Venators: Promises Forged. Devri Walls
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an edge to his voice tickled Ryker’s ears—a framing of fear.
One side of his mouth twisted up in a smirk. “Then I guess you can relax,” he said, walking the chair the last few inches.
He’d turned himself so his shoulder and hip were against the wall. Tilting his weight to the opposite side, he used the toe of his shoe to balance the chair on two legs, and then threw his weight against the wall. The force was more than he’d anticipated—he hit like a battering ram. He had no time to wonder where the extra strength had come from. Over his own grunt of pain was the sound of the wooden chair cracking.
The three creatures yelped and scrambled for the door, shouting about weapons.
Ryker repeated the motion, leaning and slamming. The chair cracked again, and he repositioned, the square legs squealing as he spun to aim the force on the rounded top behind his neck. This time he felt the back buckle, and he leaned forward, wrenching the chair in two. He jerked his arms first one way and then the other, sliding free. The wooden back clattered to the floor.
With the extra slack in the rope, he was able to manipulate his hands so his fingers could loosen the knots. A moment later he was free and working on his ankles.
Shouts and feet echoed down the hall toward him. He swore and worked faster, stepping free of his bonds just as eight goblins flowed back into the room, swords and axes in hand.
The image was too familiar. A memory flashed of him peeing his pants as a kid, so raw and painful that it jolted loose the fear and replaced it with empowering anger. Ryker picked up the chair by the legs and swung it against the wall. The seat broke free, leaving him with two splintered bats for weapons. Not much against swords, but better than cowering in the corner. Or in a bush. He’d cowered once, and he vowed in that moment it would never happen again.
Ryker took a step toward his attackers.
“You’s going to fight with those?”
Ryker noticed something he hadn’t expected and nearly laughed out loud. “Ridiculous, right?” He waved the chair legs. “But you’re scared.”
He took a second step forward, testing his theory, and all eight took a step back.
“Get out of my way,” he said, trying to sell the bluff. Although lacking a proper amount of fear given the situation, Ryker’s mind was functioning just fine. What the hell would he do with two sticks of wood against eight goblins with swords and axes?
“Stop!” A female voice rang from outside the door.
The goblins lurched as if they’d been shocked. Their weapons drooped to their sides as they shuffled back against the wall, heads bowed.
Ryker had only taken one step toward freedom when a woman walked into the room, the edge of her red silk gown skimming the floor. At first he thought she was floating. The moment he laid eyes on her, something washed over him like a bucket of water, leaving the rage simmering and steaming like a pile of dying coals.
“Who are you?” he stammered.
She demurely dipped her head. “My name is Zio. I apologize for your treatment. My servants sometimes forget themselves.” She gave one absent hand wave, and the goblins hurried out of the room.
Her eyes were a deep purple and framed by hair so pale it had surpassed blonde and become platinum white. Dark brows offered a measure of severity to her heart-shaped face, and full lips were painted red to match the dress. A long silver chain slipped between a tease of cleavage at the top of her corseted gown and dropped toward her navel. Hanging at the end was a pendant, an almond-shaped eye, with a huge, blinking sapphire surrounded by diamond-crusted eyelashes. Another blue stone dangled from a tiny clasp, shaped like a tear about to fall.
“I’m very pleased to meet you . . .” She trailed off, one eyebrow rising in question.
“Ryker,” he responded instantly, then frowned. He hadn’t meant to tell her that.
Zio began speaking, but her words were a buzz as the memories of last night finally broke through the veil of too much alcohol. “Where’s my sister?” he blurted, interrupting.
“Your sister?” Zio tilted her head, eyes wide like that of a doe.
“Yes, I heard her yell . . . I think.” His confidence in his memories waned, but he pushed through. “Yes, before they appeared.” He jerked his head toward the door.
“Ah.” She crossed her hands demurely at her waist. “I’m sorry to tell you, but we had no hand in that. Your sister came to this side quite willingly. Or so I’m told.”
“This side? Willingly?” Nothing was making sense. Although he had no idea where “this side” was or what that even meant, Ryker found himself sputtering, “She’s here?”
“No, not here.” Zio looked at him with pity. “I’m sorry, Ryker. This must be very confusing. You’ve crossed into an alternate dimension, one that runs parallel to the reality you know. Everything you’ve ever read about—magic, dragons, goblins, werewolves—they’re all real, and they’re all here. Your sister came to help a corrupt governing body take control . . . from me.”
Time fled, and reality twisted. “What?”
“Don’t you see? Your sister left you, Ryker. And we found you.”
“She just came to this . . . this alternate dimension, alone? And then what? Sent those little servants of yours after me?”
“No. She didn’t come alone. And the goblins were there on my order, to find you. The council wanted you destroyed. You weren’t supposed to live, Ryker.”
He wanted to call her a liar, to deny everything she’d said, but nothing else seemed to fit the current situation. Down the rabbit hole. The phrase rolled through his head like Alice had rolled into Wonderland, down a hole of the unexplainable. He stared at Zio, wordless. If it weren’t for the splinter working its way into his clenched fist, the undeniable foul smell wafting through his nose, and the painfully fading cloud of beer, he might’ve convinced himself it was a dream.
He looked into Zio’s hypnotic purple gaze. “But . . . who did she come here with?”
“I believe they call him Grey.”
For a moment he wondered if he’d heard correctly. But then, of course he had. He’d always known Grey for what he was since that night, the one he’d tried to forget but couldn’t. A blue man had saved Ryker and told him to look out for Grey—that they would need to lean on each other. When Grey had showed up at school the next week in a trench coat nearly identical to his rescuer, Ryker had known that Grey had seen the blue man too. And for a reason he couldn’t understand, it had instantly birthed a firestorm of hatred for Grey.
But then it had gotten worse—the way Grey looked at his sister, the way he openly waved his flag of strangeness. The little freak was practically a walking announcement to the world of what had happened that night. Deep down, Ryker lived in constant fear that one day Grey would approach him about it, his secret would get out, and he would never be able to bottle it up again.
Ryker clenched his fists harder, imagining a new use for the chair legs. “Take me to them.”
“Oh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
FAÇADE
Grey slept most of the day, waking only for dinner. Food was welcome, but after the meal, he anxiously escaped the tension-filled company of the council and returned to his room, anticipating more rest. Despite the many hours of sleep he’d already had, his body was still thoroughly exhausted from werewolf hunting, running for his life, and escaping a dragon—a dragon. He’d almost been charred alive by death on wings.
But this time, when sleep came, Grey tossed and turned—caught