by Amelia Jade
The big dragon shifter visibly wilted, his shoulders slumping.
“Listen, Riss,” he tried to say, but she held up a hand.
“I’m sorry, Zander. I just need more time, I think. I need to think this over. I’m still appalled by what I saw from you earlier.
His sandy hair seemed to droop along with everything else. The normally vivid, brilliant brass-brown eyes were dull and glossed over at her words.
“Very well,” he said dejectedly, his voice devoid of its normal power. “I shall leave. You have my number if you wish to talk and hear my side of things.”
With that, he was gone.
Across the street, Jerry groaned and began to stir.
Time to go. Best not to be here when he comes to, because without Zander around, he’ll be looking for a target. I should tell Miranda too, if she doesn’t already know.
Riss grabbed her things and ran for home.
Chapter Nine
Zander
Rejected by Riss, and not on Guardian duty for several days, Zander had nowhere to go.
So, he ended up at a bar.
Although the shifters of Cadia liked their ice cream, they liked their booze better. Nearly two dozen bars and pubs existed in and around the town at the heart of Cadian territory. Some were classy joints where people went to be seen. Where the rich and powerful showed their faces, to prove that they were, in fact, rich and powerful. Where those below them could get a glimpse of them, but still never be allowed past that black velvet VIP rope, which just enhanced their prestige even more.
Others were rundown, ramshackle joints were people went not to be seen. Zander initially contemplated one of these places, but decided if he did, he would just end up in another fight. So, in a move born of logic, and likely from the memory of what Riss had said to him, he chose a middle-of-the-road establishment.
The Barking Squirrel was not a place he frequented often, which also meant that he was unlikely to run into any old foes or comrades there. Hopefully it meant he would be able to drink in peace, without having to make any small talk.
He pushed his way through a set of double doors spaced just far enough apart to ensure one had time to close before the other opened—thus ensuring no sunlight entered the bar. Zander surveyed the place, looking for a good, quiet area to set up shop and do some drinking.
The bar was fairly straightforward. Free-standing tables straight ahead, booths lining the left and right walls, and a big bar stretching across the middle half of the back wall. An employee entrance to the right of the bar, and washrooms to the left.
Zander went to the right, picking out an empty booth in the far corner, right next to the employee entrance. He order three beers and hunched over, back to the door, so that he would hopefully not have to deal with anyone who came in, keeping his presence anonymous.
His lips had no sooner touched the first glass of beer before someone spoke his name.
“Z, is that you? Z, it is you!”
Are you fucking kidding me? Of all the places, in all the…
“Hi Kieran,” he said, trying to hide his grimace as his cousin slid into the booth across from him.
“I thought it was you, by gosh!” Kieran said, slapping the flat of his palm on the thick wooden tabletop.
He looked at his hand and the sticky surface, as if hoping to be able to wipe it somewhere.
“What are you doing here?” Zander asked. “And don’t call me Z.”
“Come on, Z. I saw you walking on by, and I thought I’d stop by, say hello, say I’m sorry, all that stuff.”
Zander rolled his eyes. Kieran was his cousin, older by about a century. He never failed to rub in that fact, treating Zander like he was just a little child, despite him being almost a quarter millennia old.
“Sorry for what?” he asked, knowing Kieran wouldn’t rest until Zander asked the question he was waiting to ask.
“I thought you knew?” he asked with false surprise. “About me being named successor of house Pierce.”
“Nothing’s happened yet,” Zander replied dully, tossing back half the mug of beer in front of him in one go.
He was going to need more than three to put up with Kieran. His cousin was an asshole, plain and simple. Not just a jerk by nature, but he actually seemed to go out of his way to be rude to people, though he did it under the guise of being friendly.
Already Zander was resisting the urge to do to him what he’d done to Riss’s boss.
Riss.
She hated him now, and there was nothing Zander could do about it. She was right, in a way. He had lost control that morning. Attacking the panthers was still something he maintained was the proper decision. But the cold-bloodedness with which he went about it was not. The taunting and maniacal laughter, that was not acceptable. He needed to be better.
He would be better.
For her.
That revelation smacked into him like a closed fist.
Riss held that much power over him that he would vow to change his ways, simply because of her.
No, not simply because of her. Because she was right. It’s just that I’m willing to listen to her, compared to others. Because she’s worth it.
But was he worthy of her?
Zander wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. A sinking sensation in his stomach told him it wouldn’t be what he wanted it to.
“I know nothing’s happened yet,” Kieran said, trying to appear solemn, but failing miserably. “Isn’t that the problem, though? Your little courtship isn’t moving fast enough for dear old mommy.”
Zander closed his eyes, teeth clenched together as he tried to let the comments pass.
He’s not worth getting into a fight over.
“What courtship?”
“Come on,” Kieran scoffed. “Don’t play that game with me, cousin.” Somehow he managed to make the familial word sound like a curse. “Your little tailor girlfriend. I hear she wasn’t too impressed with you this morning. Trouble in paradise?”
Zander stood up, downed both beers in quick succession, tossed some cash on the table, and walked out.
“Say hi to dear old mommy for me. I’d visit soon!”
The next time he saw Kieran, Zander vowed that punching his cousin square in the face would be the least of his troubles. It was unfortunate that Kieran was a fully trained shifter as well, having graduated from Top Scale like the others, instead of being some bumbling fool. That would have made taking care of him much easier.
Instead, Zander had to deal with a competently trained dragon shifter who had over a century more experience.
So far, every fight between them had ended with Kieran the winner.
Zander vowed that that was going to change if his cousin didn’t smarten up.
***
The flight out to his mother’s passed quickly, despite the growing misgivings within Zander about his relationship with Riss, and the foundations it was built upon.
She deserves better.
“Mother,” he said softly, sitting at her bedside.
Things had taken a turn for the worse since his last visit, the aging process accelerating quickly now as her energy and strength reserves ran out. It was like all the human aging that had been held off for so long suddenly came on at once, rendering her a frail shadow of what she had once been.
“Zander,” came the reply, so quiet it was barely audible. “My son.”
Taking her hand in his, he resolutely promised himself that he wasn’t going to cry.
“I’m here, Mother,” he said through a haze, trying to blink his way through the fog that was obscuring his vision. “I’m here.”
“It will be okay,” she told him, her weak fingers trying their best to squeeze his. “I’m ready for this.”
“I’m not,” he replied, and the ghost of a smile crossed her sunken features at the quip.
“Zander, my son. I love you so much.” It took her several tries to get all the words out. She was too weak, needing sever
al lungfuls of air to speak so few words.
Warm heat tracked its way down his cheeks as he blinked, but he was past caring. His mother had always been there for him. She was his rock, the one person he could trust to give him no-bullshit answers.
“I love you too, Mom,” he replied, his voice breaking at the last word.
“You will—”
“Shhh,” he said as her voice failed her once more. “It’s okay, Momma, I’m here.”
Tears fell freely now, but he let them fall, unashamed of the grief he was feeling.
“No,” she almost snarled, and a ghost of the old fire entered her eyes as she clutched at him. “You will make a fine—”
Once more she fell back into the bed, unable to speak.
“Mom, please,” he pleaded with her, but she shook her head slightly.
“You will make a fine p—”
And just like that, she was gone. Her face slackened and whatever remaining strength she had fled her body.
“Mom?” he asked tentatively.
There was no response.
“Mommy?”
Silence rang out loudly.
Under his fingers, he felt her limbs begin to stiffen.
Gently Zander set her arm down at her side, reaching up to close her eyes. Even as he watched, the white pallor of her skin faded, replaced by a gray tone. Yet one more mystery about dragons, he thought.
Reaching down, he kissed his mother one last time on the forehead, feeling the smooth hardness of her skin as it became rock.
“Goodbye, Mother,” he said softly.
And then he wept. Tears streamed down his face as he hunched over her side, the stone statue that had been his mother’s body resting peacefully in the bed, until he interred it in the Pierce crypts after a period of mourning.
Zander’s shoulders shook as he let it all flow out of him, the grief of her loss, the pain of knowing that she would no longer be there for him to consult, to trade insults with and generally be friends with. His heart ached, and he wished desperately for comfort, to rest his head on someone else’s shoulders and have them tell him it would be okay.
But there was only one person who he could do that with, and not only did she hate him, but everything she’d known about their relationship had been founded on lies.
Well, that’s it, I suppose. She passed before I could bring her a mate. So not only did I fail in that, but I failed Riss as well by not being the man she deserves.
Drying his eyes, he took several moments to compose himself before standing up.
You know what you have to do now.
He didn’t like the idea of it, but it was time. He’d done enough already. It was time to stop the madness.
With one last glance back at the figure of his mother, Zander took a deep breath and fled into the darkness.
Chapter Ten
Riss
She sat with her back to the wall, TV on but muted, and a foot-long metal pole sitting next to her. On the end of the pole she’d used electrical tape to fasten three blades from her knife set, making it a makeshift weapon.
Now she simply waited for the attack to come.
Nothing told her it would, but Riss knew that Jerry wouldn’t settle for allowing her to get away with what had happened. He would seek out his revenge, either through him or the men he’d already sent after her in the past. So she vowed that she would be ready, and would not surrender to them meekly.
No, she was going to make it hurt before they killed her.
Part of her regretted sending Zander away, and that part had grown stronger as time went on. She’d sent him several text messages, but he had yet to respond to one of them. Either he was busy or he was ignoring her, she wasn’t sure what. Whatever he was doing, it meant that this time, he wasn’t going to be able to come to her rescue.
“Hurry up and get it over with, you bastards,” she muttered into the silence, wishing they would just hurry up and arrive.
Maybe she shouldn’t have pushed Zander away after all.
Yes, what he’d done had been brutally horrific, and she couldn’t ever unsee him moving through the men, laughing as he was sprayed with blood from wounds he’d inflicted, his fist crushing another man’s skull even as he choked the life from a second. It was a terrifying specter of death that would haunt her for a long time.
Despite all that being said, however, the truth was, he’d been doing it to protect her. To ensure that she didn’t come to any harm. Was it really fair of her to throw him aside after that?
Dammit.
“Answer me,” she said, sending another text his way.
Minutes continued to tick by with no response. Riss began to jump at every creak and groan the house made as it adjusted to the cooling evening temperatures. She feared shifters jumping through the window, positive she’d heard them climbing over the roof. The squeak of floorboards told her they were already in the house.
But nothing happened. She sat down after her last walkthrough of the house, setting the spear down next to her.
A fist rapped firmly on the door.
Riss screamed and jumped to her feet, shaking hands fumbling with her spear so badly she almost dropped the pointed end on her foot. Finally she got a grip of it and advanced halfway to the door.
“Who is it?” she called, trying not to sound afraid, and failing miserably.
“It’s me,” came a muffled voice.
She frowned.
“Who?”
“Zander.”
“Prove it,” she called back.
“You have a scar on the inside of your right leg, just below a particularly sensitive area you like to have gently bitten.”
Well, that was one way to prove it, she thought, feeling a burning sensation spread across her face at the intimate nature of his answer. Her hand slid several inches below the arch of her leg to the spot in question.
“Okay. What do you want?” she called.
“Can we talk?”
“Just talk?”
“Yes. We need to.”
Steeling herself, Riss went to the door, peering through the peephole to ensure he was alone. Satisfied, she set the spear aside and pulled the table from under the door handle, before sliding the deadbolt across and opening it.
“Okay, talk.”
Zander’s eyes focused past her to the heavy table she’d pushed up against the door as an added boundary. Then they flicked over to her. She noticed the glossiness was gone in his eyes. Replacing it was a haunted look.
Whatever he was going to say, she wasn’t going to like it.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
Riss stood in the doorway.
“Fine,” he said. “First, I’m sorry for this morning. I stand by my actions when it came to attacking them first, because I have experience with that sort of situation. But you were right about the rest. There was no need for what I did to them. I could have scattered them without killing anyone, and without laughing about it to the faces of the others. I am truly, truly sorry that you had to witness me stoop to such lows. I can do better, and you have my promise that in the future, I will do better.”
Her eyes stayed focused on his as he spoke, watching them for any hint of lies, but she saw nothing. Zander was dead serious about everything he’d just spoken.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad to hear that. I understand that, in your world, killing is sometimes unavoidable. I get it. But there was no need for it this morning, and I can’t support that.”
“I know.”
No excuses, no more apologies even. Just a simple acceptance of the fact. Interesting. Perhaps there was something in him after all. But his eyes still looked haunted, and if anything it was getting worse. Whatever he had come to say, that had only been half of it, and that had been the easy half, she thought.
“That’s not all, is it?” she said softly.
Zander shook his head.
“What else?”
His jaw worked as she waite
d, opening once, then twice as he closed it, the right words not coming.
“You want out,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
The big tanned shifter grimaced, the stubble now growing wild on his face bunching up as he did. “I think it’s best,” he said, his big brown and brass-flecked eyes refusing to meet hers as he spoke.
“I see.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.
“You deserve better than me,” he said, and to her surprise, his voice wavered slightly.
“Are you that bad for me?”
There was a nod.
“Why?”
He shook his head. “You saw what I’m capable of,” he whispered. “I can’t put you in that sort of danger anymore. I’m sorry.”
And before she could say anything more, he disappeared into the night again.
Riss stared out after him for a long while before shutting the door and locking it again. She didn’t put the table back in front of it. It wouldn’t matter. If a shifter decided they were coming in, they would just kick the door in, and a few hundred pounds of wood table wouldn’t slow them down.
“What a stupid idea,” she snarled, shoving the table with all her might.
It moved perhaps six inches.
“Fuck you!” she screamed, grabbing the underside of it and overturning it.
The table just sort of fell onto its side and lay there. It didn’t go flying and shatter into a million tiny, satisfying pieces. Instead it just taunted her.
“Oh, fuck this,” she said, grabbing her purse and her spear. “Thinks he can leave me without anything, does he? No job, no friends, no whatever he was? Probably not even a life after tonight? Well, in that case, I’m going to enjoy it.”
Riss didn’t bother to do any makeup or put on anything more than the work clothes she was still wearing. She would go somewhere where they didn’t care what she wore, but would serve her booze anyway.
“May as well live my last night to the fullest.”
The door closed behind her and she wandered out into the street, her homemade spear thrown over one shoulder so she didn’t stab herself with it.
Hopefully she wouldn’t need it, but the weight was a comforting presence as she stalked the streets to find a place that suited her mood.
