Page 17 of The Deer and the Dragon
Richard froze. His hands slackened slightly on my throat. I gasped for air as his eyes bulged like a guppy snatched from water. I was free the second his fingers flew to his own neck, clutching uselessly as he began to turn a violent shade of purple. I scrambled to get out from underneath him as fast as I could, hands gnawed and shredded by the shards of glass that littered the floor as my legs kicked out. Under any other circumstance, I would have watched him flop to his side and die on my living room floor. I would have stared at the violent criminal in a limp fetal position between the television and coffee table. If it had been anything else, I would have grabbed the steak knife and plunged it into him over and over and over until I knew he was gone.
But what I saw instead stole my every thought.
Shock replaced fear or victory or vengeance.
A strange glitter populated the space where Richard hadtowered. The sparkle had to be stars from oxygen deprivation as I gaped. A bloodied hand flew to my neck to ensure I was still getting air, as I’d surely lost my mind. The rippling shape of a man stood just behind where Richard had been only moments prior. The man’s hand remained outstretched, frozen as if he’d left it where Richard’s head was meant to be.
Hard, golden eyes scanned the room. His gaze lifted to me and snagged. Surprise punched through him like an electric bolt as he held my eyes.
“Who are you?” I tried to ask, voice coming out hoarse and raw as each word squeaked past the bruising on my larynx. I was loosely aware of the hot blood on my neck as my shredded hands continued to gush.
The man tilted his head, parting his lips to answer. He knelt to bring himself closer. As he moved, I was hit by a scent like the thieves’ oil my mother used to smudge on my temples when I was sick—frankincense and myrrh, bright and overpowering spices. I tried to move farther away, but he lifted a large hand. “How can you…” He blinked several times before changing his tactic. “This is just a dream,” he said unconvincingly. The skin near his eyes went taut, face strained with an array of emotions.
I shook my head as I fully examined him. Hercules may as well have been in my apartment, except the air around him shimmered, his eyes smoldered, and he was visibly pissed at being here. Gold-brown hair, vibrantly gilded eyes, and dressed for battle, with the burly, well-muscled frame to fit. He’d stepped straight from literature in pale beige-and-white leather into my living room. The shimmer behind him hadn’t dissipated—the pulsation of something my brain refused to understand.
“Tell me who you are,” I insisted.
His frown intensified. “You can’t see me,” he said.
The fuck I can’t.
Metaphorical fingers tightened around my throat. My eyes shot down to Richard, then up to the stranger. Lookinginto his eyes was like looking at the sun, honey-bright retinas burning into mine as I demanded, “What did you do to him?”
“He was marked,” the stranger said, voice thick with confusion. “I had him choke on his tongue…I…how can you…I shouldn’t be telling you this. You shouldn’t be asking. You shouldn’t…” He looked around my room, eyes catching above my doorframe. “Shit.”
“Who the hell are you!” I tried to yell past the barbed-wire scrape of my throat.
“Are those your sigils?”
My heart continued thundering with painful intensity. Adrenaline overpowered me, numbing me as it became too much for my body to handle. Though hazy vision, I followed his line of sight, but I saw nothing. “What sigils?”
“Did you do them, human? Did you put them up?”
“I…”
His face twisted into a snarl. “Listen, human, forget about tonight. Call the police. The man died while attacking you. It isn’t even self-defense. Not really. You won’t get in any trouble. I don’t know who’s visiting you, but…”
“Silas” came a smooth, familiar voice.
The stranger—the man he’d called Silas—went statue still. For the second time that evening, his lips pulled back into a growl. “Shit.”
Caliban stepped out from the shadows. Tall, rippling, sterling, and breathtaking as I hadn’t seen him in years. It had been so long since I’d looked into his face. He strode the line between gravity and indifference while looking between the stranger and Richard. I caught the quickly controlled flash of concern as his gaze went from Richard’s still-purple face to me. His gaze returned to Silas before he said, “Thank you for taking care of my mark.”
“Yourmark?”
“Caliban,” I rasped.
“Caliban?” Silas repeatedly uncertainly as he looked between me and my guardian. He took several steps backward.“If these are your sigils, I didn’t mean to interfere. I was just telling the human—”
Caliban ignored Silas the moment I spoke his name. He was at my side in three swift steps. He knelt and wrapped a strong arm around my back. Moss and rain and cypress washed over me like a low, cool cloud settling on the forest floor. I relaxed into it as if disappearing into a fairy tale, choosing fantasy over the pain, the blood, the nightmare in my living room. He rested a hand against my throat, sending a gentle tingle along the injury. The stranger’s eyes widened.
“This isyourhuman?”
Their exchange was little more than noise. Tears rimmed my eyes as I looked at Caliban’s perfect, compassionate face. “Help me.”
He waved the unwelcome man away. He didn’t take his diamond eyes off me as he said with a clear, dismissive voice, “I owe you, Silas.”
I didn’t see the stranger leave. He didn’t use the door. But the next thing I knew, he was gone. I was too disoriented to make sense of any of it.
