A Storm of Shadows (Fates and Fables #3)

3. Dryston

Chapter 3

Dryston

“ H ow long will you wait for the orc lord to respond?” Kalen asked as they wove through the busy streets of Orc Haven’s merchant district.

“A few more weeks,” Dryston responded.

He’d been away from The Darkened City too long, and he was anxious to return. How long could he stay in Nemus before the humans saw it as a problem? He didn’t want to know.

“We can’t wait forever, Drys,” Kalen said, lips tight.

Dryston’s gaze slipped to his companion as they sidestepped a group chatting in the square. “You seem awfully eager to get out of here.”

Kalen opened his mouth to say something when his eyes narrowed ahead of him, mouth slamming shut in a frown, nostrils flared. Dryston followed his gaze to see Silenus trotting up to them.

The satyr had come to live at The Tipsy Tavern when Melina was pregnant to help and hadn’t left yet, claiming he enjoyed the lively atmosphere. He and Kalen had butted heads multiple times, but Dryston hadn’t been able to get to the bottom of it yet.

Silenus came near, his wavy blond locks falling over his shoulders and bare chest. “Good morning, Dryston dear,” he said with a bright smile, producing a letter.

Dryston grabbed the letter, losing all sense of propriety when he saw the seal, and ripped it open. It was from the orc lord, accepting his request for an audience in two days’ time. Lord Killgan was difficult to pin down—he couldn’t bother to tarry.

“Silenus, I could kiss you,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

Silenus smiled back, eyes twinkling. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Lord Dryston.”

Dryston laughed, shaking his head, then stopping when a flash of blond hair in the crowd caught his attention. In a moment it was gone, his blood thrumming. As if in a trance, pulled along by some invisible string, he stepped around the satyr and wove through the crowd. He couldn’t see who it was, but he knew, anyway. Somehow, he knew.

The square was thick with bodies, loud with yelling and bartering, the smell of cooking meat and iron in the forges. Still, he followed that line, growing tauter until, suddenly, there was something sharp poking his ribs in the one small area of his leather armor that was exposed. Looking down, a slow smile spread across his face.

“Are you following me, Lord Dryston?” Onora asked.

A braid fell over her shoulder, loose strands framing her high cheekbones, as those sharp blue eyes narrowed on him.

“You’re the one in my town,” Dryston said. “Seems like you may be following me. I’m surprised it’s taken you so long—after all we shared on our travels.”

Her brow furrowed deeper, her eyes turning stormy, and he chuckled. Her glare faltered momentarily before coming back stronger. He leaned down so he could whisper in her ear, “Careful how you let that mask of hate slip, Onora. Someone might think you actually do like me.”

Her breath caught momentarily, and she turned to look at him, their faces inches apart. Dryston could admit that he’d woken a few too many times from dreams of his lips exploring hers. His hands fisted in her hair, her harried breath hitting his skin.

Even if he knew she hated him. Even if he knew it was only her own integrity and honor that had made her save him that day. The dagger in his side pressed in a little farther and the pain met him, sharp and wonderful.

Someone cleared their throat and Dryston looked up to see another Hunter, a man tall as Onora, broad shouldered and staring at Dryston as if he were plotting exactly how he’d like to skin him. It took all his willpower to keep his wings from spreading out and intimidating the man, and he was barely aware that he took a step closer to Onora, his hand gripping her arm protectively. The man’s eyes dipped to where his hand rested, and Onora stepped away from Dryston, ripping her arm back violently.

“Keep your hands away from me, bat,” she spat.

Dryston grinned. A million responses rested on his tongue, but he didn’t need to aggravate either of them more. “What brings Hunters to Orc Haven?”

“We’re conducting an investigation,” the man said, his suspicious eyes darting from Dryston to Onora and back.

“Ahh. Well, let me know if I can be of any help,” Dryston responded.

Onora met his gaze, a myriad of emotions swimming there that he wanted to dive into, drenching himself in the depths of them.

He took a step back. The demonic thrall may have been a myth, but whatever enchantment this woman had put on him left him scrambling for some semblance of control around her.

Kalen was suddenly next to him, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest, and both humans tensed. Dryston’s arm shot out in front of Kalen, and he gave him a warning look. Kalen’s brown wings tucked in.

Kalen was the last remaining member of their family’s original colony, his family having been slaughtered by Hunters the same day all those years ago. He was tightly wound but fiercely loyal, and someone that Dryston would trust with his life.

But right now, he needed him to not unravel at the sight of the Hunters. If he’d known any would be coming to Orc Haven, he would have sent Kalen away with the others and kept Mandel.

“There seems to be an infestation of demons here,” the man said with a smirk.

Dryston clenched his jaw and Kalen started to take a step forward when Onora barked, “Shut up, the lot of you. We’re going, Brayden.”

She cut a glare to her companion, and he pursed his lips. Dryston’s pulse hummed at her command. He watched her turn and walk away, his eyes dipping to the cut of her ass in her tight leathers.

“I don’t like that Hunters are here,” Kalen said.

“It’s odd,” Dryston replied.

He debated for only a second before trotting up to Onora, ignoring the withering look from Brayden. “How long are you here for?”

Onora didn’t spare him a glance as she weaved through the crowds. “However long it takes.”

“See, I find your story a bit odd.” He was poking a bear, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself, never had been able to.

“How’s that?”

“Aife and Jorah know all the news, and they tell me. They haven’t mentioned anything of late that would need investigating.”

She scoffed, and he had to tamp down the anger that leapt into his throat.

“I wouldn’t expect a demon to tell me the truth of a situation, anyway.” Her gaze finally slid to him, derision clear on her face as her eyes traveled the length of him, disapproving.

He bristled, his tail twitching at the challenge in her eyes, the hate in her words. “I meant it when I offered my help, Onora. We worked together on King Leeth’s mission, and quite well, I might remind you.”

She stiffened at his words, and Dryston didn’t miss the look of scrutiny Brayden gave her.

Interesting.

“I was commanded to aid you, Lord Dryston,” she said, each word sharp as a knife. “Don’t misconstrue my dedication to orders as anything more than that.”

They stared at each other a moment, her eyes boring into him, and it took all his concentration to keep his wings from fanning out in a show of dominance, matching the energy she lobbed at him.

She could say what she wanted, but he remembered what had happened that final night in Evolis. How he was lying on the ballroom floor, his magic seeping out of him, putting him at the mercy of the witch Hevena. He was about to die. He would have died too, if Onora hadn’t come in and saved him. And perhaps that was only honor, but there was a piece of a Hunter’s cloak in his room at the tavern that spoke differently. She hadn’t just saved him from the witch, she’d ensured he lived.

“How could I ever think it was anything different?” he asked, letting a knowing smirk loose.

She turned on her heel, waving a hand of dismissal as she did. He followed her through the crowds, her and Brayden throwing looks at him over their shoulders as he did.

Brayden finally stopped and turned, facing Dryston down. He was a large man, but still stood well enough below Dryston that he could see Brayden swallow as Dryston hovered over him in response.

“Why are you following us?” Brayden demanded.

Dryston waved behind them dully at the sign of The Tipsy Tavern. “It’s the only inn in town. I currently live here, and I assume you will be getting rooms here tonight?”

Brayden drew in an exasperated breath and turned, stalking into the tavern with Onora following, shaking her head.

Dryston could go up to his room or sit in a booth far away from them. He knew he probably should. But instead, he followed them to the counter and sat down, getting a glass of water from Aife as he did. He wanted to hear what they would say or if they would give away any reason for their investigation. Something wasn’t quite adding up.

Onora came to Jorah, and the orc smiled. “How can I help ya?”

Onora returned the smile, and Dryston’s hand stilled as it brought the drink to his mouth. He hadn’t ever seen her smile—the closest had been a neutral expression that was only vaguely threatening. The way her features softened made his heart thump painfully against his ribs and he knocked the water back quickly, looking away to ignore a new, yet somehow familiar ache in his chest.

“We’ll need four rooms,” she responded, her tone so different from how she addressed Dryston that the taste turned bitter in his mouth. “For me and my companions.”

“All of you are Hunters?” Jorah asked, voice neutral, calm.

Onora nodded.

“What business brings the guild out this way?” Jorah’s gaze flickered to Dryston briefly.

“Just investigating the woods and trade routes. Been hearing tales of bandits and thieves attacking innocents.”

That was a lie; he could hear it in her voice—how she said it too smoothly, too rehearsed. He could also hear it in the slightly elevated thumping of her heart.

They took their keys and went to their rooms, and when they were safely up the stairs, Jorah came near him.

“Do you believe what they said?” the orc asked.

Dryston shook his head. “I don’t know. Felt like a lie, but Onora doesn’t strike me as a liar ...”

Jorah nodded. “My thoughts exactly. Watch your back. They could have been sent here to shadow you and see what you’re up to.”

Dryston nodded. He could see that being the case. If he stepped onto human-owned lands, he had no doubt he’d be immediately captured and imprisoned. It was maybe a foolish hope, but by setting up enough alliances in Nemus, he wanted to build up his reputation with the humans and come to some understanding with them.

The Cruel Lord’s occupation had been terrible. He’d heard enough about what he and his soldiers did to the humans and what all they had been through.

It wasn’t long before Onora came back down the stairs and found a table in the corner, alone. Aife brought her food, and she sat back, casually observing the room. Her eyes landed on his more often than not and then quickly looked away.

Silenus played his flute with a band in the corner, flirting with everyone who came by, carefully avoiding the nymph, Naida, now sitting at the bar. Dryston didn’t like gossip, but he couldn’t turn his brain off from noticing things, and there had been a shift. Silenus and Naida had been friends for a moment, and now there was a tension that Dryston couldn’t name.

His eyes drifted across the room and landed on Onora. She was staring at him again, but her eyes flicked away. Dryston was not fool enough to think that it was a casual interest that had the Hunter’s gaze constantly on him, and he narrowed his attention on her.

He stood, and in a few moments he was at her table, pulling out a chair, making her startle from the scrape it made on the wooden floor, and slipping in next to her.

“Tell me more about these bandits,” Dryston said, his gaze meeting hers in a challenge.

Onora leaned forward, setting her dagger heavily on the table in front of her, elbows down, her own gaze narrowed. “How about you tell me what could be so interesting to a demon in the orc lands that he stays here for the better part of a year?”

“I was here for my brother and his mate,” Dryston replied coolly.

“They aren’t here anymore, haven’t been for a couple of months. Yet you remain.”

Dryston felt the hair on his arm stick up. “I didn’t realize you were keeping track of me so ardently. Feels a bit obsessive, but I can’t say you’d be the first to fall prey to my charms.”

Her lips flattened into a thin line, fury dancing like a thunderstorm in her glorious eyes. “I’ve heard a great deal about a demon’s charm, yet I’ve never once witnessed it.”

“Yet you can’t take your eyes off of me.” Dryston leaned forward, meeting that steely gaze with his own fire, letting his eyes drop to her mouth and back up. “You never have been able to, have you?”

She drew in a sharp breath, her own eyes dipping for a second to his mouth and back up, making his blood warm. “Does a rabbit ignore the fox? Neither should a human ignore her biggest threat.”

“I’m no threat to you, darling, unless you want me to be,” he purred.

In a swift motion, the dagger disappeared, and she brought it down on the wood of the table, nicking his finger and drawing blood. “Don’t flirt with me, bat. You wouldn’t survive it.” Her voice held a cool command, a tone that brooked no disagreement, and his mind scrambled to not dip into that unholy place of imagining what hate fucking her would be like.

Glorious.

Ruinous.

Worth every ounce of the potential fallout.

He stood swiftly. That was a crazy thought and one that would get him in deep waters if he let it run amok. “Good night, Onora. I look forward to seeing more of you.”