Sometimes when we find out a secret that has been kept from us for so long, it's not the secrecy that kills us, but what is actually unveiled.
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Xaden Riorson x Oc, Liam Mairi x Oc, Oc x Oc, Ridoc Gamlyn x Oc,
Sawyer Henr...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
There is an art to poison not often discussed, and that is timing. Only a master can properly dose and administer for effective onset. One must take into account the mass of the individual as well as the method of delivery.
—Effective Uses of Wild and Cultivated Herbsby Captain Lawrence Medina
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chapter Eight
| Wrenley's POV |
The women's hall is quiet as I dress for the morning, the sun is barely peeking above the horizon in the far windows. I take the dragon-scale vest from where I left it to dry on the hanger at the end of my bed and slip it on over my long-sleeve black shirt. Tightening the laces on it is just downright annoying, but I'm growing used to it. Glancing out the window, taking in the vibrant sunrise. I used to paint landscapes like this, but it was something, Knox and I did together. So, when he died, I stopped painting them all together and moved on to people, dragons, and animals.
Violet's still asleep, she'll wake up soon. Rhiannon's not in her bed, which can only mean that one of us is getting a few much-needed orgasms. Good for her. There are a few pairs of partners in here too, but no one really minds. The squad leaders act like it's so freaking important to follow the tight-nit rules, but none of them really work super hard to enforce them. None of them except, Dizzy Dain, that is.
I decide on leaving my hair down, and grab my bag, heading out of the room. Passing by all of the empty bunks of the women who didn't get to live to see August is crazy, but also expected.
I'm surprised to see Liam sitting on the other side of the hallway when I walk out of the room. Widdling away. Can't say I'm surprised. Rolling my eyes, I walk over and stand in front of him.
His lips curve up as he sets down his carving knife and piece of wood. I've decided I can't really stay mad at him. It's going to be a problem at some point. But I don't understand how anyone could stay mad at him. It'd be like plucking a lollipop out of a toddler's hands. You just can't. It's cruel.
