Amara assumed that they were there to see the new Dragon shifter in their midst, but it only took a moment for her to realize that every set of eyes had locked on her face, not on his. No doubt reading the same thing, Minach thrust himself protectively between his companion and the strangers.
“What the hell is going on here?” he growled, the feral energy of his Dragon hanging in the air between himself and the strange crowd.
“We were told that you were here,” one of the women said. She was a mousy thing with stringy brown hair and large green eyes. “Emma told us that a Wolf and a Dragon had come.”
“Emma, the cashier in the shop? But I don’t understand,” Amara said, stepping around Minach, unafraid. “I’m no Wolf, not these days at least. What would shifters want with me?”
“You’re one of us,” the woman said. “You’ve got our blood in your veins. Emma told us she’d seen you. She said that there was a woman who had a powerful déor lost inside her.”
Minach turned to look towards Amara, a stupefied look crinkling his brow. The meek shopkeeper had assessed a great deal in the short time they’d spent with her.
“I haven’t seen my Wolf in a good while,” Amara told the strangers. “My déor is all but dead inside me, so I’m not sure what interest you could possibly have in the likes of me. I am broken.”
The Wolf pack’s members shifted their weight from foot to foot, their eyes moving to the ground, necks craned submissively. It was a spectacle that the Dragon shifter had rarely seen; natural subordinates looking to a natural leader.
The Dragon Guild had an Alpha in Lumen. But despite his existence, there was a sort of equality to each member’s status. Any one of them could have led; any one of them was powerful enough to command. Not so for Wolves.
“Our protector has died,” one of the men said, his hands shakily clenching a plaid wool hat. “That’s why we came looking, you see. Your presence gave us hope. The two of you together—you could be a powerful force in the region. A force against those who threaten us.”
“I’m sorry,” Amara said, her tone gentle but firm. “So sorry for all of you. But Minach and I are not mates. Besides, without my déor I’m not one of you; I’m not powerful. I’m an outsider, an Other. You need to find one of your own to serve as leader.”
“So many of our kind are gone,” the man replied, his eyes daring to meet Amara’s. “The Forsaken have made quick work of them. Shifter blood sustains those horrid creatures longer than human; it gives them prolonged strength. We are all at risk that they will return, so long as no one is here to protect us.”
Amara reached for Minach’s arm, her hand grasping his wrist tight as she struggled to keep her balance. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, stepping into the street. “We have to go.”
Minach stared at her in stunned silence as she dragged him along the street, away from the group of oddities who seemed so bent on making her their fearless leader. She’d gone even more pale than usual, tormented by some inner demon.
“What in God’s name was that?” he asked when they were several feet away.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t care, either. They had no business approaching us like that.”
“Amara, you would care if an ant got stepped on. I refuse to believe that you don’t care about a bunch of desperate shifters.”
She stopped and swung around to face him, seeming to grow four inches in the process. Her face glowed with power and anger.
“Of course I care, Minach. But I have nothing to offer them. You have no idea what it is to have to leave the helpless behind again and again, to be able to offer them no hope, no strength. To have to watch those you care for fade away. I want nothing more than to help them, but don’t you see? I have nothing to give.”
“I don’t get it. If you’re half Wolf, then why don’t you make use of that side of yourself? If she is alive inside you, then surely you can find her. Fight this disease that consumes you. Seek out your strength and summon your déor.”
Amara wanted to weep. If only she could make him understand; if only he knew what it felt like to be a prisoner in your own body. “I’m too weak, Minach. My mind is strong, but I told you, I’m an invalid, a faint excuse for a living thing. My Wolf has lost herself somewhere in the far reaches of my being, but I don’t have what it takes to find her. She’s gone into a state of eternal slumber, and may never rise again. Now, please—let’s get to the cottage. I need to rest.”
With that, Amara turned and strode away from Minach while he remained frozen in place, swallowing the wail that threatened to form in his chest. She knew what it was that he felt.
She knew that his Dragon’s heart was breaking for her lost Wolf.
Memories
Wordlessly, Minach flew them to the cottage near Land’s End, escaping the surreal experience they’d just shared. Perhaps the escape would calm her, would help her. Perhaps it would even begin to heal her mind and soul, if not her body.
But as the rocky coast revealed itself below, a grim reminder punched him in the stomach like a hard blow. For all her pain and torment, Amara was less damaged than he was. What might sooth her—the coast, the lapping waves—might drive him mad.
Surrounded by tall, willowy grasses and lichen-coated rocks, the house should have been charming, inviting and warm. But a frost formed inside of Minach’s chest the moment his Dragon set eyes on it, some deep part of him clenching like a powerful, unrelenting fist, grabbing hold of his breath and refusing to let go.
When they’d landed, he shifted into his human form, the sea air catching in his throat as the horrid feeling consumed him. The cottage was pretty, of course; a small stone hideaway with a strong slate roof, its windows decorated with unused flower boxes. But the shifter couldn’t begin to see its charms as anything other than a cruel taunt. An all-too-familiar scene, marred by the incident that had destroyed his life long ago.
Fuck it all, why had he agreed to come to this bloody place?
“What’s wrong?” Amara asked, immediately seeming to sense his panic.
Always thinking of the other person, she was. The woman walked through life knowing that she’d gotten the short end of every stick, yet here she was, worrying about him. She was a beautiful, generous saint, but he didn’t deserve her kindness.
“Nothing,” he replied, turning his eyes to the front door. “Just—this place reminds me of somewhere I used to know. Come, let’s go inside.” Hopefully the cottage’s interior wouldn’t stir up old memories as much as the landscape around it did. Perhaps he could start breathing again once he’d closed the door behind him.
Amara extracted the key that Bertie had given her from her bag and stepped towards the door, opening it and slipping inside. Minach trudged in behind her, his abdomen clenching with apprehension.
The interior, thankfully, set him a little at ease. A man’s hideaway to be sure, its furnishings were various shades of beige and brown, not at all like the joyful colour scheme that his mother had used to decorate their cottage in Dover. An old rifle hung before a stone fireplace in the living room, and above that was a set of deer’s antlers. No doubt the poor creature had been killed by Bertie’s brother.
“Dead animal bits. Charming,” muttered Minach.
“Truly,” said Amara, who’d already begun to head towards the stairs to scope out the sleeping arrangements. A moment later she’d come back down. “There are two bedrooms upstairs,” she said. “Listen, I’m going to go up and lie down a little.”
“Are you all right?” Minach wasn’t sure if he was asking out of kindness or out of pure selfishness. The truth was that he didn’t want her to leave him, not yet. He needed to get his mind off his memories.
“Fine. Just tired,” she said, but he could tell that she wasn’t being entirely honest with him as she turned to head up the staircase. They were two liars, two people too frightened to admit their deepest fears or to acknowledge their true desires. Maybe it was up to Minach to rectify t
he situation.
“Amara, wait,” he said, following her. But when he got to the bottom of the stairs, he found himself at a loss for words. What could he possibly say, anyhow? That he wanted to spend another night by her side? She would only tell him that she thought it best that she remain alone. God, their entire relationship had been dictated by a giant, invisible rubber band between them. Each time they pulled apart, an invisible force dragged them back together.
Theirs was a twisted dependency. The problem was that it sure didn’t feel twisted, not to Minach. It was the healthiest relationship he’d ever had. But perhaps that was an indication of just how fucked up he was.
“I’ll walk you up,” he said, “to have a look at the rooms.”
She nodded, and he followed her up to the second storey, where Amara turned and headed into the first bedroom on the right. Turning back to him she looked into his eyes. “This is the smaller of the two.” Her face showed signs of emotional exhaustion, but of something far deeper as well. “Good night,” she said, moving to shut herself away from him.
He pressed his hand flat against the door, stopping her. “Just a moment. May I come in?”
“What?”
“Just…for a little.”
She turned wordlessly and slipped into the room, leaving the door open. Minach followed her, eyeing the space around him. “Nice bedroom,” he said. “I believe they refer to this size as ‘cozy’.”
It was true; the space housed nothing more than a narrow bed, a night stand and a small wooden chair.
“It’ll do fine,” she replied. “You should take the larger one. You’re…larger.”
“That’s true. I’m huge. Parts of me are enormous, in fact.”
The suggestive observation drew a smile from Amara, and a sense of satisfaction pulsed through Minach for his small triumph.
“Enormous. As is your flat,” she said. “I suppose that not everything can be as gigantic as your exquisitely decorated bachelor pad.”
“Also true.” Minach threw himself onto her bed, which bounced up and down with a series of loud squeaks. “Nice bed, this. Lots of give. You ought to come try it.”
“I will. All night, in fact,” she replied, lowering her chin to glare at him. “Alone.”
Minach thrust himself into a sitting position and stared at her. “I’m joking, of course. I would never want to spend more time wrapped around such a woman as you. Except for last night on the couch, but I think that must have been an accident. I believe you tripped and fell onto me. I had no choice but to hold onto you like grim death all night long.”
Amara’s smile faded as he spoke, and she turned her gaze away. “You’re quite right, I shouldn’t have done that. I apologize.”
“It’s all right. I enjoyed it.”
He watched her walk over to the window to peer out, the sunlight outlining her lovely features. She was so beautiful, so refined, so elegant. He could all but feel her phantom Wolf pacing along the floor, silent and powerful. For the first time he felt her pain, her loneliness at the loss of her déor.
“What was it like?” he asked softly.
Amara turned to look at him, brows arched. “What was what like?”
“To lose her. Your Wolf.”
For a moment he wondered if he’d erred by asking such a personal question. Amara could have told him to fuck off, to get out and leave her alone. But instead she simply shrugged.
“I don’t really know how to explain it. She left me for good recently, but the truth is that I suppose I really lost her long ago. She’s a ghost, lurking somewhere inside me, but I can’t find her in there. It didn’t happen all at once, so it’s difficult to describe. She was so alive, so powerful when I was young.”
“When we spoke under the Tor, you told me that your déor was strong.”
“Yes, I probably did,” she replied. “I wanted to believe it. I feel her, always, like a spectre haunting me. She hides somewhere far behind the hunger that consumes me day and night.”
“I can’t imagine losing my Dragon,” he said, turning the subject to himself if only for her sake. He knew that she didn’t like to speak of the affliction that never stopped consuming her, reminding her of what she was, of what she could never be. “My déor is so much part of me. I’m probably more Dragon than man by now. I spent so much of my youth escaping into his body to get away from my feelings. He protected me from my weak human self.” Minach surprised himself with his earnest confession; he’d never talked to anyone about this, not even his brother.
Amara sat down on the opposite side of the bed. “Tell me about it,” she said, as though reading his need to let it out.
Pulling himself back against the headboard, Minach crossed his arms over his broad chest and exhaled, shutting his eyes. “After Lyre’s…accident…I…” he stopped.
“What is it?” she asked. He opened his eyes and looked at her. Her body was leaning in towards his, as though trying to reassure him. It’s okay, she seemed to be saying. We’re all vulnerable.
“I spent the bulk of my life trying to prove that I was just as horrid a person as I thought I was. Prone to bouts of rage, to burning, trashing things like a juvenile delinquent.” He turned away as he said the words; he couldn’t look at her, not just now. Part of him wanted her to know what he really was, but another part was ashamed of it. He wasn’t worthy to spend time in the presence of such a woman, let alone expect her to care a whit about him.
“We’ve all made mistakes, Minach,” she said. “We’ve all done things we regret.”
He shook his head and met her gaze. “Not you. You’re perfect.”
Amara let out a cynical, quiet snicker. “Hardly. I’m as imperfect as they come.”
“No, I’m serious. You have exactly one weakness. Which, by the way, is genetic. Yet you’ve never given in to it, never allowed your illness to overpower you. You are as strong as they come. I, on the other hand, have shown nothing but weakness all my life. It was my weakness that led to Lyre’s deafness. Then weakness that ruined my relationship with him. He was a strong boy who grew into a strong man; he was willing to forgive me for what I did.”
Amara looked down at her fingers, which were digging into the quilt that covered the bed. “You know, it’s strange. After all this time, I still don’t entirely know what you did that was so awful, Minach. You never told me about it. The details, I mean.”
The shifter threw his head back against the hard wooden headboard, preemptively punishing himself for what he was about to say. “There’s nothing to tell. A little bastard Dragon shifter was chasing me. I deliberately led him towards my brother. The bastard mistook Lyre for me, grabbed him and dragged him deep under the sea. Lyre lost his hearing as a result. It was the pressure, you see. Pressure from the depth, and a poorly-timed shift into his Dragon. His ears left him and never came back, all because I was an arse who didn’t know better than to horse around with a cruel psychopath.”
“Now, that’s hardly fair. You were only a child. You had no way of knowing what that other boy might do.”
“It doesn’t matter. I stole my brother’s childhood from him. I should have been the one to suffer. I was a little shit.”
“Now you’re a big shit. So what’s your point?” Amara offered a smile, doubtless trying to lighten his mood.
Minach let out a drawn-out sigh before speaking. “It was at a cottage not unlike this one—my family’s cottage in Dover—that Lyre’s accident occurred.” He dragged fingers through his hair. “For some insane reason, that cottage is still Lyre’s favourite place on earth, you know. He heads out there often, and these days, of course he brings Trix with him. But I have rarely returned since I was a child. I hate the place with every fibre of my being.”
He was trembling like a frightened animal, but it wasn’t fear that he was feeling; it was something far worse. A sort of deep, unrelenting rage. Anger directed inwardly, so powerful that his eyes glowed with yellow flecks, his Dragon rising to his surface in
defence of his human form.
Amara reached for him but he pulled away, turning his face away to conceal his tears.
“I can’t…” his voice caught in his throat and he paused, catching his breath before proceeding. “I didn’t think that coming to Cornwall would bring me back to such vivid memories of that place, but I’m a fool. The scent of salt on the air, the cliffs. Everything reminds me of that day. Of the monster that I was then. The monster that I’ll always be.”
“You’re not a monster. I’ve told you that. You need to listen to me, Minach. To believe me.”
He shut his eyes, reaching a hand out across the space between them, and she took it. He grabbed her hard and squeezed, almost to the point of hurting her. But she was strong enough, at least, to bear the pain. “Tell me again how I’m decent,” he said. “Tell me how I’m not a bad person.”
“Of course you’re decent, and so much more, Minach. You’re a Dragon shifter, and an amazing one, at that. You’re also a good brother. So what if you did one foolish thing in your life? I never had siblings, but if I had I’ve no doubt we would have done stupid things together. Children do. I had a friend whose brother put burrs in her hair while she was asleep one night. The next morning her mother had no choice but to chop it all off. She hated him for that, but children are resilient. Within days they were back to playing and laughing together. Her hair grew back.”
“Lyre’s hearing never came back.” Minach opened his eyes and turned her way. His irises had dulled a little, his Dragon retreating to a place deep inside him for the time being. “We never went back to playing. We never really became friends again. We’re civil now, and that’s as much as I could ever ask for.”
“You can’t just let feelings go,” Amara replied. “They need to be dealt with properly. To just peel them away and try and dispose of them is inhuman at best.”
“So what do I do, then?” his eyes were pleading with hers. He loosened his grip on her hand. “How do I fix myself, when I could never fix my brother?”
Dragon's Curse: A Dragon Shifter Romance (Dragon Guild Chronicles Book 4) Page 10
