I hadn't seen Graysen for a week. Stubble shadowed his jaw. His bored, indifferent mask was gone, but his fathomless black eyes were guarded and wary as if he was bracing himself for my wrath. He seemed exhausted too. I didn't just see it in the tight lines in his face, or the faint smudge of purple marring the golden skin beneath his eyes—I felt it emanating from him beneath my own skin, bone-weary exhaustion. I wondered when he'd last slept, and then caught myself with a sharp reminder that he was a bastard and I didn't care. Couldn't care.

Graysen offered me the glass of water, but I just ignored the gesture. Instead, I tipped my chin toward Sage but didn't take my slitted gaze off Graysen. "How did he get here?" My voice was hoarse and I cleared my throat. His gaze honed in on the cartilage and tendons shifting with the motion. A faint tick below his left eye.

And then a desperate thought speared to the forefront of my mind. I shot to my feet, my heart in my throat. "My family?" Maybe my family had brought Sage to me. Maybe they were still here, worried for me, waiting to see if I was alright. My gaze sliced straight to the bedroom door I couldn't get past with this rope around my neck.

"No, not your family," Graysen said quickly, lifting a hand, palm outward.

I couldn't help the disappointment showing in my expression. My shoulders fell. "Oh."

"Just one of them," he amended.

My curiosity piqued.

"Caiden helped me out. Well, twice actually." Graysen frowned, dropping his gaze to the glass of water he held in his hand, tapping a forefinger against its curved surface. "He helped get the things for your room." He brought those dark eyes, with a cautious note shimmering in their depth, back to mine just in time to see me roll my eyes petulantly, Penn had already told me that. I mentally shook my head at him—as if I should thank him for that tiny little makeshift bedroom he'd made from his walk-in closet. However, it was thoughtful for a deranged captor I supposed. At least I wasn't forced to share with Graysen, and had relative privacy if I needed it.

I turned back to Sage, who moved to my side, shoving his snout against my thigh and making me rock back on my heels. I rubbed the top of his head, enjoying how he pressed back against my touch so I wasn't looking at Graysen when he said, "And I knew..." He sighed. A deep weary sound. "You'd appreciate a friend. So he went to Evvie and asked for Sage."

Evvie. Just the sound of her name had relief and desperation to see her again stab through my chest. My gaze whipped to him, unable to stop myself from moving toward his tall imposing figure. "How is she? Is she alright?"

"She's not exactly happy."

"Does she know?" About the Witches Ball?—But I couldn't push those words out. "Have my parents told her everything?" How they'd betrayed his mother and set this iniquitous scheme of the Crowthers into motion, me here, to be used as a way to find the Horned God who had stolen Tabitha Crowther.

"No, not then. Maybe now, I don't know," he said slowly, carefully. "She wanted to bring him to you herself."

I pouted. "Caidan didn't let her, I'm guessing."

He shook his head slowly, his black hair ruffling with the motion and the swirl of wind coursing around the tower.

"I bet she was royally pissed off," I said, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him.

"In a manner of speaking," he said. He moved back inside, padding across the thick, soft carpet toward his dining table, and placed the glass of water down on its polished surface. I drifted out from behind the couch, following him inside My shadow stretched ahead of me as I kept the sunshine at my back

He turned back to face me and I arched my eyebrows, expectantly, waiting.

"She slapped him..." he said, rubbing the back of his head with a hand, his eyes going a bit wide as he glanced away. "A couple of times."

I huffed a cold laugh. "Good for her." My sister was showing that backbone Graysen had accused her years ago of never having. And I hoped now she'd see Caidan Crowther as he really was, a snake. He'd no doubt been using this supposed friendship with her to get close to our family. Yet...that yearning I'd seen on his expression when they were together, alone in the laundry, and how that deep longing for my elder sister scored across his face unchecked...

There was no point dwelling on any of that, without a way to confront it, so I pushed it away and shoved it down deep to deal with later.

Right now, I had more important things to deal with.

Namely, Graysen fucking Crowther.

I gave Graysen a sly smile. What an idiot bringing my wraith-wolf to me. My gaze slid slowly to Sage glued to my side staring up at me with his silver eyes, waiting for my order. "Bite his face off."

Graysen was skilled, and I had no doubt that he'd battle his way free, but I was down to see Sage biting a chunk out of his ass, and hear the prick howl in pain.

Wavering misty fur hackled down the ridge of Sage's spine. He growled long and low, and surged forward. The quietness of the tower exploded with frenzied barks and snapping fangs.

"Go, Sage...GO!" I yelled, bouncing up and down on the spot, clapping my hands enthusiastically above my head. I couldn't fucking wait. I hungered for Crowther blood to spill!

The wrath-wolf danced on the spot, caught up in his wrath. He lunged to bite Graysen's long leg but pulled back just shy of sinking those saliva-dripping fangs into flesh. Graysen stood still, not moving away, but his entire body was locked rigid, the muscles clenched tight, ebony eyes fixed on my wraith-wolf caught up in his fury, snapping and snarling and barking.

And nothing.

I stopped jumping around, my claps drifting apart. I frowned at Sage and jabbed a finger at Graysen. "I said—bite his face off!"

Confusion twisted through me. I didn't understand why my wraith-wolf hadn't attacked the asshole.

In fact, as my arms fell limp to my sides, Sage was retreating slowly, drawing back so he was flush with me. He whined, an awful sound, because it was more an apology than anything else, then lost all of his fight, sinking low to lie on the floor beside my bare feet.

What's going on?

I shot Graysen a suspicious look. "What did you do to him?"

Graysen tapped his forefinger against his arched throat with the inked fire scoring upward to curve just over one side of his jaw.

At first, I thought he was talking about me, and went to roar at him, when it clicked. Of course.

Kneeling down, I searched around Sage's throat and found a thin coil that hummed a low electrifying note against my skin. Bottled lightning. The same magic we used in his kennels back home to keep Sage corporeal so he couldn't fade into the wraith-void and escape. I imagined that the Crowthers had already taught Sage not to attack them.

Graysen's broad shoulders lifted as he tucked both hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "If it makes you feel any better, that's pretty much how he greets us every single day."

It didn't make me feel any better.

I surveyed the room, the bed with its twisting black branches—a bird cage; the dining table; the bookshelves and music set up; the door to my little bedroom where I'd slunk off, ill, despondent and depressed, sleeping my days away. Wasting away without food or water. "I've never been so ill before, ever." I glanced over my shoulder and observed him running his gaze over my body, looking and assessing. "What happened to me?" I asked quietly.

His gaze slashed to mine. Shadows lingered in his eyes. "You were..." he paused, his features tightening, as if it pained him to say it. "I forced you into hibernation by keeping you trapped in here without sunlight or moonlight."

My jaw slackened. "You did what?"

"I didn't know," he said, watching me carefully, as if I still had that ancient beast inside me to unleash "I didn't realize what it could have done to you, trapping you in here with no natural light."

He didn't apologize, and I didn't expect him to either, yet there was this small, tiny sliver of me that was disappointed.

"Hibernation." I spoke the word slowly, testing it out. "Hibernation?" But that's what those beasts did, or were currently doing now buried beneath the earth, slumbering, according to Graysen and what he'd shared with me last weekend.

Quickly pushing into motion, I shifted over to the dining table. Sage kept close and settled by my feet. Sunlight sprayed across the dark wood and struck off the tall glass tumbler. I picked it up, sipping but not tasting, just something reactionary to do while I hid my confusion. I'd always spent my days outside—burning the creature out twice a day. Always in sunshine. If a storm rolled in, it never lasted as long as this week had without seeing the sun, its shafts of golden light caressing my skin.

And at night...

"I can't be in the dark." The words left me in an introspective whisper.

"I know," Graysen said softly.

I loved the moon, so my bedroom curtains were always open, and it performed as another nightlight to banish my terror of absolute darkness. My bed was positioned in the perfect spot where moonlight would shine through, where I could bask...

Bask...

Like a wyrm.

I hadn't been in the right state of mind this past week to think about that.

I stilled, turning my mind inward trying to feel the wyrm out. Nothing. Gone. I was empty and hollow as a dry husk of wheat. The creature, the wyrm, was still trapped and hidden from me with this rope around my neck.

I needed out of here. I needed to be free of this godsdamned noose. I wanted off the estate and I wanted to bring the Crowthers to their knees. A little bit of bloodshed wouldn't go amiss either. And I wanted my wyrm.

It was such an odd thing to think, to know now what had been hidden in the banks of fire, drawn out with the strike of Zrenyth's whip to solidify into shape with flames of moonlight and sunlight.

Hello, tiny little thing...

Cold fury washed through me. I thumped the glass down on the table with a thunk. Water splashed over its rim and spilled over the table's surface, running down the glass in rivulets to pool beneath its bottom. I faced Graysen and spread my hands over each hip. "Let me go."

His expression was unreadable. "You know I can't do that."

"Yes, you can. Just take this off," I said thumbing the rope collaring me, "and let me walk out the gates."

He crossed his arms and widened his stance. "Not going to happen."

I caught the sparkle in his eyes. His mouth hadn't smiled but his godsdamned eyes had. Gone in a blink. But too fucking late, I'd seen it.

"This isn't funny," I snapped at him.

Somber dulled the golden flecks in his black eyes. His humor faded. "I know it's not funny."

"What was all that about then," I accused him, waving a hand around in the direction of his face, "that secretive smile—you psychopath."

He didn't bother to deny it. He strode over to his kitchenette, tossing over his shoulder, "All that barking at me you've done pretty much alleviates any doubts that you aren't fully recovered—Miss Fire and Brimstone."

He pulled open the concertina doors, revealing the smooth granite countertop, and began digging through his cupboards and drawers, pulling out bread and flour and sugar and honey. "You must be ravenous."

I was hungry. Really hungry, my stomach reminded me with a grumble.

I was so starved I was tempted to skewer him and spitroast him over a fire. Win-win.

And I needed a shower—to wash my hair and untangle the knots, and scrub the stale sweat from my skin.

"I wasn't sure what you'd want to eat," he said. "I can call the kitchen or there might be something..." he said, the words drifting apart as he squatted down to fossick around in the small fridge.

My mouth fell open as I gawked at him pulling milk and eggs and butter from the fridge, and placing them on the kitchen counter. He was in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Barefoot. And just seeing him rifling through his cupboards and fridge, him without socks or shoes, in his domain, his lair, felt intimate, too intimate, like we were sharing house and playing domestic life together. And that wasn't us. Could never be us.

Un-fucking-believable.

Fury boiled my blood.

I couldn't get my head around it.

He continued on, "But I can cook you—"

"Cook!" I bellowed, both of my hands fisting. Sage jumped to his paws, instantly alert. I couldn't understand why Graysen was acting like all of this was so fucking normal.

He jerked his head around. His thick eyebrows shot upward over eyes flared wide—staring at me like I was the crazy one in all of this.

I threw up my hands. "Are you insane? Like, literally lost your mind insane?"

My vexation was literally stabbing me in the gut, spitefully denying me a morsel of food just so I could verbally hurl abuse at him. "You're just going to keep me locked up here and divide up the cooking rotation and cleaning chores, both of us sharing the space like roommates or something?"

He slowly straightened, rising, confusion shading his gaze as his eyes bounced between mine. His lips parted, and he might have started to say something, but I was beyond dealing with this kind of crazy. I stomped toward my bedroom, Sage ahead of me.

Footfalls behind me announced Graysen was right on my heels.

"Nelle—"

Hearing the jerk-ass utter my name lit fury like gasoline tossed onto a campfire roaring through my blood. "What is this?" I snapped, spinning around, interrupting him. "What the hells do you think you're playing at? If you think this," I waved a finger between us, "is just some kind of normal roomie setup, you're fucking deranged!"

My hand latched around the door handle to my bedroom. He began to follow me inside my tiny domain. A frown creased his forehead as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder and said, "I was just offering to make you—"

Just as he began to cross the threshold I slammed the door right on his foot.

From behind the door, I heard him yowl. "Shit! Holy fucking hellsgate...shiiit!"

And when I yanked open the door, he was half-bent over rubbing the toes of his foot, wincing.

"Crowther?" My hand tightened around the round door handle. The warmth of my palm heated the cool metal.

He glanced up, straightening with a half-hopeful look, "Yeah?"

"FUCK YOU!" And I slammed the door on his face, only to jerk it open—again and again and again—catching snippets of words and a mixture of expressions morphing from surprise to male fury between rapid, thunderous door slams.

"Will—"

SLAM!

"—you—"

SLAM!

"—stop—"

SLAM!

"—door—"

SLAM!

"—face—"

SLAM!

"—talk—"

SLAM!

"—me—"

SLAM!

"—fuuuck!"

SLAM!

I was breathing hard, hard jagged puffs of air, and the adrenaline blustering through my veins pumping my heart faster sputtered out. I turned to slump my back against the door, suddenly dragged down by lethargy and misery. Sage sat on his haunches watching me with his uncanny silver eyes. If anything, I was grateful Graysen had brought my wraith-wolf back to me, but I'd never tell him that.

I slid my head to the side, my ear pressed against the wooden door. "Crowther?"

"Yeah?"

"Never use my name again. It's Wychthorn from now on."

A soul-weary sigh. A noise like fingers slowly drumming on wood. And then a soft thud and the door rattled as if he'd done the same as me, both of us leaning against opposite sides of the bedroom door.

"Crowther?" I said again, more quietly, but I knew with his keen hearing he'd hear me.

"Wychthorn?"

"Prepare to meet your worst roomie nightmare."

***

Show no fear.

Show no fear.

Show no fear.

Like a wild animal, she'd be able to scent it.

A brisk current of air breezed through the arrow slit in the wall behind me, rippling the blue flames of the wildfyre torches braced to the walls on either side of the heavy wooden door to scatter pale light and shadows over the curved adamere stone.

The soles of my boots scraped against the landing as I shifted my weight from foot to foot, readjusting my stance as I stared dead ahead at the door to my residence.

I cracked my neck and rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the tension from my rigid muscles.

I was stalling.

And I knew it.

I might have also been freaking the fuck out, wondering what was going to greet me when I finally grew the fucking balls to enter my own room. My. Own. Room. For fucks' sake.

Except, one tiny girl with a wild mane of hair and glacial eyes, full of pure spiteful wrath, had tormented the ever-living shit out of me for the past three days.

Fuck, fuck, fuuuck...

Do it, just do it!—I mentally roared at myself.

My hand balled into a fist, rising to greet the wooden door—

I yanked my fist back—

Shock slammed into me as I realized I was about to knock on my own door and ask to be let in.

It's my fucking room!

Mine!

Blowing out a breath, I tried to erase the anxiousness that wrecked my chest and steeled myself for what I was about to do.

I reached for the door handle, twisted, and pushed it open, sending my senses shooting through the room first—testing and prodding and feeling out for a girl with a handful of spoons she'd filed down to a razer-edge, using the adamere walls like a whetstone.

Nelle had ambushed me yesterday, taken me by surprise as I'd entered my room, and hurled her weapons at me. Sure, I was a Crowther, and she had absolutely no chance of outright killing me, and she knew it. But her godsdamned gleeful laughter when she actually managed to sink one into my thigh, and the little dance of victory she'd performed, annoyed the fuck out of me and wounded my ego as well as the leg the weaponized spoon was buried in.

Besides, I thought, as I smoothed my hand down the front of my black t-shirt, right this moment I sure as fuck had every right to be pissed the hells off with her. I grabbed hold of the righteous feeling of fury and let it heat my blood. 

*** CAGED will be returning to a free story on 1 July, 2024 ***