Frost Fire (Tortured Elements)

by Rivers, Olivia

  “So you’re saying her parent is a Sano?” Drake asked. “That’s going to make them almost impossible to find. There’s still dozens of Sano Mages alive, and they’re good at hiding.”

  “I know,” Luke snapped. “But I’ll figure it out eventually. You just focus on getting her to the Chimeras. I’ll do the research.”

  Drake didn’t answer. He didn’t like this viper telling him what to do. Sure, the guy had lots of power at the Sentinel. But Drake didn’t belong to the Sentinel. And he wasn’t going to start taking orders. “Is Shieldak coming after us?” he demanded. “I need to know.”

  “No,” Luke said. “As soon as you burst out that window, he called all his Warriors off the hunt. Told them ‘someone else’ was going to take care of you. And before you ask, I don’t have any idea what that means.”

  Drake really, really wanted to slam down the phone. The viper wasn’t being helpful. He was just raising more questions, and making Drake more nervous. “What did you call me about?” Drake asked, hoping Luke would wrap up the conversation.

  “I didn’t call you, I called Allai,” Luke said. “I need to know if she’s okay.”

  He sounded almost desperate. It was a little odd, hearing that kind of emotion coming from a Persequor. Hell, it was odd hearing any emotion.

  “She’s…” Drake took his eyes off the road long enough to glance over to Allai. She still hadn’t moved, and was just staring off into space. “She’s not doing great.” Drake hated admitting that. It meant admitting that he was failing, that he wasn’t taking proper care of her.

  “Was she injured?” Luke asked.

  “She’s got some scrapes from jumping out the window. But other than that, she’s fine.”

  Luke paused and then took a deep breath. “She’s not ‘fine’, Drake. She just got disowned. She’s going to be hurt and angry. Do something about that.”

  Luke hung up before Drake could say anything else. Drake growled, because he still had unanswered questions, and because he needed them answered, and because he hated that Luke would assume he wouldn’t ‘do something’ about Allai’s condition.

  Beside him, Allai sniffled. He glanced at her and found tears silently streaming down her cheeks. He took back his former wish: He didn’t want her to cry. Crying wasn’t good; it was awkward and unusual, and… sad.

  “Hey, look, you’re going to be fine,” he said. “I’m going to take you to the Chimeras. They’ll take you in. You’ll be safe.”

  She just sniffled in response.

  Why was he doing this? He took a hand off the steering wheel and rubbed his temples. He could shove her out the truck, rip the matching lockgem away from her, and never have to worry about her again.

  But he couldn’t do that. No, not really. The girl was all he had left. She was the only person from his past who he’d ever cared about. Well, the only one still alive.

  Besides, getting rid of the lockgem wouldn’t be as easy as ripping away Allai’s. If he ever wanted to break the magic between them, the designated holder of the lockgems would have to help. Unfortunately, that holder was Allai. So he’d just have to keep her around for a while, until he got one of the Chimeras to break the spell.

  He caught sight of the back-road just in time to turn onto it. The girl’s truck struggled over the rough terrain of the road, and he hoped it didn’t get stuck. He didn’t feel like carrying the girl three miles to his truck. Especially not with all the cuts covering him.

  He glanced down at his shoulder. That injury wasn’t really a cut. It was more like a gash, or a full-on wound. That was where most of the pain came from. It’d be healed within a few hours, with his enhanced regeneration abilities. It already hurt a little less than it had when he’d first started out. But it was still excruciating.

  Another sniffle came from beside him. Drake steered the truck around a pothole, and then took a moment to look at the girl. She had curled up even tighter, her face buried in her knees. How could Shieldak just reject her like that? She was so pitiful, so helpless and sad.

  Scenes from their escape flashed in his mind. Shieldak’s disapproving expression. Shieldak slapping the girl. Shieldak’s claws rushing toward Allai, with only Drake’s wing to stop them.

  Drake’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel a little faster. He wasn’t very skilled at many things, but holding grudges was a specialty of his. And Shieldak had just made his grudge list.

  Why was it that very, very powerful people always ended up at the very, very top of his list? Probably because his list only consisted of about four people. And powerful people made it to the top because they were mostly assholes. Assholes who tended to hate him and want him dead. Assholes who hunted him.

  The farm came into sight. It was an old, decrepit place, with fields of weeds and a rotting barn. Probably abandoned, and definitely a great hiding place.

  He cut out the truck’s engine. That was another thing he could add to the list of things he didn’t like about this truck. It’s engine slowly rumbled and sputtered to a halt, instead of instantly cutting out.

  “Hey,” he said to the girl. “We’re here. We need to switch trucks.”

  She didn’t respond. Not even a blink or a sigh. He probably should have shook her, or just slung her over his shoulder again. But she looked so fragile, and he was afraid those things would hurt her.

  “Okay, look,” he said. “My truck is parked about a quarter of a mile away from here. I don’t think your truck can get us there, so I’m going to walk there and then drive it back. Then all you’ll have to do is walk two steps from this truck to my truck, and we can continue on our way. Okay? Can you do that?”

  Still no response. She just stared blankly at the dashboard. Or maybe it was the radio. Either way, her empty gaze obviously wasn’t very interested in what was in front of her.

  He rubbed his temples. Was she going to be like this the entire trip? For longer than that? He needed to snap her out of this.

  But first he needed to get to his truck, get Allai into it, and then get to Cleveland. Baby steps. Drake shook his head and shoved open the door, quickly jumping down to the ground. He didn’t take more than one step before he felt something in his pocket digging into his leg. The Hunter’s knife.

  He fished it out of his pocket, careful not to jostle it from its sheath, and took a second to examine it. It was a high-quality knife. He could tell that just by the handle, which was pure black and inlaid with swirling gold runes. He’d like to know where the girl had gotten this. The Hunters were particular—no, obsessive—about where their knives went. Only pure-born Hunters were allowed to carry one.

  Maybe the girl wasn’t quite as innocent as she seemed. He smirked a little at that thought, and turned back to the truck. Drake tossed the knife onto the benchseat. It landed close to Allai’s hand.

  “I think that belongs to you,” Drake said. “But don’t touch it. You’ll cut yourself.” He didn’t even bother looking for a response, and instead started toward his truck.

  It was really only a quarter of a mile to the truck. But it felt like a hell of a lot longer, with blood seeping from his injuries and his muscles screaming for mercy. He hated walking in his human form. It was slow and painful and made him anxious. Especially walking across terrain like this, an open field with no cover.

  But he knew better than to shift into his Natural form when he’d already shifted multiple times today. It would only exhaust him, and he’d just have to shift back to his human form the moment he got to the truck. He couldn’t fit in the driver’s seat with his wings.

  Drake was halfway across the field when he heard the scream. It was the girl, her voice shrill with terror. His heart-rate rose with the pitch of the shriek.

  He turned and raced back toward the girl’s truck. He was an idiot for leaving her alone. But that was hindsight, and that didn’t matter now. What mattered was reaching the girl. Saving her.

  He quickly shifted back into his Natural form. It hurt. His bones
crunched into place a little too slowly, and his wings punched painfully from his shoulder blades. He was too exhausted to be shifting. He shouldn’t be doing this. But he would for the girl.

  Power surged through him as his form settled into place. He sprinted even faster, his feet pounding into the dusty field. A second passed. Two. He was only fifty yards from the truck, coming closer with each step. Red began to seep into his vision, but he could still see ahead.

  Allai had closed the door of the truck and was huddled in the middle of the benchseat. Outside the truck, a giant wolf raked its claws against the driver’s door, making the steel screech in protest. The wolf was huge, at least four times the size of a natural canine, and its claws were more like curved daggers. Drake recognized it as a Trident Demon.

  He wracked his mind, trying to remember what Dad had taught him about Tridents. They were shapeshifters with three forms: human, animal, and Beast. This Trident was in his Beast form, the most deadly. It would only take a flick of those claws for it to tear through the truck’s door. So why hadn’t it?

  Then he saw the slow wagging of the Trident’s tail. There was the answer: It was playing with Allai, tormenting her.

  Drake snarled and increased his speed. The Trident Demon whirled toward him, alerted by the snarl. It crouched into a defensive position. Drake didn’t care. He didn’t stop. Only yards separated them. Then only feet.

  He leapt into the air and pivoted. His wing perfectly aligned with the Trident’s neck. Red overtook his vision, and he barely felt his wing draw back. But he did feel the surge of energy flowing through him. He slammed his wing down toward the Trident.

  His wing-blades slammed into something hard. Bone? It had to be bone, and the red all over his vision had to be blood. But then he looked down. His wing was imbedded a foot into the ground.

  He’d missed. Drake snarled and yanked his wing from the ground. The red in his vision intensified. He’d never seen red just from a fight. That was supposed to be something only crazed Demons saw. Then he felt his pounding heart, his ragged breaths, his fists shaking and ready to destroy something. Maybe he had gone crazy.

  And he didn’t care. He whirled toward the Trident. Every one of his senses was on fire, heightened and ready to help him kill. He heard the Trident stumble back a few steps, still recovering from Drake’s attack. He saw its mane bristle and watched its red-tinted eyes widen with shock. And then there was the smell. Adrenaline, sweat, and the musk of a wild animal. The scent of blood would soon join in.

  The Trident lunged at Drake. He rolled to the side, out of the Trident’s reach. Then he was back in a fighting stance, balanced lightly on the balls on his feet and his claws extended from both forearms. The Trident didn’t recover as gracefully. It slammed into the side of the truck, unable to stop its charge. The steel door caved in, and Drake heard Allai scream from inside.

  Her scream sent more adrenaline flowing through him. And then there was more red in his vision, and more power flowing through him, and a snarl ripping through the air. His snarl.

  The failed charge didn’t deter the Trident. It shook itself, growled, and turned back to Drake. Its eyes narrowed, a disturbingly human expression for the Beast. Drake stumbled back a step. Because he knew that expression, and he knew those eyes.

  Conrad. This was Conrad he was fighting. Not just some random rogue Demon, or one of Shieldak’s men. This was Dad’s best assassin, his trusted employee. Conrad didn’t even work for the Keepers. He worked only for Dad, and only for the most high-stakes jobs.

  Conrad lunged again, but this time Drake didn’t dodge the attack. He rushed forward, waiting for the last possible moment to strike. Conrad stumbled, shocked by Drake’s charge. Drake almost laughed at that, because it felt good to scare Conrad. He deserved it, after scaring Allai like that.

  Drake took Conrad’s stumble as an opportunity, and raked his claws along the Trident’s muzzle. Then Drake sidestepped, avoiding a collision with Conrad, and struck out with his wing. This time it hit flesh. He felt the blades of his wing slice through skin and tendons.

  A pained howl pierced the air. Drake smirked a little, and re-steadied himself, backing up a few steps until his feathers grazed the dented metal of the truck. Conrad shook himself, spraying blood from a gash in his shoulder. One of the blood drops struck Drake’s clenched fist. It left a trail of warmth as it dripped down his knuckle and clung to the calloused skin there.

  “Conrad,” Drake said to the Trident. The name slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.

  For a moment, Conrad froze. He cocked his head and stared at Drake, worry running across the Beast’s face as he realized he’d been identified. Then he grinned, the expression something between a sneer and a taunt.

  Drake didn’t wait for Conrad to charge again. He leapt toward the Trident, his claws extended and his wings flared. Conrad crouched low, preparing for Drake’s attack.

  Drake hit the Trident hard. They collided and rolled to the ground, both slashing and snarling at each other. Drake’s right wing sliced into Conrad’s shoulder, deepening the injury already there, and his claws raked over the Trident’s neck.

  Then searing pain exploded along Drake’s ribs. He dodged the next blow from Conrad, but saw black blood clinging to the Trident’s claws.

  That didn’t make sense. Conrad didn’t have black blood; he was strong, but not that strong. It took a moment for Drake to realize the obvious. The blood didn’t belong to Conrad. It belonged to him.

  Drake tried to snarl at the Trident, but it just came out as a scream. Pain constricted his chest and stabbed into his ribs. They must have been shattered.

  Drake gritted his teeth and dodged another blow, this one from the curved claws of Conrad’s hind-paw. The Trident swung his neck around, trying to hit Drake and throw him off balance. But Drake slammed his elbow out, catching Conrad in his jaw. The Trident let out a high-pitched yelp, and stumbled back a step.

  Drake scrambled to his feet, and stepped back to observe his work. Conrad was covered in wine-red blood and multiple gashes. But then there was also Drake’s own black blood coating the Trident’s side. There was a lot of it. Drake wanted to look down at his ribs, to see how much blood was flowing out, but he didn’t. The wound was serious, and that was all he had to know. He could tend to it later.

  Drake tried to take a deep breath, but his ribs got in the way. Another scream built in the back of his throat, and his vision clouded with dark spots. He gasped in a breath and forced the spots away. He had to fight through this. He had to survive. Because he had to protect the girl.

  Conrad was on him. Drake didn’t know how that happened. But he felt the Trident’s weight crash into him, tossing him against the truck and then pinning him against the ground with two paws. Drake clawed at Conrad, then snarled and tried to slash at the Trident with his wings. But his claws couldn’t gain momentum in the close quarters, and his wings were trapped against the ground.

  Conrad’s grin returned. He leaned back to avoid Drake’s claws, and gnashed his teeth together. The blackness returned to Drake’s vision, blocking out the image of the Trident. Drake tried breathe, but Conrad dug his paws deeper into his chest. Pain shot through Drake’s ribs, the shock of it clearing his vision for just a moment.

  Conrad was leaning closer now, his muzzle just inches from Drake’s face. He was still grinning that disturbingly-human smile, and a low growl escaped from between his teeth.

  The grin disappeared. Conrad’s expression went blank. Then pain twisted his face, and he snapped his neck straight back like he’d been electrocuted. Conrad let out a piercing shriek, the kind no natural wolf could ever make. Drake knew the sound: A Demon’s cry of pain.

  The Trident stumbled to the side and off Drake’s chest. Drake’s lungs heaved for air, and the black vanished from his vision. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t even want to think. But he braced his palms against the dirt and shoved himself to his feet.

  A scream struck his ears. But t
his one was higher, and more panicked than pained. The girl.

  Drake whirled toward the sound, his hand clutching his side. Allai stood a few yards in front of him. When had she gotten out of the truck? He tried to remember, but he couldn’t. And that made a surge of rage course through him, because he should have been watching her more carefully. He should have been taking better care of her.

  Allai’s eyes were wide with horror, and she slowly stumbled backward. At first Drake thought she was staring at him. But then he realized her shocked gaze was focused on her outstretched hand, which was covered in red liquid. Blood.

  Drake felt his heart beat faster, which he hadn’t thought was possible. But somehow the girl had hurt her hand, and that was cause for alarm, and he wanted to just break down and panic. But his adrenaline wasn’t going to let him break down.

  Another shriek pierced the air. It was Conrad this time, not the girl. Drake staggered in a half-circle until he faced the Trident. Conrad was stumbling to his feet, his paws flailing around like he was on ice. He panted heavily, bloody saliva dripping from his jowls.

  A knife handle stuck out from between Conrad’s shoulder blades. Drake blinked, wondering if he was seeing things right. He was. The knife had been stabbed deep into Conrad, with only the handle still visible. The handle was black, with gold-inlaid designs.

  The Hunter’s knife. Drake remembered tossing it back into the truck, next to Allai. He glanced back to Allai, examining the blood on her hand again. It was too dark to be hers.

  Drake grinned. He knew he looked insane like that, all bloodied and injured and grinning. But the girl had just saved him. She’d stabbed the Trident.

  So much for being innocent.

  Conrad’s lip lifted into a snarl, and he took one clumsy step toward Allai. Then another. And as he took a third, Drake realized the Trident wasn’t about to give up. Drake charged toward the Beast, ignoring the pain, ignoring his clouded vision. Or at least trying to.