Total oblivion — that was what it felt like. A place with no wind, no color, no sound, no magic.
I screamed, but it was completely silent. This was a place where nothing could survive. And still those warm arms held me.
I curled in tighter around myself, willing it all to be over.
And then, just like that, it was.
Light and sound and pain rushed in, overwhelming my senses. I sucked in a breath, but my lungs burned, feeling as though they’d been shredded along with the rest of me.
It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It hurt just toexist.
I allowed myself to fade back into that place of Death and darkness and dreams.
Slow, steady wing beats created a soothing rhythm, but then we alighted, and my eyes flew open.
Golden light momentarily blinded me, and then I was being carried down a long hallway painted with a mural in colors I’d never seen before — colors that didn’t exist in my world.
Low hisses followed me down the corridor, and I glimpsed a long pale hand protruding from the sleeve of a threadbare linen cloak.
Monsters. And yet, I wasn’t afraid. I’d battled true monsters and lived.
At least, IthoughtI was alive. I was in too much pain to be dead.
There wasn’t a single inch of me that didn’t feel as though it had been beaten and stabbed. The wounds went deeper than muscle and bone. My verythoughtsfelt feeble, as if the demon who’d invaded my mind had caused irreparable damage.
A door creaked open, and more whispers filled my ears. This voice did not belong to a demon or the wraith in the cloak. It was fussy — motherly, even — though the male who held me dismissed her with a protective hiss of his own.
Gently, so gently, those arms that smelled like leather and cedar laid me down on something soft and solid. I whimpered as my battered muscles sank onto my bones, and a featherlight touch ghosted across my cheek, so faint I might have dreamed it.
I sighed against the softness that curved around my body and close my eyes, dreaming of talon-tipped wings.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
The blood-glow of dusk coaxed me awake, the light bleeding through my aching eyelids. A damp breeze wafted over me, carrying a spicy, unfamiliar aroma that reminded me of balsam trees.
Reluctantly, I peeled my eyes open and stared around the room. The walls were painted a rusty orange that offset the bone-white stone floor. An arched window stood open to the elements — the wind rustling gossamer curtains that played in the fragrant breeze.
I was lying in a huge four-poster bed that looked as though it had been carved from driftwood. It was piled with cream-colored linens that smelled as if they’d been hung to dry in the sun. Beside my bed was a nightstand made of the same gnarled wood, laden with creams and ointments.
My gaze traveled to the figure slouched in a chair by the window. He was sprawled on top of a dark blanket, which blended in with his black fighting leathers. His raven hair was disheveled, as though he’d been running his handsthrough it, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He sat with his head resting on the back of the chair, snoring lightly.
From this angle, the long tanned column of his throat was exposed — an undeniable temptation. My hands itched for my daggers, but when I reached for them, my palms slid over an airy linen fabric.
I sat bolt upright in bed and stared down at my attire.
Someone had stripped me of my weapons, and my leathers had been replaced by a thin sleeveless nightdress. Staring down at my arms, I saw that my skin was covered with raised silver scars that had once been gaping wounds.
How long had I been asleep?
“Easy,” came a familiar voice, and I whipped my heard toward the window.
Kaden was sitting upright in the chair, those stormy gray eyes fixed on me. His posture was too casual to be natural, and I knew that if I made any sudden movements, he’d been on me in a flash.
The blanket draped over his chair twitched, and I realized it wasn’t a blanket at all, but rather his batlike wings.
Not faerie wings —demonwings.
