Chapter 21 Ice
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ICE
His palms slapped against the stone as Corric desperately scrabbled for an opening.
An explanation. Anything at all to stop the madness he refused to believe didn’t come straight from his nightmares.
Had he fallen asleep? No, that was impossible.
Just a moment ago he’d been leaning against the wall watching Derry and Halm.
Derry and Halm.
Corric hadn’t been alone! If he squinted, he could see the faint lines of the painting the Clansmen ancestors had painted generations ago. If he traced them, he might find his way back to his friends.
Hugging the wall, he followed the lines until he finally saw them. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, faces lax as they stared at the wall.
At Corric.
They were looking right at him, but their eyes remained dim with ignorance. Somehow, he could see through the shifting grey wall of rock, but they couldn’t see him. Corric slapped his hands against the wall. He shouted until his ears rang, but they couldn’t hear him.
Breath ragged; he felt the first stirrings of panic.
He’d been so preoccupied trying to find a way out that he didn’t really consider his predicament, but now?
Now his teeth were chattering and the grip on his sword was clammy.
Was it the cold sweat itching down his back or was it getting colder? Corric wasn’t sure.
Despite the cold, the room was humid. The air was thick and musty.
Old. It smelled like a trunk that hadn’t been opened in years.
It left a terrible taste on the back of his tongue.
Looking over his shoulder, he scanned the darkness for any sign of light.
Movement. But all he found was a void so impenetrable it was darker than the plains on a moonless night.
Turning back to the wall, Corric was about to scream for Derry and Halm again when he felt a puff of air on the back of his neck, frigid and forceful enough to ruffle his hair.
“There you are,” A voice spoke right beside his ear, so close he could hear the creaking of its jaw and the click of a tongue off the roof of its mouth. “Scale breaker.”
Corric was paralyzed. He couldn’t move away from the presence as it grew heavier and heavier. Where the air before had been humid, now it was wet, sticking to Corric’s skin like a shadow, slithering around until he was completely consumed by the void behind him.
Scale breaker. The thing drew the word out until it rattled around Corric’s skull like an echo.
“W-Who are you?” he chattered, his teeth knocking together.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the thing said with a sigh. Pinpricks prodded the skin of his cheeks, a facsimile of the comfort of a hand against his skin. “For a very long time.”
Corric had never felt so helpless. Even when he was under his father’s thumb. But he was young then, too young to know better. Now he did.
Now he was Stone Blade.
Closing his fingers around his sword, he forced himself to regulate his breathing and ignore the staccato rhythm of his heart.
The weight of his weapon was comforting.
It reminded him of his pack, his clan, his strength.
Slowly, his limbs came back to life. Like he was submerging them into a warm bath, he welcomed the tingles of life in his fingertips.
With that came clarity. Corric had heard this voice before. On the beach with Schok. It had been so fast, a quick sentence that cut through him like a blade so sharp there was a delay in pain.
Corric’s chest felt hollow. “Sinestrus.”
A rumbling chuckle rumbled against his ear.
“I planned for you for a very long time, Scale Breaker. Manipulated the very fabric of time itself to see you born.” There was such glee in his words that it made Corric sick.
“Weak of body but strong. A strength born out of hate. Warped by pain and anger, I needed you low. Beaten, bruised. Ready for the hand I would hold out to you.”
It made no sense. Sinestrus was breathing in his ear, spewing his disgusting rhetoric, but Corric didn’t understand.
“I have nothing for you,” he asserted through clenched teeth.
Sinestrus hissed. “Oh, little omega, but you do. You may have escaped my plans, but you are, at your core, still weak. Such a fragile little thing, born with such potential…it didn’t take much to convince your father to have you.
One more, Krait.” his voice husked with excitement.
“He was so disappointed at your birth. Nothing but an omega. He didn’t see it. "
The wet smell grew in intensity until it choked Corric, gagging him with something he could only describe as unfettered glee.
“Where he saw a useless omega, I saw an opportunity. You just needed a little…pain.”
With a small gasp, Corric finally put it all together.
“You made my father sell me to Rappa, knowing what he would—”
“Break you? Yes.” The final syllable dragged. “His cruelty would turn weak to strong, pain to hate. And from that despair, only I could be your salvation.”
The pinpricks on his face dug in, dragging his face forward into the rock, forcing him to bare his neck. Corric grunted against the exertion of fighting it, ignoring as the pain from the small points of pressure grew.
“You think they made you strong?” Sinestrus spat. “But all they did was prolong the inevitable, Corric Tylock. You are still weak.”
He shook his head, fighting the drag of claws on his skin.
“Weak enough to take the hand I’m offering you.”
“No!” he screamed.
“You are the Scale Breaker, and you will set me free!”
Corric’s cheek slammed against the rock wall, and he gasped as the air around him swirled colder. The necklaces he’d earned dug into his skin—his achievements, not given, but earned. Recognized by the clan. His clan.
He leaned into the pressure. “No.” he pressed his forearm against the uneven rock and shoved with everything he had.
“I am Stone Blade and I carry their strength with me always!” he screamed, more to himself than to Sinestrus, as he jerked himself away from the oily void clinging to him. Falling to the ground, he pulled his sword up and pointed it, not at Sinestrus, but at his own throat.
“I’ll bleed before I set you free!”
Sinestrus was still, the darkness seeming to hover for a long moment before it disappeared with a quiet laugh.
Between blinks, Corric was back squinting in the sunlight. Frost sparkled on his skin and clung to his hair. Ice dripped off his sword where it rested against his collar bones.
Derry and Halm’s laughter stopped the moment they caught sight of him. Their calls were muted by the thundering of blood in Corric’s ears. His hand shook, blade trembling against the sensitive skin of his throat.
Halm jerked the sword from Corric’s loose fist, gasping as the chill burnt her skin. The clattering of his sword against stone broke whatever trance he was in. With a shuddering breath, he ignored Derry’s hand and pushed himself to his feet.
Scale breaker.
It spread through him like a sickness. Nausea roiled in his stomach as he realized he never escaped his bloodline. Schok was wrong. He was just another Tylock.
Another pawn to be played.
Night had fallen by the time Corric made it back to the camp. Halm tried to insist he go see Iylah, or even just speak to Ridan, but Corric threatened the two with silence. He told them he was fine and bared his fangs until they both relented, promising they wouldn’t tell anyone.
There was only one person Corric wanted to see, and he made his way there as quickly as he could.
He tried his best to look normal, but he was a mess—movements stilted, legs refusing to work correctly.
Almost like they were struggling to hold his weight.
A small nick on his neck throbbed from where his sword had slipped, leaving behind a bright red line in the flesh.
Corric kept his head down to avoid speaking to anyone. He only lifted it when he scented his mate on the wind. Jonen’s black tea scent was unmistakable, hanging in the air as if he’d just walked past. He wrenched open the flap the moment his fingers touched the leather.
The tent was sparse—as most unmated alphas tents were—but it was cozy and warm. Thick with Jonen’s scent. Jonen was sprawled out on a pallet, his hands behind his head as he rested beside a low hearth. Clothes and boots were laid out beside the fire, still damp from the day.
Pausing just at the entrance, Corric let his eyes flutter shut as he breathed in the comfort. It was more potent than the herbs the elders smoked.
“Corric?” Jonen’s voice was drowsy.
Opening his eyes, Corric began quickly unbuckling his belt, unsheathing a thin dagger before letting the rest clunk to the ground under its weight. He needed to keep a weapon close. Just in case.
Dropping to his knees, he laid the dagger beside the pallet before diving onto Jonen.
The alpha grunted, catching him in his burly arms. Corric nuzzled against his neck, enjoying the scratch of facial hair against his skin.
He tried to focus on the way it tickled.
On how different it felt than Sinestrus’ phantom touches.
“Corric? Are you ok? You’re trembling.” Jonen’s voice was soothing. Like rubbing a balm over a burn, a sigh of relief.
Lifting his head from Jonen’s neck, he looked up into worried eyes. They were so lovely, so innocent. There was nothing cruel in their depths. They were the same eyes that peered down at him from the top of his broken carriage. Eyes that hadn’t changed since that day.
Corric surged up, kissing Jonen so hard their teeth clacked.
Jonen fell back onto his pallet, hands slipping down to Corric’s hips as the omega ravaged him.
He was kissing Jonen so hard the other man had difficulty keeping up.
Tears slid down his cheeks before he could stop them.
His hands shook where they buried themselves in thick curls.
Jonen pulled back, laying a thick hand on Corric’s chest to stop him from chasing him. “Corric, what’s going on?”