Chapter 39 Moments In The Woods
MOMENTS IN THE WOODS
ALICE
Silence. The woods don’t buzz or chirp, not even a nighttime breeze passes through to rustle the leaves as we stare at each other. It’s just us, and our raw, open wounds dripping blood onto the dirt.
“Alice, I—I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No,” he says, thick black brows scrunching together. “No, it’s not. I—"
I hold up a hand, cutting him off. Surprisingly, it works.
“I need a moment, Ori.”
“But—”
“Please. I just—I can’t do any more of this right now.”
I’m completely and utterly drained. My tank is empty; I’m running on fumes. It’s as if I’ve finally purged everything I’ve been holding in for years.
“Okay.” Ori heaves a breath, his baggy T-shirt clad chest expanding.
The patchy logo on it is unreadable, having melted off from too many runs through the laundry, and his polyester gym shorts hang loose around his hips.
It’s a strange detail to focus on right now, but it strikes me as odd, seeing him in such untailored clothes, and pondering it grounds me.
Even when we went to the county fair, he was in pristine business casual.
Is this what he sleeps in?
I turn my back on Ori with the intention to sit against one of the thick tree trunks lining the trail. But as soon as I take one step off the dirt path, the forest shifts, and Ori’s panicked voice calls out.
“Alice, wait—”
The brush closes in around me, and I grab the nearest branch to steady myself as the ground moves under my feet.
Magic whirs, a blur of forest green; branches snap and roots curl, and suddenly, I’m lost.
Mentally, emotionally, physically. I couldn’t tell you who, what, or where I am. All I know is the tacky feel of drying tears on my cheeks, a lingering pain in my chest, and the panic flooding my veins.
I stumble, searching for Ori, calling out his name, but my voice bounces off the shadowed trees and back to my own ears.
I spin, but there’s nowhere to go, I’m surrounded on all sides except one, and the brush is too thick and thorny to part myself.
The trail ahead doesn’t diverge or split. It’s a straight line forward.
It seems Arcadia doesn’t want me to wander.
The only thing I can do is humor the land, and so, I walk.
Sunrise fog floats from the earth, curling around my ankles as the cool soil wakes.
The leaves shiver as if they’re clairvoyant, hearing the roar that shakes the air a second before it hits my ears.
I recognize it as a dragon’s call, but it’s different from the ones Ori hurls from his massive throat. It’s full of pain.
My shoes pause in the dirt, taking root as my body stills.
Every hair on my body stands on end, warning me to not move. Call it survival instinct or call it fear, I listen to it either way.
I only continue my journey when a calming breeze pushes me forward with a cool palm against my lower back.
Soon enough, there’s a break in the canopy.
The wind rushes, drawing me into the clearing, and there, tucked in the center, is a curled dragon. Except it’s not my dragon.
This one is red. Burgundy scales shimmer and shift along its wings and hide.
Its tail is sharper than Ori’s, more suited for slicing than smashing.
The grass below it sizzles, burnt blades marking a perfect outline of the beast. It doesn’t notice me, not at first, as it licks at its extended wing… which is bleeding.
I inch backwards, slowly, but my sneaker lands on a root in the path. As my weight pushes down and my heel slides off, striking the dirt, it makes just enough noise for the dragon to swing its massive head at me. Slitted pupils dilate within yellow-hazel eyes.
The dragon flinches at the sight of me. It scuttles away, curling into itself defensively.
I back up too, except my back hits the hard trunk of a tree instead of the clear path out of the field. I murmur a curse as I twist to see my escape blocked by the shifting forest.
The dragon growls, low and single-toned, like a cat. A warning.
I raise both hands in the air, hoping it communicates my intention of not getting into an altercation, as I scan the tree line for a path out.
There—beyond the dragon, a new trail has parted the forest.
“I’ve enjoyed strolling in you,” I mutter to the Woods at my back. “But now you’re being meddlesome.”
The leaves rustle with a sudden breeze, as if they’re laughing at me.
The dragon bristles with the wind too, wings shaking out as if it’s getting ready to charge.
“I’m lost!” I call out. “I mean no trouble.”
Its wings freeze, then tuck back to its side. The beast tilts its massive head, bearing its sharp teeth as it studies me.
“Can I pass?” I ask, taking a tentative step forward.
The dragon flinches again, which is better than frying me on the spot with its fire.
“I don’t have any weapons,” I reveal, slowly inching along the curved tree line.
It’s skittish; if I keep talking to it, there’s a chance I can slip far enough around the clearing to make a clean break to the path.
“I’ve only got my sparkling personality with me today. Which some say is as sharp as a whip.”
My words float through the field, and the dragon cants its head to the other side. Its eyes narrow as if… as if it’s recognizing me.
“Shit,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut in silent prayer.
If this dragon is who I think it might be, since Ori hasn’t mentioned the possibility of any other family members flying around Arcadia, then I really don’t want them to recognize me.
“Alice?” a rusty, deep voice says.
Fuck.
I dare to peak through my lashes at the man attached to the voice. His hair is long and black, falling in waves to his collarbone. He pushes it back, running a shocked hand though the strands.
“Is that truly you?”
He’s muscular and tall, like Ori, though slightly leaner.
The pale expanse of his bare chest is littered with scars; some are faded, the raised tissue extending past the waistline of his breeches, and some are fresh, still pink and healing along his pectorals.
Blood actively drips from a wound on his arm.
“Are you the one I’ve been tracking?” he rasps. His tongue wraps around the syllables slowly, as if he hasn’t spoken in weeks. And maybe he hasn’t… if he prefers to spend his time in his dragon form.
I take a measured step back, even though there’s nowhere to retreat to. But every warning the trio back home has given me about Enzo and his Champion rings in my ear. I might remember a sweet and shy boy from my time here as a child, but Enzo isn’t a child anymore. And we’ve all changed.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I say, cautiously.
Enzo’s firm footsteps crunch over the grass.
I make to retreat, not caring if my legs and arms bleed from the thorny bushes, but he’s too fast, and I’m slammed against the rough bark of a tree with a hand on my throat.
It’s forceful, enough to keep me in place, but he doesn’t squeeze.
If anything, his fingers err on the side of gentle-giant-who-doesn’t-know-his-strength as he pinches my jaw, turns my head, and sticks his nose to my pulse.
He inhales deeply.
“It is you,” Enzo says, in awe.
His bright hazel eyes flick over me fast, before he rips himself away. I crumble to the ground as he stumbles back, both hands lifting out placatingly.
“I’m s-sorry,” he stutters. “Fuck.”
Both his hands weave through his hair as he starts to pace, panicked and frantic. It’s awfully similar to the way his brother paced before me moments ago.
“You need to leave. We need to pretend this never happened,” Enzo mutters, like a madman, nervously glancing at the path on the other side of the clearing. “Do you remember where you fell?”
I blink, my brain too slow to catch that he was directing his words at me. “What?”
“I don’t know where a portal is to send you back, but maybe if we get you to where you fell before she—”
“Enz, baby, you can’t run away,” a darkly feminine voice calls out. It’s teasing, in all the wrong ways.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Enzo mutters. “You need to hide.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you, but we’ve only started training for the day.” A tall, muscular redhead steps out from the path I had hoped to escape through. She swings a long sword as she saunters, as if it weighs nothing. Enzo clams up, body trembling. “Oh? What do we have here?”
Maven.
I glance at Enzo, whose back is to his Champion; he subtly shakes his head.
Why is he scared of her?
Enzo’s shoulders rise with a single deep breath, as if to collect himself before he turns towards the woman.
“It’s okay,” he says, forced chipper notes in his tone.
He angles his body in front of me, doing what he can to obscure my visage from Maven’s line of sight.
“My dragon went a little crazy after that last spar. You know how we get when our wings get nicked.” Enzo laughs, but it’s a tight, controlled sound.
Fake. “I landed here to heal but I stumbled upon a nymph. I told her to leave so we can have it to ourselves.”
Why is he covering for me?
My brain can’t reconcile his actions with the image of him in my head; the others had made me believe Enzo was evil. Corrupt. He murdered his parents, for fuck’s sake.
“Is that so?” Maven says, stewing on his made-up story.
Maven approaches him languidly, like she has all the time in the world. I can’t see exactly what she does, but I think she kisses him, because her free hand curls around his nape. Pointed nails scratch along his flesh, and her fingers weave into his dark waves.
I should use this moment to flee, but they’re still blocking my way out, and I don’t have a weapon. I could launch myself into the brush and hope for the best—which is probably better than whatever will happen if I stay here any longer.
“Ach,” Maven tuts, as if she can read my mind.
In the three seconds I looked away from the pair to assess my options, she’s turned Enzo around. One arm is slung over his shoulder and the other holds her blade against his gut. The flat of it slides up his navel, shining metal scraping against the trail of dark hair there.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she tuts.
Enzo subtly shakes his head again, so I don’t speak, only pointing at the woods.
Do nymphs know how to talk? I glance down at my jean shorts and hold back my grimace. I definitely don’t think nymphs wear jean.
Maven’s searing gaze trails over me, seeing too much. “Golden curls. Freckled complexion. An expression that screams save me.” She points her blade at me, a smirk shining over the metal. “It’s been a long while, Alice.”
“Would rather it be longer.”
“You’re still mouthy,” Maven says, dropping her smirk.
“And you’re still a bitch.”
Maven barks a laugh. Then tilts her head to whisper something in Enzo’s ear, her terrifying eyes never leaving me.
Enzo shudders as she steps away, as if he’s fighting the shift that’s overtaking him. Red sparks of magic fizzle over his body as he grows into his beast.
“You’re coming home with us,” Maven says, casually. “Enzo will carry you.”
The dragon swings its head between both of us, wary. His eyes soften on me, begging me to heed her commands. But just as his wings spread to launch into the sky and presumably snatch me up, a roar cracks the air.
The opalescent dragon I’ve grown used to sparring with soars into the clearing, blowing fire across the foliage. I dive out of the way, but so does Maven. Enzo accepts the brunt of the attack, his scales unblemished by the flames. He shakes them off, the embers fizzling out in the scorched earth.
Ori’s dragon banks along the passing clouds, hurtling towards us. He shifts before he lands, rolling to brace the impact, then breaks into a sprint to me.
“Are you hurt?” Ori asks, hands fitting under my arms to lift me to standing.
I shake my head.
“I’m getting you out of here,” he vows. Magic glitters on his skin as he starts to shift.
However, the moment Ori took to check if I was okay was enough for the others to recover. Maven yells for Enzo, and the red dragon dives for us at her command.
Red and white collide; the dragons tangle, crashing into the trees and clawing at each other violently.
In the frenzy, Enzo’s sharp tail whips out, with farther reach than I realize, and catches me across my middle.
Luckily, it’s the flat side of the pointed barb that hits my gut, and I’m spared being turned into a human shish kebab, though I am flung into the air from the force of his swing.
I careen across the field, green and burnt yellow blurring underneath me, and slam into a tree. My head flings back, cracking against bark.
I crumble, branches scraping cuts over my skin as I fall, and the grass welcomes me into a forced nap.
There’s commotion; flares of red and orange burn my closed lids.
I can’t make out the garbled shouts, but I’m able to hear the roars. They’re painful cries. Worried howls. Guttural screams.
At some point, I’m lifted in the air, cradled not by cool, dewy grass, but by hot, smooth scales. And then I’m wrapped in a set of muscular arms, just as balmy. I curl into the overwhelming scent of leather and campfire, burrowing my nose against the chest it emanates from.
“You’re going to be fine,” a deep, hushed voice says against my crown.
I groan.
My head hurts.
“You’re going to be fine,” the voice repeats, as if the speaker is consoling himself, not me. “You’re going to be fine.”
“I’m totally fine,” I slur. “Four Advil and a Coca-Cola. Mom’s secret remedy.”
“What?” the voice says, and I think we’re climbing carpeted stairs, because his steps thunk repeatedly, muted and hollow.
“Head hurts,” I mumble.
The arms wrapped around me grip me tighter. “I know.”
I fade in and out from there.
Soft sheets and plush pillows. Sleep.
I turn. Fresh cold pillow on my cheek. Warm body at my back, rumbling, like a storm.
“What are you doing? Get out of our bed.”
“Please, can I stay? My beast is riding me hard to make sure she’s okay.”
“Fine, but if she wakes up and murders you, I’ll say I told you so.”
Warmth at my front. This one smells like cinnamon and home. I curl up tighter; more arms wrap around me. Four turns to six? Six is too many.
I turn again. My nose nuzzles into a broad chest, sucks in smoke and leather.
I sigh. I sleep. And then, I dream.