Kneeling by my bedside, I found myself taking a position to pray. I’d never prayed before. I’d always disliked people who did. Whether people prayed to gods, Draak, or spirits, I always thought of it as a form of weakness, but there I was, hands folded on the mattress in front of me, thinking about Taurus. I closed my eyes and bowed my head, imagining that he was right there with me, giving me some advice.
“What do I do?” I whispered into my hands. “I’m trapped and lost without you. My nightmares are getting worse.”
There were warm tears in my eyes and I realized I hadn’t wept since Taurus died. Not really. Any tears I’d shed since then had been out of anger, not grief. I hadn’t let myself grieve. Now, after being deprived of a good night’s sleep for days, I wasn’t sure I could help myself. I squeezed my hands together, my body quivering.
“I’m so afraid,” I admitted. “I’m afraid of myself and of what’s happening to me. I’m afraid of him. I’m afraid I’m not in control and that I’ll die that way. The hate I feel every day just grows and grows and I know it’s killing me.” I sniveled, but the tears still didn’t fall. They just hung there behind my eyes. “What do I do?”
“Everly?” a little voice said from the doorway.
I spun around, startled, to see Ronan standing with the door slightly cracked, rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken. I blinked my tears away and forced a smile.
“Hey, kid,” I said. “What are you doing up?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“Yeah? Me, too.” I waved him over, sitting down on the edge of my bed. I patted the space next to me and watched as he hopped up onto the mattress. “So what was your dream about?” I asked.
“I dreamed that wolves got into the house and ate everyone.”
“Really? But they couldn’t do that. Wolves can’t open doors.”
“I know. Usually, I dream about the slayer that hurt me. Tonight it was wolves. What was your dream about?”
“Uh…” I hesitated, looking for a lie that didn’t vividly describe how the kid’s brother shot my adopted father’s brains out. “I dreamt that I was lost in the woods and I couldn’t find my way out.”
“I would help you,” Ronan said with a smile. “You would have to yell so I could find you, though.”
It disturbed me that this child had grown up watching the Red Race and here he was sitting beside me and his biggest fear was that wolves could open doors. Despite that, I was able to stay awake with Ronan, who refused to go back to his own room, and keep him talking about things other than his nightmare. He had a lot to say, though most of it was sleepy gibberish.
When the first rays of sun started to leak in through the open window, the kid was out cold on the sheets of my bed. I myself couldn’t sleep, but I was glad Ronan got some shut-eye. I covered him in the top blanket and gave him a pillow to hug before walking to the open window to get some air.
A few breaths into what could have been a very peaceful moment, I heard the hooves of a horse galloping and let my eyes fall to the vast, grassy yard. I saw Jericho and would have enjoyed seeing only Jericho, but to my dislike, Draven was seated atop him, his distinguishable, copper hair tied into a sloppy bun as he rode Jericho across the property. The horse was admittedly a majestic creature that I could have watched for hours. He moved with grace, like a grey storm cloud rolling over the sky. Draven, unfortunately, looked so natural atop the beast that they could have been one entity. I hated seeing them that way and pulled my eyes up toward the horizon.
Enraged now just by seeing him, I slipped on a pair of pants and a loose shirt and headed downstairs. I’d seen a gym somewhere down on the lower levels once or twice before, and at that moment I really needed something to hit. My body was aching for confrontation, even if that confrontation was with a punching bag. When I got to the second floor, that’s exactly what I found waiting for me.
The gym was large for a personal setup and it had plenty of things for me to do in my time of need. I found a big, brown punching bag near the back of the room and eyed it angrily, putting Draven’s face right on the front of it. Barefoot with bags under my eyes, I began to prepare for a hefty workout, rolling my shoulders and stretching my wrists as I walked. My wounds were healed enough for me to dismiss them and my sore muscles were in need of activity.
When I got to the punching bag, all of my anger began to boil over. I hadn’t hit something in days. I hadn’t trained in days. I hadn’t done any of the things that used to calm me. Everything was a big ball of tension that had been growing and festering like a rotting piece of meat. Every day it became more rancid, and I had to expel it.
I drew back for the first punch and swung with a hit that coursed through my bones. Taking a stance, I punched again with my other fist as hard as I could. The chains clanked as the bag moved. I swung again. And again. Then I kicked and kneed the bag with all my force. It was exactly what I needed.
There were no windows in the gym to gauge time, but by the sweat and exhaustion accumulating on my body, I had to assume it had been an hour or so since I’d arrived. I kept punching and kicking and hitting and shoving, each move a little harsher than the last. In between blows, I paced or dropped into a few pushups. Each time I returned to the bag, I imagined it was Draven and it fueled my rage like lighter fluid on a fire. I hated him. I hated him so much it was physically painful. I saw him shoot Taurus so many times in my head since it had happened. I felt his eyes violate me. I heard his taunting words in my ear. Every second he was near me I was boiling with wrath. I punched harder. Kicked harder. I felt a wetness on my cheeks that wasn’t sweat. My jaw was tight. My muscles were shredded. I was voicing each blow more than usual until I realized I was crying. Finally, I was letting it all go. Then I was screaming. I shoved the punching bag and turned around, kicking over a rack of weights before I stupidly punched a metal bar draped with weight-lifting chains.
I gasped when the pain shot up my arm. Hunching over, I cradled my fist and screamed through clenched teeth. Pacing, I waited for the pain in my knuckles to subside, but it didn’t. Perhaps I’d broken something, but I wouldn’t know until I could bring myself to look at the damage. Finally, I sat down on a bench and took my hand away from my wrist to see a row of skinned and discolored knuckles. As I uncurled my fingers, I was glad to find that there was no break. A fracture maybe, but mostly just a lot of bruises and plenty of pain and swelling that was only going to get worse.
“Not exactly what those chains are meant for,” a deep voice said.
My eyes darted up to see Lukan stepping into the gym dressed in a casual pair of black, linen pants and a t-shirt. The light from the hall windows cast a shine over his raven hair that almost made it look dark blue. Despite the rugged trim of his facial hair and the hardened expression on his face, he spoke gently to me at that moment. It reminded me of Taurus, but the fact that Taurus came to mind when there was a Draak in my presence made me bitter. I rolled my teary eyes and covered my knuckles with my other hand again. Lukan strode toward me, slowly clearing his throat. In the dim light, his eyes gave off a glow that subtly lit up his cheekbones.
“You’re angry,” Lukan said, stopping two strides from where I sat on the bench.
“Really?” I scowled up at him. “You got that? Your observational skills are outstanding.”
“How is your wrist?”
“Sore.”
“Your stitches?”
“Itchy.”
“Your knuckles?” he gestured to my newest wound.
“Fine,” I said through my teeth.
Lukan stepped closer and I shifted, straightening my posture like a small animal trying to make itself look larger in front of a predator. He crouched in front of me and reached carefully for my hand. I pulled away, suspicious, but he went slower, softly inching toward me until my hand just sort of fell into his. He nudged my other hand aside, uncovering the mess of skin and blood on my battered knuckles, and cocked his head.
“Either you’re a g
lutton for pain or you just don’t care that much,” Lukan said, his tone a low rumble in his throat. He carefully uncurled my fingers and suddenly there was real agony in my hand. I bit my tongue to keep from wincing. “At this rate, Draven won’t have to do a damn thing. You’re tearing yourself apart faster than he can,” he said, amused.
“Is this all a joke to you?” I said. “You know this is wrong. I see it in your eyes, but you keep helping him. You’re acting like this concerns you,” I pulled my hand away. “But if it did you wouldn’t have allowed him to do what he did. I know some of you are good. The Pike your brother killed taught me that, despite the things Draak have done in the past. Despite how much you monsters and society shunned him. But now you’re just letting this act go unanswered.”
“There’s a hierarchy,” Lukan explained. “A lot of it has to do with age and experience. Did your Pike teach you that?” He sighed and slowly stood, sitting on the bench across from me. “Draven is pretty much at the top. He’s fought more wars than us. He’s gained and lost more than most. He’s lived through events we’ve only heard stories about. Most Reds have. He’s one of the few remaining Draak mothered by the race that destroyed our previous home. He’s fought horrors that humans could never imagine. Humans fear us because of what we can and have done. Draak fear him and others like him for the same reasons. Rules don’t apply at a certain point in a Draak’s long life.”
“So you’re all just afraid of him?” I said in an accusing tone.
“Sometimes fearing someone is the same as respecting them.”
“It’s never the same.”
“Maybe not to you,” Lukan said calmly.
Despite how angry I was, under any other circumstances, I could see myself agreeing with Lukan.
“Why?” I muttered under my breath. “Help me understand why he wants to make me suffer. Whatever Taurus did or whatever he thinks he did, I had nothing to do with it.”
“But you loved him. Taurus was accused of murdering Valerio. Valerio was the Archon.”
“You guys keep saying that. If he was so great, why’d you all allow him to wander off on his own?” I scoffed. “Why let him out of your sight?”
“Archons are leaders. Not always willing ones, but they’re born alphas nonetheless. They’re rare. The trait is in the blood and it’s random, but Archons have an ability to unify our kind. An ability to speak to many of us at once on a level that’s deeper than words. They’re powerful in more ways than just the physical. It’s...hard to explain.”
“I get it. I’m sure he was at the top of that hierarchy you mentioned, too, but it makes no difference. The last time I saw Taurus he told me he was supposed to escort some Draak to some meeting with a human resistance leader. He swore to me that it had nothing to do with killing anyone. Even if it did, Taurus wasn’t stupid enough to make a move on an Archon. He made me a promise and he wouldn’t have broken it. Not for anything.”
“Then he lied.”
“Or whoever accused him lied. I was raised by the man. He cared about me. ”
“He left you. Abandoned you.”
“How do you—”
“We have a lot of eyes in the world. What did you think over the time that he was gone?”
“That he died,” I said, a lump forming in my throat. “When I found out he was in prison, I was going to break him out. I entered the race instead because I was naive enough to think it would pardon him. I should have just stuck with the first plan.”
“Perhaps, but you’d likely be dead by now if you had.”
“Would have spared me from all this.”
“Then why haven’t you run?”
“Because I’m plotting a way to kill your brother,” I said casually. “That and…” I sighed. “I’ve got nowhere to go and you people have good food.”
I went silent for a long while after that. So did Lukan. I could see his eyes deepening with thought. I thirsted to know what he was thinking, though I was certain it would only upset me. Nothing he’d said so far really made me feel any better about my position. Despite his demeanor, Lukan wasn’t going to be any help. Neither was Keera. They were all terrified of Draven in one way or another and slowly I was starting to understand why.
“What does he really want with me?” I asked in a near whisper.
Lukan rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “The complexity of Draven’s mind is like the tangled roots of a very old tree. The bottom line is that he doesn’t yet see humans as equals.”
“Draak have been here for almost two hundred years and he still looks at us like insects? This was our world. He doesn’t even have a right to look down on us.”
“Draak have been here longer than you think.”
“A few dragons who made it into medieval paintings hardly seems like a valid claim to this world.”
“There is no claim to this world or any other. We’re both here. We either fight and die or live together.”
“Together meaning Draak will always do whatever they want and humans are just cattle.”
“I’m not going to try to convince you of anything. Keera’s been trying hard enough according to her. All I can say is that you’ve seen the worst side of us. You’ve not seen the best. Either way, just make Draven see you differently. He has no faith in humanity. If you want him to see you as something more than a pet, then blow his mind.”
“Hmf. Get him to respect me? Right.”
“Then just do what he wants,” Lukan shrugged. “He’s using you as an outlet for the rage that he feels toward Taurus and other slayers. They’ve killed a lot of us in the past fifty years. They’ve killed important people, human and Draak alike. Rebels from the outside are moving closer every day. You represent the things he hates about this world.”
“I haven’t killed any Draak”
“It doesn’t matter. Taurus did. And you fight like a slayer. And it isn’t as if you haven’t shown interest in killing the lot of us.”
“I was trained by a former slayer. It doesn’t mean I used those skills for anything other than a few fist fights. Before the race that is. Look, if I could kill Draak, don’t you think my attempts would have worked out better by now?”
Lukan took a deep breath, standing from the bench as if to leave. “Draven is complicated. I don’t know exactly what he wants with you, but he wants you and he has you, whether you like it or not.”
As he began to walk out, I could feel myself starting to shrivel up inside with defeat. I looked up at him before he turned into the hall.
“Your son,” I said. “Ronan.”
Lukan swiveled back to me, suspicious.
“He’s in my room,” I sighed tiredly. “He had a bad dream.”
“And he went to you?” Lukan frowned.
“Yeah,” I muttered, leaving Lukan without an explanation.
I could tell Lukan was itching for a better answer, but instead of forcing one out of me, he gave me a subtle nod and continued down the hall, reserved and calm.
15
Everly
. . .
I spent a couple hours in the gym, though after smashing my fist into the chains, I couldn’t do much. But the room was quiet and I could be alone, which was more than enough for met. Once the hall outside was bright with sun-lit windows, I decided to force myself out to get something to eat or perhaps take a jog. Anything to get my mind off of the world for a while.
As soon as I reached the doorway, a muscled arm jutted out before me, stretching across the width of the entrance to block my path. I jolted, looking up to see Draven leaned up against the wall just outside the door. He lazily rolled his head toward me, the sunlight from outside reflecting off his eyes like rays off a pool. He was shirtless, as if interrupted while getting dressed for the day, and had a hint of vexation in his expression in sharp contrast to his usual sadistic demeanor.
“Why was Ronan in your room?” he asked.
“Because he wanted to be,” I said. I knew the vagueness of my answer would irri
tate him.
Draven pushed himself off the wall and slowly stepped in front of me, shielding the sunlight. His shadow loomed over me as he placed his hands on either side of the doorframe to cage me in.
“I won’t ask again,” he said.
“He and I have something in common,” I said, looking Draven up and down. “We both dream about monsters.”
Draven’s lips quirked into a smile as he straightened his posture, his eyes licking up my body. There was a flash of interest in his gaze that made a knot form in my stomach.
“Alright,” he nodded as if letting me know he was satisfied with my answer. “Come with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I told you to,” he said, walking down the hall.
I watched him saunter away for a while, staring bitterly at his back and the way he swayed when he walked like he could squash anyone beneath his feet if they got in his way. There was a deep scar on his back, stretching from his shoulder blade to his hip. A small part of me wanted to know what it was from, but a large part of me wanted to use my imagination. Any thought of him getting his ass handed to him made me smile.
I followed Draven, glaring daggers at the back of his head. He led me upstairs two floors to a level that was decked out in more bronze hues than the others. Down the passage was a thick wooden door through which Draven entered a chamber. I took a breath, my nerves firing with small bouts of terror when I realized the floor was empty of any sound and the windows were covered in red curtains that muted most of the light from outside. We were alone.
Ash Bringer (A Storm of Fire: Paranormal Dragonshifter Romance Book 1) Page 10