8. Onora
Chapter 8
Onora
D ryston was back.
Onora whipped her head to the door of her room, trying to shake off the odd feeling.
The odd knowing.
Because the knowledge slipped into her mind and nestled next to her heart with a surety that she couldn’t reckon with. Her shadows slipped out, twining around, playing with loose strands of her hair, and she batted them away. Standing, she was out the door and down the hall, with her hand poised to knock before she even knew what she was doing.
Before she even knew why she was doing it. It was as if some string pulled her to him and trying to fight it felt like madness.
She wasn’t going to knock. It was late, and that was insane. Besides, she didn’t know that he was back—it was just her shadows playing tricks on her. Her mind playing tricks on her. She should go back to bed. Get some sleep.
Still, her hand stayed poised to knock.
She was being ridiculous. Why was she even here?
Maybe because he was always at the periphery of her awareness, lurking in her mind's eye, waiting to snatch her attention.
Which is exactly why she should leave.
She shook her head, pulling her hand away when the door opened, and she stared in shock as Dryston halted in surprise, standing in the doorway with his head cocked to the side.
Shirtless.
Wrapped only in a towel.
Water dripped down his muscular torso, over his strong pecs, and down his chiseled abs. He crossed his arms, and her eyes snagged on the bulge of his biceps. Great goddess, he was huge.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he purred, a smirk hinting at the corners of his mouth.
She scowled, sifting through her mind for any reasonable excuse for why she now stood before him. She fixed him with a steely gaze, crossed her arms and said, “I want my dagger back.”
His brows raised. “I’m afraid you relinquished ownership of it when you left it lodged in my shoulder .”
“You had me cornered. I was afraid. You can hardly blame me.”
He clicked his tongue. “The great and mighty Onora? I have a hard time believing that.”
“Are you going to argue with me about everything?”
He nodded. “Isn’t that our ‘thing’?”
She drew in a deep breath and he chuckled, shifting to the side so half the doorway was open.
“It’s on the nightstand, go ahead and take it.”
There it was, beside his bed. But to get to it, she would have to squeeze past him and his bare, glistening abs. Her eyes dipped to them again, and she heard a breathy chuckle come from him. She shot him a glare, and he grinned with a smugness that infuriated her.
Very well, then.
She squared her shoulders and squeezed past, but not before she took her fingertips and softly grazed his lower abdomen. The feeling of his skin on hers sent a jolt up her arm and she fought to keep her face cool and unaffected, the heat from it dipping to her navel and sending her stomach fluttering. Well, fuck, that was supposed to unnerve him, not her.
His cocky smirk gave way immediately to a desperate look of shock. She grabbed the knife and came by again, running the flat end of the blade over his lower belly this time—as a warning. A strangled moan sounded in his throat before he swallowed, and it was her turn to smirk.
“Careful, Lord Dryston, you may just?—”
She was stopped as his large hand gripped the back of her head, tangling with her hair and pulling her against him. Their faces were inches apart, and her breath caught in her throat as she blinked up at him, his eyes darkening with a hunger that threatened to consume her.
She feared she may beg him to.
His thumb traced over her mouth, and she shuddered, closing her eyes to recover her senses. The trace of his finger, rough and calloused, against her lips made her mind play out fantasies she would be better off locking away.
He shifted, his breath hitting her ear, and she placed her free hand against his chest, hating how good it felt to be pressed against him, how good it felt to have her skin on his.
“Two can play at this game, Lieutenant,” he whispered, voice like gravel.
She drew in a deep breath, her head tingling and dizzy. If he kissed her, she would let him. If he wanted to strip her down, she would beg him to. She felt unanchored, her very being bending and tilting like a willow toward him, aching for more, more, more.
“There you are, Onora,” a familiar voice said.
It took a moment for it to register in her mind—the fear in Andrea’s voice, the way Dryston was holding her.
But when it did, she shoved him away with a fierceness that shocked even her, and she stumbled back. The emotion flickered across his face so fast she almost missed it—hurt—before it was replaced with that damnable cocky smirk again. Impenetrable, impassable, unbothered. Maybe she’d imagined the other look. Because it had only been a game. Cat and mouse. The lord of demons and the demon hunter.
Nothing more.
She drew in a breath and turned to Andrea, who stood at the landing of the stairs, looking back and forth between them, her dark eyes narrowed and calculating. Finally, they landed on Onora.
“We received a letter from Amherst,” Andrea said, holding up a piece of parchment. Onora walked over and scanned it as Andrea continued. “There’s an emergency at the border, and he’s calling all available Hunters to answer immediately.”
“What kind of emergency?” she asked, finding nothing in the letter, hoping there was a second part with more information. Andrea only shook her head.
“We don’t know the details, but Brayden sent another letter to Jackson. Some kind of disaster at the farmlands on the border.”
“Is there any way I can help?” Dryston asked, and Onora looked back to see his brow furrowed in concern. Genuine concern. Her stomach did that fluttering thing again, and she swallowed hard.
“No,” she said. “It wouldn’t be good if you showed up in the human lands.”
He nodded, pursing his lips. “I can send resources, or other help if need be. Once you know more, don’t hesitate to ask. And, Onora? Be careful.”
His eyes scanned her with a worry that made her feel lightheaded again.
She nodded, then headed down the stairs, throwing on her gear then meeting the other Hunters in the stable to saddle up their horses. Andrea was next to her, finishing up saddling her horse.
“You and Lord Dryston ...” she whispered, confusion riddling her features.
“He’s very forward.” Onora dipped her head to adjust the tack, hiding her expression.
“Was he assaulting you?”
Onora shook her head, horrified. “No. He’s just like that. It wasn’t anything that ...” Her voice trailed off at the look of concern on Andrea’s face. How was she supposed to explain that she’d started it as a taunt? How could she explain it and not make it look like a thrall? “It’s nothing.”
“He seemed genuine when he was offering his help,” Andrea said. “He seemed genuinely concerned about you.”
Andrea said the words with disbelief, the same feeling Onora often had with Dryston.
“Are you okay?”
She chased the phantom voice away. She had to focus now. There were more pressing matters at hand.
It was well past midnight when they reached the farmlands, going full speed. Onora’s horse, Thunder, was the fastest, and she rode at the helm of the group, Jackson and the others just barely behind her. As they approached, the landscape slowly changed, going from wild, lush plains of golden grass dying at the hint of winter, to blackened earth. Every aching beat of her heart seemed to make it lodge higher and higher in her throat.
“Demons,” Avery said, the grit and horror in his voice piercing straight through her.
A demonic attack.
Her inertia seemed to tilt, and nausea almost knocked her off Thunder.
For all she’d claimed that her report of Dryston was from honor and honesty, she had also trusted them to an extent. As much as she could. They hadn’t attacked her, they’d even ... her mind drifted back to that haunting voice that followed her every waking thought.
“Are you okay?”
She shook it off, anger mixing with disbelief like bile, sour and burning. Dryston had met with Lord Killgan. It couldn’t be him.
Sprawling hills rose before them, dipping and looping back up before disappearing into thick, dark woods. Small homes and barns dotted the landscape, hedgerows keeping the sheep in.
The sheep that now lay dead. She spared only a glance at their bodies, drained and distorted, queasiness roiling anew in her as she pressed on. The grass to the east gave way to blackened earth, a burning, decaying stench hitting her nose with a ferocity that made her gag.
A woman was screaming, sitting in the middle of the field, holding someone in her arms, rocking back and forth.
Onora trotted up, slowing her horse down enough to jump off and land nearby, sprinting to the woman. Her face was covered in soot and dirt, tears streaking down her face. A man lay in her arms, mouth agape, eyes staring up, lifeless, his skin pulling taut against his skull as if he’d been drained of blood.
Onora knelt next to her. “Are you hurt?”
The woman still screamed, the agony raking across Onora’s spirit like a knife. She gently placed a hand on her shoulder and the woman’s wild eyes finally took her in.
“They came ... t-they came. And. And.” The woman’s breaths came in great gulping gasps.
Jackson moved close, followed by the others. The woman’s eyes darted to them and their Hunter’s clothing, a sob escaping her again.
“Too late. You’re too late. They already came. They already killed everyone.”
Dread snaked through Onora’s stomach. “Who?”
She shook her head, trembling in shock. “I don’t ... I can’t remember well ...”
“It’s okay,” Jackson said as Avery gently removed the man’s body. Jackson took her by the face and made her look at him. “It’s okay, we just want to get you somewhere safe and taken care of.”
“It’s hazy,” she said, swallowing hard. “I just remember horns and the sound of wings.”
A heavy pit formed in her stomach, pulling endlessly until she thought she might vomit.
She looked around at the soot-blackened earth and the dead animals. If demons caused this, it was not only a sign of war, but it was also a strategic way of cutting off their supplies before a war started.
If this was caused by the demons, then the House of Shadows was coming to destroy the humans again.
The canvas flap gave a thud as Onora ducked into the muggy tent. It was lit by a lantern where Amherst stood, looking over a map with his second in command, Terrance. They both looked up as she entered, taking in her soot and bloodstained clothes. It had taken all night; the dawn rising up over the hills and exposing how terrible the destruction was. She’d stayed on the fringes, helping the first few farms bury their loved ones. The life had been drained out of them as if every drop had been pulled out.
Amherst pulled her into a hug as she came close and she leaned into it, too weak and tired to try and hold up a brave front. He would never endure her weakness, but he would comfort her. She breathed in his scent, a cologne he always wore and the leather oil he used to care for his light armor.
She pulled back, and he looked her over, sorrow in his eyes. “How is the cleanup going?”
“Good. We’re almost done. I want to investigate the forest and surrounding areas. Whatever magic happened here is like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“I have Hunters doing that now. I need you for something else.”
The tent flap opened again, and Brayden walked in, his face streaked and stained as much as hers. His eyes raked over her in a hungry way that made her skin crawl. There was something about her distress that made him always want her more.
“Perfect timing, Brayden. I have a mission for both of you,” Amherst said. “Lord Dryston is clearly behind these attacks, and my sources tell me he’s still in Orc Haven. I need you to retrieve him and bring him back to Venatu so we can render justice.”
Onora shifted. “Are we certain it’s him?”
She couldn’t fathom it. He’d seemed so genuinely concerned, confused by the emergency. Not to mention he’d traveled in the opposite direction to meet with Lord Killgan. She’d had plenty of time in the long hours to stew over it, and the pieces weren’t adding up.
“If you would rather not arrest Lord Dryston, I understand. You spent a great deal of time with him ... I’ve heard whispers that perhaps you’re more amenable to him than you’ve let on,” Amherst said, clearing his throat.
She opened her mouth like a fish, too startled to speak at first. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but my logistical concerns have nothing to do with my dedication to justice. We can’t just bring in the Lord of Shadows, retrieving him from lands he is protected in without causing war with the demons and the orcs and elves. I’ll arrest Dryston if we can do it without starting an all-out war with the orc clans.”
“Lord Dryston.” Amherst fixed his gaze on her with scrutiny.
“Yes . . .” She frowned.
“You called him Dryston, as if he were a friend.”
She clenched her fist at her side. “Perhaps I think his title gives him a greater honor than he deserves. Now, can we stop focusing on every little word I say and please listen to my very legitimate concerns?”
“He did it, Onora,” Brayden said, his tone accusing, cutting. “Do you not believe me?”
She drew in a deep breath to calm herself and pull in the scathing words that begged to burst free from her. “Lord Dryston said he and the other demons were meeting with Lord Killgan. That’s the opposite direction from here. I don’t understand how he could have done this.”
She braced herself for the looks, the accusing.
“He didn’t meet with Lord Killgan,” Brayden said. “He lied to you.”
She frowned, wanting to ask a million questions—but she was too afraid to.
“He headed north, this direction. I followed him and I lost him in the woods, but he wasn’t heading to Lord Killgan.”
Onora blinked. The moment with him in the hall turned sour, the concern he’d given her suddenly manipulative and calculated. She looked at Amherst who nodded solemnly.
“Others have described a being that looks like Lord Dryston. He will have his trial, Onora, we can guarantee you that justice, but the evidence is damning.”
She stood there, every emotion in her rising up like a wave and crashing with violence against her spirit. Could she have been so wrong about him? Was she truly under his thrall?
Amherst placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. You know I’m only worried. I don’t want to put you in a position that would leave you vulnerable to a demon. And one you’ve spent so much time with already. But you and Brayden are my best, and he is one of the most powerful demons.”
She let out a heavy breath, trying to steady the rage building in her. If she wasn’t careful, those shadows would come out, showing Amherst that perhaps he did have something to worry about with her, just not what he thought. “I can do it. But we have to be careful. We will have to take him stealthily. We can’t go in with force and not expect the orcs to fight back.”
Amherst squeezed her shoulder. “Very well, I trust you and Brayden to handle it.”
Onora nodded. She would. After seeing what she had that night, after realizing she’d started to believe that Dryston wasn’t as terrible as the Cruel Lord ... she would have her vengeance, and it would be delivered by her own hands.