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Prologue
He sat on his hard bed in the middle of the night, his right hand holding a rusty old knife over his left arm. Another job done. A piece of his soul bartered. A hefty amount earned. He blinked, and a warm tear wrote a eulogy on his face, leaving a trail of memories in its wake, so he let himself smile.
He placed the knife firmly on his arm, ready to lessen the pain his heart bore, feeling the older cuts tingle.
His eyes traveled around the dull room. A photograph hung on the wall in front of him. He lost track of time staring at the blonde that warmed his fallen heart as she cradled a little girl in her arms. He could picture a boy smiling at them behind the borrowed camera, ready for his turn that never came.
A faint smile—was it there?
Like a well-practiced dance routine, his eyes snapped from the photograph to the painting that hung on the opposite wall. The violence it depicted had drawn him to it the first time he'd seen the art.
In a jungle under the full moon, a pack of wolves feasted on a lifeless deer. A woman in white hid behind a tree watching wide-eyed. It was apparent to him that she'd never witnessed something so cruel, though it was completely normal for the wolves. They were predators. Hungry. Lustful. The deer lay motionless with its blood pooled beside it.
And a golden eagle sat quietly on a branch of the same tree, observing. He stared at it, his eyes questioning. Did it answer him? Had the eagle tried its best? He refused to make any excuses for it, looked down at his arm, and sliced open his skin. How else could he show the scars inside his soul? Nausea gripped him, his head lulled, and the darkness took over.
When he woke the next day, sunlight seeped through the dirty curtains. His shirt was stained red. The blood had dried on his arm.
Blinding dreams. Deafening screams. He was sick of it.
The lady in white would've tried to run, he assumed, the wolves catching up to her. The eagle would've charged on the beasts, tearing at their eyes. The woman might have died, the eagle wounded, but everything came down to a simple objective—the wolves were made an example of.
Chapter 1
She'd been waiting for thirty minutes and there was still no sign of Chris. This was the final attempt, she reminded herself, and if he rejected one more girl, she was giving up on him and his I-suck-at-relationships attitude.
Giselle sat alone in the noisy club, uncomfortable with the frilly dresses the other girls wore, the cigarette smell, and the alcohol consumed. After all, they lived in Nicoladafus, a country hell-bent on keeping everyone on the "right track" by implementing all kinds of ridiculous laws.
Noise arose from her left, and her head whipped to see the chaos on the other side of the club. The fake ID seemed to triple in weight inside her clutch as she noticed the bouncer kicking out a young couple who looked in their early twenties—just like her.
She gulped and held her chin high. Confidence, she'd learned, went a long way, especially when you didn't want to get caught being mischievous, or in her case, breaking a law. It wasn't as much the criminal record she was afraid of as it was losing face in society which was a pressure injected into her since she was ten years old.
"Whatever will the people say?" was her mother's favorite phrase up until the day she'd died two years ago. If she hadn't loved her mother so dearly, she would've told her how laughable those words were.
She couldn't blame her, though. Maintaining a good reputation in society was of utmost importance for the people of this country, or at least the people residing in the city of Phoenix. Things like sex or moving out before marriage was frowned upon. Of course, the generation she proudly belonged to got around the laws and prying eyes of high society maniacs as much as they could. She'd gone as far as snorting at the poster plastered next to the club's gate, "Say No To Alcohol Before Age Twenty-Five! It's the law!"
That was before she presented the guard with her fake ID, a wink, and fifty dollars worth of hush money when he looked at her suspiciously. Chris had resorted to sulking at the bet he'd lost, calling her a cheater. She'd paid him no heed, of course. It was as if he'd been counting on her failure since he, himself, had no problem getting inside. Although, he should've known after spending eighteen years with her that if Giselle put her mind to something, she more often than not accomplished it.
Music blared and the ground vibrated as her eyes traveled across the heated dance floor. You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift started playing, and she sighed happily on the inside, singing along. Her fingers drummed her thigh over the jeans she wore. The door to the club opened to her right, and she looked out longingly. This time of the year, the cold wind blew, signaling the start of the fall.
Sighing, she scanned the crowd for Chris one more time, worry starting to settle. Her heart hammered for a moment, but she brushed it off. He was a grown man who could handle himself. And if he'd decided to ditch her because of the bet he'd lost, she'd strangle the sore loser at home.
Someone grabbed her shoulder from the side, and with a little jump of her heart, she spun to her left. At a place like this where almost everyone was intoxicated ("...and people did unspeakable things when drunk!" her father's voice echoed in her head dramatically), she couldn't afford to handle a stranger. But, the man in front of her was anything but that.
"What—Are you drunk?" she bellowed over the loud music. A few people turned to give them a fleeting glance.
Giselle held him by his shoulders as Chris stumbled on his step.
"Not my fault." He hiccupped, and then laughed at himself. She flinched at the smell, then sighed in defeat, letting him go.
"Chris," she called him with a steady voice. "Why did you drink?"
"Not my fault!" he repeated, looking at her as if she'd lost her mind, then frowned innocently. "You know I don't drink."
"What happened, then?"
"I just wanted to forget," he said. His brown eyes squinted at her as if he was trying to focus.
Her brows knitted. "Forget what?"
