But I also find that I'm powerfully attracted to Wyn. Drawn to him in a way I haven't been drawn to a man before. I'd been drawn to Nyro at the club the other night, sure, but it was different. With Nyro, that – whatever it was that drew me to him – felt like an obligation. It's hard to explain, but I let myself be drawn to Nyro because it felt like I was supposed to. It wasn't so much attraction as it was – compulsion.
With Wyn, it feels different. The draw to him feels more open. More honest. More pure. I'm compelled by him, no question. But it feels more like a want, a desire – rather than a need. When he looks into my eyes, I feel my heart beating a drunken rhythm, my pulse quickening, and a long, distant yearning inside of me. It feels like the sound of an echo from the bottom of never-ending pit within me. Something about Wyn makes it feel like something inside of me is being fulfilled, like there are pieces falling into place – something I certainly didn't feel with Nyro.
It feels like I'm reaching for something I've never had before – and yet, at the same time, I'm terrified to take hold of it.
Suffice it to say, it's complicated. There are a thousand different thoughts and emotions swirling around inside of me, and when he looks at me with those bottomless ocean blue eyes, he only stirs them all up again.
“What about you?” I ask. “What do you do?”
“I do – private security work.”
“Security?”
“Yeah, it's not nearly as glamorous or exciting as what you do,” he says.
He gives me a smile, but even I can see it's half-hearted. He shrugs and I can see the walls going up around him. He looks uncomfortable. Maybe, it's that he doesn't like talking about himself or maybe, it's that he’s hiding some dark secret. I don't know. His face gives nothing away. Though, it's hard to believe that somebody who looks as sweet as Wyn could be involved in anything all that terrible.
“Where did you grow up?” I ask.
“Some place you've probably never heard of.”
“Try me.”
He looks at me, his eyes hesitant, but then he speaks. “A place called Chondelai.”
“Chondelai?” I ask, racking my brain and coming up with nothing. “Is that somewhere in Asia?”
He laughs. “Something like that,” he says. “What was your first acting role?”
“My first role?”
He nods. “Very first one.”
“Well – in seventh grade, I did a school play,” I say. “I played two parts, actually. Curious onlooker in the subway and cheering onlooker in the courthouse.”
Wyn laughs and claps his hands. “And I bet you were great.”
We laugh and talk together for a long while. He seems genuinely curious about me and wants to know everything there is to know. He asks question after question and it's only after a couple of hours of that I realize he's deflected the entire conversation away from him and kept the spotlight on me.
“You're smooth, you know,” I say.
“How so?”
“You've very adeptly managed to avoid telling me anything about yourself.”
“There's really not that much to say,” he says. “My story isn't all that interesting.”
“Maybe you should let me be the judge of that.”
He glances at his watch. “It's late. How about we play twenty questions again next time?”
“Next time?” I arch an eyebrow at him. “You're just assuming there's going to be a next time, huh?”
He looks at me and his face falls. Wyn reels himself back in very quickly, swiftly burying the expression of disappointment I saw in his eyes. I give him a warm smile and then reach across the table, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I'm kidding, goof,” I say. “I'd love to see you again.”
His smile returns and lights up the diner. Seeing him looking at me with something close to reverence in his eyes makes my heart skip a beat. It's not something I'm used to seeing from a man. Most men I've ever dated only seem to be interested in what I can do for them. How I can best please them. They never really seem to stop and consider how they can please me.
But Wyn is different. He looks at me like he wants to do nothing more than please me. Make me happy. The affection I see in his eyes is sincere and it melts my heart a little bit.
I pull out my phone and order an Uber to come pick me up. We slide out of the booth and Wyn drops some cash on the table before we walk out the door and wait on the curb.
“I'd really like to see you again,” Wyn says.
“Give me your phone.”
“What?”
“Your phone,” I say. “Hand it over.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to me, his head cocked, his expression curious. I quickly open up his contacts and add my phone number into it before handing it back to him with a smile.
“There,” I say. “Now you have my number. The ball is now in your court. You want to see me again, use it.”
Wyn laughs and nods. “I'll do that.”
The Uber pulls up to the curb and I open the back door but then turn back to him, meeting his gaze for a long moment.
“I hope so,” I say. “I really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.”
“I did too.”
Acting on impulse, I lean forward and plant a soft kiss on his cheek before turning and jumping into the back of the car, blushing like a schoolgirl. I look out the back window as the car pulls away and see Wyn standing there, his hand on the cheek I'd kissed, an expression of confusion and yet, awe, on his face. It's adorable and makes me feel – giddy.
I feel like a girl with a crush – something I haven't felt in a long, long time.
I happen to glance out the window as we pass an alleyway a block from the diner and notice a figure standing there, watching the car. Nyro. The alley is dimly lit, but his long, white hair blows in the breeze, giving him away. I only catch a glimpse of his face, but his expression is one of fury. Outrage.
I clutch my stomach as it begins to roil and spin. A wave of nausea washes over me and I'm half-afraid I'm going to be sick in the back of the car. My skin feels clammy and I feel a cold sweat running down my face. I grimace as my stomach constricts, sending a shockwave of pain through me.
Slowly, the feeling passes, but I'm left feeling greasy. Gross. And for reasons I can't understand, I feel scared. I look out the window again, half-expecting to see Nyro looking back at me again, but the streets are thankfully empty.
I lean my head back against the seat and take a few deep breaths, trying to get myself back under control. My hands are trembling and an ominous feeling settles down around my shoulders, and in that moment, all I want is to be with Wyn again.
We barely know each other, but he makes me feel safe.
Chapter Eleven
Wyn
I wince when the flat of the wooden practice blade strikes me across the cheek. There's a momentary flash of pain and then I hear the loud pop of wood meeting skin. Deyro laughs and bounces backward on the balls of his feet, shaking his head.
“You okay this morning?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say.
We're in the training house sparring – probably not the very best idea after just a couple of hours sleep and my head still filled with images of Kaitlyn. I hadn't gone into that bar last night expecting to talk to her. After drawing upon my magic to find her, I'd tailed her for a few days, always keeping a distance, always keeping out of sight – just watching her.
But something compelled me to go and talk to her last night. And it wasn't that energy that surrounds her. It was something about her. After shadowing her for a while, I felt drawn to her smile. Her laugh. The way she twirls her hair around her fingers when she's thinking.
There are a million different things I can list that drew me to her. And I guess last night, I just felt like I needed to sit with her. Talk to her. For reasons I still can't understand or explain, I felt like I needed to be in her presence. It was stupid and I'm su
re that Quint is going to have my ass for it. But I couldn't help myself. I just had to talk to her.
“Swords up,” Zarik commands from his spot at the side of the sparring mat.
The others who are training in the house this morning stopped what they were doing to watch us. Deyro and I were widely acknowledged as the two best swordsmen in territory and they seemed to enjoy watching us. I'd even seen some of them betting on us – most of them against me, probably. My sparring record against Deyro isn't the best.
I raise my sword, but I'm just not feeling it this morning. I'm slow, sluggish, and entirely distracted. This isn't the best time for me to be sparring with somebody as skilled as Deyro. But, Zarik – acting in place of Quint who'd yet to return from Chondelai – had commanded that we do so.
Though, to be fair, it's probably something Quint himself would have done. He liked us to keep sharp as well as provide instruction and demonstrations for the others. Especially, the fighters from the Children of the Dawn. Quint wants them every bit as formidable as we are with a blade in our hand.
I sigh. Just one more of the hoops I have to jump through.
“You ready?” Deyro asks. “Or do you need a break? Maybe some orange slices and a juice box?”
“Shut up,” I say.
“Or, I know,” Deyro says. “How about I fight you with just one hand? I'll even let you pick which one.”
There's some chuckling among the humans – and even from Zarik and the other Rangers – which only ignites the fires of irritation within me. But then, maybe that was his purpose in ridiculing me – to get me riled up and get my head back into the game.
I can't let myself be so distracted and out of focus. I can't let him show me up in front of everybody. And I won't be laughed at. I close my eyes and take a long, deep breath, summoning the energy within me. I let the calming magic wash through my body, clear my mind. And when I feel more settled, I release the magic and open my eyes again.
“Ready?” I ask.
“I've been ready,” he replies.
I launch myself forward, my blade spinning and whirling. Deyro smiles and counterattacks, his blade meeting my every thrust, every jab, deftly turning them aside. Knocking my blade to the right, Deyro lashes out with his foot, aiming to catch me in the stomach. But I'm ready for it. I spin to the side, grabbing his foot, and give it a vicious yank.
The sudden shift in momentum and balance takes Deyro off his other foot and he ends up flat on his back, staring up at me. He rolls to the side quickly, just as I thrust the point of my blade. It hits the mat and I'm temporarily exposed. As Deyro brings his own blade down – which would have caught me flush across the back – I twist my body, bringing my own blade up in defense.
Our swords collide and I strike out with my foot, aiming for his knee. Deyro dances back out of range, which is fine. It was a distraction meant to buy me a little time to gather myself again. He comes roaring back in, his blade whirling, a smirk on his face, as if he thinks he's about to deal me the killing blow.
But I'm ready and waiting for him. As Deyro closes in, I launch myself upward, somersaulting over his head. Landing lightly on my feet behind him, I bring my sword up, placing the flat of it against his neck. Deyro nods and laughs as he turns around, letting his sword fall to the mat.
The match is over. Though we're evenly matched for the most part, this is the first time I can say that I've convincingly claimed victory over him.
The crowd gathered around the mat erupts in applause and cheers. Even Zarik gives me a nod. Deyro steps forward and pulls me into a tight embrace, giving me a few hard slaps on the back.
“About time, kid,” he says. “I knew you had it in you.”
“Kid?” I say as he steps back. “You do realize you're only like fifty years older than I am, right?”
He shrugs. “It's still older,” he says. “So, respect your elders.”
“Yeah, right,” I reply. “Respect is earned. And all you earned just now is the right to be my bitch for a while.”
Deyro laughs. “And, he's back,” he says. “There's that arrogant little asshole we all want to kick the crap out of. I was wondering where you'd gotten off to.”
The gong at the front of the training house echoes loudly and everybody falls silent as we turn. Quint is standing on the raised platform staring back at us. He looks a bit haggard and harried – and in no mood for jokes.
“Senior Rangers and Scouts,” he says. “Ready room. Now. Wyn, you come too.”
I look at Deyro and he shrugs. “Not sure what's going on,” he says. “But judging by the look on his face, it's not good.”
Chapter Twelve
I follow Deyro from the mat to the meeting room. I step inside and close the door behind me, glancing at the faces seated around the table. All of Quint's fiercest fighters are here – including, surprisingly, a few I haven't seen in a while. Deyro and his wife Alexis, are of course, seated at the table. So are Zarik and Ella Bourne, who founded the Children of the Dawn. Glyn and Vanessa – though Vanessa is still training, she's fueled by the spirit of Onda, one of the Ice Clan's most legendary warriors.
It's a gathering of Dragonborn royalty. One that would make most anybody gasp in awe or cower in terror – depending on who or what you are. These people are legendary warriors. Their exploits are known to us back in Chondelai and are used as training tools to prep us for the Trials. Even knowing this though, I don't feel out of place among them. I feel like I belong here. Seated at this table.
But, this is Quint's inner circle. His most trusted lieutenants. This is the very apex of the food chain in LA. And I, of course, am on the outside looking in. While everybody else is seated around the table, I'm left standing against the wall near the back of the room. It epitomizes everything about my experience coming to Quint's territory – his favorites around the table, the rest of us left in the back of the room.
“Okay, we don't have a lot of time, so I'm going to be blunt,” Quint says. “What is happening right now is bad. It's very bad. Chondelai and the Council are under siege.”
“The Shadow Clan?” Zarik asks.
Quint nods. “They've launched a massive offensive,” he says. “Nobody living has ever seen anything like it. They're attacking the seats of every Clan's power at the same time.”
There are mutters around the table as the faces of the Rangers suddenly grow hard. Angry. And knowing that my Clan's castle is under siege, I can't stop the feelings of outrage and anger from bubbling up within me as well.
“Then, why are we still sitting here?” Glyn asks. “Why aren't we heading through the Doors now?”
“Because, we have a much bigger problem here,” he says. “The battles in Chondelai are meant to keep them pinned down and occupied. Keep them from sending us resources.”
“What's going on, Quint?” Ella asks.
“To put it bluntly, we're looking at the biggest single threat we've ever faced,” he says. “I trust that most of you have heard of the Ba’Chul?”
The Rangers share uneasy glances, but the humans in the room have the same expression on their faces that I have on mine – confusion. It rings a bell somewhere in my mind, but I have a feeling it's something that I would have had to read about and – well – it's not my strong suit. I keep my face neutral though, not wanting to give my ignorance away.
“In Dragonborn lore, the Ba’Chul is a dark wizard who is more or less, all powerful,” Quint explains for the humans' benefit. “He masters the elements, can work magic that will turn you inside out, and when he achieves his full powers, is nearly impossible to kill. The Shadow Clan is always trying to raise one, but a true Ba’Chul only comes around every few hundred years. However, luckily enough, the conditions for the Rites of Ascension only happen every millennium or so. The last confirmed account was sometime in the twelfth century – around the time of the Crusades. It's believed that Saladin, the Muslim king who conquered Jerusalem aided the Dragonborn in stopping the Ba’Chul.”
“And let me guess,” Zarik says. “It's been about a millennium and the Ba’Chul is here in LA?”
“Give the man a prize,” Quint says, his tone wry.
“Oh, wonderful,” Vanessa says.
“How do we know for sure?” Glyn asks. “Have we started seeing the true signs?”
Quint nods. “Deyro actually brought me one of the first true signs,” he says. “The head of the creature he brought me. It's called a Gahan and they are only raised in the presence of a Ba’Chul. They're more or less mindless and their only purpose for being is to fight, kill, and die for him.”
“Where do they come from?” Ella asks.
“They're humans,” Quint says. “The Ba’Chul picks people up from everywhere he can and turns them into – those creatures. Haven't you all noticed a sharp decline in the homeless population around LA lately?”
I hadn't really thought about it at the time, but he's right. I think back to the field I was sitting in the night I figured out how to find Kaitlyn. There are usually a dozen or so homeless people camped out in it on any given night. That night though, it had been completely deserted. I didn't give it much thought, but in this new context, it makes sense – chilling, though it may be.
“It's like a virus,” Quint says. “The Ba’Chul turns the first few. They go out and turn a few more. Those go out and turn a few more. And it goes from there. The number of Gahan can multiply quickly. The more there are, the closer we are to the Rites of Ascension.”
“Wait,” Ella said. “You said something about optimal conditions for these – Rites. What are those?”
“The Ba’Chul needs a vessel,” he says. “Somebody who can serve as an incubator, of sorts, for him.”
“An incubator?” Vanessa asks.
“According to the lore, the Ba’Chul requires a vessel – a human woman – to impregnate,” he explains. “Humans have an energy and a vitality the Ba’Chul requires to gain his full power. Once he finds that human vessel, his seed takes root in this – vessel – and its power begins to grow. And when his seed grows to full strength, the Rites are ready to be performed.”
“So, what happens to this – baby?” Vanessa asks.
No Such Thing as Dragons : Complete Series Box Set (Books 1 - 5) Page 58
