The Pawn and The Puppet (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 1)

The scent of freedom engulfs my senses as my mouth opens wide to yawn in the early morning air.

It’s earthy, carrying gusts of pollen and the aroma of pine trees. I don’t care to open my eyes as I enjoy the cool winds that the sunrise brings into the treehouse. Despite the life-changing events, the death, the new memories—I’m awake with a smile on my face. I’m no longer stuck in the cage of the Chandelier City. No longer plucked, lathered, and starved.

But most importantly, I’m with him. The man I fought to keep alive. To get close to at all costs. To set free.

Kane slept on the cot at the opposite side of the treehouse, and I wondered as we closed our eyes where this place came from? Is this all part of the plan he couldn’t share with me?

“Are you going to cook pancakes or waffles for us this morning?” I tease, rolling over to my elbow. Empty. It’s as if his cot hadn’t been slept in last night.

I sit up, noticing the bowl of fruit, a canteen of water, and a note on the floor next to me. It reads, if I’m not back by the time you wake, eat up, the forest was out of eggs Benedict.

I smirk, tossing the note to the side as I gobble down the fresh berries, apple slices, and figs. Afterward, I chug the cool water, tasting of rain and soil, but I don’t care. My mouth had dried throughout the night, and I was parched.

As I clean my bowl, I tense at the sound of rumbling earth, a mechanical growl. I poke my head out of the opening, first seeing DaiSzek on guard at the base of the tree, then Kane on his motorcycle, pulling up to the curtain of vines, turning off his transportation, and covering it with the camouflage of the ivy.

“I didn’t leave you any eggs Benedict!” I shout from the top of the tree.

He grins up at me, laughing as he scratches the top of DaiSzek’s head and begins climbing up.

“I’d settle for coffee,” he says, reaching the opening.

“Where have you been?” As he stands to his full, towering height, my attention is snagged on the dark circles around his eyes, the devouring exhaustion. “You’ve been up all night again, haven’t you?”

And despite the dark clouds and the weight of no sleep, I see the constellation.

“Yes. I had to run one more errand—so that you could sleep soundly every night.” There’s a relief in his tone, tenderness, absolution. What did he do?

He hooks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, caresses my cheekbone with one knuckle. “I went back to the asylum to break Chekiss and Niles out. They’re in a safe location now, with everything they’ll need until it’s safe for us to meet with them again.”

“You—you what?” A sound like that of a small animal peels out of me, whimpering, choking on a gasp.

“They’re free now, Skylenna.”

I’m stumbling back now, gaping at him in wonder and awe. How could he have done that alone? He freed my friends. My family.

Quicker than a blink, I’m on my knees crying from joy and the greatest pulse of relief I have ever known. They’re free. They’re free.

Kane joins me on the wood panels, holding me up as I crumble in bits of gratitude and peace. “You saved them,” I murmur into the wholeness of his chest. “You’ve set them free.”

I can see it now—Chekiss’s face as Kane opens his door, guides him to the fresh air, breaking him free of his chains. And Niles, the promise of never suffering from a treatment again.

And it’s her rare smile now beaming in my mind’s eye—that face that was nearly always in a permanent scowl—tears of joy filling her green eyes.

We did it, Scarlett.

We sit on the edge of the treehouse, watching the sun hit its peak, watching the trees dance to the symphony of the wind, and together, we breathe in the air we’ve earned. The air away from the city, away from the treatments of the asylum.

And as Kane caresses my hair, placing a kiss on the top of my head. I turn to him, with a smile I only reserve for his presence, for his company, for the familiarity of those cosmic dark eyes.

“We’re free,” I say, finally.

But as he processes my words, his eyes zone out. My words that I thought would trigger an expression mirroring my own. His face slackens, and it’s as if he’s fallen asleep with his eyes open. His vessel is empty. No one is home.

“Kane?”

He blinks. The only visible sign that his body is still working. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.

I lean in closer, observing the cold, lifeless eyes now dark as coal. Is he—is he shifting again?

“Dessin?”

Sending a hot jolt to my system, piercing eyes of darkness flick to me. They’re wide with alarm, yet narrowing slowly with suspicion. A chill runs down my back, like spilled wine, as he tilts his head slowly. His lids are hooded, desire and curiosity pumping through his gaze.

And I have the bone-crushing suspicion that I’ve never met the person staring back at me.

“Well, don’t you have a pretty mouth?” His voice is slow, silky, elegant, with a new accent. “And don’t mistake me for that deviant again.” He takes his finger, running it under my chin with an intimate caress. But it’s not out of familiarity or fondness.

His touch is seductive, forcing the hairs on my neck to stand at attention and my belly to warm and flutter in response. That finger drags its way down to my cleavage, stopping just before it disappears into the crease. He slides his shadowed stare, glazed in arousal, back up my body with wicked thoughts dancing behind his eyes.

“Do I look like that sociopath to you?”

I nearly choke as I swallow my saliva.

“You’re—not—Kane or Dessin?” I ask in frigid caution.

He grins in answer.

“There’s a third alter?” I ask again, breathless, spineless, and detached from my body.

“My name is Graystone.” His finger hooks under my chin to lift my head in perfect view of him. “And there are far more than three alters, pretty one.”