Chapter Seven: Confusion
"I don't understand."
We paused at the sound of someone's reedy voice ringing down the flashing hallway. A young wizard looked flustered as he hurried down the hall, clasping a vial in one shaking hand while the other swung madly. Fevered eyes swept ahead of him, looking for the source of the alarm. Stockinged feet slipped on the smooth flooring, his hair was unbrushed, and a pair of glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose.
"Get yourself together Seamus!"
His partner, an older man, was hurrying to strap leather guards to his arm. I nearly laughed as I watched him, encased in the cold of shadow just out of sight. What good were leather guards against the inferno that was spit from the mouth of a dragon? Both of them looked to be nothing more than two wizards, a mentor and a student, but I saw the blood splattered on their legs and the long-pronged objects strapped to their backs.
Calla's words came ringing back. "Let me hold the prongs for the little golden one. She's always so snappy."
My jaw hardened into a tight line. Keeping us shrouded like this was taking its toll. I could feel the faint touch of exhaustion burdening my shoulders, a faint sheen of sweat coating my lower back and my forehead. My nails dug into my palms as I cast Dem a long look.
Hidden like this, his eyes seemed to glow a maddening blue like all other colour was sucked from him. I could say the same about Gabriel, whose eyes were a strange and unnatural violet blue this time.
A voice echoed from down the hall. "How did they find us, Graeme?"
"They're ruthless beasts," the mentor spat; he was bald, with only a smattering of hair under his nose. He sported a fine beer belly, and each step seemed laboured. "They came for the Thundun Rider they captured; little bitch was playing us all this time."
They paused.
Just then, Dem seemed to step from nowhere, detaching himself from the darkness. I saw him shake his head, as if expelling the coldness that had clung to him. "Excuse me..."
These Seal members actually seemed to possess brains, as there was immediate caution as they watched him. They took in the riding leather, the blue line around his collar, and the seeing stone fit into the chest of the suit. A Rider's suit as plain as day.
"Who are you?" the one named Seamus snarled viciously.
The older one had gone pale. Demetrious Shaw wasn't as recognisable as Gabriel Basset; he was the rejected son, the one who had 'chosen' to love men and disgrace his father. Well, that's what Shaw liked to push, but there were still some who could recognise the dark hair and vividly bright eyes.
"You are supposed to be dead," the older male said – Graeme.
"Clearly your eyes are working quite well." The comment came out like the flick of a whip, his tone dry and merciless.
"You fell from a mountain!" he snarled back. "A mountain where no other Riders except for the trainees escaped. We knew the Yesan was injured and that the trainee Ashbourne Riders stayed back. How can you be alive?"
Gabriel stepped out smoothly, his blond hair slicked back. Those violet eyes were so cold. There was a hint of his father's haughtiness in the line of his jaw, but there was a mocking grin playing at the corner of his mouth. The familiar way that Dem and Gabriel lined up together was heart-warming. Gabriel had wanted to come after the Seal members like we had, but a lot of the excursions we went on were too risky; he would have been recognised in an instant.
"Just consider us very lucky," Gabriel said.
"Or that we have friends in high places."
Dem smiled like a cat playing with prey. He had no sympathy for these people – neither did Gabriel. We felt the viciousness inside of us all equally, a yearning that pushed at us relentlessly to find them. I may have been shadows and darkness, but Dem was the wildness of the ocean and Gabriel was the eruption of a volcano.
"Basset..." Graeme breathed. "Shaw, Basset...the young Thundun girl. Is – is she alive too?"
She.
It was a word coated in raw panic; it shuddered across his shoulders, drawing them tight as he faced down the two Riders. There was still a confidence to the two wizards' bodies, as if they felt they could still fight their way out.
Gabriel never answered that. "Where are our dragons?"
The mentor examined the terrible, violent grace of Gabriel's stance and the dark intent in his violet eyes. Any little witch-fire he would conjure would be pitiful in the face of a Changed Antasa Rider with a bone to pick. Even so, the air turned as the wizards conjured. The younger one grabbed the vial he was holding tighter, but blue fire danced along the fingers of the mentor.
"Don't be foolish," Dem said smoothly. "Tell him where his dragon is, and while you're at it, tell me where mine is too."
Jaw tensed, the mentor Graeme shook his head. "I do not know what you're referring to."
A storm brewed in Dem's expression and that mocking smile seemed to slip as his patience rubbed even thinner. "You took our soul-bounds, our twin-flames, and didn't expect any kind of retribution?"
The younger wizard went to speak, fear spasming across his face, but the mentor raised his hand swiftly. "No, Seamus. She'll be mad."
I wondered if the she was Marion Revel. Seamus was crying now and yanked his hand away from his mentor. His hands were shaking, his limbs trembling as he faced down the two men.
"Wing...wing C. The keys are in C-1."
Shadow slipped from my body like velvet pulling over my skin. Soft, a tickle against the hairs on the back of my neck, but I had none of the discomfort the others did. The mentor barely had time to blink in my direction before there was a blade cutting across his throat, digging through skin and sinew and through the artery. Blood sprayed outwards in a disgusting spurt and those panicked eyes were on me as he convulsed, falling to his knees.
My attention turned to the younger wizard as his mentor fell to his feet in front of me. Crimson pooled at my boots and I took a step back as the body's heavy weight sagged towards me.
"Please..." Seamus whispered. "Please."
There was such fear on his young face and his eyes were bright with tears. My hand stayed for a moment, guilt churning inside of me. "Let me ask you a question."
He was taller than me, like most people were, but he seemed to cower under the condemnation in my gaze. His shoulders hugged inwards and his grip on his vial was still shaking.
"Have you ever touched the Vidalin dragon?" I kept my voice soft and gentle.
"No..."
Truth.
"Have you ever seen him in pain?"
"No."
Lie.
"Have you ever used those prongs on the Vidalin dragon?"
His mouth opened and closed as he searched for an answer he thought would appease me.
"I – we had no choice. Marion Revel would punish us if we didn't do what she asked."
"Marion and I have something in common. We aren't very forgiving." I tried to ignore the panic crumpling his expression and focused instead on Nethore and the pain he would have suffered at the hands of people like Seamus who were only following orders.
"Plea—" A blade snapped out and the plea died as quickly as it began. I yanked the vial from the wizard's hands as he crumbled at my feet.
Casting a hooded look over him, I said, "Pleading never works. I learned that the hard way."
∞ ∞∞∞∞ ∞∞∞∞ ∞∞∞∞ ∞∞∞∞ ∞∞∞∞ ∞∞∞∞ ∞∞
Lights were flashing when we arrived. There was a sharp trilling sound echoing from somewhere in the facility, warning of the intruders in the sky. When they found the bodies of the Seal members dotting the hallways, they would learn of the infestation that had already permeated their halls.
Our blades were slick with blood, our hearts hardened against their pleas. They had done something sacrilegious in our eyes. To attack us was bad, but to hide our souls away from us and let that madness eat at us for five long months was something else entirely. Dem's hand probed the nasty wound on my shoulder and I felt the chill of his affinity sinking into my skin, soothing the irritated flesh where some sort of acid had eaten away at the metal guards.
"It's going to leave a scar, I think." Dem frowned down at me, the corners of his mouth hard with displeasure.
Small fingers grasped his wrist, tugging that hand away from me. Even though my body had filled out since my time in the Naughton mountains – my stomach was fuller, my hips rounder, but my muscles toned – there were still pockets of hollowness that had been scooped out by the abuse and would never be filled until I confronted what had happened to me. The events were still mostly hidden to my friends, the true horrors locked tightly in that rotting corner of my mind. It only leaked out when I saw something that reminded me of Naughton. I tried to remember that a scar was just a scar.
"Look." Gabriel pointed beyond us, surveying the entrance to Wing C. The ceiling pivoted upwards and the walls were marked by thick gouges that could only have been made by a creature as large as a dragon. Black, sooty marks scorched the walls like arrows that led down the flashing hallway.
Dem inched forward, sharp eyes sweeping straight for the first door which read 'C-1.' There was a line marking the entrance into the Wing, and as I looked up, I found the points of a gate that had been raised blinking down at me. A gateway would never keep a dragon out – there were other methods they used to keep them sedated and docile. Well, as docile as a dragon trapped could be.
Even as I looked down the hallway, squinting against those horrendous lights, I kept hope tightly leashed. If I let that golden warmth seep through me and lift my heart, only to find that Nethore wasn't here, I was afraid of the crash that would happen. Not only on me and my weakened hold on everything around me, but on my friends who had only glimpsed the dark sludge of my mind that only Nethore could wade through – could and would because it was nothing to him.
Dem left C-1 with four sets of keys swinging from his hand and a splatter of fresh blood across his armour. His eyes were glittering, dark and tumultuous as a sea's rage. I took the keys from his hands, feeling the slickness of warm blood on his fingers.
"Do you feel the air here?" he asked me quietly. "It's dead. Dry. How can they do this to them?"
"I don't know," I croaked. "People are bad."
Dragons were meant to feel the air under their wings. The world was theirs, spread out for miles below them as they drifted through clouds. To keep a dragon from the skies, chained in this cold and impersonal place was a sin; it was to keep a mermaid from water, or a Lycan from shifting. It was unnatural and sick, and I knew that it would have tormented Nethore because he spent most of his days in the sky, landing only to eat, to sleep and to see me.
The first doorway approached; it rose as far as the ceiling with a long bar fashioned as the handle. It was made of steel and looked vicious and impenetrable. Gabriel grasped the handle with no hesitance and gave it a shove. With a rasping shriek, the door began to slide over.
"What are the keys for then?" Violet eyes flashed towards us.
For once, there was no answer from Dem. Maybe he had one and the answer was something we did not want to hear. We would have to confront it eventually, but his tongue was tied.
"Neely!"
Pivoting on my heels, worry expelled itself with a breath as I saw two people that I desperately needed to see. Peter's armour was bloodied, his face ruthless, but it was the storm beside him that I knew was untameable. Her hair was unbound and wild, dark curls sprang behind her. Her dark, tanned skin was dotted with bruises and my attention fell to the harsh red line across her throat as if someone had tried to choke her.
When she grinned at us, there was blood on her teeth. Her gait was awkward, but stubbornly determined. "I'm alright, so stop looking at me as if I'm going to collapse or cry."
I nearly laughed. I had wanted to say that so many times before, but of course Jamie was the one with the balls enough to actually snap it out. She turned to Dem, our resident mother hen – of course he would deny that – and growled.
"I am fine, Dem. This is like sparring with Peter in training and he never means to hurt people. The Seal are sick people, but I was with them for less than a day. I am fine."
I was with them for less than a day.
The underlying message was that I had been with them for far longer, but I couldn't remember much of what the Seal did to me. My memories were focused around the demons in Naughton mountain, not the Seal.
Tawny eyes flickered in my direction and Jaime offered me a wry smile that I hoped meant she didn't utterly hate me for letting her be taken. Gabriel clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the door. Suddenly the reason why we were here, and why Jamie had those bruises, came back.
Muscles tensing, Gabriel pushed at the door. Dem joined him and then I did, grunting at the heaviness of the door. This one was built thick and heavy and even with the three of us pushing, opening it was a slow job.
"Move." Peter swatted us away like we were flies, and even though I had my own male I watched with fascination at the way those thick arms flexed, and at the effortless and powerful strength of the Yesan Rider's body as he pushed open that massive door with only the slightest huff of a struggling breath.
A cavernous room was revealed, pitch black and achingly cold. I felt the unnatural chill roll out, tainted with something that sent the shadows on my arms skittering, whispering to me about its evil.
Then, there came movement.
Chains rattled on the stone ground, a hiss sounding from the back. Gabriel let out a sudden breath and Peter's hand shot out, grasping him by the arm as his knees threatened to buckle. There came the click of talons off stone and then the darkness gave away to a drop of crimson and eyes burning from their sockets.
Demor.
The vicious beauty of crimson strained against thick chains, her claws digging into the stone. Her attention was fixed wholly on Gabriel, a whine sounding in her throat. It was the most vulnerable she had ever sounded. Gabriel took a shaking step towards her, tears wetting his cheeks.
My attention turned to the grey strikes on her body. Thick, unforgiving chains were wrapped tight around her body, trapping her wings, and there was one around her front of that looked like it would catch if she lunged and bring her careening into the ground.
A hand grasped my arm. "They're here."
For a second I gripped Dem's arm back, but I was silent. Tentatively, I turned inwards to the bond. Instantly I felt a shiver of awareness of his presence. A second passed, and it wasn't reciprocated. Frowning, I furrowed deeper into it and saw one thing: a black wall a mile thick encasing his mind, keeping everything and anything out.
Under that, I felt only one thing.
Pain.
I felt his mental agony as something tried to sink into that wall. It was a rotting touch; a foreign mind trying to access something that was only mine and his. Anger sunk into the line of my shoulders, cold and dangerous, and I turned away from the others as they opened their bonds to their dragons, accepting that the hope they were harbouring could be realised, finally.
I walked with determined purpose. I wasn't hurrying, but with every step the bond grew more receptive to my prodding and the sensation of Nethore's pain grew. To either side of me there were shadows growing along the walls, distorting my shape as if I were some beast stalking for flesh to ruin. Those little tendrils along my arms, curling among the leather of my gloves, had sharpened.
With every step, with every pulse of my heart, a word echoed.
Danger.
At the very end of the hall, there was a doorway. It was opened only a sliver, but there was no darkness rolling from it. Instead there were vicious and bright lights blaring from the inside, followed by the snap of a man's irritated voice. There was no hesitation, no doubt as I slipped through the doorway.
I could have been going to my death, but I would go willingly if it meant Nethore was there.
Lights assaulted me as I entered, tears burning in my eyes as I tried to reorient myself. My arrival, with the alarms shrieking in the distance and the soft thread of a dark boot, had come unnoticed. The room was smaller than Demor's, an insult to the beast encased inside of it. White floors were stained with blood, dried and fresh, and the same sound of dragging chains could be heard here too.
I ignored the man instantly, my attention shifting to the back of the room. Thick bindings were wrapped tight around Nethore's body and every limb was strapped down. It gave him no room to stretch or manoeuvre. Glorious wings of velvet obsidian had become weak and brittle in their misuse, chained to his sides by cold and unforgiving metal. There were open sores on his body, the scales brittle at his joints. I eyed the burn marks across his body from the electric prongs, a lick of rage moving up my throat.
Despite the scarring and the injuries, he was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. An old urge, long thought dead, rose to capture what I remembered of those velvet wings and what they would become again once I got him out of here.
"Let me in."
My attention snapped back to the man at his snarl. Even from behind, I knew who he was. Eli Ireli – the wizard who wanted to break Nethore's mind open. The wizard wanted to delve into the mind and bond that was only mine to share with him, but he had no idea of a bond-mate's possessiveness or the rage that could be evoked over such actions.
Again, I brushed against the bond.
This time, I felt a jolt of awareness. There was still that wall of pure obsidian, but I could see the chips in it, worn down by weariness and the sharp throb of hunger. But there was no hopelessness or grief. His resolution was strong, his spirit unbroken by what the wizards had done to him.
Nethore and I were so different that way.
His eyes opened, stormy blue and laced with anger. Warmth settled into my bones, mellowing the rage that had chased me, and the first tears began to spring to my eyes. It was silent and wonderful, a feeling only experienced by two souls who truly belonged to each other. It was a second of calm in a screaming storm, a flash of warmth in the winter.
There was a crack in that wall and I heard it finally – the deep tremble of his voice, gritty, and yet it reminded me of a coil of smoke. Somehow, he managed to sound amused.
"Human."
"Nethore," A smile pressed into the corners of my mouth. "My name is Neely."
He blinked at me.
"You found me."
"You told me to."
Those eyes shut again, pain rippling through the bond before he pulled that dark wall down again fully. "I knew you would."
He sounded sure and confident. He never doubted that I would come for him – there was nothing in his mind that would poison him against the surety of a human's actions. Shadowed hands long and viciously pointed curled along the handles of the door. It shut with an echoing bang and silence descended in this bright cell.
Eli turned, his expression creased in annoyance, but that was quick to vanish as he spotted me just standing there, staring at him. I was a small figure, dressed wholly in black. I didn't need to turn to know that behind me, my shadow was stretched outwards and darkened hands tapped sharp claws on the metal, feeding on my rage. The blaring lights that once chased away any hint of shadow were dimming now – the combined strength of the Vidalin Rider and dragon were feeding off each other, my strength seeping into Nethore's bruised joints.
"You...you're...."
My smile was tight. "Neely Lynch? The Vidalin Rider?"
Eli blinked at me, but I saw a hand moving to his side. Nethore's eyes were open again, blazing and bright while aggression laced his shoulders. A snarl rasped from his throat.
"I'm not happy with you, Eli Ireli. I think it's time we had a talk."