A Feather's Worth (Spawn of Darkness Book 2) Read online

  Another bolt of lightning smacks the room into view, and I look up to catch a fleeting glimpse of Kal’s troubled expression.

  “Don’t ever fucking apologise. Not to me, not ever,” he whispers fiercely, his lips brushing my ear. There’s an authority to his voice that I didn’t expect to hear from Kal. “Do you understand? You apologise for nothing.”

  Well, fuck me. That just makes me cry harder.

  He smooths the hair from my face, runs a thumb across my cheekbone then dips his face in closer, lips caressing my skin, kissing my tears with butterfly tenderness and catching them as they fall.

  I revel in the way his stubble scrapes across my skin, agitating it enough to remind me that this is real. I’m stripped to the bones, splayed bare … but Kal’s here. He cares.

  His lips skim the corner of my mouth and he presses the gentlest kiss against the damp skin there. “It’s going to be okay.”

  I draw his breath into my lungs, absorbing his words, letting them flood through me and warm me from the inside ….

  It’s not going to be okay though. He doesn’t see it yet, but he will.

  Still … he can’t lie. The fact that he believes the words to be true gives me something almost tangible to cling to.

  He loosens a deep breath and I allow him to tug me closer, though I’m careful to keep my iron shackle and chain from touching him. It’s a bad case of irony that Kroe shackled me in the one weakness of any High Fae. I don’t want to burn my Night God while he’s fucking consoling me.

  “Do you want me to help you sleep?”

  I want to tell him no, I don’t want that at all. I want this moment to last forever … so I don’t have to face the bitter taste of reality.

  Instead, I nod into his chest. I’m going to need my sleep if I want to survive long enough to make a difference.

  He presses his lips against my mass of unruly curls, holding it for a good few seconds before I start to drift off, but not before I hear the muffled words Kal speaks into my hair. “You’re ours. We’re not letting you go.”

  Lights out.

  I went to sleep with the God of Night wrapped around me and I woke up with Leila all up in my face. She sounds like a sweet little pixie that wants to chew my fucking head off, though miraculously, the rest of the girls behind her are still slumbering peacefully.

  “Do you know how hard it is to give a man a hand-job with no fucking hands?” she whisper-yells, her face contorted with barely suppressed anger.

  I hate thinking about penises this early in the morning, so I’m trying not to picture it while I rub at my sleep ridden face, tugging myself into a sitting position.

  “Really fucking hard. You may be his ‘Cupcake’, but you’re dead to us, bitch.”

  Woah, fucking woah.

  Dead?

  This is worse than I thought, way worse than I could’ve imagined. Nobody else is going to have the guts to talk to me while Leila the Brave is chained to my traitorous body. It’s now or never.

  “Wait, please, I want to help.” I reach for her but she rears back, causing me to tumble forward.

  “Fuck off, slag,” she hisses, and a couple of the girls stir. I blink wildly at Leila. Seems that word’s contagious.

  “I want to help!” I say it again, holding my hands up in submission.

  She holds my gaze, unblinking, as though considering and then … “I’m not sure what help you think your magic cunt can do for us anymore. I shouldn’t even be talking to you!”

  Magic cunt? That’s a bit fucking dramatic. “Then why are you?”

  She squares her slight shoulders, narrowing her eyes and peering down her nose at me. “Because you took the whipping for Lucy.”

  Right. Of course. “Did … did she survive?”

  “No.”

  Fuck it. The lump that forms in my throat threatens to choke me. Don’t ask questions you aren’t prepared to hear the answers to, I guess.

  “I’m sorry …”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m done. You taking that whipping, it doesn’t even begin to make up for the shit we went through while you were away.”

  “I didn’t say it does … I’m just asking for a chance here, Leila.”

  “Stop,” she says, shaking her head, lifting her stump to my face as if to shush me with an absent hand. “We’re done with you, okay? All of us.” She turns to drag me towards the door, probably to the bathing chamber so she can relieve herself while I stand on awkwardly and try not to listen. It’s as uncomfortable as it sounds, even for a couple of girls who have no dignity left.

  Time to go balls deep.

  “There’s an escape route in the downstairs bathroom,” I blurt out, my words sounding loud and hollow in the cold room.

  She spins to look at me, eyes wide as saucers. “What?”

  If she hands my rebellious arse in, I’m dead. But I’m too far gone now.

  “I have access to herbs to dose the drinks of the guards. If Kroe decides he wants a taste of his ‘Cupcake’ tonight, I’ll make sure he’s distracted for long enough past mid moon for you to get everyone out. There will be camels waiting under the old bridge on the outskirts of Hind Meadow. They’ll be saddled with enough supplies to get you and the girls across the desert to the East.”

  I still need to confirm that with Aero. Not now though ... no point in having a bunch of camels sitting there for days on end drawing suspicion, getting tired, cranky, and spitting on each other if nobody’s going to fucking need them.

  She cocks her head to the side, studying me anew, perhaps weighing my worth. Finally, she drops her gaze to her stubs. “Why are you doing this? You left us to rot. You were free. Why, Dell?”

  I suck in a sharp breath. Good fucking question, one that has many answers, but only one broad enough for her to really understand.

  I wait for her to look up before I answer, so she can see the sincerity in my eyes. “Because I forgot who I was. I’ll never forget again.”

  She frowns. “How do I know you’re not just weeding out the rebels for Kroe?”

  “You don’t.” I reach out and touch her arm. “Trust me, please.”

  She shakes her head, though she looks tentative in the motion.

  Fucking hell. Guess I’m pulling out all my cards this morning.

  “This scar?” I point to the one that drags down my forearm—thick, ugly and raised. “It’s from the time Kaya took an extra loaf of bread from the kitchen. Kroe noticed, was bleating about taking some hands, so I took the fall.”

  Her eyes roam the scar, brow creased, before they travel down to a large patch of burnt flesh on my upper thigh.

  “That one,” I pull the chain back and shift my leg slightly, to garner us a better view of the carnage in the low light. “He poured a kettle of boiling water on my thigh when he realised I was slipping my rations into a handkerchief, then giving them to Delta. She was being starved out for crying during sex when she had a urinary tract infection.”

  She nods, studying the damage intently. “I remember.” She lifts her eyes to the scar peeping out on my clavicle.

  I tug my top further across, revealing the fact that it runs all the way along it, then dips between my breasts.

  “What about that one?”

  Peering down, I clear my throat as I run my fingers along the smooth, silver scar. “That one … you fell asleep on the job, early in the day when people tend to notice that shit. I think you had the flu at the time.”

  “I remember that day …”

  I nod.

  “I noticed Kroe coming over to investigate, so I started yelling profanities at the top of my lungs. It woke you up, distracted Kroe, and he almost sliced my tit off for it.”

  She sucks a sharp breath through her teeth, and I inwardly chastise myself for not folding the truth. “Dell …”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want your sympathy, Leila. I just want your help. We have a chance to get these girls out, one fucking chance. Are you with me, or ar
e we going to sit by while everyone fucking dies here?”

  She watches me with wide eyes and a broken expression. A heavy moment passes, my body trembling with anticipation. “Okay,” she finally whispers, nodding slightly, then more eagerly.

  “Ok?” I whisper back, and she nods again. Then we’re both nodding together like a little rebellious cheer squad. Go team.

  “I need a knife, and I need you to escort me down to the storage room,” I instruct, and she looks at me like I’m mad. She’s not too far off the mark.

  “How do you expect me to get you a knife? I’m chained to your fucking wrist, remember?”

  I look down at her ankle. Yeah, a bit inconvenient that.

  “What about Tammy? She works in the kitchen and also cleans Kroe’s room. Is she …?”

  With no hesitation, Leila nods. “You … we can trust her.”

  “Would you be able to get a note to her to slip a knife under the left side of his mattress before tonight?”

  I don’t think I could do it without a knife, it would become too personal if I had to strangle the bastard. My beast is fucking cowering at that idea, fur all pale and sickly looking.

  Finally, she nods. “I think so. I’ll do my best, though Tammy only has one foot now.”

  I suck in a breath, the weight on my shoulders compounding. Fuck, that’s one very good reason for her not to trust me.

  Leila shakes her head. “She got gangrene after she dropped a knife through her foot. Never play footsies with a man’s balls if you have an open wound there.”

  “Oh.” Crisis averted. “Can she make it up the stairs still?”

  Leila nods. “She gets around.”

  Don’t we all.

  “Good. She’ll also need to slip you a couple of butter knives. You’ll need them to wedge up the trap door in the bathroom, in case it’s fused from lack of use.”

  “Do you want a hand with anything else?” She waves her stubs at me.

  I think she’s having a joke but I repress the urge to smile, because that would be fucking inappropriate of me considering she wanted to cut me a new arsehole only five minutes ago.

  I shake my head. “That’s it. Just get as many out as you can.”

  I’m aware that some of the girls will choose to stay behind for fear of losing their heads, and others will be too sick, weak, or disabled to make the trip.

  “I’ll show you the way out once we reach the storage room.”

  She narrows her hazel eyes at me. “The dusty fucking storage room? Really?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh, remembering the carnage the girls are likely going to walk into if Kroe hasn’t cleaned it up yet. “It’s more than just a storage room.”

  Much more than just a fucking storage room.

  During our bathroom break, I quietly point out the hatch to Leila and she whispers to one of the kitchen girls who’s in the bathing chambers at the same time as us. Lucky fucking timing right there.

  We must look like a couple of misfits; Leila in an oversized shirt with no pants or underwear, me still wearing the top that’s only half covering my upper body, and not in the cute crop top kind of way. It’s awkward … fucking chains.

  I lead her back up the stairs, looking both ways before we swing right at the top of the staircase. I really hope Kroe didn’t come home early last night … that would throw a penis in our plan.

  Kroe’s door is large and really fucking heavy. It creaks and groans as I tentatively open it enough for two skinny whores to pass through. I drag Leila into the sitting room after me, and push the bastard shut again.

  The door to Kroe’s bedroom is closed … but that’s not indicative of anything. He could be there; he could be out still. I’m counting on the fact that, either way, he usually sleeps later than this. Usually.

  I bring my finger to my lips and Leila nods, though she looks more inclined to vomit than she does to speak. Being careful not to rattle the chains, we cross the room to the door on the far wall. I open the fucker and drag Leila through, shutting it after us.

  “Fucking hell …” she gasps.

  “Not far from the truth,” I murmur, taking her stub in my hand and leading her down the dark and dusty staircase to the landing where I push the door to the storage room open, revealing the dusty world beyond, and sneeze.

  Motherfucker. This allergy really is a pain in the arse.

  We make it three steps in, Leila eyeing me like I’m about to detonate as I fan my face sporadically, before I sneeze again.

  I swear it’s gotten dustier in here.

  “Can’t you just stick some fucking cloth up that thing and block it up? Someone’s going to hear us.”

  I wipe my nose cum on my low-slung sleeping pants. “Sorry.”

  Luckily, it’s still early—too early for anybody to be down here. Even so, I quickly lead Leila through the obstacles, helping her when needed. After a few minutes we reach my grate and I give one of the metal bars a jiggle to shift it from its confines. Turning, I wave the bar at Leila.

  She gapes at me like she’s preparing to deep throat a chode. “How the fuck?”

  Shrugging, I place the bar back in the grate. “I wore several butter knives down to the nub doing that. It took me four years and half my fucking sanity, but it was worth it in the end.”

  “I … don’t know what to say to that.”

  “Come on.” I drag Leila by her non-hand back through the obstacles—the chain in my other hand, trying to stop it from jingling like a sleigh ride.

  I lift the lid to the blanket box and pull out my trusty dusty lantern, flicking it on, at the same time almost sneezing my brain out through my nose holes.

  Lantern lighting our way, I lead Leila back into the hall and over to the trap door, where I kneel and work to wrangle the heavy bitch open.

  The stench of death that wafts out as the seal breaks is thick, my beast now watching with piqued interest. She wants to catch a glimpse of her handy work, fucking savage.

  Even through the stench, I can still smell those seven years I spent down there.

  “Hold your breath and try not to scream.” I settle the trap door open and make my way down the ladder one handed, with my oil lamp in the other, hoping the chain isn’t going to make too much noise as we drag it down the rungs.

  I make it to the bottom and quickly pan my vision. The door to my ‘home’ is wide open, revealing the carnage still inside.

  The sight, the smell, and the memory are all too much. My guts explode through my nose and mouth, splattering across the floor in a bright red gush.

  “Fuck, Dell … are you ok?”

  Glancing sideways at Leila, I wipe my mouth and straighten.

  “Fine.”

  “Dell … that’s blood.”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  “Sure. Whatever you say.” She draws a deep breath through her nose, brow furrowing. “It smells like you in there, Dell. Why the fuck does it smell like you in there?”

  I shrug. “Don’t think on it, it’s just a fucking room, okay? I told you to block your motherfucking nose.”

  “It’s hard to block my nose without fingers, you knob!”

  “You’re a smart girl, you know what I mean! From the inside.”

  “Smart enough to get teamed up with the girl with a fucking death wish and skin made of steel. How did you not cry during that whipping? It looked like it almost killed you.”

  “I’m broken. Now block your nose.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Ok, done.” Her voice sounds all nasally.

  Good. Time to get this over with.

  I unleash my beast and she rears her pretty little head, salivating over the scent of her inflicted carnage through the door. Yeah … she can deal with this.

  Hips swaying, we lead Leila through the door. It’s her turn to gag as we step over the two bloated bodies on the floor.

  She points to the severed cock. “Is that what I think it is?”

  My beast licks her chops like the animal she
is.

  “You’ve seen enough of them in your life to know that’s a fucking penis without asking me, Leila.”

  She goes bone fucking white. “How the hell did his penis end up severed from his fucking body?”

  My beast kneels on a clean patch of floor and we shuffle beneath the bed, fingering the edges of my blood painted love heart rock and prying it out of place. We fish around the hole for the small satchel of dried herbs Marion gave me, around the same time she gave me herbs to ward off the night sickness. These herbs, however, warded off another type of sickness—the sickness of the mind, by allowing me to have long rested sleeps.

  My beast replaces the rock. We wriggle out from beneath the bed, and stand. Leila’s staring at the severed penis, lying like a one-eyed snake, dead on the ground.

  I shrug a shoulder. Well, my beast does. She’s purring, admiring her fucking handiwork. “He put his cock down my throat and I bit it off.”

  “You bit his fucking cock off?”

  My beast gives the flaccid, shrivelled organ a nudge with my bare foot. It makes a flopping sound as it rolls over. “It would appear so.”

  Looking up at the ceiling, we point at the trap door above. “Through there, into here, out the door, up the fucking ladder, into the storage room and off to fucking freedom. Stick to the shadows, travel in small groups. Assign leaders and followers. Got it?”

  Leila nods, though she’s looking at me like she doesn’t know me.

  Wrangling my beast slightly so I have a chance to get a word in, I walk to Leila, taking her shoulders in my hands. “This carnage is my doing, but it’s not who I am. It’s who I’ve become to survive. It’s who I need to be to save us.”

  Our eyes lock and in hers I see confusion, fear and longing. Longing to be free? Finally, she drops her gaze. “What’s in the bag?”.

  “Dogwood. Ground up. Good shit. I only needed a little and it would knock me out cold. It got me through … never mind. We need to get it into the guard’s drinks tonight.”

  Leila chews her lip as though considering, and then looks at me, eyes bright. “Kit’s on the bar again. She’d do it, I know she would.”

  “Are you sure, Leila?”