4. AURORA
“FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING NAP TIME,” I screech, rattling the iron bars of the cage until the muscles in my arms are screaming in protest.
The guy with the buzz-cut, who is apparently the Gravedigger leader or whatever, doesn’t flinch.
He’s sprawled out on his cot, one arm thrown over his eyes, looking for all the world like he’s having the best rest of his life.
I hate him. I hate this cage. I hate the way the air feels in here.
I’m suffocating.
But at least you’re not getting gang-raped, a small voice whispers inside my head.
There is that.
Deciding to conserve my energy before I actually pass out, I flop back onto the lumpy cot—only after flipping the mattress to avoid a massive, crusty bloodstain. Unfortunately, it’s soaked all the way through the foam.
London was right about the temperature after all. It’s boiling down here. I can feel sweat pooling between my breasts and under my arms, making the rough fabric of these red scrubs itch. I lay on my back, trying to force my lungs into a steady rhythm, and consider my options.
My temper doesn’t always lead to the most logical path, but it’s not like I’ve been offered a fucking menu. Suck the Warden’s dick, suck the Russian’s dick, or sit in a dog pen.
Option three wins. As long as the bastard doesn’t want me to “demonstrate my gratitude”.
The memory of that Russian man’s penis in my mouth is foul in the back of my throat, and I know it will haunt me for a long time.
London bit off Piggy Tony’s ear but didn’t seem at all concerned.
I wish I could be so unaffected. Gods, I can still taste it.
Bile rises in my throat, and I lurch over to the toilet and spit, trying to get rid of the feeling of his putrid flesh violating my mouth. I hadn’t even severed the whole thing, just kinda mangled it.
The sensation of a hot spurt of blood under my teeth as I bit down was just…ugh. I dry heave some more.
“You sound a little upset for someone who didn’t need a savior,” the guy on the bed drawls, his eyes still covered.
“Fuck you, I had it under control,” I mumble, wiping my mouth.
Yeah, OK, that’s a lie but whatever.
“Right,” he snarks, his voice muffled by the arm over his face. “Biting off a piece of little-Gleb is a solid start, Princess. But the Guild would’ve pulled your teeth in retribution by dinner time. Makes it a lot harder to fight back when the rest of them line up.”
A violent shudder passes through me. I’d kill myself before I let that happen. That Russian’s putrid flesh is the first and last violation I’ll ever have to endure.
I vow it to the Gods.
Getting off the floor, my head swims, it’s like a sauna in here.
“My brother is going to kill you," I tell Buzzcut, mopping the sweat off my face with the stained red top.
The man just grunts. I try to look at him with disdain, but it’s hard to ignore the landscape of his back.
He’s heavily inked with dark, crude tattoos and what people call “ripped,” I guess?
I’ve seen museum statues with less muscle definition.
A strange, hot tingle zips down my spine, and my face starts to burn.
This is so humiliating. I was nearly destroyed an hour ago, and now my body is deciding to be… interested?
No. Not curious. Gross. I’m being gross.
Fuck. Apparently, I’m just as basic and human as everyone else. Fantastic.
I’ve been locked away from anyone my own age—especially guys like him—all my life, so it’s just a natural curiosity.
Though, it feels deeper than that.
Beneath the stink of blood and sweat, I can almost smell pine trees, wet earth. It settles my nerves in a way I hate.
What the fuck?
Snap out of it, Aurora. Seriously. He’s a criminal, you’re in a cage, and you are acting like a total weirdo.
“Cosmo will tear this place down brick by brick,” I growl, trying to find my footing and stop my stupid gawking. “And when he finds you, I’ll laugh as he slices you into pieces.”
“If the Dragon shows up to burn Quo Reformare to the ground, I’ll hand him the matches myself,” the man chuckles.
Dragon?
“I’m talking about my brother, Cosmo Drakeward.” Is this guy high? Or is he just trying to confuse me?
He rolls over, groaning slightly. The bruising on his cheek looks painful.
Good.
I study his face because I can’t look anywhere else. His hair is buzzed so short it’s just a dark shadow, but there’s this thick, golden-brown stubble along his jaw. He stares back with eyes the same color—warm, gold, and currently filled with a tired amusement that makes me want to scream.
“Fuck. You don’t even know, do you?” he scoffs.
Why is he speaking in riddles? And why is it so hard to breathe in here?
It’s the heat. Definitely.
I huff and turn my back on him. I refuse to ask, “know what?” even though I’m dying to. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me struggle.
Ugh. I wish I had a fan.
The douchebag throws me a bone anyway. “I met your brother not long ago.”
Yeah, right. I let out a sharp laugh. “That seems unlikely. You don’t exactly run in the same circles. Unless Cosmo started hanging out in back alleys and I missed the memo.”
“Whatever you say, Princess. But it’s the only reason you’re on my block and, unfortunately, why you’re my responsibility. So simmer down and don’t cause trouble. I don’t want the Dragon breathing down my neck because his sister couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”
My mind is racing at a hundred miles an hour.
Could this Gravedigger know Cosmo?
And The Dragon? What is it with the nickname? If Cosmo had an alternative identity, it would be Lord Darkness or something stupid like that.
But this guy speaks with a conviction that makes my skin prickle.
I glare at him, trying to look unimpressed. “Who are you, anyway? Apart from a jerkwad of the first order?”
“Taliesin Bevan, not at your service,” he mumbles, already closing his eyes again. “Now quit bitching. You’re interrupting my rest.”
Not at your service. Unbelievable.
Fuck. Maybe I am a tiny bit grateful to Taliesin Bevan, not that I’ll ever give him the satisfaction of knowing it. My body is still shaking. He did get me out of that hideous predicament.
Fuck.
This degenerate can’t know my brother. The idea of the two of them having been in the same room, let alone having a conversation?
Bullshit.
It has to be bullshit.
Don’t trust anyone. Rule one.
I lean my head back against the wall, and close my eyes. I need to find a version of myself that can survive this place. I don’t know who she is yet—the girl who isn’t afraid, the girl who bites back—but I’ll force her into existence if I have to.
Somewhere in the distance, echoing through the labyrinth of the sub-levels, a manic laugh rings out.
It reminds me of London.
I hope his cage is more comfortable than mine.
I hope he’s still laughing.
In a place like this, maybe laughter is the ultimate rebellion.
???
Hearty male laughter echoes down the landing.
I really shouldn’t be sneaking around, but Marta forgot to lock my door tonight. And honestly? If she’s going to be that careless, I’m taking the opportunity to see if I can learn what the fuck is going on in this house.
Tiptoeing along the carpeted corridor, I reach the balustrade overlooking the entrance hall. Below, a group is saying their goodbyes, their voices boom up the grand staircase.
“I couldn’t be happier,” Thomas Crankshawe says. His voice is smooth, but it makes my skin crawl. “It’s an honor.”
That guy gives me the major creeps. Every time he looks at me, I feel like I need to take a bath in bleach. He doesn’t just look; he strips me bare with his eyes.
Poking my head through the railings, I can see Mother, she’s staring off into space like she’s mentally on another planet—standard procedure for her. Father, on the other hand, looks smug. Actually, he looks thrilled.
“You’ll still have to wait three years, Thomas. Even I cannot bend the marital laws of the land. But after that, she is all yours.”
She’s all yours. Wait. What?
“Half the stocks will be transferred tonight,” Crankshawe nods, stroking his disgusting little mustache. “The other half on our wedding day.”
Wedding day?
“Keep her pure for me,” he adds.
“Of course. She will continue to be homeschooled, and you are more than welcome to visit with Aurora whenever you like.”
Fuck. He’s talking about me. I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Me getting married…to that old perv.
“Appreciated, Tyrus. I look forward to it.”
My stomach lurches. This isn’t happening. I’ll run away. I’ll burn this godsdamn house to the ground with everyone in it before I let that monster touch me.
“Wakey wakey, Princess. Lunch is here.”
My heart is stressed and thudding erratically, but I force the memory of my father’s cold negotiations back into the dark and sit up, trying my best to look like I haven’t just been dreaming about torching my whole family.
The first thing I see is a girl standing in the doorway. Whoa. She’s built like she smashes rocks for a living, and definitely doesn’t look like the type of person who carries a tray to serve others, but that’s exactly what she’s doing.
“Thanks, Layla,” Taliesin says. “Just put it on the table.”
Layla—the rock-smasher—stomps across the room and slams the tray down so hard coffee slops out of the mugs, soaking into a pile of gray coveralls.
Taliesin narrows his eyes at her. “Easy, Lay. I can do without the attitude today.”
She flicks a murderous glare in my direction, then mutters a sullen, “Sorry, boss,” to my asshole captor.
I decide it’s a good time to try to acquire an ally. Girl-power and all that. I mean, we’re both stuck in this hellhole, right? How hard can it be to find common ground?
“Thank you for the food, Layla. I really appreciate it,” I say, trying to sound gracious and totally-not-like-I’ve-never-spoken-to-a-prison-inmate-before.
“Oh, she appreciates it,” the girl repeats, her voice mocking my accent. She turns to Taliesin, her lip curling in total disgust. “Shall I find a silver spoon to feed her with, Tally? Or maybe a linen napkin so she doesn’t ruin her pretty red rags?”