“Did he—” I pause because I was really hoping he’d tell me. But it looks like he’s going to make me tear the truth out of him. Bit by bit. “Did the Sand Man give you that scar?”
Scar doesn’t feel like the right word for such a jagged, ripping wound that stretches across the full side of his jaw, neck, shoulder, and torso.
That veil of mystery that covers his serious face doesn’t waver. He nods only once.
As he holds back a tangle of vines for me to pass through. The thickness of the forest slips away along with the many, many questions on the tip of my tongue. In the distance, hints of dark rooftops scatter along the horizon. And the golden peak of the Castle of Carnal gleams in the pristine sunlight.
The deep blue of the sea curls around the city like the water itself is lifting the kingdom higher.
I can smell the salty sea. I can hear a ripping waterfall somewhere in the distance. So much beauty is here in the tainted darkness of this city.
The questions of Ruiner’s scar, my past and his, and everything in between fall away as so many foul memories slam into me. Sometimes all I am is memories. And I hate that this place is reminding me of that. The breath leaves my lungs entirely.
It’s Ruiner’s growling voice that breaks the trance.
“Fuck off! She’s not for sale!” His big hands shoo aggressively at a group just a few yards away that I hadn’t even noticed. “She’s not property. Advert your fucking beady-goat eyes off of her!”
Half a dozen men stare at me with enlarged, glossy orbs. Their long manes of hair are matted and disheveled, and the unsettling, hungry look in the gazes is far stranger than the fact that they’re standing on beastly, bullish legs. A minotaur from the back yells something at Ruiner, but the braying sound of it gets lost in translation.
I don’t lower my attention. I don’t cower. Weakness will never be shown. Even if their stare feels like it’s peeling back and crawling under my flesh with each passing second. A large hand falls gently to the small of my back. Ruin herds me away like I’m a sweet little lamb in a field of horny bulls.
The female populace among minotaur is nearly nonexistent. They’re a dying breed. And the forceful way they breed, that explains their fresh-meat stares entirely.
Even after we’ve followed the dirt path down the hill and have many yards separating us, Ruiner still glares back with that stony look of brutal aggression. I have no doubt he’d rip a man (or monster) limb from limb for me.
The night the rain was so cold it chilled me to the bone shivers over my skin like it was just yesterday. The rain had drenched my hair clean, but it couldn’t wash the blood from my gown. I came right to him. I threw open the door to his one-room cottage. Ruiner had looked at me then with big, astonished eyes and saw what I see in him every day: vehemence. He just didn’t know I was capable of it. And honestly, neither did I until that night.
A farm animal sound shakes through the quiet. It’s a ridiculous sound... but it seems it’s a threat.
Ruiner stops first, his spine going ramrod straight as he looks up at the two hooves standing in our path.
“What’s a fu-kar like you doing with a l-aaaaady like ’er?” The minotaur’s hooves waft dirt around his heavy steps.
A storm of thunderous footfalls follow suit, their stride mimicking the pounding of my heart. More of them step out from the brush lining the cliff near the sea. There are suddenly dozens of them now. All men. All towering over myself as well as Ruiner with their wild eyes boring down on us.
“Bella,” Ruiner whispers, his big hand coming up to push me quietly behind his wingspan.
“Yeah?” I ask just as carefully hushed.
Anticipation fills my chest. Seconds are counted by the hammering of my heart.
“Run.”
And then he’s lunging at them. Leather wings spread wide, releasing the eight legs held beneath. The long, black tendons uncurl one by one. Ruiner lifts up, his wings raising him high before he swoops down on the man who insulted him. The points of his spider legs slide right through the minotaur’s torso. He’s drawn up above Ruiner, his hooves kicking out to aid him.
Two others rush my friend. And then four. And then seven. And then there are too many surrounding him to even see the bloody display or the tips of Ruiner’s glorious wings at all. I run. Just not as Ruiner wanted me to.
I run to him. My hands grip the coarse hair of someone’s back. My boot leverages against him there too. And then I’m standing, teetering up atop the minotaur’s back as he hunches down for me.
There’s a split second among the chaos where Ruiner’s furious gaze slides to me. And though I can’t hear him, I know exactly what he says.
“Motherfucker!”
And then I leap into the center of the mass destruction.
The magic here, the darkness, it once gave me a very special skill. I just have to—a braying man elbows my ear as he slams his fist into Ruiner’s jaw, not even remotely aware of the woman he said he wanted less than five minutes ago.
Jesus. This is why you assholes can’t have anything nice!