25. Crash

25

Crash

I have no excuse for how I'm treating this lovely little dryad. The scheming, sexy manipulator.

I smother a grin, intrigued as much as I'm annoyed by how much I'm coming to like her.

And that's something I can't afford.

I don't like people.

I don't make friends.

I don't do group fun or "family" dynamics.

Losing Arlen broke something inside me. I can't do it anymore.

No more "like" or "love" or any of that happy horseshit.

But I can do lust. And hate.

I want nothing more to fuck that dryad out of my system.

I was this close to making that happen. Until some assholes interrupted.

I'm raging inside, as I always am, layers of lava bubbling and waiting to erupt.

Unfortunately, my magic is bound deep. Like the others, I can't cast spells .

But I'm a sylph as well, an elemental fae with ties to the world around us.

And nothing can take away my ability to hate.

With that rage comes a fire so strong it bathes me in despair.

"What the hell?" Ries takes a step away from me and gets clobbered by two ghouls.

Oz is fighting the ogre, and it looks like an even match. Both are grinning through bloody teeth at each other and growling.

Malkar is dancing around a few shifters, moving like water as he bends and flows out of the way of their many attacks.

He sees me and frowns. "Do not die. Your life is mine."

That steals a bit of my power, because I want to laugh at him instead of thundering at the many injustices heaped upon my life.

Like the pretty dryad trapped with four strangers, needing to barter away her body to remain safe in a world that would much rather tear her apart, piece by piece.

I whirl through three ghouls and head straight for an incoming vampire.

The moment I touch their skin, the ghouls shriek and boil into tree men. The vampire looks shocked, so he's likely real.

But that spurt of inattention costs him. With a soft puff of air, I burn his eyes out of their sockets.

He's screaming while Malkar flashes by with a long knife and cuts his head off.

"Where'd you get the knife?"

He nods to the dead ghouls on the ground. They haven't shifted back to trees. No. Wait. They're pooling into the ground and turning into thick, thorny vines.

I remember what Kami said about the tree monster raping the gnome before using him to make more .

To hell with that. The only fucking around here is going to involve my dick and one blushing dryad.

I hate that I kind of like her. That I can feel myself drawn to her, feeling her connect the lot of us like spikes in a wheel. Together we'll roll away from this danger.

Apart, we'll crumble.

I know this to be true. A sense of foresight I've always tried to ignore—to my detriment.

It sucks. I hate her. I hate it. I hate everything in this fucked up world.

Myself most of all.

I yank all that tasty hatred into a ball in my chest and blow on the feeling, making it grow.

"Fuck, Crash." Malkar yells to the others, "Get down!"

I don't know how he knows, but he's smart to be wary.

I emote what I'm feeling, a sliver of my energy in that mess of chaos within. The release is like a storm that electrifies. I fling the enemy away. Out, past the canopy above us, their fiery remains launch into the sky.

"What was that? " Ries asks.

I look over to see him, Oz, and Malkar staring at me.

"I told you I still have a little something." I rise and stretch, as if I didn't just scare myself with how easily I can rage.

And how weak that feeling leaves me.

"Now I'm going to collect what I'm owed. Keep watch."

"What a dick," Ries mutters.

"Seriously," Oz agrees. "Don't hurt her, fae."

Malkar says nothing, just watches me with suspicion.

Does he think I'll hurt the girl? That I'll fall on her and fuck her until she's nothing but a sobbing mess?

Maybe I should. She's nothing. Another piece in this shitty puzzle life's handed to us .

I really don't like her. I just lust after her body. She has amazing tits.

I snicker to myself. Yeah. She's nothing but a piece of ass. I'll pump and dump and be done.

I earned it, after all.

Upon entering the alcove, I see her on the ground, curled up in a ball.

She's…sleeping.

How the hell can she rest with danger all around?

But as I stare at her, I see shadows under her eyes. She looks young, her mouth parted on a sigh as she slumbers.

I crouch and stare, waiting for her to wake.

Waiting for her to give me what I'm owed.

Her breath hitches, and she frowns.

I move closer and catch a bit of her hair between my fingers.

So soft. So dark and shiny despite the mess we're all in. Around us, flowers thicken on thorny vines, dense with a fragrance that makes me hurt deep inside, afraid of such beauty.

I watch her, wishing she could be as soft as she should be and not prickly because she has to be. Beautiful but toxic, like those white flowers.

So I wait. And watch.

Not because I care about her. I don't.

Because I have the power in this dynamic.

I can take. I can give. I can kill.

I'm still not sure what I want with this dryad.

Perhaps given some time, I'll find out.

I stroke her hair some more.

It really is so fragile, so soft.