Dragon Frost (41 page)

Sadly,
they settled on harming the wrong woman, I didn’t even know that I
would run into those two, I guess they were fine after all. “You
and no other man is to ever touch that woman.” His words were
harsh, deadly and above all sharper than any blade and he drops the
man on his rear and glances at the two men behind him who quickly
stumbled out of his way. He strides towards me. “Are you all
right?”

“
Yeah,
just a broken wrist. I’ll be fine.” His eyes go dark and gently but
carefully takes my wrist into his hands, his scales feel warm
against mine as he regards it. A green shimmer of light resonates
from his hands and warmth floods through me—bit by bit the pain is
removed and my strength in my wrist returns. I glance up at him and
notice he’s watching my face attentively . . . he seems hesitant
that I’m going to yank my wrist away. I admit I can be a little
difficult at some times but I try and right now I want to yank my
wrist away at the closeness, the vulnerability that is present
before me in devastating chunks should I become
attached.

“
How
about now?” His voice breaks through the haze in my mind. His words
are almost like a whisper a gentle foreboding sound that gives me
odd flutters in my stomach.

“
Fine.”
Is all I manage. You could have done better than that. I scold
myself.

“
Yes, you
could have,” says Altair and I know than that I should have sealed
my mind. My face feels heated and I pull my eyes from him and
glance down at the black stone alleyway. There is a lot of things
that seems to be going through me at this point and I don’t notice
I’m being ushered out of the alleyway until I stand in between
Altair and Lifet in a busy courtyard surrounded by people of all
sorts; merchants, performers, shoppers and a black-market sales man
that I see at the corner of the courtyard.

The
laughter that fills the air around me is symphonic in festivities
of joy and excitement. Women are dressed in beautiful gowns and
light make-up while men are dressed in their finest suits and
lustrous hair ranging from blond to black, with everything in
between. Several men range from charcoal coloured skin tone to
paper white. I feel several eyes on us and notice that Altair has
stepped closer to me. The eyes that fell upon me—glance at him and
continue walking. “So where’s Varden?” asks Lifet.

“
He’s in
the Inn on Caroler and Begot Street.” I say. We make our way
towards the inn with utmost discretion the last thing we need is
for people to start reporting us to the Guardians. The thought of
them getting involved will only just add to the possibility that
they too are after us. I really don’t like it. So instead, I lead
the way towards the inn slightly taking in the detail of the life
filled streets—people pass us by obliviously and I don’t mind, I
would rather have them not acknowledge us than staring at us any
day. Thinking back to the town with the Frost Dragon makes my skin
crawl. There, they continued to stare at me for no reason and just
stared because they can or could . . . it took all of my strength
not to scream at them. I stop. “Here we are.” I say and push open
the wooden doors.

I stare
at the impending danger that’s about to befall me and all I can do
is watch, all I can do is pray that it—everything I’ve tried and
failed to do—everything—isn’t all for nothing. “Kal?” asks Altair,
he always seems to know when something’s bothering me. “Are you
okay?” I don’t know . . . I’m not sure . . . I can’t bring myself
to say those words but at the same time, I can’t bring myself to.
Instead as if he’s read my mind he wraps his arms around me and I
instinctively lean into him, my body, acts on its own
accord.

The Inn,
the small room I had left Varden is now trashed, destroyed and he’s
gone. I stare at the room—blinking, afraid—scared—it’s like the
time I had lost my sister, than, I felt like someone jabbed a knife
so deep through my chest that it danced out through the other
side—breathing seemed impossible and reality—too difficult to
distinguish. I honestly feel that right now.

Lifet
strides across the room and I freeze, he picks up a piece of paper.
The one person I know better than I know myself is Golgotha. She of
all people enjoy having the world knowing her signature, knowing
her work. Lifet picks it up, the paper begins to shake in his hand
slightly, or not. I’m not in the best state of mind. “I’ve taken
what you’ve withheld from me. The Underworld will be open.” This
time there is no indication of who wrote it but I don’t need to
know who. I know who. The sight of it, makes my bones feel heavy,
my blood runs cold. I’m terrified . . . not for me but for
Varden.

“
May I
have a look?” questions Altair and Lifet hands him the letter with
a concerned look in my direction. Don’t look at me like that—I’m
not the one you should worry about.

There she
stands above me as I glare. “Look . . . regardless of what you
think, I actually have no valuables”—right now at least—“that you
can take.” Those words would have been mostly honest if it weren’t
for the deep voice that distantly calls for my name.

“
You sure
about that?” she mocks. The moment Dante steps through to the
frozen clearing he moves his hand to his sword. The woman whips
around me within a blink of an eye, I realise than, that she’s a
lot faster than she looks. “Come any closer and I’ll slice her
throat,” she declares and the fear in Dante’s eyes and the tension
of his shoulders tells me that he knows it’s an actual fearful
threat.

“
What do
you want?” he asks firmly.

“
Gold,
jewels. All you have, or your Princess here gets it.” I slightly
move my head and signal a “no” just because my life’s on the line
doesn’t mean we have to roll over to this woman who seems to think
she has the upper hand in this battle.

“
Give her
nothing!” I growl. She tightens her grip over my shoulder and
around to my waist as she points the steel cold blade at my exposed
cheek. She slowly drags me back and I stumble against her,
attempting to fine stable footing under me.

“
Shut
up!” she yells in my unfortunate ear. Wait until I get out of here
you’re next, bitch! I think and I believe I saw Dante smirk
slightly at my words. “I know you have money—hand it over!” Dante’s
jaw tenses. He doesn’t like this as much as I do.

“
What
gave you that idea?” Dante asks.

“
What . .
. you think I’m blind Nefaliem?” she taunts and Dante stands up
straight and pulls his arm away from his sword—his deep blue eyes
are dangerous—the scariest gaze I’ve ever seen from him. Though the
next words he utters takes me by surprise.

“
If you
know what I am”—his hand begins to transform and claws replace his
nails— “than you know I can kill you within a blink of an
eye.”

“
You
wouldn’t touch me—not when your mate is endanger—you wouldn’t risk
it.” Dante begins to bubble in laughter and I scowl at him. He
better not be laugh at the idea of me as his mate or I’ll kill
him!

“
She’s
not my mate.” He vanishes in thin air and I know the woman holding
me hostage right now maybe tough but she’s as good as dead. “But
that doesn’t mean I won’t skin you and eat you alive for touching
her. Woman or not.” Dante’s voice is but a deadly whisper from
behind us and I feel her tense.

She’s in
for it now.

“
Release
her.” he orders. His voice is smooth, low and deadly. I feel her
grasp loosen. I slowly step from her. I spin around and glare at
her with my hands firmly on my hips. “You okay?” he
asks.

“
I’ll
survive.” That is true—It’s all I seem to know how to do but I’m
not surprised—I may suffer but I’m a survivor and I refuse to fall
to those who have harmed me in any form or by any means, emotional,
mental and physical. “Look! I said I have nothing, what part of
that word do you not understand?” I demand with venom. She doesn’t
flinch which is a surprise though I try to suppress it. This is
where I stand now, I’m frustrated and ready to punch her hard
across her face, anyone who thinks women like me only slap, claw
and pull hair is wrong—dead wrong—I’ll go Commando on
her.

“
You
lie!” she yells and I see the gleam of the silver blade under her
neck and eye it carefully. In one move, she’ll fall to the ground
like a wounded deer, desperately gaping in her last ounces of air
before she her body eventually gives in. It is not something that I
wish to happen but if she is not careful or I for that matter, on
impulse she’ll be the reflecting remains of a deer.

“
Do I
look like I’m carrying an army behind me—guarding my most treasured
valuables?” I ask annoyed. “Does that man look like my personal
body-guard?” I ask and he gives me a side glance. “You know what I
mean!” I growl pulling at the tips of my hair in frustration—there
are times like now I can’t seem to be able to control the rage and
annoyance building within me. It’s like the time when I had to
deliver a public-speech as a Knight when I was nineteen shortly
after, I had managed to line our bordering countries into an
alliance—it was a test, to see if I was worthy enough to wear the
family name—to be followed into battle should I rise an
army.

Their
eyes stuck to me like north to south by a magnetic force, to me, I
stood staring down at the crowd, my nails dug into the sides of the
stand where my notes were downloaded to though even now, not being
able to do much about something is what bothered me than and
bothers me now. I’m unsure where to go with this, I’m unsure how to
go about it but eventually—I’ll have to find some way of trying to
convince this woman before me. “You could be hiding it on you.” she
accuses and I fight the urge to slap her.

She really is
getting on my nerves!

“
No . . .
I have . . . Nothing! Do. You. Understand?” I grind my teeth
forcefully shut, aiming to keep my mouth from snapping and
sprawling something new at her not that it bothers me but I’m
unsure of how to go about it. The task of convincing this woman
before me that I’m not of value to take, after a long daunting
stretch of time, she’s dishonestly convinced and I’m left with
explaining to Dante what we had found, the thought of something
happening to Varden did sit heavily on my nerves. We couldn’t
exactly leave the town but we managed to find a stable
plan—Golgotha can’t do anything to Varden because legend has it,
the blood from the descendant of a royal family must be taken under
a new moon.

I eye the
clearing speckled in snowflakes, cautiously, hoping silently
praying that he won’t be tortured before the ritual but that
exactly gives us a month to return to the Order and undergo our
next operation. I just only pray time is on our side or I can kiss
goodbye the idea of Varden being alive. Though, nothing seems to
really have changed, Altair still is more flirtatious than before
but surprisingly he doesn’t seem to be paying other women that
kindness. He really can be confusing sometimes.

Dante
hasn’t spoken much. Not that I blame, him. It’s been three days
since we fled Midra and we’ve spent our time not in a small Inn at
the edge of the town of Mykyra. I’m not even sure if we’ll be safe
here, if Varden was abducted recently—surely that proves just how
dangerous this place is and the fact that not very many people come
by here and in a way it’s a good thing and
a 
bad
 thing .
. . the lack of people also means the possibility of a hostile
environment. “So how long do we have to sit here?” asks Lifet, I
began to ask that question too myself for some time.

“
We have
to stay here until we are sure it’s safe.” declares Altair. I
wonder when it will ever be safe, I wonder if we’ll ever be able to
have Varden recognized, I had discussed it at times with Lifet
hoping that I wasn’t the only one concerned about the Royal Court.
With all this that has happened I’m surprised that he hasn’t just
thrown in the towel and allowed the demons to have him.

I so
don’t believe what I’m seeing before me, but, between Lifet’s
tantrums which is unacceptable at his age and the frustrating sighs
Dante is passing I’m finding myself turning my heel and heading to
Altair’s room. I push open the door and find Altair sitting on the
edge of the bed, his hands are clasped together, his elbows are
placed on his knees as he stares intensely at the wall opposite
him—I’m not exactly sure whether I should disturb him or not but I
try not to make noise as I slowly back away and out the door only
have his voice echo through the room. “Stay . . . ” I’m caught off
guard but oblige. I close the door behind me and glace at him, with
worry. After some time he turns to me, “we need to
talk.”

For some
reason those words: “we need to talk” is like ice in my veins. I
nod and move to stand beside him and he pats the bed beside him. I
glance at him and the bed and him again.

“
Don’t
worry, all I want to do is talk unless . . . you want to go
round
 one
?” he
hints and I drop down on the bed and cross my arms. Scowling a
deathly glare at him not that he seems to care. He can be really
annoying like that—sometimes. “It was a joke.” he says after a
while and I eye him questionably, he seems to be tense and nervous.
Why?

“
Are you
all right?” I ask unsure how to handle his—whatever this is . .
.