Wings of Shadow

Chapter 3: Out of the Frying Pan

The pain was dull as she struggled to understand what was happening. She couldn’t form coherent thoughts, and her body felt frozen in place. After several terrifying seconds, so long they felt like hours, her ability to move finally returned. Meghan squirmed and twisted, trying to free herself, but to no avail. Kiernan’s strong arms gripped her, imprisoning her on his lap, as his mouth moved against her neck.

For Meghan, time stopped until he lifted his head. Fear melted into relief. He wasn’t going to kill her, at least not at that moment. She scrambled out of his lap, backing toward the fire. A drop of blood clung to his upper lip.

“Why?” she whispered.

Kiernan froze at the groan of the sliding deadlock. He answered with only a slight shake of the head.

“Why, indeed?” Lord Killian marched into the room. “I am very curious as to why you have stopped drinking, my son. My directions were clear: to drain her.”

A shiver spread through her body at his icy tone.

Kiernan’s response was equally cold. “One doesn’t guzzle a fine vintage of wine; one savors it. By drinking a cup per day, the bottle still empties, but the enjoyment of the drink lasts.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Was he actually comparing her to a wine, a commodity to be used and later disposed of? Father and son glared at each other, neither breaking the long silence. Meghan blinked back more tears. She crept backward until she felt the cold stone of the wall upon her back.

“Just see that the bottle is emptied, son. The problem with fine wine is that some become so attached to a particular vintage, they cannot bear to consume it.”

Lord Killian turned toward Meghan. “Always charming to see you, my dear.” He strode from the room. She barely held in the shudder until he disappeared, slamming the door behind him.

Kiernan approached. Her body trembled as he drew close. She pushed herself further back, but the stone wall wouldn’t give. Sadness and regret poured from his eyes, his stare conveying a thousand apologies. He pulled an ornate blue bottle from his pocket and placed a fragrant-smelling ointment on his thumb. As he tried to touch her neck, she flinched. A single tear welled in his eye, threatening to fall.

“This will help with the healing of your wound.” He glanced at the door, then dabbed at her neck with the salve. Goosebumps formed along the path where his thumb grazed.

He began to speak, but looked toward the door again. He mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

He trudged toward the door. His head and shoulders remained slumped as he exited the room. Why did he look even more defeated than she felt? She was still pondering that question when the lock slid back into place.

Her composure crumbling, she dissolved into tears, collapsing on the armchair and curling into a ball. The warm fire did nothing to quell the cold dread that filled her. The mistakes she had made circled in her mind: going out with a stranger, not letting anyone know where she would be, and falling for somebody who hurt her. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, and she slept.

***

Her very first evening in London, she sat in the community room of her hostel, waiting and wondering if he would really come. She felt guilty as she imagined what her mother would say about her going out with a Boy. She had made many promises and had vowed to stay safe on her first trip away from home.

And then he walked in the door. With one smile, he wiped all doubts away. Kiernan looked as good as she remembered. His tight black T-shirt and jeans contrasted with his blond hair. Odd tattoos in the forms of knots and swirls glistened on his upper arms. An intricate silver chain holding an unusual cross dangled from his neck. As Kiernan approached, he presented her with an exaggerated bow.