Rare Form: Descended of Dragons, Book 1 (7 page)

“Not to mention more appetizing locales without blood-caked weapons as decor,” threw in Ewan, who until then I had not heard utter a single word. His resonant voice held humor that I hadn’t expected; he always looked so brooding and serious.

I caught his deep brown eyes as I grinned, and he held my attention for several beats. I hadn’t noticed it before, but the chemistry between us was unmistakable. Afraid that the others at the table had noticed our moment, I dragged my eyes away and concentrated on my salad. As I took a bite, I dared a glance in Ewan’s direction again. Those intelligent eyes still followed me, though now they betrayed a deeper interest. It was mutual.

“…father told me about this place,” Boone continued, nudging me back into the present. “He said it’s customary for primos to dine in the banquet hall as a reminder of the gravity of our circumstances. He said that sure, there’s a lot of fun to be had and memories to be made in our time here, but we must never forget Thayer’s important and sometimes tragic history. And we must remember the reason we’re here is to discover our true powers and our value as citizens and protectors of Thayer.”

It wasn’t Boone’s big frame alone that commanded attention; he had that ‘something’ that born leaders posses—an ability to compel those around them not just to listen, but to look to them for answers. And he was really a gifted storyteller. I barely knew him, but I trusted him already.

“Your father seems like a smart man,” Timbra gushed softly.

“He is. He taught me everything I know. Very little of it has useful application,” he said with an easy grin.

“He coulda taught your big ass some manners,” Layla teased. “Here, wipe that drool off your face.”

Boone shot Layla the finger, but also shot a covert glance in Timbra’s direction.

Ahhh. The big man shows his cards
, I thought.

The main course, a delicious roast Cornish hen—in fact, not a pig—was served much to Timbra’s chagrin, though she was a super sport about it. Bex had been markedly silent throughout dinner, busily tapping away on her P.I.A which, I learned, she had named ‘Bexy.’

“It’s no coincidence that rhymes with ‘sexy,’” she loftily informed us.

I wondered if she had thought that through—the implication of course that ‘Bex’ rhymed with ‘sex.’ Probably.

After finishing her meal, she announced her departure and swish, swished her curvy ass all the way out of the hall.

The remaining five of our little group enjoyed an elegant dessert surrounded by our new classmates. We left the medieval hall in good spirits but with a firm grasp of the intended significance of our situations. Our attendance at Radix was more than fun times and self-discovery. We were there to learn to protect ourselves, our families, and our communities from very real threats.

I
t was
at this point that I wondered how I was going to get back home.

I hadn’t seen nor heard from Gresham since he left the mixer with Livia, whom I inferred from the possessive pawing was his…girlfriend? I was more than a little disappointed at that thought, though I wasn’t sure why. It was true that something about his darkly mysterious persona scared me senseless. And he was certainly very grumpy. And too old for me.

But, oh, there was just something about him that set my blood on fire. He may have whispered danger, but he screamed virility. Maybe it was some deep-seeded female need to win the Alpha Male, which he certainly was. My, oh my, was he.

Ahem. Tongue back in your mouth, Stella.

At any rate, I didn’t have a number for him or have the slightest idea where to find him. We had planned to return home after Radix Orientation; my roommate Lizzie was certainly expecting me.

As I walked across campus with the group, talking and laughing, I recognized Gresham’s rigid stance as we approached Sabre Hall.

“Stella, I value my time and expect you to do the same. I do not appreciate being kept waiting,” he barked.

Timbra and the others cut questioning eyes at me as they meekly scooted past. I wished they had stayed around, because I planned to give Gresham a strongly-worded inquisition on just who the hell he thought he was, talking to me that way. But they did leave. Cowards.

“Waiting?” I asked. “I haven’t heard from you since you left with RBF last night. How was I supposed to know you were waiting out here?”

“I left a message with your Pia. Didn’t you get it? And what is RBF?”

“Pia? Oh hell. I turned her off because she kept prattling on about the fat grams in ganache,” I waved Pia’s nonsense away with a flick of the wrist.

“RBF is Livia. Stands for Resting Bitch Face.”

I had heard it only once before, and can only compare Gresham’s roar of laughter to an amusement park ride. What at first sent a jolt of fear through me by its intensity suddenly morphed into something evoking a pure and thrilling joy, leaving me lightheaded and breathless.

A
fter a run upstairs
and a quick goodbye to Timbra, who made me pinkie promise to return, I grabbed my overnight bag and met Gresham in the courtyard. Still grinning with mirth, he laced his hand with mine, shocking me again.

“Hold on, Stella. I’m taking you home. You remember how?”

I nodded, lifted a foot, and together we stepped through the unfathomable, invisible barrier between my world and his.

W
ith my impending move
, Friday morning seemed an excellent time to serve my current roommate and BFF one last big breakfast. While she slept some of the night before’s party off and dreamed of elusive glasses of cool, clear water I whipped up real bacon, drop biscuits, and creamy chocolate gravy made of five essential ingredients—butter, sugar, flour, milk, and cocoa.

The moment I pressed ‘brew’ on the coffee pot Lizzie managed to lumber into the kitchen.

“You didn’t miss much last night,” she said.

“No? Nobody passed out in the ladies? No scandalous hookups?”

“Huh-uh. Tonight, though, everybody’s going to be out. We’re going.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I have a lot to do. I need to pack,” I said, and then cringed in regret. I had a plan to break my news smoothly.

Lizzie’s eyebrows wadded up in confusion. I could almost hear her brain thinking. It took a while, but she finally concluded she had no idea what I was packing for.

The preceding night Gresham had deposited me at the front door of my apartment building. We said short goodbyes and he promised to return to help with my move to Radix. In that way an unconscious mind can collate and process information without the impedance of a cognizance, sleep provided me with several indisputable facts. I had written them down.

1) My mom had been actively keeping a much bigger secret from me than I could ever have suspected.

2) My “father” was from another world. Plain and simple.

3) He was probably out there somewhere.

4) I needed to inform everyone I was leaving town.

5) I needed to come up with a really good lie.

6) I needed to pack.

I
had come
up with what I considered a really great lie while frying bacon.

Before she could ask I jumped right in. “Lizzie, I have some news. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Really exciting. I hope you’ll be happy for me.”

She perked up right away. “Well, what is it?”

“I’ve been accepted into an exclusive astronomy fellowship in South Africa.”

“South Africa?” she breathed.

“Mmm. Hmm. I was an alternate. Someone dropped out at the last minute and I have to pack up and leave right away.”

“Oh,” she said, not thrilled at all, before catching herself and putting on an enthusiastic front for my behalf. “That’s wonderful. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” I forced out. Guilt nearly compelled me to tell the truth as she hugged me in congratulations.

“I just…I just didn’t know you’d applied to anything like that. I thought we’d be roommates for a while longer,” Lizzie said. “How long will you be gone?”

“Oh, it’s a year-long fellowship, and then there will be an opportunity to extend or transfer. I’m afraid I don’t know when I could be back. I’ll pay rent through next month so you have time to find somebody.”

“I’m not worried about that, Stell. This is just so sudden. I thought we had forever.”

“I did too. But I have to go. This isn’t something I can turn down.” My stomach twisted at the thought of leaving Lizzie, of lying to her, but I had to maintain the facade. I could hardly say I had enrolled in an academy for supernatural beings in an alternate world, had a mysterious magical daddy, and an awesome new suite-mate whose ears protruded four inches from her head.

No. Lie I must, and lie I would, as awful as it made me feel.

Lizzie offered to help me pack, and made me promise to go out with her that night. One last hurrah.

The rest of the day was spent reminiscing our years together and wishing we were still as skinny as the day we set foot on campus. We finished packing my things that afternoon.

I was feeling and looking good as we entered Maxine’s. I had opted for my special-occasion slinky top with tiny stones that sparkled like onyx stars as I danced…which I did. A lot.

Lizzie was right, everyone was out. I said goodbye to those I had come to know and love. For a few hours, I compartmentalized all the new things waiting for me in Thayer and said goodbye to college life, and the last four years.

A
mallet-wielding
mammoth battered at my brain. Repeatedly. Why did I have those last two beers?

That was the thing about drinking, though. You drank to get buzzed, and then failed to realize when you reached that critical point, passing it up entirely and entering a new state I like to call “shitballs.” Blitzed, befuggered, Amy Winehoused—too soon?—there are a thousand ways to say it, and they all end with one thing in common—a massive friggin’ headache.

I had one, and the person pounding on my door was sure to make it worse.

“Morning, Mom.” I was certain I looked as hellish as I felt. If my mother said nine, she would barely wait for eight-fifteen, I swear to god.

“Happy graduation day, baby.”

My mom was a perfect example of someone suffering from ‘selective comprehension.’ I’m sure she knew I had been out all night and was hungover, but she chose to ignore the entire situation and go on as if nothing was amiss. She abhorred confrontation, and would avoid it at all costs. I am convinced the reason I’m such an assertive asshole is because my whole life I watched her allow everyone she encountered to walk all over her. It was sad, really, to think how someone could get to that point, to wonder what could have happened in her early life to turn her into this pliant, meek, fragment of a person.

But, my mother had the kindest, purest heart I had ever encountered and an unending, unconditional love for me. I loved her immensely.

“I brought breakfast sandwiches,” she said, “and coffee. Here, you go take a shower while I warm these sandwiches up. My baby’s college graduation is in less than two hours. Yay!”

A
t ten a.m.
in the school’s multi-purpose arena, I stood in several lines, listened for my name, crossed the stage, shook the dean’s hand, waved to my mom, and found my place in yet another line. Graduation was nothing short of anti-climatic. But, I did it, and it made my mom happy.

Upon hearing the news of my “fellowship,” my mother was ecstatic, encouraging, and bursting with pride. I felt like a real dick for lying to her, but my every instinct screamed not to tell her the truth. She was so delicate, and was obviously hiding something from me about that side of my life. No, I would pursue my new life in Thayer on my own for now.

I had planned to confront my mother about my father again—in person this time—at lunch so she couldn’t hang up the phone or run from the room plugging her ears and screaming ‘
nah, nah, nah, nah, nah
’ but she invited Lizzie and her family to join us, so the conversation never happened. I resolved to get her alone that afternoon under the guise of a little shopping, but shortly after lunch she announced that she needed to rush back home.

I followed her to her car; I would chase her if I had to in order to get the information I needed. When she attempted to hug me goodbye, I grabbed her by both arms, moving my head around to follow her face until she looked me in the eyes.

“Mom?” I pleaded, my gaze darting between hers, imploring her for an answer. “Mom, please tell me what you know about my father. It’s important. Some things have come up and I…I need answers.”

She searched my gaze only briefly then studied the ground. Her little lip trembled and she dashed tears from the corners of her crinkled eyes.

“Stella, I can’t. Please don’t ask me to do this. I just…I just can’t.”

Her petite frame wracked as a sob escaped before she could wrench it back in.

“I’ll pray for you,” she whispered, and squeezed my hands. “You and I may not have all the answers, but God does. Goodbye, sweetie.”

She drove away to the safety of her own home, leaving me neither with answers, nor the knowledge of where I might find them.

I kicked absently at something on the sidewalk bordering our dingy student apartments. There was no breeze on the May afternoon, and the stale air was dense and oppressive as I tried to understand my mother’s motivations. I feared I never would. I looked to the sky for answers, but it only mocked me, blinding me as if the heavens, too, wanted to change the subject.

Defeated, I turned to head back inside.

I ran firmly into the steely chest of Rowan Gresham.