Page 145 of Nightshade

The thought of defying him sent a wave of butterflies through my stomach, for some strange reason.

As I made my way toward the staircase, wings fluttering at my back, I kept my eyes peeled for Van Croix. The brisk, evening air blanketed me the moment I stepped out the front door, to find the carriage, gleaming clean, and standing unmanned. The plan was for Anya to stall him a bit, while I hustled to tuck myself inside that trunk. Hopefully, Garic wouldn’t catch me in the act, because I was pretty certain the guy would tattle.

With a deep breath, I opened the trunk, and found it fairly spacious within. Hiking one leg over the edge of it, I stepped down into the moderately-sized box. It was as I attempted to lie down that I realized my wings were a bit too big, stubbornly refusing to be stuffed inside.

Yet another reason why the costume Anya had picked was a horrible idea!

Awkwardly squashing them down, I swallowed back the panic of time ticking away. I managed to stuff them into the wooden container, but as I attempted to close it, one of the wings popped out.

On a groan, I tugged at the wing, holding it down against the floor of the trunk, and slammed the lid shut.

The darkness swallowed me as I lay huffing, trying to catch my breath after wrangling the damn things.

Good grief.

Only minutes later, I heard the crunch of boots across the gravel, followed by the hushed voices of both Garic and Van Croix. I felt the carriage shift and bounce as its passengers climbed aboard. One hard slap, and it set into motion, jerking me inside the box.

Hopefully, the ride wouldn’t be too long, because the lack of air in this box would’ve surely suffocated me after a while.

* * *

Air.

I needed air.

Desperately.

The ride lasted far longer than I’d imagined. Or perhaps it felt longer with every breath I’d been forced to count. Even though the carriage continued to bounce along, I needed to crack the wooden chest for one sip of air. Otherwise, Garic would’ve been cleaning out a dead fairy from the trunk the next time he scrubbed the wheels. I pushed against the lid. It didn’t open. Panic tickled the back of my neck, as I pushed harder, exerting far too much energy for the dangerously low oxygen at my disposal.

It still wouldn’t give.

Fear gripped my chest, and I slammed my palm against the lid, horrified when it didn’t so much as budge! I must’ve tripped the lock, somehow.

I lifted my knee and slammed it against the unyielding lid, and flinched at the painful crack against my bone. “Ouch!”

Full on alarm blared inside of me, and with both hands I pounded against the lid. “Let me out of here! Let me out! Please!”

I didn’t even notice the carriage had stopped, until the lid flew open and my next punch to the lid was captured mid-swing.

Cool, crisp air filled my lungs, as I sucked in a deep breath, staring up at one really angry, unpatched eye.

I panted and gasped, stealing a moment to catch my breath, then finally let out a long exhale.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The tone of his voice matched the furious scowl on his face.

“Surprise?”

With a harsh tug, he urged me out of the trunk, my wrist still captured in his strong grip. “I specifically told you that I--”

As I stepped down from the back of the carriage, my wings popped back in place, and his jaw went slack. The expression on his face--a cross between surprise and what I’d describe as awe--left me wishing I could crawl into a hole somewhere. I may as well have been completely nude for how exposed I felt, caught in his stare. That one good eye of his tracked me from the tips of my wings to the silver, strappy sandals that Anya insisted I wear in place of the boots I longed for instead.

In no more than a minute, his gaze had practically devoured me.

Every muscle in my body twitched, while I stood fidgeting with the purse that suddenly felt heavy in my clutch. As if my nervous tics weren’t enough distraction, the man looked lethally appetizing in a black leather, hooded swallowtail jacket over a black, high-collar, lace-up shirt. Black leather captain boots rose to about his mid-calf, and something silver flashed beneath his coat.

I dared not to think, let alone admit, that the costume was both fitting and stunning on the man. Though, trying to figure out what exactly he’d intended with the look remained a mystery. Certainly wasn’t woodland. Along with his black eyepatch, he reminded me of something dangerous, like some kind of stealth assassin.

The complete opposite to my costume.