Page 28 of Wanted: A Roommate Who Isn't Evil

Dranian lowered the device onto his lap. He brushed a bead of sweat from his brow, and he tossed the phone onto his nightstand as it sank in that calling Shayne for help wasn’t an option. That Shayne had chosen to leave his only communication device behind.

So, was Dranian really alone to facethis after all?

Dranian sighed and shook out his nightshirt, letting cool air find his hot body. He was far too exhausted to feel the humiliation of Luc seeing him at the lowest point of his disability. Now the fox knew Dranian had not just one useable arm, but he also had an illness of the mind.

An illness of his lowly birth that had gotten slightly better when Shayne had showed up in his life. A disease that had only subsided when he’d come to the human realm and chose a quieter way of living among the humans.

And now… Now he’d lost control of his dreams, too.

He released a heavy breath as he realized that he could never fall back to sleep again.

11

Dranian Evelry and How it all Began in Ashi-Calla Village, Part 2

It was hard to find the girl with no name most of the time, as she always seemed to be hiding. But Dranian crossed her here and there. She’d shoot him a subtle smile from far down the road, or she’d playfully tug a handful of his jacket as they passed each other in the street. They didn’t stop to talk—that would only draw attention. But he became acutely aware when she was in view, or passing by, or busy doing something a stone’s throw away.

To make things more interesting, Dranian studied at the tree-cove library and mastered the art of elftouch. She’d nearly squealed when he traced a phantom finger along the back of her shoulders from far away as he hid behind a trunk in the woods.She’d spun with wild eyes, looking around at the woodcutter fairies chopping logs, and Dranian had nearly laughed out loud—which would have been startling enough to anyone who heard. It became a game when she noticed him hiding there. He felt a poke right back and he shrieked, alerting the woodcutter fairies all through the forest. When she did it again, it became clear she’d mastered the art of elftouch in her lifetime too, and far better than he had. He hadn’t been able to scamper out of the forest fast enough as she’d poked him over and over until he was out of sight.

Dranian used his next month’s coin to buy a new spear—a larger one, carved with the forest beauties of Ashi-Calla. It was strikingly magnificent and better than any other thing he owned. Weeks earlier, he would have thought he had no use for such a weapon. A half-spear would have been enough to fend off the forest creatures. But he had a strange new ambition to learn to use a full-sized weapon now. To make something of himself.

The woods became his training grounds. He fought the trunks, stabbing and slicing, and leaping high over fallen logs. He became faster at running, faster at stabbing, faster at everything with each passing day. He became obsessive, so focussed that he lost track of hours and missed work. He endured several tantrums from his father and even one from his mother who until now had hardly acknowledged his existence. He became so engrossed in the hope that he could be useful as a spear-wielder that he didn’t even notice when the girl went missing.

He came back from the woods one day, drenched in sweat andrain, his spear slick in his grip. The village roads were muddy and puddles formed in the uneven places. The rain almost drowned out the sound of the shouting males gathering around the forest hall. Dranian meant to walk by and let them be, but he glanced over, curious what all the fuss was about.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw one of them shove a bright-eyed, black-haired female into the log wall of the hall. She looked afraid; she looked angry.

“You little witch!” the fae spat at her. “How many of our dreams have you tried to slip into? Did you think hiding what you are would save you?”

Dranian watched in dismay as the males crouched to pick up large stones. He found himself moving toward the scene, found himself bringing his spear to life. He found himself shoving the males out of the way and standing in between them and the girl with bright eyes who had never been given a name.

The males observed Dranian’s spear, one of them taking a step back. Dranian didn’t know what to say—if he should announce his intentions. If he should beg for mercy. He didn’t say anything at all.

“What are you going to do with that?” one of them asked with a mocking snarl. Fairy eyes narrowed on him, their new target, and suddenly clear thoughts vanished from Dranian’s mind. He thought he might tip over. His heart took on a new, uneven rhythm as he felt himself trapped back in a place he had been before—the subject of theirhatred.

Quiet sounds of the girl weeping came from behind him. Dranian felt his chest tighten amidst his body rejecting his control, his hands beginning to shake. One of the males easily smacked his spear away; it ripped from his grip and rolled across the ground.

“Are you really going to take these rocks, Evelry?” another male asked as he tossed his rock into the air and caught it again. “Or are you going to move out of the way?”

He should move. He should run and take the girl with him. But…

His mind fell into chaos, spinning, turning blank. He forgot where he was as his breathing became heavy and fast.

Rocks began to fly. Dranian hardly knew what he was doing, hardly remembered his own name, but one thing he did know—that this girl would die if he didn’t do something. He took a rock to the shoulder as he spun around and placed his body over hers, holding his arms up to shield her face. Rock after rock pelted his back and he gritted his teeth, his mind melting and sharpening and blanking. The girl cried, whispering his name.

He did not know her name to say it back.

Only when he collapsed did the fae grow tired of it. They laughed as they walked away, and while the colours in his vision turned to blurs, Dranian lost his consciousness and was swept away into slumber.

A voice appeared on the cusp of his dream, not threatening to come in, not pushing. She just cried and said,“Stay alive.”

Dranian could hardly move the next morning when he awoke in his bed. He wondered why his father wasn’t in his room, shaking him awake, yelling at him for not being at work. He winced as he peeled back his covers and tried to stand.

When he came into the main space of the hut, he realized the rest of his family was missing, too.

“Father?” he dared to call, finding his voice dry. He swallowed and tried again, “Father?”

Still, no one answered.

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