Another announcement was made the night of Vicor’s death celebration. Mythan informed the court that he had sent summons to several scholars around the region requesting their relocation to the palace. When they arrived, he would officially open the archives for study.
There were changes in the region and beyond, and Mythan was wisely looking to the past for advice. Dephithus no longer had the archive key, but he had the book of daemons in his room. There was much more to discover in that dark room under the stairs, and he dreaded that he would not be the one to discover it. There were answers to many things in those books; of that he was certain. Answers he might never get now.
According to the book of daemons, things would continue to get worse and worse. The unknown author had lost his first colleague to a level four daemon. Level four differed from the level three only in its increased ability to change the physical form of its host. After that the daemons became more diversified in their forms. The next several levels needed no host body. They could roam the land in whatever grotesque form came naturally to them. Above this, there were daemons that could raise the dead and roam the earth using those bodies, at least until the connective tissue decomposed beyond a point of structural integrity.
Even higher, and thankfully more uncommon than most, was a daemon the author had discovered after the rest of his colleagues were killed by lower levels. This daemon form chose to possess primarily human hosts and was intelligent enough that it could destroy the mind of its host and still pass for human. It was this type of daemon that the author was being hunted by when he stopped writing. The book ended abruptly with this form, not indicating what, if anything, might be beyond that.
During the remainder of the week, Dephithus faithfully courted the jealous rage that had developed the night of Vicor’s death and the hatred within him thrived on it. He did not know who the other soldier was to Myara, but he could not shake the certainty that she had betrayed him somehow.
The day before Myara’s Dawning Day celebration, he returned to his palace bedchamber to find a note on his bed from his mother requesting that he attend her before the noon meal. He knew he should go, but anger and a desire to hurt someone steamed and bubbled inside him like a stew left too long on the fire. Instead, he donned a light jacket and went to the stables to disappear into the woods on Hydra. He had barely left the stable when five riders came galloping up from the lower stable, Darkin in the lead.
Irritation flared up. He stamped it down again. For all that he would prefer to be alone, there was something to be said in support of having an opportunity to blow off steam training with Darkin. The activity was becoming less effective at burning off his temper, perhaps because he had developed a grudging admiration for the other youth, but a little release was better than nothing at all.
He waited for them and they turned into the woods toward their favorite practice meadow in unspoken accord.
A few hours later they were rinsing off the sweat in the lake. He submerged himself a few times to rinse the worst of the salty sweat from his hair, then pulled himself back up on Hydra, who was himself halfway submerged. Darkin was doing the same only a few feet away with the mount he had been using for their sessions. He and the gelding had begun to form a solid bond through their practice together and that bond was helping him become a more effective opponent.
The other four were sitting on some old logs they had pulled out of the trees to use as seating around an unlit fire pit they had made. From what he could hear of their conversation, they were discussing the shapes of the fluffy scattered clouds above and laughing at their own foolishness. It sounded so normal and ordinary. Having burned off a great deal of energy, he almost felt normal enough to join them, except for that something deep inside him that wanted to mock them for acting like children.
Dephithus glanced down at the water and released a heavy exhale. His reflection stared up at him, the eyes narrowed, the nose and brow wrinkling in, the lip curling in an ugly grimace. Startled, he kicked the water to distort the twisted image.
“Everything all right? You looked like you saw a monster in the water for a moment there.”
I did. He glanced up at Darkin. No. Everything was not all right.
“I’m well enough,” he lied and turned Hydra to the shore.
The day was beautiful and warm, the sun going right to work on drying their clothes on their bodies as they sat with the other four around the silent fire pit. Dephithus listened to their bantering and joking in silence, mostly because every comment that came to mind was somehow cruel or insulting. They did not deserve that. They were not that bad, really. Except Kip and Lanz perhaps, but Darkin kept them around because they were strong, simple, and immoral enough to get their hands dirty for him if he asked it of them.
“You coming into town with us again tonight?” Kovial asked.
Dephithus glanced up, a little surprised to find them looking at him. “Me?”
“No, your horse,” Kovial laughed.
Anger flared up, hot and irrational. “Not even my horse would stoop low enough to spend more time in your company.”
The others scowled, but Suva laughed. “There you are. I was wondering when your childish temper was going to pay a visit.”
His hand went to his dagger and the four other boys mirrored the movement, tensing for action. Suva did not bother. She trusted her speed to save her if he attacked and he did not think her confidence misplaced. Even with his dragonkin speed, he would be hard pressed to match her swiftness with a blade. He would have to be a fool to attack against these odds anyhow, though his childish temper urged him to do so regardless.
The sound of a rider approaching broke the tension and they turned to watch Myara ride into the clearing. She glanced around the group calmly, looking every bit as though she had expected to find all of them there. Perhaps she had. Her gaze homed in on him quickly enough and she stopped her mount by the edge of their ring of seats.
“Care to join us,” Darkin offered.
Dephithus opened his mouth to protest the idea, not sure if he did it for her benefit or his own, but she spoke over him.
“No. Thank you for the offer though.” She gave Darkin a polite nod before turning back to Dephithus. Her gaze held him captive. “I was hoping we go for a little ride. Just the two of us.”
Dephithus responded with a curt nod and walked over to swing up on Hydra’s back. The stallion tossed his head and pranced a few steps, responding to his rider’s temper. Dephithus jerked back hard on the reins and the stallion kicked one back foot in irritation.
“You sure it’s safe to be alone with him?”
It was Darkin who asked the question and there was a tone of sincerity to it. Concern even. It made Dephithus’s vision turn red at the betrayal even as his chest flooded with guilt at the realization that the other youth was probably right to be concerned.
Myara hesitated. She stared at Darkin for several silent seconds, considering his words. Then she tore her gaze away and nodded, not quite looking at Dephithus now.
“I’ll be fine.”
She began to ride away and Dephithus struggled with the fact that she apparently expected him to follow. The nerve. And yet… he did need to talk to her. They needed to talk about the young man who had comforted her the night Vicor died. He needed her to tell him the truth. He would make her tell him the truth.
He kicked Hydra after her.
They rode through the woods in silence, her destination obvious from the direction. She was heading to the Mother Tree. He did not want to go there, but he did not know how to explain that to her. There was too much confusion there. The good memories and all the bad things that had happened over the last few months got mixed together there and it made it hard to think. It made the frustration stronger and, as a result, the anger too.
She dismounted a short distance from the tree and walked the rest of the way on foot. He left Hydra near her mount and stalked after her, the image of her in the other soldier
’s arms burned in his mind. When she stopped and turned he grabbed her arms, hatred buzzing in his ears like a million bees.
“Have you kissed him?” He demanded, squeezing her arms. Trying to hurt her. “Have you done more than that?”
Myara’s expression turned dark and she twisted her arms around his, breaking his grip. Then she punched him in the jaw, hard enough to stun him a bit, though not hard enough to do damage.
Violent hatred exploded through him. He would make her pay.
Myara must have seen it in his face. She drew the dagger she wore and he paused, wary of the weapon in her well-trained hands.
“What is wrong with you? You aren’t the same person I used to know. Where is my best friend? Where is the man I fell in love with?” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but her stance and the pain in his jaw told him she was willing to fight him.
He looked at her then. This was Myara. His best friend. The woman he loved, ready to defend herself with a weapon if necessary, from him.
“I don’t know.” His voice cracked. His chest felt like it had split open, a gaping wound, spilling out all his suffering and anguish into this excruciating moment. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
She sheathed the dagger and stepped closer, placing one hand on his arm and the other against his face. “Do you love me?”
He wanted to rip her clothes off. He wanted to throw her on the ground and force her to give herself to him. He stayed still and nodded. “I do.”
“Then let me help you figure it out. We can beat this.”
She kissed him then. It hurt. It hurt to feel her love and know he did not deserve it. It hurt to know she deserved someone better, but she still chose him. It hurt not to hurt her.
He kissed her back, urgently, a kiss full of needing and wanting. She started to meet his urgency, kissing him harder. He felt himself growing aroused and pushed her away, battling that darkness that wanted him to take her hard and make her know she was his. That darkness that wanted to punish her for letting anyone else touch her.
She searched his eyes. “What is it?”
“I don’t deserve you.”
She smiled softly. “I love you. I want you.”
I want… I want to hurt you. No!
He shook himself slightly and she gently touched his jaw where she had punched him. “Sorry about that.”
“I deserved it.” He brought his lips closer to hers again. “I love you too,” he whispered.
He kept repeating the words in his head, over and over, to drown out the dark thoughts while she kissed him again and began to unlace his shirt. They disrobed each other slowly, deliberately. Every second ticked by, anger screaming in his head, trying to drown out the words he kept repeating.
I love you. I love you.
They lay down beneath the Mother Tree and he entered her slowly. Gently. Something inside him urged him to drive into her. He wanted to be as rough with her as he had been with Suva and more. He fought it. At first it made his skin itch and crawl denying the dark urges. Then it began to hurt like a thousand blades cutting slow into his flesh, but he fought it. He fought it. This was Myara. He loved her.
He listening to her moans and gasps, moving with her. Responding to her changes in pace and intensity. Watching her expression for cues. The pain continued to cut into him making his stomach turn. Despite it, he could feel pleasure building. He could feel their shared love rising between them.
Then, suddenly, he could feel the pain of Rakas forcing into him. The pleasure of being inside her was overshadowed by the agony of that memory. He squeezed his eyes shut. Remembered Rakas pounding into him. Hatred became his heartbeat, pulsing darkest anger through him until he started to tremble. Then a hand touched his face.
“Dephithus?”
He opened his eyes.
Myara was there, gazing up at him, her face full of love and concern. She brushed a thumb across his cheek. “You’re crying.”
Was she worth this much pain?
She deserved to be loved. She deserved love from someone better than him, but she had chosen to be here with him. He would give her the love she deserved, no matter what it cost.
“I love you,” he whispered.
She met his kiss with warmth and passion and love she did not need to voice for him to feel it. She gasped, breaking the contact of their lips when he pushed deeper into her. He met her eyes, fighting through the pain and the memories, though it felt like it might break him. He touched her and kissed her and moved with her, pleasure and pain growing together. She touched and kissed him in return, murmuring soft words at all the right moments, helping him fight the darkness inside. He was shaking with exhaustion from the inner battle long before he shuddered with release. The very ground beneath them seemed to tremble in that moment, as if some great power had been disturbed with their love making.
For several minutes he lay there, still inside her, shuddering with release and with pain, sweat coating his skin from his inner battle as much as from their exertions. She kissed him, his cheek, his neck, his shoulder. Finally, he moved off her and collapsed next to her, one hand still resting on the damp skin below her throat. A few inches up, just a few inches, and he could wrap her throat and squeeze. She would struggle, but then she would be still and the pain would go away. The pain would…
Dephithus felt the soft skin of her throat as his hand slid up into place. Then he jerked his hand away and rushed to his feet.
Myara sat up. “Dephithus? What’s wrong?”
He hastily began to pull his clothes on, trying to block the thoughts that urged him to not just hurt her now, but to end her. The pleasure of release was gone now, leaving only pain that pulsed through him with the pounding of his blood. Pain that fed the anger and the cruelty that was trying to surface.
Looking confused, Myara pulled on her shirt to cover herself some.
“What’s going on?”
He looked at her, trying to stop his eyes from wandering to her tender throat. Trying to stop his fingers from wandering to his dagger. “I’m sorry. I love you.”
He made himself kiss her gently, though it made him want to scream with agony. It felt like something was breaking within him. Some last thread of sanity. The last lingering piece of all that had ever been good in him imploding upon itself. Everything that was rising in its place was a culmination of the anger and hatred that had driven him to do so many terrible things.
“I have to go.”
He sprinted to Hydra and leapt up, kicking the animal toward the trees in whatever direction he was facing. Anything to get away from the one person he did not want to hurt before he did something he could never undo. He heard her call after him once before he vanished in the trees.
He did not go far. It was not about going far away, just far enough to stop and breathe and let the pain of loving her ease. He dismounted and punched a tree, grimacing with the hurt of skin splitting against the hard bark. He wanted to hurt someone. Needed to. Someone who deserved it. They all deserved it. The need was like lighting under his skin, crackling and thrashing about in search of release. It was frantic. He hated everything. Every leaf, every blade of grass, every…
A twig snapped and he turned.
Kip and Lanz were walking through the trees toward him, grinning like dogs who had found a savory bone to chew on.
“That was so sweet,” Kip taunted. “You two making love under the tree.”
“Oh, yes. I think I let a load off twice just watching it,” Lanz added.
Kip laughed. “I was hoping we could have a turn now that you’re done. I think she’s still back there crying under the tree.”
The need to hurt someone was no longer manic. It was crisp and clear and focused. Dephithus smiled, letting them get a little closer, then he lunged at Kip, the serpent dagger in hand, and buried it in the other youth’s throat before he slammed into him with the full force of his weight. They both hit the ground, but Kip did not move. He stared up wide-ey
ed at the canopy of the trees. For a few seconds, the only sounds were the chirps of birds and the crackling of underbrush coming from Hydra and from another direction where some animal crept through the trees. Dephithus grabbed the dagger and stood up.
Lanz looked down at Kip, the color draining from his face, then he turned and began to run. Dephithus ran after him, his dragonkin strength and speed letting him close the distance quickly. When he was close enough, he leapt, bringing his knee up so that it jammed into the other youth’s spine when they slammed to the ground together. Something cracked beneath his knee and Lanz let out a hideous cry, muffled by the dirt he had landed face down in. Lanz did not struggle, perhaps he could not. Dephithus took the serpent dagger and shoved it in through the back of the neck until the crossguard hit flesh.
He drew his dagger and stood. When he turned, he saw a jorycat, one with three tails and strange spikes that looked like claws growing out of its front legs like thorns on a rose bush, already tearing at the flesh of Kip’s lacerated throat. He growled and sprinted away into the trees.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Dephithus did not return home that night. He slept in the woods, curled beneath some trees. He was not sure where he had left Hydra. He could not think clearly enough to remember. What he had done with Myara beneath the trees was a blur of pain and pleasure. Somehow, she had hurt him. He could not figure out how or why. He could not focus past the hatred burning under his skin. He needed to make it better somehow. Needed to hurt someone again.
It was her Dawning Day today and he knew he was supposed to be there. He did not go. He lurked in the shadows of the forest, pacing and waiting. The dancing would start mid-afternoon and taper off around dusk. When evening neared, and he was certain the dancing was well underway, Dephithus returned to the palace.
The palace ballroom was full of cheerful laughter and dancing. All that joviality turned his stomach. Staying close against a pillar in the entry he peered out among the dancers, searching for the guest of honor. Spotting Myara, he watched as she danced. The young soldier who had hugged her so firmly the other night was dancing with her, smiling down into her eyes. She was smiling back at him, though now and then her gaze would sweep the room and her smile would falter. Dephithus could see those warm golden eyes as clearly as if he were the one holding her so gently. She swayed like rye grass in a soft wind, her dark-golden hair waving down her back thick and sweet as honey. There was pain in his groin and chest, and his throat constricted as though her slender hands were squeezing it.
Dark Hope of the Dragons (Elysium's Fall Book 1) Page 22