Page 135 of Wings of Destruction

There’s no such thing as leniency. There never has been. The only currency that matters is power and who is in possession of it.

“Morgan?”

Kieran’s come to retrieve me. His gaze is cold, unreadable, and the moment stretches out between us before he grabs the ties near my wrists and tugs.

His knot, which I’d found almost impossible to undo, slips free easily with a few pulls.

Then he straightens and pierces through me with those eyes like an abyss. Rather than look away, the way I want to, I force my chin up to meet his gaze, expecting cruelty. Instead, I find something that steals my breath—and I hate myself for the way it captures me.

“On your feet,” he whispers.

Slowly, I rise. “Touch me and I’ll scream.”

“I’ve already touched you. And you’ve already screamed.”

He’s made it painfully clear from the start but I guess somewhere in the middle of everything that’s happened, I’m still surprised.

“What do you want with me?” The question breathes out of me as Kieran stays unblinking. “Please. Just tell me.”

If I know, even if it’s bad, then I’ll stop anticipating. There is nothing but nightmares and less than pleasant surprises in the unknown.

Silent, he turns me and propels me against the wall. I slap a hand to the stone to stop my cheek from brushing, but he pushes me harder. My face makes contact, then my chest, and Kieran wrenches my arms behind my back.

He skillfully wraps the leathers around my wrists to bind them at my tailbone. The leather snaps into place with another tug and I gasp.

Arching his body over me, Kieran whispers, his hot breath tickling the baby fine hairs near my ear. “I told you to stop fighting, once. I told you I was trying to help you. Would it kill you to actually listen?”

Yes.

The word is right there. Why can’t I force it out of me? My heartbeat quickens, but not entirely from anger, and I hate myself for it.

“Come.”

Kieran draws away and I miss his warmth instantly.

Using the leathers, he tugs me up straight and maneuvers me away from the chair, through the slight opening in the door to the office. Silent. Composed.

The seamless threshold from black marble to wide-plank polished wood surprises me. There is so little comfort in this place but the headmistress’s office is hospitable, balmy.

Twin glass doors dominate the opposite wall and lead out to a balcony and the panoramic view of the valley beyond.

Despite the size of the room, it’s cozy, a wall of books and weapons to my right and her desk to the left.

The headmistress herself watches my every footstep from her desk like a monarch on her throne. The woman doesn’t need power to be indomitable. It rolls off of her with crackling intensity, as though magic has seeped into her skin.

She’s a striking brunette approaching middle age but her face is timeless and her eyes wizened. Her fierce reputation makes sense. There is an otherworldly quality to the headmistress as though someone plucked an all-powerful sorceress off the pages of a fiction novel and brought her to life.

And there’s Kieran, keeping a hold on the leather binds around my wrist like I’m some kind of dog for him to lead along. He’s got my hands secured behind my back when he presents me to Headmistress Harbi.

Her gaze snaps to him and a brow arches as if she’s asking if this is necessary. Kieran grunts out a wordless reply.

He’s not going anywhere, much to my annoyance.

He releases me in front of the headmistress and my gaze snags on the ornate frame encasing a painting on the wall beyond her. The swirling colors are mesmerizing, putting me in mind of wings and smoke.

The ceiling mimics the colors of the painting and stretches overhead in a dome of gold and blue like the sky in the early morning hours. The attention to detail is unlike anything I’ve seen in this place so far.

I slowly drag my attention back to Harbi and the gem at her throat. The pear shaped onyx pendant is clasped in silver filigree and hangs perfectly poised below her collarbone.