Choosing to say out of the Alliance, the Cinders are isolated in their own conflicts, and when Helia Cinder reaches to the void for answers, she inadvertently draws a creature out. Expecting to be eaten alive, she is instead left with a man with no...
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Wren's head felt like someone had stuffed clouds into it, and his head lolled around the blindingly white walls surrounded him. If he didn't know better, he'd say he was dead, but death didn't come with arm and leg constraints. As soon as he was functional enough to balance the balloon on his shoulders, he yanked his wrists against the leather straps. The chair jerked, but it was bolted to the ground. Wren wasn't even sure why they'd bothered with it being made from old wood. Keeping him in it was likely more of a hazard them him getting out. Splinters could be deadly, and he was pretty sure he couldn't balance on his feet.
The dizziness grew so bad that he thumped his head on the headrest of the chair and closed his eyes. It took so long to abate, that he was amazed someone hadn't come in. Anti-magic walls lined the room around him though his shackles held no such power. Whatever warped creature thought to control him was about to be melted into a puddle for such negligence. Wren needed no circle to spin a tune from the tips of his fingers and melt a man's inner ear drums.
Long minutes passed, and eventually, he relaxed his muscles as he realized he'd been left alone. The room was small and boring, giving him no more than a few feet in any direction, and a table of beakers and crushed plants had him crinkling his nose. Such strong magical herbs were not often used because of their danger to the frail human body. From here, he could make out more than one meant for sedation as well as causing immense pain. Both had such disastrous side effects that they were reserved for death decrees.
Wren pushed them out of his thoughts as he pieced together his shattered mind. The last he remembered, he'd been eating with a few of his men and having light drinks to ease the nerves of some of the newer scouts. They had a mission planned to map out the edges of the vampire borders, but part of the journey ran them close to the Sol and Valk territories. Normally, as long as they stayed on their side of the divide, they could chart things with low risk, but on occasion, they came across one of the more rabid monsters and had to put it down.
The very last thing he could recall was closing his eyes for the night, tucked into a heavy blanket on the couch of one of his generals. Which one, he couldn't say. Everything was so fuzzy, and he whipped his head around as the door clicked open. It dragged on the floor, the wood structure sagging on old hinges, and near black eyes grazed his. Wren's tongue felt too big for his mouth as he met the hardened gaze of his first general. Riff had always been a few inches taller than him, wider of shoulder and more built than Wren could manage with constant workout. The leader of his men was built for physical combat whereas Wren's magic had always been stronger.
Tightly braided red hair ran to his thighs, always kept out the way for combat, and he looked ready for it. Riff had never been a fan of the mage robes, but wore them ceremoniously on some of their missions. Today he'd only donned the tight innerwear, and white waistcoat, clipped at the bottom of his chin and bare down the arms. With the insulated, spell-infused fabric, no vampire could peel back the layers to get at his throat, though a strong enough blade would slice right through it. The protection of the layers was only effective in close combat, which Riff saw more than others because he enjoyed fighting off the beasts with his bare hands.
