CAGED (#3, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 123

Deep lines furrowed around Graysen's features as a shudder of agony rolled through his battered body. Sage nudged his wet nose into Graysen's chest, huffing and loosening a whine. Though he wagged his tail, it hung low with worry.

Straw crunched beneath my bare feet as I padded around Graysen's kneeling figure, the willwips shooting away in bright, scattering clouds and the Birds of Prey casting curious glances as they prowled about, guarding the entrance to the rookery.

The deep bruise on Graysen's cheek was beginning to fade. Fat droplets of sweat speckled his skin, trickling over the curves and dips of his powerful torso. My fingers trembled as I tentatively touched his blood-splattered shoulder. The muscles twitched at the barest touch.

Oh gods, his back, his beautiful back. It was a gelatinous mess of ruined flesh, charred in crisp lines from the fiery heat of the whip. There would be more scars on scars. But this time there was no way that I'd allow his cruel aunt to make him keep them. No fucking way.

He glanced up, his hands still buried in my wraith-wolf's misty fur. "They'll heal," he told me, his voice raw and hoarse.

Leaning in with my senses, I heard a soft sticky noise as the raw wounds began to knit back together. I offered him a hand and he slipped his into mine. I helped him rise to his feet and guided him to a shallow seat set into the wall, more a stone bed, I realized, than actual seating. He winced as he sat down, spreading his legs wide so I could stand between his thighs to face him. He tilted his head, his expression softening as I brushed my fingers through the hanks of hair hanging over his forehead, sweeping them back. "You shouldn't have done it," I breathed, still trying to wrap my mind around the brutality of what he'd endured.

Graysen scowled, anger hardening his supple mouth. "And allow you to take the punishment? Never." A heartbeat later, the anger faded from his expression, replaced by a notch of confusion between his eyebrows. He sounded lost when he murmured, "I haven't seen her like this, not in a long, long time."

The onset of more tears tickled my nose and my bottom lip wobbled. "It was me. I pushed her too far. I destroyed your mother's portrait, the one hanging in the gallery with her holding the basket of white roses."

Graysen craned his neck back to stare up at the high innards of the rookery, blowing out a deep breath that vibrated on a groan. He straightened his head, the damp locks of hair swayed he shook his head, trying to work out a way to explain it all. He lifted a helpless hand. "My aunt... She's an artist, and she was the one who painted the portrait. She finished it the day my mother was stolen. It was the reason why she didn't join my mother on her visit to the city, she wanted to finish the piece before my mother's return." He dropped his gaze to his thighs as he rubbed his hands up and down the fish-scaled adamere. "We'd planned a family dinner to celebrate the grand unveiling." His voice was rough and uneven when he added quietly, "It's the last painting we have of my mother. My aunt couldn't bring herself to even pick up a paintbrush after that. The portrait means, meant, a lot to her... To us all."