Chapter 17 #2
He steps toward me, dragging his finger along my chattering jaw. I turn my head away from his touch and do everything I can to create distance between us. He stalks around me in a circle, watching with amusement.
“I hate that we’re here,” he says, and I try to rip from the shackles again.
With one swift movement, I feel his hands slip into the collar of my baggy shirt, ripping it with ease, exposing most of my chest and my entire back to the room. The chill settles into my spine, and I curl inward to cover myself.
I know this room.
I’ve been in this place once before, and the blood-stained tiles come into focus as I scan my surroundings.
Nothing hangs on the bare walls, and a single door marks the exit.
The vast room is stark, silent, and the space of absolute nightmares for every angel in this Order.
I’m in a room down the hall from the armory, deep beneath the Lyre Order.
This room isn’t used often, but when it is, I don’t want any part in what takes place here.
Lowell uses this space for punishments he deems fit for the crime, and from stories I’ve heard, it is something so horrific and humiliating to angels that I couldn't even bear to enter.
“It pains me to do this,” Lowell says, coming back into my view, leaning to align his eyes with mine. “Especially to you. You mean something to me.”
“Then fuck off,” I spit.
He huffs, standing back a few paces from me. “It seems you’ve forgotten a few things since your departure, and I unfortunately cannot let you forget your place.”
“I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done.”
“Perhaps,” he says, studying my state. “But you aren’t me.”
A movement to the side catches my eye, and I jerk my head to see someone standing in the corner. With nowhere to hide, I immediately notice the fiery red hair contrasting against the mundane white of this room.
Bronwyn stands alone with her hands tucked behind her back, shielding something.
She doesn’t meet my gaze, instead keeping her eyes fixed on the ground.
My heart slams against my chest, and I snap my gaze back to Lowell.
I thrash against the chains once more, fearing I’ll pass out from the dread coursing through my body.
“They deserved what I did, and you know that.” My voice cracks.
“The High Elders are not happy with your recklessness.”
Lowell clasps his hands before him and steadies his stance, signaling for Bronwyn to approach. Her steps echo on the tile as she walks behind me, out of my line of sight.
“Oh, please,” I scoff, struggling to keep my posture tall. “They sit up there judging us when they are the corrupt ones.”
Lowell storms forward, connecting the back of his hand to my cheek. “Watch your fucking mouth, hybrid. That shit is why you are here.”
The blow rattles my teeth, and the tang of copper fills my mouth. I move my jaw around and spit on the floor, letting the bright-red saliva coat the ground.
“Bronwyn will help me today,” Lowell explains, relaxing his posture. “I thought you’d be more comfortable with her here.”
Tears form in my eyes and fall to the ground like the blood I anticipate will follow. I retract my shoulders, already feeling the pain I’m about to endure. I know what’s coming, and if he doesn’t start soon, I’ll throw up from the anxiety.
“You know what happens from here, Mara,” Lowell says. “A burn for every disobedience you’ve had since returning. You took a blood oath. Disobeying the Order is defying the High Elders.”
I crane my neck to see Bronwyn behind me, holding a torch. Her hands tremble, but she refuses to look at me. I notice a tear rolling down her cheek, and I look back at Lowell, glaring through my lashes.
“Monster,” I whisper.
“You will receive a burn for your stunt with Cris, who has left the Order, and for humiliating Shaw in the process. You will receive a burn for your foolishness during your mental assessment, and you will receive a burn for Crew as well as for murdering the human filth.” He looks at Bronwyn.
“Five burns total, my dear. Directly between her shoulder blades.”
“Keeping score,” I hiss.
“I suggest you be quiet,” he bites back. “Because I could add more if we’re truly keeping score.”
“Just let me explain.”
Lowell smiles. “Bronwyn, you’re up.”
Bronwyn ignites the torch, and even from her distance, I can feel the heat pricking at my back.
The anticipation of pain sends nausea rolling through me.
With the iron wrapped around my wrists and ankles and our shoulders being more sensitive due to our wings, I’m going to feel everything until he decides to release me so my body can begin to heal itself.
Given the placement and extent of the burns, I will likely be unable to fly for days. This realization pushes my anxiety aside, replacing it with a bottomless pit of sorrow, and that’s precisely what he wants—not just from me, but from Bronwyn as well.
This is demoralizing to all angels.
She steps forward, and I can hear the sizzling of the blazing flames.
She moves my hair from my back to create a clean working space, and in this moment, I’m grateful that my hair won’t be affected.
My skin begins to sweat in the heat, and although my chest heaves, I do my best to steady my breathing, mind, and posture.
Lowell nods to Bronwyn, and a hushed cry sounds from behind me.
I glare into Lowell’s eyes, preparing for the pain, and repeat the words my father would tell me repeatedly. Images of my dad’s bright-white smile after the ridiculous statement flash into my mind, and I inhale, waiting for the flames of hell to devour me whole.
Buck up.
“Whenever you are ready, Bronwyn,” Lowell cheerfully says.
She steps forward but doesn’t bring the heat. I try to crane my neck around, but I can’t see her face. Lowell’s eyes flash with anger, and I swallow hard, thrashing against the restraints. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my chest moves frantically beyond control.
“I… I can’t do this,” she weeps.
“Now, Bronwyn, unless you’d like to be next.”
My heart races, my breathing becomes shallow, and in one last failed attempt, I try to rip my arms from the chains weakening me. A blinding panic sets into my bones, and I lose all concept of reality.
Oh my god.
“Now,” Lowell shouts.
“Wait a second,” I scream. “Wait. Please!”
A white-hot heat touches the skin of my right shoulder blade, and I release a deafening shriek into the room. Bronwyn will hold the vibrating flame against my skin until Lowell signals her to remove it.
I grit my teeth together, imagining my skin melting from my bones when he finally motions for her to stop. My back feels as if the sun’s intensity rests upon it, mingling with pain and itching. I beg for the numbness that doesn’t come.
As fervently as I pray to the High Elders above, I am ignored, and no matter how hard I cry, the pain does not cease.
I continue to thrash, desperate to run away from the flames, but the chains keep me locked in place.
Lowell nods, and a final zap of pain sends another scream rattling from my lungs.
Run.
I need to run.
She quickly jerks her hand away, and although the flame is gone, the settling pain of the burn feels worse.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I do everything I can to keep my eyes glued to Lowell.
Humiliation turns my stare blank, and the prayers I whisper in my mind turn into threats of what’s to come when I can return this torture.
The agony causes my back to jerk, and I whimper with every movement.
Lowell stands perfectly still with his hands clasped behind his back, watching as if this doesn’t affect him. In his mind, I deserve this, and that’s good enough for him.
“Again,” he directs Bronwyn.
As soon as the heat is taken away, I feel as if it’s immediately replaced over and over again until I can no longer stare into Lowell’s blank eyes. Instead, my vision is blurred from the tears and pain. The room spins, making nausea creep into my stomach, and I vomit on the floor.
I’m choking.
I’m going to fucking die.
Cries and screams erupt from my lips, and with each burn, Lowell instructs Bronwyn to leave it on a bit longer.
The same process continues, with Bronwyn holding the flame to one shoulder blade at a time, switching between each burn in a failed attempt to give me any reprieve from the pain.
When Lowell instructs her to begin the last burn, I no longer cry.
I no longer scream. Instead, I allow my head to fall forward, accepting that my body is burned and broken.
No matter how hard I try to keep it together, I realize something.
I must have a soul, because I just felt it shatter.
My back finally reaches a point where I can no longer feel the effects of the burns, and I fear it’s because I have nothing left.
Through my muffled groans, I can hear Bronwyn sob behind me, but I can’t react.
I can’t turn my head to look at her, even though I want to.
I want to let her know that I don’t blame her, and even though I’m in this situation, I’m here for her.
“Bronwyn,” I barely speak through my sobs.
All I can see is the bright tiled floor beneath me and the slow trickle of my blood merging with the stains of the previous angels who succumbed to this pain. Bronwyn extinguishes the flames for the final time, and I hear the torch fall to the ground with a loud clink.
“It’s not…your fault.” I let out a fatigued sigh.
A soft cry resonates around me, and I lower my head, feeling the pain, defeat, and shame soak through me. My wings.
My wings.
“Can I remove the chains, Elder?” Bronwyn pleads. “She needs to heal immediately, or she will die.”
Lowell remains quiet and motionless, waiting for me to make a move. I slowly lift my head, my entire body nearly lifeless, but I’m determined to stare into his eyes. It’s over; I endured his pain, and with everything inside me, I tell myself I’m not going to meet the Grim today.