Sole: A Blue Novella (The Core Series Book 2)

by Combs, Teshelle

  “You’re not a prisoner, Cameron. You’re being dramatic.”

  “I am the least dramatic person you have ever met, Mac.”

  He pointed a beefy finger at his son. “Be respectful when you address me. That’s not up for negotiation.”

  “The way I see it, none of this is up for negotiation.”

  “Cameron, we’re not trying to hurt you.”

  But Cameron’s gaze was steel. “Why am I being punished for doing my job? If either of your sons had singlehandedly fought off a squadron of sirens, you would be toasting them, tearing your teeth into a mountain of meat in their honor. But I am too different. The same rules don’t apply to me.”

  “Cameron you could have gotten killed. I’m trying to take care of you.”

  He laughed. “Trying to take care of me? You have failed in so many ways to take care of me. I am beyond those childhood necessities. I am beyond you.”

  Mac bit his temper in. “You’re still a child. It’s not wrong for your parents to worry about your wellbeing.”

  “My wellbeing is out of your hands. It has been since the day I left this house for the academy.”

  “That’s what all this is about? The academy? Cameron, I think it’s time you got past—”

  “You don’t get to tell me what’s forgettable in my life. You don’t get to pretend to care about me only when it’s convenient for you, Mac.”

  “I’m your father, Cameron.”

  “Yet I don’t remember you visiting while I was gone at that place. I don’t remember a letter. A phone call. An email. I don’t remember you being my father then.”

  Mac stuttered, but nothing came out.

  “If it were Rory, if it were Cale—”

  “Cam, you’re not them. You wouldn’t have cared. Even if I visited every single day, you wouldn’t have cared. Everybody knows the last thing you needed was—”

  Cameron stood up. “Maybe I needed someone—anyone—to check on me. Just once. Maybe I needed someone to say my name without hate on their tongue. Maybe I needed to come home. Maybe I needed a home to come to. But God forbid—God forbid—you treat me like you give a damn. God forbid you treat me like your son.”

  He slammed the sliding door so hard it splintered, the glass cracking into a hundred pieces that no longer fit together.

  Cale caught his brother’s bedroom door before it closed and stepped inside his room, his face pinched, his shoulders hunched from bearing too much stress.

  “Cameron, what—”

  “It’s fine. I’d rather not talk, thank you.”

  Cale stared at his brother for a moment. “I can just sit in here with you for a while, if you don’t want to talk.”

  Cameron looked over at Cale, at the way he tried not to fidget, because he knew blue dragons found that distracting. At the way he didn’t invite himself in and plop down on the bed, because he knew Cameron would find it intrusive.

  “Alone is best for me,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Cale didn’t argue as he closed the door behind him.

  The next person to open it, before he could get to the lock, had ice in her eyes. She stood straight and still, her dark hair—so much like Cam’s—was loose about her face for once.

  “Cameron, you owe your father an apology.”

  “Absolutely not.” Cameron stood with his arms crossed.

  “You’ve deeply offended him.”

  “That’s not offense. It’s called guilt.”

  Karma pursed her lips. “It’s our duty to try, Cameron. Your brothers and your father, they are not as flexible, not as accommodating as we are. We must come to them.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You know I don’t accept that as an excuse.”

  “But you accept it from them. You just said yourself they can’t be flexible. Why am I not allowed the same leniency.”

  “Because, Cameron, you are not them. I know you. I know you don’t live up to your potential. I know you limit yourself. There is no ‘can’t’ for you except the one you create.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  Karma’s cheeks turned blue. “Insults are beneath you.”

  “You can’t lock me in here because I’m not everything you wanted me to be. Why don’t you take your husband’s advice and put the academy behind you. They didn’t want me and they didn’t want you. It’s over.”

  “Oh they wanted me. I chose this. You have no idea what I gave up for this family.”

  “So you’re locking me up not because I didn’t live up to my potential, but because I stunted yours.”

  “I was gracious in my departure. You were rash and ridiculous. A foolish child. Striking the headmaster, Cameron? Violence? Senseless, mindless violence? Are you a barbarian? Are you that stupid? Do you have any idea how actions like that make me look? It makes me look like an idiot for choosing to corrupt my prodigy with red dragon blood. It makes me look like I was wrong for marrying your father, for choosing my family.”

  Cameron let a chilled moment pass. “I hate sea foam green. I have always hated it. You want to know the only color I absolutely loathe? It’s not red. It’s not blue. It’s sea foam green.”

  Karma stared at the walls. Then, finally, “It’s just paint, Cameron.”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “You have no idea who I am. If you think I can’t survive on my own, if you think I’m here because I need you to take care of me, you are the one who’s stupid.”

  Karma inhaled. “Then what are you doing here, Cameron? What are you doing here?” And she left, locking the door before she shut it so he wouldn’t have to cross the room.

  Cameron stared at the emptiness she’d left behind and muttered to himself. “Trying. I’m trying.”

  Seven

  Seize

  Myra dangled from the eaves of the Anders’ house, her boots just barely balancing her on the tip of the window sill. She crouched down once she got her footing, lucky that she was gifted with impeccable balance.

  She tapped on Cameron’s window. Once. Twice. She could see him pacing in there, back and forth across the carpet, his hands on his head.

  “Cameron,” she hissed.

  He finally looked up, walked over to the window as if he was going to let her in, then walked away again, shaking his head.

  “You promised,” she whispered. It was late, but she figured he’d be up. Maybe even be at the beach. But he hadn’t been answering his phone and it had been two days. “You promised. Now let me in.”

  He unlocked the window, pulled it open, helped her inside.

  “Your hands are like ice,” she said, stepping with silent agility onto the floor. She moved to him right away. “Cam, you’re shaking.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m fine. Just busy.”

  But he was shaking. She could see him clench his teeth together, trying to put his hands on his head to keep them still.

  “Cameron, are you sick?”

  He wanted to answer, but he had to stop, had to put his hands on his knees and take a haggard breath. He was sweating, the saltiness dripping down into his eyes. “Not sick….”

  Myra felt panic make its home in her gut. “You’re scaring me.”

  “I can’t sleep. That’s all.”

  She looked over at his bed. It was perfectly made. “I thought you only needed to sleep once every couple weeks?”

  He pulled at his shirt, as if it was weighing him down. “I just can’t.”

  “Maybe I can help,” she said.

  He shook his head, stumbling away from her and tripping over a pile of his books. “No.”

  “Cameron, it’s just sleep. It’s not going to hurt you.”

  He squatted down, holding his head in his hands. He closed his eyes tight. “You don’t know that.”

  “Maybe I should call someone,” she said, glancing at Cameron’s door.

  “No, you can’t, My. You can’t tell. My mom…she’ll figure it out.”

  Myra put gentle hands on his arms. “Figure
out what, Cam?” Figure out what?”

  He swallowed, as if his mouth was impossibly dry. “I’m not supposed to tell.”

  And Myra realized what made her so uneasy, what made her so worried. Cameron was afraid. Terrified. Out of his mind scared. And that meant something was very, very wrong.

  “Cameron, did you have a bad dream?”

  “No,” he shouted. “No dreams.” Every inch of him trembled. “My, I’m not supposed to tell.”

  “Okay, don’t tell me. Just come here.” And she stood on her tiptoes so she could put her arms around him. “You don’t have to be afraid, Cam.”

  He buried his face in her. “Can’t sleep.”

  “You don’t have to. You can stay up forever.”

  She knew it wasn’t true, but for the first time, Cameron didn’t seem rational. She hoped her lie would work long enough calm him down. She held him and felt his racing heart slow its pace. His shaking stopped, and after a few moments, he could finally bury his face against her.

  “I…I need my backpack,” he whispered into her hair.

  She moved so she could look at him. “That’s all? Where is it?”

  “I left it downstairs. I can’t go out there. Can’t let them see me.”

  She took his hand. “You want to sit down until I get back?”

  “No, My.” He shook his head, ran his hand through is hair. “Might fall asleep.”

  Myra left him pacing, fumbled to unlock the bedroom door, and then hurried through the hallway, running smack into Rory on the top of the staircase.

  “Oh. Myra, I didn’t know you were over here.” He scratched his head. “Is Onna here too, because Cale is out.”

  “Yeah,” Myra said. Her reply didn’t make any sense, but she knew Rory wasn’t going to chase her down to get more information out of her. She found her way through the laundry room and to the basement, startled by the frigidity.

  Karma, on her desktop computer, her eyes trained on the screen as if she was literally devouring knowledge, swiveled to face her.

  “May I help you?” Karma asked, a little frown evidence that she didn’t relish being interrupted.

  “No, not really.”

  Myra scanned the room. “Okay, maybe. I’m looking for something.”

  “I’m certain you won’t find it here.”

  The words, “you’re wrong,” almost left her mouth. She replaced them with a lie. “Cale owes me ten bucks and Cameron said he’d loan it to him. It’s in his backpack.”

  “Oh, I’m mistaken then. I believe Cameron left his backpack on the hook over the back of the door—”

  Myra grabbed it and ran out the door before Karma could finish her sentence. She took the stairs two at a time and closed the door to Cameron’s room behind her.

  When she turned around, his backpack slid to the floor. Cameron wasn’t in the place where she left him. He was on his back, his limbs stiff and tremoring.

  She ran to him, unable to cry out like she wanted to. She didn’t know if she should touch him, if she should try to fix him. He stared at her with wide eyes. Every breath he took was labored, too fast, as if his lungs were collapsing.

  “I’ll get help,” she said, tears stinging her eyes, making it hard to even see the door.

  “Bag,” he gasped.

  She sprinted over to it and hurried back, opening it for him. “You’re writing a letter?” she said, too loud, too afraid. She knew that made no sense. But none of what was happening made any sense.

  “Lining.”

  She felt along the inner lining of the bag until she felt a hole. Sticking her finger inside, she retrieved a thin vial of brownish green liquid.

  “You need this?”

  But he seized before he could answer, his entire body rattling against the carpet, his hands balled into fists. She read somewhere once that seizure victims could swallow their tongues, damage their brains.

  “What do I do?” Scream? Call for help? Tell someone? But she could still remember the fear in Cam’s eyes. I’m not supposed to tell, he said.

  Myra opened the vial, her hands trembling as she opened his mouth and poured it in, every single drop. What if it’s too much? What if it’s not enough?

  Cameron’s body shook violently, until he was still, until he took a deep, quick breath. His muscles lay relaxed, and he reached out his hand and took Myra’s.

  “Sleep now,” he mumbled. “Stay.”

  And his head fell to the side, his eyes pressed tight. It wasn’t a gentle sleep. His breathing was still aggravated, his heart thumping so hard Myra could almost hear it.

  She knelt right where she was, unmoving, her mind blank. It only took three minutes before he stirred. His eyes shot open and he gasped, sitting up and scooting back as if Myra was a poison spider.

  He concentrated on controlling his breathing, his palms pressed into his eyes. “Thank you,” he finally said.

  But Myra was crying. His thank you did nothing.

  “What the hell was that?” she said, burying her own face in her hands.

  “I…”

  “You can’t tell me. Because I’m going to run out and tell everyone I don’t talk to all about your secrets.” Her sarcasm bit, protecting her, shielded her vulnerability. She lifted the little vial. “I could tell them all what I just saw, give whatever the hell this is to your mom. But I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Myra,” he winced. She was too loud. People would hear.

  “So I just have to go about my life, wondering if you’re convulsing to death on a deserted beach, or walking home on your own at three in the morning. I’m just supposed to live with that so you can keep your secrets to yourself.”

  “My—”

  “No,” she held up a hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I know I’m being dramatic. I know. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just…you scared me. And I don’t understand.”

  Every muscle in Cameron’s body threatened to tear from the shock of his episode, but he moved closer to her anyways. He touched her cheeks, wiped at the tears.

  “I made you cry.”

  She sniffled. “Yeah. You did.”

  “I apologize.”

  “Yeah. You do.”

  “I’m not supposed to tell. It could get someone in trouble. Someone who risked a lot to help me.”

  She nodded. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “You…won’t want to know.”

  “Then don’t tell me.”

  He paused, sat back, ignoring how tight he felt, how hard it was to think. “I left for the blue dragon academy when I was thirteen years old. I was one of the youngest ever to be accepted.” He looked off, remembering. “My mother was proud. She never said it, but I knew she was. She’d been a prodigy, you see. And I was her legacy. So I went to England to further my studies.” He shot clouded eyes at Myra. “They were…unwelcoming.”

  “Like…you got bullied?”

  He looked to the ground. “At first. There was no room assigned for me. My meal vouchers were misplaced. Things like that.”

  “They didn’t let you eat? Where did you sleep?”

  “I didn’t need much food or sleep. Set up camp behind one of the walls, near the heated pipes during the winter semester. I didn’t mind. It was quiet. I got a lot of studying done there. And when it was time for the placement exams, I…”

  “You failed.”

  “Of course not,” he said, almost offended. “I earned a perfect score. First time in history.”

  “Oh my god, Cam.” She furrowed her brow. “Wait, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  He was quiet. “The academics were not happy.”

  “Because you showed them up?”

  “Because I’m not a pureblood, Myra. Because I wasn’t one of them.”

  “But…but you’re a blue dragon.”

  “Not to the others.”

  “Couldn’t your mom talk to them?”

  He shook his
head. “My parents don’t know any of this, Myra. You can never tell them.”

  “How could they not know? Didn’t they come visit you?”

  He didn’t bother answering that question.

  “Couldn’t you write to them?”

  “No one would deliver my letters. And soon after, I had no opportunity to write them.”

  “Why couldn’t you write?”

  He swallowed his mouth dry. “Things…were done.”

  Myra felt her stomach turn over. “Things? What kind of things?”

  He fiddled with the fibers of the carpet, with the toe of her boots. It was so unlike him to fidget when he talked. “Tests. All the tests they couldn’t do on pureblooded blues. Because they couldn’t—” he cleared his throat, “couldn’t waste anyone useful.”

  Myra closed her eyes to it. “Okay, you can stop, Cam.”

  But it was like everything had to come out. He’d started and it had to come pouring out. “Sleep deprivation tests. Oversleeping tests. Neurological overstimulation. Neurological under stimulation. Food aversions. Food—”

  “Cameron, okay. You can stop.”

  “Surgeries, for some of them. They had to get creative with injection sites because they ran out of space on my arms and neck. Months. Tests take time. To do them right.”

  “Cameron, enough.”

  He paused. “That’s right. I had enough.” He chewed on his lip. “The red dragon experiments are not a myth. They slaughter them in the name of science, in the name of knowledge. There was even one blue dragon, they called him Slate…he had been there for years. They’d opened him up so many times there wasn’t any skin left beneath the stitches. But even Slate was worth keeping. The only reason I didn’t end up in an incinerator when they were done with me was thanks to the only professor who bothered to learn my name. He got me out in time.”

  Myra hugged her knees to herself. “Cam…you have to tell.”

  “Tell who?”

  “Tell your mom. Tell your brothers. Tell everyone.”

  “Declan…my professor…he’ll lose his job.”

  “It’s a job, Cameron. You can’t let them get away with what they did to you, what they’re doing to other dragons right now.”

  “You think people would believe me?”