?”
“I can’t hear the winds’ chatter,” she muttered. “That is unique to you, Wind Walker.”
