Frost Fire (Tortured Elements) Page 7

  Drake released her. He was more careful than before, making sure her feet were stable on the ground before he let go. Allai stumbled backwards, toward the basement door.

  “Stop,” Drake commanded.

  She did. What other choice was there?

  He crossed his arms and nodded to the ground. “Sit down.”

  It was a little relieving to hear the order. Her legs were shaking, and if she didn’t sit soon, she was going to collapse. She lowered to the ground and tucked her knees close to her chest, all the time keeping an eye on Drake.

  He walked up to her until only a yard separated them. Another step, and it was only a foot. Then he dropped to the ground so quickly it was almost like he’d collapsed. But he hadn’t. His legs folded gracefully under him, and his back remained straight and upright. He reminded her of Luke’s cat, the way it’d spontaneously nap and just drop into a sleeping position. Only Drake was way less fuzzy and way more deadly.

  Drake just stared at her for a moment, tilting his head to the side and watching her. Then he gave a slow, disproving shake of his head. “You know, you’re a truly horrible host. Locking up your guests who just came, killing off the hungry ones—”

  “You killed Silas!” Allai blurted out. “And, even if I had killed him, it would have been the right thing to do.” She realized a second too late Drake’s words were sarcasm. She winced, waiting for whatever revenge he’d take on her for the outburst.

  But Drake didn’t even react. He just watched her, his head still tilted to one side and his eyes slowly examining her.

  Allai took a deep breath. “You need to let me go. Immediately.”

  Drake waved a dismissing hand at her. “It’s just ten minutes, little Nox. More like nine, now. Have some patience.”

  “What are you going to do with me?” She tucked her knees a little closer to her chest as she waited for an answer.

  Drake shrugged. He tried to make the motion nonchalant, but Allai saw him biting at his lip. “I only have ten minutes. Not much time. So I’m just going to show you some things and ask some questions.”

  “I’m not telling you anything about the Sentinel,” Allai blurted. “Go ahead, just kill me. Because I’m not telling you a word.”

  “You have so much loyalty for the Sentinel,” Drake said quietly. “Even though they’d kill you for something as simple as being used as a hostage. Do you really think that’s fair?”

  Life wasn’t fair. Drake of all people should know that. Fairness didn’t matter, what mattered was that her entire life was invested in the Sentinel. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as she snapped, “I already told you, I’m not saying anything about the Sentinel.”

  He just smirked at that, looking more amused than annoyed. But the expression didn’t last long. He sighed, and a frown tugged at his lips as he moved back into in a crouch, his arms wrapping around his knees. “How are you?” he asked, his voice barely above a murmur. “Does Shieldak take good care of you?”

  Allai turned away. She couldn’t look at him anymore. He was too contradictory, too damn confusing. Did he want to kill her or save her? Threaten her or protect her?

  Maybe she should make a break for it and sprint to the door. He might let her go. He didn’t seem to be showing any anger toward her. And if she made it to the door, then she’d be safe, and Drake would be…

  Killed. Shieldak wasn’t going to let him live after this. She turned her neck up toward the ceiling and away from him. Why did it matter to her? She should want him dead. But every time she thought of that, of revenge, of him getting what he deserved—she also thought of his eyes. They were the same ones from her past. The ones that had once protected her.

  “Why do you care about me?” she demanded.

  She couldn’t see his reaction, but she could hear the hesitancy in his voice as he said, “Rescuers are supposed to have some kind of attachment to the people they save… right? And I saved you. Remember?”

  She tensed at the way he said it: “Remember?” Like he wasn’t referring to the event from just a day ago, but to something that had happened far in the past.

  “I know you,” she said. “Not just from… recently. But from a while ago.” She stopped there. There was no point in going any further. If he really was the person she remembered, then she didn’t have to say anything more. He’d know.

  A moment passed in silence. Then he sighed deeply and stood up. She didn’t take her eyes from the ceiling. But she could see him in the corner of her eye, circling around until he stood behind her. She didn’t flinch when the hot skin of his fingers pressed against her neck. He traced over her scar, his touch gentle and tender.

  “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” he murmured. “Okay?”

  Allai closed her eyes. She should have jerked away from him, but she couldn’t bring herself to. His touch was somehow familiar. Somehow comforting. And she had no need to move away from it. “You used to say that to me all the time. That you’d protect me. Didn’t you?”

  He scoffed, the same sound that was somewhere between disdain and laughter. “Yeah. But I never could. Not really. I mean, I tried to protect you, of course. But… Somehow things just never worked out.”

  “Why’d you do it?” Allai asked quietly. “Why did you try to kill me?”

  It was pointless to ask. The answer would be either infuriating or just even more confusing. But she had to know, even if it might not stop the nightmares and confusion and the hours she spent staring out her window just wondering.

  Drake traced over her scar one more time, and then his hand drew away. He circled back around her, so he stood right in front of her, and Allai dropped her gaze so their eyes met. Regret. The emotion was so clear in his eyes, it made Allai want to cry.

  “Let me show you something,” Drake said.

  Allai nodded. She had no idea what he could show her; there was nothing on him but his bloodied clothes, and nothing in the dungeon but cement and steel. But the remorse in his eyes kept her from pointing that out.

  He crouched in front of her, barely a foot separating them. She swore she could hear the thumping of his heart, but then she realized it was her own heartbeat she was hearing. Its rhythm was rapid but steady, panicked but not quite ready to flee.

  The concrete felt hard and cold beneath her, and she wondered how long they were going to stay like this, just staring at each other. Then Drake reached out and gently pressed his fingertips against her cheek.

  “Are you ready?” he murmured.

  For what? What was he going to do to her? Her heart raced faster, but before she could stop herself, she nodded.

  Drake took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Nothing happened. He just sat there, his hand pressed to her cheek and his eyes closed.

  She had just enough time to think he was insane. Then the blackness struck.

  Chapter Nine

  He saw the trust in her smile, still there after nine years. And part of him died right then.

  Then the girl’s gaze trailed down to his claws. She shook her head, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her eyes widened and her lips trembled, ruining the smile. “No,” she murmured.

  Drake took a step forward. His boot thumped in time with his stalling heart. He clenched his forearm, contracting his muscles and sliding forward his claws until they were completely extended. Then he whispered his response.

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t scream. He watched her trembling lip, waiting for it to part and let loose a blood-curdling shriek. But she didn’t. The girl just stayed there sitting, shaking, clutching the sheets close to her.

  Drake glanced down to his claws. Then back to the girl. And back to his claws. He thought about the first time he’d ever killed something. It’d been a deer he’d hunted. Its blood, crunching bone, and last thrashes—those were things ingrained in his mind. He swallowed hard and watched as a drip of sweat slowly trickled down to the tip of his broken claw. His stomach felt sick.


  He leapt forward. Not thinking, not feeling, just following his instincts. Or maybe it wasn’t instincts, because those were supposed to keep people alive, and what he was about to do—he’d definitely be dead soon.

  He landed right beside her bed, the carpet muffling the thud of his boots. The girl didn’t even recoil. She was completely frozen. Even her shaking stopped.

  Drake gulped in a breath and thought back to Dad’s orders. ‘Bring back the girl’s blood, and your mom will live.’ That was all he needed. He didn’t necessarily have to kill the girl; he just needed enough of her blood to trick Dad into thinking she was dead.

  “I need your blood,” he whispered to the girl. “I swear, I don’t want to hurt you. I just need your blood.”

  Either she didn’t hear him, or she didn’t understand. Because she remained frozen, just gaping at him.

  Footsteps pounded in the hallway outside her door. Hunter guards. He only had seconds to save Mom’s life. Not enough time to think this through.

  Drake grabbed her arm, yanking her toward him. He circled one arm around her shoulders to keep her from moving, and then sliced his broken claw across her neck. It was done. That quickly, it was done. Her blood coated the tip of his claw; he had what he needed.

  The girl sagged against him. Panic rose in him, but then he saw her chest moving. She was still breathing. She was just unconscious from shock.

  He whirled toward the window, preparing to leap out. But then the door burst open. He hadn’t been quick enough. Mom would die. And he would die, too.

  He wanted to shout, scream, cry. Instead, he turned to the girl. He gently laid her back onto her bed, making sure her head rested comfortably on a pillow. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, brushing his fingertips across the cut he’d given her.

  Something struck his head, and stars exploded in his vision. Blocking out the sight of the blood. And the girl.

  * * *

  Allai opened her eyes. She hadn’t realized she’d closed them in the first place, but color and harsh fluorescent light flooded her vision as her eyelids fluttered open. Drake stared down at her, his fingertips still gently pressed against her cheek. A frown pulled at his lips.

  “Are you okay?” he asked quietly. His lips remained tight, his voice strained.

  Allai swallowed hard. “What… What was that?” Her heart still raced, and flashes of the vision played at the corner of her mind; the sharp smell of blood, the pounding of approaching footsteps, and silver eyes. Her silver eyes.

  Drake trailed his fingertips down her jaw, and then down her neck, until they once again rested on her scar. Her breath caught in her throat, but he didn’t seem to notice. “That was a memory,” Drake said. “My memory.”

  “But… how?”

  “Magic,” he answered simply.

  Her head spun. Magic? Demons weren’t supposed to have magic. It’d been bled from their lines centuries ago. She’d heard the whisperings that it was returning, that some Demons were making efforts to breed it back into their blood. But those were just supposed to be rumors.

  Allai took a shaky breath. The vision. Images from it continued to rush through her mind, and she closed her eyes to block them out. It didn’t help. In the darkness of her closed eyes, she heard Drake’s words again: ‘I swear, I don’t want to hurt you. I just need your blood.’

  Her mind still spun, but she finally understood the meaning of the memory. Drake hadn’t tried to kill her. He hadn’t even wanted to hurt her. He’d just needed her blood for… For what exactly? Something about helping his mom.

  “You never wanted to hurt me,” Allai whispered.

  Drake just kept frowning. She waited for it to lift away and reveal relief, content, joy. Well, maybe not quite joy. That emotion didn’t seem to fit Drake. But the frown just remained on his lips, pulling his mouth into a serious and somber expression.

  “I said you didn’t want to hurt me,” Allai repeated. “You didn’t try to kill me. I believe you.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I thought you would.”

  “Then why are you frowning?”

  Drake looked down to her scar and lightly traced his fingertip over it. He was gentle, his touch delicate and careful. “That night. It… It’s just not a good memory.”

  “I’m sorry,” Allai said, although she didn’t understand what she was apologizing for. There were so many things she didn’t understand. How could Drake have magic, how could she have mistaken his intentions, why was he even showing her this memory? One question at a time. That was how she was going to get through this. Just one question at a time.

  “Why did you need my blood?” she asked.

  Drake bit at his lip. “That’s a… long story.”

  Allai gave him a pointed stare, making it clear that she didn’t care how long the story was. She wanted answers.

  He sighed. “My dad was threatening my mom’s life. Well, her life and yours. He wanted to finish the job and kill you. And he picked me to do it. I was young enough that I didn’t officially belong to the Keepers, so if I got caught, I wouldn’t be breaking any treaties. And he saw me as… expendable.”

  He quickly shook his head, as if warding off a memory. “Anyway, my dad told me that all I needed to do was bring back your blood. Proof that I’d killed you. If I did that, then he’d let my mom live. And if I didn’t…”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Allai hesitantly said, “But you were caught. Were you able to bring the blood back?”

  Drake looked down to the ground. “Like I said. It’s a long story.”

  It wasn’t hard to tell that he was lying. But she wasn’t going to prod him for any more details. After all, she was his hostage.

  “How could I have thought you tried to kill me?” Allai asked quietly. She didn’t try to hide the guilt in her voice. It belonged there.

  Drake shrugged, but he looked away from her. She wondered what emotion he was hiding. “It’s understandable, little Nox. You were too shocked to hear what I said to you. All you saw was me cutting your neck, and then you blacked out. You drew the obvious assumption, and your dad backed it up.”

  “But why would my dad do that?” Allai demanded. “I mean, if he knew—”

  “He didn’t know,” Drake said. “The guards came in and found you bleeding and me standing over you. They also jumped to the obvious conclusion, and Shieldak believed it.”

  “But then how did you escape? And why did my dad tell everyone I was dead? And—”

  Drake shook his head, cutting her off. “We don’t have enough time for all these questions.”

  Right, they only had ten minutes. Well, less than that now. How long had the memory taken to transfer? How long did they have left?

  She laughed a little, because just minutes ago, she’d been counting down the seconds until she could escape the dungeon. Now she wanted to stay down here longer. She wanted—no, needed— more time and more answers.

  “I still have one more memory to show you,” Drake said.

  “Only one?” Allai asked.

  Even she could hear the wistful tone in her voice. Drake smirked a little, but it was more amused than sarcastic, and it made Allai smile back. “Yeah. There’s only time for one more,” he said.

  She nodded, aware that his fingertips hadn’t left her neck. They drifted over her scar one more time, and then Drake cupped her chin in his hand.

  His skin burned against hers, reminding Allai just how powerful he was. It didn’t scare her. It probably should have, after all those years of fearing him. But with his hand gently cupping her chin, and his eyes staring right into hers, she just couldn’t feel any of that fear.

  “Alright,” Drake murmured. “Just close your eyes. This one won’t hurt as much. I promise.”

  She obeyed, closing her eyes and waiting for the memory.

  Chapter Ten

  “Who is it, Dad?” Drake trailed along down the hallway, following Dad’s heavy footsteps. Drake wished his footsteps were that powerf
ul. Then maybe Dad would pay more attention to him.

  Dad turned a corner, and Drake ran to catch up to him, stomping a little to louden his footsteps. He nearly ran into Dad as he turned the corner, which wasn’t a good thing. Dad didn’t like it when he got in the way. So he stumbled back and asked again, “Dad, who is it?”

  “What have I told you about calling me that?” Dad snapped back. “You may call me ‘Sir’, or ‘Father’ if you must. Not ‘Dad’. That’s a name toddlers use, and you’re seven years old, Drake. Start acting like it.”

  He wasn’t seven yet, but Drake wasn’t about to correct Dad about his age. He’d just get called ‘insolent’ and then get hit. Drake wasn’t sure exactly what ‘insolent’ meant, but he’d learned it was a cue to duck.

  “So?” Drake said hesitantly.

  “Use a complete sentence, Drake,” Dad said. “You sound like an idiot when you don’t.” He continued down the hallway, not bothering to slow his pace for Drake. But Drake was used to that, and he knew better than to complain.

  “So,” Drake said, jogging alongside him, “who is it?” He hoped that was a complete sentence. He didn’t want to sound like an idiot in front of Dad.

  Dad stopped, and Drake almost ran into him again. He needed to stop doing that; he’d get a beating if he kept getting in the way.

  Drake stumbled back and looked up. Dad stood in front of a door. And not just any door; it was the door, the one Dad kept going in and out. Drake didn’t know why Dad went in there so much, but he did know someone was in there. Someone secret.

  “Please?” Drake begged. Then he quickly added, “Please can I see who’s inside?”

  Dad growled. Drake didn’t like it when he did that; it usually meant someone was about to get hurt. And he didn’t want to get hurt. He’d already gotten smacked earlier today, and punched a couple times yesterday.