21. Dryston
Chapter 21
Dryston
“ W hat the fuck, Onora?” he hissed as she locked the bedroom door.
This was bad. Catastrophically so. They weren’t going to let her and him out of their sight. She’d said to play along, so he’d trusted her. But this had been a ploy to get him back in the Hunters’ hands, hadn’t it?
She placed a finger over her mouth and gestured for him to help her move the heavy chest in front of the door. He frowned, eyeing her warily, but helped her push it forward. She listened at the door and he sent out his senses. There was someone at the end of the hall chatting with another person, but no one was directly outside their room.
She came close to him, and he could smell that leather and coal smell that was familiar to her. “Let’s get some rest, wake up early, and sneak out the window. We are on the first floor so we can get out and run. Let’s take the moment to recover our strength and make a plan.”
“What is your plan here, Onora?” he asked, stepping closer in. “Lull me in and contact your Hunter friends to come pick us up?”
Her eyes took in his chest, lingering as they swept to his biceps and then up to his face in a scowl. “I’m trying to keep us from being killed.”
“By bringing me into the heart of a human city and regaling them with how much of a simpleton I am? How docile. How pliable?”
She scoffed and stepped to go around him, but he moved again, trapping her against the wall. “It was an act, Dryston. I’m trying to survive, and I can’t fight off that many people. Certainly not trained mercenaries.”
“I think you enjoyed commanding me around down there,” he said.
She was silent for a beat, the corner of her mouth hinting at a smile. “I think you enjoyed it, Lord Dryston.”
Her voice was low, sultry, and every syllable felt as if it were a stroke on his cock.
Godsdamnit.
“Now move,” she directed.
Part of him wanted to. To fold to that sure voice, that cool command. Another part of him felt a keen level of anger toward her, one that didn’t want to make it easy for her. One that didn’t want her to think he’d roll over and just show her his belly, hoping she wouldn’t slice it open.
So he stepped closer, his knee between her legs, encasing her against the wall. “Watch your tone with me, Lieutenant Onora.”
Crimson flooded her cheeks, and he felt as feverish as they looked. He wanted to kiss them, lick them, take his time tasting her skin.
He felt cool iron against his throat, pressing in. “I told you to move,” she said.
In a swift movement he had it out of her hand, clattering to the ground, then he grabbed her, pinning her back against him, a tight hand against her throat.
She drew in a deep breath, struggling against him, but he had her held in such a way that it was damn near impossible to get out of. He felt the shape of her throat under his hand, how perfectly it fit. How his fingers twined around it effortlessly, able to grip assuredly.
Her pulse thrummed under his fingers, the thump, thump, thump like a siren’s call. Her chin tilted, face looking up so their eyes met. She glared at him with steely, murderous resolve.
He could get drunk on kissing them, abandoning his senses in the wilderness of her touch. He pressed his fingers in on either side of her throat. She drew in a sharp breath, eyes darkening.
He released her with a swiftness that left her stumbling forward, and he turned away.
Her eyes conjured thoughts that he had no business having.
“Let’s get some sleep,” she said, out of breath.
The bed was big enough for both of them, but it would be cozy. He climbed in and she looked at him, wary. He shrugged.
“You’re welcome to sleep on the floor if you’re so averse to it.”
She sighed and climbed in, falling asleep quickly, to his astonishment. He wished he could sleep so peacefully with danger lurking outside the door. Though, he supposed, the danger wasn’t for her. He stared at the ceiling, his mind a swirling tempest. Onora was helping him now, though he had no doubt that she would kill him the moment the chains were off.
He listened to her soft, sleeping breaths, glad she was able to rest. She’d endured a lot the last few days, and he needed her alert. If it had just been him on that road earlier, he would have been killed by the mercenaries. He begrudgingly admitted that her wits had kept them safe. Even if her words from earlier still chafed. She said they were a lie, but did he believe that?
It was getting late, but sleep still evaded him. He closed his eyes, trying anything to calm his thoughts, when he heard Onora moan.
He stiffened. Did she have a wound she hadn’t told him about?
She moaned again, and he realized she wasn’t hurt at all.
She was having a very, very good dream.
Her hands gripped the sheets, her brows furrowed as she arched slightly, rocking her hips, and he looked away, his cock twitching awake.
Fuck .
He tried to think about anything else, to think about the sight of her bringing an ax over his head, ready to kill him—but she moaned again, soft and breathy, and all his thoughts emptied out.
He groaned into his pillow, wishing that he could dull his sharp senses. Every harried moan that escaped her lips seemed to scrape down his ear, into him, stroking over his aching member. Her scent of arousal grew, and his head spun from the visions flashing in his mind—of him between her thighs, lapping up her sweet cunt with his tongue.
He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to stroke himself at the sound of her. It felt like a violation, something she’d never consent to if she were awake.
“Oh, oh,” she groaned, and he flexed his jaw.
Who the hell was she dreaming about? Jealousy ripped through him and his shadows darkened the room at the thought. He remembered the smile she’d flashed at Max when he helped her into the cart and his eyes shuttered closed as he breathed deeply in, trying to banish the thought.
She let out a muted cry, her body arching and clenching, and Dryston gripped the sheets, his own cock spending only a little.
He was in agony.
Her eyes fluttered open, darting to him, confused. Then reality crashed into her and horror replaced the confusion.
He chuckled. “You were having a great dream.”
She sat up, glowering at him. “No thanks to your thrall.”
“My thrall?”
“Putting sex dreams in my head.”
His mouth twitched as he tried to remain serious. “You certainly seemed to enjoy it.”
“This is your fault.”
He shifted over her, and her breath caught. Her arousal washed over him again, and he inhaled deeply, certain he could get drunk on the scent of it. “If it were my fault, Onora, you would have come undone with a cry loud enough to wake the entire city. Not that quiet noise you made.”
They stared at each other, desperate, heaving breaths hitting bare skin in an erotic caress. Her eyes dipped to his lips and up, her own lips curling in a snarl, even as she tilted her head a little closer.
Fuck.
He moved nearer, their noses almost touching. Her hand fisted the sheets harder, and he closed his eyes, trying to calm his rattling breaths. He dipped down, inhaling as he passed her jaw along the column of her neck, where her pulse beat furiously. He was barely able to focus as he breathed in her scent more deeply, his nose pressed to the skin of her throat.
She pulled her hand away, scrambling to the other side of the bed. Her mouth opened and closed, then she turned over, curling up as far from him as she could.
Any heat in him washed away with the cool wind that whipped inside him. It felt bitter and biting, a shame that lanced through his skin to his bones.
He leaned against the headboard, staring at the ceiling, washing down the hollowness that formed inside him. Closing his eyes, he watched his breath, trying to forget about what he’d just experienced, trying to forget the scent of her arousal that followed him
Onora woke him early the next morning, dawn far off. She shook his shoulders, clamping a hand over his mouth and placing a finger over her own to keep him from startling. The pressure of her hand, the feeling of her curves against his body as she leaned over him, the shape of her face—all of it made heat flash through him as he remembered the encounter from the night before.
He also remembered how quickly she had retreated from him.
Dryston braced his hands on the bed and slowly sat up, a sound of alarm coming from Onora, before he felt her slam into his arm, grabbing his thigh sharply to steady herself. He looked to the side, seeing her pressing against him, her face inches below his, her chest heaving and eyes frightened as a cat.
“Easy there, Hunter. I know your dream got you excited, but you need to at least ask first.” He tsked and her eyes narrowed.
“We’re chained together,” she spit out. “Maybe try to be aware of that next time you yank around wildly.”
Her eyes were a swirling blue-gray before a storm strikes—clouds billowing and mixing with salt air over a violent sea, water above and below ready to swallow him whole. The only thing he was aware of in that moment was her heaving breasts against his bicep, of her uptilted chin and parted lips that haunted his waking and sleep, of her hand still clenched on his thigh. His eyes darted there, arousal flooding him at the sight, and he clenched his teeth, begging his body not to respond to the glorious feeling of the pain and pressure of her hand.
She pulled it away hastily, stumbling back from him on the bed, yanking him this time so that he jerked, falling over her. His blood thrummed through his veins, his groin, filling him with a heat that threatened to consume him. She’d always been able to get under skin. Even when he didn’t want her to, even when he wished he could forget how those beautiful eyes measured him and found him lacking. Even if he wanted to forget how she’d saved him in Evolis.
But what had that been? Only her honor? Perhaps, but that didn’t make him any less irritated. She had a spark of good in her that was uncommon amongst any living being. A steely resolve and integrity that made him feel small. A calmness to her rage that made his own anger feel too alive and unpredictable.
Her hand pressed against his chest, and he was lost in examining her face, the contours and lines of it, the shape of her nose and mouth and eyes. The way her hair fell in dirty strands, still beautiful.
The hitch in her breath pulled him out of his reverie. It wasn’t a hitch of someone aroused or surprised—but scared. Panic lit her eyes, her body stiff, arms pinned under him. He pulled away swiftly, his stomach plummeting.
Dryston was angry, he knew that, but he thought that he had a lot to be angry about. It didn’t make it any better that most of the people who he encountered saw him as a threat, a predator, a volcano about to erupt. And he was the face of the House of Shadows and how others perceived demons.
And he hated seeing how frightened she was of him.
He hazarded a glance in her direction, and she was staring out the window, picking at her nails, face neutral save for her heavy breath and the heartbeat that slammed into his ears with every quickened beat.
That was a very real reaction to him, not just bravado and threats, but genuine fear that made his gut sour. He hadn’t done anything, yet there was something in her estimation of him that made him terrifying.
It felt more damning than his death sentence.
Dryston slowly got out of bed, mindful of the chain between them, standing next to the bed as she crawled out. She tripped when she stood, and he grasped her elbow. Her heart rate picked up again, and he removed his hand the moment she was steady.
She walked stiffly ahead of him, and listened at the door, letting out a low curse.
“Someone is keeping watch,” she whispered.
“We’ll go out the window then.”
She nodded, and they opened the window, taking their time to keep it from creaking too loudly and waking others. Then they climbed out, Dryston first, using his tail to balance him. Then he placed hands on her hips to help her out easily. He tried to ignore how that simple touch lit him up, how the way she grasped his biceps made him want to pull her against him. When her feet hit the ground, she released him with a harsh swiftness and moved away, leading him onward.
They wound through the streets, toward the edge of town. It was much smaller than Venatu, but the paths were winding, and a few people still milled about, giving them odd looks. They would be telling others about this soon enough—they needed to get away as quickly as they could.
Norlein abutted the forest and mountains to the east of Orc Haven, so they slipped quickly and quietly back into the wild, heading west. If they could find the river, then he could find his way back, or at least to Silenus, not too far from Kaemon’s old cabin.
They continued on through the morning and day, weakness growing on him, hunger buzzing like flies on a corpse. They hadn’t eaten since the cart ride the day before, and that hadn’t been much. Still, the hours kept stretching on.
He was so weak and hungry, his steps becoming more and more erratic, his focus shifted to just staying upright and trying to follow the path correctly.
A glint of sunlight flashed before his senses caught up, gleaming off a blade, coming face-to-face with Onora. She backed into Dryston, and his wings flared out instinctively, but it was no use. They were surrounded by Hunters.
Shit.
He hadn’t been paying close enough attention, even though he’d been focusing as hard as he could. It was only a matter of time, though, since they’d been in the city. No doubt someone there would have heard about the bounty for Onora’s head as well as his and would have contacted the closest Hunters. It was also no wonder what direction they would have gone. Any other and they would have been too out in the open, forced to go through human farmlands around the mountains before hitting the neutral orc territories.
Brayden came forward and took Onora by the chin, forcing her to look up at him. Dryston bristled but was keenly aware of the crossbows marked on them, making him go still.
“Such a pity to lose you,” Brayden said. “You always were a wildfire in all the best and worst ways. But the chief has made it clear that he can’t stand a demon’s whore in his presence.”
A low growl rumbled from Dryston’s chest, and Brayden looked up at him.
He tsked. “I see you’ve already got him possessive of you. Only out for less than twenty-four hours and you’ve already spread your legs for him.”
Onora shoved her knife at him, but he blocked it.
“What’s going on, Brayden?” she demanded through clenched teeth. “You know the chief wouldn’t actually approve of this.”
Brayden raised a brow. “You know the policy for monster fuckers.”
“The policy is to purify them at the temple.”
Brayden pursed his lips. “And now we don’t use the temples. We now know that they are a lie.”
“But killing innocents because they’ve fallen victim to a demon’s thrall? How is that just and good?”
“It’s the best option for them. The shame of it without the opportunity for cleansing ... Can you imagine it?” Brayden took a step back and gave her a placating smile. “Anyway, I am sorry to do this, Onora. I’ll miss you.”
He gave a signal, and the others brought up their crossbows. Instinctively, Dryston grabbed Onora and twirled, covering her with his wings, taking the brunt of the hits. He cried out as three arrows lodged in his wings and smoke curled around him in black tendrils. His magic felt as if it were pouring from him with a vengeance. He barely knew what was happening, only that he heard struggles and screams, and he turned to see that most lay on the ground. Some were unconscious, some dead. The others stared at them in shock, hands shaking.
Onora grabbed his wrist, turning on her heel and running. He followed her as more arrows whizzed past, her breakneck speed a shocking thing.
Sounds of the Hunters behind would catch up to them, then fade, in and out, in and out.
Then the barking started.
“Shit,” she cursed, sparing a quick and horror-filled glance over her shoulder before picking up her speed again. “The hounds ... they have the hounds.”
The words were punctuated with heaving breaths, terror or exhaustion he didn’t know.
A horn sounded, followed by nearby shouts and rallying cries. The Hunters were catching up.
There were so many of them now.
Onora tripped, quickly catching herself, then kept going. Fatigue wrapped around his limbs, seeping into his bones. The same weary lines draped over her sagging shoulders and jerking steps. How much longer could they continue on like this? He racked his brain for a way out and saw none. What would he do when they caught up? He would beg them to leave her alive, he knew that much. Why? Perhaps it was for honor. Perhaps because he could see the confusion in her eyes.
Perhaps because he’d seen the look of desire, the look of her icy regard melting, and he knew that she was a victim like he was. Because he knew they were more similar than different. He had little hope of surviving this, but perhaps she could.
Rushing water filled the air, and he craned his neck to see them rapidly approaching the bank of a river.
Shit .
They were about to be cornered. Onora came to a halt at the bank, and he stretched out his wings instinctively to protect them, the left one shuddering from the arrows sticking through it.
Hunters came from all sides, hounds rushing toward them, yapping and barking with a fury. He tried to find any opening, any way to survive this. The only way out was the river—deep and wide, roaring and raging.
He took her by the chin and forced her to look at him. He could hear her racing heart, how the panic beat in tandem with his own. Her stormy eyes met his with a wild desperation. “Hang on to me.”
She shook her head, understanding what he planned. “No, it’s too dangerous.”
“There’s no other alternative.”
“We could die in the river,” she said. “We’re both injured. The current will take us.”
“I can swim. I know I can. If we stay here, we’re dead. Take hold of me.”
He opened his arms, and she stared at him, then looked at the hounds coming their way. The Hunters with crossbows poised. She turned back to him, hesitating only a moment before wrapping herself around his torso. He encased her, holding her tight, before jumping into the river.