Chapter Fourteen Fauns Ruin
"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you"
A few days later, and into a solid routine, and Adan still had not caught that damn sheep.
He evaded her at every turn, his cries like nails down her spine.
The sound started to haunt her dreams, waking her in the dead of night.
Adan was going to skin the beast alive, if it was the last thing she ever did.
When she wasn't dealing with Faun, she had another beast to contend with--Lennox.
He mostly ignored her by spending his time on his horse, or out in the fields.
He would come back sweating, dirty and shirtless.
It was the hottest fucking thing that Adan had ever seen, and she cursed the gods for leading her here.
The first morning here, Adan woke to find Lennox in an enclosed pen, shaped like a ring, practicing his sword work--shirtless--and had dropped her egg sandwich in shock.
Lennox now referred to her as clumsy too, along with wrathful, a deadly combination.
She could only scowl back at him while her brain worked overtime to try and reset.
Just because he is not who she thought he was, does not mean that she can't stare at him. He was, undoubtedly, a huge distraction. Adan had to remind herself that he was still strictly off limits. He has a partner--Asha--who has been nothing but kind to Adan.
And she tried and failed... it was hard not to stare when his dark tattoos would catch the light.
Reaching up his neck and down his broad arms and across his chest.
Even down his back, the whole black and grey tattoo was beyond intricate, from far away it looks like a giant black curlicue.
Sometimes he would turn, and she would think there were animals mauling other animals.
She couldn't figure it out, and she didn't have the nerve to get close enough to ask.
She found tattoos to be a very private thing.
Even if hers were on her face for the world to see and its meaning crystal clear.
She didn't have any other tattoos. The heart and dagger were never of her choosing, and she had enough scars to last a lifetime.
Tattoos weren't her thing, but they certainly were working for Lennox.
The days didn't differ too much from her nights.
That first evening alone with Lennox, he heated them up soup that Asha had left for them in the icebox.
They shared a loaf of fresh baked bread, but Adan was too tired from chasing around Faun to share anything about her day.
Her pride wouldn't allow her to tell him about her failure, even if he already knew.
Lennox spent most of the dinner goading her into some kind of reaction--something other than rage.
"Quiet tonight," he'd said, breaking off a piece of bread with one hand, casually leaning back in his chair with the other.
His eyes were sharp, glinting with that ever-present mischief she was starting to suspect he enjoyed far too much.
"Don't tell me you've already given up. I expected at least one creative insult by now."
She only glared at him over the rim of her bowl, too tired and too irritated to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Her arms and legs were sore from flinging herself after Faun—only for the sheep to effortlessly dodge her again and again.
She hadn't even come close. She could practically hear Nox's silent judgment the entire time, even though he never said a word
"Come on," he drawled, tilting his head, his voice dripping with mock pity.
She snatched up the crust of bread she hadn't touched and shoving it into her mouth to avoid saying anything.
"You could always stop this torture, but just unsheathing your wings. You don't even have to fly..."
Adan's fingers curled around the edge of her bowl. Her eyes narrowed into sharp slits. The bastard was smirking.
Of course, he knew. Of course, he'd figured it out.
Her wings—the one advantage she had, the one thing that could make her faster, more agile.
She could have caught Faun in seconds if she'd used them.
She could have spared herself the hours of humiliation, the aching legs, the dirt in her hair, the goddamn smugness in his eyes.
And he knew.
"You let yourself get dragged through the mud. Let your legs give out. Let your pretty hair get all tangled with grass and dirt."
He gestured faintly with his bread, a lazy flick of his wrist.
"All because you're too stubborn to make things easier for yourself."
She bristled, her spine straightening slightly.
The tips of her fingers pressed harder into the porcelain bowl.
Nox leaned forward, closing the space between them just a fraction.
"You'd rather bleed and fail," he mused, voice lowering, taunting.
"Then use the one thing that makes you better--whole."
His eyes flashed dangerously, but his smirk remained.
if anything, it turned crueller. "Of course, I don't need to remind you of that."
His eyes glinted with that wicked gleam, watching her carefully, his voice almost amused.
"You punish yourself for it every damn day."
Her stomach tightened violently. The words hit her like a fist to the gut, knocking the air from her lungs.
He always saw too much--and as usual, he was right and she did punish herself.
Every time she refused to unsheathe her wings, every time she fought on foot when she could have soared.
It was her own self-inflicted penance. A way to dull the guilt that gnawed at her bones.
It was about self preservation--at first--but now...
She deserved every bruise, every sore muscle, every reminder of her humanity.
Because if she used her wings—if she gave in to that part of herself—she would have to accept what she was.
She would have to feel the weight of it.
The phoenix. The last of her kind. The burden of it, and all the ghosts that came with it.
Adan finished the soup quickly, and started to clean up if only to give Nox her back.
He waited while Adan sorted through her thoughts.
She cleared her throat, "The last time I used my wings I was eight years old."
Adan was thankful for the dishes to keep her hands busy while she talked.
"I'm not ready... I..." she shook her head.
"It's not the wings-- it's the memories that go with them."
Adan dropped her hands to the lip of the sink and just stared at the suds and dirty dishes.
She glanced over her shoulder at Nox, patiently listening.
"I'm not ready for that." She turned her head back to the soapy water, his eyes seemed to scrape against her skin, peel back layers she wasn't ready to expose.
Adan pressed her lips together, fighting the burn behind her eyes.
Her voice was quiet, raw. "I was just a kid."
Her throat tightened. She squeezed the edge of the sink a little harder.
She didn't hear him stand. She didn't notice him moving until she felt the warmth of his presence just behind her. He didn't touch her, didn't crowd her, but she could feel him—close enough that she could sense the heat radiating from his skin, the faint scent of rain and oak clinging to him.
His voice—low and steady—was right beside her ear. "You're not that kid anymore."
Her eyes squeezed shut. His voice was rough, but gentle. A quiet rasp that somehow cut through every wall she had built.
Adan shivered as he moved away, taking his heat with him. Her fingers slowly loosened their grip on the sink.
He quickly busied himself with the fireplace, with a flick of his wrist flames bloomed. Nox moved along the walls, his fingertips brushing against leather until he found the book he wanted and sat down on his sofa.
Adan kept sneaking glances at him while she finished washing up. Once the last glass was washed, she found that she didn't know what to do with herself.
"Do you mind if I borrow a book?" She blurted.
He merely waved his hand without taking his nose out of his own. She barely glanced at the description of the first book she saw and bolted up the stairs to hide in Lennox's spare bedroom.
--
The sun had barely crested the horizon a few days later when she breathed in the fresh morning air.
She rolled her neck and stretched out her arms.
Taking in the surrounding farm, and the smells that she had become accustomed to.
She loved it here. Not that she would admit that to Nox.
He was nowhere to be seen. There was no sign of him in the house, not that she checked his bedroom that was directly across from her own.
Her eyes honed in on the white blob of fur in the distance.
"Todays the day." She pulled tight on her gloves, making sure they were secure.
She was eager to move on from this task.
One that she thought would be long done with by now.
It bruised her pride and irritated her very soul.
To be bested by such a beast could not be abided.
Her spine steeled as she stalked towards the fence that encased the sheep pen.
But her footsteps stalled when she heard a distinctly male grunt.
Nox was standing in the middle of the pen, working on a new horse. It was clear that he had been out here a while, as the sheen of sweat dripped down his muscled back. His shirt discarded and hanging off the wooden fence.
Adan stood there, frozen by the sight of him.
His back muscles flexed with each controlled movement as he guided the horse in a slow, steady circle.
His hand low, steady, patient—the same hand that could swing a sword with deadly force now coaxing the powerful creature with a careful, practiced ease.
Her eyes dragged over the lines of him—the broad span of his shoulders, the curve of his biceps as he kept tension on the lead rope, the subtle flex and ripple of his back as he adjusted his stance.
His dark tattoos slithered down his spine and coiled around his ribs, shifting with the slow, deliberate movements of his body.
She swallowed hard. Her boots moved on their own, towards the clicking sounds coming from his perfect mouth.
Her eyes traced the ink over his back—the same tattoos that had taunted her curiosity from a distance.
Now, with the morning sun highlighting every intricate detail, she could finally make sense of it.
It wasn't a swirling curlicue as she had once thought. It was a battle.