Bitter Ashes (Bitter Ashes Book 1)

by Sara C. Roethle

  James watched as the emotions played across my face, then seemingly satisfied, turned and walked away. Alaric glared after him.

  I tugged on his hand, but he kept glaring, deep in thought. I could feel the edges of his anger burning lines across my skin like tiny flames.

  “I'm sensing some sort of rivalry there,” I observed.

  Alaric still didn't look at me. “No rivalry,” he corrected, “just moderate hatred.”

  “How can hatred be moderate?” I questioned as we began walking again. “Hatred is the extreme.”

  He finally looked over at me, expression unreadable. “That's not true. There are many different types of hatred. I doubt you've felt any of them.”

  I stopped and put my hands on my hips. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Alaric turned to me, still looking angry, then his expression softened. “I meant it in a good way. You don't seem to be the grudge-holding type. Hatred gets you nowhere, but even knowing that, it's difficult to avoid.”

  He was right about me not holding grudges, but I still didn't like the accusation. “I'm still angry about being kidnapped,” I offered. “That's a grudge.”

  “Yes,” he replied, “but you're also still cooperating. You could have tried to flee when we were attacked, but you came back to help instead. You're angry, but you don't hate us. You don't even hate Sophie, and that's . . . uncommon.”

  “I appreciate Sophie,” I admitted. “She doesn't try to tell me pleasant lies. She never has.”

  Alaric looked surprised. “And I do?”

  I started walking again. “I'm not sure yet, but you do pretend like nothing is wrong when your people are in the middle of a war.”

  “Our people,” he corrected as he caught up to me.

  Our people. I still hadn't quite processed the fact that I was one of the Vaettir myself. To sound monumentally cliché, I'd always known I was different, but I never would have guessed I was a member of an ancient race populated with people and creatures that were quite literally the stuff of fairytales. Being a little empathic was one thing. Living in a magical domicile with people that killed each other for being traitors was quite another. The Vaettir were old school, eye for an eye, types, and I wasn't sure if I would ever get used to it. That was, if I continued trying at all.

  “Our people,” I agreed slowly, “but you've distracted me. Why do you hate James?”

  “It doesn't matter,” he replied as he stopped to hold a door open for me. “Just as long as you don't trust him.”

  “Well I don't really trust anyone these days,” I said, then instantly regretted it.

  A hurt look passed across Alaric's face, but he didn't comment. I considered telling him that I trusted him, but it would have been a lie. I might not be a very hateful person, but I'm also not stupid. At least not stupid enough to trust someone that had participated in my kidnapping and subsequent imprisonment. He may have been nice and protective since then, and he may have cheered me up when no one else could, but it didn't cancel out the original act, even if I wanted it to.

  I walked through the doorway ahead of Alaric to take in the room beyond. I had hoped that my combat lessons would take place outside, but I was apparently out of luck. The room we entered was large enough to be a banquet hall, and boasted numerous racks of weaponry, but not the open blue sky I'd been craving. Humans needed sunlight. The lack of it was depressing, and a bit maddening. Maybe that was why most of the Vaettir were so cranky all of the time.

  I walked around and perused the racks, not even knowing what to call half of the things I was seeing. The floor of the room was covered in thick exercise mats that squished beneath my feet. It was a nice change from the hard stone floors of the rest of the compound.

  “Isn't there an outdoor area to practice in?” I asked hopefully.

  Alaric grabbed a large blade from one of the racks. “No part of the Salr is outside,” he explained as he hoisted the weapon, testing its weight.

  The Salr was the name for the compound that I'd been trapped in since the night I was kidnapped. I still hadn't quite figured out what the compound was exactly, just as I hadn't figured out how the halls were lit without the aid of candles or lamps.

  “Well can't we just walk out the front door?” I asked.

  Alaric laughed. “Have you seen any front doors since you've been here?”

  “Well no-” I began.

  “The Salr isn't fully aligned with the human world,” he explained, likely knowing that I only wanted to know the way out in case I decided to make a run for it again. “Do you remember how you got here?”

  Did I remember? It was kind of hard to forget being snatched out of my bed in the middle of the night, and then being pulled underground by sentient vines that wrapped around me like little snakes. Yeah, I'd say I remembered.

  “I was kidnapped,” I said hotly. “I told you already, I haven't forgotten that.”

  Alaric had the grace to look abashed. I don't know why it made a difference to me that he was one of my kidnappers that night. He was guilty either way of being part of it, but breaking into my house and stealing me while I was sleeping seemed a greater crime than the imprisonment. They could have at least snatched me while I was awake and had a fair chance of defending myself.

  “What I'm trying to say is that we have no front door,” Alaric explained. “The Salr is an enclosure. A place cannot be a sanctuary if people can just walk right through the front door.”

  “But those Vaettir that attacked us found a way in,” I countered.

  Alaric sighed. “They found the way that you came through. It has since been sealed.”

  “Are you telling me I never get to go outside again?” I asked, beginning to panic.

  “You will,” he answered before I could get overly flustered. “When it's safe.”

  “Do you get to go outside?” I pressed.

  Alaric spun the blade around in his hand like he knew what he was doing. “I'm beginning to think that you're just trying to distract me from giving you your lesson.”

  “Last question, I promise,” I said quickly as he walked toward me with the blade.

  “Yes Madeline, I get to go outside.” He swung the blade at me. I was so shocked that I almost didn't move, but at the last moment instinct kicked in and I dropped to the ground to avoid the blade's razor sharp edge.

  I looked up at him wide-eyed. “You could have killed me!”

  He tsked at me as he spun the blade casually in one hand. “I was only testing your reflexes. I wouldn't have hit you.”

  I believed him, but I wasn't about to stand so he could swing at me again.

  “I don't think it's fair for me to have to spar with someone that outweighs me by at least fifty pounds,” I pouted as I pulled my legs into a seated position, “especially when that someone has a blade and I don't.”

  If he swung at me again I wasn't moving. He wouldn't actually hit me . . . probably. I wouldn't call myself a shaking violet, and at 5'9” I could likely hold my own, but Alaric was 6'2” and muscled. Not overly muscled, but he definitely had more than me. It wasn't anywhere near a fair fight.

  “Would you rather learn from Sophie?” he asked swinging the blade aside to offer me a hand up.

  I thought of Alaric's hot-tempered sister teaching me to fight. She was around the same size as me, with Alaric's eyes and hair. The size was the only less intimidating thing about her though. If I had to choose, I'd say I'd end up with many more bruises if Sophie were my teacher.

  I grabbed Alaric's hand and got to my feet. “Can we at least not start out right away with the sharp pointy objects?”

  Alaric laughed and dropped my hand, then went to put the blade back into the rack. I followed him with my eyes, and couldn't help but watch the smooth muscles work in his back as he walked away. I've always been a sucker for a nice back. I quickly averted my gaze as he turned around to face me, but his small smile let me know that I'd been caught.

  He came to stand i
n front of me once again. I was relieved that he was empty handed this time, but my relief only lasted for a moment as he suddenly lunged for me. In the blink of an eye, I ended up on the ground for a second time that day. Alaric hit the mat shortly after I did, straddling my hips and pinning me to the floor.

  He grabbed my wrists in one hand and held them against the ground above my head at an angle that was almost painful. I'd made the mistake of leaving my long, dark brown wavy hair loose, and now it was pinned underneath me, making the position even more awkward.

  I struggled against him, but it didn't do much good. “How is this helping me learn how to fight?” I huffed, thoroughly frustrated.

  “The best way to learn is to do,” he explained. “Now do your best to get me off of you.”

  “I already did,” I replied hotly.

  He still didn't move. “Try getting your legs underneath you,” he advised.

  I did as he instructed. Rather than doing it slowly and asking for approval, I got a firm planting then bucked my hips upward. When I had a little bit of room to work with, I quickly flipped over on my stomach. I managed to turn my wrists enough in his grip that I could somewhat comfortably bring my knees up under myself. With my new vantage point, I rolled him off me, then scuttled away out of arm's reach.

  Alaric just sat on the mat smiling at me. “See? Now what did you learn?”

  I glared at him. “I learned that you're an ass.”

  He lunged for me again, and despite my best efforts I was on my back within a few seconds. This time he stretched his body over me, pinning me more fully.

  His mouth was only inches from mine when he asked softly, “Now what would you do in this situation?”

  I smirked. “I would probably headbutt you. Or,” I decided, “I could seduce my attacker into kissing me so I could bite out his tongue.”

  “Well I like the first part of that second option,” he said, bringing his lips even closer to mine.

  He was only a hair's breadth away when my pulse began to speed up, sending shivers through my entire body.

  “This isn't like any combat training I've ever seen,” a woman's voice stated from the doorway.

  I craned my neck to see an upside-down Sophie as she came to stand over us. I tried to wiggle out from underneath Alaric, but he wasn't budging.

  “Sure it is,” he argued, looking up at her. “I think any attacker coming after Maddy would definitely try to put her in just this position.”

  Sophie snorted. “You are such a lech.”

  Alaric finally rolled off me and helped me to my feet. “Well if you can manage to spar with her without being the least bit tempted, then be my guest.”

  I took a few steps back, not wanting to spar anymore with anyone. Sophie turned toward me with a mischievous grin. That grin was the only warning I had before she jumped me with much more force than her brother had used.

  Alaric side-stepped out of the way as I got to my feet and fled from Sophie, only to be knocked to the ground again. He chuckled to himself as he left us alone, despite my pleading look as Sophie pinned me to the floor.

  Once Alaric was gone, Sophie began to instruct me as she attacked me. Just as I'd guessed, she was a much more aggressive fighter than Alaric, and she was fast. She darted and dove around like a cat, which was an accurate description given that she was Bastet, just like Alaric.

  She had turned feline on me a few times since I'd come to the Salr, but only in small ways. Her eyes would often shift color and her pupils would become elongated, or sometimes canines much too long to be human would show when she smiled, replacing her normally dainty fangs. I'd only seen Alaric's eyes change once while he was fighting, and I'd seen his teeth during that same battle. Let's just say that they had changed beyond the delicate little canines that were apparent in Sophie's mouth.

  It was nearly impossible to fend Sophie off as she tackled me over and over again, shouting out instructions on what I should be doing to avoid her. The only problem with her method was that since she was telling me what to do, she knew how to counter my movements before I made them. I eventually stopped listening to her instructions in an attempt to get one step ahead of her, but it didn't do me much good.

  Finally she knocked me down one too many times and I refused to get back up. My entire body ached like I'd been hit by a truck. I expected Sophie to try and force me back up, but instead she sat down beside me.

  “You have feelings for my brother,” she observed without warning. She didn't look like she just had an hour long work-out. I probably looked like I'd been working out for a week straight.

  “I'm not sure,” I panted. Sure, we had chemistry, but chemistry and feelings were two very different things.

  “Well I'd advise against developing any,” she replied bluntly. “Not for his sake, but for yours.”

  “What do you mean?” I pressed, suddenly very interested in the conversation.

  “I like you,” she said. “You're very sweet, and Alaric would only hurt you.”

  I crossed my arms, taking on an offensive stance. “I can take care of myself.”

  These people obviously all just thought I was some mushy cream puff. I was really more of a muffin, or some other moderately firm baked good.

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “I'm trying to be nice here,” she chided. “Alaric's attention tends to shift quickly. I don't want to see you get all goo-goo-eyed just to have him shift his attention to someone else.”

  I thought about what she was saying, feeling a little sick at her explanation, but grateful for it as well. I didn't think Sophie would lie about her brother. Sure, they fought like cats and well . . . cats, but I also knew that they were very close. She wouldn't push me away just to hurt him. Still, it was hard to argue with the feeling of comfort I felt when I was around Alaric. I was drawn to him in ways I couldn’t explain. I didn’t know if it was just because he was Vaettir, like me, and I’d only been around humans previously, or something else. Whatever it was, it was hard to argue with.

  Sophie frowned as she watched my thoughtful expression slump into disappointment. The feeling in my heart might have been hard to argue with, but that wouldn’t stop me from trying. “I hope I didn't burst your bubble,” she apologized.

  I shook my head. “I know better than to try living in a bubble.”

  “Good,” she nodded to herself. “Very good.”

  Yeah, I knew better. The world was full of rusty needles just waiting to pop all of the shiny happy bubbles that came rolling along.

  Chapter Seven

  I wanted to ask Sophie more, but James came into the room and interrupted us. He didn't actually say anything, or even approach us, but his presence was enough to halt our conversation. He looked so harmless standing in the corner with his golden hair and country boy charm, until you got to his eyes. You could see the soul, or lack thereof, of a true sadist in those eyes.

  Sophie turned her attention from me and glared at him. “You don't get her until this evening,” she said coldly.

  “I need her now,” he said in a tone that made Sophie's iciness seem like mid-summer. “Maya isn't talking.”

  “That doesn't explain anything,” Sophie snapped, her voice quivering.

  James sighed. “I need Madeline to scare her,” he said in a taunting manner, though it seemed more like he was taunting Sophie than me.

  I raised my hand to join in the conversation. James and Sophie both turned their attention to me, and I wished I'd just sat quiet.

  “Um,” I began as I turned toward James, “no offense, but I'm guessing if you can't scare her, then I won't be of much help. I'm not exactly imposing.”

  Sophie laughed bitterly, but James answered, “The final death is a greater threat than any damage I can do.” He didn't seem happy about the admission.

  “Can I at least change first?” I asked looking down at my bare stomach.

  He glanced momentarily at my attire. “Make it quick.”

  With a final long, somehow me
aningful look at Sophie, James retreated from the room in a whirl of angry energy. That he didn't make any quips about my state of dress, or about Sophie and I “getting sweaty” together, made me think that this Maya woman had him seriously annoyed, but the look on Sophie's face told me there might be another reason.

  She glared at the space where James had been, reminding me of Alaric, only when Sophie did so, there were tears in her eyes.

  “You both really hate him, don't you?” I asked.

  “Both?” she questioned, turning her gaze to me as she quickly wiped the moisture off of her cheeks.

  “You and Alaric,” I amended. “Your brother wears a very similar look when James is around.”

  “Hate is a very complicated word. Mostly, I just don't trust him,” she answered quietly.

  “There seems to be a lot of that going around,” I mumbled, “but I get the feeling there's something else.”

  She looked at me for several seconds, and for a moment I thought she might actually explain the raw pain in her eyes, then she shook her head and turned away.

  “You should get dressed,” she ordered curtly. “I have things to do.”

  With that she stood and fled the room, practically running to get away from me. I sat for a moment longer, selfishly more concerned with my coming tasks than with Sophie's tears.

  I was supposed to go and threaten this woman with death. I'd never honestly threatened anyone before. It just didn't feel right, even though what I was threatening to do felt natural to me. I had accepted long ago that I'm just not a confrontational person. I'd much rather let things go and push people out of my life subtly than go around being a bully.

  I'd been told that the taking of life was in my nature, and in fact, was what I had been born to do. I could feel it too. I felt others pain as if it were my own, and by giving death I could take that pain away. Yet, growing up around humans and not knowing what I was had given me a different moral scope than what was common among the Vaettir.

  They didn't view what I did as evil, and in fact, viewed it as beneficial. To them, death was peace. Sure, they tried to live as long as possible just like most everyone else, but when death came, no one felt sorry for the deceased. They might mourn their loss, but they would never pity them. Still, the idea that death is bad was buried deep within my core beliefs, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling that what I was doing was wrong, especially when those I brought peace to had been tortured beforehand.