Cale and Rory looked to Victor to decide what should be done next, if the fight would be continued. Victor ran a bloodied hand across his shaven hair.
“I have this business to attend to,” he said. He squinted at the brothers. “Take your zeiz and never come back here.”
“I’m dying,” Rory said through clenched teeth as he rubbed his chest. They were in the parking lot at last, where there was no further need for false bravado. “Victor hits like a sledge hammer.”
Cameron took Rory’s keys from his pocket without a word. Then, he gave each of his brothers a boost into the back of the truck.
“Just like old times,” Cale said.
Cale forced each of his muscles to relax as Cameron drove off, but he couldn’t fall asleep as easily as Rory did. Not without Ava. He dreaded explaining to her why they didn’t get the money, why they’d never make it to Ireland, why he’d failed her in every way.
He closed his eyes, trying to imagine her beside him as the wind rushed over his head.
Twelve
Splinters
The lights in the O’Hara’s kitchen were dimmed, making the room seem colder. Cameron had done it for Rory’s sake, tampering with the lighting system while Rory was in the bathroom. Though light sensitivity was a common blue dragon trait, Cameron had grown accustomed to the severity of artificial light. Despite his red blood, it was Rory whose sensitivity had always been more intense.
Cameron said nothing as he sat across from the eldest Anders brother. Rory held his hand over the candle in the center of the table and let the small flame mend his knuckles.
Cale waited for his turn, drumming the fingers of his uninjured hand on the table top.“Onna’s stoking the bath,” he said, because he felt like he needed to say something.
Rory nodded his response, his attention purposefully on the flickering flame. Cameron watched them both with his arm resting on the table, motionless. If Cale didn’t know better, he’d say his younger brother was a marble statue. It took a sharp eye to tell that Cameron was even breathing at all.
Cale cleared his throat. “So, we should talk–about…” He scratched his nails against the varnish on the table. About what? About things we can’t change? About how miserable I am? He felt his mind turning over, then stalling, turning over, then stalling again. It was hard for him to think straight without remembering Mac’s words, without feeling the hole in his heart widen.
“I hate this,” Rory said, still running his fingers through the fire. His face drooped into a scowl.
“Well, it’s necessary,” Cale replied.
When they were young, the brothers had called it the Vomit Club. It was a disgusting name, but it suited the nature of the meetings to a tee. The boys were supposed to sit together and spit out everything they’d been holding in. And then–though it made them want to gag–they were to sort through the mess and analyze it. When they were through, they were supposed to wipe it up and move on.
That was the idea, at least. It had all been Cale’s doing, though Rory had come up with the title. Most of the meetings ended with the table being flipped, cutlery being hurled, and Cameron locking himself in the basement as a form of self-preservation.
“I’ll go first,” Cale offered.
It was always that way. Never once had any of his brothers volunteered to take that initial step, to throw up what was on his mind before the others. Cale waited for his thoughts to form into something usable, something that he could speak out loud. But they remained as they were–a dull ache rattling about in his head.
He blinked the discomfort away, starting with what he hoped would be the most approachable topic. He needed his brothers to be okay. He didn’t want them to throw away their nest for him. If Cameron wanted to go to the monastery, fine. And Rory had already lost his red dragon birthright when he mated before marriage. But they didn’t have to lose their family, their name. Not on my behalf.
“I–I don’t think that either of you should associate with me anymore.”
Rory grunted and opened his mouth to protest, but Cale held up his hand. “I’m not finished. Let me explain.” He took a deep breath and tried not to look at either of them. “I know we’re all…different… from one another. I know our races don’t always see eye to eye. But we’ve managed to make it all these years without murdering each other. And I think that makes us brothers. But–”
“I must interrupt,” Cameron said. “You’re wasting your time with this speech. It’s insulting that you think we’d be so easily swayed.”
“Speak for yourself,” Rory said across the table. He pursed his lips at Cameron and folded his arms across his chest.
Cameron looked at Rory, his pale skin an impenetrable mask. Only those who knew him well could see the anger flash in his still, deep eyes.
“You may disagree with me, Rory,” he said, his lips barely moving, “but you don’t disagree with what I said. Therefore, it’s illogical to interrupt me.” A hint of a smirk. “Sure, even you understand this.”
Rory pointed a finger at Cameron, his eyes narrowing. “See, this is what I can’t stand about you.” Crimson washed over his face in an instant, forcing his freckles to disappear. “Stop putting your thoughts in my mouth. For once in your life, quit assuming you know what I’m thinking.”
“Perhaps you should try to produce less predictable thoughts.”
“Perhaps you should learn to keep your mouth shut. Or will that take another sixteen years for you to grasp?”
Cameron’s eyes flashed again, a tint of blue on his face. Even though Cam was unmoving, Cale knew his brother’s mind was racing, computing a dozen insults that would slice Rory’s pride to the bone.
“Alright,” Cale said. “Enough.”
Cale was well familiar with the explosions of temper from Rory. They came on quickly and with little provocation. But Cameron was usually not so easy to read. Seeing the anger in him worried Cale. He had a feeling that the blue dragon had a habit of holding his fury in for too long –sixteen years too long.
Cale had never seen Cameron snap. He only knew that after half a semester at the blue academy, Cameron was back at the Anders' front door with bruised knuckles and a letter that Karma scanned, folded tightly, and hid somewhere in her basement lab. Cam had told Cale bits and pieces, but Cale didn’t have to wonder why Karma didn’t want the rest of the family to know what Cameron had done. She was ashamed.
Cale let the memory lead him to his decision to play it safe. “Let’s talk another time. I’m tired from the fight, anyways.”
“No.” Rory snapped, turning on Cale. “You don’t get to decide when we start and stop this nonsense.” His face was so red, Cale could feel the heat from it even from where he sat.
“Don’t pretend to listen to me now, Cale,” he continued. “Tell us how you plan to make everything right all on your own.” He lifted his hands in feigned reverence. “Because you’re Almighty Cale, the pure and honest. Tell us how you’re going to soar through the skies. Tell us how you’re going to change history with your sad little rider.”
“This meeting isn’t about Ava.” Cale’s fingers curled into fists, despite himself. He was so close to screaming that he had to concentrate on keeping his mouth closed when he wasn’t speaking.
“No, it’s all about you. I wouldn’t expect anything different.”
Cale was having trouble inhaling deeply enough. “You’re trying to make me the bad guy now?”
“You’d never pull it off,” Cameron said under his breath.
Cale blinked at Cameron. He expected Rory’s temper to bring unprovoked insults to his red dragon lips. But Cameron? The calm and collected, the rational….? Cale had never been anything but understanding for the both of them. He’d tried. He’d tried so hard.
And this is what I am to them? This is what they thought of me all this time?
“Fine,” Cale said, his chest growing hotter with each word. “What would you two have me do? You want me to mess up? Tell me
how and I’ll do it. Teach me.” He glared at Rory, but he could hardly make out his brother. All he saw was red.
“Bring me a girl,” Cale said, so calmly that he gave himself chills. But he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. He wanted them to know how angry he was. So he tapped the table with his knuckle. “I’ll do her right here, so you can watch.”
Rory blushed on Cale’s behalf. Rory and Cameron shared a look, their brows drawn, as if they knew they’d gone too far. They’d pushed him, yes, but they had no idea how close to the edge Cale already was.
He gripped the edges of the table so hard that the wood groaned. “What Cam? You want me to knock your headmaster’s teeth out, too? Or better yet, I could just kill him. You want me to drive to his house and slit his throat?”
Blue rushed to Cameron’s cheeks and he glanced at the door, but Cale smashed his fist into the table, breaking the bones in his already bruised hand. He didn’t slow down, not even for a second. “Don’t look away now,” he yelled at Cameron. “Admit it! That would make you feel better, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?”
His breaths were ragged. The smoke that slipped from his mouth and nostrils was thick and dark. “Or how about I lose everything?! Will we be the same then? Will I be enough then?!”
Cale flipped the table. He wrenched one of the legs off and swung, again and again until it was no more than a heap of splintered wood. And still, he beat it, until he was sure that what was already dead was dead once more.
Rory and Cameron were both motionless in their chairs. They kept their mouths shut tight as they watched him.
Cale dropped the table leg to the ground and crumpled amidst the rubble. He was glad he was out of breath. He wanted to stop breathing altogether. He pressed his hands to his face. When he looked at his palms, they were riddled with splinters, but they didn’t seem to hurt. He noticed without reaction that his right hand was swollen, his bones shattered. Nothing hurts anymore. It wasn’t hard to convince himself of that. He felt numb everywhere.
Rory stood up and hovered for a moment. Then he walked to the front door without a word and closed it gently behind him. Cale thought the soft click of the latch would sting, but it was painless. You don’t feel anything, Cale. Nothing can hurt you anymore.
Cameron was silent for longer than any other red dragon would have tolerated –anyone besides Cale. He watched his brother, replaying the events that had taken place over and over again in his mind. When he spoke, his voice was ice.
“I regret my words.”
Cale nodded, glad that the lump in his throat prohibited his reply. He couldn’t think of what to say, anyways.
“I would still like to travel to Ireland with you and your rider, if we come upon the finances. But I’ll respect your wishes and go no further.”
Cale nodded again, and Cameron stood up and walked out the door, shrouded in his usual silence.
Cale thought he was alone until he heard footsteps. Onna stood behind him and leaned over, her black hair swishing around his face as she watched him. She walked around him and knelt, picking up the table leg in her small hands. She sat beside Cale and spread her legs out over the ruined wood so that their shoes touched.
“I always hated this table,” she said, turning its leg over in her hands. “Had a lot of lonely meals on it.” She tried to smile, but it was too weak to make it to her eyes. “Guess I know where Myra’s been disappearing to all this time.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off Cale, but not for the usual reasons. His face was dark, his lips pulled into a frown. Onna had seen him upset before, but never for so long. And never like that. She reached over and put her hand against his back.
“They’re wrong,” she said. “You don’t need them. And I don’t need Myra.”
When she leaned in, Cale caught the scent of her. She was always changing her perfume, and Cale didn’t recognize the newest one. Onna pressed her lips to his, firmly, as though she was meant to be there.
They were just as soft as he remembered.
Cale didn’t push her away. He didn’t move at all. He kept every muscle and every thought as perfectly still as he could. He was afraid that if he encouraged her, if he let himself react even a little, he wouldn’t have what it took to stop himself. And losing his birthright to Onna was not what he wanted. She knew that. She’d always known that. Onna pulled away and looked into Cale’s eyes until hers began to fill with water.
“Onna….”
She shook her head and gave a bitter laugh. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault. Again.” She wiped the tears as quickly as she could and smiled, not because she was happy, but precisely because she wasn’t.
Cale pulled her into him, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She felt hot against his chest. “Something’s probably wrong with me, kid.”
She chuckled and sniffled at the same time. It had been a while since he’d used that nickname on her. “Right? I mean, I’m pretty freaking hot, Cale.”
Cale remembered the first fight time Onna ever spoke to him. They were five years old and her mother had braided her hair into pigtails. She’d proposed to him at a barbecue, and when he wrinkled his nose and pretended to gag, she pounced, punched him in the belly, and swept his legs from under him. As she loomed over him, Cale flat on his back and her pigtails dangling above him, she scowled. “Wrong answer.”
Thirteen years later, Cale couldn’t help but wonder what his problem was. She was beautiful, that was for sure–from her obsidian hair to her flawless shape. Her lips were tempting, to say the least. And Cale knew she’d gotten her mating mark because of him, someplace he’d see it.
But most of all, she’d been there for him, in her own Onna way. When his brothers broke the furniture during their therapy sessions, it was Onna he vented to. It was Onna who went running with him to calm his mood.
“Have I ever thanked you?” Cale asked.
“Too many times,” she replied.
Onna stood up and offered Cale her hand. He hid his flinch from her as her palm pressed against the splinters he still wore in his broken hand. She was about to walk off when Cale grabbed her arm. “One more thing. Where did you and Ava take off to earlier?”
Onna shrugged, her frown returning, her face darkening. “Ask her yourself.”
So Cale knocked on the door of the guest room that he and Ava shared. She sat on the edge of the bed in her pajamas, running a towel over her hair. Cale knew she’d just gotten out of the shower. She smelled like soap.
Ava lowered her towel when she saw him. She waited for a moment, as if deciding whether to speak or not. “There was a lot of shouting going on down there,” she said at last. “Lots of…smashing.”
Cale smiled, but he felt his head reel a bit. He sat next to Ava on the bed and took in the sight of her, the steadiness of her gaze. If he tried, he could feel how strong her heartbeat was without even touching her.
Cale held out his hand to her. “I broke it,” he said.
Ava’s eyes widened when she saw it. His skin was black and red, his joints swollen. She took it as gently as she could and turned it over in hers. Little chunks of wood mixed with the bright red blood in his palm.
Ava stretched over the bed, reaching toward her pillow. Cale couldn’t help but stare. When she moved, she revealed the smooth brown of her midsection. Cale wondered what her skin would feel like, but he didn’t try to find out. Instead, he waited patiently as she retrieved the dragonblade that she’d kept tucked under her pillow.
Cale had a feeling that if she wasn’t in her pajamas, she would have had the weapon on her person. People don’t know what they’re talking about. His rider was ready for anything. His trust for her was tangible. When he looked at her furrowed brow, at how she used the knife to ease the splinters out one by one, he could almost taste how he felt about her. Rothai wasn’t a strong enough word, even though it came from his core, from the vocabulary that had been passed on since the birth of the first red dragon. It didn’t capture Ava. Not entire
ly. Cale closed his eyes for a second as the word came to him. Sarai. He had no doubt in his mind. If he could choose a title for Ava, that would be it.
He winced as she pulled at a particularly snarled sliver of wood. She glanced up at him for less than a second. “Don’t be a baby.”
He grinned at that. Then he reached out and wrapped an arm around her. “I’m really glad I have you, Ava.”
After a moment, she broke free of his embrace, a smile on her own face. “You’re extra mushy tonight. Your brothers give you a hard time about me?”
Cale shrugged. “It was more about me, actually.”
“You? What did you do wrong?”
Cale sighed. “Apparently not enough.”
Ava stopped and looked at him. Then she reached back under her pillow again. Cale swallowed, knowing he should be responsible, knowing he should close his eyes or look away. But he watched eagerly, imagining tracing a finger against her abdomen, imagining what it would feel like.
Ava sat back up with a lighter in her hand. She frowned at Cale. “What?”
Cale almost jumped. “What? Nothing.”
“You look…funny.”
Cale prayed to God she didn’t ask what he’d been thinking about. He sighed with relief as she flicked the lighter on and held it under his hand. His bones mended slowly and the holes the splinters left in him stitched themselves back together.
Ava watched the fire for a while, thinking through what she was about to say until she found the right combination of words.
“There’s nothing wrong with needing them, Cale.”
Cale hated the pang in his chest. He wanted to be numb again, but being with Ava made him put his defenses down, made the numbness dissolve into raw emotion. “I think…I think it might be easier… not to need people.”
Ava bit her lip, her thoughts moving like deep waters when she wanted them to be trickles. Too much for her to distill quickly. Too much to explain. She could still feel what had happened to her, what she’d done to herself.
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