Aryana snorted. “And lose them again at the next chance you have at gambling.”
Rayse tore his attention from the gamblers and peered back at Constance. Why was it that Catrina reminded him more of Constance than the woman herself? He couldn’t wrap his mind around that.
12
Rayse was hurt.
He didn’t think he’d feel this way. He’d been pining for his lost mate for sixty years. But the anguish of having his heart broken didn’t mend with her return. Instead, it had amplified.
Yes, Catrina was screaming in the back of his head with her memory, but that didn’t mean he had no feelings for Constance. He loved her. He wanted to continue doing so.
The fact that she was avoiding him and trying so hard to not even utter a word to him edged into him like a knife.
She looked the same, smelled the same.
And that was it, really.
He lay next to her, eyes fixed on the gray ceiling. The airy coolness of the green mountains wafted in through the window, lifting the curtains up. He couldn’t keep living like this. Maybe this awkwardness between them was temporary, but life had a way of seeming “temporary” and then solidifying into forever.
Deciding he had to act on his relationship, he scooted over and put an arm around his mate.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“We haven’t been together in a long time. Look at me, Constance.”
“I’d rather not.” Her manner was getting increasingly annoyed, and her avoidance meaner.
“Please, look at me.”
The sheets slid beneath them, and then he was facing his wife. Her eyes were just as round, and the same caramel gold, but they didn’t hold the world to him like before. “All right,” she said. “Now what?”
“Kiss me,” he said.
“What?”
He didn’t have to repeat himself. He continued staring at her expectantly. She shouldn’t have a problem with something so simple. He wanted to believe that she could still do that.
He held his breath. “Not going to do it?”
Her jaw tightened.
“Is it because of what I did to you?”
“What did you do?”
Why was she so… clueless? Had she knocked her head and lost her memory somehow? “I…” The pain of his recollection made the story too hard to tell.
“I’m tired,” she said. “That’s all.”
He kissed her.
He was tired of waiting for something to happen. He had to make it start. His dragon didn’t awaken, but he was expecting that. Perhaps they could get their bond back if they worked hard enough at it. He wanted to see his mark on his beloved once more.
She was breathy beneath him. He was aroused—not in the way she had made him in their initial meeting, but like how any attractive woman could easily arouse a man. He slipped his shirt off and worked his way down to her breast.
“Rayse,” she said, with some lust lacing her words. Panic mixed with that desire, covering it.
“It’ll be better,” he said, reaching down to her center.
“Wait.” She stopped him, grabbing his wrist.
“I need this, Constance.” He needed to know that there still could be sparks between them. The past sixty years couldn’t have been a lie.
“Fucking get off me, you stupid dragon.” She tore away from him and threw the sheets off the bed. She stood up and zipped to the other side of the room.
How could one change so little and yet so much? He studied her figure as she stalked away. Her hair hadn’t grown or been cut short.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re not acting like yourself.”
“You don’t even know me… anymore. Time can change a person.”
“Then what happened? If you explain to me, answer some of my questions, then I can understand, and we can work through this.”
She blew a loose strand of hair from her face. The brown lock fell right back where it had been. “I can’t explain.”
Who was she? Perhaps it was the paranoia speaking, but he didn’t believe this woman was his mate. She couldn’t be. Sixty years couldn’t have made her completely lose her feelings for him. He simply didn’t want to accept it.
“How did we meet?” he asked.
“Uh…” Her eyes widened at the sudden interrogation. She bit her lower lip, in a way she hadn’t before. Constance had always only bitten one side—the left, actually. This woman, whoever she was, bit her whole bottom lip. “Ah… didn’t the girls…” She paused, then forced a smirk. “Why are you even asking this? Dragons always meet their mates during the Choosing.”
“The Offering,” he corrected her. “And did you love me?”
“Of course I did.”
“No.” He stalked toward her, anger rising. This woman dared defile the image of his femriahl. “You were scared.”
“Goddess be damned,” she spat. “I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to this.” She spun around and made way for the door. Her form started to shimmer, morphing into someone who wasn’t Constance, then back again.
He jumped at her, wings spreading behind his back.
She muttered a spell and shot ice at him. He dodged just in time, nearly losing his face.
She was out the door in a blink. “Just let me explain!”
This woman was fast. She buzzed off like a bush mouse on coffee, shooting ice beams from her fingers with terrible aim, slowing him down. Briefly, he called for backup in case she managed to slip past him, and he continued chasing her down.
A man with any amount of respect for himself wouldn’t hurt a lady, but this witch was hardly one. This woman didn’t deserve to wear his wife’s face. The impostor had sullied Constance’s memory.
He kicked her in the back and she toppled to the ground.
She let out a yelp as she crashed. “Fuck off!”
He bound her hands together with his. He made sure her hands were pointing away from him, wary that she might shoot out another spike of frost. “You’re going to tell me exactly who you are, and why the fuck you’re wearing my wife’s face.”
“I was going to do that, but you looked like you were going to rip my eyes out. So I ran.”
One of the Grimfires passed him a chain of dragon-stone shackles, and he promptly fastened them over her wrists.
“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” she said, her form flickering into another one.
He forced her up. “Stop wearing her face.”
She rolled her eyes and let out a huge sigh. A dim light danced over her skin. Her features split into a double image, then revealed the true identity of Constance’s impostor.
He bit his tongue. “You’re…”
“Jura, that witch you tied up earlier. Yes. Just great, because I’m back right where I started, just because I’m doing your wife a favor.”
“Come with me,” he said, and pulled her to her feet. He had a lot of questions to ask.
They were right back where Jura had been tied before. Her soul beads had been confiscated from her, and Rayse had bound her to a chair, similar to the first time. Moonlight danced in through the window, lighting the place and shimmering off her blond hair.
“I knew there was something off about her,” Greta said, shaking a bony finger.
Rayse snorted. “That wasn’t what you said earlier.”
“Really?” Greta pulled back and raised her brows in mock surprise. “I’m pretty sure I shared the same suspicions. I’m close enough to Constance to know when someone is impersonating her.”
“You kept telling me to ‘give her time.’”
“And you did. A few hours, and look, she’s shown her true self. Your answer’s right in front of you.”
He resisted the need to roll his eyes.
“How did you get past our weaves?” Aryana asked, looking more curious than angry. She leaned closer to Jura, studying her, as if she had the answers written on her face. “We checked you for an illusion spell.”
Jura scrunched up her nose. “Your water witch magic is primitive. Ayesrial has had more time to develop the art.”
“Is it?” Aryana said. “I might have to visit that place, then.”
Diovan wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Not on my watch.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
“That’s not what you say in the bedroom.” Diovan grinned.
Rayse pulled his attention back to the matter at hand. “You know where Constance is,” he said, arms crossed over his chest.
“You’ve likely met her already,” Jura said.
A platoon of Grimfire warriors were perched behind them in case they needed backup. Jura might try something suddenly.
“You have to teach us that illusion spell,” Aryana said. “I mean, it’s not really an illusion, is it? Your form changed into Constance, physically. The ones we have cloak us, but the image fizzles out once you run a hand over it, and it doesn’t last long.”
“It’s one of the Dragon Mother’s own spells,” Jura said. “She gave it to one of her Favored witches about a thousand years back, I think, and the spell leaked.”
“Interesting.”
“I’ll teach it to you if you let me go.”
“Yes, that sounds nice. You didn’t really hurt anybody, except for fooling dear Rayse over—”
“What do you mean I’ve met her?” Rayse asked Jura. He took out his dagger and pressed it to her throat. He didn’t want the dragon witch getting too comfortable, not with Aryana’s interest. Jura was easy to hate, but also fearless—he had to give her that.
“You’re so blind to not recognize your own wife?” Jura said, not flinching from the dagger. “She didn’t want you around, so she sent me as a distraction. I told her it wouldn’t work. I don’t know her past self well enough to pull off a disguise. And I was right. You sniffed me out in less than a day. But she insisted.” She huffed. “So I used that spell, which Constance had taught me herself, and showed myself to Greta.” Her gaze lowered to the dagger. “And get that knife away from me. I’m not your enemy.”
He was done dancing with riddles. Constance was like a prize, dangling just inches away from him. But she had him tied up, putting herself just far enough away to be out of reach. That drove him mad. “Who is she? Spit it out.”
“Use your brain, fool,” Jura said. “Answer’s right there.”
He searched his mind, but it proved increasingly difficult because of the haze of his emotions.
“She made me promise not to tell you. I don’t want to break my oath.” Jura sighed. “Here’s a hint—she’s got a lot of spunk.”
That sounded like his little fire. Fire… Who was the last person who reminded him of that trait?
The answer clicked like a key in a lock, freeing him. His mouth went dry.
But that… that sounded too good to be true.
Then again, Constance was always like a fantasy to him.
“Catrina?”
“Ding ding ding.” Jura smiled. Her expression soured almost right after. “Will you let me go now? Again?”
“You should join us,” Aryana said to Jura. “Become a water witch. We could really use your teachings.”
Rayse thought Aryana was becoming a bit too interested in Jura. Jura spelled trouble. She was a powerful dragon witch from a foreign land. Not to mention, she was on the run from the Dragon Mother. Harboring her might place the Grimfire dragons at great risk.
“I can’t,” Jura replied. “I shouldn’t stay in one spot for too long, in case they find out where I am. It’ll put the entire clan of water witches in jeopardy.”
Rayse and the others had traveled to the same place Jura had shown them, to enter Ayesrial.
“Are you sure you want to do this again, Shen?” Rayse asked. “You almost died the last time.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I can’t stop you, but I’m also giving you permission to back out.”
“What kind of friend would I be if I let you go back there alone?”
“Still a good one. You’ve done more than enough for me.”
“I owe you much more.”
“What happened wasn’t your fault.” Rayse was sounding like an old parrot.
Shen shook his head. “You can’t convince me otherwise.”
“Seems like an awful waste of souls returning to Ayesrial,” Greta said. “Wonder how many lives Constance took to bring us back to these mountains.”
“And you’re still coming along,” Rayse said. “So that she can waste more lives.”
Greta adjusted her shawl. “Pretty much.” Rayse had always wondered if she had pockets in that fabric. She always pulled tools from it.
“You shouldn’t be putting yourself in these situations,” Rayse said. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“Neither are you. I actually enjoy the danger, and something tells me that Constance might need me.”
“What’s that ‘something’?”
“Jitters of an old woman.”
Rayse sighed and took out the soul beads he’d stolen from Constance. He strode to Aryana.
Diovan wore a foul look. “Why do you keep putting my wife—”
“Give me that,” Greta said, snatching the souls from Rayse’s hand before he could pass them to Aryana. “I can handle it.”
“Greta, no!” Aryana said.
Greta spoke the spell words before anyone could stop her: “Horano Invitio.”
The dark portal that led into Ayesrial exploded in front of them. They all watched Greta and braced themselves, preparing for the old woman to collapse in front of them.
Greta took out her glasses, wiped them, and placed them over the bridge of her nose. “What are the lot of you looking at?”
They stared at her. Aryana’s mouth slackened into an incredulous gape. Shen frowned, while Diovan and Jura looked impressed. Rayse just felt confused.
“What are the two of you waiting for?” Greta asked Rayse and Shen. “The portal isn’t going to stay open forever.”
“Greta,” Aryana said, “when have you touched the dark art before?”
“No time for questions,” the crazy lady said. “We need to go, because I can’t keep the portal up for much longer.” She tugged Rayse and Shen—for someone her age, she had her a mighty grip—and pushed them into the black, swirling magic. Rayse braced himself for the screams of the gateway. They came once again, but each time they went through made it easier than the last.
When he reached the other side, he managed to hop on his feet, as he anticipated the jolting thrust of the portal. They were in the same dark alley Shen and he had entered the first time they arrived in Ayesrial. Greta was ahead of the both of them like before. She was already waiting, her bum planted on the ground.
She looked at Rayse with her eyes twinkling. “What now?”
“Emilia might be back at the same inn,” he said. “We’ll go there and find her.”
Shen stumbled out moments later. “I’m alive,” he said, placing a hand over his chest. “Thank the Dragon Mother.”
“That’s the last person you should be thanking,” Greta said.
“Sorry, habit,” Shen replied.
“Let’s go find Constance,” Rayse said. “There’s no time to waste.”
Greta placed both her hands on the ground. “Let me sit here for a few more. This stinking dirt is comfortable in a strange way. Maybe cause’ it’s stepped on by hopeless people, just like me.”
Rayse grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet. “We’re leaving.”
“Oh, why do you have to be so hasty? What’s a couple hours going to do after sixty years of waiting?”
He ignored her comment and strode with Shen out into the bustling street. There was a long line in front of him, with people holding cards.
Queuing up for rations, perhaps?
Greta was right about the extra couple of hours, but he didn’t want to waste any more time in getting back to Constance. His d
ragon was prowling in the depths of his mind, demanding that he get to his mate as soon as possible. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but happiness and hope at meeting her had filled Rayse, intoxicating him.
A group of drakin sauntered past them, in their purple uniforms. Rayse tensed, wondering if any of them recognized him from the attack earlier. They strode past him without glancing in his direction, then met with a couple standing at the end of the queue.
“These two are what the people are exchanging for food, this time?” one of the drakin said.
His companion dragged the couple to their feet. “Come on, the Dragon Mother’s hungry for souls.”
“Please,” the chained male said. His mate was clutching to him for dear life, as if that would do any good.
The Ayesrialian citizens stood by and watched with weary gazes.
“Let’s go,” Greta said, pushing Rayse onward. “Weren’t you in a hurry?”
Rayse pried his eyes from the poor mate pair and strode away with his companions.
13
Jaerhel called to his human form. His ochre wings collapsed inward and folded into his back. He breathed in sharply as he shifted into his weaker form, welcoming the pain. He didn’t mind the weakness of his human form. It was the form he could embrace Constance in. She’d allowed him to—sometimes, when she wasn’t paying attention.
She called to him like a honeyed web. He shouldn’t be with her. He couldn’t have her, but his cravings had gone too far.
She didn’t know what she’d done for him—what she’d freed him from.
He cursed the Mother for not making her his mate. Yes, he hated the Dragon Mother, but that didn’t mean he didn’t believe in her authority and power. She was their goddess, albeit a terrible one.
Most dragons in Ayesrial felt the same.
Both dragon and humans were like that. They saw the truth in front of them, but if enough lies were whispered into their ears, they’d start to doubt the truth and believe the lies.
In his case, truth and lies had mixed, and he couldn’t tell which was which. Was the Dragon Mother their demon? Or their god? Could she be both?
Fractured Souls (Soul of a Dragon Book 3) Page 11
