Caged by Damnation (21 page)

CHAPTER 14

Savannah's Journal

Wars are peculiar events. They are inevitable and yet they cause utter destruction. Lives are lost and many of them are loved by others. Why, then, do they continue?

Demons and Angels have fought since the beginning of time and humans turn to death as the solution to their disagreements. Once a war is past, both groups look back at the chaos and wonder what went wrong; why did they think such a rash decision was warranted? Couldn't a simple conversation have solved those problems? Perhaps, the war never truly ends, but they find ways to hide it? Suddenly a mask becomes a guerrilla attack and a smile the deception.

Battles will never make sense to me, especially ones involving demons. Most of the time, they were content to remain in their own world. Yet, the death of a single Archdemon results in an attack on a compound, brimming with innocents. Couldn't they have singled me out? Could this have been their game all along, to make me pay with the lives of those around me, knowing that it was my fault? Why was I doomed to witness sacrifices in my name?  

SAVANNAH

I awoke to a throbbing headache, expecting to find myself buried in blood, or the corpses of the dead. Instead, I was somewhere else entirely, lying in a twin-sized bed. It was nothing fancy, with a peach colored down comforter and bars on either side to keep me from falling off. The window was open, allowing sunlight to stream into the room, lighting the wooden walls and a single oak dresser, chair, and mirror.

Sitting up, it was obvious that my injuries had not completely healed. When I looked down, I wondered if healing had occurred at all. My white pajama top showed signs of torn stitches in my abdomen; my arms were covered in scrapes and bruises.

Walking to the full-length mirror, I was struck by the zombie before me. The skin around my eyes made a canvas of black, blue, purple, and greenish-yellow. My cheek was badly swollen, and my bottom lip was split down the side. Taking the sheet from the bed, I draped it over the mirror. I didn't need to view evidence of my trials.

Where was I? Outside the window, I could see a field beside trees, reminding me of the secluded country. A white fence surrounded a garden and what I assumed was a house, which I was currently standing in. Vines climbed the stone wall beside my window, sprouting roses. I could see a simple deck protruding from around the corner, complete with a cement clearing and birdbath at its center. The sight of such beauty made me feel more rested than I had in a long time.

Reluctant to be sucked back into the drama, I traced the stitching in the drapes around the windows. The soft rose and ivory scrollwork was beautiful and perfectly matched the bowed ceiling. The floor was the same wood as the walls, and a slate gray rug lay beneath the bed. Beyond the bed were two doors; one was open, revealing a bathroom with hardly enough room for a single, petite woman. It was rustic, containing essentials, but nothing more. The other door was more daunting, as I was sure it led to the rest of the house.

I grabbed a plush robe the shade of apricots that was folded across the dresser. After carefully wrapping myself in it, I stared the door down, wondering what lay on the other side. Would my family be there or would I find that the darkness had seeped from my mind into my waking world?

How had Griffin, Liam, and I escaped? The last thing I remembered before plummeting towards defeat, the three of us had been dying. I could understand Liam's survival,
but mine was startling. Amidst these thoughts crept a more terrifying one: what if I was still locked in my mind and this was a figment of my imagination? Was I brave enough to face that reality? The other side of the door could be salvation or damnation, but I wouldn't know which until I turned the knob to face my reckoning.

Before I could muster enough bravery, or chicken out, the door opened from the other side. I fell backwards, scrambling away from the threat. It was a man, but I wasn't sure that was the accurate term. He was seven feet of pure muscle, with enough scars to warn away enemies. He looked down at me with exasperation. A jagged scar marred his face from his temple to the corner of his mouth, and a smaller scar angled across his neck.

His black hair was chin-length, fading to medium brown, framing his defined chin and hawk-like nose, and hiding most of his facial scar. He looked like he hadn't had time to shave lately.

His eyes narrowed, striking my core, as if his gaze was a stronger weapon than the one I had been skewered with. His eyes were a piercing midnight blue, the shade of fish scales; they positively screamed poison. Wasn't that the rule in nature: bright colors were a warning of a slow, agonizing death?

"What are you doing out of bed?" he growled. "We didn't endanger our race to save your lives only for you to throw it away." The blue of his eyes melted away, churning into a heated storm.

Grabbing the chair, I placed it between us and he threw it at the wall, stalking towards me.

I said, "I'm fine, really."

He looked me up and down, his eyes alighting on the fresh blood spreading from my torn stitches, and he raised an eyebrow. Leaning into me, he smelled of a fresh shower, and spoke an inch away from my face. "If you don't
hightail your ass back to bed, I'm going to put you there myself and you won't like the way I’ll do it."

In shock, I nodded, walked to my bed, and slipped under the comforter. I hoped this would appease him long enough for him to leave and for me to plan my escape. Instead, he followed me, standing above me.

The sun shone through his white cotton shirt, which was rolled to his mid-forearms, and made it impossible to see his face. He wore a pair of dark denim jeans and a dagger strapped to his waist. A symbolic tattoo with serrated edges graced the skin of his inner forearm, and he was wearing a tooth on a black leather cord around his neck.

"You saved me?"

The question was a bit redundant since he had said as much, but I hoped he would give me more information. Instead, he walked over to lean against the windowsill and gazed outwards, leaving the unscarred half of his face visible. Strangely, he was beautiful in a way I wasn't used to. This side didn't show evidence of a warrior, but the man beneath.

He looked back at me. "
We
saved you, my brothers and I. Your friend begged Maloc to send someone to look for you, convinced you were still alive. She made quite a few threats until we gave in."

"Friend? You mean, Isis?" He nodded. "Oh, she must have felt me pulling energy from her." Again, he nodded, and silence ensued. "You have brothers?" The prospect of more males like him did
not
thrill me and didn't bode well if they were all here.

He smiled, and for the first time I saw that all of his teeth came to sharp points. "The Draconians. We're a brotherhood, but we don't all come from the same womb. You should rest. I only came in here to keep an eye on you." With that, he turned back to the garden.

His dismissal irritated me. "Imagine having no idea if your brothers were alive, injured, or missing. Would
you
be content to lay abed and listen to the birds chirp as if all was right in the world?" His head swung my way. "You can't expect me to cower without seeing to my loved ones. That's not who I am, and while I appreciate your help in escaping that army,
you
are not the boss of me."

I flung the covers back and raced for the door, determined to seek out the fate of my friends and family. He let me go, his deep eyes staring at the empty bed I had vacated. The quick movement made me dizzy, but I caught myself against the wall outside the room.

In a narrow hallway, I staggered forward, passing doors, trying to reach the opening at the end. These walls weren't wooden, but divided into three equal sections. The center was a mural of wild times with jagged rocks sprouting from a flaming ground. A dragon curled around the center rock with a determined cast to her yellow eyes. Her young were scattered about the picture, welcoming the fire and basking in it. The large dragon held a proud posture, her indigo wings open over her young black shoulders, cast back in pride. Either side of the mural was a muted champagne wallpaper.

The hallway came to a wide open space with a kitchen in the corner to my right, a small dining room in the far corner, and a fireplace in the center of the living room. To my left, I spied another passage, though this one looked longer than the other.

The kitchen cabinets were unfinished light wood with black iron handles and a crisscross pattern on the doors. A single light fixture illuminated the area, displaying little decoration or creature comforts. It had a stove, coffeemaker, knife block, and microwave, though I doubted that any of them would work. A sink was placed next to a jutting counter with barstools pulled to it. A dye-cut border in earth tones with autumn leaves painted on it traced the kitchen at the top of the walls and above the counter.

Pots and pans hung from a wall beside the kitchen on hooks, and a fridge rested next to them. Other than a window in the kitchen above the stove, and one in the dining room, there were no other windows in this part of the cottage. A rickety table was positioned at the center of the dining room. The scratches across its circular surface could give me a run for my money and the chairs didn't fare much better.

I spun towards the fireplace, bringing on another dizzy spell, and leaned into the bronze recliner closest to me. It was accompanied by a rocking chair with a throw against the backrest, a sofa, and  loveseat. Chunks of stone made up the wall around the unlit fireplace with weapons resting on shelves, secured by metal crescents. Lanterns hung from the rafters, and a bookcase lay to the side with volumes I didn't recognize.

Someone cleared their throat behind me. "It's nice to see you up." I spun around to find Rafe standing in the opposite hallway. His arm was in a sling and a bandage had been wrapped around his head.

Worried, I walked to him quickly. "Are you okay? What about Izzy? Did she make it out? Is she hurt too?"

He laughed. "Slow down. I have a concussion. It's difficult to follow what you're saying. Besides that, I have a migraine that feels like my head’s being crushed by a hummer." He sighed. "I'll be fine. This is more for show than anything." He lifted his injured arm, but the wince it elicited made me more concerned. "Izzy's okay." He paused. "When you see her... expect a shock."

"What about the others?”

Before Rafe could answer, the strange man from my bedroom intruded. "Already charming the women? Even injuries don't slow you down." He spoke with a drawl and intense dislike.

Rafe's eyes became guarded. "What can I say? There are those who are born to please women and then there's you." He bared his teeth, but quickly hid them when he faced me. "Don't mind Nicolai. He was raised in the wild and doesn't know how to play nice with others."

I felt like I was standing in the middle of a feud.

Before Nicolai could retaliate, Maloc walked through the door beside the kitchen and stopped at the sight of the two Draconians facing off. "Are you two getting at it again?" He sighed. "Sometimes it's like babysitting two toddlers! You're brothers, work out your issues and get over them."

I waved a hello and his stare turned to me. "The last time I saw you, you were thrusting your friend into my arms rather than saving yourself. That was rather selfless of you, but she wasn't too happy about it."

Ignoring the comment about Isis's discontented behavior, I changed the subject. "Aren't they all brothers? I mean, Nicolai or whatever his name is, said they were a brotherhood." I looked to Nicolai for confirmation.

He shook his head and stared in Rafe's direction. "Unfortunately, some of us have the same mother. Luckily, we have different fathers." The tone of his voice was chilling and I was grateful that it wasn't directed at me, though I could have done without the silence that followed.

"Savannah?" The voice was decidedly feminine, but unlike any I had heard before. It carried a strange lilt, as if the owner had lived in a secluded area of the world that no one had heard of.

When I angled myself to view the owner, I was dumbstruck. Izzy was speaking in a voice that wasn't hers, or at least wasn't the one I was used to, but she was
speaking
. She pushed Rafe aside and ran into my arms. Tears marred my shirt, but coupled with the blood from my torn stitches I didn't care. Besides, I could be starting a new fad.

"Iz...? You can talk?" I was incredulous. The last time I had seen her, she’d been leaning towards the feral side and couldn't utter a single word. Now, she had full use of her vocabulary?

She grabbed my bicep, eliciting pain when her fingers braised a raw patch of skin, and steered me towards the door that Maloc had entered.  

Maloc's arm shot out, creating a wall between us and the outside. "I don't believe that's wise," he began, but Nicolai cut him off. "Don't waste your breath." His eyes stared pointedly at mine, then he walked back the way he came. Did that mean his room was near mine? I shuddered at the thought.

"She'll be safe with me, and I promise to treat her like the invalid she is," Izzy pronounced with a smile. When Maloc showed signs of protesting, she opened her wings, cleaving a lamp and causing serious damage to the kitchen cabinets. I winced.

Rafe laughed. "You worry too much, old man.
That
one can handle herself, and I think they need some time away from the rest of us." Maloc's feathers seemed ruffled by the knock at his age, but he reluctantly agreed that we could go outside
if
we stayed within the perimeter.