Page 17 of Wolf of Ashes
I knew escaping my cage wouldn’t be easy, but the path to freedom has brought me into new dangers I wasn’t anticipating. I swore I was done with fear and that I would fight every enemy who steps into my path, but…
My body’s growing weaker by the minute. I’m not at my full strength, although the reality is that I’ve never been at my full strength. With minimal nutrition, my jailer ensured I was never as strong as my full potential.
My legs wobble as I take a step and I mask it by pausing near the strip of material hanging on the wall.
I could fear this material as a symbol of the being who wears it.
Or… I could face that fear. Literally.
With a snarl, I pull the black sash from the nail and wrap it around my own head. Its opacity is complete; it blocks everything from view, which means it could be useful if the light in the outside world proves too much for me.
Of course, I will need to ignore its scent. A powerful mix of justice and rage.
Not pure, huh?
I can feed on the rage the owner of this material left within its folds, but this justice… It carries the sense of punishment being meted out quickly, efficiently. Ruthless but clean.
My definition of justice is blood and pain. Delivered with extreme prejudice.
Removing the sash from my face, I tie it around my waist like a belt. I am no longer concerned about the woman who wears this sash.
No, make thatused towear it.
It’s mine now.
Even though the temperature in this cell is comfortable to me, I recognize that I’ll need to ask the keeper for new clothes soon, if only because walking around in my underwear will attract attention. In the meantime, I remain decked out in my bra, my underpants, my mother’s old shirt tied around my left hand, a strip of her skirt around my eyes, and now this sash around my waist.
It takes me a few seconds to plod across the cage to meet the keeper at the base of the stairs at the far end of the room. Again, I mask my weakness by acting as if I’m studying my surroundings as I move.
I try to keep the desperation from my voice as I ask, “What’s the difference between food and clothes? Why can you make one, but not the other?”
“Clothing is an illusion,” he says. “Food must be real.”
My brow creases. “But the warm clothing didn’t feel fake.”
He lifts his chin. “That’s because it was agoodillusion. It tricked your brain into believing you were warm. It would even trick someone who touched your clothing into believing the clothing was really there. If I conjured food for you in the same way, you would believe your belly was full.”
His smile fades. “And yet you would waste away. Better to feel your hunger and thirst than to die because of deceit.”
“Oh.”Well, that makes sense.“So if you want to get rid of me, you could simply feed me fake food.”
He reacts to my claim quickly and with surprising force, pulling me toward him. One of his arms sweeps across my back, while his other palm rests against my jaw, his fingers splayed over my cheekbone, his position ensuring that I don’t look away from his eyes.
“I made a vow.” He growls, baring his teeth at me. While his teeth resemble a wolf’s, black scales ripple across his naked chest and up the sides of his neck that look distinctlydragon. “You will live to have your revenge.”
I try to take a breath, fighting the effect of his bare skin against mine, the press of my breasts against his chest and the contact of my body with all the other hard parts of him. “Do you really think I’ll believe deceit isn’t in your repertoire?” I whisper.
“It isn’t when it comes to you.”
I don’t believe him. Not completely. He’s a dark creature like me. We live on lies and subterfuge.
My hands splay across his chest, testing for a moment his reaction to my touch.
His pupils darken, but his hold on me softens. “I sense your fatigue even if you won’t speak of it. Do you need me to assist you to climb these stairs?”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I snarl, pushing away from him.
His distance makes my skin cool in the dank air.
