Fractured Souls (Soul of a Dragon Book 3)

by Clara Hartley

  Despite the despair of the Ayesrialians, they tried to claw up from hellfire’s flames. They lived in the shadows, longing for light. Constance provided their little band of refugees with that light. She was their beacon of hope, which struggled to stay bright.

  He strode to Constance’s study, lugging his prize on his back. She wasn’t there. He let out an irritated grunt and decided to change his destination. He had caught enough to feed ten people for a day or two. It wasn’t that large of a catch for a dragon, but he still wanted a pat on his back, or even a smile as a reward.

  The Arabeasts—creatures with the nastiest of hides that required little water to survive—in the vicinity were starting to thin out. They needed to think of other ways to get food, soon.

  It was unhealthy, his and Constance’s relationship, but mostly for him. Constance didn’t truly know how he felt. He tried to not let his pain show too much. She had better things to worry about. He succeeded for the most part, but could feel himself crumbling into pieces, bit by bit, every day.

  There was nothing but hurt waiting for him at the end of his time with Constance. But he was damned anyway, so he didn’t care.

  He finally found her in one of the wards. She was using those cursed souls again. Why did she strain herself so much? The black magic harmed her, and yet she insisted on equipping it despite his requests for her to stop. They would lose a lot more patients if she stopped using the dark art, but they weren’t important. To him, she was worth thousands of the rest of those sorry souls.

  “I think I did well for myself today,” Jaerhel said, smiling at her. He often tried to smile—he couldn’t worry her with his problems.

  She breathed a sigh, then turned around to meet him. She grinned back, despite the physical strain the magic caused her. “Kien. I was wondering where you’ve been. That’s… a really huge sack.”

  “I did my best.” He shifted the weight on his shoulders. “A kiss as a reward, perhaps?”

  She grimaced, but tried to hide it with a sheepish smile. “Um, why don’t you bring that to the kitchen?”

  Her innocent rejection made his chest constrict, but she didn’t notice. He wouldn’t let her know. He shrugged off his hurt, or at least pretended to, and nodded. “Walk with me?”

  “I’m just about done here, so all right.”

  She stood up and walked away from her patient. “Will you help to track his progress?” she said to the nurse. “He should recover in a day at most. Let me know if anything troubling happens.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the nurse replied.

  Jaerhel adjusted the load on his shoulders. They walked out of the ward and into the hallway. He noticed the strain on Constance’s features, and the patches of red that marred the sides of her eyes.

  “You’re still thinking about him,” he said.

  “Of course I am.”

  If only he could wipe away those thoughts—or maybe even wash Rayse from existence. Would she be his then? “You shouldn’t.”

  “I can’t help it, really.”

  “I can do what he can, and more. You don’t need him, so you don’t have to be upset that he’s gone.”

  A smile parted her lips. “That’s how you’re trying to send comfort?”

  “I’m just saying, there’s nothing much to miss.”

  “Lies only go so far in patching up a gaping wound.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “If I told myself the same thing, I would be.”

  They rounded a corner. The floorboards creaked in protest under their weight. He hated that Rayse had helped construct this place. He could do without reminders of that bastard. Constance didn’t realize it, but she talked about Rayse too damned much.

  “You’ve been going out less lately,” she said.

  “Have I?”

  “Sometimes you come back with three or four sacks of food. These days it’s just been one.” She immediately met his gaze and said, “Not that I’m saying you’re slacking off or anything. You’ve done far more than enough. I’m simply wondering if you’re feeling unwell.”

  Was he failing her? Was she starting to see him as less useful? Was it Rayse’s presence that had changed her impression of him? Jaerhel tried to project nonchalance. “No, I’m concerned about you, so I haven’t been out hunting as much. Rayse’s arrival seemed to have worn you down.”

  “You don’t have to waste your time on me.”

  “Time with you is never a waste.”

  “Kien—Jaerhel—”

  He let the load fall from his shoulders. The wooden floor groaned under the weight of the carcasses. “Yes?”

  She inhaled, then turned her eyes to the ceiling. “Why do you treat me so well?”

  “You’re a good friend,” he lied.

  A silence hung between them. He could kiss her. He’d been wanting to for sixty years. But those years had honed his self-control, so he stepped back instead.

  “Friends don’t treat friends this well,” she said.

  “Yes they do.”

  “Am I hurting you, Jaerhel?” She knew he loved her. They never talked about it, not since the day Wendyll died. But his feelings had never changed, and she probably sensed them, too.

  “Don’t worry yourself about it.” He decided to change the subject. “Is your stomach still hurting?” When Rayse was around, Constance felt sharp spikes through her belly, sometimes her chest, every day. Rayse had been completely unaware of that. Jaerhel had wanted to punch Rayse countless times, but he’d used the patience of a saint and withstood the pain of that knowledge. Constance wouldn’t tell Rayse what was happening, even though it was slowly killing her.

  Staying with Constance would be the end of Jaerhel. It was a sweet kind of death. Being close to her often make it hard to breathe. Her company suffocated him like a thick vine. But he liked that pain.

  Constance shook her head. “It disappeared as soon as he left. I think proximity affects how my soul reacts to him.”

  “Forget about him.”

  “I can’t, Jaerhel. It’s too hard.” She suddenly stopped in her tracks.

  “Constance?”

  She quivered. “I can’t forget about him.”

  She tried to shield her emotions to the rest of the world, but Jaerhel knew her weaker sides. He understood she could break at any time, like ice. She’d frozen her heart but made herself brittle in the process.

  Constance stood, staring at the ground, tears spilling from her eyes. “Why couldn’t he have stayed away?”

  He’d asked that question many times, too. “We’ll get over this.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s on my mind all the time again. I thought I’d managed to lock him away, and he came running back in, opening up my soul, and it’s so painful. It’s hard… I can’t eat, sleep, think. Is it strange if I want that physical pain back? I don’t mind it if my stomach feels like its tearing apart, as long as he’s close. I don’t care if his presence forces terrible pain through me and sends me to the ground. I’d take another one of those episodes just to see his face again. Forever is just too long.”

  Each one of her words sent spikes through his chest, but how could he focus on his own anguish when Constance was being weighed down herself? “You’ve done it once,” he said. “You’ve forgotten him before. You can do it again.” She was strong like that.

  “I don’t think I ever truly did. I managed to mask the problem and keep it in the back of my mind. But I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten him.”

  They stood together in the corridor. The bustling of the infirmary played in the background, but it was a faint echo in the distance. She backed against the wall and continued to weep. Her hands covered her face—her too-beautiful features—and she shivered with sadness.

  “You’ll be okay,” he said. He pulled her into her arms and let her soft skin press into his. She smelled like herbs, but was tainted by the scent of her black magic. He didn’t care that black magic had stained her. It made her
more intoxicating to him. “He’ll become a thing of the past, and you’ll be all right again. We’ll patch you up. We’ll walk through this together.” Jaerhel reached for her cheek and wiped the tears away. “And you can forget all about Rayse, Constance, love.”

  “Get away from her.”

  He turned his head to the direction of the sharp, low voice, seeing Rayse Everstone hunched at the end of the corridor.

  A sinking sensation dropped in Jaerhel’s chest.

  “I said get away from her!” Wings spread from the Black Menace’s back. He leapt at Jaerhel with quick fury, pushing him backward so fast that Jaerhel barely had any time to react.

  He slammed onto the wall and winced from the sudden pain spiking through his back. The structure shook under the force of the attack. Why had Rayse returned? Jaerhel withheld a groan as Rayse smashed his head into the wooden floor with a punch.

  “You fucking bastard,” Rayse said. “You hid her from me!”

  Blood pooled in Jaerhel’s mouth. It was nothing but a scratch to him. Dragons healed quickly. “Fuck you.”

  His head was bashed in again. Inhabitants of the place peered in, watching the commotion.

  “Rayse, stop.” Constance’s voice leaked in from the background. “Rayse, please.”

  Jaerhel took the punches. He tried to fight back, but the Black Menace’s infamy had not been overstated. He was strong, a better fighter than Jaerhel would ever be, and he’d been caught by surprise, putting him at a disadvantage.

  Jaerhel would laugh if he could. He didn’t deserve this. All he’d done was love. Just a scratch, Jaerhel told himself. His punches are weak. You can fight for her.

  “Rayse, you have to calm down.” Jaerhel’s vision of Constance blurred into a fuzzy image. She sounded like a nightingale from above. Rayse finally backed off. “Please, let him go.” She was trying to protect Jaerhel. It sent a warm feeling coursing through him, even though he scented his own blood.

  Rayse, the fucking ass, was panting as he stood. Consciousness began to slip from Jaerhel. Perhaps Rayse’s punches weren’t as insignificant as mere scratches after all.

  Jaerhel clenched his jaw tight. He couldn’t slip. Not now. He’d lose her.

  Rayse got to his feet, then turned to Constance.

  Anger surged through Jaerhel as he saw the two figures closing in together. His mind fogged over as he struggled.

  No.

  He couldn’t allow this.

  It hurt too much.

  He tried everything in his power to keep awake, but he’d been beaten to a pulp. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he lost it all.

  “Rayse, you have to calm down,” Constance said, pulling Rayse from Jaerhel.

  Jaerhel looked like his face had been tenderized by a mallet. Her insides turned—partly from the sight, and partly from Rayse’s presence. She knew Jaerhel would heal quickly because of his dragon abilities. She had taken care of much worse. Constance waited for the sharp pain to come back. It stayed dormant for now.

  Rayse wouldn’t budge. He was like a rock. Her hand couldn’t even fit around his bicep, much less hold it back. She hugged herself around him. “Please. Stop.”

  He allowed himself to calm. He drew back then spun around to look at her. He watched her with the same intensity he often did, with his simmering black gaze and the crease on his brow.

  “Constance?” he said.

  Her heart fell.

  He couldn’t be back—he’d ruin everything she’d striven for. She’d been working so hard resisting, and Rayse’s presence would make her efforts crumble.

  “You’re not here,” she said, closing her eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Why the secrets?” He pulled her wrist into his hand. “Why hide from me?”

  He was back, and it was different this time. Before, he saw her as Catrina, the hardhearted healer with a penchant for stubbornness. But now he saw the real her, and that changed everything. Jura had failed.

  “We have to. It’s the worst thing for my sanity, but we need to stay away from each other. You don’t understand.”

  He pulled her toward him. She fell into his arms, like a doll, easily maneuvered. She needed Catrina back. She tried to call for the hardness of her new soul, but Rayse pried past that, and she couldn’t resist. If she had time to recover from her moment with Jaerhel, then maybe she’d be able to pull the mask over her features again and tell a good lie, but she couldn’t now, not with her heart unraveling and exposed.

  He cupped her face with his hands and forced her to look up at him. “Tell me why,” he said. “Tell me why you didn’t come back, little fire. These sixty years were hell.” His agony shone through him, and guilt swarmed in her at the knowledge that she had caused that.

  She thought she’d never hear him call her “little fire” again. Her chest fluttered. “We’re the reason why Ayesrial is like this. If we don’t form our bond, the Dragon Mother won’t be able to hurt anyone.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You have to hear me out.” She would convince him if she made him understand. Part of her didn’t want to, because then he’d have to leave once more—for good.

  “Not now,” he said. “It’s been too long.” He smothered her with his lips. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her mind went blank. So quickly, her worry melted from her, and then it was just them, in a dim corridor, with the people in her infirmary fading away. He hooked the hem of her dress with his fingers.

  “Not here, Rayse,” she said.

  He nodded, understanding her need for privacy. She looked up. His eyes had turned yellow, allowing his dragon to seep through.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “I need to heal Jaerhel.”

  He growled. “You won’t touch him.”

  “Please.”

  His jaw tightened. When he didn’t respond, she strode past him and knelt by her friend. She couldn’t leave Jaerhel battered on the ground, not after he’d given up so much for her. She felt Rayse’s gaze prickling her back as she reached out and hovered her hand over Jaerhel.

  She spoke the healing words and summoned her black magic. Her insides coiled in protest, not wanting to mix with the dark art. Her vision blurred for a second. She looked down and breathed out relief when she saw Jaerhel’s skin patching itself back up, knitting together his handsome features.

  Rayse swept her from Jaerhel as soon as he could. “You’re not getting close to him anymore.” He hefted her up into his arms, cradling her like a child. What was happening? She still couldn’t fathom a moment like this. It’d been years since she’d resigned herself to loneliness.

  This was wrong. “We can’t do this. You need to leave.” But she felt like the seeds of a dandelion, and Rayse was the wind sweeping her up and away. “I wasn’t supposed to see you ever again.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  He kicked the door to her room, and it clicked shut.

  This was real. It wasn’t another one of her dreams.

  Her back sank into her bed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Don’t say that anymore.” He kissed her on her neck. His eyes were still flashing yellow, and his wings had spread from his scapula. “My chest hurts every time you say that.”

  He slipped his shirt off. Her mouth went dry. Her sight was still being blocked by the tears rolling from her eyes, but she remembered the way he made her numb with pleasure. How could a man look this regal? He wasn’t as tidy as before, when they’d first met. He wore a thick, untrimmed beard and less refined clothes, but he was still her Rayse.

  At least in this moment, she could let him be hers. She allowed herself to forget Catrina and let Constance take over. With him, she could shed her responsibilities and simply love and be loved.

  “This isn’t real,” she said, her head fogging up.

  “Isn’t it? If it’s just a dream, then I’m going to wake up as an unhappy man.”

  He trailed kisses down her
cheek and to her breasts. She mewed, her toes curling with delight. This feeling… she’d missed his warmth for so long. Before this she’d been empty, and Rayse’s presence filled her like light in dark.

  His fingers slipped into her center. She sucked in a sharp breath. She reached up and caught his black hair.

  “You smell the same,” he said. His face lingered above her folds, making her heart race. His head dipped down, and then he was sending her over the edge. Stars lit in her eyes. She threw her head back and released a moan of pleasure.

  The scent of sex wafted through her chambers. The rest of her subjects would know she and Rayse were a couple now. She might have had to reveal the truth. But damn it all, this night was worth it. Him with her sated a hunger she’d been suffering for decades.

  A hum of pain began in her belly. No, no, no… not now. Her soul was reaching out to her harder than ever before. It wanted to morph back to Constance, but she held on to her form, despite how difficult Rayse was making it for her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. A release was building with her pain. “Rayse, please…”

  He continued to work over her center. His fingers grazed her nub. She clenched her thighs around him and cried out.

  The orgasm rippled through her. It stretched on long enough to make her body numb and her head spin.

  “Nice to know that I haven’t lost it,” Rayse said, smiling up at her with a cheeky smirk.

  “We can’t do this.” But Rayse had taken her senses away, and she had fallen too deep.

  “And yet we are.”

  The sound of him unstrapping his belt snapped through the silent room. The darkness shielded them.

  “Please…”

  He shifted himself so he was positioned at her entrance. “I can’t be gentle. I can’t… I can’t control… not with you.”

  And with that, he forced himself into her.

  White-hot pleasure flashed through her vision. She plunged into the lust with him and held on to Rayse for dear life. He clung to her too as they joined. They made love, but not without sorrow—the regret of what they’d miss, the years they’d lost, wrapped around them in the throes of their mating.

  She was happy, for the first time in a long time.