Chapter Text
The wind is lashing, careening through the trees and creating a discordant symphony. It carries the rich scents from the camp, assaulting your senses and reminding you that you haven't eaten today.
Meanwhile, the winged inhabitants carry about as usual, but you continue to eye the small group that has gathered at the center of it all. They haven't moved much, staying put and talking amongst themselves. All males in those leathers are winged, looking self-important despite the way they shift from foot to foot, or the subtle twitching of their mighty wings.
Once more, you ask yourself who could they be waiting for. Turning your head to get a better view of them, you watch as your silent questions are finally answered.
Three appear between a blink, two males and one female, the taller male also having the same batlike wings sprouting from his back. The winged male and the female are both dressed in the same leathers as those in the camp, while the shorter male is wearing fine clothing with glimmers of silver embroidery that you can make out with your sharp eyes even from this distance.
Hopping forward on the branch, your talons barely make a scratch of sound against the bark of the tree. Dipping your head down slightly, you watch with rapt interest, trying to catch the tendrils of conversation drifting on the frigid wind. It sounds as if they're inquiring about training of some kind, but with only snippets making its way to your ears, you're not sure.
Letting out a huff of a breath, you open your wings and hop off the branch, swiftly soaring toward a tree that is closer, but has more foliage. When you land, you quickly pull at the thread of your magic, calling upon the power to shift your body into what you need.
Talons are replaced by scraggly toes, feet bare, though unfeeling to the rough bark beneath them. Wings change into arms, and as the rest of the transformation takes place, your weight shifts. Now standing to your full height, you grapple upward for the branch above, holding yourself in place. The branch creaks, and you hold your breath and watch carefully.
No one alerts to the sound or looks your way, continuing on with their day.
Sighing out in relief, you focus most of your attention back on the new three fae, making sure to keep your senses aware around you for anyone encroaching on your hiding spot.
Through the canopy, you can just make out the feet of the warriors who live here, and parts of the bodies of the new arrivals. The one you have the clearest vision of is the female, who stands to the side and partially behind the finely dressed male. She's frowning, her sharp eyes fixed ahead on the males of the camp.
“We've discussed this, Devlon. They are to train before chores, not after.” It's the finely dressed male speaking, who is the closest to you. “Some of the warriors can help with the chores, if need be.”
There's a scoff, but a different sounding voice speaks. “They need their training, as well. How are they to do it properly when they've been delegated to other, menial tasks?”
The female's jaw twitches, her mouth becoming a thin line. She shifts closer towards the male, setting her feet slightly apart.
Training? Ah, that's right. From what you've heard of these war bands, they have archaic views about their females. Rolling your eyes, you lean your weight forward, gripping harder to the branch you're holding onto.
The conversation continues, however, your attention is snagged by something else. A ripple of darkness snakes between the play of shadows in the tree, right where a particularly dark patch of it sways against the trunk. When you turn your head slightly to peer at it better, it disappears.
Tilting your head, you shuffle silently to the side, and when the branch becomes wider, you crouch and carefully maneuver closer. Reaching out, you touch the spot where you had seen it, but find shade and normal bark. You sniff the air. Forest, campfires, fae scents, and wind. Nothing more.
Shaking your head, you stand again, turning to go back to your spot. However, a strong arm wraps tightly against your torso, squeezing the air out from your lungs. Your vision is then swallowed by darkness so profound, even the darkest cave or blackest night cannot compare to it.
As your vision warps with the darkness then careens back, your back is pressed tightly to another's front—male if the muscles and height is anything to go by. You gasp for a breath, but still, all thought of defense leaving you as cool metal presses into your throat.
Snarls and growls ring out, and your vision finally focuses enough to realize you've moved from your tree to standing at the side of the small meeting. All activity and conversations in the camp have halted, the winged males bristling with their weapons.
“Cooperate with us, and you won't be harmed,” the smooth voice brushes warm breath against your ear, and the hairs on your arms rise. You let your body go limp in his hold, but bare your teeth.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” It's the finely dressed male. He stares you up and down, his deep blue, nearly violet eyes practically glowing in the sunshine. “Where did you find this lovely female, Az?”
There's a soft jerk of movement, his arms unmoving from holding you in place. “High up in that tree.”
“How did you find this place?” It's the female, curious but hard-faced.
“How indeed.” He looks you up and down again, lingering on the sleeves of your clothing.
When you don't answer, the male presses his weapon into your throat a little harder. A sting of pain, but there's no blood. Yet.
“I'm a ranger,” you hiss out, then calm. However, your heartbeat echoes in your ears. “I notice when nature has been mined for its resources. All I had to do was track where the materials went.”
“A ranger?” It's the winged male. He has not drawn the weapon sheathed between his wings, but his feet are spread shoulder width apart and his heavily muscled arms are crossed against his wide chest. “I thought they were only human?”
You shake your head. “That is a myth.”
The female and finely dressed male exchange a brief look that has your curiosity rising. Then, he puts his full attention on you, stepping closer. “Why are you here, ranger?”
You lick your lips, darting your eyes between the three in front of you and the still bristling males. They've edged closer, and the promise of violence can be tasted in the air. The pretty eyed male sees where your eyes go, and he waves a hand. “You're dismissed. I will handle this.”
“She was spying on my camp,” the male, clearly Devlon, growls. “We have the right to”—
“And this is my court,” he snaps, interrupting Devlon. “I will question her, and if she meant for harm, I'll give her to you once we're done.”
Oh. Oh gods. His court?
Dread drops like a boulder into your stomach, making the contents churn viciously. It's a good thing your stomach is empty, otherwise you may have hurled up any food within it. And if you hadn't already gone pliant to keep from having your neck sliced from ear to ear, your body would go boneless as realization of who is interrogating you sets in.
There's grumbles, but the camp resumes activity, the males turning away. However, your eyes snap to Devlon. Latching onto the panic of the clear leader getting away instead of the terror in front of you, you call after him.
“Wait! You! You lead this camp, correct?” Your voice shakes with each word, yet he stops and turns. His eyes narrow.
“Yes. You will address me as Lord Devlon, girl.”
You ignore the insult as a jolt of lightning arcs across your spine, pricks of it alighting through your nerves. A breath shudders out of you, your fists clenching at your sides. One step closer to your goal.
“Are you harboring an Illyrian male named Gavin in this camp?”
Devlon's frown deepens.
“Answer me,” you growl.
His wings twitch, partially opening. “Why should I answer you?” He growls back, teeth flashing in the sunlight.
“Gavin? Why do you ask of him?” The blue eyed male asks, genuinely curious.
Your fear abates, and you know your eyes flash dangerously because the tension in the taller male heightens. At the back of your mind, you realize this goal has become so much more dangerous due to who you are currently being questioned by, but you ignore the thought of who they are so as to not cause panic to your already wild senses.
“He's a murderer and a monster, that's why. He slaughtered those in my town some time ago.”
The wind, howling before, quiets. As the three exchange glances, you note that the female and non-winged male make eye contact with the one currently pinning you to their body. The female especially keeps extended eye contact with him. You find out why when the knife is no longer pressing to your throat and you're let go.
Immediately, you reach for your throat, feeling for damage. It's minimal, and you drop your hand.
Looking behind you, you see no one there, and you frown, but return your attention to the three before you. Devlon still watches on, bristling with silent, barely contained rage.
“I can assure you, he's not here,” the tall male says, his arms still crossed. “He has been exiled from all Illyrian war camps.”
Huffing, it's your turn to cross your arms. “And how can you be so sure none of them are harboring him?”
His eyes narrow. “Because, I make it my personal business to keep these camps in line.”
Devlon scoffs again, but a sharp look keeps him from making a comment.
You stare at one another, and you're the first to break eye contact, looking at the ground. Your thoughts spin about in your mind, and as you sort through them, the female speaks.
“We could help you find him?”
Snapping your eyes up, you stare at her mingled expression and the lightness in her gray-blue eyes most of all. Like the male's genuine curiosity, her offer is real. You frown, shifting your eyes to the side.
“No, I'll find him on my own. Am I free to go?”
There's a beat of silence, then, “yes, but do not return to this area. I'm sure you're aware of what will happen if you do.”
Out of the corner of your eyes, you see the promising grin on Devlon's face. You nod.
As you turn, you catch sight of a new figure—he's not as tall as the gigantic warrior with the others, but his face… He's beyond beautiful. Strips of darkness swirl about him, and his wings are tightly folded behind his back. His hazel eyes are as unreadable as the rest of him, yet are the brightest part about him.
You freeze mid-step for a moment, drinking in the splendid sight of him. However, when you spot the knife belted to his person, a prickle of ice drips down your back and you resume your pace.
Without a backward glance, you leave the camp. Once you're sure you're not being followed and can be seen by them, you transform again, this time into an eagle to better ride the winds. Letting out a sharp cry, you turn southwest, soaring as high and fast as you can.