“He just did.” Dawsick laughed, gesturing to the paper.
Myka slammed the letter against Kase’s chest and stormed away toward the river. The sky above darkened with storm clouds, and in the distance, the slow rumble of thunder moved across the sky, but right now, all Myka could focus on was the storm seething inside of her.
She’d only made it about fifteen feet before a hand wrapped around her forearm, forcing her to spin around.
It was Drake.
“Don’t touch me!” she yanked her arm away.
“I know this is hard, but the truth about your father is right in front of you.”
“No.” She shook her head as another tear fell.
“What will it take for you to finally believe me?”
A swell of wind circled around them, whipping loose strands of her hair up in the air and into her face. “Why would I believe you? You’re nothing to me. I hate you!”
His expression faltered slightly, like her words had hurt him. The movement was quick, like a sporadic body shiver, fast enough that Myka almost decided it hadn’t really happened.
His eyes went soft. “I’m sorry. I know that this isn’t the response you were expecting.”
“None of this is what I expected, and it’s all your fault! I mean it, I hate you.” His kind eyes flashed with hurt again as she turned her body and started walking away, the full onslaught of her tears threatening to come. “Don’t follow me,” she yelled over her shoulder.
Her father’s words turned into blades, cutting open the deepest wound tucked inside of her. Her mother hadn’t wanted her. Now her father didn’t either.
She made her way to the bank of the river, dropping down onto the grass. Even though she’d told Drake not to follow, he would never leave his prisoner unattended. He probably hovered somewhere close by, but she was grateful for a few moments to herself to mourn the loss of the life she used to have. The one where her father loved her and everything made sense. She crossed her legs, and her head fell into her hands. She replayed every word of his letter back through her mind, looking for some kind of clue, something she could hold on to. Her brain scrambled to find a logical reason why he had written what he had, but nothing seemed to make sense.
You can do what you want with her. She means nothing to me.
A lump formed in the back of Myka’s throat as another gush of wind whooshed by her, reminding her of the night her mother had left.
Drake
Drake paced back and forth, watching Myka’s retreating back. She was hurting, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was nowhere she could go right now, especially in this weather, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like he needed to follow her in case she needed him.
He looked up at the growling sky. Rain would come soon. When she had a big enough lead, Drake followed after her, stopping forty feet short of her. He leaned his shoulder against a tree and watched her. Even from where he stood, he could see her shoulders shaking up and down from her sobs.
When Kase had shown up with the letter, Drake had thought that would be the beginning of the end. The king wouldn’t hand over the weapons; someone like Adler would never do that. There would have to be some sort of caveat to the agreement, but what Drake hadn’t expected was the king’s complete dismissal of his only daughter. Myka hadn’t expected that either. But why was Drake so surprised? Adler had ordered Seran’s assassination, and now he had tossed aside his daughter, too.
The raw pain on Myka’s face when she had read Adler’s letter was enough to take down even the hardest of men.
It was enough to break down Drake.
But that wasn’t the worst part. Her father was dead, and Drake had to keep that information from her. It felt cruel and wrong.
Myka didn’t mean anything to Drake. At least he was trying to keep it that way—trying really hard—but she never made it easy. She was a handful, and her antics drove him nuts, but it was impossible to get her out of his mind. And at that moment, the vulnerable, broken-hearted look in her eyes crept inside of him, even though Drake thought his heart was closed tight. Maybe his feelings had something to do with the bet. Drake hated losing. But something told him the bet had nothing to do with it.
Drake closed his eyes, pushing a hand back through his hair. Drops of rain scattered around him, falling through the trees, painting splashes onto rocks and the dirt floor. The thunder above got louder, and the lightning flashes were closer together. The last thing he needed was for Myka to get electrocuted. He straightened, hoping she would come back soon.
The drops picked up their intensity, and Drake watched as Myka lifted her head from her hands, looking up to the sky. She dipped her head back, letting the rain wash over her face and hair. Drake’s breath caught. She looked beautiful but dangerous. Strong but fragile. He had the strange urge to gather her in his arms and tell her that everything would be okay. But everything wouldn’t be okay. The pain she felt right now wouldn’t wash away with the rain. A new hurt was on the horizon. When she found out about her father’s death, her heart would be ripped wide open again. Drake was familiar with that kind of hurt and how it stuck with a person the way the pain from his father’s death had stuck with him.
A loud crack of thunder jostled Myka out of her moment, and she stood, running back toward camp. Drake stepped out from his spot next to the tree. Her puffy eyes pulled to him; before he could help himself, he was walking toward her.
“I’m sorry,” he said through the rain.
“What are you sorry for?” Her voice was weak, and her body shivered against the moisture rolling off her face and the ends of her hair.
“I...I don’t know.”
“It’s not an apology if you don’t even know what you should apologize for.”
He knew, but somehow the words fell through him. There was so much to apologize for. For the way he’d been treating her, for the kidnapping, for the bet, for her father, for everything.
She waited expectantly, the pelting rain making up for the silence between them, and when Drake didn’t say anything more, her eyes grew cold. She walked past him, and immediately Drake started after her.
“Myka, wait,” he called, but she kept moving toward the house. Desperation rose inside of him, and all he wanted was to keep her with him, to make her understand what he was feeling inside even if he didn’t understand it himself. “Mykaleen!” he called as he caught up to her. He grabbed her arm, pulling her to stop and face him.
The warmth of her bare arm filtered through his skin, seeping into the core of his chest. That was an unwanted reaction. She looked down at his touch, and Drake immediately dropped his hand.
Her sad blue eyes peered up at him. “What do you want?”
“I…” He hadn’t prepared anything to say, and the unexpected skin-touch had him flustered. “I—”
She shrugged—a defeated movement that tore at Drake’s heart—then she walked away.
He shouldn’t go after her.
But somehow he knew he would.
Myka
It was time to face the truth about her father and his weapons. What more proof did Myka need? He had admitted in the letter to having them. The truth almost sounded familiar, like she had heard it every day since she was a little girl—if only she hadn’t refused to listen. She couldn’t even ask her father about the weapons or why he had done it. She couldn’t ask him why he was abandoning her. She couldn’t confront him about all the times he had lied to her over the years. His betrayal made a mockery of their life together.
She entered the shack and sank down onto the floor, leaning her back against Drake’s cot. She hugged her knees to her chest and dropped her head as she sorted through the dangerous words that her mind assaulted her with—words that made her feel worthless.
Unloved.
Betrayed.
Abandoned.
Naive.
Unwanted.
Foolish.
Gullible.
All of these years, Myka had tho
ught that she was strong, but her strength was built on a weak foundation built out of lies, a foundation that was crumbling to the ground. She had nothing left to hope for, no future that made sense, and no one left to love her.
The door opened, and Myka raised her head. Drake stood there, his clothes damp from the rain. She should probably feel embarrassed about the tears rolling down her cheeks, or her swollen eyes, or the fact that she was all alone in this world, and he knew it.
He had been right all along.
She sniffed back her emotions, trying to find whatever fragile strength she had left. “If you came to say I told you so, I don’t want to hear it.” Her voice was shaky and unsure.
Drake shook his head, the movement so subtle Myka almost missed it. “I came to see if you were okay.”
Her nose tingled as a fresh wave of emotion grew inside of her. She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m not okay,” she whispered as her resolve collapsed. Her head dropped into her hands as a sob racked through her.
In an instant, Drake was at her side on the floor. He scooped her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. Myka’s entire body shook as the levee holding back her emotions broke. Her sobs came fast and free. Drake gently stroked her hair and her arms, not saying anything, just holding her. She buried her face into his neck, giving him a glimpse of her complete grief.
Drake
Drake glanced down at Myka. She sat in his lap with her head pressed against his chest. His arms wrapped around her shoulder and waist, and her body shook from her cries, prompting him to sweep back stray pieces of her hair from her cheek. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her tight so that she wasn’t alone. This was the hardest kind of heartbreak—the heartbreak that came from the actions of someone else. Myka was innocent, experiencing pain because of her father’s choices. Her entire world had just blown up in her face. Drake wished he could spare her this pain, but he couldn’t. She had to learn the truth about her father one way or another.
He dipped his chin down. She seemed so small in his arms, and a wave of her lilac fragrance drifted toward him. Drake closed his eyes, breathing it in. Holding Myka felt right, like he was meant to comfort her and protect her for the rest of his life, but that was ridiculous. A person wasn’t meant to be with someone else. At least Drake wasn’t. He was meant to be a commander, to stay by Trev’s side. Not Myka’s.
She cried in his arms for over an hour. When her cries finally gave way to sleep, Drake stood, cradling her. She snuggled in closer to him, curling her fists up against his chest. He hesitated for a moment, staring down at her. Her cheeks were red from the tears, and her pink lips parted.
She looked peaceful.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
Gently, Drake placed her on top of the cot, then stepped back. He had a strong desire to curl up next to her and hold her all night long. His arms ached for that, and his body begged to be near her. It was like his brain was in a fog, like his heart was inside his mind erasing every line that he had drawn. He needed to shake these feelings—get rid of the urge to hold her, protect her. Because Mykaleen Adler wasn’t his. Not really.
22
Myka
Myka opened her eyes. The soft glow of morning light filled the shack, and she lifted her exhausted body from the mattress. She didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep or how she’d gotten to the cot. She looked around the room. It was empty. A creep of red started up her face as she remembered crying herself to sleep in Drake’s lap and him carrying her to bed. She didn’t know why she was embarrassed. Drake had seen rock-bottom Myka over and over again since he’d kidnapped her. But this time felt different. This time, he’d comforted her, and she’d let him. The memory of his arms wrapped around her and the safety of his body against hers warmed everything inside of her. That’s where the embarrassment came in. Myka had liked being held by Drake Vestry.
She wondered where he was and when he would come home. Not that Myka thought of the shack as their little home or them as some kind of couple because they weren’t. She was his prisoner.
She sat on the cot, leaning against the wall. Her knees were tucked up to her chest, her arms cradling around them with her head down. It was her I’ve given up position, but her head popped up when the chains outside banged together, and the lock shifted. Drake opened the door, and her heart stumbled when he walked into the room. How could a person hate someone and be so excited to see them at the same time?
He shut the door and rested his back against the wood, staring at her hunched-over form. A piece of his hair swept down across his brow, and his face was covered in stubble, like he hadn’t bothered shaving.
“When you weren’t here this morning, I hoped that you were dead somewhere,” she said with a half-smile. That wasn’t true, but it seemed like a good way to break the awkwardness between them that she had built up in her mind. “But I can see now that I’m not that lucky.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said, smiling back at her.
“So,” she shrugged, “what’s the plan now?”
His smile dropped. “We want to respond to your father’s letter, but nobody can come to an agreement, so I think we’ll give it a day or two, try to let everyone figure it out.”
“You mean, figure out what to do with me now that my father doesn’t want me.”
Drake nodded. “Most likely, you’ll come back to Albion with me.”
Excitement and disappointment flowed through her. There was a part of her that wanted to stay with Drake, but Albion wasn’t her home. The thought of never seeing Rommel and Joett again broke her heart. And what about her father? He wasn’t dead yet, but he would be soon enough. Part of her wanted to be there with him when he died. He was still her father—all she had left.
“But we don’t have to worry about any of that right now,” Drake said.
Myka bit her lip. She was worried. Everything about her future felt uncertain.
“There’s something I want to show you,” he said, walking toward her.
“What?” She looked up at him.
“I want to take you somewhere,” he said it with a smile that made him look way too attractive for his own good—or for Myka’s.
“Why?”
“Because you look sad, and I want to cheer you up.”
He reached his hand out for hers, and Myka swallowed. He was just being polite. Helping her up as if she was an eighty-year-old woman with back problems. There was nothing about the situation that needed analyzing. She had back problems, or at least that was what she would tell herself tonight when she thought back to this outstretched hand moment.
Back problems.
She took Drake’s hand, and there went her heart, racing out of control. Slowly he pulled her up to a standing position. His fingers lingered longer than necessary before he let go. She’d have to analyze the meaning of that later—and the meaning of the look in his eyes. It wasn’t the usual look. It was a charged and confusing stare.
“Okay,” she said.
He led her out of the shack and started toward the woods, placing his hands in his pockets. Was Drake as freaked out by their hand touch as she was? He probably hadn’t even noticed or thought about it. His hands in his pockets were a mere coincidence.
“Before Desolation, this land used to be known as Wisconsin,” he said as they entered the deeper part of the woods.
Myka raised her eyebrows. “Thanks for the geography lesson. I am from Tolsten, you know.”
“I think I remember that about you.” Drake smiled, one of his heart-pumping smiles, making everything inside of her feel better.
“Anyway, when the first signs of Desolation started happening—the earthquakes, the crazy weather—a lot of people started thinking bigger, about how they could keep their families safe. There were a lot of threats in the news about nuclear war breaking out, so people started building shelters they could live in to survive the catastrophes.”
Myka stepped over a fallen tree bra
nch. Her eyes stayed focused on the ground in front of her, but her mind raced with the stories of the past. “What kind of shelter could keep somebody safe from a nuclear attack?”
“Back then, they called them bomb shelters. They were built underground and made with the strongest materials. Not only would these shelters keep them safe from bombs, but they also protected them from some of the natural disasters.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?”
“A couple of days ago, I found one of those bomb shelters...from before Desolation.”
Myka’s mouth opened. “You mean you found the remains of a bomb shelter?”
“No.” His eyes left his steps in front of him and met hers. “I found the entire shelter still intact.”
“How is that even possible? It’s been over two hundred years. How was the shelter not destroyed or falling apart?”
“I don’t know, but I think it has something to do with the fact that it was built into the ground, and there were no major earthquakes that we know of in this part of Wisconsin.”
“Where is it?”
“Down there,” Drake said. He pointed to the sloping hill in front of them. “Careful. It’s pretty steep, and all the rain yesterday made it slick.”
Myka took deliberate steps, trying not to fall, but the ground beneath her moved, and her feet slipped. She almost fell, but Drake wrapped an arm around her waist, catching her. It was a small gesture, something any human being might do to make sure the person next to them didn’t fall, but for some reason, that small action made her stomach fill with butterflies. Myka had waited her whole life to feel butterflies. How disappointing that the feeling had been triggered by her enemy. Was Drake her enemy? Lately, it was getting hard to tell. She pulled away, not knowing what else to do.
When they got to the bottom of the hill, Drake turned to the right. In front of her, built into the earth, was a black metal wall. In the middle of the black wall was a silver rectangle. She assumed it was a moveable door that opened wide. To the right of the larger door was a smaller metal door with rust covering the front of it.
The Stolen Princess: A YA Dystopian Romance (Desolation Book 3) Page 21