Frost Fire (Tortured Elements)

by Rivers, Olivia

  Training had been just as grueling ever since that first day. It was like some sort of boot camp combined with mock-duels and target practice. But she’d learned years ago that the punishment for skipping training was even worse than the lessons themselves.

  And, for now, she didn’t care. She just couldn’t take doing any pushups, or getting pummeled to the ground by an unrelenting Demon, or having a Hunter ‘accidently’ throw their knife right past her head.

  Allai shoved open Luke’s door and walked in, kicking a worn shirt out of the way. It wasn’t dirty. Luke’s shirts were never dirty, even if they were thrown on the floor. Luke had this thing with shirts: He said they made him itch all over, and he only wore them when absolutely necessary. It was just another thing Shieldak hated him for, and Allai often heard her dad muttering about ‘that half-naked, god-damned, disrespectful idiot’.

  “Have you ever heard of knocking?” Luke muttered from the corner. He was hunched over his desk, writing in a notebook. Allai didn’t even bother asking what he was working on; she knew it was lyrics he was frantically scrawling across the page. Luke rarely wrote down anything else. Allai didn’t quite get why he wrote lyrics when he couldn’t even see them. Whenever she’d ask him about it, he’d just tap his head with his pen and say, ‘The words are trapped, and I’ve got to get them out.’

  “You heard me coming,” Allai replied, knowing it was true. “There’s no point knocking.” She walked over to his bed and collapsed on it, burying her face in his pillow. It always smelled like a strange mixture of Luke’s masculine scent, laundry detergent, and peppermint. Everything in this old mansion was tainted with the smell of peppermint. She’d never quite figured out why.

  “Of course I heard you coming,” Luke replied. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t knock. It’s called common courtesy, darling. ”

  “Wearing a shirt is also common courtesy,” Allai mumbled into the pillow. “And so is looking at a person when you talk to them. You’re not doing either of those things right now.”

  Luke chuckled. “You’re really going to pick on me for not looking at you?”

  “Okay, fine. Maybe that one is excusable.”

  “Maybe? Darling, how am I supposed to look at you if I’m blind?”

  She sighed. “Fine, whatever. But what about the shirt thing? You have no excuse for that. It’s just plain rude to walk around with no shirt on.”

  A few moments passed with no response from Luke. Then she felt the bed dip as he sat next to her. “You’re in a bad mood,” Luke said. He sounded more concerned than annoyed.

  She took her face out of the pillow and rested her cheek on his knee. Luke ruffled her hair affectionately, a habit she’d never managed to break him of.

  “What’s wrong, darling?” he asked.

  “Drake,” she replied. Then she scoffed a little, because summing up all her concerns in one word made it seem so petty.

  “I’m guessing you found out he wasn’t killed,” Luke said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t worry, Allai-bird,” Luke said. “Shieldak has him in the dungeon. He won’t escape. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  Allai bit her lip and nodded. She was safe. She tried to repeat that to herself, but all she could hear echoing in her mind was Drake’s promise to her. That he was going to keep her safe, that he’d never let anyone hurt her.

  What had happened to that sweet boy who’d promised her that? How was it possible that he was the same person now locked in her father’s dungeon?

  “He has dark blood,” Allai murmured absently. Not just dark, she added to herself. Black. The black marked him as one of the most powerful Demons ever born. When he matured, he’d be more powerful than even Rhaize.

  “Yeah. Shieldak told me.” Luke sighed. “He’ll be dead soon, Allai. He’s nothing to worry about. Shieldak is going to hold Drake in the dungeon until Rhaize releases all his hostages. And you know he will. He’s desperate to get Drake back.”

  Allai nodded and tried to put a smile on her face. She should be glad that Drake provided a chance to free Rhaize’s captives. Even if her father had to use ransom to get them back, it was still a golden opportunity.

  But she couldn’t help but to think about Rhaize’s motives. She knew why Rhaize wanted Drake back so desperately; practically everyone knew why. Rhaize wanted a chance to kill Drake before he got older and matured into his powers. A black-blooded Demon was a threat to Rhaize, especially if he couldn’t be controlled. Rhaize had never tried to hide that, and had even put a bounty on Drake a couple years ago. Wanted alive, of course. Rhaize wanted to be the one to personally kill him.

  Allai shuddered at the thought, and instantly regretted it. She should want Drake dead. Shouldn’t she? That’s what the Warriors in the Sentinel were always talking about; an eye for an eye, blood for blood.

  But Drake hadn’t actually killed her. She was still alive. Was it fair that he should die?

  “Luke, what do you think happened to the third Caedes Mage?” she asked. She needed to change the topic, and needed to change it quickly.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, darling. No one knows. Why do you ask?”

  “Jareth and the new guy were talking about the Caedes. And it just kind of hit me that people can… disappear. I mean, even powerful people like Matthias. He was about to destroy all of the Sentinel, and then he just went poof.” She took a deep breath. “He has to be dead, doesn’t he? People can’t just disappear like that… Can they?”

  Luke didn’t answer her questions. Instead, he just sighed and dropped his head back. “You’ve been thinking about your parents again, haven’t you?”

  “I only have one parent,” she snapped.

  “Fine. Your biological parents. Whatever you want to call them, you’ve been thinking about them.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered.

  Luke went quiet for a moment, and then said, “Allai, I can’t tell you why they abandoned you. I don’t know. And I don’t know why they left you in such bad condition, or why they left you on Sentinel territory.”

  A smile slowly worked its way across his lips. He ruffled her hair again, this time a little more gently. “But I’m glad they did, darling. I wouldn’t know you if they hadn’t.”

  Allai smiled back at him. But her expression slowly faded as she thought back to all the details Shieldak had reluctantly told her about her abandonment. She’d been mute, and had remained that way for months afterwards. She had been covered in bruises and half-starved. It’d nearly been too late for her when a Warrior had discovered her unconscious on the very edge of the Manor’s border.

  That had been eleven years ago. Allai had no memory of being found, or of the year that followed. She was pretty sure her mind had just blocked that time-frame out of her memory for self-preservation.

  Her memories started back up the day Luke arrived at the Sentinel. The first image she could recall after the blocked-out time was of Luke crouched in front of her, looking at her eye-to-eye. She remembered thinking she liked his eyes, even if the clouded white covered most of them. They were different. Understanding.

  Luke had handed her a candy-bar, ruffled her hair, and told her he’d like to be her friend. She’d nodded and asked if she could give him a hug, because she liked him. That was when Shieldak had barged into the room and roared at Luke to get away from her, threatening his life in all sorts of ways if he didn’t stay a safe distance from Allai.

  The threats had never ended up working.

  Luke broke into her thoughts with another sigh. “Try not to think about your parents too much, Allai-bird.”

  “I want to find them someday,” Allai said. “You know, ask them what went wrong and stuff.”

  “That’s probably not a very good idea,” Luke said.

  “You’re not going to talk me out of it,” she muttered.

  Luke chuckled and shook his head a little. “Of course not. I’ve given up trying to do that, darling.”

  Chap
ter Seven

  Allai glanced over her shoulder as she made her way down to the Manor’s wine cellar. Well, to what used to be a wine cellar. Now it was a dungeon. And, if her dad caught her going down here, she was toast.

  Allai followed the steps leading down to the dungeon door, counting the echoes her shoes made on the concrete floor. Her fingertips trailed along the rough wall, and she tried not to let her heart beat too fast. She hated these walls. They were confining and narrow, and gave her a tingling feeling of claustrophobia.

  The dungeon door came into view, and she hedged back a step. A young Charger guard glared at her from in front of the door, his claws half extended and his wings flared just enough to look threatening. He took a moment to lazily examine her face, and his lip lifted in a snarl when he recognized her.

  “I want to see Drake,” Allai said. There was no point bothering with a greeting; it wouldn’t be returned.

  “You’re on a first-name-basis with Rhaize’s son?” The guard scoffed. “Figures.”

  Allai straightened to her full height. She felt a little stupid, trying to intimidate this guy with her four-feet-ten-inches. “Let me through. Or I’ll have you doing a job worse than guarding the dungeon.”

  He growled at her, and for a moment Allai felt just a little guilty. She didn’t usually use her dad’s status for leverage. But she didn’t feel like playing games with this guy, and she wanted in that door. Preferably without being sliced to ribbons.

  “Fine.” The guard stepped to the side, allowing her access to the entrance. “You can go in. But if Ardus ever asks, tell him it’s not my fault I let you in, and that you threatened me.”

  “Sure.” Allai stepped forward and yanked at the steel door, glaring at him when he didn’t help open it. “I’ll be glad to tell your superior you just got manipulated by a Nox.” Before he could respond, she slipped inside and slammed the door closed behind her.

  The dungeon looked nothing like its name implied. There were no rusting iron bars, no dank dirt floors. It was more like a bunker, complete with concrete walls and steel-rebar supporting nearly everything. The military-grade cells were the only way to contain the Demon occupants.

  As far as she knew, Drake was the only current prisoner. The Sentinel didn’t take many captives, and when they did, people didn’t last long down here. The dungeon was really more of a holding cell, until enemy Demons were either released or killed. Usually the latter.

  It was a straight shot through the narrow entranceway to the first cell, but she still had to take deep breaths to calm her nerves. She knew dungeons were supposed to be creepy, but this one seemed to go above and beyond.

  Fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, never flickering or wavering, and giving the dungeon a dream-like feel. And the acoustics didn’t make things much better. It was dead silent, except for her hesitant footsteps. She made a mental note to never, ever get on the bad side of the Sentinel; she’d hate to stay down here long.

  Her dad would also hate that. Well, he’d just hate having her down here. No one was allowed in the dungeon without the accompaniment of a guard or a Sentinel superior. But the guard on duty didn’t seem to have any interest in keeping her alive, and she wasn’t about to go fetch Luke. He’d just scold her with a bunch of panicked swearing, and then drag her back upstairs.

  And he’d have every right to do that. Because she shouldn’t be in the dungeon in the first place, especially when she really had no reason to even come here. That’s what she kept trying to tell herself: She had no reason to come down here. This little trip was pointless. Maybe even stupid.

  But her feet just kept carrying her forward, toward the first cell, toward Drake. Allai approached cautiously, her footsteps growing lighter and more hesitant. She really had no idea what she was doing down here. The cell would prevent her from talking to Drake and solving the puzzle surrounding him. She’d be able to see him through the small, ballistic glass window on the side of the cell, but that wasn’t worth anything. It’d just be sickening to see him paralyzed by venom, slowly and painfully transforming into a Persequor.

  Turning back was the best idea. Maybe she’d get in trouble for coming down here, but that didn’t matter. She started to turn away, when she noticed something. The door. She stumbled back a step, blinking a few times to make sure she was seeing things right. The door to the cell was open.

  “Good morning.”

  The voice froze her in place. Then she slowly closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. Because she recognized that husky tone hiding behind all the silkiness in his voice.

  It was Drake. And she was about to die.

  “What?” Drake asked, his voice coming from behind her. “Do you Warriors not greet people with ‘good morning’ in the Sentinel? Is that too polite? Should I be flipping you off instead?”

  Part of her knew his mocking should sting, or at least piss her off. But it didn’t. Was it shock turning her into such a traitor? Probably, because her entire body felt numb, and she couldn’t breathe.

  Maybe she should look at Drake and face her death head-on. But her eyes remained squeezed tight, terrified she would see claws or a bladed wing rushing toward her if she opened them.

  She flinched as she felt hot breath on the back of her neck. His breaths were short and rapid, like he was in pain.

  “You know,” Drake whispered in her ear, “closing your eyes won’t make me disappear.”

  She peeked an eye open, because she heard something in his voice: amusement. And, if he’d been turned into a Persequor, then he shouldn’t feel that emotion, or any other.

  Allai slowly looked over her shoulder, and stopped breathing when she saw his face not even a foot from hers. Drake was panting hard and definitely in pain. But his jaw was gritted into a determined expression, and his claws hovered just millimeters from the side of her neck.

  “Stay… Stop—Back, stay ba…” Allai trailed off and winced at her bumbling words. They were so hoarse and squeaky, she barely recognized her own voice.

  Drake arched an eyebrow. “You need a cough-drop?” A piercing marked his right eyebrow, close to the bridge of his nose. It was black, like everything he wore. On most guys, it would have looked like some kind of punk style statement. But with his intense eyes and the daring smirk on his lips, it just made his angry expression even more intimidating.

  Allai’s knees gave out. Everything went black. But it only lasted for a moment, and then little splotches of light began poking at the darkness and into her vision. She groaned, leaning back to find something warm and solid supporting her.

  Then she realized she shouldn’t be able to lean back if she’d collapsed, and that the ground shouldn’t be warm. She couldn’t move. Someone muttered something behind her, their breath still tickling her ear. It took her a moment to figure out what the voice was saying: “Wow. I’ve never made anyone faint before. I mean, I’ve knocked people out, but this is kind of different.”

  Drake. That’s what she was leaning against. Him.

  When had he caught her? She hadn’t felt him. Allai forced herself to take a deep breath; the last of the black spots disappeared, and the rest of her clarity returned. She needed to get out of Drake’s grasp. Immediately.

  It didn’t take much. She just pounded her fist against his forearm a couple times before he muttered a curse and let go. It wasn’t as great of an outcome as she’d expected. She crumpled to the ground without his support, the room spinning wildly around her, and her breaths coming in heavy pants. The toe of a boot nudged her shoulder.

  “You okay down there?” Drake asked. “You look pale.”

  She wanted to scream at him. Because he wasn’t supposed to be out of the cell, he wasn’t supposed to have scared her, and he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to have seen her faint. But she swallowed back the scream, if only because it would hurt her head. Which was pounding. Like a jackhammer.

  What the hell had just happened? She was a trained member of the Sentinel, and Sentinel members
didn’t faint when they faced enemies. They sure as hell didn’t let enemies catch them, either. Her instincts should have screamed ‘fight’, and instead she’d flopped. Right in front of Drake. Right into Drake.

  Then Drake’s face was right in front of her. She wondered if she was hallucinating, because he looked exactly like she remembered him. There were those same golden eyes staring at her, and the same tousled black hair threatening to shade them from view. The rest of him looked older and more mature, but still familiar—a strong jaw, tanned skin, and an expression of seriousness that nearly hid all his other emotions.

  But she could still see traces of the other emotions. Confusion widened his eyes a little, and his brows furrowed with concern. But something was still missing. Why could she never see the menace in his expression? It had to be there somewhere. It was his nature to be threatening, and the nature of his family. But, at that moment, she couldn’t see any menace as he frowned at her and bit his lower lip.

  That was a habit; she could tell by how chapped his lip was. Okay, so now she knew one, solid fact about him: He bit his lip when he got anxious. But knowing that didn’t make him any less confusing.

  “Relax,” Drake said. “I didn’t mean to make you faint. You’re safe, okay?”

  She would have laughed if it wasn’t for her damn head. Safe? Maybe he wanted her to be confused. Maybe he was trying to kill her using psychological methods, or something wacky like that. Because she definitely wasn’t safe. She was in a basement with the guy who’d tried to murder her, fainting for no apparent reason, and without a weapon. Not to mention no one would be checking on her anytime soon.

  Drake reached out and touched her cheek. His skin was probably the hottest she’d ever felt. There was some ancient saying she’d heard her dad mutter now and then: ‘With blood of darkness and skin of fire comes a Demon of power.’ She’d seen Drake’s black blood, and now she could feel his blazing skin. Just how powerful was this guy?

  It took Allai a moment to realize the obvious: Drake shouldn’t be touching her. But, by the time she realized that, he’d already gently stroked his fingertips across her cheek. She shoved herself away from his hand and into a sitting position.