Authors: Unknown
Chapter Three
Warm air. Birds singing in the distance. The scent of mint and cigarette. Yara cracked her eyes open and took a deep breath. Ouch, she was stiff and her muscles were very sore. She bent her head to the left then to the right. Her shoulder pulsed as if remembering the ghost of excruciating pain.
Pain.
She opened her eyes fully and forced her mind to wake up. She was careful not to move too much. She was still drowsy but remembered that something was wrong with her left shoulder. She turned slightly, and tested the waters – aching but bearable. She tried to lift her left elbow and found out she couldn’t. She looked down and realized why – her left arm was firmly immobilized by a makeshift cast that went all around her torso.
What in Hiad?
The doorknob turned slowly. Yara held her breath. She didn’t know where she was, or what had happened. The only thing she was certain was that this was not her room.
“Hey, you’re awake.”
She stared at the man who had just spoken those words. He was standing by the door holding a glass of water in his hand. His tall figure was imposing, muscular and strong but his demeanor wasn’t aggressive, far from it. He was wearing the classic white T-shirt and ripped jeans. His gray eyes were so light that they formed a perfect balance against his thick brown hair and stubble.
Yara held her breath. Mr. Dream God.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her, as he came into her room. No, this was probably
his
room.
He sat on the reading chair next to her side of the bed and stretched his hand. “I brought you water.”
Water. Out of reflex, Yara swallowed and realized, yep, she was dead thirsty. She opened her mouth to say so, but her throat was so dry that the words wouldn’t come out. She decided to just nod instead, and moved to take what he was offering.
“Wait,” he commanded already standing up. “Your shoulder is still quite bad.” He leaned forward, cupped the back of her head and lifted her lips to meet the glass.
Flashes of memory invaded Yara’s mind and a sense of déjà vu shook her to the bones. She recoiled.
Dream God froze in response. He was very close. His broad shoulders cast a shadow over her, blocking the only light provided by the rays of sunshine through the window frames. “It’s OK, I just want to help you drink it,” he explained in a surprisingly smooth voice that clashed with his almost burly stature.
Yara decided to ponder over the paradox of the man in front of her later. Right now she needed water. Her mouth would turn into dust at any second. She let her head be lifted and knocked back a couple of mouthfuls. A coughing fit shook her all the way to her feet, making everything hurt.
Dream God held her head up. “Whoa, much too fast, it’s been days since you last had a good swig of any liquid, love.”
After the fit was over, she nodded for him to give her more. Slowly this time, she sipped though the delicious liquid. Wow, who would have thought that tasteless water could feel so much better than vodka?
Too soon, the glass was empty. Dream God promptly filled it up and repeated the drill.
After the fourth glass, Yara nodded for him to stop. She relaxed her head back on the soft pillow and rested her eyes for a moment.
“Are you hungry?” The warm whisper tingled her ears.
By Apa Dobrý, even his voice was worthy of worshipping! It was so smooth, just like those late night DJs in the local radio. She wondered if she could get him to say “Smooth FM …”
“I’m making something light for you, it won’t take long, but if you’re really hungry I can fix you a sandwich or something.”
Smoooooth FM
.
“Would you rather go back to sleep? Are you feeling dizzy?” he insisted, now with a hint of concern.
Poor guy. He had taken care of her, was making her supper and she didn’t even have the energy to reply. She should.
Forcing her eyes open, she tried a few words, but only hoarse croak came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Your name?”
“Rafe.”
“Yara,” she whispered.
“Nice to meet you,” he replied. The corners of his lips curved up in a crooked smile.
Images of him shoving her against the wall, kissing her like there was no tomorrow, invaded her mind. She couldn’t stop her smile from lifting her own mouth, but now wasn’t the time for wet day dreaming. Her hunger would have to wait. She needed to assess her situation, find out where she was and …
“What happened?” she croaked out.
Rafe ran a hand through his unruly hair and leaned back on the reading chair. “We were at the Dungeon, in the cage, when a bomb went off and the scoreboard hit you hard.”
At his words, confusing memories rushed through her mind. A ticking sound, his grey eyes widening in warning, her body being catapulted in the air, debris and smoke choking her, a deafening sound, then something crushing her down, ripping her shoulder open, almost out of the socket.
She lifted her hand and touched it, then exhaled a long sigh of relief.
“Yeah, you got hit pretty bad, but your arms are still where they should be. I thought I’d have to do the unthinkable for a moment there, but after a day or so, you started healing remarkably fast,” Rafe explained. A hint of suspicion seeped through his words.
Did he know who she really was? Or better still,
what
she was? She could sense he wasn’t human but she couldn’t pinpoint what he was either. Not that she ever could, for that matter. She had never been given that gift. Some supernatural creatures were able to distinguish one’s essence just as clearly as seeing someone’s hair color. But Yara was different, her situation was different. The curse changed her DNA, made something completely unique. Dyam had been the only one so far to pick out that she held the inmã of a jungle animal inside her. No one else.
“How long have I been out?” she asked him, trying to divert her thoughts from a headache of speculations.
“A day and a half.”
Holy Apa Dobrý! Z would be almost running out of potion by now. And Dyam? Joel? Had they been injured too? Yara jolted upward and tried to get off the bed but strong hands stopped her.
“Whoa! Where do you think you’re going?”
“I gotta go …”
“You gotta rest, that’s what you gotta do,” Rafe stated. “You almost died, Yara, then almost lost your left arm. It’s much too soon for you to get up. Too risky.”
“You don’t understand; I have to contact my friends, let them know I’m OK.”
“No problem,” he replied reassuringly. “Give me their cellphones and I’ll get in touch with them.”
Yara paused. Damn, she’d have loved to be able to follow his suggestion. That’s what a normal person would do, right? But she wasn’t a normal person and her friends weren’t the ordinary bunch either. “They were in my phone …” Yara lied. “I don’t know their numbers by heart.”
“Are they listed in the book?”
She shook her head.
“Look, don’t worry,” Rafe replied. “I left a message at the Dungeon. If they show up in there, they’ll know where to find you.” He stood up and covered her good shoulder with the blanket. A little bit too fast. “Now you need to rest and get better.”
Something tugged at Yara’s gut. There was something else going on here, but she didn’t know what, and frankly didn’t have the energy to investigate it right now. She relaxed against the mattress and just enjoyed that rare warmth that grows inside when you let yourself be cared for.
So good.
Why didn’t she let her lovers take care of her more often? Oh, yeah, because men were lying pigs.
Rafe tucked her in then picked up the empty glass and jug. “I’ll be back in a moment with dinner. In the meantime, rest.”
“Yes, sir,” Yara joked already feeling her eyes grow heavy.
He gave her a killer half-smile in reply then walked to the door.
“Rafe?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” Yara whispered. “For everything.”
He paused by the door for a moment. A shadow of unease crossed his brow, but soon disappeared. “Don’t mention it. I just wanna see you well,” he replied softly, then left the room, closing the door silently behind him.
Yara didn’t know why the Soartas had blessed her with such an amazing angel, but right now her heart was swollen with too much gratitude to ponder over it. She decided to follow Rafe’s advice. Rest, get better, then deal with the ugliness that was waiting for her in the real world later.
Chapter Four
The table went flying off the window, crashing the glass as it tumbled out.
Through raging eyes, Balaur saw Phillip cringe but noticed the motherfucker was too proud to lose his cool.
“Can you explain to me why that weasel vampire set the bomb off early?”
Phillip shrugged. “He claims it wasn’t his fault, that Yara must have triggered it when she bumped onto the pillar.”
“He’d got to be fucking kidding,” Balaur snorted. “Am I surrounded by morons? If I needed a fuck up I would have hired
you
to stay in the trenches with the razbians!”
“Why are you mad at me? I did everything according to the plan!” Phillip retorted.
“
You
hired that Remi guy. He was
your
responsibility,” Balaur snarled back. He was sick and tired of Phillip’s excuses. After this was over, after the atomic bullets were safely in his hands, Phillip would no longer be needed and he swore to himself to make sure the smart ass regretted every snide comment he’d made in his life. But for now, he needed the fucker to find those bullets. Balaur was a member of the Draconian Senate; he couldn’t be found doing underground trading in any shape or form. His reputation was on the line. Too much was at stake. Especially now that the senate was starting to believe that the sujha queen was the one in the prophecy. What a joke! Zoricah? The prophecy bearer? That was the most absurd thing Balaur had heard since the day the Senate decided to accept Tardieh’s peace treaty. No, Balaur was too close to his victory, no mistakes were acceptable.
“At least without Yara, Zoricah won’t be able to carry out her pregnancy,” Phillip said.
“Have you found a body yet?”
“No, but the entire place collapsed. And there was an entry at the M.S. Queens Hospital of a dead woman with her description.”
“Have you
found
her body?” Balaur repeated through clenched teeth.
“Not yet, but…”
“So keep on looking!” he bellowed. Red fire spitted out of his nostrils, burning the furniture in front of him.
A servant burst in and quickly put down the fire that was already climbing up the walls. He cleaned the soot on the carpet then raced to clean Balaur’s shoes. What an insolent! He grabbed the moron by the neck and lifted him in the air. “Are you really planning on cleaning my shoes with the same cloth you used to clean the floor?” Fucking Soartas, he
was
surrounded by useless morons!
The razbian gargled something, probably a plea for his meaningless life. Too bad Balaur wasn’t in the mood for forgiveness. He was raging with frustration and it was his servants’ job to calm him down. He squeezed the bastard’s neck harder. His lizard-like skin felt disgusting on his touch, enraging Balaur even more.
“If you keep up like this, you’re gonna run out of servants,” Phillip drawled from the corner of the living room.
Balaur turned sharply to his “friend” and let out another blast. Phillip managed to duck out of the way with a grunted “Hey!” then mumbled something about his Giorgio Armani suit.
And that made Balaur relax a bit. Nothing like putting a snob prick in his place to lift his spirits. He dropped the razbian. “Get off my face.”
The servant struggled to get off the floor, but complied, disappearing out of the door.
“I want her body,” Balaur commanded calmly, resuming their little chat. “I want to see it in front of me.”
Phillip nodded.
“And schedule another meeting with whoever’s got the bullets. I want them in my hands by the end of the week.”
“By the end of the week?” Phillip snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”
Bad move. Balaur lunged forward and climbed on top of the pompous ass. Phillip was tall, but Balaur was brawny and heavy. With ease, he tackled Phillip down on the carpet and flipped him onto his belly. “Do you have a problem with that, pretty boy?”
Phillip grunted. His Adam’s apple working overtime.
“Because if you think my requests are unreasonable, I can help you see it clearly.” To make sure Phillip had understood his point, he ground his hips against the prick’s ass.
Phillip screeched and struggled against him, making the entire encounter even more arousing for Balaur.
“I must admit, Phillip, I usually prefer slender brunettes to tall blondes, but you have a certain
charm
that has just become very appealing to me,” he sneered by Phillip’s ear. Then he forced his blond head against the carpet and clutched at the hem of his designer trousers. “What did you say these were, Giorgio Armani’s? Well, let’s see if they are good as the ads say.”
Phillip shrieked something out but it was muffled by the carpet.
“Sorry, my dear, but I can’t seem to understand you through my rug.” Balaur chuckled at his own joke then pulled Phillip’s pants down.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Phillip shouted. “I wasn’t defying you, my lord. I’ll get you the bullets by the end of the week. I promise.”
“Good boy,” Balaur replied, stroking Phillip’s ass. “And make sure no vampires butt in this time around, otherwise, I’ll have to resume our conversation from where we left off.” He pushed off Phillip. “Now get out before I decide to have you for dinner.”
Phillip stood up and scattered off like the slimy mouse he was.