MY PRISONER
Lust.
Nineteen hours ago, I met Azalea, and he has already made a portrait of me.
His attention to detail amazes me. Oftentimes, I wonder if he would be so intricate in sexual activities as well.
He is sitting on the leafy ground twenty feet away from me, leaning against a thick tree.
His demeanor is relaxed. One can tell from how he draws a knee to his chest and leaves the other leg stretched out on the ground, both legs pulled apart to let his hands rest between them. I believe they are grazing his crotch.
Lifting a rough paper scroll to my face, I find on it a carefully illustrated image in charcoal. Then I bring the paper down and stare at him, wondering whether even now I am living freely in his mind.
“You wish,” Loka hisses from behind me. She thinks her hourglass figure makes her stand out among other women.
She is quite the joker.
“Do not pretend like I am unaware of your thoughts,” she continues, even though I’m ignoring her. “Your eyes tell. Even the poor guy would think you are falling in love with him.”
I raise a brow and look over my shoulder at Loka before rolling up the paper and tossing it to her.
Picking up the heavy shackles next to me, I approach Azalea.
He looks at me as I near him, his expression smudged with a frown.
When I reach where he’s sitting, my shadow falls on him, while he looks at me with narrowed eyes. Eyes that have seen more evils than the word itself. Evils created by the very hands that sketched me.
“Get up,” I tell him.
He looks away with a smile. Then, sluggishly, he obeys with a question. “You do realize who I am, right?”
“Your hands,” I mumble instead, hearing Loka guffawing from my previous spot.
Her laugh alone answers Azalea’s question, seeing how my last two words noted that I do not care about the man’s who and what. More confirmations when he stretches his hands for me to push the shackles’ cuffs onto his wrists.
My prisoner—that is all he is and who he will ever be from this moment onward.
“What exactly are you called? Are you bane or hell?” he says again.
That too would have been ignored had Loka not chipped in. “She’s Socculus.”
For God’s sake.
Azalea huffs. “Is that a name?”
Loka shrugs. “Yeah… I think.”
She strolls away on that note, while I carefully make sure that the chain between Azalea’s cuffs is tight enough to let me drag him through the woods if he triggers my temper.
I grab his arm and shove him to my front. “Move.”
The chain is what connects us. It’s wrapped around my wrist, clinking as he walks.
He chuckles and starts mumbling, “Socculus, as in… Soccu… lus…t.” Another silence. “Hm. How interesting.” I’m still eager to maintain the silence. “Lust is better. The other is a mouthful.”
“Your tongue would fare better rolled behind your teeth,” I snap.
Azalea chuckles again—that angers me the most. “My tongue would fare better tasting your ravishing sparks of deviltry. And it still won’t roll behind my teeth. It never will.”
I glare at the man as I walk past him, tugging him roughly with the chain. He stumbles because of that.
To the Firnes, Azalea is an offender; a grievous one.
He’s a formidable witch who rules a powerful, autocratic society of witches that call themselves The Silver Coven.
They terrorized all creatures in their vicinity, especially humans, until their victims’ pleas reached our ears.
The Syfirl sent my horde to their aid. But the war sparked at the wrong time—summer season—when Firnes prefer to cuddle under icy pools instead of treading roads to battle.
We prefer to fight in winter, which is why we captured Azalea instead, hoping that his people will scatter and his influence in the world will decrease with time.
The only thing is, Loka and I now have to put more effort into hiding while transferring the offender to Amperes, as his loyalists are still as fervent as they are outrageous and extremely brutal. And we’re in no mood for a bloody clash.
All we have to do is follow the Forest of Oaks that leads directly to Gar Valley. Then we will journey through the Creeping Tunnels of Eyesrall, which is underneath the Gallant Peaks. From there, we will head to a waterfall where the portal to Amperes is.
If opening the portal at random places weren’t forbidden for security reasons, it would have been easier to transport the criminal.
Now, avoiding the city and places with any trace of humans would be the best option so as not to come in contact with Azalea’s supporters.
“Do you really think this… darkness can hold my people from coming for me?” the man asks, and I catch Loka hanging upside-down from an oak branch.
The Forest of Oaks is known for its near darkness. What exactly would invite pure light into a place shaded by a canopy of large oak branches? And more so, why would anyone think we would go through this dangerous path?
Only, we’re Firnes, and we fear nothing.
If only Azalea knew that.
He catches up to walk side by side with me, looking at me.
For some reason, his gigantic form makes me feel small, especially since his broad shoulders would totally obstruct my view if I stood directly behind him.
As his stare persists, he huffs. “It would be nice if you could say more than one word at a time.” I ignore him. He chuckles. “You know, it is hot when you glare at me side-eyed, even if it’s just for a moment.”
I hold back the smile that nearly shows up on my face.
Weird.
I rarely smile.
Now it makes me wonder—why on earth am I flushed? I should not be. Not for anyone. Not for any man. And certainly not for Azalea.
He is my prisoner, for God’s sake.
