27. Chapter Twenty-Seven Siyala
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Siyala
Jasmine. The delicate scent washes over me in a subtle wave, calm and sweet and pure.
How strange it is to smell it so strongly here in the dungeon.
I force my eyes open, a headache pulsing just behind them.
There is a filmy haze over my sight at first, one filled with bright twinkling lights.
I blink, and the lights grow larger, the haze sliding out of the way as if someone has removed a veil.
Pressing a hand down, I startle at the lack of feeling beneath my palm, then outright gasp when I look down to reveal…
nothing. There is nothing beneath me, nothing surrounding me. As if I’m just floating in the air.
“Gods above,” I whisper. My head turns to take in my surroundings. Stars and endless night sky and something more… something colorful that swirls high above me. A chill breaks out over my skin, and it’s then I realize that I’m in my mortal form. And that I’m naked. Great. Just great.
At least this is a dream, but if I have actually shifted back in the cell, then my clothes will be ruined.
The memory of Commander Miles watching over me makes my skin crawl, and as I push myself up to sit and hug my knees into my chest, I can only hope that Immie has made it out of that torture room alright.
“She is well now.” The voice from behind startles me, my spine straightening as my magic surges. Looking over my shoulder, I shove the loose strands of hair away from my face before running my hand down it, sure that I am dreaming. “And this is no dream.”
“Rhea?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” She smiles, and the shape of it is so much like Rhea’s that my throat constricts.
The same sweeping honey-golden strands frame her face, her eyes a shade of green that remind me of spring.
She walks closer, her bare feet pressing into darkness while a dress of pure black white silk ripples over her legs.
“My name is Selene.” She tilts her head, and glitter sparkles around the crown of it.
Did I hit my head? Was I slipped a hallucinogenic through my food? Selene is not a name I’ve heard before, at least no one I can recall.
“It is alright. You are not meant to know who I am.” She pauses and glances upwards. “You are not meant to be here at all.” She smiles, and it reminds me of a feline predator. Cunning and sharp. “It seems fate has made sure there is balance.”
There is a rumble of sound. Something that immediately draws my animal towards the surface, making it press against my skin while the brilliant silver and white stars flicker around me. Selene’s smile grows, though she digs her fingers into the fabric of her dress.
“There isn’t much time,” she says, returning her gaze to my own.
“Time for what?” I ask, still confused on how my mind might have conjured such a place.
Selene quickly closes the distance between us and drops to her knees, close enough that I can see the smooth planes of her beautiful face.
But where Rhea has faint freckles that dot her skin, truly only visible in summer or in the right light, Selene’s skin is bare of all but a soft pink flush to her lips.
But those eyes… Those are Rhea’s eyes. Bright and keen.
“I’m so grateful that she had you,” she whispers, her grin wobbling as those piercing eyes fill with tears.
“She will be so happy to see you again. When the time is right. Can you promise me something, Siyala Hoku?”
“I— Yes?” The stars flicker again, and the hair rises on the back of my neck.
Selene reaches her hand out for mine and squeezes it.
“There will come a time when Rhea will need your help. Remind her of your love and that she is never alone. Remind her”—she pauses, swallowing roughly as a tear rolls down her cheek—“that she is made for incredible things.” Those familiar eyes bounce back and forth as they look at mine. “Please.”
“Okay,” I promise, unsure of what I’m even agreeing to do but unable to tell Selene no.
“It is time to go.” Her hand moves to cup the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “Goodbye, Siyala.”
My surroundings shudder, winking in and out of existence as I’m pulled by a weight tethered to my stomach. Stars streak past me as I fall, my hair whipping around my face. The sensation lasts seconds and then minutes and then…
I gasp, launching upright so fast that my head swims. Bracing myself against the hard stone beneath me, I drag air in one breath at a time, the telltale scents of the dungeon firmly placing me back in the present.
My head hangs low as my magic retreats slowly from my limbs and back towards that inner reserve.
When something tickles my back, my eyes shoot open, another rush of breath fluttering past my lips as I arch my neck to look behind me.
But it’s just my hair. My hair. Relief sinks deeply into my bones. I am mortal again.
Holding a hand out in front of me, I flex my fingers, curious about the prickling that dances over them. My legs stretch towards the back of the cell, the cot disturbed from its usual place, the blanket Xander brought me hanging partially over the edge. What happened?
But it all begins to trickle in—Immie being tortured by the king’s advisor. Commander Miles taunting me. The memories. The panic. The silence and then… That place with Selene. There will come a time when Rhea will need your help.
I bite down on my lower lip to keep from laughing at the lunacy of what my brain has conjured up. I hadn’t been able to help Rhea at all. My pulse quickens as a fresh wave of panic begins to wrap around my throat. The beat of my heart sounds discordant to my ears, as if an echo of itself.
I’m a half second too late to realize why.
His throat clears, and I yelp, scrambling to reach for the blanket.
Hunched over to keep myself hidden, I yank the thin fabric from the bed and pull it up in front of me, wrapping it around myself haphazardly.
When I finally get my bearings, I glance back up at the guard on the other side of the cell door, relieved and then annoyed to find that it is Xander.
“I— Uh. I was coming to check on you and—” His head is turned, looking at the torch on the adjacent wall, his cheeks a shade of red so bright, I wonder if I could feel the heat rising to them if I were to touch him.
For only the second or third time since I’ve known him, his heart races behind his ribs.
“I’m sorry,” he says, keeping his gaze averted. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“How long were you standing there?” I look back down at the ground, finding the tunic and pants I was wearing before I shifted. My eyes widen as the torn scraps of my undergarments also litter the ground. Stars above.
I quickly scoop them up—unusable as they are—and then realize I have nowhere to hide them.
Palms growing clammy, I grab the torn shirt and pants and bundle it all together, a ball full of shame.
Well, shame and utter embarrassment. Shifters notoriously are fine being naked, but it has been so long since anyone has seen me in such a state, since I have seen anyone in such a state, that it feels absolutely foreign.
“Not long. Well, long enough to see that you were naked—that you weren’t wearing clothes—so I started to back away, but then you woke up, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt—” He drags in a breath, his body so stiff that he could easily be mistaken for a statue were he set out in a garden.
Clutching the blanket around me with one hand and the torn clothing to my chest with the other, I watch as the guard who has always presented himself as calm and collected fumbles his way through an explanation.
“I swear I did not see anything private and— Fuck. I just need— Can you get dressed please?” Turning, he gives me his back as he runs a hand through his hair, messily pulling strands out of the bun that is tied there.
Throat impossibly dry, I try my best to work a swallow down before my mouth opens and then shuts, my mind attempting to rationalize what I can tell him versus what I can’t.
He’s a Trusted—the worst of King Dolian’s guards—and he had lied about it.
I run through our past interactions and find that, while I can’t bring myself to believe everything he says, I do believe that he won’t try to take advantage of me while I’m in such a vulnerable state.
Not once has he even attempted to do so. “I can’t get dressed.”
His back stiffens, the muscles beneath his thin shirt coiling with tension. He isn’t wearing his normal chest and back armor. In fact, he isn’t wearing any of the gaudy gold at all. Nothing but the thin dagger strapped to his thigh gleams as metal. “What do you mean?”
“My clothes are ruined.”
His hands fall from his hips down to the sides of his body, each finger curling in one by one until he’s made two fists. “The bastard,” he rumbles under his breath, the sound drying my throat out farther. “I will ensure he hurts tenfold for what he’s done—”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Commander Miles,” Xander answers, his anger palpable. “I knew he was nothing but scum. Lower than the dirt we walk on, but I truly didn’t expect him to hurt you like this. I swear to you, if I had thought—”
“Oh, he didn’t ruin my clothing,” I cut in, shifting awkwardly on my feet. “I shifted, somehow, and the clothing tore in the process.”
Xander releases a breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. “He didn’t touch you?” There’s an edge to the question, desperation that tugs at something deep in my gut.
“No.” Why do you care? I clench my jaw to keep the question from tumbling out and remind myself what is at stake. “Can you bring me some new clothing?”
“I think I can do even better than that.”
Brows scrunching, my eyes widen as Xander begins untucking his black tunic from his pants, reaching behind his back with one hand and grasping it at the collar. The top comes off in one smooth motion, revealing a white undershirt that hugs the muscles across his back and over his shoulders.
“Here.” Blindly, he carefully extends his hand out behind him. “Take this for now.”
I hesitate, my eyes dancing from him to the shirt to the torn clothing in my hand. Goosebumps flare over my bare skin beneath the thin blanket, a flushed sensation rolling through me. But I squash it down as I grab the tunic from his hand.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Wh—”
Xander is already striding into the darkness and away from my cell, not in the direction of the stairs but towards the torture room, the door already open.
He shuts it behind him, and I heave out a sigh.
Dropping my torn clothes onto the cot, I glance around as I listen, ensuring that no other guard is here before I quickly shove myself into Xander’s tunic.
His warmth still permeates the thicker fabric—as does his scent.
Bringing the collar to my nose, I inhale deeply.
There is something woodsy, like pine or a freshly cut tree.
It reminds me of the first nights of autumn, when Rhea and I would sit on the balcony and watch the sun set, the sky ablaze in shades of deep orange and vibrant pink.
Beneath that is something soapy, a hint of mint, and the faintest note of citrus.
The blend immediately seeps into me, and my eyes temporarily shut as I breathe it in. Breathe him in.
The thought forces my eyes open again. He’s just a man, Siyala, I chide.
You’ve become accustomed to the foul odors of the dungeon.
This is not that alluring. But as I drag a hand down the front of his tunic, my fingers gripping the hem that reaches the middle of my thighs, a smaller voice that feels suspiciously like my animal whispers to me.
Liar. I like the way he smells. Like the lingering warmth that is wrapped around me. “Idiot. He lied to you.”
Needing to distract myself, I fix the askew cot and then set the pile of ripped clothing next to it. Taking a seat on the edge, I quietly call out for Immie, but she must be asleep because she doesn’t answer.
With nothing else to do, my mind betrays me and drifts back to Xander and his threats against the commander.
I picture the way his body bore evidence of his anger.
“I will ensure he hurts tenfold…” My lips purse at the promise that was in his voice, a strange warmth not due to my magic stirring low in my stomach.
His tunic sits heavily along my skin, the image of his hands curling into fists making my heart pound just a little harder.
Would he truly hurt the commander if he thought the man had touched me?
Had I only imagined his disheveled fluster as he tried to talk to me?
My canine drags over my lower lip, the tense lines of his face floating into my mind.
Someone in a cell farther down shouts, and the spell I’m under vanishes.
I dig my nails into the softened skin of my scar, relishing the pain that flares.
Gods above, what am I doing? Daydreaming about a guard?
A Trusted? Shaking my head, I instead focus on the ring of keys I know he keeps on his belt.
I can’t overpower him, and I doubt I’d be quick enough as a mortal to try and yank them from him, even if he dared to let me get close enough.
I could pretend I need to change and ask him to turn around…
but even then, the chances I’d be able to reach him while on this side of the bars might as well be zero.
Xander may get rattled over a naked female, but he isn’t an idiot—
I jerk my head back, a soft gasp parting my lips. “He’s just a man,” I repeat to myself out loud. And for whatever reason, this man grew flushed at the idea of me naked. What might he do if I were to try and kiss him?
Searching the darkened wall in front of me, a frown tugs on my lips.
To use myself in this way, to trick him like that…
Am I any better than the males who saw me as nothing more than a body to be conquered?
Am I any better than Kenji? Sighing, I tilt my head back and let my eyes fall closed.
Maybe it makes me just like them, but what is the weight of more shame and guilt if it means getting Immie and myself out of here?