by Max Andren
Sterling was more reserved. He would answer direct questions, but didn’t volunteer information as readily as DeChadik. Their personalities were completely opposite of each other.
“Sterling, how did you and DeChadik come to travel together?” Ian asked from across the table.
I was so glad he asked that question, as I couldn’t picture them hanging out and being friends. Not at all!
Unsurprisingly, DeChadik answered. “When the messenger left Romania, I left with him to start the process as soon as possible. He told me that he knew of a clan without a leader and felt they were in dire need of help. He said we would stop there first and then travel to the States.”
We all waited to see how Sterling would respond to that not so veiled insult. But he was an utter disappointment, I thought while smiling.
Sterling had looked up from his plate, fork arrested mid-air, to gaze in DeChadik’s direction. His face devoid of expression or emotion. His lack of response was not all surprising.
“Interesting that this messenger would know all about Sterling’s clan. I have no doubt that he’s a very capable leader, “ Isabella said in Sterling’s defense, when he would offer none for himself.
Dinner continued and afterwards we all went our separate ways. DeChadik thanked Cipriano and the family for our hospitality and stated that he would be leaving tonight after resting for a bit. He decided to take advantage of the darkness to travel home tonight, instead of waiting until tomorrow.
Ian and Isabella wished him well then left, hand-in-hand, for their nightly walk through the gardens and around the estate. Isabella had an affinity for plants and the flora and fauna thrived under her doting. She treated the flowers as if they were her, be-leafed and delicately petaled, babies.
Ian helped her with the gardens when we were at the estate in Kansas City—we all did. There was something quite soothing about working with the soil and coaxing the budding plants to life and into full bloom.
The hothouse was one of my favorite places to be. The heady, exotic perfume of the flowers, especially the roses, lilacs, the mock orange trees, gradually supplanted the noxious stench from the asylum dungeon. It clung tenaciously to my olfactory memories haunting me with the horrid memories of my confinement.
Dreah decided to go to her room to watch TV, but I suspected she might watch videos of her parents. We had rescued them from her house before they were lost or taken and destroyed by someone.
The pain of seeing and hearing her parents was excruciating. I knew it was, because I sat with Dreah every time she watched those videos, reminiscing, then held her body, as she shook with the force of her grief in the aftermath. At times, I worried she’d shake herself into a million shards of sadness.
To love and be loved like that was unfathomable for me, but I was learning.
She refused to forget them—what they looked like or the intonation of their voices. Her strength and determination were impressive, as was her warrior heart.
Thankfully, time had dulled grief’s edge and she could appreciate the memories without having to drown in despair.
The love I had for Dreah and my chosen family was fierce and unconditional. I would die for them—without hesitation.
Cipriano and the twins went to the great room with Sterling. I wasn’t tired, but didn’t feel much like socializing, so I decided to go to the music room.
I should have gone to bed.
9
Why do I feel the need to torture myself? My demons do it on a regular basis within the dreaming—that should have been enough, but no, evidently I had to join in with a little self-inflicted pain.
I really should have gone to bed, but I didn’t.
As I made my way to the music room, I happened to see Ian and Isabella through the french doors. They were walking through the garden enjoying some alone time, which is why we’d returned to the estate in the first place. We had finally taken some time away from sanctuary and the business of getting the incoming clans settled into their new homes.
Sterling and DeChadik had interrupted our respite, but it was our mission to unite the clans, so these interruptions were to be expected. Eventually, we would learn how to balance the constant demands for our time with caring for ourselves amidst the chaos.
Tonight, I was hoping the music room would be that oasis of peace for me.
I loved playing the cello, but did so for pleasure now and not so much for creating my musical protection. Cipriano was right in that, it really was a mental exercise to create a shield, though initially it had helped me to visualize what I needed to do.
The first notes of protection I’d ever created were in my dungeon hell at the asylum. I hadn’t known what I was doing, I’d only wanted to shut out the screaming voices of the lost, as I liked to call them—they’d been inconsolable at the time. Later, I would dub them ‘the collective’, my people, my brethren, and they were all dragons.
I’d always loved playing music, especially the piano. So creating music had been a natural way to temper the pain from the voices ripping at my mind.
As I waited to die—those golden notes had floated around me in the oppressive darkness—shocking me with their appearance. At the time, I’d thought those shimmering, translucent notes were a figment of my imagination, a hallucination of my dying mind. But those beautiful musical notes had been the first iteration of my musical shield—a rudimentary attempt, in comparison to the shield I utilized now.
I’d played with various ways to protect myself, including stacking bricks within my mind, but that had felt mentally laborious to use and reminded me too much of dying in the dark suffocation of the dungeon basement at the asylum. However, I adamantly refused to use the piano as a way to learn as there were too many horrible memories associated with it from my past and chose to use the cello instead.
Technically, I didn’t have to physically play the cello to weave the notes for my shield, but it helped. Besides, the cello had become my solace and my voice—the notes weeping when I could not.
When I entered the music room tonight, I did something I hadn’t done since I was a child of eight years old—I sat down at the piano.
My shaking, indecisive fingers hovered over the avoided, but not forgotten, piano keys, as my heart and mind warred for supremacy. I finally gave into the compulsion and set my fingers lightly upon the black and whites of the Bösendorfer Imperial Grand.
The keys felt foreign and yet, familiar under my questing fingers. They caressed a melancholic tune from the piano, a reflection of the emotions I stuffed behind my, “I have it all together,” façade. Like the cello, the piano was a weeping reflection of my soul.
Something was pulling these emotions forward today, perhaps the sorrow of Sterling’s story. I didn’t know, so I quit trying to analyze what I was feeling and gave in to the emotions. The golden notes floated through the air around me, sad and beautiful all at once.
“You play beautifully, Charani, but my heart fare weeps with the sadness of your music.”
My fingers hit the keys with a hard, discordant sound, “DeChadik, I didn’t hear you come in.” I said, perturbed at the interruption.
I’d been so lost in the music that I hadn’t heard his approach. How long had he stood there listening before making his comment? I would have rather experienced this monumental moment in peace and privacy.
“I apologize for interrupting. I’ll leave you to your music,” DeChadik said, before turning to leave.
“Wait. I do apologize. I haven’t played the piano for some years and it…”
“Think nothing of it,” he said, stopping before the french doors that opened out to the west gardens, “I should rest, in any case. I was at loose ends, tired and yet excited for the next stage of my life…for my clan’s life. I’ll bid you goodnight and let you get back to making those keys cry.”
Looking out to where his gaze had been captured, I saw Ian and Isabella walking hand-in-hand. Not realizing he had an audience, Ian suddenly pul
led Isabella into his arms and kissed her with a passion I didn’t understand and had never experienced.
My heart felt dead in that regard because despite the numerous clansmen I’d met over the past few years, not one had stirred my heart. If a mate existed for me, I had yet to meet him. I feared he may have already been killed by the drampires to supply their thirst for immortality.
That would be more to my luck. I had mixed feelings about mates and their commitment to each other. How does one surrender all that they are; and, know that if they died, their mate would die, too? I didn’t think that level of connection was for me.
DeChadik avidly watched their passionate moment, staring intently at the mated pair. They made beautiful mates and were so cute together, often finishing each other sentences. They had been mated for some time now.
Ian was a Phoenix Dragon, like Cipriano and I. He had a black stripe through his auburn hair, whereas Cipriano’s dark hair had a white stripe and my long black hair had a red stripe. We were each different, though still shared the dragon essence similarities.
Isabella had the purest soul and was just as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside. She was fiercely devoted to her family and would kill anyone that dared to hurt them. But she had a sweet temperament that matched her delicate features. She reminded me of Violet—her beauty was ethereal.
Isabella had long chestnut hair and unusual eyes. They were a beautiful blend of sage green and amber—with the amber radiating from their center, like a star. I’d never seen eyes like hers before and just loved their uniqueness. She told me it was a defect called ‘central heterochromia.’ I didn’t see it as a defect and luckily she didn’t either.
Ian suddenly dropped to his knees before Isabella and placed his cheek against her abdomen—wrapping his arms around her hips. Then cupped her abdomen and placed a kiss there, as if for their unborn child growing safe within.
I barely contained my gasp, but DeChadik wasn’t able to censor his and let it fly. The impact of what this could mean for them, for us and for the dragon culture as a whole was enormous.
Besides me, their child would be the first dragon to have been born in centuries. Their child would be the next generation and the dragons’ new hope. I would protect their child with my very life—we all would.
DeChadik nodded and said goodnight and I was left alone with my mixed feelings for company.
Later that night, I was awakened by the sound of Dreah crying out in her sleep. I pulled on my robe and hurried down the hallway to her room. Sterling met me at her door. I looked at him questioningly and he merely raised his eyebrow.
We walked into the room together. Dreah was sitting up in her bed crying—lost in whatever vision held her captive.
10
I scowled at him. I wanted to protect Dreah. I didn’t want anyone to know she experienced these prophetic visions, especially, Sterling and DeChadik, wherever he was, two strangers in our household. The fewer people that knew, the better it would be for Dreah.
I hurried to her side and sat on the bed next to her and picked up her hand. I held her ring next to my skin and knew from experience that it would be warm to the touch. The ring was my gateway to Dreah’s mind…
Hulbetto was wielding Aiden, the Sword of Dramascus, against a man with dark hair and blue eyes. The man was in a fight for his life. Though bleeding from multiple wounds, he refused to bow down under Hulbetto and his sword.
I watched as he attempted to shift, but couldn’t. He was mortally wounded and they both knew.
This was a vision from the past because I had killed Hulbetto a few years ago, but despite that, I could feel the emotions coming from the man. There was a sense of inevitability. He was angry and sad, full of regret and of love. He was worried for his mate and her safety.
I could feel all of his emotions, as if they were my own. His desire to kill Hulbetto and his determination to return to his mate were palpable. My heart ached for what I realized would occur.
His attention was focused solely on Hulbetto, so he didn’t realize the apprentice had snuck up behind him. I wanted to call out a warning to him, but caught myself before the words could be vocalized. I looked at Dreah, empathizing for what she must likewise be feeling as we watched the defenseless man fight to live.
The apprentice drew back his bowstring, notched his arrow of Damascus steel and unleashed it to find a home straight through the man’s back and out through his heart. Shock and pain etched his face, but remorse and longing were evident in his voice as he cried out with his impotent fury.
Before he closed his eyes and died among the standing stones, he managed a final whispered, “I love you, Júlia. Stay strong, my beloved.”
The scene flashed to a beautiful woman with blonde hair and bright green eyes—wide with shock and shimmering with tears. She reached out her hand, as if to touch her mate one last time before he disappeared, though she knew she’d follow him shortly.
I was pulled from the vision when I felt a hand rest upon my shoulder. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know it was Cipriano. I saw that Sterling was at the end of the bed in a watchful, yet guarding stance. A lone sentinel, he watched over Dreah and I, scanning our faces—for what, I wasn’t sure.
When Dreah emerged from her vision, Sterling walked closer and knelt down beside her. The twins came in and scowled at Sterling for daring to be near her.
“Are you all right, little one,” he asked gently.
Dreah turned to Sterling, assessing him with her gaze. To give him credit, he let her look her fill without so much as a blink of his blue eyes. She nodded in response to his question and then turned to address the room.
“May I please speak with Sterling and Charani alone?” Dreah asked.
Though reluctant to leave, everyone complied. Once the three of us were alone and the door was shut, she explained to Sterling what she’d seen within her mind—mirroring what I’d seen as well.
“I saw the ancient drampire, Hulbetto, kill a male dragon with the Sword of Dramascus,” she told Sterling.
“I wondered whether the sword was real or a myth. We’ve all heard rumors, but no one I know has ever seen it, or rather lived to say that they had. I’m sorry you had to witness such brutality,” Sterling told to Dreah.
“I’ve seen his brutality first hand and felt it, as he carved into my skin,” she said, showing him her scars. “Hulbetto killed my parents and stole their dragon essence,” she told him simply.
The scars marring her skin were nearly gone now, but they were the indelible reminders from her time with Hulbetto. It was the invisible ones that refused to fade or to heal. They continued to bleed with her pain and her grief at the loss of her parents.
Dreah continued, “The man was mortally wounded, but fought to live. He fought to reach his beloved mate.”
“We mate for life and are eternally bonded, so any dragon would have fought until his last breath was stolen from him. His mate would have died, too, I’m sorry to say. It’s the way of the dragon.”
“Yes,” I said, agreeing with Sterling.
Cipriano and the others had taught Dreah and I all about dragon culture and lore.
“Before I was pulled from the vision, I saw his mate. Her eyes were wide with shock and filled with unshed tears, and..
With her imminent death,” I finished.
Dreah turned to look at me with a compassion I didn’t pretend to understand. She held out her hand for me to hold and reached for Sterling’s. She placed our hands, so that her hand and the ring, were sandwiched between ours. She clearly wanted us both touching her ring.
She opened her mind to the vision again and gave Sterling a taste of what she’d seen.
His eyes were closed as the vision opened. Once again I saw Hulbetto wielding Aiden and the dark-haired man covered in injuries. Sterling gasped and his eyes flew open.
He looked at Dreah and at me. Pain etched on his face, as if he, too, had felt the man’s pain.
Th
e vision continued but picked up where it had left off for me, when Cipriano had touched my shoulder. The dark-haired man had died and his beautiful mate had felt his death tear through her soul, knowing she was next, or so I thought…
She reached out her hand, as if to touch her mate one last time before he disappeared, though she knew she’d soon follow. With her other hand, she gently cradled her abdomen where their beloved, yet unexpected child rested quietly under her heart.
It was my turn to gasp. My heart ached for their child. That child lost its father before it was ever born and then its mother shortly thereafter—basically delivered into this world an orphan—courtesy of Hulbetto.
I understood that pain and so did Dreah, as we were both orphans. Her parents had been killed by Hulbetto and mine had given me away.
The vision ended, but we remained silent in its aftermath.
Sterling looked at Dreah and then turned to me, shock evident on his face, his emotions evident in his broken whisper, “I didn’t know she was with child.”
11
“Did you know this woman, Sterling? This man?” I asked.
“I did,” he said. “They were the leaders of our clan.”
“Her name was Júlia and her mate was Kristóf. Despite being mated, they chose to stay with their clan, rather than go into hiding. They wanted to be an example of strength and determination. We are a strong race, but somehow the drampires still managed to hunt us down, reap our dragons of their essence, and kill our brethren.”
“Charani? Sterling?” Dreah interjected, “There’s more,” she said, holding out her hand.
I placed my hand over hers and Sterling placed his under and we waited for the next vision to start. I grabbed her other hand and braced myself for what would unfold within the landscape of Dreah’s mind…
