Page 22 of The Runner and the Runaway

The hammered steel bars that made up the sides flashed. Wide, sharpened blades flipped out from each surface, poised and gleaming for the length of the bars from the floor to the top.

“Are you watching,Fetch?It’s a very important lesson.”

He didn’t wait for me to reply, but yanked down on that lever, and those blades—each longer and taller than me, creaked into gleaming arcs of death, slamming like a snapped jaw full of opposing fangs down to the bottom of the cage, slicing the blanket, pillow, and bucket to shreds, wood and girding alike, as easily as if it were butter—then sprang back up to catch those flying pieces mid-air and carve through them a second time.

My pulse slammed painfully inside my skull, thrumming in my ears so loudly I almost couldn’t hear Melek’s low chuckle. “You would be dead before you saw the hinges engage,” he whispered in my ear, his voice a dark rasp of promise. “If you don’t want to learn how it feels to be impaled by steel—or by Nephilim prick—you will besilentwhen you are not asked to speak. Do you understand?”

I swallowed hard and nodded, his stubbled jaw scraping against my ear because he hadn’t moved away.

For a moment I was frozen, sensing the shift in him as he became aware, just as I had, how closely we stood.

I was chilled in my wet clothes and hair, but his body was so large, the heat seemed to radiate from him, through my clothing, as his quickening breath rushed against my cheek.

Jangling, shrieking fear coursed through me as he rumbled deep in his chest and I felt it at the backs of my shoulders.

Then his thick, calloused fingers gripped my chin and he turned my head, forcing me to meet his eyes over my shoulder.

“I am a man of honor, Fetch. I do not make empty threats. One wrong move—one wrongword—and I will have you sliced to ribbons and my brothers will feast on your guts. Keep your mouth shut. Keep your hands in the cage. And do not toy withme or you will learn to your detriment that I say what I mean, and mean what I say.”

I blinked, but there was a creak and the world flipped, then I was being dragged backwards,awayfrom the cage… and towards the bed.

6. Choose Your Path

~ YILAN ~

For a moment that chittering terror screamed in my head. But before I could do more than struggle weakly, there was a scrape, a muttered curse, and suddenly I was plonked bodily into a wooden chair sized for a Nephilim—which meant my feet hung in thin air so I could swing them like a child.

In a blink he had two of the weapons straps from the bed and was wrapping first one of my arms, then the other, to the chair’s, from wrist to elbow. He tugged the buckles tight enough to worry me about blood flow.

When I was secured, he took two more straps and spread my legs apart, binding each ankle to one of the chair legs so I was sat awkwardly, limbs spread, tied, and unable to move.

I couldn’t even hope to move the chair if I was left unattended. It was massive, and solid. It had to outweigh me by at least fifty pounds.

Melek backed away slowly, eyeing the bonds as if I might somehow produce a blade and slip through them. Despite his size, he moved easily, without the hulking effort of some of the others—including the King. Whether because of his training, or just sheer strength, the man moved like a cat.

I couldn’t help a passing rush of admiration for his dominance and power, the presence he carried… and I couldn’t help shaking in fear of it, suddenly deeply aware of my vulnerability.

But I kept my head.

The Nephilim were all strong. All physically capable and fierce fighters. But they were not without their vulnerabilities. The primary of which being an apparent lack of discipline and intelligence. Surely this couldn’t be the totality of the creatures that had wreaked havoc on the continent over the past few months? The smart ones must be on the battlefield. And yet…

Melek’s lips twisted like he was considering something. Then, without a word he turned on his heel and stalked out of the tent, leaving me there utterly alone, though I had no doubt there were guards outside the tent. Still…

I waited, growing chilled in my wet clothing and hair, until that tent flap snapped back, and he entered carrying a platter of steaming food bringing with it delicious scents of fatty meats and roasted vegetables and…

I tried to shift my weight, my tailbone already growing uncomfortable on the wooden seat of the chair, but Melek ignored me, pulling a small table over until it was just feet from my chair, and placing the platter on it, then swinging another of those massive chairs by the back and sliding it into place at the table.

He then proceeded to seat himself and with one short glance at me, focused on eating slowly, methodically, savoring the food as the tent filled with the cloud of its scent.

My stomach growled audibly. Melek acted as if he didn’t hear it, but I noticed he ate even more slowly, taking time to lick the fat from his fingers between bites, lips smacking.

I just stared at him the whole time, not pretending I didn’t wish to share the food. What was the point? We both knew this was torture. Which was exactly what he’d intended.

Then, finally, when he’d literally scraped the plate clean, he looked up and met my eyes as he lifted one of the bones that he’d stripped clean, snapped it cleanly between his teeth, and sucked the marrow from it.

“This is what I’ll do to you if you give me any reason. Any at all,” he said quietly, then repeated the process with the other bone.

I didn’t respond.