Angel

10- Pain

Vincent stood amidst the emerald grass feeling as though Kylo had not just run off but had taken the lord's heart with him. Over the sound of music and the rolling wheels of the carriages, Vincent heard laughter coming from behind him. His guests were clearly enjoying their night yet the sound was nothing more than a cacophony now.

Bringing his hand to his chest, Vincent's heart no longer beat. The pain which had replaced it was a stake driven in his ribcage.

The moonlight cast shadows and illuminated the yard. When Vincent looked down, he saw the black glove which had moments ago rested in Kylo's grasp. Moving to it, he picked it up and regarded the beautiful stitching. How beautiful it had looked upon Kylo's hand. "I will find you, my angel," he promised. "If I must walk through blazes then I shall." Vincent lifted his silvery eyes to the gates. "If I have to kill anyone in my path I will. But you..." he clutched the glove. "You are mine."

Breathlessly, Kylo reached the house. As he ran, the angel wings on his back fluttered as though they were trying to pull him from the ground and take him into the embrace of the moon. Looking up, he thought of how the silver glow reminded him of Vincent's eyes. Wincing, Kylo ducked to the back of the house, to where a small storage box lay. Sliding the wings off his shoulders, he hid them carefully behind the wooden box then tiptoed to the door. The house was silent. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard no sound. Assuming the step-family had not returned, Kylo tip-toed inside and scurried into the cellar where he leaned against the wall and sighed.

Kylo's heart thundered as though it beat for two, not one. Clean sweat made the thin white top cling onto him like a second skin. Though he wanted to sleep in the lord's fine garments, he knew he had to strip out of them and hide them before the others returned.

With a shaky breath, he pushed himself off the wall and set his gloves on a small wooden crate. He began to unbutton the trousers and top. The last thing he took off was the lace mask. Hiding them all in his trunk, Kylo's fingers glided over the fine material. A small smile tugged up his lips as he thought of the moments he and Lord Vincent had shared in the rose garden. "Was it but a dream?" he whispered as he reached for the gloves. "It was too perfect to be real." Setting the gloves on top of the clothing, Kylo realized he was holding only one. "Father," he cried under his breath. On his hands and knees, he searched the floor for the missing glove. In the semi-darkness, he looked around crates and on top of his sheets. Kylo crawled to the liquor racks and checked behind them. Not an inch of the cellar was left unsearched but the glove was nowhere to be found.

Sitting on the cold floor in just his linen drawers, Kylo brought his hands to his face and choked back a sob, feeling as if he had lost his father again. Heartbroken, he crawled to his mattress where he curled up and sobbed.

His pillow was wet with tears when he heard the front door opening and three pairs of boot-clad feet storming towards the cellar.

"Boy! Where are you?"

Tear-stained, Kylo looked up to see the step-mother entering the cellar with the two daughters behind her. In the ill-lit room, he was unable to clearly see what the mother held in her hand until she was standing in front of him and hitting him with it.

"I am going to make you regret living, Conde," the mother snarled as she continued to hit Kylo.

Trying to shield himself with his arms, he was still able to catch a glimpse of what she was using on him when a handful of white feathers fell over the mattress. His wings!

"Get up you bastard." Spittle flew from the step-mother's face as she grabbed Kylo with her free hand and lifted him off his bed. "You are going to pay for your deception, you lying, filthy Cinder-boy." Hurling the broken wings to the side. She grabbed Kylo's wrists and pulled them away from his face. "Look at me!" Pure rage turned her face vermillion. Her nostrils flared and her eyes dug into Kylo like knives. "You know what happens to lying bastards."

Kylo thought the floor was being pulled out from under his feet. Around him, the walls wailed. Drusilla walked to her mother with a haughty air and handed her a long willow stick. With a huff and a glare, she returned to her sister's side and awaited orders.

The voice that came from the step-mother may as well have come from the Devil himself. "Hold him," she instructed her daughters. In a blink, they each grabbed one of Kylo's wrists with angry, vice-like grips. The daughters stepped to the side, pulling him painfully so he was standing with his arms open wide.

"Don't," he begged with a tone pitiful and frail. He knew what that willow stick felt like. Lines from past whippings still decorated his body reminding him that he lived in hell.

As the step-mother slithered around him, she reached for his hips. Long nails dug into his flesh as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Be thankful this is all I am going to do." Her hand raked down his skin, relaxing as it wound around to the curve of his back, moving lower in an unwanted gesture.

Biting his lip to keep from wailing, Kylo waited until she pulled away to take a breath –one which was taken away when the painful touch of the willow found his back and burned and cut and bled. 

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