The Hidden (Shadowed Wings #1)(6)
The back hangs loose down my back, and my breasts are barely covered now by small ruched strips of fabric. I look like the toga edition of what not to wear, which is just perfect because, when I look up, there’s a table of seven men staring at me. I recognize Gray Eyes, who is sitting to the right of a man who looks like the love-child of Kit Harington and Josh Duhamel. He’s big and bulky, a touch larger than Gray Eyes but not by much. They’re the biggest men I’ve ever seen in my life and the two largest at the table in front of me, although that’s not saying much as all of the guys staring at me seem larger than the average human and much fitter at that.
My eyes roam up the muscular arms of Kit Duhamel, and I freeze when I land on his honey-hued gaze. My heart starts pounding, and an echo of the heat I just felt in my limbs back in the room with Gray Eyes warms me.
“You!” I say, and I can’t tell if it’s an accusation or a need for confirmation.
3
“Name and Clan?” Kit Duhamel demands, and everyone at the table glares at me even harder.
I look around the large room and try to piece together what the hell is going on. “Uhh…my name is Falon Solei Umbra,” I tell them, like some nervous soldier reporting for duty. “And I’m from the um...thought-I-was-a-wolf-shifter-until-the-whole-wings-thing-happened clan.” I bite down on my tongue to keep myself from rambling on about my secret-keeping bitch of a grandmother too. These guys don’t look like they’re messing around, and I can feel tension and menace in the air, mingling with their breezy lilac scent.
“What the rut does that mean?” Gray Eyes demands, and the hostility in the air kicks up another notch.
What the rut? I repeat in my head, trying to figure out what the fuck he just said.
“Maybe some time in the cells will strip you of your insolence,” a beefy red-bearded man on the end tells me.
“You’ve already got my clothes, now you want my insolence, too?” I mutter to myself, but it’s clear the whole table heard me. Fuck, Falon, they’re shifters. Every whisper around them might as well be a low key shout. I clear my throat and look around again, like somehow answers or help are going to detach from the wall and everything will suddenly make sense. That doesn’t happen, and I settle my gaze back on the table and every big ass motherfucker sitting on the other side of it.
“Before I get the whole cell tour, would one of you mind filling me in on what I am, where I am, and just what the hell is going on?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual as I stomp down on the frustration brewing inside of me.
A blond guy next to Gray Eyes starts to laugh, but it’s not at all friendly or bouncing with entertainment. It’s cruel and resentful. My stomach flips a little, and I remind myself that as annoying as all of this is, I need to watch myself. Shifters live by a very different code than humans. Killing and fighting are commonplace, and judging by the unlit candle chandeliers above me, this place is probably working with an archaic set of rules.
“Are you really trying to convince us that you don’t know what you are, let alone who you are or exactly where you find yourself?” the blond man questions and then punctuates it with another humorless chuckle.
“Yes...” I put my hand out and motion in the shape of a circle. “All of that, exactly.”
A small rumble escapes the honey-eyed sky shadow who is now wearing a man body, and his shoulder length black curls sway as he shakes his head. “Summon Ami,” he commands, and his voice sounds like the deep rumble of a volcano that’s on the verge of erupting.
No one moves from the table, but I hear the door open and shut behind me as a guard from the door goes to find whoever Kit Duhamel just asked for. I stand there awkwardly, taking in the open windows and what looks to be endless blue water beyond them. I contemplate for a second diving out of them if things get too bad in here for me, but I have no idea how to make whatever I am just come out. I have zero experience with actual shifting, and I’ll need to practice a shit ton before I attempt something like that. Maybe I can do that in the cells.
A growl fills the room, and I look back to find an angry honey stare fixed on me. I glare at him, not able to put my annoyance in check fast enough. I wish they’d start mumbling shit to each other so I could maybe catch a word here or there that would clue me in, but they all sit there like silent judgy fucking gargoyles.
I stare back at the light amber irises sparkling angrily at me, and it’s like I suddenly feel his claws at my stomach and his hooked beak snapping at me. I breathe through the onslaught of panic that fills me as I remember falling and the feel of my animal smashing into the ground. I try to pant discreetly through the flashback, never taking my eyes off of the shifter responsible for it.
His nostrils flare slightly, and he seems almost satisfied by the anxiety he must scent in the air. That pisses me the fuck off. This asshole attacked me for no reason. He almost killed me. And now he’s going to get off on my fear when he should be apologizing for what he did or explaining why he did it. Instead, he smirks at me, all high and mighty, forcing me to stand here practically naked in front of a handful of other judgmental pricks. Rage pumps through me, replacing the panic, and I welcome it.
Kit Duhamel drops his eyes from mine and dips them down my body. I can feel his warm honey-like gaze dripping down my exposed skin, and I fight a shiver of sudden need that runs up my spine. I battle the corners of my mouth as they try to tilt up in a satisfied smirk. I may not know much about whatever this group of shifters is, but when it comes to the shifters I do know about, dropping your gaze while in a staring contest means submission. I don’t know who honey eyes is, but he looks pretty head honcho to me.