Fractured Souls (Soul of a Dragon Book 3)

by Clara Hartley

  It couldn’t be the end. It was too unfair.

  She didn’t want him to leave her. Just a moment without his touch on her was too much, so she pulled him back down onto her lips as her climax drew near. She reached down and found his member. She worked over it clumsily, trying to gather herself in this mess of emotions.

  A groan sounded from Rayse’s chest.

  “I can’t stand this,” he said.

  “Then don’t,” she whispered.

  They were with each other in their rush of lust and longing. She could feel both sadness and joy pouring out of him, together with her. If this was their last day as one, then so be it. She couldn’t have wished for her last moments to be any more perfect or beautiful.

  Her cries were muffled by his kiss as they came. They reached the peak together. He gasped, and she tried to commit that sound to memory—she had made him do that, had given him pleasure.

  She tried to move away, but he kept his hold on her tight. “No,” he said, his voice shaky. “Again. We can’t… It can’t end so soon.”

  He continued to move his fingers inside her. She muffled her moan into his collarbone. He made her feel so small and fragile, and she couldn’t help but like this feeling. The weight of the world always seemed to be on her shoulders, but Rayse could help her carry it.

  They continued to rut in their small corner of bliss, trying their best to forget about what was to come. Just for this moment, they could be selfish. It was just her, and Rayse, and this beautiful place, and all she needed to do was embrace the happiness swelling inside of her. It was so big that she found it hard to contain.

  Constance always hated sunsets.

  They had a pretty glow to them, but they also reminded her of lies. They were too gorgeous to last for long.

  Rayse and her looked out the window of her chambers. Dread and disappointment lingered in her chest. They’d spent the most wonderful day together, but like sunsets, the day was brief and transient.

  “Are you scared?” she asked.

  Rayse had his arm around her shoulder. He squeezed. “No.”

  “Why not?” She was terrified. She tried to let the calming, ashy scent of Rayse warm her, but the coldness of what was to come made her quiver.

  “Because you give me courage. We can do this. You make me a better man.”

  She swallowed. They had promised to do it after sunset. The shouldn’t delay much after that, or she wouldn’t be able to summon the grit to do it. Her pocket of soul beads was ready, and the spell was on the tip of her tongue.

  “It won’t even hurt,” she said, to reassure herself more than Rayse.

  “Be strong, little fire.” He rubbed a thumb over the side of her cheek. It was only after that she realized he had been wiping a tear from her face. Was she crying again? She hadn’t cried before her mate’s arrival. Or perhaps Catrina was better at holding herself together. This form of hers was weaker and more emotional.

  They sat with their fingers intertwined as the sun disappeared in the horizon. The orange glow of the light began to dim. Soon, the overwhelming circle that was the sun turned into nothing but a little red dot. She closed her eyes and focused on Rayse’s warmth, and how nice he felt with his touch on hers. She wouldn’t be able to enjoy it for much longer.

  “Why do you keep your herbs like that?” Rayse asked.

  She peered at him, released from her nervous trance. “Hm?”

  “In jars, dried and dull.”

  “Oh.” Was he trying to make her less nervous? “They’re herbs with only the dull souls. I don’t use my black magic for everything. It’s too precious. Sometimes I need to heal the normal way. Many of the medicines only require bright souls, so I keep the remainder.”

  “Most healers simply throw them away.”

  “I know. I think they’re beautiful, so I use them as decoration.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  He frowned. “They’re gray without color. Why not use dried herbs that haven’t been harvested? They’re prettier.”

  “They remind me of myself, I guess.” She shrugged.

  He lifted her hand and brushed his soft lips over her fingertips. He shouldn’t do that too much. It made her insides tingle. It made it more difficult to let go of her current life. It was finally becoming bright again. “Don’t say that,” Rayse said. “You’re too bright to be like dulled herbs.”

  She laughed softly, surprised to find that Rayse truly had managed to make her relax. “You think too highly of me.”

  “No, you think too little of yourself.”

  “The same goes for you.”

  She sensed he disagreed, but he kept that warm smile. “Do you think we’ll meet each other after this?” she asked.

  “Meet each other?”

  “Life after death? Reincarnation is a thing, I know, or the Dragon Mother and us wouldn’t have met, but do you think we’ll still have another life after this one, even if the Mother were to perish?”

  “I don’t know, little fire. But I certainly hope so.”

  “Maybe there’ll be paradise. A waiting ground for our consciousness to linger before our next lives, and we’ll both be there.”

  His hug tightened. “Maybe.”

  She knew she was trying to make the prospect of death seem better, but it was just as dark as it’d been before this conversation. It was finally time for their song to end.

  If she had any regrets, it’ll be that she didn’t have the chance to say goodbye to Jaerhel. He’d given her so much more than she deserved. She at least wanted to say thank you.

  But he wasn’t anywhere to be found today. Her followers told her that he had taken off the day before, right after he’d regained consciousness.

  The last she’d seen of him was on the floor, after Rayse had beaten him into a pulp.

  What a way to say goodbye.

  The sun disappeared completely, and her world dimmed. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “Just a little while longer,” he said. “Let me enjoy your touch for one more moment.”

  “It’s never going to be enough.”

  “No, it’ll never. But a second more won’t hurt.”

  They waited in silence. The notion of death still dangled in the air like an abstraction.

  “All right,” Rayse said. “Let’s do this.”

  Her mind was searching for reasons to back out. She knew it was for the good of Ayesrial—the city, or even the world. Her life wasn’t worth the lives of a million others, or more. The Mother would rule for another eternity if they failed.

  Something so easy—to give up her life—and so many problems would be solved. She couldn’t back out.

  She stilled her thoughts and drowned everything out. Rayse was with her. She could borrow his strength.

  She beckoned to her soul beads and spoke her spell.

  15

  Jaerhel was drunk, or at least as drunk as a dragon could be, which probably didn’t count as inebriation.

  “Another round,” he called to the bartender.

  “Sir, I don’t think you should be having any more,” the young lad said.

  Jaerhel shoved a coin at the boy. “I’m fine. Just shut your fucking dragon trap and do as you’re told.”

  The lad scuttled off and was back with drinks moments later. Jaerhel downed the one closest to him. The wounds Rayse had inflicted on him had already healed. He shouldn’t be out here—using Constance’s funds and making nothing of himself—but he didn’t want to care anymore.

  The two of those lovebirds could just rot in a pile of horse piss, for all he cared.

  Jaerhel was done with Constance. He would have stuck by her if that bastard hadn’t shown up. She’d never return his feelings, but having her being heartbroken too somewhat made up for that. Jaerhel and she could be broken together. Just a couple of lost souls, wandering in life, sharing their struggles.

  And Rayse Everstone had to simply s
woop in like the fucking tool he was and ruin it all.

  Jaerhel wasn’t sure how long he’d last outside, without the safety of Constance’s barrier. Maybe he’d find himself back in the Mother’s dungeons.

  Served himself right. Jaerhel bloody well deserved that place. It was all his wretched soul could ask for.

  He found himself staring at a long row of empty mugs of alcohol, with only a slight buzz to show for it.

  “One more,” he said, raising a finger.

  The bartender gave him a wary look. Jaerhel sighed and reached for his pocket.

  He was out of coins.

  Goddess be damned. He should have taken more, but he didn’t like stealing from Constance.

  “Never mind,” he said. “I changed my mind.” He pushed himself from the counter and slid off his seat.

  “Uh…” The young bartender waved a shaky goodbye. “See you again? Sir?”

  “Yeah. Fuck off.”

  Jaerhel stalked toward the exit, questioning what to do next. He needed to get a job, settle down, and find a new identity.

  Or maybe he could go back to Constance’s encampment.

  He swatted that idea away—going back would be the easy solution, but also the more painful one. He could survive being alone. It was better than seeing Constance oohing and aahing over that piece of horseshit on a daily basis.

  He grunted when he bumped into someone. “Hey, watch where you’re—”

  A mishram was glaring at him.

  His felt his heart drop to his knees. He wanted to shrug the encounter off and be on his way, but he recognized this one… from sixty years ago. Nanili, was it? Constance had called it that.

  He thought he’d snapped her neck. How was she back here? Were mishram really that difficult to kill? The creatures were shrouded in so much mystery that he’d never gone through the mechanics of how they existed.

  Without thinking, he wrung his fingers around her neck and broke her spine, just like he had all those years ago. Fuck. The Mother had definitely seen him. That mishram was projecting anger—they always did that when the Mother was using them as her eyes.

  He drew his cloak over his head and rushed out as soon as he could. He couldn’t be caught. That’d jeopardize Constance’s entire operation.

  He sped forward like a dragon in the winds. Once he found a proper clearing, he called to his wings, which tore through his shirt. He leapt to the sky and soared over Ayesrial. He wouldn’t stand out—plenty of dragons traveled with their wings.

  He tried to hide himself amongst the other dragon men who were flying.

  A dagger flew past him. It missed him and lodged itself in the leg of a passerby. The drakin didn’t care if they attacked common folk. Ayesrialians who weren’t Favored were little more than livestock to them.

  Jaerhel jolted, looking back. Ten men were on his tail.

  The remaining Ayesrialians made way for the drakin. They swooped down, leaving Jaerhel to deal with his own mess.

  Fuck!

  He reached for his dagger and threw it at the assailants. It caught one of them in the throat. He couldn’t shift now… that’d simply alert every drakin in the vicinity, and then he’d be screwed for sure. Then again, perhaps the Dragon Mother had already done the alerting.

  He drew his sword.

  Fight or flee?

  Both options sounded like shit to him. Either was as good as any.

  Because he was too prideful to be taken down while fleeing, he chose the first option. He yelled a battle cry as he spun back quickly and crashed at the first drakin on the approach. Shock was to his advantage, and he managed to sever a hand. A spray of blood splashed over his cloak.

  A kick smashed into the side of his jaw, and a sword jammed into his chest. He let out a curse. He’d never been good at fighting in human form, and definitely not adept enough at the sword to face so many drakin.

  One of them hooked him in a grapple, stopping his wings from flapping. They fell toward the ground, spiraling like a rock thrown over a cliff. He braced himself for the impact, gritting his teeth so hard that his head hurt.

  Maybe this fall would kill him. That’d be better than being held hostage by the Dragon Mother.

  He shut his eyes and called to his dragon. It shifted out of him, pushing the drakin that gripped him aside. He managed to reach his dragon form just in time to stop his fall. His wings glided him before his feet landed on the cobblestone ground.

  He opened his eyes, finding comfort in the ground being safely beneath his feet.

  “Jaerhel,” the Dragon Mother said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  The goddess had remembered him. He didn’t know whether he ought to be honored that a god found interest in a lowly rat like him, or terrified that she did. “What do you want?” he asked, wondering if the Dragon Mother could hear his dragon while in she was human form.

  Apparently, she could, for she replied, “Just a little information.”

  She looked like a tiny black flower in front of his enormous size. He could simply crush her. He stepped forward, snarling.

  That was when a horde of drakin appeared out from the shadows. Some stood on crushed rooftops while others rushed behind the Mother. There were tens of… no, possibly hundreds of them.

  He cursed mentally.

  He was fucked.

  It was a good day for Aesryn.

  She’d hardly experienced them lately—good days. It was likely a product of living for so long. The days meshed together as one, and she couldn’t differentiate one from the other. She used to be happy with knowing that a few of her subjects loved her, but the numbness of her life made her crave more.

  Everyone had to revere her now. That was the only way to feel satisfied. And even then, it wasn’t enough.

  She wondered why she lusted so much for attention. That wasn’t a trait she’d told anyone, and she was ashamed of it. Perhaps she needed other people’s praises to drown out the voices in her head. They were always chattering, muttering, sometimes even screaming. They kept telling her she was an abomination, and that fueled her hate for everything else. It couldn’t be her fault that she was so detestable. It had to be someone else’s—Adriana’s.

  As long as she had other real voices to worship her, she could ignore the ones in her mind.

  Sometimes she would cast a spell to sleep through hundreds of years. Ayesrial would look different by the time she woke, and she would have to work tirelessly to carve it back to the way she wanted it to be. But after suffering the torture of living for so long, sleep was the only way to escape that.

  Still, she didn’t want to die. She couldn’t give in to the voices. She would make them see she was wonderful, and that people could love her.

  She opened her portal with a wave of her hand and stepped through it. She shoved aside a few crying souls as she traveled through the gateway. They were little more than a bother. A swarm of drakin trailed behind her, looking for prey. Some of them weren’t going to make it. That made her upset, because it meant there’d be less of them to shower her with affection.

  She walked toward the pathetic building that lay past the portal. “Hello, hello, my little birds,” she said. She was eager to meet her sister again. That was the best way for her to feel alive. Her hatred for Adriana kept her breathing.

  A few of Adriana’s men were standing at the edge the holding—a pathetic excuse of a guard. They would do little to stop her army. The house came alive, like a wasp nest under attack. Its inhabitants scurried around, a small flame fighting to stay alive against the gusts of a huge storm.

  She flicked her hand once more and stepped into another portal of fog that led her to the house. Walking such long distances was beneath her.

  Silence permeated the bustle. She looked upon shocked and scared faces. All traitors.

  “I’m here for my prize,” she said, trying to soothe the little birds with a sly smile.

  One of Adriana’s warriors stepped toward her, sword raised. An entourag
e of his companions followed his lead. They were taking small steps, reminding her of tiny butterflies, so easily crushed. Yet they were trying to act like a mob of vultures, circling her with a false sense of bravado.

  How pathetic.

  She lifted two fingers and waved to her left. Darkness seeped from their essences and into her beads. She chuckled. The crying of their souls tried to interrupt her thoughts, but she’d grown too accustomed to that for them to faze her at all.

  Tremors of silence shivered through the hall. A child’s whimpering broke it.

  “Where is Adriana?” she said.

  They stared at her with confused looks.

  She sighed. “Catrina, or Constance. Whatever she goes by these days.”

  A wide-eyed lady pointed to the stairs. “She’s in her chambers, with Rayse.”

  “Thank you.” Aesryn patted the woman on her shoulder. “That’s all I needed to know.”

  The Dragon Mother strode up the stairs with anticipation slithering through her insides. The time had finally come—not that she’d been impatient. They had gone through so many lives together—did Adriana truly think this ploy of restructuring her soul would work again?

  Aesryn’s eyes were everywhere, and birds loved to chatter. She’d simply needed to be patient to find out where her sister was, before seizing the right opportunity.

  A crashing sound bounced through the hallways as her drakin attacked the place. Shrieks, wailing the song of fear and death, graced her ears. She let the sounds of terror wash through her, welcoming them like they were an old friend.

  16

  “The spell isn’t working,” Constance said.

  Rayse frowned. He had already been prepared. They’d been steeling their resolve the whole day, readying to send themselves off, and now this? “What’s wrong with it?”

  “I might have remembered it incorrectly, or I don’t have enough souls, or…” She squinted. “There’s something blocking me.”

  “Try again.”

  “Kresvallah hesreiosa,” she said.