The rain made a static ruckus, softening the ground and skewing my vision, but it wasn’t hard to make out the image of a limp horse and Draven’s distinguishable form crouched beside it. I ducked under the fence and walked briskly toward the scene where another woman in a red coat had her hand cupped over her mouth. Amear arrived with the towels and held them out to Draven, who looked up with a shake of his head.
“She’s dead,” he said, the forearms of his white shirt covered in red.
I stepped toward the horse, my heart hurting for the animal, whose legs and neck had been mauled viciously. Her shredded flesh made me tense, hoping she wasn’t in pain for too long before she passed. Her fat belly was still swollen with pregnancy, making my heart drop. I looked at it, rigid over the idea that the foal was still inside her. Shifting my eyes to Draven, I could see his gaze flicker to life at my presence.
“What about the baby?” I asked urgently, aware there wasn’t much time.
Draven tightened his jaw, wet, copper hair clinging to his neck as he reached around to the back of his belt and unsheathed the dagger he almost always had on him. Leaning forward, he plunged the blade into the mare’s stomach. I jumped, afraid he might hit the foal, while the other girls spun to look away. Draven dragged the blade down the mare’s belly like it was butter and set the dagger aside, reaching into the corpse through the opening he’d procured. I watched him as he fished around, moving flesh aside. I couldn’t look away. When Draven found it, I could hear him grunt in an attempt to pull the foal free. He grabbed his knife again and started cutting, this time more carefully. I saw a leg emerge and held my breath. As two legs came free, Draven stopped and began feeling around inside for something as if there was a problem. I quickly rushed in to give him aid.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing. He’s just a little stuck,” Draven said calmly, one hand maneuvering around the foal’s body.
I moved his hand aside, reaching into the mare’s still-hot corpse, until I felt the foal’s head and the tight cording wrapped around its neck.
“It’s the umbilical cord,” I said.
Draven reached for his knife and handed it to me without hesitation. I glanced up at him, faltering for a split second before taking it.
“Gently,” he said.
I took the knife and reached in once more, feeling around for the right things to cut. Slipping my finger under the cord, I made a space for the blade to slide between the foal’s neck and the lasso that restrained it. Pulling, I heard a snap and the foal’s body twitched slightly against my arm. I pulled the blade out, careful not to cut the infant, and tossed it aside as Draven helped pull the baby free from its mother’s womb. He tugged carefully at the front legs while I maneuvered the head out into the open. Once the head was free, the rest of the foal came easier, sliding from the fleshy cocoon in a heap of limbs and blood.
The infant was out, but it wasn’t moving. I pet it’s head while Draven gestured for Amear to bring the new towels over. They were getting damp from the rain, but they would do. She handed one to me and another to Draven, who used it to rub down the foal’s body, working to stimulate it to life. I took mine and cleaned its nose and mouth, stroking down its neck, patting its shoulder. It took a while of shaking and rubbing the infant before I felt its muscles jolt and heard a wheezing breath fill its newborn lungs. Draven let out a relieved sigh, his lips quirking into a crooked grin. I looked up at him to see his eyes on the foal’s chest before he turned to me.
“He’s fine,” he said.
Looking at the dim glow of Draven’s eyes in the haze of the rainy morning, I felt no desire to reach out and rip his throat apart. A day ago, the knife he’d given me would have been plunged into his chest, but just then, that was the least of my desires. He moved, slipping his arms under the foal’s body to lift its skinny, somewhat premature form off the wet ground.
I was hesitant, watching Draven as he walked away with the infant toward the enclosed stables. I kept glancing back and forth between him and the foal, unsure which thing I was really paying more attention to. Soon, I followed Draven with the other towels in my hands as the other girls returned to the manor, all acting a bit traumatized.
Inside the stables, the rain was a constant symphony on the metal roofing, echoing through the building like it was raining pebbles, but at least it was dry. It had that pleasant smell of hay and horses that I used to love. It made me think of Greyport for a moment, bringing me back to a simpler life. I’d aided in the birth of horses before, but I’d never reached inside the sliced open belly of one to save a dying foal.
Draven walked to the very back of the long row of stables and entered the last one on the left. I slowly paced after him, a bit nervous about the situation, but looking into the stall where Draven had set the infant on a bed of hay made me forget my fears and anxieties again. Draven grabbed a folded, wool blanket that was draped over the stall gate and stretched it over the foal. The poor thing looked exhausted. I wanted to move in and comfort it, but I kept my distance, staring hopefully at the little ink-black horse, it’s scrawny limbs folded under its small body.
Once the foal was tucked under the blanket, I noticed it shivering and bit my lip with the urge to step in and care for it. Just then, Draven rose, his shirt covered in blood and rain, and turned to look at me.
Shit, I cursed myself, muscles taut as soon as his eyes met mine.
Draven’s cotton shirt was hugging his wet body. Despite the red that stained his sleeves and the lower half of the torso, he was a perfect silhouette of lean muscle wrapped in contour-hugging fabric. His hair was made darker by the rain, drenched and clinging to his damp neck. I glared cautiously, my fist tightening over the clump of towels in my hand, warning him to stay back, but also warning myself. Appealing wasn’t exactly a word I wanted to associate with him. He was violent, not kind. Despite all of that, there was a heat forming in my core that I couldn’t understand or deny. The same heat I felt when he stood in the steam of the bathroom.
“What’s the look for?” Draven narrowed his eyes with a smirk.
“Draven Tempest, rescuer of small animals?” I said with disbelief. “I’m not fooled by you.”
“Good,” he walked toward me. “I’d think less of you if you were.”
“Is that even possible?”
“To think less of you? It’s always possible.”
“Not for me. I’m pretty sure I dislike you about as much as humanly capable.”
“Then it’s all uphill from here,” he grinned.
Shit.
Draven looked me up and down for a long moment, then left, turning his shoulders to get by me through the open stall door. I felt his warmth in the air as he passed and it made my skin tingle with awareness. I shook my head, denying the sensation was anything else but the mark acting up on my wrist as I walked into the stall and sat myself down beside the small foal. With the towels in my hand, I began to dry him as best I could, working around the blanket to keep him warm. I was freezing in my wet, bloody clothes, but I didn’t care too much. Caring for the infant was the most rewarding thing I’d done in months.
I dried the foal almost completely before I took the blanket off of him and started trying to encourage him to stand. He moved with a laziness that I knew wasn’t good, so I kept poking until the foal began to struggle on its bony legs.
“Come on,” I said.
Hours passed and I still hadn’t gone inside. I let the baby sleep for a while, stroking his long muzzle as he rested his head in my lap. When he woke again, I continued trying to rile him up enough to get him on his feet. Once I started to get hungry, I wondered if I should leave for a while and find myself some food and a change of clothes, but returning to the manor would mean I’d most likely have to see Draven again and, in my current state, I honestly wasn’t sure if I could handle my thoughts around him. I wanted to slap myself just for thinking of him with anything other than hatred, even if only for a few seconds. What I s
aid about not being able to hate him anymore than I already had was a twist on the truth, and knowing that was too stressful to think about.
Across from me, Jericho, who had been a quiet presence the whole day, finally stepped toward the gate of his stall and hung his head over the barrier. The giant, grey stallion was by far the most stunning animal in the barn, but looking at him made me recall what Keera said about Draven sparing him as a foal. Perhaps his niceties were real, but it was clear his affections were reserved for every species but humans. As far as humans went, they were less than dirt. Or at least that’s how he made me feel.
Then again, I thought, pushing up the hem of my reddened sleeve to see the handprint he’d left.
He healed my wounds. His mark made me immune to the blaze that consumed the Falcon camp. He came when I called to him, even if the summons was only in my thoughts.
Stop it, Ever, I chided myself. There are no pros and cons. He’s a monster. One that knows how to play with your head.
Just then, Jericho let out a loud snort and tapped his front hoof on the stall door, making the foal jolt in my lap. He raised his head, alert. I watched him as he noticed Jericho’s presence and began struggling weakly to his spindly legs. I got to my knees, nudging the foal with encouragement. He rolled, trying to gain momentum, and with one last effort and a little support from me, he got into an unbalanced stance on his four hooves. I grinned, standing to offer him more help as he struggled around the small space, making little chirps as he explored his surroundings.
“Good boy,” I said, patting his back. “You did it.”
“He’s up,” a woman’s voice caught my attention.
I glanced over at the open stall door and saw Amear standing with a glass bottle filled with milk in her hand. She was smiling with the same excitement that I was, her chocolate-brown eyes watching the young horse get used to his legs.
“Here,” she handed the bottle to me. “We warmed some milk. We had an old bottle in storage from the last time one of the mares gave birth.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking the bottle in my hand and letting it hover over the foal’s lips.
As a bit of milk dripped onto his nose, he began searching for the nipple. Once he found it, he was devouring the milk, his little tail swishing back and forth like a windshield wiper.
“You’ve been out here all day,” Amear said, gesturing to my still-bloodied clothes. “You should wash up and get something to eat.”
I waited for the foal to finish the entire bottle of milk before I looked at Amear again with a nod.
“Yeah,” I sighed with reluctance. “I guess I should.”
“The other ladies and I can take turns checking on him if you like.”
I gave Amear a thankful bow of my head and though I didn’t want to leave the newborn, I decided a bath and a new shirt was a good idea.
Giving the foal another pet, I walked out of the stables with the empty bottle and headed to the manor through the now slow drizzle. Glancing at the spot in the pen where the mare had died, I saw a large patch of loose dirt as if someone had just buried her right where she’d gone down. Saddened, I entered the manor, a mess of filth against the white interior, and headed up to my room.
Somehow that day felt more exhausting than the previous ones, despite the fact that I hadn’t been tortured or threatened. Worrying for a creature on the brink of death had my heart fatigued. As soon as I got to my room I closed the door and stripped my clothes off, making my way to the shower. I turned the heat up almost as high as it would go, somewhat unconscious that I was even doing it, and stepped under the steaming hot water. It felt good on my cold skin. Blood and dirt washed down the drain, this time not my own, stripping the grime away and leaving me feeling refreshed, but with that hot comfort came unwanted thoughts.
24
Everly
. . .
Alone in the shower, I tried to relax. I closed my eyes, savoring the water, feeling the steam consume the whole room. The water beat a steady pressure on the back of my neck and I was almost lost in it. Then, he was there. We were back at the stables. His body was wet and filthy, but something stirred inside me. Something I absolutely didn’t want to feel. There was an energy about him that made my blood vibrate. I wondered, for the tiniest moment, if he could be gentle with me, and in that small instant I felt his hands against my flesh.
At first, I felt it on my wrist where his mark pulsed. I felt it as if he was holding me. Then his touch slid around my hips from behind, down lower until I could feel his fingers on my thighs. I sucked in a slow breath when his lips kissed my neck and his hands skated back up my wet body to my breasts, caressing them softly. I felt his breath in my ear. Felt his heartbeat drum against my back. Then, without warning, his hand was in my hair, ripping my head back as he pushed me forward against the wall.
I opened my eyes with a gasp and found myself alone in the fogged up shower, the water so hot it should have been scalding. I turned it off and caught my breath, stepping out to wrap my naked body in a towel.
How could I have any thoughts of intimacy with Draven? I swiped my hand twice across the mirror and stared at my reflection with disappointment. The light lavender in my hair had faded to a pale grey with mousy-brown roots. My grey eyes had become heavy with the stress of everything and my body had grown thinner. What was I becoming? I was shriveling away, and now I was finding erotic thoughts tucked in the back of my mind about the man who caused it all.
I slipped on a loose, black dress and a cotton shrug before walking barefoot toward the dining room in search of food. Barefoot, as if I was comfortable in that place. As if I lived there. I shook my head at myself and twisted my hair into a loose bun as I walked into the dining hall. Nothing was set out so I crossed to the kitchen area to find two refrigerators filled with food. I grabbed supplies to make myself a turkey sandwich, finding bread in a nearby cabinet. Just before closing the cabinet door, I saw a bottle of bourbon on the second shelf. I stared at it for a moment, biting my lip, and then snatched it up.
My sloppy arrangement of turkey, cheese and lettuce between two pieces of bread could hardly be called a sandwich, but I took it and the whole bottle of bourbon with me to the dining table. I began to eat, alone and victimized by my runaway thoughts.
After a few bites of food I took a swig of bourbon, my face twisting against the nasty taste. I’d never been one for the taste of alcohol, but I wasn’t drinking for the taste. Anything to get me out of my head. I took another bite of food, chewing it completely before taking another drink as well. By the time the sandwich was gone, my eyes were having a difficult time focusing. I sat staring at the far wall, one hand on the bottle, and let my thoughts torture me as the minutes ticked by.
After an hour or so, Keera entered the dining room and, upon noticing me, she made her way over, hesitating when she saw the bottle I’d been working on.
“Everly?” she said sweetly, sitting across from me.
I didn’t look at her. I was too lost in my own mind, which was definitely not what I intended to happen when I began suffering swigs of bourbon. Taking another drink, I let out a sharp, aggravated breath and shook my head.
“Are you alright?” Keera asked with genuine concern.
“I am so screwed,” I muttered.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m betraying everything I’ve ever stood for.” Finally my eyes met hers, but she wasn’t exactly a clear image at that point. “You know, I never cared,” I said to her, my words flowing together with less enunciation than I intended. “I mean I did care. I cared what people thought of me and then I stopped caring because I knew other people weren’t going to take me places. I was going to take me places. I didn’t need people. A husband. I didn’t need to be beautiful. I have calluses on my hands and scars on my body. My natural hair color is as dull as hair can be. You know what that outlook gets you? The idea of independence? Trouble. This world doesn’t prey on the weak. It preys on the strong. The worl
d likes the weak. The weak are easy to control.
“And then someone like Draven comes across someone like me and all he wants is for me to break down and get on my knees, just because I won’t, and all I want is to stand up to him until he just says ‘fuck it.’” I laughed. “I know I can’t kill him. But I keep trying because if I don’t try people know how scared I am and...I’m terrified. Every day I’m terrified. Terrified of dying. Afraid of losing who I am. Afraid of not being the person Taurus raised me to be. He raised me to be better and here I am. My freedom and the only person who saw any potential in me were taken away in one day. But you know what I’m most afraid of? I’m afraid of being alone. And I am alone. And the only person making me feel like I’m not alone in the slightest right now is…” I stopped. No. Not that.
“The fact that I’m not as mad at Draven as I should be is just making it worse,” I continued. “The anger is moving on. I’m finding questions that hurt me to ask. Was Taurus a good person or was he just pretending to be for me? The hate about his death is passing and when it’s gone, then what? Then Draven’s won? Then he tosses me away because he broke me just like he wanted? That’d be the real punishment, you know? I have nowhere to go. No home. No family. I have no desires or even a cause to stand up for anymore.”
“Everly…”
I stood, taking one more sip from the half empty bottle before stepping away from the table with a slight stumble.
“How terrible is it to want something and actually take it?” I asked, brushing strands of hair from my face as I tried to steady my vision. “How awful am I for wanting one night to just turn everything off and step out of my head and forget everything and everyone? I want things sometimes and what if I gave in, just once? What if I didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought? I’d be a hypocrite, right? I’d be exactly what I hate about most people.”
Ash Bringer (A Storm of Fire: Paranormal Dragonshifter Romance Book 1) Page 18
