AshesAndBlood Read online

  Fate’s a trickier bitch. She knows pain and despair compose my life. The moment my mind and body relaxed last night was her cue to send me a reminder that my life is to be a living Hell. Message delivered via Fae blizzard. It’s the little moments of happiness you have to cling to when shit hits the fan, because it will.

  “Yeah. I’m going to call him Blue.”

  ***

  Minutes tick by. It has been at least an hour, may have been two. The storm batters the house. It creaks and cracks from the strong gusts. No longer in position for attack, the men have joined us and we huddle together for warmth on the mattresses. We don’t have too much firewood left and it’s impossible to leave—the blizzard froze the doors shut. We may very well freeze to death.

  “Do you want to hear a story?” Tristan asks, cutting the silence. “Uncle Alex used to tell us stories during blizzards.”

  We nod or say okay. We have nothing better to do but slowly freeze to death.

  “I’ll start at the beginning.” Tristan clears his throat and sits up straight. “Long ago, before roads, before we built structures, before medicine was discovered, before the government was created, before man gained any knowledge, there were The Five. Independent from each other, The Five had a mutual respect for one another. They knew their roles in the world and their duty. They were Gods.

  “Born from the depths of Dalya, they each controlled a domain. They took care and nourished their environment. Each filled their homes with creatures, plants, and wildlife unique to their region, but they each felt alone, even isolated. They yearned for companionship. So each one created their own people in the image of themselves.

  “Zeen, the God of the Skies, created people from a feather plucked from his head. Sani, the Goddess of the Sea, removed a scale from her fin. Xena, the Goddess of the Forest, gathered moss from her arm. Yemon, the God of Soil, selected a grain of dirt from his eye. Atulu, the God of Fire, picked an ember from his chest.

  “Each of their creations was perfect in their maker’s eyes. The Gods gave their children the task to take care of their domain. The Umbuttah became the protectors of the skies while the Syreni became the dwellers of the seas. The Druids became the keepers of the forest and the Fae the guardians of the soil. Lastly, the Tuz became the kindlers of the fire.

  “Pride overcame the Gods. Each one was convinced that their creation was superior. For the first and only time, the Gods waged war amongst themselves. War raged throughout Dalya. The land ripped open, the ocean swallowed the land, the sky fell into the sea, fires ravaged the land, and the land erupted, spewing fiery soil into the air. The world was in turmoil and the Gods were responsible.

  “The children of Dalya formed a bond and united against their makers. Surprised by their disloyalty, the Gods abandoned the war, equally disappointed by their creations. Dalya, the world that birthed them, smoldered in ruins, and they were solely to blame. Disgraced and depressed, they faded away into their domain, vowing never to interfere with their children. To let their creations live in peace and never bicker again.

  “The children promised to repair the damage. Clear the skies, replenish the seas, regrow the forest, restore the soil, and rekindle the fire in Dalya’s heart, bringing balance and order back to the world.”

  “Is that how this world was created?” Sarah asks.

  “Yes, well, that’s the story told. No one knows how old it is,” Xander says.

  I ask, “Are there actually five different types of people?” The story raises a mountain of questions, distracting our minds from the bitter cold.

  “Human and Fae are the only two I’ve seen. People say Syreni and Umbuttah exist, but no one in Capo has seen them,” Tristan replies, shrugging.

  Sarah pushes black strands of hair behind her ear. “What about the Children of Fire?”

  “Children of Fire don’t exist. Maybe Umbuttah and Syreni long ago, but they are legends, stories parents tell their children when trapped inside. Didn’t your parents tell you any?” Xander asks.

  “Yes, but we didn’t have magical blizzards and different humanoids. I don’t know what’s possible here.” I lie back feeling exhausted and struggle to stay awake. Huddled between Dana and Sarah, I close my eyes, dreaming of an exotic, warm world.

  Chapter Nine - Kevin

  “Bitch storming out saying she needs air! We all do, Goddamn it!” Ciara yells.

  Slam. Another pot hurled onto the cast-iron stove.

  “I’m sick and tired of her nasty attitude!”

  Clang. That sounded like a ladle thrown at a pan.

  “No one else acts like that!”

  Bong. Not sure what the hell she just hit. Ciara is making more noise than when Megan left the house.

  “It’s not safe! Not now! Not a day after the storm!”

  Clunk. That sounded heavy.

  I had attempted to relax after working all day finishing the barn house’s odds and ends. I wanted to stretch out on the bench in the den by the fireplace and nap after dinner, but that has been close to impossible. I can’t hear what Tristan is saying, but I can hear every word Ciara screams from the kitchen. She’s pissed. Ciara and Megan had a shouting competition over something stupid earlier—I didn’t pay attention. They have been at each other’s throats since Megan flipped out on Ciara over the tree.

  I’m not looking forward to four months of this when it’s near impossible to leave the house because of the snow. I seriously might end up shoveling a tunnel out of the house. Make an escape route hopefully with an open bar at the end of it.

  With Megan and Ciara yelling, I pretend their high-pitched yells are seagulls squawking while soaring over a clear blue ocean with dolphins leaping from the waves. The sun warms my arms and legs—not the fireplace. I even imagine the smell of the salty air—instead of chicken soup. I visit the beach before dozing off after the yelling stops.

  Twenty minutes later, Megan wakes me by stomping down the stairs. Ciara and Megan exchange more shouts, and then she takes off.

  “I get it. We’re all anxious, we’re all freaking out,” Ciara cries.

  Another pause. At least Tristan can calm her down. I wish he had done so before she dented all the pots and pans.

  “I understand she needs time and space! Fuck, we all do! But she can’t go out alone, not after yesterday!” Yesterday came out as a sob. Even though they can’t be in the same room for more than five minutes, they still love each other like bickering sisters.

  After the Fae blizzard yesterday morning, we moved into the barn house. It has two chimneys and plenty of space to store wood, plus the easy access food storage underneath the kitchen for when the snow traps us. The girls worked on it the last couple of weeks, but in the past day and a half, they practically filled it. We should have close to four months of food if rationed right. The mattresses should arrive any minute—I can’t wait. For a primitive time compared to Earth’s, they are mad comfortable. I don’t know the material, but it acts like a mix of memory foam and wet sand. The chairs and benches were delivered yesterday afternoon after the snow had melted.

  “I know, I know, I’m worried. I’m scared. What if Megan doesn’t come back? What if something happens?” Ciara asks Tristan in between sobs.

  It’s not my place to tell Megan to stay home. She’s right—I’ve been too overprotective. I can’t tell her what to do, but maybe she will listen to reason and logic. Understand that it isn’t safe to go out alone right after a possible Fae attack.

  I mean, I think it was. There’s no other explanation for a freak blizzard, especially when no one else in the town of Capo had anything like that happen to them. Just us. The blizzard lasted for four hours or so. At some point, we noticed that it started to warm up, even though the fire was burning out. The snow melted and left puddles all over the courtyard, but as soon as we crossed the archway to walk onto the street, there was nothing. No signs of a blizzard or tons of snow melting. The ground was dry.

  When we went into town to get more foo
d, we were positive someone would say something, but no one said a word about a freak snowstorm. It’s like a snow globe encased the property.

  Who were the Fae after?

  How did we survive?

  No one has answers, making us all on edge, but Megan more so. She’s fighting with everyone. Her temper got worse after the tree fight and since the blizzard, she has become even more manic. It was eerie how she laughed yesterday, accepting her demise as if life is a game, not something to treasure, only something that ends. I’m not sure she cares about anything right now. She snapped. It happened to me, it happened to Ciara, and now Megan. Sooner or later it’s bound to hit Sarah and Dana.

  My little cousin has changed from the innocent kid I once knew. Megan’s colder. Not heartless, but cold. She isn’t the little bright-eyed, adventurous girl filled with joy and determination I grew up with. She’s changed. Years have passed since either of us has had a carefree summer day. With a bleak past, it’s hard not to picture a grim future. Death, pain, and depression change you and harden you. We have to give her time; eventually she will calm down, find peace. We have to continue being patient and support her till then. The problem is, I don’t know how to help since she only wants isolation. When I first came to Capo, all I wanted was a friend or family to support me. She wants solitude.

  When Megan left, she didn’t say where she went. She wants no one to know where her blue-eyed bartender works. I’m probably the only person she told. Ciara’s right, it’s not safe after what happened. I better follow, keep an eye out, and try to talk sense into her.

  I don’t want to go to CS—I’d hate to see Lilly. It's better that it ends how it did, avoiding any future conversations. Weeks have passed, if she cared, she would have visited me. She knows where I live. Lilly’s a prostitute, and I’m a fool who wasted time and money on her. I don’t want her anymore. The only woman on my mind is Dana, and I lied to her yesterday. Well, not a lie, but we didn’t explain our plan—which is just as bad.

  Dana knows my past, even about Lilly. I told her everything the first night we spent together in the barn. She knows every painful memory, even my attempted suicide. None of those secrets compare to yesterday. It haunts me. It makes me sick what we prepared to do, what the Fae could have forced Tristan to do.

  We would never allow the Fae to take the girls. The plan was for Xander and me to hold the Fae off long enough for Tristan to kill them. He’s an expert with knives, fast, with impeccable aim. He would have thrown four blades quick enough to pierce their hearts before they realized what happened. We didn’t want their last memory of us to be killing them, but it’s better than being captured.

  Fae torture and rape their victims repeatedly until they became empty husks. Broken and disheveled, they would starve to death. It’s more merciful to die fast than to draw out their pain and suffering. None of us wanted to acknowledge it, but that’s what you do when Fae attack. Kill your wife and children, and then yourself ’cause there’s no surviving a fight with someone who can wield magic against an ax. That’s what fathers taught sons during the wars. The man of the house has to protect his wife and children at all costs. If you can’t save your family, it’s the man’s job to make sure they die painless and quick. To be tortured by Fae is a living Hell. Fae brainwash their captors and manipulate them, forcing them do unspeakable things. Those captured become toys, and when they tire of their play toys, the Fae let their victims die slow, excruciating deaths.

  To hear Tristan unsheathe his knives felt as if he stabbed me. To know the one plan, the only strategy against Fae, crushed me. I’ve never felt so useless. I stood waiting for the door to swing open. We didn’t want to kill them unnecessarily, but we were afraid we’d miss the opportunity to end their pain. Those, to date, were the worst moments of my life. I’ve never wanted to kill anyone or help kill someone—and that’s from hate. To kill out of love, it’s a whole other concept that makes my head spin.

  Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack.

  I hate that noise. It gives me the same sensation of nails on a chalkboard or scraping your fork across a plate. Cracking knuckles disturbs me. I wish Ciara wouldn’t do that every time she gets upset or anxious, which is constant.

  I head into the kitchen to grab my coat and boots from the closet. Ciara has her head buried in Tristan’s shoulder. Man, they got close.

  We built a seven-bedroom, two-story house and we only use four of the bedrooms. Megan is the only one who sleeps alone. Dana said it’s normal and that Megan doesn’t want a real relationship. She claims it’s too much work. I never pictured her so bitter. Damn, she changed.

  Ciara sniffles and turns when she hears the closet door open. “Are you getting Megan?”

  “Yes, I’ll bring her home.”

  She nods, her face is flushed red, the same shade as her hair. “Good.”

  I nod to Tristan, then turn to open the door to leave, but I see Brynjar storming through the courtyard. I planned on going to his cabin tomorrow to ask him for advice on Fae. He’s a disheveled mess. He’s normally unkempt, but there’s a rip in his shirt and a puncture hole near a bloodstain on his khaki pants.

  Brynjar marches up the porch steps and demands, “What happened?”

  A direct question. How’d he know about yesterday? “We have no clue. We think it was Fae-related. Besides a freak blizzard, nothing else happened, no fight, no confrontation, nothing. How do you know? Why are you here? What happened?”

  “Nothing happened?” Brynjar yells. “Dumbass!” He glares, inspecting me, and then tilts his head. “You stop drinking?”

  “I cut back. I haven’t stopped yet.”

  Thanks to Dana’s support, I’m down to a quarter bottle a day—a major improvement. It took more self-control than I had not to drown myself after the snow melted. She didn’t leave my side for a moment, calming and comforting me. I would’ve drunk a gallon if she hadn’t supported me. She keeps me stable, makes me laugh, relax, and takes my mind off alcohol. Just her presence helps.

  His eyes widen as if he could never picture me sober. “Where’s Megan?”

  “I’m about to get her. She ran off to a bar.” He waits for me to say which one. “CS.”

  I’m grateful Tristan said nothing. It’s the most expensive, glamorous, and risqué bar in town. Every man knows it.

  “Humph.” He slams the door and practically jogs through the courtyard, not waiting.

  I turn to look at Tristan and Ciara, shrugging, and then I run out of the house, chasing after Brynjar.

  He normally moves faster, but he has a limp, so it doesn’t take me long to catch up to him. His eyes are dark and baggy. It looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His clothes are torn in places that don’t tear from daily use. Drops of blood are splattered across his dark navy blue shirt and khaki pants. I can’t tell whose blood is on his shirt, but someone cut or stabbed his right leg.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why are you in a hurry?”

  “CS is no place for a pr-pretty young lady. You’re a fool to let her go there. She’s your little cousin. Protect her.” His voice trembles with rage. I’ve never seen him this mad. Sure, I’ve pissed him off plenty of times; he normally gives a death stare along with a more intense silent treatment.

  He never talks.

  “She went to a bar. It’s normal for her. I can’t keep her locked up. She needed to get out of the house. Not that I agree with her going out after what happened yesterday—”

  “Quiet,” Brynjar demands.

  The back alley is always empty, no lights, no noise, only Muscle-Man Sean guarding the entrance. Odd how packed CS always is, but I’ve seen no one enter or leave. Only a couple times had I ever seen anyone besides the bouncer and myself in the alley, but that’s because we left together.

  Sean, the bouncer, sees me first. “Hey, Laughing Idiot.” He recognizes Brynjar and stops teasing. “Damn, how you’ve been? Where are you going?”

  Sean, th
e normal security, is the second biggest man in town. He stands on the stoop asking the same question, always waiting for the same answer. It’s crazy how Sean has done this job for years. He must get bored. At least there are perks to working at CS.

  “Nowhere fast!” Brynjar barks, shoving Sean out of the way. Sean regains balance and stands puzzled, but not too bothered to follow. Bouncers usually throw out men who act like that. He must really know Brynjar to let it slide.

  “She met him at the bar,” I say as we pass through the double doors.

  Hurrying over, we pass the twins dressed in matching floral baby doll lingerie. We don’t stop to hand over our cloaks. Brynjar’s so occupied, he doesn’t see Miki Connor, his old drinking buddy, wave hello. What has him so concerned about Megan? He didn’t care when we visited his cabin. He showed no interest in her, just stared. I still don’t understand why.

  She’s not at the bar. She’s nowhere in sight. Now I’m nervous. We were fifteen minutes behind. Did she go straight to his house?

  Two men stand behind the bar but neither one match the description of her bartender. They both have brown hair and hazel eyes.

  “Hey, excuse me,” I say to the nearest bartender. He’s got a crooked nose and is cleaning a glass. “I’m searching for a woman. Her hair is brownish red. She’s about this tall with blue eyes. Have you seen her?”

  “Who are you to her?” the bartender snaps.

  “Her cousin. Do you know where she is?”

  “She left with Bill. Don’t know where.”

  “Where does he live? It’s important.”

  “I have no clue. Lilly might know. She takes care of the paperwork. I’ll get her.”

  My stomach drops as he leaves to get her. The woman I’m trying to avoid is the one person I need to talk to. Shit. Hope Brynjar will speak for me, but that will never happen.

  “She’s not here,” Brynjar grumbles.