Stone of Ascension (22 page)

Twisting his head to the side until his neck bones cracked and his spine groaned, Damian stretched the muscles and prepared for the upcoming clash. Amber should be pissed at him. He deserved it.

He jerked the door open, a quick pull that released the captured steam in a silent swoosh of air. His bare feet hit the soft padding of the carpet without a sound.

Amber sat cross-legged on the bed, the food tray to the side of her, her hands clasped in her lap. Her back was straight and she didn’t look at him. He scooped up his jacket and the pile of weapons he’d left on the floor then moved to the other side of the bed, setting the items down but ensuring they were still close.

He resisted a sigh, his lips thinning. He’d caused this rift between him. Now how did he cross it?

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he finally said. She looked up at him, a blank, emotionless stare, before she turned away and removed the lids covering the plates of food.

“I didn’t mind.” She set the covers to the side before she picked up a set of chopsticks and held them out to him. “I hope you can use these. He didn’t give us forks.”

Her voice was flat. Pleasant, but lacking all the warmth of earlier.
Shit
. He wanted that back. Wanted to see the light in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks and hear that warm, silky voice as it challenged him. Pushed him to confront what was holding him back.

The mere fact that he wanted to do that, wanted to do whatever it took to get that warm, fighting Amber back startled him to his bare toes. It also told him more than any shaman or Ancient ever could.

Damian placed a knee on the bed and accepted the offered chopsticks from Amber. The mattress tipped slightly as he sat down on the soft surface and faced her. The silence stretched between them as she sorted out the meal and handed him a plate. Despite the fact that his stomach cramped in hunger, the enticing aroma sparking the instant craving to eat, he had lost the desire to eat.

His dragon paced impatiently as they mechanically consumed their meal. Damian resisted the urge to bounce his knee or fidget under the stretching tension that bridged between them. The light click of the chopsticks, the soft clink of the ice cubes, the slight rustling of material as Amber shifted her legs; inconsequential sounds that echoed in the deafening quiet.

“Sorry.”

Damian set his empty plate on the tray and waited for Amber’s response. He knew his coarse apology wasn’t even close to what was required.

“No problem,” she said placidly, her eyes on her plate, her motions flowing without a pause. “You owe me nothing, so there is nothing to apologize for.”

The cold words pierced his chest. She used her chopsticks to smoothly scoop up the rice and lift it to her lips, her movements as unemotional as her words. He could be a bug or lump of coal sitting across from her for all the attention she gave him.

His focus was one hundred percent on her. On her soft lips as they opened to accept the rice and then move ever so slightly to chew the food. His body responded to the non-sensual actions. His blood heated, his pulse accelerated and, unwanted, his dick hardened.

Looking away, he inhaled a quiet breath and forced his hands to relax their fisted hold against his desire.

“You’re wrong,” he finally admitted, his voice still grating with his barely suppressed need. “I owe you an explanation at a minimum.”

She lifted her gaze to assess him with guarded eyes. Her face remained impassive, but she set her plate aside and gave him her attention. Finally.

“All right, I’ll listen.” She clasped her hands in her lap and waited, giving nothing.

Where did he start? Why was he willing to tell her things he’d kept silent about forever? The answer hummed over the energy and pulsed in his chest: because she meant more than anything he’d encountered in his too-long life.

She
was
everything to him, if he was willing to take the risk.

Chapter Seventeen

“The energy betrayed me,” Damian said, the low gravel of his voice scratching through the heavy silence to crunch under the weight of the emptiness that separated them. He had shifted to rest against the headboard, his fist clenching the opposing wrist as they rested on his bent knees. “I find it hard to trust in something that has caused me so much pain. To trust something that lied to me, about me, is nearly impossible for me to do.”

The admission was pretty much what Amber had expected. That much had been obvious—what she hoped for was the reason behind the distrust. But she refused to ask, to beg further. Anything he gave her had to be given freely or it would mean nothing.

So, instead of responding, Amber removed the tray, now littered with empty plates, to the floor next to the door she assumed was an exit. With her back to him, she took a steadying breath, then straightened and returned to sit on the corner of the bed. The corner farthest from Damian.

He watched her with hooded eyes, the emotions hidden behind a shield so thick it was impossible to tell what he was thinking, let alone feeling. Amber clasped her hands in her lap to hide the telling shake, tightened the lock around her heart and presented the same stoic face that he displayed to her.

One that she was well-versed in. He wasn’t the only one who’d lived a life of betrayal.

Damian closed his eyes before he let his head sag against the dark wood headboard. “I haven’t told this story since it happened a thousand years ago.” His lips moved, but the rest of his body remained still. “I haven’t trusted anything or anyone since the night I lost everything.”

With his dark, penetrating eyes hidden behind his closed lids, Amber’s lower lip was immediately attacked by her teeth. She allowed the nervous habit to fester while he wasn’t looking. It also kept her from breaking the silence that once again circled them in strained intimacy.

She would listen.
She
owed him that much.

Anything more, he would have to earn.

Damian struggled to block the images that threatened to break him. After holding back the reel for so long, refusing to let the movie play or even let the highlights be displayed, the sudden release of the show was enough to crush him if he let it all go at once.

He would start with the basics. Maybe easing into it would be easier.

“Energy—the most powerful element on Earth,” he began. “It is what we, the Energy races, have fought over since life began and the power of the energy was defined. A fight that still rages. Different locations, different players. But still, it plays on. Energen versus Shifter.”

He paused and waited behind the safety of his closed eyelids. She said nothing. He heard her nearly imperceptible inhale. But he felt her almost like she was curled beside him, holding him tight against the memories that threatened to choke him.

She hadn’t spoken a word, but she was listening. Waiting.

His need to tell his tale was suddenly as strong as his need to hold her tight to his side where she belonged.

The resounding truth of that image pushed him forward into the darkness of the past. The present evaporated as he returned to the dark events that had occurred a thousand years ago. When his brother was still alive. When he still believed in the energy, in the truth it told.

He felt the words leave his mouth, but his consciousness wasn’t in the present. With the release of the show, he let the past roll in and take him under.

The field was dark, the sun long gone. The night hung heavy and waiting around the figures contained within the large ring of fire.

The circle cast, the battle prepared.

Khristos, Damian’s older brother—the eldest of three—and heir to the House of Air, stood strong, tall and courageous in the center. His blond hair fanned around his head with the stroke of the wind, his muscular frame tense and ready. The firelight danced across his bare chest and gleamed off the sharp edge of the sword clutched in his fist.

Behind him huddled a small, thin female. She crouched in fear, almost lost in the deerskin cloak that hugged her body. She hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking in uncontained fright.

The Shifter, dressed in black, dark hair long and uncontained, stood across from his brother. A cruel smile lifted his mouth, a long, black blade held at his side.

Damian stood outside the flames, outside the circle. Looking in, but unable to enter. Arriving too late to join the fight. Too late to help his brother.

Heat radiated from the fire, scorched his flesh and blistered his hands as he fought to enter the battle. To break down the shield that barred him. The Shifter had cast the circle, and the energy forbade Damian entry. Held him out while it trapped his brother and the woman he protected. Inside the circle, the war raged between the two combatants: Air versus Fire. Energen versus Shifter.

The metal clang of clashing swords rang hollow and high across the open expanse of the field. The energy peaked and flowed as the fight crested and volleyed.

Disbelief pummeled Damian when Khristos lost his footing, stumbled, then fell. Damian punched at the wall of flames, desperation pounding in his chest, blanking his mind to everything but the need to help. To save.

A need denied.

Damian’s dark tunic burst into flames, his driving desire taking him too close to the inferno that blocked him. Absently, he stripped and discarded the clothing. The flesh burns ignored.

The Shifter launched a fireball, the tumbling ball of flame nailing his downed brother in the chest. Denial roared from Damian, the sound echoing across the night on empty waves of pain. Sweat rolled down his spine and dripped from his forehead. His hands were raw, blistered and burnt from the blaze before him.

The agony of the burns was nothing compared to the torture of his own inability. Of helplessness.

Surprise, pain and anger flashed across Khristos’s face before he slammed into the ground, the force of the fireball grinding his back into the cold, hard earth. A piercing scream wrenched through the still air, the female a mass of frozen terror as the Shifter advanced on them.

His brother made a desperate attempt to defend the woman. He scrambled backwards on his elbows, dragging the terrified female with him. Khristos used the last of his waning energy to blow the Shifter back in a failed attempt to hold off his aggressor.

A faint wisp of hope stirred within Damian when his brother struggled up to regain his footing. Khristos could not be defeated. He was the strongest brother. A brave warrior. A proven, trained fighter. He had taught Damian everything, was one of the most respected members of their enclave.

Khristos could not die.

The Shifter flung another fireball into Khristos’s chest; the force of the impact lifted his feet off the ground, suspending his body in the air before he slammed down to the hard ground.

Harsh, violent rejection curled in Damian’s gut. Blatant refusal to accept what he watched. What his eyes saw, but his mind could not process. Wet trails of liquid streamed down his face unchecked.

His brother rolled to his side, defeat etched into the lines of pain that sprang from his eyes and circled his clenched lips.

The Shifter’s deep laugh echoed through the thick air—evil, victorious, merciless. The female’s whimpering scream followed. The two sounds at complete odds yet synchronous.

Khristos struggled to lift his torso and brace himself on his elbow. His bleak eyes met Damian’s through the flames before he blinked and turned away. Resignation settled across his battered features.

Without warning or giving away any intent, Khristos lifted the sword he still clenched and plunged it through the back and into the heart of the hunched-over female.

She jerked in surprise, her head lifting in reflex to reveal eyes filled with acceptance. Her red lips opened in a silent scream, her strained features growing lax as death closed in. She slumped forward, her long hair falling down to cover her face, the dark veil hiding her last breath as it exited her lungs.

The raging roar from the Shifter overpowered Damian’s howl of denial. Disbelief washed through him as he launched himself once again at the fiery wall before him. He threw himself at the flames again and again, each attempt to penetrate the barrier blocked. He kicked at the blaze until his leather boots smoked and hissed.

There was nothing, nothing he could do to stop the inevitable.

The all-consuming madness that engulfed him prevented him from noticing the stench of burning flesh and hair as the fire scorched and smoldered up his back, down his arms and over his now bloody and black hands. The peeling and bloodied skin was invisible to him as every ounce of his attention was focused on his brother.

Khristos slumped back to the ground, his chest heaving in labored breaths. His head was turned away, preventing Damian from seeing his face.

The Shifter stormed to Khristos’s side, the rage vibrating off every movement he made. “You will pay for that!”

His low, growling threat was given right before he raised his sword and drove it down to slice through Khristos’s limp wrist. The fierce movement severed the hand in one swing and removed his brother’s last defense.