The Exiled Read online

  Hazel propelled herself forward, her chin held high, no sign of the turmoil she felt inside visible on her face. All the years of trying to be invisible and bullying had paid off. Her poker face was perfect. Her feet faltered as she got a look at the man holding the door open.

  Brown feathered wings ruffled behind his back, and he grinned at her. She blinked at him but didn’t otherwise react. Her fingers curled into fists that she wanted to pummel him with. If it hadn’t been for him, she would have escaped.

  His smile widened. “I see you remember me,” he said lightly.

  Hazel didn’t respond and ignored him as she followed Remy down the red stone hallway. She reached out her left hand and ran her fingers along the wall to help memorize the way out of the cell. If she was given a chance to escape again, she needed a new route of escape. Light footfalls kept pace with her, and she sped up, trying to keep space between herself and the winged creature behind her. How did such a big man have such light footsteps?

  The creature huffed. “Hazel,” he complained. “Slow down. I’m tired.”

  She ignored him.

  Remy sniggered. “I thought you hated being down here.”

  “I’ll admit that I don’t like being below the surface, but Noah made us train harder today and everything hurts. I swear, my hair hurts.”

  His hair hurts? She snorted and covered her mouth. She wasn’t supposed to find him amusing. He was the bloody enemy.

  “I see our captive has a sense of humor,” the bird man commented wryly. “What other things do you find funny? I have it on good authority that I’m hilarious.”

  Remy glanced over her shoulder and locked eyes with Hazel, a smirk on her face. “The only person who thinks you’re funny is yourself.”

  “That hurts.”

  “I’m sure, Jameson.” She turned around and led them down a hallway to the left.

  A finger touched her shoulder and Hazel flinched away and twisted to glare at Jameson. He held his hands up.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t,” she said calmly. “I don’t like being touched without my permission. Please refrain from touching my person.”

  He rubbed a tanned hand across his square jaw. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, but I’d appreciate you keeping your hands to yourself all the same.” She held his brown gaze, refusing to be intimidated by his height or how his wings filled the tunnel; his immense form was haloed by yellowish synthetic light.

  Jameson thrust his hand out to her. “I’m sorry. I’ve been told I don’t understand social boundaries or personal space. And since we haven’t been properly introduced, I’m Jameson.”

  She stared at his large hand as it hovered in the air. It would be easy to turn her back on him, but that wouldn’t be wise. To escape unscathed from whatever lay ahead, she needed allies in this place. Jameson was as good as any place to start.

  “I’m Hazel Bresh,” she murmured and slipped her hand into his. He gently closed his calloused fingers around hers and flashed a handsome smile. In that moment, she made two observations: he was a hard worker—his callouses were a testament of that—and he was used to women liking him. Jameson practically oozed confidence.

  “It’s nice to meet you… officially. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  She barked out a rusty laugh, surprising herself. “I’m sure you have,” she muttered, pulling her hand from his.

  “Are you done?” Remy called, clearly exasperated.

  Jameson’s eyes twinkled as he whispered to Hazel, “Such a kill-joy. No wonder her hair is black.”

  Her brows slashed together. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It matches her black, fun-sucking heart,” he said louder, full-out grinning in Remy’s direction.

  The girl sighed and rolled her eyes, but a smile hovered on her lips. Hazel observed the two. They were clearly friends. It reminded her a little of how she and Baz interacted. Grief sucked the breath from her lungs. She missed her friends so much.

  Jameson’s smile dimmed as he noticed her expression. “You okay?”

  Hazel schooled her expression. “Fine.” She spun on her heel and caught up to Remy.

  “You know, blank faces don’t hide much here,” Jameson’s voice said from behind her. “Many times, we can smell strong emotion. If you truly don’t want your feelings known to others, you need to control them better.”

  Her jaw clenched at the reminder that her emotions didn’t belong to her anymore, but she forced herself to nod. “Much appreciated. I’ll work on that.”

  Remy turned right, and Hazel’s heart kicked in her chest as afternoon light poured down a set of stairs ahead. Her speed picked up, and she almost trampled Remy in her daze as they ascended the staircase. A contented sigh slipped from her lips as they emerged from the tunnel below and the sun washed over her skin.

  Her eyes stung at the sudden light, and she wanted to drop to her knees and weep as a dry breeze ruffled the skirt of her dress. She was outside. Finally. The fist around her lungs loosened a touch and, for the first time in five days, Hazel felt like she could breathe again. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and inhaled deeply in an attempt to control the tears that threatened to fall. After being cooped up in the cave for so long, it was almost a spiritual experience to be outside. Hell, when she escaped, she’d never complain about weeding again.

  Speaking of escape… she dropped her chin and surreptitiously scanned the clay-looking homes and buildings that dotted the street like vultures on a pole line. Intersecting alleyways bisected the road at an angle. Hazel noted rays of the sun hovered just over the rim of the bluff to her left.

  That way led west, so… she glanced to her right, just making out the huge fences. To the south-east lay the entrance to the compound. That way was freedom.

  “Don’t even think about it, missy,” Jameson drawled, following her line of sight. “You’d never make it. Sanctum is closed tighter than a nun’s britches.” His wings slightly extended. “No one can outrun these bad boys.”

  She dispassionately pulled her gaze from the fences and eyed the crowing male at her side. “I almost did once. Your pride and arrogance will be your downfall.”

  His wings snapped taut against his back. “Big words for a captive,” he said, not unkindly. “I wouldn’t be worrying about me, darling. You just look out for yourself.”

  Remy tossed an annoyed look Jameson’s way. “You talk too much.”

  “And you’re altogether too prickly, but you don’t hear me complaining about something I can’t change.” He shrugged his shoulder and gestured toward the street. “Let’s get a move on.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Remy retorted, locking eyes with Hazel. “Come on. He’s going to be mad that we’re late.”

  “Late?” Hazel said softly, hoping they’d answer her question.

  Jameson slid her an unreadable glance. “Time for your reckoning.”

  Her stomach dropped.

  A reckoning.

  Five

  Hazel

  Warm red sand stuck to the bottom of her feet as their group walked through the town. Hazel soaked in everything and tried to commit it all to memory. She glanced over her shoulder when her calves began to burn—the city gently sloped away from their position—the dusty roads creating tendrils that spread out in a half circle from the bluff.

  Unease skittered down her spine as she searched for any signs of life. During their ten-minute walk, Hazel had only spotted four other inhabitants; other than that, it was as if the place had been abandoned. The only thing that convinced her otherwise were the spires of smoke that wafted from the chimneys of many homes. Did the people have a curfew like Harbor? The sun was setting, but there was still plenty of daylight. Were things here that dangerous?

  She shivered when an immense shadow encompassed her. Hazel turned around and studied the immense bluff that rose like a giant sentinel from the grou
nd. Homes faded into sturdy-looking square buildings with flat roofs, and all the roads seemed to crowd together and lead to one area. A low buzz reached her ears—something that was very familiar—the dull roar of a crowd. Her stomach flopped. Why were so many people assembled in one place?

  Her gaze strayed to the swirling ink of her arm and then to Remy’s straight back. Did the girl tell the truth? Was the ink truly a mark of a person inside the Sanctum, or something much more insidious?

  “Where’s your mark?” she asked, turning to Jameson.

  He blinked. “I thought you’d gone mute for a few moments.” When she didn’t smile at his joke, he tugged down the collar of his grey t-shirt. The tip of a feathered wing peeked out. “I’m of the avian class.”

  “Surprising,” she muttered. At least what Remy had said was true. But what about her future? Where were they taking her? Why spare the time and expense to dress her so formally? Dressing someone in finery before an execution seemed wasteful.

  He barked out a laugh. “The little Untouched has jokes.”

  “Matt!” Remy called.

  Hazel jerked and spun around as her friend stalked from an alleyway to her left. He gave Remy a brief smile before settling his attention on Hazel. Gone was the kind, carefree boy of her past. In his place stood a blond, angry man. She braced herself for his lecture and gasped when he pulled her into a rough hug, almost yanking her off her feet. Awkwardly, she wrapped her arms around him and let herself enjoy the affection.

  “How are you?” he breathed into her hair, his voice as soothing as ever.

  “Fine, all things considered.”

  Matt pulled back and her hands slid from his body, already missing the comfort he offered. He cupped her cheeks with both of his hands and scrutinized her, his slitted pupils narrowing further.

  “Looks like Remy got a hold of you.”

  Hazel gestured to her face, feeling like she was going to come out of her skin. “I was subjected to girl time.”

  Matt’s expression softened. “I suppose you didn’t get much of that growing up.”

  Tears once again flooded her eyes, and Hazel closed them to trap the tears. Everything was so screwed up. Matt wasn’t her Matty, but he was still Matt. It made no bloody sense. Then, there was the fear of her unknown destination.

  She swallowed back her emotions and opened her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. The guilt for tricking him had been eating away at her for almost a week. Hazel didn’t want to miss him, but she had. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m so lost, Matty.” The nickname slipped out, and Remy sucked in a sharp breath.

  Matt ignored the snake girl and stepped closer, leaning his forehead against hers. His thumbs brushed soft patterns along her cheekbones as he stared down at her with foreign eyes. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “I need to go home.”

  His expression tightened. “You can’t.”

  Her heart withered in her chest. “Why?”

  Matt lifted his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I will always be your friend, Hazel, always. Don’t ever forget that. I love you.”

  Hazel wrapped her hands around his wrists and searched his eyes. “What’s going to happen?” she whispered. “What’s going to happen to me?” Her voice grew a little louder.

  “Nothing,” he soothed and took her right hand in his left.

  He tugged her forward, and she automatically followed. She stared blankly at her dusty feet, tinged a faint orange from the red dirt. He was lying to her. Matt never lied to her. Was this a product of his change or her betrayal? She didn’t know.

  Jameson picked up his speed and kept to her right, and Remy took the lead as she had from the beginning, stomping. Hazel studied the stiffness between the girl’s shoulders and the way she kept tossing disgusted looks over her shoulder. What was her problem? She ignored the scathing looks and focused on the rising voices. They were approaching their destination.

  They cut to another lane, and Hazel stumbled to a stop. The buildings edged a gigantic half-circle courtyard that was paved in flat, rough sandstone. More people than she’d ever seen in her life were crammed into the space, their voices grating on her nerves. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck, and her pulse thundered in her ears when she spotted the raised dais that rested against the bluff. Tall poles rose into the air, each with a bird man or woman perched on the top. The avian class, her mind whispered. They were aerial warriors with formidable blades strapped to their bodies.

  She shuddered as she imagined the winged demons descending on the people around her. Her palm turned clammy in Matt’s as a petite woman climbed the stairs and strode across the stage. Hazel’s eyes were immediately drawn to her leathery wings. They were angular, kind of like the woman herself. She was tiny, but even from the back of the group, Hazel could see her take-no-prisoner’s expression. Small she might be, but she radiated ferocity. Sara, the monster’s mother.

  Sara glanced to the far end of the platform and held out her hand. Hazel watched as Clint bounded up the stairs and walked to his wife’s side. He took her hand and kissed the back of it, and the crowd went wild. Clint straightened and faced the people, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. Hazel flinched when he paused on her and their eyes locked. A tremble rocked her body at the sight of his disturbing yellow and black scales. He dipped his chin in acknowledgment and moved on, raising his hands to silence the crowd.

  “Today is the day of reckoning,” his voice boomed over the quieting crowd. “Bring forth those accused of crimes.”

  Hazel sucked in a sharp breath as a group of people were led onto the stage—all handcuffed to one long chain—by a grimy-looking man with a double-sided ax strapped to his back. He secured the ends of the chain to the platform, and then stood on the opposite side of the ruling couple.

  “These criminals have been accused and found guilty for crimes against our people,” Sara said, her Spanish-accented voice carrying all the way to Hazel.

  Bile burned the back of her throat as she counted seven accused. Seven would be killed today. Two wept openly, the charcoal around their eyes running down their faces. Terror froze her in place as Hazel took a better look at the prisoners. Each one was dressed up and had the same tattoo on their arms. Slowly, her gaze dropped to her own arm. Her tattoo matched the prisoners.

  “Hazel,” Jameson said softly.

  Her frightened gaze snapped to his face as she yanked her hand from Matt’s grip, already back-peddling.

  Matt held up his hands in a placating manner. “It’s okay. Just calm down.”

  She stabbed a finger at her former best friend. “Don’t. You. Dare. You’re a traitor. A liar. You’re not my family.” The side of a building met her back and she edged away from them, willing herself to disappear.

  Remy rushed her, and she darted away. Something cool wrapped around her wrist. Hazel whimpered when the cuff bit into her skin. She strained to get away from Jameson as he reeled her in, remorse in his expression.

  “This isn’t personal, Hazel,” he muttered.

  “This is pretty damn personal to me,” she hissed and glared at Matt. “I hate you.” He had the audacity to flinch. “You don’t get to feel hurt.” She turned her attention to Remy, who wouldn’t look her in the eye. “You’re a coward,” Hazel spat.

  Her skin began to crawl as the commotion pulled unwanted attention her way. Jameson curled his calloused hand around her bicep and towed her forward. Hazel snarled and dug her heels in, fighting. Gasps and murmurs followed in their wake, but she didn’t stop fighting. She raked her nails down his arm and went so far as to bite Jameson on the arm.

  The man growled through his teeth and scowled down at her. “I’m on your side. You’re making things harder. Stop. Fighting.”

  She bit harder. He shook her off, and Hazel crashed to her knees, the stone biting into her skin.

  “Please, get up, or I’ll have to drag you.”

  Hazel lifted her chin and c
almly stared up at Jameson. “Then show me what kind of monster you truly are.” He glared at her, and Hazel stifled a shriek when he swooped down and tossed her over his shoulder. “Put me down!”

  “No.”

  She yanked at the feathers of his wings, feeling the smallest bit of shame when he hissed and the people around her gasped. Ruthlessly, she shoved it aside. Shame had no place when fighting for one’s life. Hazel yelped and her eyes widened when Jameson slapped her hard on the butt—her very exposed butt.

  “How dare you,” she growled, kicking harder, not caring that the skirt of her dress had hiked up.

  “No, how dare you,” he retorted and tugged her dress down to cover her. “Only the mate of an avian male can touch his wings. It’s tit for tat, sweetheart. You touch me, I touch you.”

  Hazel jerked her hands back, staring in horror at his wings, the brown hawk-like feathers brushing her cheeks. Disgusting.

  Propriety has no business here. Fight. Find your grit like your mum.

  She grabbed handfuls of his feathers and yanked. Jameson cursed and his fingers dug into the nerves on the back of her thighs uncomfortably. Her stomach somersaulted when he bounded up the stairs, jostling her painfully. There’d be bruises on her ribs for sure.

  Not if you don’t survive the night.

  Her world upended, and Jameson tossed her onto the platform. Her tailbone smarted as her butt connected with the wood. Before she could struggle to her feet, the male had already secured her handcuffs to chain. Her arms were outstretched above her head, her nails bloody, small fuzzy feathers sticking to her fingertips.

  Jameson impassively gazed at her hands before kneeling next to her. She leaned away when he reached a hand toward her. His fingers curled in on themselves, and they glared at each other.

  “I’m not your enemy.”

  “These chains say otherwise,” she gritted out, shaking her shackled wrists.

  “Jameson,” a deep, raspy female voice called. “Do you wish to add to the Untouched’s punishment?”