by Cecy Robson
Frankie wished he told Dahlia he loved her sooner. He never knew Dahlia had wished for so much more.
I pour myself a glass of iced tea, the last from the batch I made the last time we cooked. As I finish the glass, I stare at Dahlia’s closed bedroom door, promising myself I would no longer open it.
After showering, I slip into bed, the pain in my chest stirring as I curl into the sheets. Ryker helped me deal with my pain. In his presence, the hole in my heart filled and made living without Dahlia possible. But he isn’t here now. And I really want him to be.
I reach for my cell phone and hit his number.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I just need to hear your voice.
I crawl further beneath the covers and sweep my damp hair over the pillow. “What are your plans for tomorrow? Are we covering all medieval weaponry or only that ball thingy with the spikes?”
He chuckles. “I prefer you master your whip before we move forward. We’ll begin with a small run―”
“A run?” I interrupt. “As in, running?”
“You may prance if it’s more to your liking.”
He’s making fun of me. I grin, welcoming the distraction. “Only if you prance with me.”
“Death doesn’t prance.”
“Does it boogey?” I muse.
“No.”
“How about shimmy?” I offer. “Surely Death shimmies?”
“Olivia, we need to build your stamina. That means running―”
“Or prancing,” I remind him.
“And weight training as we discussed.”
“You’re going to make me lift heavy objects that make me go, umph, aren’t you?” I guess.
“Yes,” he agrees. “And plenty of them.”
We continue our banter between discussions of whip training and basic beheading techniques. Seriously, that’s what he calls them. Our talk lasts an hour. When I disconnect my eyes are heavy with sleep. My thoughts, though, immediately return to Dahlia.
The way her father regarded me when he asked me to avenge his daughter haunts me. I don’t know if I can save her. Without Ryker, I’m not sure I can save myself. A hundred Cù-Sìth with bear-sized bodies and snapping jaws, and a psycho alpha egging them on, that’s what awaits me.
The reminder chills me. I burrow deeper in my bed. As I close my eyes, the memory of Dahlia’s smiling face causes them to burn.
My body shudders. I don’t want to cry yet there’s that impending sob twisting my heart. I clench my jaw and try to beat it back, knowing I’m moments from losing it.
I gasp when a heavy hand falls upon my shoulder, cooling my mounting hysteria. “Peace,” a throaty voice whispers.
Tears trickle in zigzags along my face and still I manage to smile. My hand reaches up to cup my shoulder. I can’t feel his rough knuckles beneath my fingers, but I know my protector is here. He sensed my grief and appeared to comfort me.
I squeeze my shoulder. “Hi, Ryker.”
I sense that pause. He has the habit of taking one when he ponders how to respond. “Sleep, Olivia,” he says. “I am with you.”
He is, allowing me to surrender to darkness.
Chapter Twenty
The summer abandoned us like a bitter lover, leaving the brisk September air to contend with. I adjust my thick scarf as I hurry from the bus. I haven’t returned to the firm in several weeks. Although Ryker and I leave the impression we still work here, our training has intensified and there’s little time to do much else.
I rarely check in on Marco and that’s a very bad thing. Without me or Ryker, Marco has become more monster than man. I advise the staff when I can and conference call with him when he’s close to losing it and firing everyone in sight. But as much as I care for him, and the poor bastards left to deal with him, I can’t ignore my life and death commitments.
I’ve learned a tremendous amount in a short span of time, and my stamina is slowly increasing. Still, it’s neither fast nor impressive enough for the Ancients’ liking. They’re worried the Cù-Sìth will continue to multiply, and as Ryker predicted, they fear the hounds will evolve and target the human populace.
Ryker waits for me outside the elevators in a crisp black suit pressed sharp enough to skewer steaks. He doesn’t appear pleased. I loosen the buttons of my light blue pea coat. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s been a new development,” he says. “We’re needed on the 28th floor.”
“That’s fantastic news, seeing how our last meeting there almost resulted in a roomful of dead dragons,” I mutter. I examine Ryker’s scowl. “It involves dead dragons?”
He presses the ‘up’ button. “It involves Sebastian,” he says. “He and his family are marked for death.”
I’m sure I misheard. “Is that possible?”
“Apparently, it is.”
The doors part and we step inside. A few workers anxious to start their day run to catch it. At the sight of Ryker’s oh-so friendly face, they stop short and stumble into each other.
The woman hovering behind the small group looks ready to bolt. “We’ll take the next one,” she stammers.
I elbow Ryker lightly the moment the doors shut. “We need to work on your warm and cuddly side.” I sense a smirk in the making, but it doesn’t quite manifest. “Maybe we should get you a puppy.”
“No.”
“Kitten?” I suggest.
“No.”
“How about―”
“If you say parakeet, I’ll add another mile to your run,” he grinds out.
I snap my mouth shut. As it is, I can barely prance the two miles we’re doing. Ryker assured me our runs would become easier and more enjoyable. So far, it’s a “hell, no” on both counts. I hate our early morning sprints around Jersey City and have tripped more than once. And don’t get me started on all the seasoned joggers I’ve flipped off who easily pass me. Those who don’t flat out laugh at me mutter stupendous remarks like, “No pain, no gain,” and “Holy shit she looks ready to die.”
My silence earns me that smirk and lifts the tension in the elevator. I smile, grateful for the comfortable air between us I’ve come to expect.
The elevator doors part. Ryker allows me through, catching up to me in two strides. We walk side by side, the 28th floor morphing with every step we take.
Grass sprouts beneath our feet, replacing the tile floor. Roots push out from the base of the support beams and bark encapsulates their lengths, turning them into trees that branch out and canopy the ceiling with lush green and gold foliage. Fairy lanterns fall from the twisted branches, adding more light from their small chambers than should be feasible.
It’s beautiful. I want to sink into the thick grass and take it all in. But like my well-being, it’s only temporary, a make-believe moment that won’t last.
The granite boardroom table at the end of the glen that Jane created is replaced with an outrageously large redwood stump. Beautifully ornate chairs crafted from tree roots and entwined with ivy and small white flowers surround the perimeter. I pause when two pairs of small, fluorescent blue birds flutter in front of me and Ryker.
“No, thank you,” he says. He places his hand on my lower back when I don’t reply. “They’re offering to take your coat.”
“Oh.” I place my purse on the, well, forest floor and unbutton my coat. My cashmere coat falls from my shoulders. The two birds closest to Ryker catch it before it hits the ground and disappear with it behind a stand of thick trees. Another bird clips the end of my scarf and swoops around me, sweeping it gently from my neck and fluttering away with it.
The remaining bird zigzags around my large purse expectantly. “No, thank you, little one,” I say. “I’d like to keep it with me.”
The bird doesn’t seem to mind and chirps merrily away to find his peeps. “Wow,” I say. “That was some serious Cinderella gets prepped for the ball action.”
“It’s because you weren’t raised in Fae,” Ryker replies. “Come, Olivia. They’re waitin
g.”
The old 28th Floor was mammoth. Jane’s version is colossal. Mr. Sebastian waits a short distance away at the new conference table along with Bill, about ten dragons, and Jane who is perched on top of the giant stump with her candy cane wand in her wrinkled hands.
I grin, speaking through my teeth. “They must have paid her well to enchant our surroundings.”
“It seems that way,” Ryker agrees.
Jane wiggles her feet, showing off the rubies encrusting her orthopedic shoes. I try not to laugh. Good for the little Hydra.
Ryker’s voice turns more serious. “I imagine this is Ancients’ new headquarters.”
“No one mentioned this before?” I ask, almost stopping.
“The Ancients don’t trust me,” he mutters. “They’re very careful not to divulge anything.” He pauses. “And if we continue seeing each other as much as we have, they won’t trust you either.”
Ryker and I have grown close over these last few months, training as much as we have. Some moments are exceptionally hard. My frustration with my haphazard magic often leaves me miserable and doubting my ability to do anything. Still, he remains patient and encouraging, all the while pushing me and challenging me to do more.
The times when it’s just us, quietly sharing a meal, or when I’m trying to make him less-scary and Reaper-like, are my favorite moments with him. More than once, I’ve wanted to kiss him. And more than once, my sanity warned against it.
It’s just as well. Ryker keeps a professional distance, even when I stir a sexy smile from his lips.
I shrug. “Oh, well.”
He stops out of earshot. “It doesn’t trouble you that the Ancients consider you in league with me?”
I angle my chin, surprised by his remark. “Why would it? Ryker, we’re doing everything for the Fae. If it’s not enough, that’s their problem, not ours. Besides, I’m already bending over. Don’t need the ol’ hair pulled, too.”
Ah, there’s that smirk I adore.
I try to suppress one myself as we continue forward. Based on Bill’s solidifying expression, I should have tried harder. He offers a stiff nod and motions us to sit. “Thank you for taking the time out of your training to join us,” he says, not meaning a word of it.
Ryker pulls out my chair. I pause before sitting. Bill’s tone actually hurts, as does his emphasis on the word “training.” Without meaning to, I lower my gaze like a reprimanded child. I catch myself and raise my chin, hurt turning to anger. I haven’t lured Ryker to bed. In truth, I’ve squashed each moment of weakness and want. I won’t apologize for our friendship, nor will I distance myself from Ryker in Bill’s presence just because I feel a tang of guilt. “No problem, Bill.” I smile at Ryker. “What can we help you with?”
My response does nothing to loosen Bill’s rigid stance. Annoyance flickers in his face and further tenses his features.
Jane levitates from her position on the table and takes a seat to my left. I turn from Bill and focus on my favorite druid priestess. “Hey, Jane. Nice shoes, girl.”
Jane pats my hand hello and looks to Bill as Ryker sits to my right. Her black, beady eyes shimmer, scrutinizing Bill. This time, Bill’s in the hot seat looking rather uncomfortable.
“Forgive me, Olivia,” Bill adds, quietly.
I’m not certain he means it. Jane, although temperamental and a little on the whack-job side, is a revered Ancient. I take Bill’s apology more for show and respect for Jane, not for me. It hurts me a little more. We were friends. I don’t know if we are anymore. I want to take him aside to talk to him, except now is not the time.
Mr. Sebastian sits directly across from me. Fae can live a long time by human standards. Dragons especially can walk the earth for thousands of years. I’m not sure Mr. Sebastian has many years left. He’s aged about twenty years since I last saw him.
Deep grooves cut into wrinkles I hadn’t previously noticed, and his white hair sticks out in crazed tufts. He coughs to clear his throat. Again, and again, and again, more like an ailing man than one who was once so smug.
“I need your help,” he spits out.
He motions to a dragon with short blond hair, his hand quivering and jerky. The dragon leans forward, sliding several pictures across the smooth surface. I’m still gaping at the hot mess Sebastian has become when Blond Boy points to the first photo.
A peace sign, minus its circle and smeared in red, covers a large white door.
I crinkle my brow. “What is that?”
“The symbol for Death,” Ryker answers.
Mr. Sebastian nods, what remains of his composure crumbling. He’s shaking hard enough to bang his pinky ring against the table. Blond Boy peers at him briefly and points to the next picture. “They used blood from the bodies to draw it.”
“Blood from the bodies?” I ask. My voice trails as he points to the next row of pictures. Racks of giant ribs litter a sprawling lawn. I make out a leg shoved into one cavity and part of a face draped over a headless torso.
More pictures follow, all with varying images of dismembered and mutilated parts. I lower my hands away from my mouth and stare ahead, unable to take the carnage. Ryker can fill me in later. This is a Death show. My people are known for skipping through fields of daisies and skinny dipping in secluded ponds, not this shit.
“They’re dragons in their true form,” Blond Boy explains. “The hounds killed them. The only reason they didn’t get the kid was because his friend had invited him to a Yankees game that night.”
“What kid?” Ryker scans each photo as he waits for an answer. No one seems ready to talk.
“What kid?” Ryker repeats not so politely.
“My son,” Mr. Sebastian replies. His anger momentarily eases his quivers, not that it lasts. “They’re after my boy.”
I squeeze Ryker’s hand, not realizing I’d reached for him until then. “How do you know?”
Sebastian laughs in the crazed, high-pitched laughter of a terrified individual. It freaks me out and sends a chill barreling down my spine. The dragons in the room exchange nervous glances, knowing full well their boss is on the edge of the cliff and ready to jump.
“Mr. Sebastian,” I say slowly. “How exactly do you know?”
He stands abruptly, slapping his palms on the table. “Cathasach told me himself!”
He’s yelling, his shoulders shaking violently. He drops his head and tries to reel in his hysteria. “The gremlins are working with them,” he stammers. “They brought the Cù-Sìth to my home and ripped our talismans from our necks. Cathasach forced me to watch as his pack murdered my staff and security detail. I saw them tear my people apart.”
The forest surrounding us grows eerily quiet. The birds stop singing and the gentle breeze vanishes. It’s as if everyone and everything fears the Cù-Sìth will hear them.
My knuckles ache with how hard I’m clenching Ryker’s hand. It doesn’t seem to bother him. He strokes me gently, offering reassurance I don’t feel then.
Sweat and tears pour from Mr. Sebastian face, beading against the table. He waves off a handkerchief Blond Boy offers, meeting my face dead on. “Cathasach threatened to take my son if I don’t lead him to the Ancients. I have ten days before they return.”
I don’t hesitate to speak, not when there’s an Ancient right smack in front of me. “What happens if they claim an Ancient’s soul?”
Bill glances at Jane, his expression sad. Jane barely blinks, remaining calm. “They will see through her eyes and our magic,” Bill explains. “Our talismans and veils will mean nothing.” He sighs. “They will also leech her power and take it as their own.”
It’s all rainbows and pixie dust up in this bitch.
Bill’s attention fixes on me. “You have to stop them, Olivia.”
Ryker releases my hand. “She’s not ready. We need more time.”
This pleases Bill as much as you think. “How long?”
Ryker balls his hands into fists. He doesn’t want to make them aware that my
first day of Save the World Camp was surprisingly spellbinding and accelerated compared to those that followed. It will take years to master my power. I’ve barely had more than a few weeks.
Ryker’s had a hundred years.
And the Cù-Sìth have had since the dawn of existence.
“I don’t know when Olivia’s training will be complete,” Ryker says. He switches gears, trying to keep the attention off me. “Do you know where the Cù-Sìth are hiding?”
Bill quirks his jaw. He doesn’t miss the abrupt change in subject. “The packs are scattered. We’ve learned of some locations, but not all.”
“What about Cathasach?” Ryker presses.
“His lair remains a mystery,” Bill replies, addressing Ryker as if I’m no longer an option.
Ryker give it some thought. I’m just not thrilled with where those thoughts lead. “Leave the hounds for me to hunt,” he says. “I’ll kill as many as I can and buy us time until we can locate Cathasach.”
I straighten. “What if this is what the hounds are counting on to trap you?”
“We can’t simply sit around, Olivia,” he grinds out.
Great, now he’s mad at me. I cross my arms. “Fine. Then I’ll hunt with you.”
“You need to focus on your training,” he bites out, ignoring my protest to round on Bill. “Use every source available to find Cathasach. We have to end this before they claim an Ancient.”
“What about my son?” Mr. Sebastian demands.
His roars bring us to our feet. My hand instinctively buries deep within my purse, reaching for the handle of my whip.
Jane alone remains sitting, her hold over her wand the only indication she’s ready to throw down.
Mr. Sebastian’s eyes flare from human brown to perilous dragon yellow. He slaps his hands over his eyes, rubbing them hard. As he drops them away, every groove, angle, and wrinkle expose his desperation. “Please, Olivia. Help my Stevie. He’s all I have left.”
I speak without thinking, unable to stand the misery plaguing his very existence. “All right,” I agree. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe.”
“Olivia,” Bill and Ryker snarl.