Chapter 17

Raven

I must be crazy, I thought as I ran those laps.

Outwardly, I complained nonstop about the punishment. I made sure to throw Eric and Neil and even occasionally Castor whatever insults would come to mind as I passed them on the track.

But on the inside…

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his lips had twitched up at the corners. Or the way his wrists had felt so warm beneath my fingertips as I’d pressed them to the ground. Or the feeling of him pulling my body across his.

He had taken it easy on me, even though he said he wouldn’t. Even when he had flipped us so that I was below him, he had moved me gently.

I knew better, of course. Maybe he just didn’t want to go against the rules of our pact. Maybe he couldn’t go against our pact, and had been physically unable to go as hard as he’d said he would.

Still, it was difficult not to smile every time I turned my back to him. I began to wonder if that dream I’d had had impacted my brain more than I’d realized.

Or maybe I was just going crazy, stuck here in this foreign country where women wore knives strapped to their thighs and men tattooed claw marks across their chests.

…

By the time I was finished with training, my body was practically barking in protest at every step. It took me far too long just to trudge back to my room, and then even longer to peel off my sweat-and-dirt-stained clothes and climb into the freezing cold bathtub.

I didn’t have the energy to heat the water myself, of course. And the guards were nowhere to be found, so I couldn’t ask them to help. Although I had a feeling they would have told me to do it myself, anyway.

Once I was clean, I jumped out of the cold water and rifled through the wardrobe until I found a clean dress. My legs and arms were stiff and aching as I tugged it on, so much so that it was a feat just to tie the sash in the back.

Next, I got to work on my hair.

My poor, poor hair.

Before, all of the salon treatments I was able to get—along with my expensive array of shampoos, conditioners, masks, and the like—was enough to counteract the damage done by the bleach. My hair looked just as healthy as it had before bleaching it.

But now, I didn’t exactly have any of those luxuries. There was a bar of unscented soap in the bathroom, which I had to lather up in my hands before working it into my scalp, and the only ‘conditioner’ I could get my hands on was the thick innards of an aloe plant in a pot by the window.

So my hair wasn’t in its best state, to say the least.

Somehow, I managed to drag a comb through it, wincing at all of the tiny snaps and snags and tufts of hair that went flying as I did. And without Ember here to pamper me, I was left pulling it into a messy side braid, the split ends on prominent display over my shoulder.

“Goddess, even some makeup would help,” I grumbled as I rifled through the drawers in the bathroom, to no avail. I’d have to find a way to at least acquire some makeup. I knew that Lycan women wore it; I’d seen so myself at that dinner party the other night.

Even that woman, Hannah, had been wearing some form of kohl liner around her eyes.

But something told me that if I asked Neil or Ember to get me some, they’d just laugh at me.

With a sigh, I slammed the vanity drawer shut and bit my lips as I studied my reflection for a moment.

I looked tired, mangled, like I’d been dragged through the mud. I was clean, sort of, but it was a far cry from the pampering I’d grown accustomed to back home. My cheeks were hollow, my eyes dark, my skin dull. It didn’t help any that I felt like shit on top of it all.

“That’s it.” With my mind made up, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the room.

If there wasn’t anything in the castle, then I’d go on another foraging adventure in the woods to see what I could scrounge up. Some more of that lavender, wild basil, a few wildflowers… Anything to grind up into a poultice, at least, to soothe my aching muscles and bring some color to my cheeks.

“Where are you going?”

I was halfway across the courtyard when the sound of Neil’s voice stopped me in my tracks. I turned to see him leaning against a pillar, shirtless as if he’d just been on patrol or something—like that first day we met.

“The forest,” I said, pulling my shoulders back. “To gather herbs.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Making the Queen’s balm already?”

“That’s on the list.” I sighed and ran my hand over my braid, feeling the tired strands between my fingers. “I’d like something for a good bath, too.”

Neil cocked his head as he studied me. “You look clean enough.”

“It’s not about being clean. I need a good bath. Something to at least…” I shook my head, lip curling slightly, and said, “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I don’t think you care, anyway.”

Neil eyed me for a moment before answering. “I don’t.” He pushed away from the pillar and strode past me, toward the front gate. “Just don’t try to run away. You won’t make it far.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” I quipped, turning on my heel and making for the woods.

…

I did manage to make the Queen’s balm that night, as well as a poultice and a face mask for myself using clay from the edge of that pond I’d caught the fish in. I picked some extra lavender and rosemary too, which I left drying in the window to be made into a sachet to put beneath my pillow, and even found some sweet berries to munch on.

It wasn’t fancy, not at all like the hot water massages and facials and acai bowls I could get back home, but it was something.

Once I was finished, I smeared some of the face mask onto my face and laid back on the bed, shutting my eyes as I ate the berries. The natural oils in the ointment stung my nostrils a little at first, but it was soothing after a few minutes, and I even almost began to nod off.

That was, until my door banged open.

I jolted upright, eyes wide, hand instinctively going for the knife beneath my pillow even though I didn’t know how to use it.

Neil was standing there in the doorway.

“Come with me.”

I kept my fingers closed around the handle of my knife as I studied him. “You’re covered in blood,” I remarked, gesturing to the tattoo on his chest—which was, indeed, obscured by dark red liquid. “Did you execute someone else, or did you get hurt?”

Neil paused and looked down as if surprised by my question. Dragging a hand through his dark hair—which was still in its bun, revealing the shaved sides of his head, although messier than usual—he said, “Oh. I’m fine. Are you coming, or not?”

Fine? I thought bitterly. He’s covered in blood, and clearly uninjured, which means it’s not his own.

“No.” I inched back a little further on my bed, making no effort to hide the knife that was now in my hand. “Whose blood is it?”

“Raven—” Neil huffed and began to storm up to me, but stopped as I thrust the knife toward him. His lip curled slightly, blue eyes flicking first to the blade and then to me. “If you think you can fight me off with that, then you are mistaken. You haven’t even trained with a knife.”

“No. But I know which end is the sharpest,” I growled. “Either tell me whose blood that is, or I’m staying right here.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil gestured to my face, which I’d forgotten was smeared with red clay until now. “You look like you are wearing war paint.”

Only then did my shoulders slump. I shook my head and set aside the knife. “Where are you trying to take me?” I asked.

“Just come with me,” he said, strands of that dark hair falling into his eyes. “And hurry. I haven’t got all night.”