Regret (Lady of Toryn Trilogy)

by Charity Santiago

  Kou shoved the door to her house so hard that it almost fell off its tracks, and disappeared inside. Ashlyn hesitated, wondering if she should take somebody in with her, and Vargo ran into her from behind.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Party’s out here.”

  “Kou’s in my house,” she explained breathlessly, and glanced back. To her extreme delight, there didn’t seem to be many monsters left. Could Toryn be winning? This might be our chance to destroy the shift army once and for all, she thought, and motioned to Vargo to follow her. “We’ve got to catch him before he escapes.”

  She entered the house cautiously, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness inside. The door leading to the basement was wide open, so Ashlyn tiptoed over to it, careful not to make a sound. The distinctive sound of a squeaking metal gate reached her ears. She’d been right- Kou was trying to free Tag.

  Ashlyn crept down the stairs, knife and shuriken at the ready. It was perfectly dark downstairs, and she paused, wondering if maybe she and Vargo shouldn’t wait for Skye.

  Something grazed against her legs, like a cord of some kind, and abruptly her knees were pulled together before something hard smacked against her calf.

  “Look out!” Ashlyn cried, losing her balance and tumbling down the stairs. The weapons skittered out of her hands as she landed, and she smacked her head hard against the stone floor, dizzying her for a moment. The lights came on immediately, and Kou stood above her, a second bola in his hand. He snatched the knife from its sheath on her thigh, but stumbled forward when Vargo hit him in the back with the baton. He recovered quickly, diving out of the way before Vargo could land a second blow.

  Her head swimming, Ashlyn fumbled clumsily with the bola around her legs, trying to untangle the leather cord that had her restrained. Kou was swinging the second bola above his head now, preparing to use it as a close combat weapon. He and Vargo circled each other like two wild animals waiting to pounce. In the corner, Ashlyn saw Tag fumbling with his armlet. He glanced at her, and his eyes suddenly began to glow green.

  She realized that Tag was going to transform right now, and she twisted, looking around for her weapons. Her sword was all the way on the other side of the room, but the shuriken was pretty close- maybe close enough for her to crawl to.

  Tag began to scream as he shifted, the same primal howl that she had heard that first time, in this same basement. Trying to ignore the throbbing ache in her head and sudden nausea, Ashlyn rolled over on her stomach and inched towards the shuriken.

  Kou swung the bola at Vargo, and the Spartan ducked forward, striking cleanly at the base of the Toryn man’s skull with the baton. Kou dropped into a somersault, putting some distance between himself and the red-haired man. Vargo advanced, trying to maintain his aggressive advantage, but Kou managed to swing the bola again and wrap the cord around Vargo’s baton. Kou jerked hard, yanking the baton out of Vargo’s hands and smashing it against the wall behind him.

  Ashlyn reached the shuriken and snatched it up, rolling onto her back again and trying to use the blades to saw through the bola cord. The cord was wrapped so tightly around her legs that it was hard to find an angle where she could cut the cord and not herself, but she managed to get through one strand, although the bola still didn’t budge.

  A shadow fell over her, and Ashlyn looked up to see Tag looming above her, saliva dripping from his muzzle. Her legs were still trapped. She had no way to escape.

  Tag snarled and raised up on his hind legs briefly, intending to come down and crush her with his front paws. Ashlyn quickly rolled out of the way, moving until she hit the opposite wall, and then scrambled into a sitting position. Please, please, please! She sawed at the bola cord, willing something to give so she could free her legs.

  The Tag-beast lumbered towards her, and Ashlyn knew there was no way she was going to cut the cord in time. She readied herself to throw the shuriken, racking her brain for all the different possible angles for a death blow.

  Vargo suddenly leaped in front of her and launched himself at Tag- completely unarmed and barely half the size of the shift monster, Ashlyn realized in horror. Vargo and Tag tumbled backwards, with Vargo ending up on top and raining punches down on the surprised creature.

  She flexed the muscles in her legs on sheer adrenaline and desperation, forcing her calves apart just enough to slide one of the shuriken’s blades beneath the cord. Glancing up, she saw Kou coming for her. Crap! The cord gave at the last moment, and she rolled aside as the bola in Kou’s hands smashed into the wall where her head had been.

  She spun and leaped up, using her momentum to spin into a butterfly kick, one hand on the floor as she drove at Kou with her legs. He leaped backwards, but Ashlyn followed the move with a twist kick, spinning forward twice in a complete five hundred and forty degree rotation, her legs lashing out with the motion. The second kick connected, and Kou fell to the floor, dropping the knife. Ashlyn turned, ready to throw the shuriken at Tag, but Kou’s bola wrapped around her weapon, yanking it out of her hands.

  She turned again, but Kou was already moving up the stairs, and just then Vargo screamed behind her. Ashlyn froze, unsure of what to do. Vargo screamed again.

  She spun and ran towards Tag, scooping up her knife from the floor as she did. The beast was on top of Vargo, ripping and tearing, and the cries coming from Vargo were turning into terrifyingly weak gurgles. Ashlyn drove her knife into the bear’s fur, as close to his head as she could get. Tag shuddered and rose up on his hind legs, knocking her backwards. Ashlyn managed to catch herself with one hand and rushed forward again, stabbing blindly into the mass of fur. Tag batted her aside with one paw, sending her crashing into the wall.

  If he’d decided to attack again, she might not have been able to fend him off, but for whatever reason, Tag decided to run, dashing up the stairs after Kou.

  The room was spinning around her, but Ashlyn fell forward, clambering across the floor on her hands and knees to Vargo. The sight was horrifying. He was gasping for air and sobbing openly, blood bubbling from his mouth as he coughed. His arms and stomach were shredded so badly that Ashlyn couldn’t tell what was clothing and what was flesh.

  Why had she switched out the heal stane from her armlet? Why had she let Kou take her shuriken? Ashlyn silently cursed her stupidity.

  “Ashlyn,” Vargo gasped, and his hand clutched blindly for hers. She took it, trying to think of what to do.

  “I’ve got to get help,” she told him. “You’ve gotta wait here, okay?”

  “No!” His hand clamped down even harder on her fingers. “Don’t leave me. Don’t…hell.” He coughed wetly, hacking up blood. “Don’t you…don’t you dare leave me here alone.”

  Ashlyn’s eyes fell on his armlet, revealed now that his sleeves had been torn off. The armlet was smeared with blood, but she could still see flecks of green from the heal stane beneath.

  “Hang on,” she said, scrabbling with her free hand for the stane. “Just stay still.” The gem popped out of the armlet, and Ashlyn closed her eyes, praying as hard as she could for Drago’s guidance as the stane began to glow in her hand.

  Chapter 7

  If Not For You

  “Ashlyn.”

  She bolted upright, teetering in her chair, face numb from being smushed up against a book. “What?” Her sleep-blurred gaze fell on Drake standing in the doorway.

  He stepped into the room, moving further into the lamplight, and she noticed that his hair was wet. Hers was still slightly damp from her bath the night before, and Ashlyn ran a hand over her hair self-consciously, remembering that it was still jagged and unkempt from Skye’s hurried chop job back in the forest. Before that, it had hung nearly to her waist, but now the longest strands of her ponytail barely reached her shoulders.

  “How is he?” she asked Drake. The vampire had been working through the night, trying to heal Vargo’s injuries.

  Despite her lack of skill with heal and her trepidation over using it on injuries
so extensive, Ashlyn had done her best to fix the worst of his wounds, starting with his midsection, which was torn open and gushing blood. She’d managed to knit his stomach together, staunching the worst of the blood flow as Vargo drifted in and out of consciousness.

  The battle outside had ended quickly, with the Toryn army emerging triumphant and only a few of the shift monsters escaping- Kou and Tag included. Drake had found Ashlyn shortly after, and begun ministrations of his own on Vargo, but as he had tersely explained to Ashlyn, the other man’s injuries were so severe, and his insides such a mess, that Drake’s main goal was simply to keep him alive. Healing Vargo completely was out of the question.

  “He’ll make it,” Drake answered, and sank into the chair opposite her.

  Ashlyn felt a rush of relief and gratitude- for Drake and for Vargo, who had undeniably saved her life. “Is he awake?”

  Drake shook his head. “He’ll be asleep for at least another hour. He lost a great deal of blood. He did…request your presence several times last night. I think perhaps you should see him when he wakes.” He shifted in his chair, leaning forward and looking curiously at the book that lay open in front of Ashlyn.

  “Oh.” She shrugged, lifting the book so he could see its title. “I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep…guess I was wrong about that…so I came here to do some research on Toryn customs. I’m still looking to see what the rules are for the Elder Heir selecting a successor.”

  The vampire’s eyebrows knitted. “Still running from your destiny?”

  No, just trying to take my mind off Vargo. “Not really,” she said. “I think I’m pretty much resigned to it now. But I don’t want a situation like this- this war- to start all over again if something should happen to me down the line. I’ll need to choose someone I trust to take over if I happen to die in, I don’t know, a freak accident or something. I was thinking Skye, but I’m…well, I’m having a hard time finding anything about non-Toryns assuming leadership.” She wiped at her cheek with one hand, smiling humorlessly. “It’d probably help some if I didn’t fall asleep while reading. It’s like grade school all over again.”

  Drake smiled back at her, and something in his expression was almost tender. “You’re entitled to some rest, Ashlyn.”

  “You’re one to talk. When was the last time you slept?” She knew the answer to that already. He’d lain beside her in the cave, holding her as she slept. The memory brought a blush to her cheeks.

  “You were talking in your sleep,” Drake said, ignoring her question completely.

  “Was I? I was dreaming.” She yawned, stretching her hands above her head. “I keep thinking about this painting I saw in the Eastern City mansion. It’s been years since I even looked at it, but for some reason I can’t get it out of my head.”

  “What painting?”

  “The one in the hallway to the left of the big staircase. On the second floor. It’s hanging…I think it’s right before the third doorway on the left. It’s really pretty, very abstract, just a bunch of different shades of red, all swirly and overlapping. Every time I look at it, I see something new that I didn’t notice before.” She rubbed a hand across her eyes, and smiled at Drake. “So how are you feeling? You must be tired.”

  “I…” Drake began, then trailed off, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. He cleared his throat. “I came here to speak with you.”

  “About what?” Ashlyn closed the book in front of her and propped her chin on the heel of her hand.

  “About Trace,” he clarified, and Ashlyn’s good mood dissipated. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the story behind Drake’s relationship with the tiny blond Spartan.

  “Sure, go on,” she said.

  Drake fixed her with a look. “It’s certainly not something I ever thought I’d have to explain, but let me begin by saying that Trace and I are friends. Nothing more.”

  Ashlyn opened her mouth, then closed it, debating about whether she should speak her mind or not. “You don’t really have friends, though,” she said after a moment. “Other than me, of course.”

  He looked bemused. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you don’t. You’re antisocial and...what is that word Trace always calls Ellis? Laconic. That’s it. You’re laconic. You don’t talk to anyone and you keep to yourself.”

  “I talk to you,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah, now.”

  “It’s different with you, Ashlyn. You’ve always been my opposite in every way. Imagine living my life for decades and then being confronted with you. If you light a lamp in a dark room, it takes some time for your eyes to adjust.”

  “But you warmed up to Trace pretty darn fast,” Ashlyn said, knowing she sounded hopelessly bitter and unable to stop herself.

  “What grounds have I ever given you to assume that I am anything but friends with Trace?” he asked, clearly exasperated.

  “I saw the two of you- a year ago. At North Camp Inn!”

  “I meet with the Spartans once a year,” Drake said. “It’s a condition of my agreement with Jackson. Vampires are dangerous, and he and I are both aware of the risks associated with my…condition. I meet with the Spartans- usually just one of them- to reassure them that I still have resist and that I’m not a danger to the Free Lands. They report back to Jackson. I met with Trace in North Camp last year because she couldn’t make it to Storim.”

  “But when I saw you with her, you were smiling!”

  “Am I not permitted to smile?”

  “Not at Trace,” Ashlyn mumbled, for once fully aware of how immature she sounded.

  They both were sitting back in their chairs now, arms folded across their chests, glaring at each other.

  “Why is it that I tried for so long to get you to come out of your shell, to talk to me, to smile at me, to act like you were alive again, and it didn’t happen until I was completely out of the picture?” she demanded. “It makes me feel so lousy. Do you know how hard I was crushing on you the entire time we were tracking Lord Angelo?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you completely ignored me!”

  Drake looked affronted. “You were fifteen.”

  “You’re freaking ancient! Who the hell cares?”

  He cracked a grin at that, conceding her point silently.

  “Anyway, I’m not fifteen anymore.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m well aware of that.”

  She mimicked the movement, quirking her eyebrow back at him.

  He sighed, and it was a long-suffering sound. Poor beleaguered vampire. “You complicate things for me.”

  “I know.” They’d had a similar conversation by the lake. “Why?”

  “Surely you have to see why, Ashlyn. Trace is…very…safe. We are friends. There is no complication.”

  “I’m your friend,” she said, wounded.

  “Yes, but...” He paused, and smiled, a little self-consciously. “I want more.”

  With great effort, Ashlyn somehow refrained from jumping up and screaming ecstatically at the top of her lungs.

  “Oh?” she managed.

  Drake looked distinctly uncomfortable after that admission, and after a moment he stood up, his boots scraping against the concrete floor.

  “You’re leaving?” Ashlyn said, disappointed. She’d been hoping for some mad, passionate declaration of love, but she supposed that wasn’t Drake’s style.

  He nodded.

  The silence, by now a familiarity to Ashlyn when Drake was around, stretched on for several heartbeats. She stared hard at the book on the table, determined not to appear overzealous. Whatever was happening with Drake, she didn’t want to crowd him.

  “If for some reason I’m not at the designated meeting place to greet the Spartans, Jackson has given them orders to find me immediately,” he said at length.

  She looked up, a little surprised that he’d gone back to the topic of the Spartans. “To do what?”

  He turned to face her. “To ascertain
whether or not I still have resist.” His eyes were encouraging, urging her to keep pressing.

  Ashlyn bit her lower lip, feeling suddenly a little apprehensive about where this was going. “And if you don’t have it?”

  “They have instructions to attempt to use a second resist stane to subdue me…or kill me if the attempt is unsuccessful.”

  He was so casual about the subject that Ashlyn almost rolled her eyes. It had been so long since he’d been doom-and-gloom man that she’d nearly forgotten about that side of his personality. “I didn’t even know there was a second resist.”

  Drake nodded. “There are probably more somewhere, but only two that we know of. The Spartans have always held the second one, for safekeeping.” He walked around the table, unhurriedly, kneeling beside Ashlyn as she turned in her chair to face him.

  “Give me your hand,” he said softly, and as she held out her fingers to him, he gently applied pressure, sliding his thumb up from her wrist to the heel of her hand so that her palm was turned up.

  He laid a necklace against her fingers. It was a black cord, similar to the one he wore, with a yellow stane set in a gold backing. Ashlyn’s eyes flicked to the first resist stane, still on its cord around Drake’s neck, and realized that the one in her hand must be the second stane, the one that the Spartans usually kept for him.

  As resist touched her skin, Ashlyn felt warmth spreading through her hand, creeping up her arm and threading its way through her body.

  She met Drake’s eyes, acutely aware of the significance of this gift.

  “It’s yours,” he said.

  He stood and walked out, and a few seconds later she heard the clomping of his boots on the steps leading up to the cobblestone street.

  Smiling, Ashlyn lifted the necklace and tied the cord around her neck, trying to slow the frantic beating of her hopelessly romantic heart.

  She picked up the book, and decided to go find Restlyn. Now was definitely an appropriate time for girl talk.