Page 44 of Wrath of the Dragons
“You—” I shake my head. “You don’t look like—”my Cayden.
His confusion clears and he turns away to pull a vial from the trunk in the corner, swallowing the orange fizzy liquid encased within. My lips part as the scars on his back slowly re-form, and when he turns back around my shoulders loosen. He throws a shirt over his head as I pour him a glass of water from the pitcher on a small table.
He regards me curiously. “What did you want to talk about?”
I look around, but there aren’t many places to sit, and I’d rather not conduct this conversation from stiff chairs. I take the glass from his hand and take a few sips before handing it back. His lips quirk up in a familiar way that eases my nerves slightly, and I pull at the fur on my sleeve while walking to the open window.
“So this is your business?”
He raises his brows and tucks a hand into his pocket as he moves to stand beside me. “The Demon’s Den.”
I laugh softly, cutting my eyes to him before overlooking the city. “Subtle.”
He shrugs. “Subtler than the way you’re trying to stall.”
My teeth sink into my lower lip, and I force myself to swallow through my tight throat. “I spent most of my life seeking love from a place of pain, so I think I stopped expecting it as a way to cope. But the more pain I experienced, the more I craved love, and the more desperate I became. I didn’t realize how far gone I was. It felt as if I was constantly reaching out my hand and only realized the pain I was in when all my fingers were broken, my skin was marred with blood, and I had nothing left to give.” It began before Ailliard. I remember clinging to the bars of my cell while I cried out for a mother who never came. “So when you hurt me, I thought shutting you out was the best way to protect myself. I’ve always been told the depth in which I feel things is a weakness and that it’s best to keep weaknesses hidden.”
“I don’t want you to hide a single part of yourself from me,” Cayden says, curling his hands over the window ledge. He tilts his head down so I’m able to look into his eyes. “I adore everything about you, even the traits you despise.”
I nod, hanging onto his reassurance like a lifeline. “I miss you.”
His features contort in pain as his gaze flashes to my lips. “I’ve always been here.”
“But I need more.” I briefly close my eyes to subdue the burning within them. “If I’m to be vulnerable with you again, I need you to do the same. If I’m to take the Imirath throne with you by my side, I need to be able to fully trust you. If you always wear a piece of armor when you’re alone with me then I’ll always expect a battle.”
“I never intended to make you feel that way,” he answers gently, his eyes softening. “I’ve just lived without vulnerability for so long that I don’t remember what it’s like to not be burdened by caution.”
“You know what happened to me when I was a child. You tortured one of Garrick’s guards, you heard the tales of the tortured princess, and you’ve pulled me through my panic.” I take a deep breath, urging myself to continue. “You keep imploring me to communicate with you, but I won’t be able to until you climb the wall you keep between us and meet me on the other side. I want to know you, Cayden. I want to know that you trust me enough to tell me the things that have shaped you into the man you are today. I don’t ever want to be blindsided by anything when it pertains to you again.”
“You want me to tell you about my past,” he states without emotion. “You want to know why I hate Garrick aside from the scar on my face and him murdering my mother.”
“Yes.”
A muscle flutters in his jaw, and he tucks his tongue into the side of his cheek as he weighs my words. He’s looking at me like I’m his favorite puzzle in need of solving, bright green eyes tracing my features and the fingers wrapped around my pendant. He nods more to himself than to me, like he’s come to a conclusion within the confines of his mind.
Several beats pass, and though his face doesn’t change, his fingers lace through mine.
Chapter
Twenty-two
Cayden
I’ve never forgotten who Iam, or the events that occurred that shaped me into the man I am today. If you always remember who you are, nobody can use it against you. Dirt and blood are caked beneath my broken nails from clawing my way to the top, to rise above those who would look down upon me, and time has taught them to fear my name.
After donning my cloak and a fresh mask, I lead Elowen down the steps and retrieve hers. I pull the hood up as she hooks her face covering over her ears and we exit the building through the half-eaten door.
“Get on the horse,” I say, jutting my chin toward where Koa’s tied to a post. My muscles are tired from the ring, but I hoist the hefty crates to block the gaping hole. Ryder will repair it before he leaves, but I don’t want to leave it like this. I itch to grab a smoke as memories resurge, but I push the craving away and swing myself up behind Elowen. It’s late, so the streets are empty aside from a few loiterers swaying as they walk, too deep in their cups to realize who we are. “What exactly do you want to know?”
“Why were your parents on the run from Garrick?”
Screams.
They blast through my skull whenever I think of my mother.
I don’t remember the shade of blond her hair was or the dresses she used to wear. I only know the color of her eyes because they’re exactlythe same as mine, and sometimes when I look at my eyes in the mirror, all I can recall is watching the light leave hers.
Every other feature I have is entirely my father—and it sickens me. I was designed to hate myself.
