A Storm of Shadows (Fates and Fables #3)

23. Dryston

Chapter 23

Dryston

O nce upon a time, Dryston had entertained a fantasy of there being something between Onora and him that wasn’t animosity—something sexier—but right now there were only conflicting emotions muddying any common sense.

Sleep evaded him as he listened to the raging river outside and Onora’s soft, sleeping breaths. It had taken her a bit to fall asleep—he’d heard her low harried breaths, careful as if she were trying to keep them under control. The image of her face as she pressed her hand to his lower abdomen flashed in his mind on repeat. Dark, shy, full of lust. His raging hard-on had barely disappeared even as her breath evened out and she fell asleep in his arms. Even though she was his enemy.

She’d tried to kill him.

Onora felt so small in his arms, though, so fragile. Part of him couldn’t blame her for the threats and anger. The lashing out like a frightened animal.

She was also snuggled up against him, the strong and unflappable Hunter in need of his warmth, his protection. Some primal part of him loved it. He wanted to hold her tighter, to pepper her in gentle, thorough kisses, to stroke her body carefully and show her how safe she was with him.

The scent of her arousal met his nose and hit his system like a drug. He knew it didn’t mean anything. People’s bodies responded to stimuli without desire. And just because she was naked in his arms, pressing her hand against an erotic spot and aroused herself didn’t mean she wanted it.

Or wanted him.

The thought stung for a reason that he had no desire to figure out.

This wasn’t sexual.

It was survival.

As attractive as she was to him, as much as the thought of a passionate hate fuck with her made his cock stir again, he wasn’t about to make her think for a second she wasn’t safe with him.

He didn’t want her to give in to a high stress, highly emotional moment and then regret it later on, feeling as if she’d been out of control or felt coerced in any way.

She somehow managed to light his rage hotter and faster than anyone had before. But in this moment he felt a cold fear he couldn’t quite name. She shivered against him until he lost track of time, her body slowly resting, but soft moans and restless whispers from her lips throughout the night echoed in the cave.

And one name repeated with a tinge of horror. “Varek.”

A demon name.

She buried her face in his chest, her breath hitting with a staccato intensity. He rubbed her back, unable to sleep even as fatigue overcame him in waves. His wings still ached, a shot of pain lancing through them with the slightest movement. Usually he healed faster, but usually he was well-fed and able to rest after serious wounds.

She stirred against him, and he rubbed her back in soft, full strokes until she finally calmed. What in the darkest pit was he going to do? The Hunters had all their resources dedicated to this, it seemed, and they were determined to kill him. If they could get the shackles off, would he even be able to fly to The Darkened City without getting shot immediately?

And what of his family? He feared them looking for him or retaliating and coming to harm. He swallowed the knot in his throat at the thought.

What of Kalen and Maria? He hadn’t seen them, so he’d assumed they were fine, left behind. Had they been killed? Taken?

He needed to find out as soon as possible and get word to his family to not retaliate. The tensions were too high here. If he died, he needed to ensure the demons wouldn’t set back the work he and his father had put in.

He’d spent so many years working up an impossible hill to gain trust with their allies, to rebuild the farmlands and refineries of the shadow realm to ensure they had goods to trade. Kaemon would keep a level head, and he knew Enid was a fine leader, but she was also fiercely protective, as was the rest of the colony. He could remember her agony all those years ago when they’d left their family behind. The attack that had happened outside Venatu.

They’d been on a peacekeeping mission to shore up alliances with the humans after the Cruel Lord’s occupation. They’d been attacked when vulnerable, and all had been killed except Dryston, Enid, and, as they learned not too long ago, Kaemon. Their brother, who had been captured and tortured by Hunters for years after the attack, and presumed dead. Dryston had sent so many scouts to find him, to no avail. Until Enid had heard a rumor and knew in her heart that it was their brother.

He could still feel the blood on his hands as he’d carried Enid away to safety, as he’d chosen to save her and left their mother and brother to die.

He drew in a deep breath to calm himself. The memories still assaulted him in moments of weakness and terror. Every day since then, he’d lived by casting glances over his shoulder to see if another plot was being schemed.

Light filtered into the front of the cave, soft and golden, and he drew in a deep breath. They’d made it through the night. He thought they should stay until the next evening, though, to travel by the cover of darkness. He’d have to lead the way, but maybe her encounter with the Hunters had swayed her more toward him. They had crossed the river and there was too much chaos for him to see properly, but if he could get a decent grasp of his surroundings, he felt confident he could find Silenus’s house in the woods.

She stirred, and he looked down, finally able to see what he hadn’t the night before. Black twining ink that wrapped up and around her arms and torso. Ones that looked suspiciously like a demon lord’s markings.

His blood ran cold. He knew of the Hunter’s practice of taking them as a sign of disrespect, but he hadn’t thought she’d have one. Shadows swirled out of him in anger, engulfing the faint light.

He knew how they’d discovered those tattoos. His father’s body. Shortly after his father’s death, he’d heard of Hunters taking the markings as a sign that demons were nothing and they had defeated their most powerful demon.

It was demeaning as fuck. He knew Hunters hated all demons with an indiscriminate fire, but he had thought Onora a more tolerant one. Someone more willing to challenge her perceptions.

She stirred, blinking, and he pulled his shadows back in, letting the light come back around them. Her eyes and face were soft and vulnerable in a way he’d never seen her. Her gaze tracked his face, and she opened her mouth to speak. He moved away, sitting up swiftly and letting her go abruptly. She jolted, having to brace on the ground to stay up. Her expression immediately turned to stone, any openness gone.

“You’re well?” he asked, voice ragged from holding in the curses he wanted to lob at her.

“Yes.” Her voice was raw, dry.

He drew in a breath and forced himself to look at her. Confusion swam in her eyes, but her lips were set in a hard line. “Come here.” He stood, offering her his hand. She eyed it warily, then took it, moving slowly and painfully, stumbling as she stood, slamming into him.

He wanted to push her away, get her tattooed body far from his, but he needed her alive.

“You need water. Me, too.”

She stood on her own, her eyes taking in his tattoos, but he turned, not wanting to see it or think about it anymore. His shirt hung on the chain between them, as did hers, and he pulled it up, tugging it over his head, and he felt her follow suit as they wandered to the water’s edge, kneeling and taking a drink.

His brain cleared some as the cold water hit his hollow stomach, making it ache even more, and he swallowed down the nausea of hunger, thankful that he could think again.

They sat in silence, drinking water as they felt the need, staring at the river as the sun rose, casting orange and pink hues across it.

“We can’t go to Orc Haven,” she finally said.

He turned, looking at her. She was bedraggled, hair askew, clothes cut up and stained, dark circles under her eyes.

“We need a blacksmith to get these chains off.”

She shook her head. “We need a magesmith. There are none in Orc Haven. And none that I know of in any of the orc lands. These chains are specifically enchanted by elves. We need someone who knows how to undo those specific enchantments.”

Dryston ran a weary hand over his face. “So we have to go to the elven lands?”

That added more time and danger to their journey. More sneaking and surviving. At least he had good relations with the elf king.

He used to, at least. There was no telling what King Leeth had heard and now believed about him.

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t even know where to find one in the elven lands, and the journey is too long.”

Onora sighed. “I know of one. He’ll help us.”

“You’re certain of this?”

“Yes. And he’s on the outskirts, close to Port Arro, so less time traversing the elven lands.”

Could he trust her? He looked her over, his gaze harsh and assessing. She met his gaze with her own steel, and he saw her resolve there. Her honor. Her sincerity.

Maybe it was an act, and she was a good liar.

But what choice did he have?

“Very well then. What happens after the shackles are off?”

She met his gaze, a searching look there, a maelstrom of emotions flashing in a moment before she replied. “Then I finish what I started.”