Origin Exposed: Descended of Dragons, Book 2 (17 page)

“
Yes
!” Stryde yelped enthusiastically, earning him a startled look from all of us. He’d been eerily quiet during the teaching process. He scrutinized us—well, me—intently as I tried to grasp the concepts.

“
Ah, good
,” Eiven continued. “
So, if you could release some of the magical fuel from your belly, and then quickly squeeze your flinted throat together, what then
?”

“
Fire
,” I said with force. “
I could shoot flames.
”

“
You could
,” he nodded his great head. “
You can
.”

And, dammit, I believed I could! I had to try.

“
All right
,” I said. “
Back up. I’ve no idea how this will turn out.
”

The three dragons folded in behind me, and the strength, the energy of their support was palpable. Facing the widest part of the clearing, my scaled chest expanded on a soul-deep breath. I imagined unscrewing the gas cap of the fuel line in my stomach and releasing its powerful fumes.

Nothing happened.

The fullness, the potential remained. But nothing came out.

“
S’all right, dear
,” Bay said. “
Try again
.”

I did. And when I did, a fissure formed in the lining of my fuel tank. The tiniest amount of gaseous magic escaped my innards and found its way up the back of my throat. It tasted of magic; of fire itself.

The discovery pleased me so much that the fuel evaporated before it occurred to me to strike the flint of my esophagus. I let out an exasperated growl that, in my dragon form, expelled as a roar that reverberated through the clearing and shook the saplings around us.

“
Oops
.”

“
You’ll get it
,” Eiven coaxed. “
I know you’ll get it. This is a great start
.”

After several more attempts I succeeded in learning to release the gaseous fuel, but was never able to make a spark.

Bay, Eiven and Stryde assured me my fire would come in time, and invited me back to practice.

“
We’ve all the time in the world
,” Eiven said. “
We’ll help you find it
.”

They asked me to stay for dinner, but the thought of food turned my stomach. The many explorations into my stomach, metaphysical or not, left me nauseous.

I
returned
to my room at Sabre, but without Timbra next door everything was…wrong. I couldn’t stand the quiet. I left for the bustle of the bar.

Ewan, Raynor, Layla, and Boone sat at our usual table. The first three were making plans for the weekend but Boone sat silent, introspective. His big body slumped in the club chair and he looked more miserable than I felt.

He didn’t look up when I took a seat. His big hand dwarfed my own when I gave it an encouraging squeeze. He looked up then, his blue eyes rimmed with red, and so very pained. He released a lopsided smile, like only half of him could even produce the effort to try.

Mari buzzed up to our table for my order and gave Layla a quick wink. Layla smiled back so brightly I hoped it might light up Boone a bit. Mari flitted back toward the bar, breezy as ever, and gave Knox the order. I waved when he looked in my direction. He nodded and grinned, and was caught by one of the barstools’ occupants. She whipped around in her seat to see who’d received it. My biggest fan. Dean Miles. I waved at her, too. Maybe overly-friendly. Maybe a bit spitefully.
Screw her, though,
I thought.
I am so over this day
.

After a bit of small talk I could contain my curiosity no longer and leaned toward Layla. “I came by your room last week to see if you wanted to snag dinner.”

“Oh?” she said and quirked a pierced brow. “Was I not there? I hate I missed it.”

“You were there all right. But not alone, so I left.”

She pulled her lips toward her ears in an “eek” gesture before grinning.

“It wasn’t Mari,” I said. “She was working here.”

Layla’s grin fell and she shrugged. She didn’t say anything.

“It’s obvious she’s crazy about you. And I know you like her, too.”

“I do,” she said emphatically.

“O-kay,” I said, issuing myself a firm reminder to stay out of her business.

Musicians
.

F
riday’s classes crept by
. Not a single thing the professors said filtered to my brain. My thoughts were absorbed by my leggy, doe-eyed friend. The idea of sitting with someone else seemed traitorous, so I sat alone in the back row. My classmates began to file past me; class was over.

“Hey, Stell,” Ewan called as I trudged across the leafy campus.

A large maple tree provided some much-needed shade. “Hi.” I tried to be upbeat.

“You doin’ okay?” he asked, and ran confident fingers from my elbow down to my hand before clasping it to his.

My sad smile was inescapable. “Not really. Just sucks. I miss my friend. This place isn’t the same without her.”

“I know,” he nodded and a brown curl fell onto his smooth forehead. “Boone’s a wreck. Hell, I miss her, too. I had an idea. I thought we could all get out of town tonight and invite Timbra. We could have a party in her honor.”

I stood a little straighter; perked a tiny bit. “What are you thinking?”

“Layla’s offered to bring her band for a song or two at the cabin. My sister agreed. There’s a perfect spot on the back patio. We can invite a few people and I’ll man the grill.”

It was lucky Ewan was both strong and agile enough to catch me because I jumped at him. He grunted at my tight squeeze, but breathed a masculine sigh at the kiss I placed on the soft skin above his scruffy beard.

I couldn’t contain a giggle as I slid to my feet, but left my arms around him. “Thank you,” I said and put the full force of my emotions behind a kiss. He lifted me tightly against him and walked me back to the maple tree, pinning me against it.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered against my ear before playfully nipping it.

Shivers shot from my earlobe to my pinky toe, and I gently bucked toward him. He flashed that wolfish smile and closed in on me.

I loved kissing Ewan Bristol. It was never rushed; never forced. I luxuriated in his soft lips, the slow and sensual rubs of his tongue, the heat of his body against mine.

We were making out in the middle of The Root campus, of this I was aware. But I just couldn’t find a reason to care.

Fine,
I thought,
let all those bitches see who Ewan Bristol belongs to. Mine. He’s
mine
.

Ewan’s sharp intake of breath and flare of passion as he pushed himself harder against me clued me in to the fact he’d heard my thoughts.

Oh hell—I didn’t mean for you to—oh hell.

He never replied. Well, not with words. He held me so tightly I thought I’d lose consciousness. He kissed my eyes, my cheeks, the tip of my nose. He was supremely happy, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel the same way.

That is, until I opened my eyes and saw the bulging eyes, the flared nostrils, the positively enraged face of Rowan Gresham. I pulled away from Ewan in reflex, looked down to make sure I wasn’t exposing any skin, and when I lifted my eyes toward Gresham again, he was gone.

“I’ll get the party started,” Ewan said. “Right?”

He hadn’t seen Gresham.

My nod was distracted.

“You go get Timbra. See you at the cabin,” he said and smacked me soundly on the lips.

“
P
ia
?”

“Ho, ho! Look who decided to talk to her P.I.A. Let me guess: you need to use my Contacts function,” Pia said snidely. “What wish can I grant you today, Master?”

“Ha-freakin-ha, Pia. Haven’t we already gone over this? I thought we established that I love you. I need you. Life would be but a wade through a low-brow sludge pile if not for your generous and frequent gifts of intellect and humor.”

“Oh, stop,” Pia said. “All right. Your assistant kissing is acceptable. I forgive you.”

Sometimes she was so not worth the effort.

W
ith Pia’s
help I found Timbra’s home contact information and called her. Her voice was dead, flat. Her tone never rose above desolate when she agreed to let me visit.

Since I’d never been to her home, tracing straight there was impossible. And because her father had officially barred her from The Root, she couldn’t come get me. We agreed to meet in Caliph Square and go together.

I was glad to see her and rushed in for a hug. She gave a half-ass effort at reciprocating. Surely she was allowed a little self pity, though it was the first glimpse of it I’d ever gotten. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go back to your house. Show me where they’re keeping you.” It was a joke, but her frown deepened. Probably too close to the truth.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” I sang.

Her little ears perked a bit. Not much.

“Come on. I’ll tell you all about it when we get there. You’re gonna love it.”

She nodded, clasped my hand, and after one frigid gust we stood just outside the gate of Timbra’s family homestead. She’d once told me they were a farm family, but the size of their operation was shocking. A white two-story farmhouse was flanked by half a dozen barns and storage buildings that housed harvested crops, supplies, and gargantuan red farm equipment. The house itself was surrounded by fruit trees, and tall stalks of grass that rippled in the breeze.

Movement at the front of the house caught my eye as Timbra’s father exited the front door and held it for someone. It wasn’t her mother, but another man. My head flew back in disbelief when I recognized him.
What? Why would he be here?

Gaspare Shaw extended a distinguished hand to Russ Redfern, who anxiously shook it. Russ didn’t bow before him, but he came close. It was satisfying to see the overbearing bully practically cower to my uncle, I admit it.

The two never noticed Timbra and I, and Gaspare was gone before we could approach him.

“What was he doing here?” I whispered.

“I don’t know. He arrived a while before I left. My father’s very involved in politics, in agriculture policy. Maybe something to do with that.”

“Huh.” It was all I could manage to say as we headed toward the house.

When Russ saw Timbra, his eyes, which had been wide with pleasure, reduced to determined slits.

“What now?” she muttered, but then jerked her head up to make sure he hadn’t heard her.

“Timbra. Good. I want to speak with you.”

His tall frame was devoid of antlers this time, at least, though he was still imposing, and very nearly regal. He never noticed I was there. Certainly, he never acknowledged my presence.

Bet that’d change if you knew the niece of the man whose ass you were just kissing was standing right here
, I thought.

“It’s come to my attention that you showed great aptitude for diplomacy during your time at Radix,” Russ was saying.

Timbra’s mouth worked to form a response, but none came. His statement was surprising to me, too, though not unfounded. Her abilities as a leader were countless. She was clever, knowledgeable, tactful, thoughtful, great looking—yeah, I could totally see her excelling in politics…like her father.

Russ didn’t meet her eyes when he said, “I fear I’ve made a mistake in withdrawing you. I’m re-enrolling you. You can start Monday.”

Timbra still hadn’t said a word. She stared at her father. Squinted as she tried to understand. Just as he turned to leave she said, barely above a whisper, “And what about Boone?”

I tried to find somewhere else to direct my attention; I was an intruder.

“The dog?” he scoffed. “I remain unmoved on that point. You’ll not associate with him.” He stepped toward Timbra, leaned over her in an obvious attempt to intimidate her. “Are we clear?”

Timbra’s chest rose, and her spine straightened on an inhale. “Oh, we’re clear,” she said. “At least I am. I’m not returning to The Root.”

Russ jerked at her words.

“Oh, you’re not?” He smirked.

“No,” she said firmly. “No,
sir
. If you forbid me from being with Boone, I’ll not go back to school. Simple as that.”

Timbra Redfern walked past her father and through the red front door of her family home. Russ’s mouth was agape as he watched her leave. When he noticed me and squinted angrily, I shut my own open mouth and scuttled in behind her.

W
e sat
in her upstairs bedroom, which was tastefully decorated in white and robin’s egg blue. She didn’t say anything for a long time; her mind was clearly a thousand miles away.

I ducked to find her gaze, which had been focused on the hardwood floor for far too long. “Want some good news?”

“Yes,” she said with feeling.

“We’re having a party tonight. For you. At Ewan’s cabin in the woods. Layla’s playing. It’s gonna be awesome.”

“And Boone? Will he be there?”

I wasn’t sure what answer she was looking for, but gave the truthful one. “Ah. Yes?”

“Good,” she said with a satisfied, and borderline deviant, smile. “Good.”

We talked about The Root, her childhood, her room. I told her how much we missed her already.

“Timbra?” a willowy woman in her late fifties called as she pushed open the door. She was lovely. Fabulously put together, an older version of Timbra. “Oh, hello,” she said when she saw me. “I didn’t realize anyone was here. I’m Grace Redfern.”

“Mother, this is Stella, the one I told you about.” Timbra somehow found a smile as she introduced me.

Grace rushed toward me and enveloped me in squeeze. “Timbra has gone on and on about you. What a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Her enthusiasm embarrassed me, and I made eyes at Timbra, who shrugged and looked at her mom with adoration. My heart swelled to see it. No wonder Timbra turned out so well, despite her asshole of a father.

“I’ll make sure all of your things are clean to take back to Radix on Monday,” Grace said as she went about the room picking up and sniff-testing pieces of clothing.

“Oh, no, Mom,” Timbra shook her head. “I’m not going back.”

“But your father said—”

“Dad said a condition of going back was not associating with Boone. And I won’t do it, Mom. I can’t.” Her voice broke with emotion.

Grace took a seat on the bed and rubbed Timbra’s youthful hands between her own. “I know how you feel about this boy,” she said. “And I understand. It’s not ideal.” She swallowed hard. “No, it’s not ideal at all.” Her breath shuddered as it left her body, but she sat up straighter. “But one can hardly control how they feel. And marrying the ‘right’ man doesn’t always work out perfectly, either.”

She smoothed Timbra’s hair from her head with a manicured hand. “But the fact is your father’s a very shrewd man. He no doubt sees the benefits to having someone in the PM’s office as greater than fighting this battle over a boy with you right now. He’s backed off of his stance on you and Boone.”

Timbra leaned back to study her mother’s face. “What? I don’t understand.”

“Prime Minister Shaw came here—himself—today to ask that your father put you back in school. Promised you a spot on his staff once you’ve graduated.”

I heard nothing after that. The women, the room, the world went silent and white. Gaspare had done this. For me. I closed my eyes, so grateful for him, for Timbra, for that day.