Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Draven
Awareness pricked along Draven’s senses, unable to ignore the orc pacing in the lab. It was only a matter of time before his brother burst into a fit of rage. Hal’s transformation left him fiendishly strong and quick to anger.
Or perhaps that was just with Draven. Charlotte had unlocked Hal’s cage, and he didn’t attack her. They bargained . Draven had never gotten more than a handful of words from Hal before the orc required sedation. Then again, he hadn’t the patience to bother being patient. Once again, bastard.
Still, Draven watched Hal. He was weak, but he’d defend Charlotte with everything he had.
Speaking of his delightful soulmate, she continued to ask questions, determined to pry every one of his secrets out of him. “That doesn’t explain why you kept your brother in a cage.”
“What part of uncontrollable rage is confusing, sweetness? He’s dangerous. I told you.”
She stiffened at his words. Perhaps his tone was a touch condescending. Fine, very condescending. He was severely injured and barely functioning. He didn’t have the energy to be nice . Nice wouldn’t get his fortress back or eviscerate Stringer.
“He seems to be perfectly fine at the moment, although I’d understand if he were to throw something heavy at you,” Charlotte said.
Hal picked up a specimen analyzer like it weighed nothing and grinned. “Be good, Ethan.”
Draven dipped his head in acknowledgment. “While it appears as if Hal has been my prisoner, he is not. The cryo chamber was to halt the transformation’s progress. Hal was…undercooked. Not fully shifted. I thought I could reverse the damage. Before you comment that obviously, I failed, I have been making steady progress. Recently my equipment has been sabotaged. The last functioning cryo unit was destroyed on our wedding night.”
“I heard him in the corridor,” Charlotte said, sounding almost pleased to have solved a mystery.
“Exactly. He’s been sedated and restrained ever since.”
“Why aren’t there more green people? Why haven’t I ever heard about orcs before?”
Draven rose slowly, leaning heavily on the wall. “The first flush saw all sorts of creatures. Hal is only one variation. There was a woman who grew wings, just like an angel. Lovely but impractical. The wings couldn’t support her weight. There was a man who turned invisible. He vanished.” He waited for her to laugh. She did not. So much for trying to lighten the mood.
Hal laughed. Too loud and too frantic. It was unsettling.
“Do we have a plan?” Charlotte asked, clutching her dagger.
“I admire your optimism, but do not attempt to use your dagger,” Draven said. When she looked as if she would protest, he added, “You’re not a trained fighter. If you come at a soldier with that, you’ll get yourself killed and then I will have to slaughter everyone on this mountain.”
With a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up to look him in the eyes. “I’m serious.”
“Understood,” she murmured.
“We need to reach the Black Gate. I sent my people there to secure it,” Draven said. He found a rusty crowbar in a tool cabinet. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work for him. “Then we find Stringer and get my sword back.”
“That ridiculous sword,” Charlotte muttered.
“I need my sword,” Draven said.
Hal glowered and said in a very clear, determined tone, “No.”
Draven turned to his brother, finally seeing him with clear eyes. Hal was very green and very bulky. Whereas Draven’s transformation shaped him to be tall and slender, Hal went broad and massive. The tusks were distracting, twisting Hal’s lips into a grimace. Draven could almost make out Hal’s original features. Also, he was nude. Alarmingly so.
“Yes,” he replied, equally determined.
“I see the familial resemblance,” Charlotte said. “I’ve had enough of that blasted sword. It’s more trouble than it’s worth. It’s not better than another sword.”
“It’s a symbol, sweetness. If Stringer has it, then he’s won. This crowbar is excellent for blunt force trauma, but it lacks charisma.” He swung the crowbar to demonstrate. Point made, he rested the crowbar on his shoulder. “Will you come with us?” Draven asked Hal. “I know I’m not in the position to make promises, but—”
“For now,” Hal said, interrupting.
“Do you need clothing or…anything?”
Hal snapped off the leg of a table and gave it a test swing. “I’m good.”
“You may want pants.”
Hal shrugged one massive shoulder. Stubborn orc.
Charlotte laid a hand on his arm, stopping Draven’s growl. “I shall avert my eyes.”
Raised voices in the corridor outside made them fall silent.
Draven crept to the door to listen. Stringer had discovered their escape. “Find them!”
Hal rushed forward, pushing past Draven. His bellow echoed off the stone walls and shook the foundation of the Aerie. The first wave of traitors fell to Hal’s makeshift club.
“Stay here,” Draven said, following Hal in.
The corridor was narrow. He moved more slowly than he wanted, but Hal made up the difference. The orc raged, grabbing people and flinging them. Bones crunched. A fog descended, clouding Draven’s mind. He moved on instinct, swinging the crowbar like a club until metal hit flesh with a pleasing give. Blood filled his senses. It felt correct to fight alongside Hal. Why had they denied themselves this pleasure? They were monsters together.
Hal grabbed a traitor by the hair and kicked their knee. They screamed as they fell. Hal then stomped on the hand carrying a sword, crushing it. He held up the sword, grinning like he won the best prize at the carnival, and plunged it into a nearby body.
“Draven!” Charlotte’s shout pierced the battle fog.
Stringer held a knife against Charlotte’s throat.
“Don’t come any closer,” he warned, taking a step back. “I’ll do it. I won’t hesitate to kill her. Let me out through the Black Gate and she lives.”
This man had signed his death warrant.
“It’s amusing the way you assume you’ll survive that long.”
The knife slashed upward, cutting her cheek. Charlotte hissed, biting her lip to hide her pain.
“Let me leave and you’ll never see me again—”
Charlotte plunged her dagger into Stringer’s thigh, interrupting his petty demands. She dashed away, not stopping until she was put considerable distance between them.
Draven lashed out with wild, frenzied blows. At some point, he acquired a sword. He lunged for Stringer, who laughed, blocking the blows with the stolen sword.
He dashed forward, swinging erratically with wild blows. Draven did his best to block but misjudged and earned a slash on his arm. Blackthorn’s bite had not faded. The infused metal leeched his already tenuous strength. A half-dozen glancing blows of this nature would finish him. He had to end this. Now.
Draven redoubled his efforts, pressing hard to drive Stringer down the corridor. The man blocked more blows that he received, but the tide had shifted. Draven poured all his energy into his advantage. Eventually, they reached a dead end with a locked door. Back pressed against the door, Stringer realized he could not hope to win. His eyes went wide. “Lord Draven, I’ve always been loyal—”
Draven silenced the traitor for good.
Stringer went limp. The sword fell to the ground.
How unsatisfying. Draven’s mouth felt too full of teeth. His fangs were fully descended, and he wanted blood.
A stifled gasp behind him made him spin around.
Charlotte had a hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. Not at the body, but at him.
Regret squeezed at his heart, causing the poor, shriveled organ to convulse. She was afraid. Of him.
“I did what was necessary,” he said, desperate to make her understand. “He dared to touch you. Hurt you.”
She shook her head. “I am well,” she said, despite the blood on her cheek.
He wouldn’t believe that until every last traitor was dead.
He surveyed the wreckage of the corridor. Seven bodies. A few moaned, still clinging to life. “I’ll send a medic down if we have one to spare. Make for the Black Gate,” he ordered.
By the time they reached the gate, Draven’s forces had secured the entry. People bristled at the sight of Hal. It probably had more to do with his brother being roughly the size of a behemoth and green and less with him being nude.
“Will you stay?” Draven asked Hal, placing a hand on his shoulder. Well, as high up on his shoulder as Draven could reach. The friendly gesture caused the crowd to relax.
“No more cage.”
“As my guest. As my brother. I’ve missed you,” he clarified.
Hal’s expression was pained, and Draven saw his older brother clearly. It was the expression Hal wore when he had to explain something very bad to a na?ve sibling who wasn’t yet jaded by the world.
People vied for his attention. His priority was to find a medic for Charlotte. Minor injury or not, he couldn’t think knowing that she was in pain. It had to be taken care of if he were to take control of the Aerie back. Hal must have felt some of the same agitation. He shadowed Charlotte, staying near and growling if anyone got too close. Draven approved. He couldn’t have asked for a better guard.
Draven busied himself with the business of setting the Aerie right. He sent a patrol out to sweep for any stragglers. He received reports of casualties. He even sent a medical team down to the restricted levels for the survivors.
A guard trotted up. “Lord Draven, there is a man at the Black Gate requesting admittance.”
“A man?” Draven asked.
“He looks like a traveler. He is alone.”
A lone traveler with dubious timing, in the winter no less, was unusual. Not many ventured up the mountain. The route was treacherous with the snow. Draven had to admit he was curious.
“Let him enter. Be alert. If this is anything but a simple traveler, eliminate him.”
The crowd sprang into action.
“What’s happening?” Charlotte asked, wearing a new bandage on her face. Hal lurked nearby, still acting as her guard.
“We have a guest.”
The gate opened. Hal rushed forward.
“Let him through,” Draven ordered.
People scattered. Soon Hal vanished into the tunnel.
Remorse washed over him. Draven had his brother as his companion in some way or shape for centuries. They were playmates in childhood, friends as adults, and then crewmates on the Endeavor . Then Hal became an accident, a tragic failure he had to correct. Draven became his brother’s captor and tormentor. They had been frozen like that for far too long.
Now Hal was gone. He’d rather face the winter alone than stay with Draven. Forgiveness was too much to ask.
Charlotte reached for his hand. Without saying a word, she expressed compassion. She understood.
A new figure emerged from the tunnel, cutting short his self-pity.
Draven drew the sword, holding it out to greet the intruder.
Snow clung to the man, completely covering his hat and dusting his beard. He wore snowshoes and used poles to help with hiking through the snow. This man had some experience.
His face emerged as he unwrapped the snow-encrusted scarf.
“Luis!” Charlotte exclaimed.
Charlotte
The Aerie
The Black Gate
Charlotte ran to him, embracing her friend fiercely. “What are you doing here?”
The poles clattered to the ground as Luis hugged her back with enough strength to crush bones. The snow that stiffened his coat melted against her. He released her when Draven growled, holding up a hand to mollify the vampire.
“After Draven’s unexpected visit, we decided it was prudent to make camp,” Luis said. “It seems we made the right decision.”
“There’s been a bit of bother,” she admitted, refusing to elaborate upon their misfortunes. “Where’s Miles?”
“Waiting outside the gate.”
“That’s for the best,” Draven said. “We can be territorial.”
“You said you’d take care of Charlotte. Look at the state of her,” Luis said.
“I’m fine,” Charlotte said, lightly touching the bandage on her cheek. Compared to Draven and so many of the injured, she was flush with good health.
Draven gave Luis a cool, appraising look. “You’ll forgive me if I disappoint as a host. I’m busy and don’t have time for this.”
The two men held each other’s gaze in some unspoken contest of wills.
Luis broke eye contact first. “I agree. There’s no time for this. There’s an army headed this way.”
Draven barked orders. Lemoine made them happen. Quicker than she thought possible, they established a command center and makeshift camp complete with a tactical map spread on a table, braziers for heat, and a triage station. Minor injuries were treated on the spot. The more serious ones were taken to the infirmary. Lemoine arrived with cold-weather gear, including boots with thick wooly socks, and scowled until Charlotte was suitably dressed.
The kitchen sent up what they had, mostly cakes and sweets prepared for the feast. Charlotte distributed coffee and cakes to the crowd. It seemed odd to play hostess when they were exhausted and injured, but bodies required fuel and rest. She couldn’t give them rest. Caffeine and sugar would have to do.
Circulating through the crowd also gave her a chance to ask if anyone had seen either Orianne or Jane. Someone saw them in the infirmary, but they vanished in the confusion. Neither had been there when the injured arrived after the battle.
Draven questioned Luis about what he saw, how many numbers, what type of equipment, and so on. Charlotte tried to pay attention, but her energy was flagging. At one point, Draven noticed her rubbing her wrist and sent a medic to fuss over the bite. Honestly, it barely hurt.
What Luis thought of the bite, he kept to himself.
“Most likely dawn,” some officer said. Charlotte did not catch the name and did not recognize the rank on the uniform. The crowd around the table spoke very quickly, using shorthand and code. She didn’t follow all their plans, but she got the impression that the situation was dire. Too many points to defend. Not enough people.
She grew drowsy, the very long day catching up to her, and nodded off. Draven let loose a blistering barrage of expletives, most directed at the people who failed to notice her asleep on her feet, himself included.
“And you, what are you thinking? You undo all my hard work if you kill yourself with exhaustion, and then what will I do? That is highly inconsiderate of you, sweetness,” he scolded, steering her toward a cot. “You’ve lost blood, and you need to rest.”
“You need to rest too, love,” she said, lying down. The cot was remarkably uncomfortable but to her aching body, it felt divine.
“I don’t sleep,” he said.
“I think you should make an exception.” She cupped the side of his face in her hand. He wore a grim, serious expression. “You look just awful, like something that crawled out of a crypt.”
He huffed, sounding amused, but the grimness never wavered. “That would be accurate.”
“When are you expecting the army to arrive?”
“Dawn.”
Charlotte yawned. “Then you have some time. Lie down with me.”
The serious expression softened.
“Until you fall asleep,” he said, climbing in beside her. He spread a thin blanket over them and tucked her tight against him.
“This is the first time we’ve actually slept together,” she said, yawning again.
“Sleep,” he ordered.
If only it were that simple.
Her mind raced. Draven was Ethan Radcliffe, the butcher. He had done horrible things but had saved lives. And he said he loved her.
He kept his brother locked in a dungeon in an ill-guided attempt to cure him and he loved her.
Everything she learned about his past paled in comparison to the terror she felt when she saw him injured. She thought she lost him.
Because she loved him.
Charlotte lay awake with this realization. The sounds of the Aerie preparing for a siege surrounded them, but they had a small oasis of privacy. She should confess her feelings now, while they had a moment together, but the words didn’t come. She lay there on the cot, listening to the slow beat of his heart, drawing comfort from it, and she couldn’t confess what was in her heart.
* * *
Movement woke her. Excitement buzzed throughout the camp. Something happened while she slept. Dawn was still a few hours away. She had only slept for an hour or two.
Charlotte found Draven and Luis deep in conversation. She didn’t need to hear the words to understand what they discussed.
“No,” she said, running to join them. “Whatever you’re planning, absolutely not.”
Luis had that stubborn look on his face and Draven was all grim seriousness. Whatever this little conspiracy was, she did not approve.
Draven passed the sword to Luis. “Blackthorn is yours now. Keep Charlotte safe.”
“You’re sending me away,” she said, the pain of a breaking heart piercing every word. “You swore you wouldn’t.”
“I must,” Draven said.
“You can’t,” she said, already knowing the decision had been made. “Come with me. Let’s leave together.”
It was a wild proposition. Run away together? And do what? Where could they possibly go to avoid suspicion?
“I must. This is my home. These people need me.”
Charlotte clutched at Draven’s coat. Sometime while she was asleep, he found the time to bathe and dress in a fresh uniform. She must have looked frantic, dressed in yesterday’s gown liberally decorated with smoke and blood and her hair a mess. “You don’t have to stay here. Let the army have it. This mountain is toxic. It’ll consume you. Don’t let it. It’s already taken so much.”
“Charlotte—”
“You can change your name again. We’ll start anew together. Please,” she begged. “I don’t want to lose you.” She loved him. She couldn’t lose him. If she said the words, confessed what was in her heart, he’d have to run away with her.
The words wouldn’t come. It would be unfair to put him in such a position. This was his home. People needed him. He’d never abandon them.
Draven gathered her in his arms. The mask of the cold, controlled monster of the mountain was gone, and it was just them. Draven and Charlotte. A monster and his love. The world would never let them be something as simple as a woman and a man, but for the moment, they were together. It was enough.
“I know things remain unresolved between us. This is not a punishment,” he said.
Reality came back. He would remain on his mountain, even if it meant his death. She would be alone once more.
“It feels like a punishment,” she said. Her eyes watered, spilling. She still couldn’t say the words. Her emotions were worn, and she couldn’t fight the tears rolling down her face.
“You’re too precious to risk. I’ve lost one anchor. I won’t lose another.” He brushed a tear from her cheek.
“Not possible. I’m not—”
He silenced her with a kiss. This was the last time they would touch. She was desperate to memorize his touch, the feel of his lips against hers, the way his arm tightened around her waist. Too soon, they pulled apart.
“I don’t care if it’s possible,” he said. “You matter to me. Not too some biological, pseudo-mystical reaction. You. I choose you, Charlotte Wodehouse. You’re the soulmate I want.”
He could be so sweet it was terrifying. Impossible man.
Tell him. Tell him now.
Her confession wouldn’t change anything. He’d remain for the people who needed Lord Draven the tyrant of the mountain and he’d send away the one person who needed Draven the man the most.
“I’m very cross with you,” she said, her voice still shaking with tears.
“Good. Hold onto the grudge and we’ll have a proper argument when I see you again.”
She’d like that.
“I’m wearing a gown. How do you plan to send me down the mountain?” she asked.
Draven waved and three people stepped forth with equipment. She was outfitted into the appropriate gear, given a rucksack, and skis were strapped to her feet. All too quickly, she was ready to depart.
Charlotte handed him the silver dagger. “It’s my lucky knife,” she explained, feeling a bit silly. “Bring it back to me.”
He nodded, tucking the dagger into his boot. “I’ll find you,” he promised.
A few moments later, she and Luis were through the Black Gate.
Her glasses fogged over immediately. When the lenses cleared, the moonlight glowed on the snow, giving enough light to see the path. It curved around the mountainside, blocking the view of the approaching army. To one side was a cliff; to the other was a precipice and a slope that disappeared into darkness.
She felt Draven’s eyes on her. She refused to turn around. If she turned around, her resolve would vanish and she wouldn’t be able to leave.
“Have you used snowshoes?” Luis asked.
“Once.” Many years ago, on a school trip, when she was young, the idea of walking for hours in the freezing cold did not fill her with dread.
“Don’t worry,” Luis said, smiling in a way he likely meant to reassure but came across like a maniac. “The path I found is gentle. We’ll need to keep out of sight of the army, though. Come on. Miles is waiting.”
He lowered the goggles, adjusted the scarf around his face, and pushed off using the poles.
Charlotte adjusted her goggles and followed, never looking back.