Chapter Eighteen
ABBY
MY TEMPLES THROB as I come to, each movement of my head beyond painful. I thought my caffeine withdrawal headache was bad, but it’s nothing compared to this.
My last moments of wakefulness run through my mind, and despite the overwhelming urge to open my eyes and jump out of the arms of the person currently carrying me, I remain still. It’s hard to do, but I need a second to collect my thoughts before facing Kie and Mason.
My left cheek is currently pressed against one of their chests right now.
There’s a rhythmic jostling, and although it’s fairly light, each movement still hurts. Mason struck me hard, and I’ll be surprised if I don’t have a minor concussion. I’ve never had one and didn’t bother looking up the symptoms before coming here, which I now regret.
I’m taking the fact that I’m awake right now as a good sign, though.
I work to keep my breathing steady, not wanting to give away that I’m no longer unconscious. I need to figure out what’s going on around me first. I’m being carried bridal style, one thick arm underneath my knees and another under my shoulders. My right arm dangles to my side, and my left is pinned between my chest and the torso of the person carrying me.
It’s too intimate, and I resist the urge to squirm.
The shirt I’m pressed against is soft, not causing any pain. The skin of my cheeks was rubbed raw when I was pushed into the dirt, and I wish whoever picked me up had let my head lull back instead of to the side. I’d rather wake with a sore neck than smushed against a stranger’s chest.
My head moves as the person carrying me inhales, and it returns to a neutral position when he exhales a second later. I hear his heartbeat, and it’s surprisingly slow. The faeries and shifters are strong, but carrying a full-grown adult through the woods should cause at least a little uptick in heart rate.
I don’t know how to feel about the fact that it doesn’t.
There’s no light behind my eyelids, and evening bugs are chirping in the surrounding woods, so I assume it’s nighttime. How long was I unconscious? Too long to not be panicking.
My sweatshirt pulls against my torso, and something crinkles against my right elbow. It feels like a bandage, but there was no bandage there before. The pair must have done something to me while I was unconscious.
Mason commented on my bleeding before knocking me out, and Kie asked to see my bloody knees. My knees.
I break into a cold sweat as I realize there’s a breeze on my legs. My leggings are tight, and while I can still feel the stretchy fabric around my waist and thighs, there’s nothing below my mid-thigh.
The same scratchy, crinkling material on my right elbow is also on both my knees.
Disgust boils inside me at the thought of these two men touching me while I was unconscious—even if it was to bandage me up. I’d rather be bleeding and achy.
Something loud chirps directly on my left, and I instinctively jolt.
My entire body stiffens, and the chest I’m resting against stops moving mid-breath. It pauses momentarily before continuing, but the slight break is enough. Whoever is carrying me knows I’m awake.
I hold back the urge to scream as I open my eyes and look to see who’s carrying me.
Kie’s piercing, violet eyes are already staring down at me, the sight jarring. His expression lacks all emotion, which only furthers my anxiety. I don’t trust it, not one bit, and I thrash against his hold in an apparent and desperate attempt to be put down.
“If you run, Mace will chase you,” he warns.
I hear the threat behind those words loud and clear, and my hair whips around my head as I look for the shifter in question. I don’t want him out of my sight.
Mason’s standing a few feet ahead of us, leaning against a tree as he watches Kie finally set me down. The second my feet are planted on the ground, I scurry several steps away. I don’t want to be close to either of these men.
“We bandaged your knees and arm.” Kie talks as if all of this were perfectly normal, like he and Mason weren’t just talking about murdering me or giving me as a sacrificial slave to some god. “And you woke up just in time to go back to sleep. We’ll be setting up camp in about an hour.”
It’s dark, but I can see the beginnings of sunrise through the trees.
“The sun is coming up,” I point out.
Mason snorts. “Excellent critical thinking skills.”
Did I sleep through the entire day and night? I must have a concussion, and I highly doubt these men know anything about treating them. From what I understand, faeries and shifters don’t often find themselves injured.
Do I have brain damage? I feel relatively okay, but I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t be walking. This severe of a head injury should mean hospitalization.
“What did you do to me?” I ask. Being unconscious for, what, twenty hours is a death sentence. It’s not healthy, and it’s not normal. There’s something else at play.
Mason blinks. “I drugged you.”
What? How? My gaze darts toward his shoulders, toward the bags slung over them. He’s carrying his and mine, and I can’t help but flinch as he slides mine down his arm and tosses it in my direction. It smacks me in the chest before falling to the ground.
It looks untouched, but I doubt that’s the case. I’m sure they were tearing through my things the moment I passed out. One of them bandaged me up, destroying my expensive leggings in the process, and the other went through my bag. I’d bet money on it.
“We need to keep moving,” Kie says. “Grab your bag, and let’s go.”
I gulp, sparing a quick glance at my body. My gloves are still in place, and I pull up my sweatshirt sleeve to get a better look at my right elbow. A white bandage appears about halfway up my forearm, continuing until just above my elbow.
It’s too dark to get a good look, but I can tell the bandage isn’t from my first-aid kit. Kie and Mason must have used their own.
I suppose that’s good. I’m trying to save my items, and I should use their supplies first. If and when I sneak away from the pair, I’d like to have my complete kit with me.
I roll my sleeve back down my arm before peering at my legs. My once ankle-length leggings have been cut just above my knees, essentially turning them into uneven bike shorts. I don’t like knowing these two saw my bare legs, even if there’s no evidence of foul play.
Both my knees are wrapped with the same bandage that’s been put on my elbow, and I scrunch my nose as I give my legs a tentative bend. Neither knee hurts as much as it should. Maybe they put some numbing cream on them.
Mason shifts, and I snap my attention back to him. He pushes off the tree he leans against and turns his back to me, done watching my self-evaluation. The image of him as that giant animal is permanently burned into my irises, and even as I stare at his broad shoulders and lean waist, all I see are snarling teeth and a giant animal frame.
I’ve seen hundreds of depictions of shifters in movies and TV shows, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing. Seeing it on the screen doesn’t do justice to the horror of having the deadly predator only inches from my face.
I never want to see it again.
My breathing is heavy, borderline hyperventilating, and I place a hand over my chest as I work to calm myself. It’s too easy to panic right now, and I need to keep a level head.
“Let’s keep walking,” Kie says, breaking the silence.
Mason doesn’t need to be told twice as he storms ahead, his steps unnervingly silent despite how loud they look like they ought to be.
I don’t move, and my hesitation is noticed.
Kie is too close for comfort, but he says nothing as he waits for me to begin walking. I wonder what he’ll do if I don’t. He’ll probably send Mason after me .
Kie sighs. “Walk, Abby.”
I don’t like the way he says my name. He speaks like he owns me, and while that might be common for his world, it isn’t for mine. I wonder if faerie royals have a reputation for kidnapping people. I’m not sure what else to call this. Human trafficking, maybe.
I’m not dead, so I assume they’ve decided I’m best served as a gift for Zaha. I still struggle to wrap my mind around that particular fact, and it doesn’t feel real. None of this does, and a part of me is waiting to wake up and realize this is nothing more than a horrid nightmare.
Kie crosses his arms over his chest, his cold gaze calculating.
Despite what my instincts scream for me to do, I pick up my backpack and follow Mason. I don’t want to go with them, but I need time to plan before attempting another escape.
I don’t trust these men, but I’m afraid if I put up too much of a struggle too soon, they’ll drug me the remainder of the trip. They’re probably used to people obeying their every royal order, but the title of prince means nothing to me.
“Where’s my knife?” I ask.
Kie only laughs and positions himself behind me, out of my sight. I don’t like not being able to see him, and I chew at the inside of my cheek as I follow Mason’s retreating form. I bet they want to keep me in their sight.
Twigs and leaves crunch under my shoes, the sound loud in the otherwise-quiet forest.
Despite the tight bandages and what I still suspect is numbing cream on my knees, there’s a slight twinge each time I place my foot on the ground. I wonder how nasty the wounds are. I landed pretty hard, and I could feel the blood soaking through the fabric of my leggings even before Mason pinned me to the ground.
It’ll take a while to heal.
The sun crests over the horizon, the sunrise slow but steady. I estimate I was unconscious for almost a full day, at least twenty hours, but I don’t feel well-rested. Exhaustion pulls at me, making me sluggish.
I need to keep a sharp mind, though.
I won’t be given to Zaha, or any of her brothers. I wasn’t keen on the idea when it was first suggested, and especially not after hearing Mason’s hesitance. He thinks it’s more humane to kill me than let me be given to Zaha’s brothers. That’s not a great sign.
“My feet hurt,” I say.
Maybe the pair will let me go if I prove to be too much of a hassle.
“Too bad,” Kie says. “Either you walk, or I’ll drag you by the straps of your bag.”
I doubt they’d do that after all the care they took to bandage up my wounds. Mason’s animal form resembles a wolf, and they have an incredible sense of smell. If these men are trying to avoid the shifters that live in the forest, they probably don’t want me leaving a blood trail behind.
Still, despite my suspicions, I continue walking. My feet really do hurt, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.
“We’ll stop soon to rest,” Kie says. “Mason’s searching for a spot without a heavy shifter scent.”
So, he does have a heightened sense of smell? How long was he aware I was walking ahead of him and Kie? Did they purposefully wait until we were so deep into the woods that I had little hope of escaping?
My blood boils, and I glare at the back of Mason’s head.
Everybody talks about Prince Kieran with so much respect, but now I realize it was inflated. The faeries I’ve met have been kind, but these two were clearly raised with giant, royal sticks shoved so far up their asses that they have no sense of decency or respect.
I’m unsurprised.
They’re the human equivalent of stereotypical rich frat boys.
And I’m, at least for now, trapped with them.