Ranger (Elemental Paladins Book 4)

by Montana Ash

  “Duty,” Max interrupted, sounding frustrated, “I know. You’ve all told me, like, a thousand times.”

  He placed his hands on either side of her head and waggled it from side to side, hoping to make her smile, “Then why don’t you listen?”

  “I listen,” she blatantly fibbed, before grinning, “I just choose to ignore you.”

  “Uh huh,” he sent her a mock-frown, glad to see her smiling again. But her next words had his own frown returning.

  “It was a bad idea. I should never have agreed to it.”

  “It was not a bad idea. It was a great idea – one that worked, by the way. How cool is Knox?” he bumped her shoulder, companionably.

  “You were in a coma, Lark,” Max reminded him, expressly ignoring his point about Knox.

  He held up his thumb and forefinger, “Just a wee coma, like, three itty bitty days. I just needed a good nap, that’s all.”

  His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat this time and he sighed, wondering what he could do to get Max out of her guilt-induced funk. If he were being honest, he had been a little disconcerted to wake and be told he had been unconscious for three days. The last thing he remembered had been the feeling of the chade drawing his life from him. Next thing he knew, he was in his bed and feeling like warmed up dog shit. Over the last week, he had been slowly regaining his strength – thanks to Max – and other than some residual fatigue, he was pretty much back to normal, including his body weight.

  It had been truly frightening to see his own emaciated state in the mirror the first morning he had woken up. Being a paladin, he had never been on the receiving end of a chade taking so much vitality before. Whenever he thought of wardens as wizened husks after being drained completely now, it made him shudder on a whole new level. This was one of his rare times he had been allowed to venture outside on his own during his ‘convalescence’. The whole damn household had practically had him on lockdown for the past ten days and the bunch of them had been hovering around him like mother hens. And while it warmed his sentimental side, it was also driving him absolutely insane. If Darius tried to force feed him his home-made chicken soup one more time …

  A genuine laugh broke into his reverie and he saw Max shaking with mirth next to him. He was glad for it but he had no idea what had prompted her amusement; “What’s so funny?”

  “You are! Complaining about the team hovering over you. Now you know how I feel when you all do that to me,” she poked him in the ribs.

  His lips quirked up – maybe he could see her perspective more now. But it still wasn’t the same. Max was their liege and she was theirs to protect. He was a grunt, a soldier. When he got hurt it was collateral damage.

  “You’re not just collateral damage to me, Lark,” Max spoke, softly. “Maybe I was wrong about this whole chade thing. I don’t want you going after the others. I –”

  “Don’t even go there, Max. You’re only saying this because you have misplaced guilt. You were right about the chades; they need us and we’re going to need them. Now we know what to expect, we’ll be more careful next time. And don’t say there won’t be a next time because there has to be. After the success with Dex and now Knox? We have no other choice,” his voice was soft but firm. “Unless you think I can’t handle it?” he asked, only just considering that just now.

  Max waved a hand, “Of course you can. That’s not the point.”

  Her immediate confidence in him warmed him and made him feel stronger than he had in days, “It’s the most important point to me,” he assured her, picking up her hand and kissing the back of it.

  The rosy blush that tinged her cheeks made him smile. For someone so outspoken and hard-headed she was still painfully shy whenever any of them offered her casual affection. At first, he thought she was reciprocating with the touchy-feely when she placed her palm on his cheek. But when warmth immediately began to infuse his body, he quickly pulled back;

  “Max,” he scolded, gently, “we agreed this morning; no more healing. I’m good now and none of us want you overexerting yourself between Knox and me.”

  He had checked in on Knox before coming out into his favourite garden with his book an hour ago. The now ex-chade was slowly making his way back to the man he was before – not that any of them actually knew who that man was. He still wasn’t speaking but he had lost the creepy stick-man look and instead, now looked like a man who had been on a year-long bender. He was still terribly pale, hair still black as ink and overly thin but he could no longer unhinge his jaw and didn’t try to kill Max every time he saw her.

  In fact, Darius had informed him that Knox successfully recharged from him two days ago when the air paladin had volunteered his services. Out of all his comrades who would volunteer, he would have assumed Darius would be the last on the list given his hatred of the chades just months ago. But apparently Max worked miracles with her healing in all shapes and forms, regardless if it was the mind, body or soul. Speaking of which …

  “Max, why haven’t you healed me completely?”

  “Huh? You just said –”

  He shook his head in her direction, silently telling her that wasn’t what he was talking about, “You healed the scar on Ryker’s face, his perpetual grumpy mood, Darius’s hate, and Dex’s soul,” he explained. “I know you know my history, Max. I know you’ve seen my scars. Why haven’t you offered to heal me?”

  He watched her turquoise eyes widen and he knew he had surprised her. But what she said next shocked him even more;

  “Because you don’t need healing. Lark, you are perhaps one of the most whole and undamaged people I have ever met,” she paused and considered for a moment, “Other than Diana, that is. That girl totally has her shit together.”

  “You can’t be serious? Whole? What about my scars?” he laughed with no small amount of bitterness.

  And when he said scars, he was talking about the literal kind – not the metaphysical. Although, the Mother knew, he likely had his fair share of those too. He was always careful when he worked-out with his fellow paladins. He always wore a shirt or singlet of some kind and was careful to shower at the Lodge only when no-one else was around. At first, the others had teased him about his so called ‘modesty’ before finally giving up when he refused to rise to the bait. Control. His father had taught him control if nothing else.

  He was pretty sure most of his Order had discovered his dirty little secret by now but they were all circumspect enough to pretend otherwise. The only person he had overtly discussed it with was Beyden and that was only because the larger man had been concerned Lark’s modesty had sprung from the rumours surrounding him. Lark had swiftly and completely put the idiocy of that notion to bed. He wasn’t worried about being naked in front of Beyden because of Bey’s supposed sexual orientation, but because of his back.

  The skin on his back was a testament to the viciousness and cruelty of his father and was a crisscross of scarred tissue. Some were flat and pale, others raised and still angry looking, despite the number of years which had gone by. Most were the result of his father’s belt, but some had been acquired from blades, flames, whips, and canes. His father and his father’s Order, including the Earth Warden liege, Terran, had been into variety.

  He reached a hand behind his back and fingered a particularly ragged scar running from shoulder to hip. That one had been acquired from his own father’s scythe. He noticed Max was watching the motion of his hand curiously, her head cocked to the side, thick hair tumbling in chaotic waves over her shoulder. He was going to make some excuse, laugh the whole thing off but Max held up a finger. She twirled it in the air and the gesture was easy to interpret; turn around.

  Considering he was the one to bring the whole thing up, he steeled himself and turned, pulling up his shirt and exposing his bare back to the all-knowing eyes of his liege. “Still think I’m undamaged?” he asked, mockingly.

  He resisted the urge to flinch when he felt warm fingers trace over the network of scars litter
ing his back from shoulder blades to waist. The light touch didn’t hurt … but it also didn’t soothe, so he assumed she wasn’t making his back a flawless expanse of pink skin like she had done for Ryker’s face. She smoothed his shirt back into place and then moved around in front of him as he braced himself for her reaction. He was definitely surprised to see humour in those turquoise depths instead of the pity he had expected to see.

  “Um, you think my scars are funny?” he asked, completely confused and disarmed by her reaction.

  “No, honey. Not at all,” she assured him, rubbing his arm affectionately, causing his coat of arms to leap merrily at the contact. “I think it’s funny that you refer to them as damage. Oh, I know that’s what a scar is in the very literal sense, but that’s not what these are – not really.”

  He groaned, “Please don’t tell me you think they’re badges of courage or some such bullshit …”

  “Of course they are!” she enthused.

  “Then why did you heal the scar on Ry’s face?” He wasn’t angry or even disappointed that she seemed so set on not healing his but he was definitely curious as to her reasoning.

  “Ryker’s scar was worlds apart from yours. Every time Ryker looked in the mirror, he was transported back to the most horrific time of his life. That scar was the very real manifestation of his failure as a Captain, as a paladin, and as a friend. It was still an open wound, stopping him from moving forward,” she explained, her eyes lit with indulgent affection as they peered back into the house as if she could see her lover from here. “He hated it and he hated himself.”

  “And you don’t think I hate mine?” he questioned with blatant interest.

  Instead of answering him, she asked him another question; “What do you see when you look in the mirror? What do you feel? Do they disgust you? Do they make you feel like a failure?”

  He didn’t have to think about his answer because it was an easy one, “No. None of the above. They just remind me how much of a dick my father is.”

  He saw Max’s unusual irises go cold and flat, “Oh, he is that. And he’ll get what’s coming to him, mark my words. Anything else?”

  He reached back once again, feeling the puckered edges of a different nasty scar, “They remind me what it’s like to feel pain, what it’s like to feel hate. They remind me that I never want to feel that kind of hate again. And more importantly, that I have a choice not to feel hate. They remind me that I’m not weak, that I’m more than what that miserable bastard and his Order tried to make me. They remind me that I beat him – that I won.”

  Max was smiling at him even as she pulled his head down, kissing him rather soundly on the lips, “See; one of the most undamaged people I have ever met.”

  Lark opened and closed his mouth a few times, completely at a loss for words for once. Max laughed at his dumbfounded look;

  “Your scars don’t hurt you, Lark. Not like Ryker’s, or Darius’s, or even Dex’s. You’re not a vain person, so they don’t even bother you aesthetically. The reason you keep them covered is to spare others; you don’t want to make them uncomfortable. Plus, you don’t want to elicit questions. I don’t blame you, you’re entitled to your privacy. But you’re not ashamed of them like the others were with theirs. You don’t need me to heal you, Lark.”

  “Well, I had no idea I was so well adjusted. How boring,” he said, making Max laugh once more.

  “Never that, I promise you,” she assured him. “For example, I know one person in particular who finds you very interesting – despite themselves.”

  He perked up at that, “Really? But is it, interesting like dog shit on the bottom of her shoe? Or interesting as in; hmm, I’d like to tap that fine, green-eyed man’s arse.”

  His liege burst out laughing, “You’re not even going to try to play it cool with me?”

  He grunted, “No. What would be the point? You can read my mind and see the future,” he pointed out. Besides, before now he had only seen evidence of dislike and indifference from the ranger. He was more than thrilled to hear differently.

  “I can’t see the future,” Max rebutted, still stubbornly denying what they all knew was true now.

  But he waved that away; “Whatever. Tell me more about Ivy’s unrequited love for me.”

  Max snorted, “Don’t get cocky on me. I’m giving you some insider info because I’m rooting for you. Be patient, take your time to get to know the real her. Too many people only glance over the surface,” she pointed to the ratty, plain book he was holding. “You know not to judge a book by its cover. Employ that same philosophy to Ivy.”

  He opened his mouth to question her more but decided not to push his luck. Besides, Max had given him plenty to think about this afternoon. He pushed to his feet, placing a chaste kiss to the top of her head, “I’m going to go work-out for a while. I feel stiff.”

  “Okay. But don’t overdo it, please?”

  “I promise,” he swore as he crossed his heart.

  Max pursed her lips at him but stood and headed into the house, “Oh,” she paused, “Ryker installed a new sound system in the gym.”

  “He did?” Lark perked up at that. For years they had nothing but a retro CD player with one speaker to pound out a tune as they were exercising.

  “Yep. When you were sick, he asked the others what he could do to make you feel better. Beyden said you’d been after a decent sound system in the gym so Ry went and ordered a state of the art surround-sound unit.”

  “Damn, I wasn’t whinging at Bey or anything. Ryker shouldn’t haven’t bothered. I don’t need the music that badly,” he said, feeling a little guilty.

  Max looked at him knowingly, “Yes, you do. And you know Ryker; if his team has a need, he makes it happen.”

  “Big softie.” He scoffed but deep down he was flushed with pleasure, knowing his Captain would do such a thing for him. But then, Ry wasn’t just his Captain, was he?

  He was family.

  ELEVEN

  Lark barely restrained himself from shouting with joy when he saw the new sound system, complete with subwoofer and at least half a dozen speakers already well-placed around the matted floor area of the gym. He had the space to himself for now but he wasn’t sure how long his alone-time would last, so he quickly plugged in his MP3 player and browsed his selection of songs.

  Dex, Ivy, and Darius had taken Knox out of his makeshift cell-slash-guest suite which connected to the gym about an hour earlier. As far as he knew, they were still trying to coax the former chade to speak as well as trying to get him used to human contact once more. Dex and Darius were also attempting to hone Knox’s once-lost skills with his element – Air. And as far as Lark was aware, Ivy was playing babysitter in case Knox needed a spanking in the form of his head being removed from his shoulders.

  Seeing one of his all-time favourite songs, he hit play to reacquaint himself with the music as he stripped off his shirt and shoes and began to stretch out his still-sore muscles. The music blared out in the large space, the acoustics perfect for what he had in mind. No doubt Ry would have researched the perfect places to hang the speakers in order to ensure the sound quality was perfect. He bent forward, placing his palms flat on the mats whilst keeping his legs straight. It still shocked him whenever someone went out of their way to do nice things for him. It wasn’t a comment about the people in his life – no, it was because his self-esteem could be a little sketchy at times.

  Although he had dedicated his whole life to ensuring his father didn’t win, it had been more out of spite and stubbornness rather than strength. Or so he had always believed. But recalling his conversation with Max just minutes before, knowing he had a goddess who thought he was strong and capable and undamaged, was a definite boost to his ego. Feeling the beat of the loud music echoing in his body thanks to his Captain also helped. Ryker had already given him his garden and his library, not to mention somewhere to park his disgraced butt when he had nowhere else to go four years ago.

  Technically, a p
aladin couldn’t complete the training and the trials to become a sworn paladin until they were thirty years old. With the ability to live longer and the maturation from child to adult a slower process, the age for being considered an adult was older than in the human society. But thanks to his father’s strict training regime, Lark had been well advanced both physically and intellectually compared to his peers. He had therefore undertaken the trials when he was just twenty-six years old.

  And he had failed them miserably.

  He laughed out loud in remembrance of his father’s face when his trainer had informed Isaac that his one and only son had failed the Paladin Trials. The shock and absolute horror had been worth every beating and cruel word. It hadn’t been his first act of defiance but it had been his most public – and the one with the greatest repercussions.

  Sitting down now, he spread his legs and stretched them out to the sides, lowering his torso flush to the ground as he considered those consequences. The first one had been when his father and his father’s liege, Terran, had beaten him to within an inch of his life for daring to humiliate them in society. He had already been a disgrace in so many ways; he wasn’t tall enough, broad enough, or sadistic enough for his father. He looked and acted nothing like the Captain of the Order of Tor and as the only child his father had been able to produce in a thousand years, it was one of Lark’s greatest faults. But his father would have been able to forgive his auburn hair, his green eyes, and his smaller frame, if only Lark been born a potentate like him. But alas, he had failed to maintain the psychic bridge within his father’s Order when his father had pushed the issue, let alone create such a connection.

  Lark smiled when he thought of the silence and stillness he was met with when he had attempted to lock onto the Order’s link when he had been a mere teenager. The silence had been pure music to his ears because there was no way he had wanted to be connected to the Tor Order in any capacity, let alone in such an intimate way. He had been terrified the cruel and violent tendencies of its members would somehow seep through the link and he would be contaminated. So he had prayed with everything within him for the bridge to remain closed and detached. It was the first time any of his prayers had been answered. The second time they had come to fruition? When he had failed the renowned Paladin Trials. He had failed them in a spectacular fashion too, he remembered. And he had made sure his father had been front and centre during every test.