A Storm of Shadows (Fates and Fables #3)

25. Dryston

Chapter 25

Dryston

D ryston was nineteen again as he held Enid in his arms, blood soaking her clothes from the arrow lodged in her stomach. Another stuck out of his wing as he flew. He could feel the poison setting in, but stopping wasn’t an option. Enid’s life hung in the balance. He had to find a safe place for her and then go back to save the others. He searched his mind frantically for any clue where he could go. But there was no sanctuary nearby. After taking the Cruel Lord down, the orcs and elves had expressed no interest in an alliance with them. Only the humans did, and that had been a trick.

A lump formed in his throat. He couldn’t make it. He couldn’t do it. He needed to get Enid to Medeis, an entire continent over, which was a day’s journey flying nonstop at his highest speed. He didn’t know when the poison would fully settle in, and he didn’t want to be flying when that happened. Only the goddesses knew what would happen if he became delirious over the ocean.

“Kaemon. Mother,” Enid repeated, sobbing.

She was already delirious. Her skin was so pale. Gods, was she dying?

Terror shot through his veins, his heart racing, returning a bit of clarity to him again. He wouldn’t be able to save his family. He would have to leave them and try to save Enid. And he wasn’t even sure he could save Enid. She was dying in his arms.

He kept going, blinking his eyes, shaking his head, trying to stay lucid, to keep his mind above water as he flew.

But pain lanced through him, every inch lighting up like a flame was taken directly to his skin. He cried out as his muscles clenched. It took every ounce of his remaining focus to hold on to Enid and stay in the air. The poison was setting in, but he had to keep going. He had to keep flying and get Enid to safety.

“Easy there, easy there,” a soothing voice said.

Dryston was aware first of how raw his throat was, then of the screaming that filled the room. When he blinked awake, it was blurry at first and he felt hands clasped around his face, others tangled in his hair. He settled, his vision clearing, and he realized he’d been the one screaming. He was soaked in sweat and smelled awful, and the face above him looked at him with sympathy.

“Kaemon always had nightmares, too,” Silenus said softly. “I’d hear him sometimes in the woods, and he told me once about it. But I had to get him very drunk. Which is difficult. The male has the constitution of an alcoholic, but don’t let it be said that I can’t keep up.” He gave a devilish wink.

Dryston let out a weak laugh, thankful to see a familiar face. Perhaps everything before had been a dream. A terrible, terrible dream.

“If the Hunters were having trouble finding us before, they certainly won’t anymore with that hollering,” Onora bit out.

Never mind. He was still with Onora, who was her usual grumpy self. He tilted his head up to look at her, realizing his head was laying in her lap and it was her fingers tangled in his hair, her other hand under his head. She frowned, fierce and angry as always, but something else shone through her eyes as they scanned him furtively—worry.

“Thank you for healing me, Silenus,” he said.

Onora let out an indignant huff.

“Onora did a fine job of trying to save you,” Silenus said, leaning over to examine Dryston’s wounds, his long, soft hair falling around his face.

Onora made a grumbling sound. “It would have worked if you’d said the incantation.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Onora,” Dryston said, enjoying how much it riled her. Her scrunched-up face and squinted eyes had a certain effect on him that was dangerous. He looked away, back at Silenus, who gave him a sly, knowing look.

Dryston narrowed his eyes in a threat. He knew Silenus had a meddling tendency. He’d heard and seen enough in regards to Melina and Kaemon to know he’d say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

His wavy blond hair fell around his bare, chiseled chest as he dotted his wounds.

“You’re very good at this,” Dryston said.

Silenus fluttered his lashes down for a demure smile. “Don’t praise me, Dryston, or I’ll fall in love.”

Dryston smirked. “Don’t flirt with me when you’re still in love with my brother.”

Silenus shrugged. “I could love you just as easily, I’m sure.”

Dryston shook his head, chuckling. Onora examined them with a raised brow.

“She’s wondering if we’ve ever been together,” Silenus said.

Onora let out a protesting whine. “No, I’m not.”

Dryston fixed her with a disbelieving look, and her lips flattened into a thin line.

“Onora was very, very worried about you,” Silenus cooed, and another indignant huff came from her.

“Of course I was,” she replied coolly. “If he dies, I have to drag his carcass around.”

Silenus made a humming sound, unconvinced.

“It’s survival,” she bit out.

Dryston tilted his head back again, and she looked down, meeting his gaze. An uncommon vulnerability was on her face that made his heart stammer and his chest constrict.

“That’s all,” she added quietly, unconvincingly.

“Of course,” he said softly. “And it was just survival when you convinced me to strip naked and keep you warm.”

Her nostrils flared. “That was your idea!”

He flashed her a grin and adjusted to lean on his elbows and sit up. His body felt like every muscle had been pulled taut and abused, every joint aching and his head still pounding. Her hand flew to his bicep, steady and strong but unhelpful, and her words belied what her expression screamed—concern. He didn’t know what to do with that. Or the way it made his heart pound a bit louder and his blood race.

Maybe it was just honor. Maybe it was just survival and necessity.

But how could it be when he felt a magic between them as striking as a bolt of lightning? He couldn’t be the only one feeling it, could he?

“We should leave soon,” he said.

“Not so fast,” Silenus tutted. “You’ll need a few days of rest to get the toxins out.”

“But the Hunters . . .”

“The house and forest are warded,” Onora replied, her hand urging him to lie back down. He placed his hand over hers, gripping it with a firm squeeze. Her eyes stuck where their hands met, then they carefully came back up to his, darkening. He had to look away or he might do something truly stupid with her. She was still a Hunter. She was still the person who had captured him and volunteered to kill him.

He swung his legs to the ground and gripped the bed to stand shakily. Onora let out a grunt of protest and Silenus just raised his brows.

“Being obstinate won’t make you heal any faster,” the satyr said, crossing his arms.

“I need to relieve myself,” he replied.

“Oh, well ...” Silenus unfolded his arms to gesture for them to follow.

Onora scooted to the edge of the bed. The giant feather mattress all but swallowed her up as she tried, making her stumble at the edge, where he caught her under her arms, pulling her against him. She pushed away hastily, refusing to make eye contact, and when she stood, she made a sound of alarm before her legs buckled underneath her and he quickly grabbed her again, holding her in his arms. Every bit of him ached from the effort, every muscle tense and pulling, but the instinct to protect her was overwhelming, too strong to ignore. He would rip every muscle and tendon in his body to keep her safe and comfortable.

Which was a horrifying thought. Where had that come from?

She weakly beat against his chest. “Let me down. You need to rest.”

“You can’t stand.”

“I just need to get feeling back in my legs—let me down.”

He frowned, setting her on the edge of the bed amid her protests, then he knelt before her, placing his hands on her calves, silencing her. He slowly rubbed them, slipping up to her knees and the end of her thighs. She drew in a sharp breath, and he tried to ignore what that did to his senses. Tried to ignore how touching her felt sacred and how he wanted there to be fewer layers of clothes between them. He wanted those thick and strong thighs wrapped around him.

Then the scent hit him like walking in a rose garden—her arousal. Warmth spread up his cheeks, down his chest, straight to his groin. He spread his hand along her thigh and dug deeper, looking up at her as he did, noting how her chest rose and fell heavily.

“That’s enough!” she growled, swatting his hand away.

He flashed her a grin.

“Move,” she said, voice commanding and dark—almost as dark as her eyes had become. “Why are you lingering?”

“Sorry, I thought you enjoyed the view.”

Her eyes turned to slits, and he stood, chuckling as he ignored the bark of pain that lanced through his limbs. He offered his hand to her, and she stared at it, pursing her lips. It was a simple thing, yet it felt as if the whole world hinged on how she reacted. Would she shove his hand away? Would she take it limply? Reject it softly and politely? It shouldn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

That’s what he told himself repeatedly in his head for the seconds he waited.

Her gaze shifted to his, tentative, curious.

She took his hand, her fingers curling around it firmly, and he thought his heart might stop.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

Somehow, it meant everything.

He helped her stand, her hand lingering in his for longer than propriety demanded.

“Are you two coming?” Silenus called from the room.

The moment disappeared like the exhale of a breath, but it would stay in his mind for a long time to come.

Dryston’s mouth watered at the smell of cooking herbs that filled the cabin as Silenus prepared them dinner. He pulled bread out of the stove and Dryston shifted in his seat, ready and desperate to rip into the whole loaf even as the heat wafted off it. His stomach rumbled and Silenus cast a glance over his shoulder.

“It will be ready soon enough, but don’t gorge yourself, Drys. I don’t want to deal with you having a bellyache.”

“I fear I won’t have much control over my impulses,” he said. “We haven’t had a proper meal for days.”

Longer for him. Prison food was notoriously bad, but what the Hunters had given him should be a crime.

Silenus finished preparing the food and brought it over, placing plates in front of them. “What’s the plan to get out of this situation?” he asked, gesturing to the chain hanging between them.

Dryston didn’t have time to answer as he grabbed the bread, ripped off a large piece and stuffed it into his mouth, devouring it so fast he barely had time to breathe. Before he could choke on it, Onora slid his water closer to him, nodding for him to take a drink and he did, giving her a sheepish smile, an uncommon moment of embarrassment washing over as she witnessed him act like a wild animal.

“We’re heading to a farmhouse near Port Arro,” Onora said, taking calm and steady bites of her food.

Dryston swallowed his next bite, ignoring the gnawing impulse to shove more food in his mouth. “Have you heard anything about Kalen and Maria? Or my family?”

Silenus shook his head. “I hadn’t heard anything until I saw Onora with you in the river.”

Dryston’s stomach sank. He hadn’t asked Onora about Kalen and Maria. He hadn’t seen them imprisoned and assumed they’d been left, but had they been killed?

As if sensing his question, she shook her head and said softly, “We didn’t do anything to them. Or I didn’t. I don’t know what’s happened in the days since we escaped.”

He breathed a small sigh of relief. Anything could have happened since they were captured, but at least they’d last been known alive.

“How do you plan to get to the farmhouse?” Silenus asked.

Dryston shrugged, taking the bread and dipping it in the soup and managing to take a small bite that he properly chewed. “I guess stay in the woods and sneak like we’ve been doing.” It was a terrible idea and would most likely lead to their deaths. “Silenus, can I have parchment to write letters to my family? If I don’t return ... I need to get word to them.”

He could feel Onora’s gaze on him like a brand, and the way Silenus stopped his spoon midair, blinking at him, made his chest ache.

Silenus set the spoon back in the bowl and nodded slowly. “I’ll give you provisions and guide you out of the woods in a couple of days. Then I’ll take the letters to Orc Haven.”

They laid in bed the rest of the day, passing it mostly in a tense silence. Silenus was in the other room, working on his art, leaving them to rest. Dryston read a couple of books. They were shockingly mild in nature, considering how flirtatious Silenus was. Onora shifted her shoulder, trying to rotate it and wincing. Dryston cocked his head to the side, curious, but she ignored him, trying again and unable to fully bring it up, her eyes crinkling in pain.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s fine. It’s an old injury that flares up sometimes, and it was just dislocated, so now it’s stiff.” She rubbed her shoulder with her other hand, wincing.

“I can do that for you,” Dryston offered.

She sighed, dropping her hand and angling her body. “Okay.”

“No arguing?”

“Why would I argue?” she growled.

“You love arguing with me.”

She ground her teeth, her jaw ticking. “You don’t have to help me. I didn’t realize you only offered to piss me off.”

He bit down the quip ready and waiting to be lobbed at her. “I wasn’t. I want to help.”

Her accepting his help felt like a boon. A gift from the gods. When had the dynamic between them changed so much? When had she started trusting him? He didn’t know, but he had a feeling it was when he’d passed out, recovering from the poison. He wanted to talk to her about it, to know what was going on in her mind, but it was too soon, too delicate.

“Okay,” he said, settling next to her. “I’ve done this for soldiers under my command. Plenty of old injuries and flare-ups amongst warriors. Often on campaign when you can’t easily get to a professional. Not to brag, but I’m quite good at it.”

“All you do is brag.”

“It’s difficult not to when I’m good at so many things.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just get to it already.”

The chains clanked as he brought his other hand around and pressed on her shoulder. “Tell me when I get to the spot.”

He moved deftly, pressing just enough that it hopefully felt amazing without being too rough. Her muscles were so stiff, her body so rigid, she could use an entire body massage. Which he’d gladly offer to her. She glanced at him sheepishly, then she looked away and he could suddenly hear how loud her heart was racing.

“What are you thinking about?” he purred, and she glared.

“How I’m going to kill you—ow!”

“There?”

She nodded, and he adjusted his pressure, massaging deep but slow and pressing out. She winced and clenched her jaw.

“What have you come up with?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“What’s your plan for my death? I might have some pointers for you. I’d prefer to go out in style.”

She let out a mirthless laugh. Glancing over her shoulder. Their faces were so close now, and her eyes took in the lines of his face, the movement feeling like a physical caress, lighting him up. Then she lowered her brows in a snarl.

“Beheading is a classic.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed. “It is. But is it a bit cliche? I’m sure you can come up with something cleverer than that.”

“Drawn and quartered is next in line.”

He grimaced. “Still too cliched, please, Onora. If the bards are to sing of my death and your heroism, shouldn’t it be something far more inventive?”

Her mouth hinted at a smile, but she pursed her lips and schooled a frown on her face.

“Perhaps I’ll flay you alive,” she breathed.

He adjusted her arm up, pulling it out and massaging from her shoulder blade to elbow and then back down over her torso.

“Now we’re talking.” He focused on the muscles of her rib cage, and she groaned in pleasure. Her muscles were so tight, but godsdamnit, did her groan have to sound like that? He had to look away from her, focusing down where his hands were. Keeping it chaste.

“Perhaps I’ll even place your head on a pike.”

“So you can stare at my beauty every day?”

She scoffed. “As a reminder to anyone what their punishment could be.”

“Keep the skin there, at least. It would be a tragedy to deny the world of my glorious face, even in death.”

“You’re morbid.”

He brought his face up, inches from her own, and her heart hammered in her chest, echoing in his ears. “You started it, darling.”

Her hand found where his rested on her rib cage and softly, so softly he could almost convince himself it wasn’t happening, she moved it up, right below her breast, a question in her eyes.

Fuck.

Fuck.

All chivalry fled his mind. Any ounce of reasoning that had once prevailed was nowhere to be found. He’d lay her down here and taste every inch of her, touch every inch of her, caress her until she was screaming his name and her body turned to liquid from pure bliss.

Her fingers ran over his hand, his forearm, her eyes never leaving his, daring him, teasing him, almost commanding him. She stared at him, scared, tentative, her eyes full of lust.

Fuck.

Her pulse beat furiously in her neck. He could kiss her, taste the beads of sweat on her skin, lap it up like a dying man in the desert. What was the difference, really? He thought he’d do anything for a taste, beg, degrade himself, anything.

The floorboards creaked loud enough to wake the dead as Silenus moved in the other room, and Onora scrambled away from Dryston, shock and embarrassment washing over her features, the look like a douse of cold water on his fiery desire.