Tempest Awakening (The Dragonne Library #1)

Chapter 8

Kane

I strode into the Dragonne Library, matching my father's brisk pace. Silvius Ellesar, Lord Protector of the Dragon Rider Guild, led the way, his silver hair a stark contrast to his perpetual scowl. I kept my hands clasped behind my back, projecting calm while I cataloged every detail of our surroundings.

The meeting room was already occupied. Isolde Northfall, Garrick Burke, Aurelia, Akira—each a piece on this political chessboard. My fingers tapped a steady rhythm against my thigh as I settled into an armchair, a habit that kept me focused.

Moriyana commanded the room with her presence—obviously, as she was the only dragon here—but it was the unexpected figure beside her that caught my attention. A human woman with tousled hair and golden-brown eyes.

Tempest Whittaker, according to the nameplate before her. An anomaly, but one that stirred an unwelcome spark of desire within me. I clenched my jaw, forcing my gaze away from the delicate curve of her lips, the soft swell of her chest. This sudden, intense attraction was as unwelcome as it was unexpected.

"Esteemed colleagues," Moriyana began, her voice rich with authority. "I present Tempest Whittaker, our new Librarian and Archivist of Human Magical Interactions."

A ripple of tension swept the room. I noted each reaction—Isolde's measured nod, Garrick's stoic acceptance, Aurelia's thinly veiled disdain, Akira's intrigued smirk.

"Ms. Whittaker will lead our Oral History Project," Moriyana continued, "bridging the gap between our worlds post-Unveiling."

My father's lip curled. "Surely you jest, Moriyana," he spat. "A human? For such a task?"

I stole another glance at Tempest, taking in the slight flush on her cheeks, the defiant set of her jaw. Heat bloomed low in my abdomen, a primal response I struggled to suppress. I shifted uncomfortably, jaw clenched, furious at my body's betrayal.

"The decision is made, Silvius," Moriyana's scales shimmered, a warning in her tone. "The Oral History Project will involve gathering and preserving firsthand accounts from humans and magical beings alike, documenting their experiences and perspectives since the Unveiling. This will be a comprehensive effort, requiring delicate handling and deep understanding of both worlds."

Tempest's voice, calm and clear, cut through the tension. "The goal is to create an archive that future generations can learn from, fostering a deeper understanding and cooperation between our species."

My father's sneer deepened. "And you believe a human can manage this monumental task?"

I watched Tempest, impressed despite myself by her steady gaze under scrutiny. A complication, certainly, but perhaps an opportunity as well—if I could quell the unsettling pull she seemed to have over my senses.

Moriyana nodded. "Tempest's fresh perspectives are precisely why she was chosen. We need someone who can navigate both worlds with insight and empathy."

"If this must proceed," my father's voice cut through my thoughts, "the Guild will oversee it. Kane will manage the project."

I tensed, careful to keep my face neutral. Of course. Another burden for the dutiful son to bear.

"As you wish, Father," I responded, tone clipped. Despite my father's disdain, I didn't share his prejudices against humans. Among the supernatural community, I was probably considered quite liberal. In fact, I had long believed that humans and Supes working together could lead to unprecedented advancements.

But this—this attraction to Tempest Whittaker—well, it was a problem.

The meeting concluded and I approached her, steps measured, drinking in the faint hints of warm vanilla and spice that seemed to cling to her hair. The scent sent a jolt of want through me, one I ruthlessly pushed down.

"Tempest Whittaker," I said, inclining my head slightly while silently cursing the sudden dryness in my mouth and the quickening of my pulse. "It seems we'll be working closely."

"So it seems." Her voice, low and slightly husky.

I let the silence stretch, observing her reaction while fighting the urge to let my eyes wander over her form. "An interesting choice for this role," I finally said, my tone carefully neutral. "I hope you're prepared for the challenge, little librarian."

Without waiting for a response, I turned and left, irritation and frustrated desire simmering beneath my calm exterior. Tempest Whittaker was an unknown variable in our carefully balanced world, and a dangerous temptation I hadn't anticipated. One I would need to study closely to mitigate any potential risk—personal or otherwise.

As I strode away, I found myself uncomfortably aware of her presence behind me, my body hyper-aware and yearning to turn back. I pushed the thought aside violently, increasing my pace. Such reckless attractions were a luxury I could ill afford, and one I was determined to overcome.

???

Later that evening, I found myself ensconced in the lavish confines of my family's manor. The opulent surroundings did little to ease the tension coiled within me, a stark reminder of the expectations that weighed heavily upon my shoulders.

As I made my way through the hallways, I paused outside Kali’s room. The faint sounds of a video game filtered through the closed door. I’d be seeing Mason later, and he’d appreciate it if I checked on his sister.

I knocked softly, pushing the door open when I heard her muffled "Come in."

Kali sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, her attention fixed on the screen before her. "Already on your second playthrough of Baldur's Gate 3?" I remarked, leaning against the doorframe.

She glanced over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips. "Someone's got to keep the mind flayers in check. Plus, I need to succeed in romancing Astarion this time. It didn't work out last playthrough."

I couldn't resist. "You know, real vampires—"

Kali rolled her eyes dramatically, cutting me off. "Ugh, Kane. It's a game. Let me have my fun."

I allowed myself a small smile. "And how are your studies progressing?"

Kali rolled her eyes dramatically. "Stellar, as always. You know me, Kane. I live to exceed expectations."

Her sarcasm was evident, but I detected no real distress in her tone. Good. Her brother would be pleased to hear his sister was adjusting well. "Just remember, your brother—"

"Wants me to apply myself, focus on my potential, blah blah blah," she finished for me, her tone softening slightly. "I know, Kane. I'm trying."

Despite her teasing words, I felt a flush of warmth at her words. Kali trusted me. She saw me not just as the arrogant fae heir, but as the one who had helped to save her and her brother. Her trust, so hard-won, was a precious gift. Which was why I felt so fiercely protective of her now.

The sound of the front door opening and closing shattered the moment, signaling my father's arrival home.

"Stay in here," I murmured to Kali, closing the door behind me as I descended the stairs towards the foyer.

Silvius Ellesar cut an imposing figure, his broad shoulders filling out the crisp lines of his tailored suit. His silver hair was neatly combed back, framing chiseled features that seemed carved from granite. As I approached, his piercing blue eyes settled on me.

"Welcome home, Father," I greeted, my tone carefully neutral.

His lip curled in disdain. "I trust you've begun preparations for overseeing the human's work?"

"Of course. I've already initiated a preliminary assessment of the project's scope and potential... challenges."

Silvius scoffed, his distaste palpable. "A human. At the Dragonne Library. It's an abomination."

I fought the urge to clench my teeth, well-accustomed to my father's prejudices. "Nevertheless, it is her decree, and I shall endeavor to carry it out efficiently."

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he regarded me through narrowed eyes. "See that you do. But do not waste the time of those better suited to more critical tasks."

"Understood." The words felt like acid on my tongue, but I forced them out, knowing the consequences of defiance.

Yet, Silvius seemed to sense the slightest undercurrent of rebellion in my tone. In a blur of motion, his hand lashed out, striking me across the face with a resounding crack that sent stars bursting across my vision. The force of the blow whipped my head to the side and sent a spray of blood across the polished marble floor. Pain exploded across my face, a sharp contrast to the cold fury building within me.

I staggered, my vision swimming with tears of pain that I refused to let fall. Straightening, I met his gaze steadily, refusing to show weakness.

"Your impertinence tests my patience, boy," he snarled. "You will not question my authority. You will not deviate from my commands. You are an Ellesar, and you will act like it."

As he spoke, he struck me again, his fist impacting my ribs with a sickening crunch. I heard rather than felt the bone give way, a sharp exhalation of breath the only outward sign of the agony that radiated from the point of impact.

I dropped to one knee, gasping for air that refused to come. My father's boots came into view, each step he took echoing in the hollow chamber of my mind. He was the embodiment of everything I loathed—tyranny cloaked in the guise of nobility, oppression masquerading as order.

"Do not forget your place," he snarled, standing over me like a conqueror surveying his vanquished foe.

In that moment, I hated him with a passion that burned brighter than the sun. But I also understood him in a way that few did. His strength was also his weakness—his unyielding nature would be his downfall. And as I knelt there, broken and bleeding, I vowed silently that I would be the one to bring about his end.

I would dismantle his legacy, brick by bloody brick.

With a monumental effort, I pushed myself to my feet, using the wall for support. My father watched me, a contemptuous sneer twisting his lips.

"Clean yourself up," he spat. "I won't have you looking like some common street thug."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving me alone with my pain and my resolve.

I made my way to the guest bathroom, my movements stiff and measured. As I caught sight of my reflection, the full extent of the damage became apparent—a deep cut above my eyebrow, my eye already beginning to swell shut, my lip split and bleeding.

I reached for the healing potion, the liquid bitter. I drank it down, feeling the bones knit together and the wounds close.

But some wounds were not so easily healed. The scars my father left on my body would fade, but the ones he etched into my soul would remain forever.

Once the immediate pain subsided, I took a moment to gather my thoughts. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror was one of resolve. I couldn't allow my father's cruelty to break me; instead, it would be the fire that forged me into something stronger. With a deep breath, I straightened my posture and prepared to face the rest of the evening.

I left the guest bathroom and made my way to the Dormitory Building's dining hall. Despite the richness of the room's decor, with its elaborate crystal chandeliers and intricate tapestries, the setup was almost utilitarian. Long banquet tables stretched across the room, and dragon rider applicants shuffled through the buffet line, picking up their evening meals.

It had been a month since the applicants had arrived, two hundred hopefuls from across the supernatural spectrum, all vying for the chance to bond with a dragon.

The air was thick with tension; we all knew that by mid-October, a third of us would be sent home after the first Guild Trial. The weight of that knowledge pressed down on us, driving us to push harder in our training, to excel in our classes on magical theory and dragon lore.

I joined the line, recognizing a group of applicants ahead of me—rivals in every sense of the word. They exchanged furtive glances.

One of them, a burly applicant named Jareth, turned to face me, his eyes narrowing. "Fancy seeing you here, Ellesar," he sneered. "I suppose having the Lord Protector for a father gets you straight to the front of the line, doesn't it?"

I maintained my composure, my voice even. "It doesn't matter who your parents are, Jareth. What matters is being the best."

A ripple of begrudging acknowledgment passed through the group, and they made no further attempt to provoke me. With my tray laden with food, I made my way through the dining hall, my eyes scanning for a familiar face.

It wasn't hard to spot Mason, even if he wasn't at our usual table. At 6'6", with shoulders broad enough to make even the largest applicants look small, my friend stood out in any crowd. His dark brown skin gleamed under the chandelier light.

As I approached, Mason's keen eyes flicked over me, his expression subtly shifting. He leaned closer, his deep, gruff voice low. "Rough day?"

I gave a tight smile. "You could say that. Took quite a hit during training."

Mason's eyebrow arched skeptically. He didn't press further, but his eyes said he wasn't buying it. "I heard the library just hired a human. Any truth to that?"

I nodded, grateful for the change in topic. "Yes. She'll be spearheading the Oral History Project." I carefully avoided mentioning her name, recalling the way my body had responded to her golden-brown eyes meeting mine.

Mason's eyes lit up with interest. "A human, huh? I have a soft spot for their kind. They're often more... unpredictable."

I chuckled. "You'd enjoy her company, then. She seems to have a quiet strength about her."

"Speaking of unpredictable," Mason grinned, launching into a story about his latest training mishap. I found myself relaxing, trading quips and anecdotes with easy familiarity. As our laughter died down, a comfortable silence settled between us.

"I checked on your sister earlier," I said, my voice lowering. "She's doing well, though her enthusiasm for her studies remains... selective."

Mason's expression softened. "Thanks, Kane. I appreciate you looking out for her."

I nodded, understanding the weight of responsibility he carried. We both knew the stakes of our training—becoming Dragon Riders wasn't just about prestige. For Mason, it was a chance at true autonomy, a way to protect and provide for Kali when he hadn't been able to do so for so long.

As the dining hall emptied, my thoughts drifted unbidden to Tempest, the human librarian. Her presence, her quiet dignity in the face of my father's disdain—it all captivated me more than I cared to admit.

We made our way back to my father's manor, both of us lost in our thoughts. As I prepared for bed, I couldn't shake the image of Tempest from my mind. The scent of vanilla and spice that clung to her seemed to linger in my senses, taunting me.

Lying in the darkness, I found myself replaying our brief interaction, analyzing every word, every gesture. The pull I felt towards her was unlike anything I'd experienced before. It wasn't just physical attraction—though that was undeniably intense. My body seemed to hum with a primal need whenever I thought of her, a reaction as unwelcome as it was powerful.

No, this felt deeper, more significant somehow.

The realization unsettled me deeply. I'd spent years building walls, maintaining control over every aspect of my life. Yet in the span of a single day, this human woman had managed to slip past my defenses.

I shifted restlessly in bed, frustrated by my body's betrayal and my mind's fixation on Tempest. This attraction was dangerous, a distraction I couldn't afford.

And yet, try as I might, I couldn't banish her from my thoughts.