The (Not) Satisfied Dragon - Colette Rhodes Page 0,8
my shoulder. Oren stood at the top of the staircase, feet hip-width apart and arms crossed, exuding power just by standing there. I shivered a little underneath the heavy jacket, and my brother shot me a look somewhere between revulsion and amusement.
“Dispose of the dagger, Shira.”
I blinked heavily as he made his way back into the apartment, his raspy voice echoing in my ears.
“Come on, sis. Let's get out of here.”
✽✽✽
It was a miracle I didn’t fall off Xander’s back to my death since I was sure I slept most of the way to Fi’s family cottage. Maybe the whole way. The events of tonight all blurred together in my head, and as the sun slowly rose over the orchard outside the cottage, I felt like I’d aged ten years since yesterday.
Xander half carried me to the front door of the small stone cottage and helped me unlock it when my fingers fumbled the key. I was physically exhausted, but my mind chose that moment to perk right up and go over everything that happened over the past twelve hours in excruciating detail.
Oh well, I probably needed a bath, anyway. The blood had seeped all the way through my ruined clothes and I couldn’t help panicking that it would somehow soak into my skin and stay there like a stain for the rest of my life.
Xander had been remarkably quiet since we'd left The Alchemist's apartment, and he continued that now, leading me to the bathroom and leaving me leaning against the wall while he got the bath going.
“Cold water,” he muttered with an apologetic grimace.
“I'd bathe in ice right now if that was all that was on offer. I just need to get this blood off me,” I assured him, yawning. At least I wasn't at risk of falling asleep and accidentally drowning myself in cold water.
“I don’t care what your mates say, we are definitely going to talk about that blood. I’ll go find you some clothes, will you be alright here?” he added, looking about as uncomfortable as I felt.
“Even if I'm not, you aren't helping me bathe, little brother,” I replied, wrinkling my nose.
Xander’s lips twitched, and he muttered something that sounded like “thank the gods” as he let himself out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Fortunately, it wasn’t a big room since I didn’t feel up to moving around much. I gripped the wooden counter as I shuffled along next to the ancient looking bath that sat underneath a stained glass window depicting a spray of foxgloves.
Gingerly, I gripped the edge of the bath and climbed into the cool water fully clothed, hoping the clothes were salvageable. If I’d been uncomfortable with wearing Fi’s mate’s old clothes, I was horrified at wearing her dead fathers’ clothes. I barely noticed the cold as I sunk down into the water, tipping my head back to wash the dirt from the mountain out of my hair.
When I’d lived with Flight Milain, I had a list of tasks they expected me to complete every day. Scrub the floors. Bake bread. Weed the vegetable garden.
As much as I loathed living there, I still got some satisfaction out of completing my chores. A grim sense of accomplishment that I’d done what I set out to do.
Apparently, fulfilling a lifelong dream of revenge was a similar achievement. Job done. Murder complete. A productive night.
I had no regrets. Executing them had been bloody, but necessary. It changed nothing, though. My parents were still dead. My sister was still dead. My stolen childhood was still gone. Flight Milain had lost everything tonight, but I’d still gained nothing.
If anything, I'd lost something. I knew the moment I put the ground up dawn clover in Leo's tea that any future with my mates was lost. Their actions had pushed me to the point where I did something I couldn't take back. I was experiencing that feeling again, but to a crushing degree. Now I'd done something I really couldn't take back — didn't want to take back — and my future with them was the sacrifice I'd made for that to happen.
I peeled off the wet clothes, hanging them on the side of the tub and scrubbing my skin with soap. The water had turned pink with blood, chunks of dirt flaking off and adding to the soup of horrors that was my bathwater.
“Shira?” Xander called, knocking on the door. “I found you some clothes and jarred fruit. I'll leave the clothes outside