Core (19 page)

From the front, Ava threw a solid right into the eye that wasn’t already blackened,
then kneed him in the crotch.

He whimpered as he dropped to the ground.

Onna kneeled, riffling through his pocket for his wallet. He had way more than she needed, but Onna counted out ten hundreds and dropped his still-fat wallet back onto his chest. Then, she stood up and spit onto the ground beside him. “Pathetic,” she said in red tongue.

She strutted over to her car and got into the driver’s seat, Ava right behind her. They peeled out into the dark. Onna turned her window down and gave a war cry as the wind whipped through her hair, which was still somehow impeccable.

“We are so sexy right now,” she laughed.

Ava was surprised at how good of a mood she was in, despite nearly being assaulted by someone she recalled claiming to be her
friend, despite being in a car with Onna. She turned her own window down as the streetlights raced by them.

“I guess that wasn’t so bad,” she said.

“It kind of was,” Onna said. “You’re friends with that guy?”

Ava shook her head. “Not really. He used to be my trainer. Or at least my coach’s assistant.”

“Gross,” Onna said. Then she looked sideways at Ava. “He’s tried that kind of thing before.”

It wasn’t a question, so Ava didn’t answer. She put her hand out the window and let the wind run through her fingers. All of a sudden, she wished she was with Cale. She’d forgotten how cold it felt to be without him.

“I know a lot of guys like that. Reds don’t like to take no for an answer, believe it or not.” She checked her makeup in the rear view mirror. “But I always had Myra…sort of. And the Anders brothers weren’t bad to have as friends growing up, either.”

Ava never thought she’d be jealous of someone like Onna. The
differences between them was insurmountable. 
But maybe it would have been nice not to be alone.

“So, you knew this guy was a pig and you still met with him.” Onna shook her head at Ava.

“For Cale.”

Onna shifted gears and egged the gas pedal on. She rubbed her fingers against her temple as she leaned her elbow on the door of the car. “The things we do for that kid.”

Ava smiled a little. She had the feeling that Onna and Cale had shared a lot of secrets.

Onna flipped her hair.
“You want a frappuccino before we face the dragon?”

***

Cale took a moment. He lay on the floor of the Pit and forced his lungs to fill back up with air. Rory sat next to him with a plop, so out of breath that his ragged exhales were all Cale could hear.

The clock said one minute. One minute before they had to get back up and try to lay Victor and his blonde-headed twin, Manuel, out
for good. One minute before Victor and Manuel crushed them into powder.

“They’re killing us,” Rory said in red tongue.

Cale sat up, every muscle telling him to lay back down in surrender. Manuel had gotten him clean in the face, tearing the skin just under his left eye. It throbbed almost louder than Rory’s breathing.

The cage rattled and both boys looked behind them. Cameron had climbed up the chain link fence that served as the Pit’s ring. He hung there like a lizard, watching his brothers wordlessly. Cale and Rory got up and limped over to him.

“You should get out of here in case things get ugly,” Rory said. “I’m pretty sure Victor wants to kill you.”

“I deduced enough from his ‘
zeiz’ comment, as well as his threatening to spill my blood.” But Cameron dismissed it, still clutching the fence. “You are paired inaccurately,” he said to Cale. “You should take Victor, Rory should take Manuel.”

Rory scowled. “That doesn’t make any sense. Victor’s the strongest. He’ll crush Cale with his giant ape arms.”

“Trust me,” Cameron said before hopping off the fence and landing deftly on the ground below.

That was all Cale needed to hear.
“We’re switching. I’ll take Victor,” he said to Rory.

“You can’t be serious. Cameron may be smart, but I know combat, Cale, and that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Cameron knows more about combat than you may think,” Cale replied. “And it doesn’t make sense to keep losing. We might as well try it.”

Rory sighed loudly and walked back to the center of the ring. Cale lingered, leaning against the Pit. He smirked through the cage at Cameron on the ground below. “You better be right.”

“I am.”

“Have you heard from her?”

“Neither she nor Onna are answering their phones. But if you feel no danger for her, I’m sure she’s well.”

Cale nodded.
 
Hopefully she and Onna haven’t killed each other.
 He stood next to Rory in the center of the Pit and took a deep breath. Despite the crippling pain, it was a good feeling. He’d fought next to, and with, his older brother since before he could walk. It was when they got along the best. Cale felt like himself again when Rory nodded at him, tapping his forehead with his finger. It meant “stay sharp and follow my lead.” They were going to do something unexpected.

When the bell rang, he rushed at Victor, Cale right behind him so that it was two against one. Rory swung and Victor bobbed his head, leaving his midsection open for Cale. Cale ducked around his brother and landed two quick jabs in Victor’s abdomen. He listened for the air hissing out of his opponent’s lungs.

Of course, Manuel stepped in for his partner, aiming for Cale, the one who’d been naturally paired against him from the beginning. But Rory took charge, his heavy fist clambering the slim fighter. Manuel, who was lighter and quicker than Victor, wasn’t accustomed to the thunderous strength behind Rory’s blows. He stumbled, almost gagging under the force.

As for Victor, he had been expecting to block some of Rory’s methodical, weighty blows. He hadn’t anticipated the way Cale danced, his footwork impeccable. Then he faked a punch and threw a spinning back kick against Victor’s chin, temporarily bringing him to his knees.

The crowd screamed for more as they rushed the Pit, their fingers clawing at the cage so they could see from higher up. It wasn’t every day that a champion like Victor took a hit. Victor stood and spit out a lob of blood and saliva.

“Stop.”
The voice came from outside the ring.

A collective gasp, followed by whispers of
profanities and the sizzle of spit against the ground.

Mark and Sean held a writhing nightfolk by the arms, Mark’s dragonblade pressed to the creature’s throat. All of the fighters lowered their guards. The entire Cave went silent as Victor opened the Pit’s door and Mark walked the beast inside.

Cale swallowed. 
A siren in the Cave?
 No siren had ever been so bold as to stumble into a roost of red dragons, especially while a fight was going on. It was suicide. He glanced at Cameron and read in his face exactly what he was thinking himself. 
It wanted to get caught.

In the glow of the arena, the creature didn’t look so pale. The yellow of the Pit lights played off of its skin, giving it a sallow
complexion. It barred it’s fangs as Victor clutched its hair and turned its face up to meet his.

“How dare you?” he hissed at the creature.

Cale came up behind Victor. The Pit and the fight had no bearing any longer. The dragons were on the same side again, if only for a time. Pride and prestige could wait.

A siren had forgotten its place.

Mark pressed the dragon blade into the skin of the siren’s neck, just hard enough for the creature to hiss. There was fear in its eyes.

The siren whimpered. “The pearl–”

Without hesitation, as if he was slicing a piece of bread, Manuel took the knife from Mark and plunged it into the siren’s heart. The creature’s scream was cut short when Manuel’s blade severed its head.

Cale and Rory looked to Victor to decide what should be done next, if the fight would be continued. Victor ran a bloodied hand across his shaven hair.

“I have this business to attend to,” he said. He squinted at the brothers. “Take your 
zeiz 
and never come back here.”

“I’m dying,” Rory said through clenched teeth as he rubbed his chest. They were in the parking lot at last, where there was no further need for false bravado. “Victor hits like a sledge hammer.”

Cameron took Rory’s keys from his pocket without a word. Then, he gave each of his brothers a boost into the back of the truck.

“Just like old times,” Cale said.

Cale forced each of his muscles to relax
as Cameron drove off, but he couldn’t fall asleep as easily as Rory did. Not without Ava. He dreaded explaining to her why they didn’t get the money, why they’d never make it to Ireland, why he’d failed her in every way.

He closed his eyes, trying to imagine her beside him as the wind rushed over his head.

Twelve

Splinters

The lights in the O’Hara’s kitchen were dimmed, making the room seem colder. Cameron had done it for Rory’s sake, tampering with the lighting system while Rory was in the bathroom. Though
light sensitivity was a common blue dragon trait, Cameron had grown accustomed to the severity of artificial light. Despite his red blood, it was Rory whose sensitivity had always been more intense.

Cameron said nothing as he sat across from the eldest Anders brother. Rory held his hand over the candle in the center of the table and let the small flame mend his knuckles.

Cale waited for his turn, drumming the fingers of his uninjured hand on the table top.“Onna’s stoking the bath,” he said, because he felt like he needed to say something.

Rory nodded his response, his attention purposefully on the flickering flame. Cameron w
atched them both with his arm resting on the table, motionless. If Cale didn’t know better, he’d say his younger brother was a marble statue. It took a sharp eye to tell that Cameron was even breathing at all.

Cale cleared h
is throat. “So, we should talk–about…” He scratched his nails against the varnish on the table. 
About what? About things we can’t change? About how miserable I am? 
He felt his mind turning over, then stalling, turning over, then stalling again. It was hard for him to think straight without remembering Mac’s words, without feeling the hole in his heart widen.

“I hate this,” Rory said, still running his fingers through the fire. His face drooped into a scowl.

“Well, it’s necessary,” Cale replied.

When they were young, the brothers had called it the Vomit Club. It was a disgusting name, but it suited the nature of the meetings to a tee. The boys were supposed to sit together and spit out everything th
ey’d been holding in. And then–though it made them want to gag–they were to sort through the mess and analyze it. When they were through, they were supposed to wipe it up and move on.

That was the idea, at least. It had all been Cale’s doing, though Rory had come up with the title. Most of the meetings ended with the table being flipped, cutlery being hurled, and Cameron locking himself in the basement as a form of self-preservation.

“I’ll go first,” Cale offered.

It was always that way. Never once had any of his brothers volunteered to take that initial step, to throw up what was on his mind before the others. Cale waited for his thoughts to form into something usable, something that he could speak out loud.
But they remained as they were–a dull ache rattling about in his head.

He blinked the discomfort away, starting with what he hoped would be the most approachable topic. He needed his brothers to be okay. He didn’t want them to throw away their nest for him. If Cameron wanted to go to the monastery, fine. And Rory had already lost his red dragon birthright when he mated before marriage. But they didn’t have to lose their family, their name.
 
Not on my behalf.

“I–
I don’t think that either of you should associate with me anymore.”

Rory grunted and opened his mouth to protest, but Cale held up his hand. “I’m not finished. Let me
explain.” He took a deep breath and tried not to look at either of them. “I know we’re all…different… from one another. I know our races don’t always see eye to eye. But we’ve managed to make it all these years without murdering each other. And I think that makes us brothers. But–”

“I must interrupt,” Cameron said. “You’re wasting your time with this speech.
It’s insulting that you think we’d be so easily swayed.”

“Speak for
yourself,” Rory said across the table. He pursed his lips at Cameron and folded his arms across his chest.

Cameron looked at Rory, his pale skin an impenetrable mask. Only those who knew him well could see the anger flash in his still, deep eyes.

“You may disagree with me, Rory,” he said, his lips barely moving, “but you don’t disagree with what I said. Therefore, it’s illogical to interrupt me.” A hint of a smirk. “Sure, even you understand this.”

Rory pointed a finger at Cameron, his eyes narrowing. “See, this is what I can’t stand about you.”
  Crimson washed over his face in an instant, forcing his freckles to disappear. “Stop putting your thoughts in my mouth. For once in your life, quit assuming you know what I’m thinking.”

“Perhaps you should try to produce less predictable thoughts.”

“Perhaps you should learn to keep your
mouth shut
. Or will that take another sixteen years for you to grasp?”

Cameron’s eyes flashed again, a tint of blue on his face. Even though Cam was unmoving, Cale knew his brother’s mind was racing, computing a dozen insults that would slice Rory’s pride to the bone.

“Alright,” Cale said. “Enough.”

Cale was well familiar with the explosions of temper from Rory. They came on quickly and with little provocation. But Cameron was usually not so easy to read. Seeing the anger in him worried Cale. He had a feeling that the blue dragon had a habit of h
olding his fury in for too long –sixteen years too long.

Cale had never seen Cameron snap. He only knew that after half a semester at the blue academy, Cameron was back at the Anders' front door with bruised knuckles and a letter that Karma scanned, folded tightly, and hid somewhere in her basement lab. Cam had told Cale bits and pieces, but Cale didn’t have to wonder why Karma didn’t want the rest of the family to know what Cameron had done. She was ashamed.

Cale let the memory lead him to his decision to play it safe. “Let’s talk another time. I’m tired from the fight, anyways.”

“No.” Rory snapped, turning on Cale. “You don’t get to decide when we start and stop this nonsense.” His face was so
red, Cale could feel the heat from it even from where he sat.

“Don’t pretend to listen to me
now, Cale,” he continued. “Tell us how you plan to make everything right all on your own.” He lifted his hands in feigned reverence. “Because you’re Almighty Cale, the pure and honest. Tell us how you’re going to soar through the skies. Tell us how you’re going to change history with your sad little rider.”

“This meeting isn’t about Ava.” Cale’s fingers curled into fists, despite himself. He was so close to screaming that he had to concentrate on keeping his mouth closed when he wasn’t speaking.

“No, it’s all about
you
. I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

Cale was having trouble inhaling deeply enough. “You’re trying to make
me
the bad guy now?”

“You’d never pull it off,” Cameron said under his breath.

Cale blinked at Cameron. He expected Rory’s temper to bring unprovoked insults to his red dragon lips. But Cameron? The calm and collected, the rational….? Cale had never been anything but understanding for the both of them. He’d tried. He’d tried so hard.

And
this is what I am to them?
 
This is what they thought of me all this time?

“Fine,” Cale said, his chest growing hotter with each word. “What would you two have me do? You want me to mess up? Tell me how and I’ll do it.
Teach me.” He glared at Rory, but he could hardly make out his brother. All he saw was red.

“Bring me a girl,” Cale said, so calmly that he gave himself chills. But he couldn’t stop.
Didn’t want to. He wanted them to know how angry he was. So he tapped the table with his knuckle. “I’ll do her right here, so you can watch.”

Rory blushed on Cale’s behalf. Rory and Cameron shared a look, their brows drawn, as if they knew they’d gone too far. They’d pushed him, yes, but they had no idea how close to the edge Cale already was.

He gripped the edges of the table so hard that the wood groaned. “What Cam? You want me to knock your headmaster’s teeth out, too? Or better yet, I could just kill him. You want me to drive to his house and slit his throat?”

Blue rushed to Cameron’s cheeks and he glanced at the door, but Cale smashed his fist into the table, breaking the bones in his already bruised hand. He didn’t slow down, not even for a second. “Don’t look away now,” he yelled at Cameron. “Admit it! That would make you feel better, wouldn’t it?
Wouldn’t it?
”

His breaths were ragged. The smoke that slipped from his mouth and nostrils was thick and dark. “Or how about I lose
 
everything
?! Will we be the same then? Will I be enough
then
?!”

Cale flipped the table. He wrenched one of the legs off and swung, again and again until
it was no more than a heap of splintered wood. And still, he beat it, until he was sure that what was already dead was dead once more.

Rory and Cameron were both motionless in their chairs. They kept their mouths shut tight as they watched him.

Cale dropped the table leg to the ground and crumpled amidst the rubble. He was glad he was out of breath. He wanted to stop breathing altogether. He pressed his hands to his face. When he looked at his palms, they were riddled with splinters, but they didn’t seem to hurt. He noticed without reaction that his right hand was swollen, his bones shattered. 
Nothing hurts anymore
. It wasn’t hard to convince himself of that. He felt numb everywhere.

Rory stood up and hovered for a moment. Then he walked to the front door without a word and closed it gently behind him. Cale thought the soft click of the latch would sting, but it was painless.
 
You don’t feel anything, Cale.
 
Nothing can hurt you anymore.

Cameron was silent for longer than any other
red dragon would have tolerated –anyone besides Cale. He watched his brother, replaying the events that had taken place over and over again in his mind. When he spoke, his voice was ice.

“I regret my words.”

Cale nodded, glad that the lump in his throat prohibited his reply. He couldn’t think of what to say, anyways.

“I would still like to travel to Ireland with you and your rider
, if we come upon the finances. But I’ll respect your wishes and go no further.”

Cale nodded again, and Cameron stood up and walked out the door, shrouded in his usual silence.

Cale thought he was alone until he heard footsteps. Onna stood behind him and leaned over, her black hair swishing around his face as she watched him. She walked around him and knelt, picking up the table leg in her small hands. She sat beside Cale and spread her legs out over the ruined wood so that their shoes touched.

“I always hated this table,” she said, turning its leg over in her hands.
“Had a lot of lonely meals on it.” She tried to smile, but it was too weak to make it to her eyes. “Guess I know where Myra’s been disappearing to all this time.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off Cale, but not for the usual reasons. His face was dark, his lips pulled into a frown. Onna had seen him upset before, but never for so long.
And never like that. She reached over and put her hand against his back.

“They’re wrong,” she said. “You don’t need them. And I don’t need Myra.”

When she leaned in, Cale caught the scent of her. She was always changing her perfume, and Cale didn’t recognize the newest one. Onna pressed her lips to his, firmly, as though she was meant to be there.

They were
just as soft as he remembered.

Cale didn’t push her away. He didn’t move at all. He kept every muscle and every thought as perfectly still as he could. He was afraid that if he encouraged her, if he let himself react even a little, he wouldn’t have what it took to stop himself. And losing his birthright to Onna was not what he wanted. She knew that. She’d always known that. Onna pulled away and looked into Cale’s eyes until hers began to fill with water.

“Onna….”

She shook her head and gave a bitter laugh. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault.
Again.” She wiped the tears as quickly as she could and smiled, not because she was happy, but precisely because she wasn’t.

Cale pulled her into him, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She felt hot against his chest. “Something’s probably wrong with me, kid.”

She chuckled and sniffled at the same time. It had been a while since he’d used that nickname on her. “Right? I mean, I’m pretty freaking hot, Cale.”

Cale remembered the first fight time Onna ever spoke to him. They were five years old and her mother had braided her hair into pigtails. She’d proposed to him at a barbecue, and when he wrinkled his nose and pretended to gag, she pounced, punched him in the belly, and swept his legs from under him. As she loomed over him, Cale flat on his back and her pigtails dangling above him, she
scowled. “Wrong answer.”

Thirteen years later, Cale couldn’t help but wonder what his problem was. She was beautiful, that was for sure
–from her obsidian hair to her flawless shape. Her lips were tempting, to say the least. And Cale knew she’d gotten her mating mark because of him, someplace he’d see it.