Origin Exposed: Descended of Dragons, Book 2 (5 page)

G
resham was waiting
in my room when I returned from meeting Bay.

She’d given me instructions to find their new home for the impending dinner. She didn’t ask me not to tell Gresham, but I didn’t mention seeing her, or my plans for the following night. I knew he wanted to capture them. He’d said as much in the crater after they disappeared. Did that mean he wanted to interrogate them? Prosecute them? Worse? I was afraid to ask, and not entirely sure he’d tell me the truth anyway. Things were strange and volatile and I wasn’t certain how I felt about it all. Until I was, I resolved to keep my relationship with the Drakontos dragons close to my chest.

Gresham leaned against my buffet table looking as confident and in control as ever. He smiled when he saw me. That smile. It started off slow and sexy, one side of his lips pulling up into a lascivious smirk. I was a sparrow in the predatory sights of a hawk. He swooped toward me and I couldn’t breathe. Rowan Gresham excited and weakened me all at once.

“I’ve been thinking about our last time together,” he said.

“Have you?” I had, too...despite the myriad other things I had to think about.

“Mmm. I can think of little else.” He ran a finger along my collarbone, and chills tickled down my spine.

“It’s been days since I’ve seen you,” I breathed. “Thought maybe you’d forgotten.”

“Forgotten? No chance of that.” His eyes held such heat, such single-minded intent, that I shivered at their implication. “But I could stand a reminder.”

He backed me up, pushed me against the wall, and pulled my hands over my head. He held my hands in place with one of his and bent to kiss me. My breath hitched as the heat of his mouth competed with the cool brushes of his hair on my skin. In that competition, I was the lucky winner.

He pulled away from me long enough to say, “Hold on,” before clasping me to him and tracing from my room at Sabre Hall.

A flash of light, a surge of cold air, and we were at Gresham’s home, Caraway Manor and grounds. There wasn’t time to be disoriented. Gresham consumed me and kissed me urgently the moment we landed in what I assumed was his bedroom. A gigantic plush bed occupied the space between two floor-to-ceiling windows, and a sitting area was just off the bedroom. It was all very vintage masculine chic—clean lines, rich colors, mahogany accents. The furniture flanked a large fireplace, its mantel supporting an oil painting of Caraway Manor and its grounds.

“Something wrong with my place?” I panted. We stood at the end of his luxuriously masculine platform bed once he finally released me.

“I thought I might need room to maneuver.”

I moaned my approval.

Gresham grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head before tossing it aside without another look. He removed his own shirt and wrapped his arms under mine, clasping me to him. He was on fire, his light body hair a sweet abrasion to my charged skin as he moved to kiss my neck and shoulders. I shivered at the feel of his fingers beneath the waistband of my jeans. I took a deep breath, luxuriating in the affectionate foreplay and anticipating his next move.

Gresham guided me back until the backs of my knees met the end of the bed and lay me down. He removed my jeans with precision and then slowly ran his hands up my thighs. “
I love to look at you,
” he whispered across my mind. He drew back to hold my gaze before devouring every inch of my body. I writhed under his attention, ran my fingers through his thick hair, traced the smooth curves of his ears.

Rowan Gresham made me feel alive, eager, elated…like a woman who knew what she needed from a man, and never failed to get it.

I was still breathless when he climbed between my knees and lifted me by the hips up onto his thighs. He wasn’t as gentle the second time as he was the first and I dimly thought,
Aha. This is what they mean when they say ‘until you can’t walk the next day.
’

That was the last time I thought coherently. Rowan Gresham had everything under control. I threw my hands above my head, scratching for purchase of the pillow, the top of the mattress, anything.

I held on for life and let go.

Before coming to Thayer, before meeting Rowan Gresham, I’d been with a couple of boys. They were invariably the same: clumsy and over-anxious novices who saw seduction as embarrassing, as a weakness. So many boys I’d known thought girls were nothing but holes to poke their sticks in. Those who’d taken the time and effort to learn how to please a woman, in my limited view, were few and far between. Why didn’t boys realize that having a rep as
en fuego
in the sack would get them laid so much more often?

Sex with Rowan Gresham was so different from my past experiences it deserved another name.

“
D
o
you have plans tomorrow night?” Gresham asked as he thrummed his fingers idly on my thigh.

We lay on our backs, recovering, but at his question I turned to face him.

“I do, actually. Why?”

“I want to take you to Aemon. Since he’s known about you from the beginning, and knows a lot about your family’s history, he wants to get to know you. He can also help us with a strategy forward.”

“Oh.” I chewed the inside of my jaw so I didn’t give too much away.

“What are you doing?” A line formed between Gresham’s brows in suspicion.

“Hmm?”

“What are your plans that you can’t meet Aemon tomorrow?”

“Oh. Um, study group,” I lied.

Why did I lie? And what did it say about me that I lay in post-coital bliss with a man I obviously didn’t trust? Yeah, I so didn’t want to go there. I wasn’t ready to tell him about my impending meeting with Bay, Eiven, and Stryde. I was allowed to have secrets. Anyway, Gresham had more secrets than I liked to let myself admit.

“Tuesday, then?” he suggested, though he still eyed me suspiciously.

“Sure. Great,” I said. Anyone who missed my lack of enthusiasm was simply choosing to ignore it.

T
he hell am
I doing here?
I asked myself for the tenth time. I must have turned around half a dozen times along the way. To my grandma’s house.

But I knew what I was doing. I couldn’t fool myself, hard as I tried. The scenario played in my mind over and over. Yes, my newfound grandmother, uncle, and cousin had been accomplices in a trap set for me. But they’d been tortured for centuries; they’d even endured de-winging for not being forthcoming about my existence. And Bay had been so sincere about starting fresh and getting to know me,
her granddaughter.
I wanted family desperately. Even more so after the acute loss of my mother.

“Stella. How lovely to see you,” Bay said as I approached the dilapidated wood structure. It was so submerged within the trees, so overtaken by dense branches and leaves, that it looked in danger of an immediate takeover on all sides by the forest itself.

Bay sat atop a stool roughly hewn from a log whose cohorts likely fueled the nearby fire. She leaned toward the fire, her knobby fingers turning some sort of large fowl on a pole suspended above the flames.

“We’re still getting used to cooking our food,” she said when she noticed my attention on the spit. “There’s an old wood oven inside, but it heats the house up.”

“Smells delicious,” I said and found my own cut log. “What is it?”

“Turkey. Wild turkey. I made some cornbread, too,” she said, nodding her head at a cast iron skillet placed just outside the flames.

“It’s peaceful out here. This your place?”

“No,” she said, her attention still primarily on the food. “An old friend’s. Anything we had is gone by now. But this cabin’ll do. It’s safe.”

I nodded. “Not many know you’re back, then?”

“No. Just a few people we used to know. That we trust.”

“What will you do?” I swallowed past the lump in my throat and cleared my throat. “If someone finds out you’re here…that you’re alive…” I couldn’t finish the thought. We both knew how volatile the situation was.

“Aye, we’ll have to hide for now. There are still many who would recognize us.”

“But you can’t stay here forever. Can’t stay concealed forever. Right? Hiding in the woods after such a long imprisonment can’t be easy. Surely you miss your old lives.”

She lay the pole on its brace and faced me. Her expression was bleak, but not hopeless. A little light still shone in her eyes. Dim, but it was there. “We can do anything when faced with such an alternative,” she said. “And we aren’t unhappy here, dear—er, Stella. We’re free, we can remain in our primary forms now. There’s plenty of game to hunt.” The force of her smile stacked one wrinkle on top of another as she said, “I’ve even begun a garden.”

“She nearly broke our backs clearing a spot for it, but she’s got a garden,” Eiven said good naturedly. He emerged from the cabin carrying three glasses of a cloudy brown liquid. “Care for a beer?” he asked while shoving one in my direction. It was lukewarm and smelled so strongly of hops and yeast my cheeks puckered before I’d even had a drink. I took a small sip at first, and while it was strong, it was undeniably delicious.

“My old recipe. But I didn’t make this batch.” Eiven’s red hair demanded attention. It was coarse and thick and stood straight up from his head like a thousand hot needles. A slightly bulbous nose hung over thin lips and lay a shadow over his narrow chin. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were better described as tracks, for they were physical indicators of the hard road he’d traveled. But despite his difficult history, his eyes still held kindness.

“It’s good that you have friends to help you,” I said. “Is there anything I can do?” I blame my dang Southern compulsions again. That offer was far more generous than I felt.

“No, but thank you,” he said with a tight, gracious smile. “We’ve more than we need.”

Once I noticed the nervous energy, it became apparent in their every movement. Both Bay and Eiven were tightly restraining themselves. It was more than being on their best behavior. They were both rigid with nerves, the simplest actions seeming to take a mountain of restraint. I swallowed to wet my dry mouth.
Are they hiding something? Are they volatile?
I jerked at the thought.
Are they preparing to attack me? Where’s Stryde?

Instinctively, I thought to trace from danger—score one for this new Thayerian—but then I noticed Bay’s hand shaking as she worked to pull the turkey from the spit. It took her every concentration to maneuver the bird to a nearby platter.

Understanding struck. They were still fighting to control their human forms. They’d been dragons so long that manipulating arms and fingers were no longer first nature to them.

I took a shaky breath and helped Bay with the food.

“Where’s Stryde?” I asked once we entered the cabin and he wasn’t inside.

Bay and Eiven shared an inscrutable look before she replied, “Burning off some extra energy, dear. He’ll be along shortly.”

I let the ‘dear’ pass, cognizant of other, more tangible concerns.

The cabin was stale. Somewhat dark, naturally, with no electricity and only a few windows thrown open to facilitate an earthen breeze. Apart from the cleared garden, the trees were so large and thick that sunlight barely made its way down to the forest floor, where layers of old leaves formed sodden paths.

Eiven and I were seated at the farm-style kitchen table. He slammed another home-brew and I took an extra-large swig of my own. It seemed we all needed a crutch to calm our nerves.

Bay wasn’t exactly homemaker material, I was pleased to note, as muffled curses floated from the kitchen. Bay was hard, capable, calloused. At home in the kitchen, but in a utilitarian way.

“Did you teach my mother to cook?” I asked before I even considered the question.

She started at my unexpected question but turned toward me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She nodded nostalgically. “I did at first. But she was more comfortable in the kitchen than I ever was. Her talents surpassed mine while she was still young.”

“I can attest to her skills,” I said with a smile. “I loved her cooking. I would choose her pot roast or homemade mac and cheese over going out most times. Which was fine with her. She was something of a homebody.”

Bay and Eiven smiled at my fond memory, but their looks soon turned regretful.

“I’m sure she did the best she could,” Bay said. “It’s hard to be around people again…after.”

We fell silent, the mood having taken a dramatic turn for the depressing.

“Who’s hungry?” Eiven forced out.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Stryde?” I asked. “Or was he really not keen on getting to know me better? You don’t have to be nice for him. This situation is difficult for all of us.”

“No, he wanted to be here,” said Eiven as he passed me the platter of turkey. “It’s just…things were harder for him. He’s having difficulty adjusting. Bay and I led full lives before our imprisonment. Stryde, he was so young when we were taken. And things were so hard for so long. Somewhere along the way he forgot there was more to life than manipulation and pain. More than bitterness and revenge. It’s hard for him to imagine a new life for himself.”

“Oh,” I breathed. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s getting better,” Eiven assured me. “Every day we try to help him find something positive. Something to look forward to. But he’s still fighting a tougher battle than we are.”

“When it’s just us, he’s free to be himself; it’s all right if he falters,” Bay added. “But with you here, I think he fears he’ll fall apart.”

“I see.” And I did. The extent of my hardships had been a little emotional instability—a mother on the far side of wacky, daddy issues, and, okay, recent uncertainty about my otherworldly parentage and magical abilities. Not to mention my mother’s abandonment. But by then I was a grown woman. I hadn’t faced centuries of physical torture and manipulation that had nearly driven me to madness. I was still quite sane.
Fairly
sane, at any rate.

“Tell us about your childhood,” Bay asked. “If it’s not too sad?”

“No, it’s all right. My mother…she was nurturing and sweet. She made my Halloween costumes by hand, helped me with my homework. Encouraged my independence by making me feel safe and loved. The only home I ever knew was a small town in the southern U.S. I had a lot of friends...a typical childhood, despite being maybe overly focused on church and religion. I guess she found religion after the tragedies she lived through. It’s probably what helped her survive them. She committed her life to God, to her church. She walked the walk. Or maybe tightrope is a better term,” I added with a sad grin.

“It sounds lovely, dear,” Bay said. “I wish I could have seen you grow up. I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

“It
was
lovely,” I ducked my head, staring into my lap until the threat of tears passed.

I cleared my throat and looked up to find Stryde’s bulky body occupying the doorway.

“Hello, Stryde,” I croaked.

“Stella,” he said, nodding formally and taking a seat at the table.

“Wheeell,” Bay said cheerily. “Best make a plate, then. The turkey is excellent.”

The remainder of dinner went on uneventfully. We made small-talk about my classes at Radix and their daily habits. On a couple of occasions I caught Stryde staring at me. He was so zoned out I doubted he heard a word of our conversation. I easily looked past it once I grasped how difficult everyday life was for him.

After dinner and a bit more conversation, Bay hugged me goodbye. There’s no denying I relished it. Eiven patted me roughly on the back with a meaty hand and asked me to visit again soon.

“Goodbye,” I said and stuck my hand out awkwardly to shake Stryde’s. A lock of long black hair fell over his eyes when he looked down, bewildered, as if my arm had morphed into a groundhog. He may not have gotten the familial hair, but he had the eyes. The green orbs shot wildly back and forth to mine before he looked down again.

“I… May I walk you home?” he asked stiffly.

“Sure,” I said slowly. I had planned to trace back, but a short walk in the woods wouldn’t hurt.

We walked in silence for a while. I enjoyed the small noises of the forest, though they were louder and more clear now that I had embraced my animal form. I could discern a rodent shuffling through nearby leaves, an owl shifting restlessly overhead.

“Have you enjoyed your education so far at the Root?” Stryde asked.

“I have. I’m having more difficulty grasping some parts of the curriculum than others, but overall I love it. I’ve learned so much already. Did you go? To Radix?”

“Not for long. I went until...well, until the fighting. When he captured my mom and dad I thought I could save them. I was stupid. Young. He just caught me, too.”

“Your mother? I never knew. I’m so sorry, Stryde.”

“Yes. She... She died in the fights after the… After.”

He couldn’t even say the words ‘Steward Massacre.’ At least I knew that my own mother was still alive somewhere. That she hadn’t been killed during a battle she wanted no part of.

“Oh, Stryde,” I said and hugged him, trying to communicate my sorrow and support through the gesture.

He didn’t return the hug, but stood stiffly, hands at his sides. I stood back from him and thanked him for escorting me.

“Goodbye, Stella,” he said with a brittle bow.