“Hey, that’s mine.” K reached to take back the bottle, but her inebriated condition worked against her, allowing Jaron to pull it away before she could catch ahold of it.
“Truth.”
The two of them sat, eyes angrily locked on one another, the both of them refusing to back down. Jaron could see her anger brewing inside at the callousness in which he was barking demands and prepared himself for the consequences. However, after several long tense moments and much to his surprise and relief, he watched as her posture began to relax.
“What do you want to know?” she asked, sulking back into the chair.
“Start with the little boy’s name.”
“Kajol,” she answered nonchalantly, and watched amused as his face twisted in confusion. “Now give it back.”
“Why would a little boy have that name?” Jaron continued his questioning, holding the bottle out of reach.
“Because his mom named him after a lady she used to know,” K said, holding out her hand. Jaron looked at her demanding further explanation. “Oh fine,” K snapped, and dropped her hand. “Nina was there, inside the Herolds’ compound. Her and her father were the ones the Herolds made responsible for keeping me ‘alive’ for those twenty years.”
Jaron, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and confused, lost his grip on the bottle and dropped it. K, even in her inebriated condition, somehow managed to catch it in mid-air before it hit the ground. “Damn it, Jaron, be careful.” Eyeing what was left inside, she then finished off the contents and set it down on the table beside her.
But Jaron was in shock. The young mother had seemed so sweet, so normal, holding and caressing her son while she and her husband walked through the camp hand in hand. How is it possible this same woman is one of the monsters responsible for K’s decades of suffering? K watched him silently as he struggled to rationalize what he was being told, then stood shakily and made her way to the bed, taking a seat on the edge.
“Do you want me to get rid of them?” he asked, finally able to find his voice after several long moments. “I can have someone handle it in the morning.”
“Heavens no, even I am not malicious enough to exterminate an entire family.” K sighed, leaning her body back onto the bed. “Besides, they didn’t have a choice. Nina’s father was a healer like you and Mikel. The Herolds kidnapped them and forced him to treat their sick and wounded, by using Nina to manipulate him. If he had let me sleep they would have killed Nina.” K locked her eyes on the roof of the tent as her mind drifted away. “I watched her grow up you know, she was only six years old when I saw her for the first time. For twenty years I watched as she turned from a little girl, into a young lady, her face being one of the few rays of light in the darkness that was my hell there.” K turned her head to focus on Jaron. “Anyhow, it shouldn’t be a problem as long as she doesn’t recognize me.”
“It won’t be easy for you having them here, the memories—”
K cut him off with a wave of her hand. “There are ways to distract yourself from the memories, although, I do seem to have run out of my previous method of doing so.” K’s demeanor softened as she leaned back onto her hands and smiled cunningly in his direction, “would you care to join me in another?”
As he watched her narrowing gaze study him meticulously, Jaron could feel the air in the room shift. Suddenly all his concerns and worries vanished from his mind, leaving behind one and only thought … K. Everything about her—from her snow white hair gleaming in the candlelight, to the black leather sparring gear hugging tightly to the curves of her thin body—called to him, luring him in despite his better judgment. Standing quietly, he walked toward the bed unable to control himself as his mind and body continued to battle each other over the dangers involved behind what she was offering.
“Do I have your permission, my lady?” The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them.
K’s lip curled into a triumphant smirk. “You do.”
Trying to battle the fog that had invaded his mind, Jaron lowered himself into a kneeling position in front of her and began unlacing her knee-high boots. He delicately removed each one, setting them beside the bed before raising his gaze to meet her piercing blue stare. Unable to fight the desire any longer, he lifted his hand and cradled her face, gently running his thumb over the raised edges of the scar covering her eye. “So beautiful,” he whispered, as she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.
Relishing every second of the rare contact, Jaron allowed his hand to continue softly from her face, down her neck, before coming to rest on the snaps of her jacket. Her breathing remained steady and her eyes closed, as he took his time unbuttoning each clasp, revealing the thin white tank underneath. Inch by slow inch he slid the jacket off her shoulders, gently caressing the sides of her arms as he exposed the pale skin beneath. Only once the garment had made it mid-way to her elbows did K open her eyes again and lock her steady gaze with his. Silently she leaned forward to allow him to slide the jacket the rest of the way off.
Instead Jaron paused, gripping her arms and pinning them behind her, his face only inches from hers. She smirked again as he inhaled deeply, breathing in her alluring scent; the one that drove men insane with desire. For Jaron, it was the scent of a fresh pine forest, mingled with the hint of honeysuckle. Closing his eyes, he struggled to fight off the urge to pin her to the bed and take her in every way possible; for he knew better than most how potentially dangerous her allure could be. Everything about K, from her unique look, to the way she carried herself, to the scent of her that changed depending on the man she was with, was all part of an elaborate deception. Like the predator that she is, K was perfectly designed to lure her chosen victims in using their own senses against them.
K, noting his hesitation, leaned forward, closing the gap between the two of them, her arms still bound in the jacket behind her. She planted a firm kiss full on his mouth, igniting his entire body on fire. Unable to resist any longer, Jaron let himself be drawn into the kiss as he carefully slid the jacket the rest of the way off. Then in one delicate motion, he ran his arms under her legs and lifted her body easily, placing her into the center of the bed. Quietly K settled into the comforts of the mattress, attempting to give Jaron the illusion of control. But he was no fool, even as he worked to undo the snap of her pants, he knew she was playing with him, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Sliding the pants over her hips and off her legs, Jaron tossed them to the side and took a moment to admire every inch of her gorgeous half naked body. Stunningly beautiful, she was every man’s desire, and now she lay before him offering him the opportunity so many had and would die for. Releasing a ragged breath, he crawled over her, his massive frame dwarfing hers as he lowered himself down and pressed his lips with hers once more. He became lost, savoring that kiss like it would be his last, but when he felt her trembling hands reach toward the snap of his pants, his mind suddenly cleared.
This wasn’t right. The alcohol had her acting on her unbridled emotions, and after everything she had suffered through, it was too soon; whether she would admit it to herself or not, this wasn’t what she wanted. Refusing to take advantage of her in her current state, he broke the kiss and crawled off the bed. Lifting the blankets, he smiled softly down at her confused expression. “You should sleep off your first distraction, my lady, and we will speak in the morning.” Then gently pulling the blankets over her body, he turned and walked out of the tent.
***
It was mid to late morning the next day when Citera headed up the hill looking for K. She hadn’t seen her since the evening before, when she took off and left her standing alone and confused with the little boy. After being ditched, she accompanied Jaron as he showed the new arrivals around the camp and laid out the basic rules and obligations. The tour was brief, not even covering half of the material he usually did during these first introductions. Then he too disappeared, leaving her with the task of getting everyone settled into a tent. But
she didn’t mind, it had been more than obvious throughout the tour that Jaron’s thoughts were elsewhere and that, like her, he was more than concerned by K’s reaction to the small child.
Citera continued to wind her way up the hill, enjoying the sights and smells that made the housing area one of her favorite places to be. Not that she didn’t love running through the vast open fields or frolicking for hours in the streams with Dirik, it was just that being surrounded by so many people made her feel comfortable and secure, like she was back at home in the city.
All around her people smiled and waved as she passed; busily going about their day’s activities happy and unafraid. A group of kids, both Terrian and Full-blood, darted past her in a game of tag and nearly knocked over an elderly man who in turn responded by angrily yelling some colorful obscenities after them. Citera covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud and angering him even further. He reminded her a lot of old Mr. Jacobe back in Vicaris, who would accuse any child getting within ten feet of his vegetable stand of being a thief, of course, in Dirik’s case he had been correct.
A subtle breeze blew down the path, carrying on it the scent of fresh bread baking in the cooking tent farther to the east. Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she had skipped breakfast this morning in favor of hunting for K. Oh well, she would just have to make up for the missed meal at lunch.
Doing her best to ignore her gut’s noisy complaints, Citera made her way to the edge of the housing district, toward the lone tent at the top of the hill. She had already searched most of K’s normal hangouts when she bumped into Jaron near the Core and he made the bizarre suggestion of checking K’s tent. Initially she had laughed at the ridiculousness of the suggestion, but relented after he continued to insist. Now here she stood, staring at the flap, and listening to the silence inside, wondering why Jaron had thought she would be here of all places.
“K, are you in there?”
She waited a few moments, but no response came. This was a waste of time—of all the places to look, the last place she expected to find K was in her tent. Since she hardly slept, K rarely used the thing at all, and half the time Citera wondered why she even needed one.
“K, are you here?” she called slightly louder, before turning to leave.
“Citera?” K’s strained voice called back to her, catching her off guard. “Are you alone?”
“Yes,” she replied, scanning the area around her just to be sure. “Is everything all right? Can I come in?”
“Yes, just be quiet and close the flap behind you.”
Be quiet? Citera’s brow creased as she pushed open the flap and stepped inside. Latching it shut behind her, she then turned her attention to the interior of the large tent. Brilliant white hair was the first thing that caught her attention as Citera’s gaze landed on K sitting on the side of her bed. She was doubled over the edge, clutching her head in her hands, dressed in nothing but a thin tank top and her underwear.
“K!” Citera shrieked. “Why aren’t you masked? What if someone else had come in here?”
K cringed, grasping her head tighter as she motioned for Citera to lower her voice. “Sorry,” Citera whispered. “What’s the matter with you, are you sick?”
Rolling her eyes at the ridiculousness of her last question, Citera continued to make her way quietly into the tent when she spotted a strange looking bottle sitting on the table. She had seen similar bottles around the camp before, usually in the possession of a group of men who were about to have a card game and wanted to loosen up each other’s pockets. Together they would chip in to barter for bottles of the foul liquid from Casper, the camp distiller who specialized in different forms of fruit alcohols. Lifting the bottle from the table, Citera took one sniff and grimaced. It was definitely some of Casper’s handiwork.
“K, you didn’t drink this stuff, did you?”
K remained unresponsive, grasping her head as if she was afraid it would come off. Yep, she definitely drank it. Citera had witnessed many a man stumbling home the next morning after drinking too much of the brew. They were easy to recognize with their hands grasping low hanging heads while they desperately shielded their eyes from the light. Citera looked once again at K, then back at the bottle. “How much did you drink?”
“All of it.”
“What!” Citera shouted, eyes widening. But seeing the cringe go over K’s body she quickly quieted down. “K, when the guys get this stuff they split a bottle between four to five men and even like that half of them can’t make it home on their own. Heck, the ladies in the cooking tent even use this stuff to clean rust out of the pots. What were you thinking drinking the whole thing?”
“I wasn’t apparently,” K answered, slowly raising her head and looking Citera’s direction. Her red, bloodshot eyes made the light blue irises all the more vivid and bright. “Have you seen Jaron? I think I owe him an apology.”
“He’s in the Core. He’s the one that sent me here looking for you. He also told me to stop and tell Ivy to come by as well.” Citera paused as a knot formed in her stomach. “She said she would be here in about a half hour, so we better get you looking more presentable.”
K managed to get on her feet, and using the various pieces of furniture, she maneuvered across the room to the wash basin on the other side. Taking handfuls of the cold water, she rubbed her face vigorously, then ran her wet hands through the white locks of curly hair sticking out sporadically atop her head. “I’m sorry he asked you to do that, I know they make you uncomfortable.”
“Oh no, it’s fine. I was passing by there on my way here anyway, so I didn’t mind,” Citera lied. Truth was, it bothered her a lot.
It wasn’t Ivy herself that bothered Citera. Actually, Ivy was one of the few donors that Citera didn’t mind talking to. What bothered Citera was going into the donor area in general to retrieve her. Stepping foot into their side of the camp was like walking into another world completely. And a sad world at that, filled with nothing but pale faces, grey clothing, and flat affects. There was no cheerful bantering, no laughing, or kids running and having fun. Nor was there even a single soul in that place that would smile and wave back at you if you were inclined to try such a thing.
In short, the donors were strange. A depressed looking bunch who valued privacy above all things and went out of their way to keep to themselves. They had even gone as far as to set up a separate housing area complete with their own cooking tent and chapel. They limited contact with the other members of the camp to the point of avoiding them at all costs. And if you tried to speak with them … well, you might as well try talking to one of the trees in the forest for all the good it would do you. However, there never seemed to be any maliciousness in their behavior nor did they act as if they thought themselves superior to the others in the camp. Actually, it was quite the contrary. They acted as if they felt unworthy of associating with the others, dropping their gaze to the ground as opposed to making eye contact, fidgeting nervously when you spoke to them, even stepping out of the way and waiting for you to pass if they deemed the path too narrow for both parties to pass at a comfortable distance. Only a rare few, like Ivy, actually made it a regular habit of venturing outside their voluntary seclusion, and that was usually only to make themselves available to one of the predator types in the camp, like K and Jaron.
Not long after they had first arrived at Oasis, Citera worked up the nerve to ask K about the donors and the strange behavior that alienated them from the rest of the camp. K patiently explained to her that they were encouraged and taught from childhood to always be completely in control of their emotions. That they, as a culture, viewed the open exhibition of ones emotions as not only disrespectful, but as a sign of weakness within one’s blood. Therefore, only once they had come of age and proved themselves capable of maintaining constant composure, would one even begin to be considered worthy of donating blood to a Full-blood, which apparently was considered a high honor amongst the donor community. The better controlle
d you were, the higher the rank of the Full-blood you could serve and the more prestige you would earn amongst their people.
“So they think we are all weak-blooded lowlifes?” Citera had scoffed, before considering how it must have made herself sound.
K, however, simply smiled and continued to explain, “No, they understand and respect that not everyone believes as they do. That is why they turn their eyes to the ground when they pass you on the path. To them they are showing respect for your culture by not forcing their ways on you, and at the same time it helps them maintain control amidst the constant daily barrage of emotions thrown their way by the non-donors.”
“Well if their position in society is based off what rank Full-blood they serve, then Ivy must be near the top since she serves both you and Jaron.”
K’s brow creased. “Ivy is very highly respected by her people. She was elected their ambassador and is their voice outside their camp, but that has nothing to do with me and Jaron.” K’s flat expression returned as she turned her attention to some children playing behind her. “The rules of old don’t apply here. You see, the service of a donor to a Full-blood is only arranged after both parties have met and agreed that they would be compatible with one another. Only then would a contract be drawn up which would outline the services each party would provide to the other.”
“Services? You mean they didn’t just provide blood when the Full-blood needed it?”
“No, it was much more than that. A Full-blood family would often hire a family of donors to serve as their assistants and managers of their estate. They were charged with making sure everything ran smoothly and were often entrusted with not only the finances of the household but many of its secrets as well. In return, the Full-bloods provided for and protected the donors. In the elite houses especially, they would reap the rewards of a privileged lifestyle, including generous financial compensation and protection for them and their extended families, even if those families were not donors themselves.”
Linked (The Shadow Chronicles Book 2) Page 7