The throbbing ache between my brows threatens to end me for good. I've never liked the thought of death and I had always planned how I was going to die.
Yes. In Dylan's arms, telling him to take care of the children as you leave this world.
My eyelids dare to flutter but the throbbing ache just intensified.
What were their names again? Finn, Elimiah and Saufenn?
The creak of opening doors are faint. I inhale swiftly, – a skill hunters use to detect enemies when other senses fail – the scent is sharp, intoxicating. Like rich lavender with a faint of wood.
My head lowers in an attempt to hear better. There are more than one foot rhythms around me. I'd say, twenty at best.
There are four growing footsteps, no doubt marching towards me.
What are they going to do?
My eyeballs dance rapidly underneath my eyelids, my fingers curl, – I can't really feel them, my hands have been tied for silver knows how long – touching the rope on my wrist.
Sweaty palms touch my arms and I shudder beneath my breath, pushing me downwards. The throbbing ache between my brows drag and I wince.
I'm close to my knees so I rub my face against my skin. These barbarians blindfolded me – of course – but that's okay, I can still hear the murmurings.
Dina, it's not going to be wise to do something stupid.
I groan inwardly. I never want to do anything stupid. Besides, like what?
Like escaping. My thoughts bite back.
Hands are all over me, sweaty, heated, disgusting. I seriously wonder what they're trying to do. Whatever it is, I don't let them as I keep struggling. I keep pushing myself randomly, enough for them to be frustrated.
"That's enough," commands a deep throat-y voice. I know that voice anywhere. No other sends a bad chill down my spine like his; the Lycan.
Why is he here? Is he amongst these barbarians?
Hold on. I pause, slightly parting my lips to aid my breathing.
Incoming, fall to the ground.
I push myself to the floor with force, the side of my face collides against a harsh stone. With the way it stings, I know I'm bleeding.
It's over four seconds and I wonder why my instincts would tell me to fall to the ground like some kind of danger was being hoisted at me. I let out a low groan, my fingers dance – tied – behind me. The ache in my head throbs even more, I can hear it in my ears and if these blindfolds aren't going to be taken off soon, I might lose my eyesight as dots dance in my vision.
Suddenly, there's a harsh pull on my hair and my head follows. There's someone oddly close to me, the scent of lavender and wood grows even more and I dare to lean in.
"Eager, are we?"
I pull away instantly, wincing at the sound of his voice.
"You didn't hesitate to kiss your hunter friend, mate," there's a harshness to his tone, as if meaning to stab me with his words. "Or do you not prefer dark haired men?"
I part my lips breathing ragged, "What do you want from me?"
His hand reaches the back of my head, snapping the blindfold off my face. I gasp, but it's not just me, it's the rest of the barbarians witnessing.
My eyelids flutter for a moment before finally opening. There's no time to check the scenery, the lycan is all I can see. He's up close and staring at me.
Silver, he's…..
Don't say it. He's nothing like that.
You mean, nothing like Dylan.
"I asked you a question, mate," his onyx eyes begin to glow with a hint of amber.
A chill runs down my spine, heat floods my chest. It's almost like something's burning my skin. "Get…get away from me."
"Believe me, I want to," for a nanosecond, his eyes soften, glancing at the cut on my face before turning cold again. "But we're mates, we don't exactly have a choice."
"I am not your mate," my throat rubs together. I'm tired of talking, I just want to sleep. "Are you going to kill me now, or no?"
"I plan to," he tugs his hand from my hair and I wince in pain. He walks away from me and I'm so dizzy, I cannot make out where he's going or who he is talking to.
A young girl runs towards me with a bowl and a cloth. I tug backwards, avoiding her touch. Clearly, she doesn't care about my consent as she dips the cloth into the bowl of water and daps my face.
"Ow," I nearly growl.
"Hold still," she yanks my chin forward and holds it in place as she wipes vigorously.
The lycan is leaving, "Am I your prisoner?!" He doesn't answer me but keeps walking towards the distance until I can't see him anymore. Everyone else starts to disperse and it's only the girl who's cleaning my face that's left.
"My," her smile is beautiful – I hate to admit – "you're a wild one, aren't ya?"
"I -" abruptly, I'm mute. She's smiling so sheepishly, it's intoxicating. My arms relax behind me and the stiffness in my shoulders releases. She's not holding my chin anymore, I'm staying put for her.
Odd, she's got a hold on you.
Her presence is calm, too serene in this chaos that though it feels good, it's not supposed to.
Seriously. Your head was hit badly.
"Who are you?" I blurt out. My eyes search her face slowly, tracing her very unique features with my eyes.
"The name's Adrinaelle," she squeezes the linen, droplets of water touch my skin. "But you can call me Adriana."
I nod slowly. Gosh! She's pretty. Dark hair, onyx eyes, tan skin, heart shaped lips. And she smells like a wildflower.
"When my brother made a fuss about getting his mate, I thought he'd treat you with much more uh…." her eyes search mine with a hint of amusement, "kindness."
I blink once, twice. The reality hits me like whiplash, "The lycan is your brother?"
"Yes," I nearly gasp, "True, we have our differences but he can be really really mean."
You know, it's best to choose your words carefully. Maybe she's trying to lure you with kindness and then kill you off later.
"Where am I?"
"You are deep in Lycan territory, hunter," the way she says it sounds so sinister. "You can't go back to Eldarda."
"Why?" I heave in a ragged breath. "Why can't I leave?"
"Order of the king."
"Take me to him," I draw in sharp breaths, fearing one would be my last. "I'll plead with him."
"You've met him."
My head tilts involuntarily, a throbbing ache looms within the tilted side and I swear I can hear my inner voice cracking up.
"The…" I feel my heart clench in my chest, my head swells in ache. "The lycan is–"
"No silly," there's that sheepish smile again. "That's no name for the king," she says, slightly shoving me, "his name is Lysander…." Then she leans in, "but don't tell him I told you that."