Regret (Lady of Toryn Trilogy)

by Charity Santiago

  The horse lowered its head and tore up a mouthful of grass, chewing placidly.

  “Oh, good. You just stay here and eat.” Ashlyn hobbled to the edge of the waterfall and stretched out a hand through the curtain of water, trying to see if there was a crevice behind it. She felt nothing- just air. She ducked through, holding her hands out in front of her to stop her if she encountered a wall, but when she emerged on the other side, she was happy to see a damp cavern stretching back into the mountain. It was small, much too small and wet for a permanent dwelling place, but big enough for two people and a horse to hide out for a little while.

  Even after satisfying its appetite for grass, Drake’s horse didn’t want to go through the water, but at her persistent urging, the gelding finally stuck his head through, and then, as if he were scared the water might not allow the rest of his body to enter as well, suddenly took a huge leap and skidded into the cave awkwardly. Ashlyn yelped and dropped her weapon harness, barely catching her father as he slid off the horse’s back. She fell back against the cave wall, but managed to stay upright.

  “Okay, Dad…calm down…we made it,” she said to the still-unconscious Lord Li, grunting as she dragged him to the back of the cave and laid him down next to the wall. “Now I just have to figure out what to do next.” She checked his pulse, which was still strong. When he woke up she’d give him some water to try to replenish his fluids, but of course sleep would help right now, too.

  The horse seemed all right too, but was favoring his front leg even more after the total overkill of his giant leap, which just figured. Ashlyn removed the saddle and rubbed down the tired horse with the damp saddle blanket. She found a sheathed dagger and a pair of gloves in the remaining saddle bag, and strapped the dagger to her leg, figuring that any additional weapons she could carry would be helpful right now. There was also a mostly dry blanket at the bottom of the saddle bag, which she draped over her dad, tucking it under him as best she could. He was wet from his trip through the waterfall, and she didn’t want to worry about him getting hypothermia on top of everything else.

  She healed the cut on her hand that she’d gotten from her shuriken earlier, and put on the gloves. Even damp, they smelled like Drake.

  She didn’t want to think about Drake. Ashlyn slumped against the wall, one hand against her forehead, and tried to think about what to do next.

  The crashing of the waterfall was too damn loud.

  I have to go outside and get that saddle bag anyway before someone finds it, she thought, and glanced over at her father. He was still sleeping soundly. She’d go out and get the saddle bag and then come right back. She supposed they could just spend the night here and leave in the morning- and maybe, just maybe, the horse would be well enough to carry her father by then.

  Ashlyn ducked through the waterfall again, shivering as the cold water hit her already-chilled skin and plastered her jagged hair to her neck. She ran a hand over the sopping locks ruefully as she stepped onto the grass. Skye had cut off a good chunk of it- not that he could have done anything different, of course, trying to get her away from Drake. But she could feel the uneven ends and knew it must look terrible. Some Elder Heir she was. Soaking wet, dirty and hungry, with a questionable hairstyle, Ashlyn knew she probably resembled a drowned rat more than the Lady of Toryn at that moment.

  She paused several times on her way towards the saddle bag, smoothing out their tracks so that anyone who happened upon the lake wouldn’t be able to follow them to the waterfall. With luck, anyone who came by would just keep on going.

  She was pushing leaves back into place with her boot when she heard the growling, and somehow she knew immediately that it was Drake. She turned to face him, and saw his eyes in the darkness, glowing red and closer than expected.

  She had time for a single breath before he charged at her.

  Ashlyn spun out of the way, drawing the knife from the sheath on her thigh and catching Drake’s midsection as he passed. Instead of moving away from the blade, he turned and grabbed her arm, letting the dagger cut deeper as he swooped down to bite her forearm. Ashlyn yanked her hand back and kicked him in the face, then cartwheeled aside, trying to put some distance between them.

  She honestly had no idea what to do. She had known the resist stane tempered Drake’s bloodlust, but she hadn’t known the extent of his lunacy without the calming magic. Was it possible to reason with him?

  “Drake, it’s me,” she told him, holding up a hand to show that she didn’t want to hurt him. “It’s Ashlyn. The- the girl you couldn’t forget, the one like a dying rainbow.” She felt silly saying it out loud, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

  He snarled and swiped at her half-heartedly with one hand as they circled each other, Drake moving out from the cover of forest onto the grass next to the lake and Ashlyn following. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she wasn’t about to let him get near her dad in this condition.

  “Let me help you,” she said, trying to keep his attention. “I have the resist stane. Don’t you want to put it back on?” Again, she felt profoundly ridiculous talking to Drake like this, as though he were a petulant child in need of coaxing.

  He ignored her words and lunged forward again, fangs bared. She swiped the knife at him, but he grabbed her wrist, then her other wrist when she attempted to punch him. His strength was unnerving, and Ashlyn winced at both the vice-like grip and the heat of his skin against hers. His hands felt like they were on fire.

  Drake snarled again and tried to bite her, but she dodged awkwardly and kicked at his knee with one leg. He danced out of the way so that her blow just glanced off his calf, and tried to bite her again. This time Ashlyn dropped to her knees and fell backwards, repeating the same move she’d done earlier when she used her feet to fling him over her head. He held onto her wrists though, and she squealed as he dragged her with him. Rolling over onto her stomach, Ashlyn scrambled to her feet, Drake just inches away and still clutching her wrists.

  Furious now, Ashlyn kicked at his knee a second time and jerked her arms up, loosening his grip but not quite breaking it. She landed a solid boot to his stomach and managed to twist her wrist, gashing his forearm with the knife. Drake roared and yanked his hands back. Finally! Ashlyn whirled, hitting him in the side of the face first with her fist and then the hilt of the knife, knocking him to his knees. It might have been a lethal blow if she’d used the blade, but she wasn’t about to kill Drake Lockhart without at least trying to use resist to save him.

  She moved to kick him, hoping to knock him out, but he grabbed her leg and threw her down. Ashlyn fell flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her, and suddenly Drake was on top of her, grabbing her wrists and pinning them down beside her head. The hand with the knife slid across the grass as he tried to force the weapon out of her hand, but she held tight.

  Their eyes met, and for a moment Ashlyn thought she saw a glimmer of recognition, a hint of the man she knew.

  Then he snarled and buried his face in her neck, and she knew he was going to bite her.

  As she felt his fangs sink in, the air was instantly sucked from her lungs, her breath rushing out in one pitiful, mewing scream-

  “Drake!”

  And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

  Drake froze against her, the painful pressure of his teeth stilling. His hands, clenched over her wrists, trembled, pushing her hands deeper into the thick grass as he visibly fought for control.

  After a long moment, she felt his fangs recede completely, a trickle of blood tickling her neck as he pulled away.

  He drew in a shuddering breath. Exhaled. His fingers pried themselves free of her wrists, seeking hold in the grass, digging into the earth in agony at the forced restraint.

  “Ashlyn.” His voice was guttural, hoarse with desperation.

  She squirmed underneath him, flinching when he growled at the increased physical contact. Her gloved fingers found the smooth stone and clenched around it. “I’ve got
it,” she rasped, surprised her voice was working at all, and yanked the resist stane out of her pocket to press it, palm up, against his chest.

  The change was immediate. He gasped, one hand coming up to cover hers. His breath caught, his head thrown back as his weight let up, and she could breathe again. His irises were glowing in the moonlight, the brightest red she’d ever seen, the color of fresh blood, and Ashlyn lay there, fascinated as the shifting colors warred with each other inside his eyes- dark crimsons and brilliant scarlets, rolling, twisting and fading into one another as the vampire slowly began to regain control.

  He braced one arm against the ground beside her head and dropped his forehead to the grass above her shoulder- not quite putting his entire weight back on her, but not giving her any room to move, either. His breathing became deep and even, the intense heat fading from his skin.

  They stayed that way for what might have been mere moments, or maybe an eternity. Ashlyn lay still, entranced as ever by the lack of heartbeat beneath her fingers, but feeling as though she’d crossed a threshold with Drake- something they couldn’t come back from. She’d seen him lose control before, but never to this point. He’d never lost resist before.

  He’d seen her at her most vulnerable, saved her when she was in danger of falling to pieces. Stupidly, in addition to her relief and receding fear, Ashlyn felt…vindicated, somehow. She’d been able to return the favor.

  His fingers moved against her hand. She could feel the coolness of his skin through her gloves.

  She pulled her hand from under his, leaving the stane against his chest, and pressed her fingers to her neck.

  “I’ll probably bleed to death,” she said faintly, trying to keep her tone light. “Thanks a lot.”

  His sharp exhalation was more like a bark than a laugh. There was no humor in the sound.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She nodded.

  He shifted his weight onto one arm, the other hand coming up to cradle her face. The resist stane pressed against her skin, warming between his palm and her cheek. Ashlyn swallowed and met his eyes, her nervousness subsiding as the calming effects of the magic enveloped her.

  She could hardly breathe as she stared into his face, Drake’s face, the face of the man who both captivated and frightened her. The perfect, angular planes of his features were shadowed in the moonlight.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, fingers trailing along her cheek. “Ashlyn-“ His voice broke, and he shook his head as he looked down at her. There was affection in his gaze, and that same deep, simmering something that constantly lurked at the corners of his eyes like a shadow. Suddenly Ashlyn was wary.

  “Don’t- don’t do this,” she said unevenly.

  His hand stilled against her temple. “Do what?”

  His cluelessness was infuriating. “This,” she hissed, trying to wriggle out from underneath him and gaining courage with every passing second. “This- this leading me on. It’s getting old. I’m tired of your words and…and the way you look at me and I’m- I’m tired of getting my heart stomped by you!”

  He wouldn’t budge, his weight pinning her down, and she used one hand to push at his chest with all her might, the other arm still awkwardly pinned above her and clenching the knife. “Who are you kidding, Drake? You bit me, I’m pretty sure that’s a clear indication of your real feelings! You’re not doing this to me anymore! Get off!”

  “Ashlyn- wait.” He caught her wrist, interlacing their fingers, pushing her hand down into the grass again. “I didn’t-“

  “I don’t want to hear another one of your stupid speeches!” she yelled in his face, and brandished the knife menacingly- or as menacingly as she could manage, with its awkward angle off to the side and without the required range of motion to use it. “I put up with so much from you- your stupid resist magic and your brooding and your angst! You ignore me for years before screwing with my mind, all your crap about rainbows and passion and destiny and then you turn and walk away like I’m just some stupid little kid- like I’m a diversion for when you get bored- only I’m real and you’re not, and I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t hurt. So you know what, bloodsucker? You can-”

  Her next word was smothered as his mouth came down on hers, hard.

  Ashlyn squeaked in surprise, tried to turn her head to the side, but he dragged their linked hands above her head, and braced his other hand next to her temple, so that her face was trapped and she couldn’t move.

  What was he doing? Determined not to let him break down her defenses, Ashlyn dropped the knife and struggled to get her other arm free, to push him away. A few heartbeats later, he finally released her, his hands moving to frame her face.

  Her blood was roaring in her ears, singing a faint melody that was somehow familiar and welcoming, and even though Ashlyn meant to push him off, she meant to draw her fist back and punch the hell out of him- somehow she found herself pulling him closer instead, her fingers sliding into his hair as his mouth moved against hers. The combination of his lips and hands and the warming effect of the resist stane were intoxicating.

  His teeth scraped against her lower lip, and she paused, tasting her own blood on his tongue.

  He hesitated at her sharp intake of breath, and pulled back, ruby gaze taking in her shallow breathing, the blood smeared across her mouth. Ashlyn returned the stare unabashedly. She didn’t often have a chance to look Drake in the eye without feeling embarrassed about it.

  After a long moment, he sighed and eased himself off her, sitting back on the grass and rubbing a hand across his eyes exhaustedly.

  At length, Ashlyn sat up, aching all over from the numerous brutal battles she’d fought today. It felt…surreal. He’d gone from rage and bloodlust to…well…lust of another kind, all too quickly for her to keep up with.

  Drake tied the cord at the back of his neck to hold the resist stane in place. “Let me see,” he said, leaning closer. When Ashlyn tilted her head to the side, he swept her hair back behind her shoulder, his breath hissing between his teeth as he surveyed the puncture wounds on her neck. His fingers warmed against her neck, a green glow lighting his face briefly as he healed her.

  Ashlyn shifted, staring at the moonlit blades of grass, and wondering if the entire world had changed in the last few moments, or if she was simply seeing it more clearly now.

  There was something to be said for a kiss from the man you’d pined over for three years. It certainly wasn’t anything close to what her muddled brain had been able to imagine, and hugely different from the limited experience she’d had previously.

  Vargo’s kisses had teased her- tempted her with the allure of the unknown, the beauty of possibilities.

  Kissing Drake was…different. Like watching the sunrise after a lifetime of darkness, or tasting a delicacy that was the only one of its kind. Each sensation was heightened, the breath in her lungs tasting of sweet dew and the fresh hint of rain, the sounds of the night like a symphony to her senses.

  When her eyes flicked to Drake, she was surprised to see that he was staring right at her, his expression bleak.

  “Thanks,” she said lamely, feeling a little foolish.

  He shook his head, fingers still against her neck. He looked completely at a loss as to how to respond, but when his gaze returned to hers, there was a resolve in his eyes.

  He was going to apologize. He was going to pull a typical Drake, backtrack and run away- and Ashlyn realized suddenly how dangerous this was, being caught under the spell of a vampire when he displayed such an obvious aversion to her affection.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she blurted out, and pulled away before he could say anything. His hand fell from her neck.

  “Ashlyn,” he said gently. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t…what?” She smiled humorlessly as she repeated his own words back to him, and took a slow, deep breath. “The last time I tried to talk to you about…us…you said I was asking you to be something you couldn’t. Stop confusing me. I’m n
ot asking you to be anything but who you are, Drake. This-” she motioned awkwardly to her blood-streaked neck- “this is who you are.”

  Drake shook his head. “This is what I am. It has nothing to do with who I am. And that night…” He hesitated, clearly conflicted. “Ashlyn, that night…”

  “You don’t have to explain to me,” she said. It was not an experience she particularly wanted to relive anyway. She raised her hands, tucking her hair behind her ears and averting her gaze.

  “Stop.” Unexpectedly, he grabbed her wrists.

  Rather than flinching, she glared up at him. “What’s going to happen now?” she said angrily. “I’m really confused. Are you going to pretend I don’t exist every time Trace comes around? Walk away the next time I try to tell you what I’m feeling? Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve had enough heartbreak for one lifetime.”

  He lowered his hands but didn’t release her wrists, frowning. “What does Trace have to do with anything?”

  “You tell me. What is she to you?”

  “She’s…” He paused, eyes searching hers. “Ashlyn, why are you asking me?”

  “Why did you kiss me?” she shot back. “Why the hell do you keep confusing me like this?”

  “Why do you keep coming back to me?” he snarled. He stood abruptly, and turned away, the quaking of his body like a drum in Ashlyn’s ears under her heightened senses. She watched his hands trembling at his sides, a lump in her throat.

  The way he’d looked that day at North Camp Inn- so carefree and happy- was emblazoned in her mind’s eye, a horrible point of contrast to the enraged monster that stood before her now.

  She shifted, sitting cross-legged and folding her hands neatly in her lap. “I make things difficult for you, don’t I,” she said sadly.

  He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  She pursed her lips, staring at her hands and wondering how much of life consisted of destiny. Had she created this connection between them on her own? How could she have been so completely enamored if their fates weren’t somehow intertwined? Could she have truly fallen for Drake if they weren’t meant to be together?