Desire, page 19
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. All clear, all shiny. Nineteen…
A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back, making him stop. Kylan shook his head, glancing around.
“You were about to walk straight into the fountain,” Alana said.
“Oh, well… thanks.” He cleared his throat, recalling her statement about giving him more shit to do. “Why do you want to give me more responsibility? I won’t stay.”
“Because we need every available adult, Kylan. Eero is pushing on the border, we’re juggling with the numbers.” She tilted her head. “You know it. You helped him plan it.”
Kylan swallowed and walked around the fountain. “He’s withdrawing forces to defeat the rebels. Your people can breathe. You don’t need me.”
“For how long? A week? Two?” She shook her head. “With you, we stand a chance. You know how he thinks. You can help.”
Kylan halted in the middle of the stairs and stared at her. “You’re talking about war.”
“A war is coming,” Tom said from above them. “You need to choose a side, Whitestone. We can’t make our next move with a spy among us.” He turned his gaze to Alana. “A letter came from Ugresh. Signed by G.M. E.W. Did you reach out to them?”
Alana shook her head and jogged up the stairs. “What does it say?”
Tom gave the paper to Alana. “Some ritual sacrifices are going on. With this symbol.” Tom pointed at the paper. “They’re asking for our help.” He looked at Kylan. “This person also wants a report on you. Apparently a fake one.”
Kylan frowned and looked at the paper over Alana’s shoulder. He didn’t recognize the symbol. It looked like horns floating over water and a drop of blood at the top. But he recognized the handwriting.
“It’s from my grandfather.”
Alana tilted her head to look at him. Her scent hit his nose, clouding his mind with desire, and he tried hard to convince himself not to think of her lips, but his gaze shifted to her mouth, anyway.
“Egon?” Alana asked. “He says he wants to know what you want and what he should tell the king.”
“Cool, we got the E.W. part,” Tom said. “But what does G.M. stands for? And it was addressed to Declan.”
Kylan shrugged. “G.M. can be anything. Egon was a general, a personal guard, and he is a Master and a governor. Egon has many titles.”
“Grand Master,” Declan’s voice rang from behind. “He’s letting us know that Eero doesn’t know about this, and he won’t report anything we don’t want Eero to know.”
Kylan gaped at Declan, who once again surprised him with his knowledge about their culture. “Are you sure?”
When Declan nodded, Kylan burst out laughing and ignored the others’ looks. He knew he looked like a lunatic. Of course, Egon knew everything, many times even before Eero, he was the leader of the only organizations that had members everywhere.
“Kylan?” Alana touched his arm. “What does Grand Master mean?”
Kylan forced himself to stop laughing. “It means Egon is the leader of the Order of the Ember Rose. The only organization in Defreine which has influence over everything. They’re loyal to the crown, and do the king’s dirty work, but they also make sure high power positions are secure. That everyone gets their title by… honoring the traditions. They collect knowledge from all around the world. They choose their members via secret invitation and only the best of the best are chosen. No one knows who they are.”
Declan took the letter from Alana and skimmed through it. “Do you recognize this symbol?”
Tom shook his head. “The style of lining suggests it’s something ancient. We haven’t used symbols like this for centuries. We only use runes.” Tom looked at it again. “The water usually stands for life, the blood is for sacrifice, but I don’t know what these horns mean. It can be power, strength, or anything.” To Kylan, he said, “Take off your shirt.”
“What?”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Just take it off. You have an ancient symbol on you.”
“No, I don’t.”
Tom snorted. “It’s called the Soul Rune for a reason, Whitestone. It’s there. A spiral locked in a circle. Well, it looks more like a grotesque octopus, but they say it’s a circle with the threads of life. Just take off your damn shirt and I’ll show you.”
Kylan hesitated, but he did as Tom asked. When Tom stepped up to him and put his fingers on his chest, Kylan jerked away.
“I don’t like your magic.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “You live with a witch spell burned into you. Just stay put.”
Kylan let Tom touch him. Tom’s fingers were in the middle of Kylan’s chest, on his name. A moment later, Tom chanted something under his breath, barely audible even with his shifter hearing.
Sharp, burning sensation formed in Kylan’s skin under Tom’s fingers and he gritted his teeth. He was about to pull away when Tom finished with his spell and stepped back. The symbol Tom mentioned vibrated in bright orange light in the middle of Kylan’s chest. A spiral, locked in a circle right under Kylan’s name. From there, thin lines ran to every name, connecting all of them. The middle of the spiral looked like it had a dimension inside Kylan.
“What the fuck did you do?”
Tom shrugged. “This is the spell they burn inside every nobleman in your country. The circle connects you with those you killed, and the spiral connects you to everyone else. That’s why their names burn inside you. The original anchor was Donovan Whitestone, connecting everyone, but no one knows who it is now.” He pointed at the spiral. “It goes into your soul, and beyond. The anchor had a similar spell. But instead of a spiral, it had only one dot with multiple strings radiating from it. Like a stylized sun or star.”
“Awesome,” Kylan growled. “Now, make it go away. My chest had enough stuff on it without this spiderweb like shit.”
“I can’t.” Tom grinned. “Give it a few hours. It’ll settle back.”
Kylan dragged his t-shirt back on, trying to ignore the orange glow of his chest. “Really helpful, Tomas. Thanks.”
Alana read the letter again. “I think we should give Eero the report he wants.” She looked at Kylan. “But what do you want Egon to know?”
Kylan shrugged. He wanted Egon to know he was doing fine. That he saw why emotions weren’t bad, and that Egon was right. But he couldn’t say it out loud. “Tell him whatever you want to tell him.”
Alana nodded.
“I want to read the reply before you send it,” Tom said. “And I want to go back to Nesael after the funeral. I have a feeling the magic outbursts at the portal are connected to the sacrifice.”
“That’s kind of a long shot,” Kylan said.
Tom shrugged. “Something is going on there. The letter Eliza wrote…” He trailed off, worry crossing his features before shrugging it off. “I just want to check things out.”
“I’ll go with you,” Alana said.
Kylan frowned. “Isn’t that the place you got crippled?” He smiled when Tom shot him an angry look. He turned to Alana. “I’m coming with you. There is no way I’ll let you go there alone.”
“Okay. But that makes your stay official.”
Kylan grimaced at that, but this wasn’t the time to argue. “We’ll talk about that.” He turned away and headed to his room.
“You need to make a decision, Whitestone. And soon,” Tom called after him.
Kylan closed his eyes and took a sharp breath. “Don’t you think I know that?” he muttered.
Frustrated by the orange glowing of his chest, and too worked up from the sexual desire in his body, he changed his direction and went to the gym. It took him no time to wrap his hands and start abusing a punching bag.
Every punch, every kick, echoed through the gym as Kylan beat the punching bag. The constant nightmares were one thing, but this tension in his muscles—in his heart—was new, and he needed to beat it out of his system. But it didn’t matter how hard he hit the bag, he couldn’t get rid of it.
With every punch, every exhale, a bolt of emotion erupted from him and images flashed in front of his eyes. Alana’s parted lips, the desire and need in her eyes, her gentle words. Her taste, her scent. The warmth and calmness that spread in his chest, filling his body. The way his heart beat when he touched her. There was guilt too. He would betray her. He would go home and this would be nothing but memories, a few joyful moments that will be drowned out by the terrors of his life. His real life, not this dreamlike lie he was living.
Alana had tried to convince him to stay, to face Eero and his army with them, but, without the Rune, Kylan wouldn’t be able to bear the consequences of his action. His concubines would be vulnerable, thrown to someone else, or worse. His father could claim them.
A war. Hundreds, if not thousands, of lives would end if he acted selfishly and stayed to satisfy his lust and desire. Hoping he could be a better man and escape from the darkness and the monster within.
With Alana, he might be able to overcome his demons. But sooner or later she would see him as he was and not just the part of him she wanted to see. And then she would leave. He had no choice but to go home before that happened.
“Dorian wants to talk to you.”
Declan’s voice startled him and his next punch went sideways, injuring his wrist. “Fuck.” He shook his hand, then rolled down the bondage to see how bad it was. Kylan circled his wrist, flexed his fingers, then sighed. Thankfully, it was nothing more than a momentary discomfort.
He turned to Declan. “What if I don’t want to talk to him?”
“He’ll die soon, Kylan. Give this to him.” Declan’s gaze was firm, but there was also understanding in it. “And to yourself.”
Kylan snorted, hiding his guilt behind it. Because as much as he tried to ignore it, he blamed himself for the man’s condition. It was just one of the many things on the never ending list of why he couldn’t stay here, why he wasn’t good enough for Alana.
“So your prodigy witch has failed.”
“He did what he could.” Declan’s voice held a cold edge that made it obvious Kylan shouldn’t ask more about the topic.
Which was quite interesting because Alana had held high hopes that Tom would be able to heal Dorian. But it wasn’t just her. It felt like every witch, and most of the mages, breathed easier when Tom had arrived. Almost like he was some kind of miracle worker. And yet, it looked like the young witch had failed.
“He’ll die no matter what I do.” He picked up a bottle of water and took a swing from it. “There’s no point in talking.”
“It’s what we do here, Kylan.”
And that hit its mark. It was something people did here, which meant it was something he needed to do to fit in. Not that it mattered. Dorian knew why he’d come, so did Alana, and he hadn’t been kicked out yet.
“Fine.” He finished his water. “I’ll talk to him.”
He walked around Declan, giving him side glances as he tried to figure out why the man was so familiar, but once again, he came up empty. His eyes, his posture, even the way he talked, were oddly familiar to him, but at the same time, it wasn’t.
A part of him wanted to stall, take a shower before going to Dorian, but another part of him just wanted to get it over with. So, he went straight to the man’s room. He’d seen death more times than he could count. He’d seen this poison kill too, so he was prepared for it when he stepped inside Dorian’s room.
What he wasn’t prepared for was the emotional punch to his gut when he saw the man. His green line covered face was twisted with pain. His paper-like skin held a yellow tone and, with every breath, the man flinched from pain. Blood dotted the corners of his mouth, and the same red dots were scattered on his sheets too. This wasn’t the way Kylan would want to die. Fuck, he didn’t wish this on his enemies, either.
“You wanted to see me,” he said, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible, but it slightly cracked anyway.
“Yes.” If it wasn’t for Kylan’s shifter hearing, he wouldn’t have heard the whisper that left Dorian’s lips. “She’ll need your guidance.”
Kylan snorted and leaned to the wall next to Dorian’s bed. “If that’s your attempt to be funny, you failed.”
A small smile pulled on Dorian’s lips. “You’re the only one who won’t be affected by my death, Kylan. You’re strong, a born leader, and she listens to you. Help her.” Dorian lifted his gaze, his eyes a deep shade of red around the gray of his iris. “She was right about you. You deserve a chance for another life. You wouldn’t be the first one to join us.”
Kylan shook his head. “He won’t let me go. I can’t risk it.”
Eero liked keeping him close, having him home. He’d use anything to get Kylan back, kill anyone who stood in his way. And even if that didn’t work, harboring a traitor was more than enough for Eero to start the war he’d been dreaming about.
“Just think about it.” Dorian tried to cough, but there wasn’t enough strength in him to do it. “You can give her what I couldn’t. Just help her through the difficulties of the next few weeks.”
“I’ll do what I can,” he agreed, because he had a feeling Dorian would be unmovable on this. The man was either a bad judge of character or the poison had taken his mind. He wasn’t fit to guide anyone through any emotional shit. He couldn’t even deal with his own feelings.
“Anything else? Someone else I need to care for after your death?”
A weak chuckle escaped Dorian. “It’s nice that you don’t feel the need to pamper me. Actually,” he looked into Kylan’s eyes, “that’s why I asked you here. I need you to help me die.”
Every muscle in his body tensed under Dorian’s determined gaze. “I won’t kill you.”
Dorian waved then pointed at his nightstand, the motion taking effort. “Just hand me the vial from the drawer.”
Kylan pushed himself off the wall, curious about what Dorian hid in there. Probably some pain killers, sleeping potions, maybe drugs. When he lifted the vial with the strawberry pink liquid in it, his eyes widened. This wasn’t something he expected to see.
“Kiss of death?”
Dorian nodded. “Open it and give it to me.”
Kylan hesitated. His actions had started the events that lead here, and now he was supposed to end it? If he gave Dorian the potion it wasn’t much better than driving a knife through his heart. Sure, this was painless and gentle, but he’d be helping him die either way.
“Kylan.” His eyes snapped at Dorian. “No one else would do it. You understand. You know why I want to end it this way. Just give it to me, then leave.”
Of course, he understood it. Dorian wanted to die on his own terms, and not in pain and misery. With this, he could save at least a tiny bit of his dignity. With this, he was the one who decided what would happen.
“I’m sorry,” Kylan said and placed the opened vial in Dorian’s hand.
“You didn’t do this. It was your father.” Dorian swallowed the potion, then relaxed back. “And now, the rest is on me.” The pain eased in his eyes. “I’m glad I got to know the man under the spell. Take care of her, Kylan.”
“I’ll love her the best I can.”
Dorian smiled, then closed his eyes. It would take some time for him to die, but at least he’d die in peace.
The muttered admission twisted his heart, knowing too well he reached a point where his next step would determine his future. And he had yet to figure out what direction he should go from here.
Chapter 27
Alana
Alana paced outside of Dorian’s room, chewing her thumb, debating if she should interrupt Kylan and Dorian, or violate their privacy and peek inside their heads. Neither options were acceptable. When she tasted blood, she dropped her hand and chewed the other.
Despair rose in her chest with every anxious step she took. The cure had failed. It was too late. Everything was too late. Without Dorian, she had no idea how to keep her powers in check, or take on the responsibility that, by tradition, would fall onto her shoulders. There was no one else to guide her.
The door opened and Kylan stepped out, his face lined with concern and guilt. Despite the heated kiss they’d shared only an hour ago, Kylan was pulling away. Keeping his distance and fighting the connection between them. But even now, she saw the desire in his eyes before he pushed it down, his guilt filled gaze landing on her.
Alana stepped to him, holding back the urge to find comfort in his embrace. “How is he?”
“He’s resting.” Kylan grabbed her arm as she stepped to the door. “He doesn’t have much time left.”
Alana nodded, swallowing back tears. There were so many things she wanted to say to Dorian, and so little time.
“Treat him like a human being, Alana. He doesn’t need your pity. He needs peace.” His voice was hard, cold even, like he was trying to keep his own emotions at bay.
Alana steadied herself and stepped inside Dorian’s bedroom. His eyes were closed, and a thin layer of sweat covered him. Alana lifted her hand in front of her mouth when she didn’t see his chest rising.
“I’m not dead yet,” Dorian whispered.
Relieved that she still had time with him, Alana sat at the edge of his bed and chewed on her already healed thumb.
“Alana.” He coughed blood into his hand and took a shallow breath. “You have to stay strong. You can do this.”
She looked away, spotting the vial on the nightstand. She recognized it immediately, and the realization that Dorian was about to die hit her hard. The already cracked walls around her emotions collapsed and she burst out in tears, bending over to hug Dorian. His arms wrapped around her, but his strength was nowhere to be found. Yet he was still there, still taking care of her.
“I can’t.”
Another wave of cough shook him, and Alana wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.
“Do you want some water?” she asked, lifting a glass.
Dorian took a small sip, but coughed back most of it. Pain distorted his face.
“You have to.” He took a gravelly breath. “Your father will help you. And Kylan,” he swallowed, “Kylan will give you what I couldn’t.”
