44. Chapter Forty-Four
After experiencing four days straight with Kyrielle, spending a week apart is killing me. It’s like living in winter when you’re used to endless sunshine. It’s beginning to mess with my head. Sleep is near impossible because I can still catch the faintest scent of her shampoo on my pillow.
After only one damn night, my hand reaches for her; the disappointment makes it impossible to fall back to sleep.
She’s not exactly ignoring me. We text every day, but it’s surface level. My mind and heart are wholly convinced she’s pulling away. Once again, I’ve fucked things up, despite my best effort.
You shared too much.
You’re too much.
Shame keeps my anxiety ramped up to the highest level, making it hard to think.
Today, I’m heading out to do some fares as a distraction.
The paperwork Fynn needs me to tackle is too much for me to process right now.
And while I’m genuinely pleased that he’s happy, watching him with Orliana while I silently suffocate is overwhelming.
They’re currently in his office and I’m fairly certain they’re doing something naughty. I hear something crash, and Orliana giggles. Even though it makes me smile, I can’t sit here, balancing a stupid budget, while that’s happening through the wall.
After shifting and getting saddled, I lose myself in the wind and sunshine, hoping for some form of distraction.
Being a Dragxi was never my dream. Fynn always loved the idea, but it was something that happened to me, rather than being chosen. After escaping Father, it made sense to join my brother’s destiny since I never sought one of my own.
Now, I’m thirty-five and while it doesn’t bother me, flying people around on my back, there’s a stirring, quietly asking for more. Unfortunately, whatever that ‘more’ might be hasn’t made itself known yet.
At least I can make my hours, essentially my own boss, and the money is good. Plus, I can spend time with my brother, and that’s always been important.
Over my collar, a new fare is submitted, needing to be picked up in the market district. It’s situated on one of the larger floating cliffs, holding dozens of restaurants, shops, a couple of parks, and bars.
When I land, a portly Ogre climbs on, not sparing his Dragxi a second look.
Where to?
“Piebald Station, please.”
Taking off for the Pegasus transportation station, I stay quiet as he talks on the phone. So lost in my thoughts about Kyrielle, I almost miss what he’s saying.
“Yeah, I slipped it into that water bottle he’s always carrying around.”
An awareness prickles along my spine, bringing with it a memory from weeks ago. Of a conversation … But no, it couldn’t be …
“I told you, Yarquis; they’re so picky, there was no way they’d take a second look at a chef who can’t control their bowels.”
Oh, this is definitely the culprit. I almost laugh and join the conversation, to share the serendipitous moment, but I’m confident that won’t be received well.
“We’re sitting down tonight at Royals to go over the contracts.” A pause, then, “I deserve this Yarquis. After what he put me and the team through? Nyla lost a pinky and Eula has a permanent scar on the side of her neck from that oil. He didn’t deserve it.”
I land at Piebald Station, almost disappointed as he pays and walks away, still mid-conversation. Flying back to headquarters, I’m unsaddled and the second I’ve shifted back, I’m texting Kyrielle.
Trinte: Do you remember that fare I told you about? The chef who embarrassed himself during a meeting?
I hold my breath, hoping she doesn’t make me wait long. Not that I expect her to be waiting on standby for a text, but I crave any form of contact with her.
When the text bubble immediately appears, I exhale with relief.
Kyrielle: The one who soiled himself?
Trinte: Yep, that’s the one. His nemesis was just on my back, talking about how he poisoned the guy’s water bottle.
Kyrielle: NO WAY. That’s insane.
Trinte: I’m sad he got off before the conversation was finished. Sounded like the guy deserved it, though.
Kyrielle: I would hope so.
I stare at the text, willing her to say more.
Nothing arrives. No how’s your day or I miss you.
Neither of us has said the latter. I want to — every minute of every day.
But that’s how a budding relationship gets ruined.
What if missing her is too much? What if not saying that I miss her is a bad move?
More anxiety appears, racing my thoughts. I’m not good at this … this dating thing. Are we dating? I don’t even know when I’ll see her next. Sure, we agreed to take things slow, but I didn’t mean this slow.
“Why are you frowning at your phone?”
Orliana’s sweet voice interrupts my thoughts. Because your best friend is driving me fucking insane. I tuck the phone back into my pocket. “No reason.”
She looks around. “Is there a reason why you’re standing in the middle of the landing pad, then?”
Because I’m desperate for a scrap of attention from your best friend. “Oh, you know, emails wait for no one.”
She laughs, unaware of my lies. Motioning for me to follow her into headquarters, she says, “Fynn and I were thinking we should start doing family dinners every week. What are your thoughts?”
I stroll beside her, my thoughts running through the possible ramifications and benefits. Kyrielle would be there most of the time. Which, in the long term, could be good or bad. Oh, goddess — if we date and break-up, the family dinners would become very strained.
“That could be nice,” I say cautiously. “What does Kyrielle say?”
Orliana shoots an arched look my way. “That’s your first thought?”
“I don’t want to argue about my chair every week.”
Orliana’s flat expression says she doesn’t believe me.
“You know,” she says airily. “I never did thank you for taking care of her for four days. I’m sure it was annoying. She’s so prickly about being taken care of.”
I open the door for her. “I just threw lemon pancakes at her, and she stayed quietly in her crate for most of it.”
Orliana slaps my chest with a chuckle. “You’re ridiculous.”
Following her down the hallway toward Fynn’s office, I say, “What? I’ve been told my pancakes are quite good.”
Orliana looks me square in the eye. “I heard something about a … meat log?”
My feet freeze. I stare at her long, black hair as she continues walking. “She told you about that?”
Pausing, Orliana flashes me a grin. “Kyrielle tells me about most things.”
“Women,” I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Absolute fiends.”
Orliana laughs loudly, waiting for me to catch up. “Either way, thank you for taking care of her.”
“Any time.”
We both pause at the sound of arguing coming from Fynn’s office. Orliana and I exchange a look, bolting toward the yelling. Stepping in front of her, I open the door.
My stomach drops into the twelfth Hell. Because in Fynn’s office stands …
Our father.
Reality enters a dreamlike state as he turns to stare at me, wearing an eye patch. I’m a kid all over again, begging him to stop hurting me. The memory of his cruel laugh echoes all around me as he smiles.
“Son, it’s good to see you.”
Blood tangs against my tongue as my fangs pierce my lip. I dig them in hard, trying to anchor myself with the pain. Every foul thought, dream, and wish pummel my senses. So many times, I’ve imagined different deaths. Suffocation; gutting; throat cutting; poisoning.
I was doing okay.
Everything was getting better.
Now I’m ten years old again and my father is twenty feet tall, lording his power over me.
Orliana is the first to speak, her voice dripping with hate. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
She shifts; I move to block her. Fynn stalks around his desk, shoving past our father and me, pushing her out of the office. “You need to leave, Orliana.” He grabs my arm. “Come on, Trinte.”
I yank my arm out of his hand, never taking my eyes off him. Smoke wafts from my skin as hate cremates every soft thought and emotion I’ve curated over the last few weeks. All of my concerns about Kyrielle disappear.
There’s nothing to think about — I lunge.
My hands are around my father’s throat, slamming him into the floor.
His skull makes a sickening smacking sound.
Good. He chokes, fighting against my hold as my fingers squeeze.
His mouth opens and closes, like he's trying to speak, but each attempt increases my determination to murder him right here, in Fynn’s office.
“Trinte!” Fynn’s yanking at my shoulders, but I’m single-minded. Racidious Gleanscale isn’t allowed to say another fucking word. He said enough at the Weyr reunion.
He said enough.
Fynn’s yanking, but my hands tighten, dragging our father with each tug. Orliana’s screaming. For her, only for her, I don’t destroy this building so I can shift and eat him. I will fucking eat him alive if given half the chance.
Choking him to death will have to do.
My father’s red face turns purple as his pink tongue sticks out in an attempt to breathe. He’s trying to buck me off, but I’m not eighteen anymore — I am a trained fighter with an extra hundred and fifty pounds of muscle on my frame. He will never overpower me ever again.
Just die.
Just die.
Just die.
Then Fynn does something utterly unforgivable: he electrocutes me.
My brother's incredibly modest about his powers, but it’s indisputable that he’s more magyckly powerful than me. More than our father, even.
A roar rips from my throat as my back arches. Of their own accord, my hands release their death grip. Each pulse of electricity shoves my soul a little deeper into the endless depths of devastation.
When it’s gone, I’m left as a husk of myself on the floor next to our father. Memories pummel me into submission; only for a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. So much, too much, happened after my father would electrocute me.
And for those short seconds, I remember all of it. Every painful, invasive, degrading, and crushing experience.
When reality comes back into focus, nothing exists but my hate, but now it has a new target. Dragging my attention from the piece of shit on the floor, I eye my brother with unadulterated hatred.
His eyes are wide, as if he’s shocked himself. Which is incredibly ironic.
Orliana stops screaming, but her mouth hangs open as she watches me methodically stand. I fully turn to face my brother and punch him in the face so hard he slams into the wall. A crack of bone matches Orliana’s shriek of shock.
“Trinte!” She rushes over to my brother. I look at him fall to the ground impassively, then turn back to our father.
Pointing a finger at him, I snarl, “You are formally challenged to a Cairanin.”
Energy charges the air, sealing our fates.
The burgundy Dragon watches me with fear in his eyes, a hand to his partially crushed throat.
Everything inside me turns to an icy numbness as Fynn groans on the floor behind me.
Turning away from my father, I stare down at my brother, feeling nothing as he looks up, holding his broken eye socket. He’ll heal, unlike me.
“You’re fucking lucky I don’t do the same fucking thing to you.” I snarl, claws digging into the pads of my hands as I resist the urge to beat both men to death. "That kill was mine."
Leaning down, I say softly, “You know what he—” I jab a finger at our father.
“—used to do? He used to electrocute me to make me fucking obey. So he could rape me, Fynn. And guess what you are? No fucking better than him.” I straighten.
“I hope it was worth it. Because I never want to fucking see you again.”
Devastation is plain on my brother’s face as it sinks in. It’s true; he had no idea. I’ve never told anyone. But he should have never done it, regardless.
Orliana watches me, sobbing as she holds Fynn. The betrayal on her face is too difficult to bear.
Swallowing hard, I mutter, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
I leave the wreckage of my life behind.
***
Night of the Weyr Reunion
The whiskey burns my tongue as I watch Fynn dance with Orliana. He cradles her like she’s the most precious thing. It lightens my dark heart, seeing them finally accept their connection.
It was incredibly obnoxious while they fought it, though.
Smiling to myself, I take another sip of my drink.
Without prompting, Kyrielle’s face floats in my mind, taunting me.
When the sex club’s suite’s door opened to reveal the woman I haven’t stopped thinking about for months, my heart almost stopped beating entirely.
Months of watching her from afar didn’t compare to having her close again, placing her hand in mine in the mockery of a greeting.
Maybe I should try again when we get home. Even if it would pain me to do so, I’d try quitting the gym to give it a shot. Watching Fynn and Orliana fall in love renews the bit of hope in this decrepit romantic heart.
I was born a romantic in a world determined to devastate.
A prickling awareness stops the glass halfway to my mouth. Fynn’s gaze is on me, a look of horror widening his eyes. Before I can find out what he’s reacting to, a dark, familiar voice says into my ear, “I’ve missed your body.”
Four words scrape out my insides and replace them with ebony hopelessness.