Frost Fire (Tortured Elements) (7 page)

It was Drake. And she was about to die.

“What?” Drake asked, his voice coming from behind her. “Do you Warriors not greet people with ‘good morning’ in the Sentinel? Is that too polite? Should I be flipping you off instead?”

Part of her knew his mocking should sting, or at least piss her off. But it didn’t. Was it shock turning her into such a traitor? Probably, because her entire body felt numb, and she couldn’t breathe.

Maybe she should look at Drake and face her death head-on. But her eyes remained squeezed tight, terrified she would see claws or a bladed wing rushing toward her if she opened them.

She flinched as she felt hot breath on the back of her neck. His breaths were short and rapid, like he was in pain.

“You know,” Drake whispered in her ear, “closing your eyes won’t make me disappear.”

She peeked an eye open, because she heard something in his voice: amusement. And, if he’d been turned into a Persequor, then he shouldn’t feel that emotion, or any other.

Allai slowly looked over her shoulder, and stopped breathing when she saw his face not even a foot from hers. Drake was panting hard and definitely in pain. But his jaw was gritted into a determined expression, and his claws hovered just millimeters from the side of her neck.

“Stay
… Stop—
Back, stay
ba…
” Allai trailed off and winced at her bumbling words. They were so hoarse and squeaky, she barely recognized her own voice.

Drake arched an eyebrow. “You need a cough-drop?” A piercing marked his right eyebrow, close to the bridge of his nose. It was black, like everything he wore. On most guys, it would have looked like some kind of punk style statement. But with his intense eyes and the daring smirk on his lips, it just made his angry expression even more intimidating.

Allai’s knees gave out. Everything went black. But it only lasted for a moment, and then little splotches of light began poking at the darkness and into her vision. She groaned, leaning back to find something warm and solid supporting her.

Then she realized she shouldn’t be able to lean back if she’d collapsed, and that the ground shouldn’t be warm. She couldn’t move. Someone muttered something behind her, their breath still tickling her ear. It took her a moment to figure out what the voice was saying: “Wow. I’ve never made anyone faint before. I mean, I’ve knocked people out, but this is kind of different.”

Drake. That’s what she was leaning against. Him.

When had he caught her? She hadn’t felt him. Allai forced herself to take a deep breath; the last of the black spots disappeared, and the rest of her clarity returned. She needed to get out of Drake’s grasp. Immediately.

It didn’t take much. She just pounded her fist against his forearm a couple times before he muttered a curse and let go. It wasn’t as great of an outcome as she’d expected. She crumpled to the ground without his support, the room spinning wildly around her, and her breaths coming in heavy pants. The toe of a boot nudged her shoulder.

“You okay down there?” Drake asked. “You look pale.”

She wanted to scream at him. Because he wasn’t supposed to be out of the cell, he wasn’t supposed to have scared her, and he sure as
hell
wasn’t supposed to have seen her faint. But she swallowed back the scream, if only because it would hurt her head. Which was pounding. Like a jackhammer.

What the hell had just happened? She was a trained member of the Sentinel, and Sentinel members didn’t faint when they faced enemies. They sure as hell didn’t let enemies
catch
them, either. Her instincts should have screamed ‘fight’, and instead she’d flopped. Right in front of Drake. Right
into
Drake.

Then Drake’s face was right in front of her. She wondered if she was hallucinating, because he looked exactly like she remembered him. There were those same golden eyes staring at her, and the same tousled black hair threatening to shade them from view. The rest of him looked older and more mature, but still familiar—a strong jaw, tanned skin, and an expression of seriousness that nearly hid all his other emotions.

But she could still see traces of the other emotions. Confusion widened his eyes a little, and his brows furrowed with concern. But something was still missing. Why could she never see the menace in his expression? It had to be there
somewhere
. It was his nature to be threatening, and the nature of his family. But, at that moment, she couldn’t see any menace as he frowned at her and bit his lower lip.

That was a habit; she could tell by how chapped his lip was. Okay, so now she knew one, solid fact about him: He bit his lip when he got anxious. But knowing that didn’t make him any less confusing.

“Relax,” Drake said. “I didn’t mean to make you faint. You’re safe, okay?”

She would have laughed if it wasn’t for her damn head. Safe? Maybe he
wanted
her to be confused. Maybe he was trying to kill her using psychological methods, or something wacky like that. Because she definitely wasn’t safe. She was in a basement with the guy who’d tried to murder her, fainting for no apparent reason, and without a weapon. Not to mention no one would be checking on her anytime soon.

Drake reached out and touched her cheek. His skin was probably the hottest she’d ever felt. There was some ancient saying she’d heard her dad mutter now and then:
‘With blood of darkness and skin of fire comes a Demon of power.’
She’d seen Drake’s black blood, and now she could feel his blazing skin. Just how powerful
was
this guy?

It took Allai a moment to realize the obvious: Drake shouldn’t be touching her. But, by the time she realized that, he’d already gently stroked his fingertips across her cheek. She shoved herself away from his hand and into a sitting position.

“What are you doing?” Her words came out shaky, more of a croak than anything.

He offered her his hand. At first she thought he might slap her with it, or do something else threatening. But then she saw the blood he’d collected on his fingertips, and realized he was just trying to show it to her.

“You’re bleeding.” He paused before adding, “That’s what you get for punching me.”

Allai closed her eyes for a moment, trying to focus. Her scalp stung, and she felt a trickle of blood running down her cheek and re-covering the area Drake had smeared. She’d been stupid to make Drake let go of her. And he’d been an asshole for dropping her.

She wiped at the blood with the back of her hand and glared at Drake. Her head continued its pounding, and she suddenly wasn’t in the mood to go along with being the victim. She wanted out of here. Preferably alive. “Get away from me,” she growled at Drake.

He just smirked. It was a cocky expression, and it made Allai want to punch him again. “Do you really think you’re in a position to be giving me orders, little Nox?” Drake asked, slowly shaking his head.

“My dungeon, my rules,” Allai snapped. “Get the hell away.”

“Oh, so this is
your
dungeon.” He made a sweeping gesture to their surroundings.

As his arm swept to the side, his claws extended from the knuckles of his right hand. He brought them back and placed their tips against Allai’s neck. She flinched and waited for pain, but there wasn’t any. There was just gentle, threatening pressure.

Drake continued smirking as he said, “If this is your dungeon, then you must be the person who dragged me here while I couldn’t fight back. Are you that person, little Nox?”

She was. Maybe she hadn’t done the psychical dragging, but she’d been the one who had told Luke about him. It was all her fault that he was trapped down here. Allai swallowed hard, increasing the pressure of his claws for a short moment. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He frowned at her response, like he hadn’t been expecting it. Then he went back to biting his lower lip and just staring at her. His claws drew back half an inch. “What are you doing down here, anyway?”

“I… I don’t really know,” she admitted. “I just wanted to see you before you got turned into a Persequor. But…” She shook her head. “You didn’t change.”

He scoffed. “You wanted to see
me
, the guy who was sent to
kill
you?”

She noticed how he worded the sentence in a detached way. Like nothing was his fault, like he’d just been doing his job when he’d tried to murder her. It was just another reason she should punch him.

“I wanted some finality,” she said. “You know, to make sure you were really changing and losing your emotions. That way I wouldn’t have to worry about whatever vendetta you have against me.”

“
Vendetta?
” He sounded angry now, and his lip lifted into something like a snarl. “Who told you I have a vendetta? Look, I’ve never wanted to hurt you. It’s not like that.”

Her mind whirled. He sounded so serious, so sincere, that she could almost believe him. But the memory of the event continued to flash in front of her eyes. His claws rushing down, his eyes looking so determined…

Drake sighed, seeming to read her thoughts. “I don’t have a vendetta, and I’m also not a Persequor. So you don’t have to worry about me killing you, okay?”

She glanced to his extended claws and gave him a skeptical look. He followed her gaze and said, “But no one else needs to know that I’m not going to kill you. Got it? I don’t want you scared, but you should know that I’m going to use you for leverage.”

She nodded, catching onto his plan: He was going to hold her hostage until Shieldak let him go. She opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t going to work, but then closed it. What would he do with her if Drake knew he couldn’t use her? Go back on his word and kill her? Probably. She took a deep breath and rethought her plan. Maybe talking her way out of this was the best option.

She stayed frozen for a minute, Drake crouching right next to her and his claws gently pressing against the fragile skin of her neck. But then she realized that talking her way out of this required talking, so she said the first thing that came to mind. “Why aren’t you a Persequor?

Drake’s eyebrow rose, the one with the black piercing, and he looked like he was considering something. Then he shrugged and said, “Take a look for yourself.”

He tugged down the collar of his blood-stained shirt, revealing a small tattoo of a black leopard slinking and snarling down his collarbone. It had a tribal look to it; not solid, but made of delicately and precisely interweaved lines. It was his clan tattoo. Allai had seen similar tattoos her entire life, scattered around the limbs and necks of Demons. But never one of a black leopard, because Rhaize and his sons made up the only blood of that clan.

Allai’s stomach churned, and she resisted the urge to sprint for the door. Seeing that tattoo just confirmed how closely associated Drake was with his father, and just how entirely close she was to death. “So,” she said as calmly as possible, “the tattoo protects you? Some kind of Caedes magic?”

Drake rolled his eyes, and she thought back to when Seph had done that earlier. But watching Drake roll his eyes was somehow different. Seeing his golden irises flash, his eyelids close for one exasperated second; it was intimidating, and made her feel like an idiot for her question. “There’s no magic. The Caedes Mages in the Keepers never wasted their powers on people like me.”

She didn’t like the way he said the last couple of words. Like he was bitter, or maybe even holding back a growl. She looked to his lips, trying to confirm this, and saw a little twitch in the corner of his lips. He was trying not to snarl.

Drake raised an eyebrow at her. Allai realized she was staring at him, and her cheeks got hot, and then they flushed even more when she realized she was blushing in front of him. And she was still staring at him. She quickly jerked her gaze away and pressed a hand against her cheek. She couldn’t blush. Not here. Not in front of Drake.

The tattoo. They’d been talking about the tattoo, and she still hadn’t figured out what was so special about it. She peered at it again. If she squinted just right, she could see curved, pearly marks just above the tattoo, right at the base of Drake’s neck. They looked like… bite marks.

“There’s more than you can see,” Drake said quietly. “Some have faded.”

Bile rose in the back of her throat. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, hoping to keep her stomach contents in their place. They stayed put, but her lungs gave her away as her next breath came in shaky.

“You…” She trailed off, realizing the back of her hand was muffling her words. Dropping the hand, she tried again in a shaking voice, “You’ve been bitten by a Persequor… before?
Repeatedly
?
”

Drake crossed his arms and looked to the ceiling. He didn’t seem to realize he’d taken his claws away from her neck, and Allai inched back a little. Maybe she could make it to the door, or maybe she could scream.

No. Even though he was staring at the ceiling, his claws were still extended, and he remained in a crouched position. Ready to strike at any moment. He’d said he wouldn’t kill her, but she wasn’t very convinced, and he hadn’t said anything about not
hurting
her.

“Yeah,” Drake said, and Allai remembered she was having a conversation with him. Which was just flat-out bizarre. “That Persequor who attacked you—Silas—he bit me,” Drake continued. “Fourteen times, over the course of a year and a half. A small dose at first, but a higher one each time.”

Allai bit her lip for a moment, and then burst out,
“Why?”
The question came out louder than she expected, and Drake winced. But she didn’t apologize, because who in their right mind allowed a Persequor to bite them
fourteen times
? Better question: who came out with a right mind after fourteen bites? Nobody. Nobody could stay sane after that kind of pain.

Drake raised an eyebrow, looking at Allai like
she
was the insane one. “You’ve never heard of this?”

“No,” Allai said. “No, Sentinel Warriors don’t usually enjoy getting bitten by Persequors. In fact, we just generally don’t enjoy Persequors at all.” She was probably taking this too far with her tone. But how else was she supposed to respond?