Chapter 7 Claeg
By the gods. If De Vita believed I killed this draconis then my plans would be ruined. I peered at him through my lashes, keeping my head bowed in submission. The man had braided black hair which caressed sun-kissed skin. He wore a light robe, which did little to hide his flesh. Chiseled muscles rippled over his large frame. But that wasn’t what took my breath away. His body was lined with jagged scars—a sign of the weak. But he didn’t look weak. In fact, he embodied strength. My eyes rose to his square jawline brushed with stubble. His lips were jagged with scars but moist, no hint of the dryness affecting mine. Framing his eyes were sharp cheekbones and a perfectly shaped nose. And then there were his eyes. They were breathtaking, the color of a clouded moon.
Fuck, he was beautiful. The Ruptor purred, entranced by the tempting meal before me. After a quarter of a moon turn without indulging its impulses, it hungered even for the enemy. I shook my head. By the gods of the Circulus, what was wrong with me? His skin proved he was weak. He wore his scars like he was proud of his weakness. I scowled. He gazed at me with a slight narrowing of his eyebrows, creases forming on his forehead. A blade rested at his hip, but his hands made no move to grab it.
“You’re a long way from home, Circulus,” the draconis said, their voice like melted honey, with an intrigued rather than hostile tone.
Now it was my move. “They don’t want me there,” I whispered pathetically. Weakly. I couldn’t suppress a wince. The draconis hummed, taking a step closer to me. I feigned a timid step back only to find myself pressed against the dead draconis. There was nowhere to run. Good. I wanted this De Vita draconis to believe I was cornered, weak, and afraid.
“So, you are a traitor, then?”
I flinched. “Is it a crime to want to live?” I breathed the lie, hating myself for it.
“Only as much as it is to want to die, Circulus.”
I frowned and bit my lip, wiping my palms on my trousers. “You want to die?” I whispered. If I wasn’t impersonating a false being, I would snort. Of course fate would deliver me to the one De Vita that should have been born a Circulus.
“Not I,” he admitted softly.
“And why would a De Vita seek death?” I spat. Now, the man reached for his blade. Fuck. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I couldn’t indulge that part of me. That wasn’t why I was here. I forced my body to tremble, as if made nervous by the weapon he fondled. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to have his hands on me, but quickly berated myself and pushed that thought down. He snorted.
“You are Claeg, the Ruptor of the Circulus,” he stated. I blinked. How could he know who I was?
“Not anymore.” I spat the words as if they offended me, trying to hide my astonishment that he had so easily identified me. He chewed on the information for a moment before nodding, accepting the answer. The man studied me, taking in my lack of weapons and, more importantly, the brands on my palms. If he swept the hair away from the back of my neck, he would see that my Circle was truly broken. The thought made me seethe, but I funneled that passion into the lie. “The Circulus took everything from me,” I continued, almost managing to replicate a timid whisper. A shudder tore through me, one of genuine fear. What if my banishment was real? A broken Circle could not be fixed. I thought of Sivert. I was dead to him now. Worse, I had been Pruned. Discarded like rubbish.
“I am Anastasius,” he said after a long moment.
“Will you enslave me, Anastasius?” The question was quiet and blunt and perhaps still a little too sharp in its delivery, but I kept my head bowed as he surveyed me closely. It took every ounce of self control within me not to straighten my spine and look him in the eye.
“No,” he replied.
The unexpected response sent my heart racing. The De Vita treasured all life, even the weak and their enemies’ lives according to Clotho’s stories. If he was refusing… No, that wasn’t the De Vita way. Anything else would be a lie. Lies could make one stronger or be an incredible weakness, depending how they were applied. So which one was it for this man?
He closed the distance between us. “I will do much better, Claeg. I will show you that your life is worth living.” He grasped my hands over the burn that marked me as a traitor. I didn't suppress a hiss of pain. “This I vow to you: I will heal your Circle. You are welcome within my clan, Claeg.” His words sounded so sincere and heartfelt, but they were the words of an enemy. A lie. They should mean nothing to me, but I gave him a thin, genuine smile.
“Very well,” I answered.