Birthright (The Stone Legacy Series Book 5) (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Arwan

Another day had gone by without a word from Cualli or the others. The atmosphere in the house had been tense, and Balam’s nonchalant feline attitude had somehow heightened Zanya’s anxiety. Arwan sensed it in her body language. Every time she tried to smile, her bottom lip quivered. She didn’t seem to notice it. He did.

The moon was high in the sky, shining through the windows into their bedroom, washing everything in silky light. Arwan kicked at the sheets. The fan overhead spun in a blurred circle, doing little to cool him.

He pushed to his forearms and gazed down at Zanya, who was asleep beside him. He scanned the curves of her figure below the sheer white cloth. She was flawless—everything he ever wanted.

He lifted strands of her hair to his nose, inhaling her scent. He still hadn’t wrapped his mind around the fact he’d enjoy the warmth of her body lying beside him forever.

She drew in a deep, sleepy breath. Her eyelids fluttered, though she didn’t wake.

He placed a kiss on her bare shoulder and lowered his head back onto his pillow. Perhaps all the years he’d spent fighting for what he believed in had finally paid off. He was bonded with the love of his life, and his mother hadn’t abandoned him without reason. The pieces were finally coming together, and the picture they painted was a bright future—if they could survive what was to come.

Zanya let out a tiny moan and rolled onto her stomach. Strands of wavy brown hair spilled over her face.

He drifted his hand down the soft ridges of her spine. When he lifted his hand, something wet slicked his fingertips.

A salty, metallic smell filled his nostrils, making his throat tighten.

He sat up and peered at his hand, covered in blood. “Zanya!” He yanked the sheet away from her body, uncovering roots clenched onto her legs.

“Zanya!” He grabbed hold of the invading tree and yanked on the roots with all of his strength. His muscles bulged and knuckles flushed white, though his efforts did little to separate Yaxche from her body. “Zanya, wake up!”

The roots coiled tighter and slithered up her torso as she slept. “No!” He snapped several thinner vines, but the others were too strong, and too hungry.

“Damn it, Zanya! Wake—”

Her eyes shot open, and a shrill scream tore out of her chest. She pushed the top half of her body off the bed and stared at her legs in horror. “Get them off!”

“You have to use your abilities. I’m not strong enough!” He ground his teeth while yanking on one thick vine, snapping it in half. It went limp and fell to the floor, only for another one to take its place.

“Use your abilities!”

She screamed again, sharper this time. “It’s inside me!” Zanya clawed at a root boring into her leg. “Get it off! Get it off!” Blood seeped from the gash, staining the sheet scarlet.

Arwan leapt off the bed, ran into the kitchen, and grabbed a knife from the drawer. When he skidded back into the room, Zanya and the entire bed were consumed by the tree.

Her screams were muffled inside.

“No!” He lunged forward and brought the blade down on the roots. Arwan froze when blood seeped out of the injured tree, onto the floor. The possibility of it being Zanya’s blood was too real. If he cut into the vines, the knife could find her just as easily.

Zanya’s screams suddenly stopped.

The roots stilled.

A blanket of silence covered the room.

Arwan’s hands trembled, and the knife fell from his grip, clattering to the stone floor. He laid his hands over the tangled cage of vines, wedging his fingertips into any cracks or crevices he could find. “Zanya.” He choked on her name.

Poor boy, a voice hissed, so quietly he questioned his own sanity.

He scanned the empty space, finding nothing but shadows, moonlight, and the lingering scent of Zanya’s presence.

The darkness inside him flared, twisting his gut.

You cannot save her.

He turned his head, staring at the roots.

A light shone from inside the gnarled ball of slithering roots, making them glow red. Tiny blue veins stood out against the light as they pulsed with newly harvested blood.

Arwan leaned closer, peering through the now-translucent walls.

You cannot save her.

A root lifted from the mass, and Arwan stumbled back. The mass pushed up and coiled around one another, forming five fingers, then a hand and a forearm.

You cannot escape. The familiar voice was louder this time.

The roots lifted, gathered, and molded into a head, neck, and torso—like a creature spawning from its origin.

But it wasn’t a creature.

Arwan snarled at Contessa’s features as she grew from the tree.

The witch reached out, agitating the darkness inside him. It clawed and battered the walls of his chest, forcing him to his knees.

You cannot save her.

He clenched his teeth and fisted his hands against the stone ground. “I can.” The words quivered in a breathless effort to speak through the sickening influence of his other half. His darkness coiled around his lungs like a vise, fogging his vision and winding his muscles tight until he struggled to breathe. “I can.” He forced himself to his feet, trembling under the effort. “And I will.”

Against his body’s will, he stepped forward. “I know who I am.” He squared his stance. “I know, and I’m coming for you.” He glared. “Not even my father can save you now.”

A flash of light exploded in the space.

Arwan gasped and shot up in bed.

Zanya sat up and placed her hand on his back.

He looked at her, touched her hand, and then her face. “You’re here.” He kissed her on the forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. “Thank the gods.”

“What’s going on?” She pulled away. “You’re covered in sweat. Were you having a nightmare?”

He pushed his hair back and nodded. “Yeah. A very real nightmare.”

“Well, if anyone can relate, it’s me. Just…breathe.”

He drew in a deep breath and threw off the sheets, the memory of her screams replaying in his mind. He stood and glanced out the window, movement catching his eye. He stepped forward and peered down at a sea of crawling roots spread over the jungle floor.

His stomach dropped.

Zanya shifted under the sheets. “What is it? More locals?”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing.” He swallowed, then lowered his gaze. “Go back to sleep. Everything’s fine.”

She lay back down and draped her arm on his side of the bed. “Come back to bed.”

“I will. As soon as I splash some water on my face.”

He walked into the bathroom and shut the door, pressing his back to it as he drew in shallow breaths. The tree was rising, and Contessa had become stronger.

He looked into the mirror at his own reflection. The witch had awoken something inside him in the dream—or vision, he couldn’t be sure anymore—and if it could happen then, it could likely happen again. Next time, he may not be able to contain it.

His reflection in the mirror shuddered. Arwan blinked and leaned in closer, examining tiny shadows that danced behind his irises. His darkness was eager to escape. It was one tragic downfall to being half evil. The spirit of the damned fed off of other damned souls.

A wicked laugh carried through the air like a faint breeze.

It could have been his imagination playing tricks on him. Or maybe Contessa’s power had bled into his mind.
He glared at his own reflection. Either way, that part of him would never die.

When he returned to bed, Zanya had already fallen asleep. He lay awake beside her for the rest of the night, questioning himself over and over again.

Telling Zanya about the dream would only worry her, but telling her about the vines around their home would make her slip into panic. If the vines were still outside in the morning, he wouldn’t be able to shelter her any longer.

After several hours had passed, crisp hues of yellow and orange pierced the darkness, shedding light into their room.

Three solid slams rattled the front door.

He sat up in bed.

Zanya yawned and stretched her arms above her head. “You okay?”

Arwan threw off the sheets and planted his bare feet on the stone floor. He stood and crossed the room, cracked open the bedroom door, and then stole a peek into the empty hall. He turned to Zanya and pressed his index finger over his lips, then slipped into the hall, silently creeping into the living room, where he glanced at the place Balam usually slept.

Arwan took a quick sweep of the space. He and Zanya were alone. Arwan tightened his jaw. The jaguar had left them by themselves, and he’d been too preoccupied to notice anyone who had approached.

He reached behind him and silently pulled open a drawer in the kitchen, taking a large chef’s knife. The blade gleamed as the sunlight shined through the living room windows and cast over him.

Another set of knocks pounded on the door.

Arwan pressed his back against the wall and grabbed the handle.

If it were Contessa or one of her minions, he’d be lucky to slow them down before he was in real trouble. At least it would give Zanya enough time to escape. Neither of them could face Contessa alone.

He raised the blade and reached out to the brass handle. His breath quickened, and he gripped the metal knob.

A third round of pounding rattled the hinges.

Arwan flung open the door and leapt into the doorway, his knife poised to kill.

A heavy stick bounced off Arwan’s forehead, rattling his teeth. “Foolish boy!”

Arwan staggered back and lowered the knife while pressing his palm to the lump forming on his head.

The old woman smacked him in the stomach with the homemade bludgeon and scowled. “Put t’at down before you hurt your own self, boy.”

Zanya ran into the room, the light in her chest glowing brightly. She skidded to a stop. “Drina!”

The old woman’s puckered features suddenly softened, and she displayed a full smile. “Zanya.”

“What are you doing here?” Zanya ran to the Mayan soothsayer and hugged her tightly. Even Zanya, who was a solid four inches shorter than he was, was taller than Drina. Despite the woman’s small stature, she was a force to be reckoned with, and her presence here could only mean one thing.

The others weren’t far behind.

Chapter Fifteen

Zanya

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” Zanya squeezed her one last time before stepping back.

“Me too, child.” She patted Zanya on the cheek before her gaze shifted to Arwan.

Zanya glanced back at him. Arwan’s mouth was still gaped open at Drina’s surprise arrival—and surprise attack.

Zanya sucked in a hiss through her teeth. “Ouch. What happened to your forehead? I can heal it.” She reached out to touch it.

He flinched away. “It’s nothing.”

Drina scowled. “You earned it.” Her tone had turned harsh and her smile had vanished, replaced with deep creases in her forehead and a slanted brow. “Is not safe. You open a door armed wit’ a hand knife t’at will not skin a tapir.”

“Actually…” Zanya bit her lip. “Never mind.” She examined the swollen knot on his head. “You know I can fix that if you let me.”

“You shouldn’t waste your strength on unnecessary healing. It’s not a serious wound.” He rubbed it again, peering at Drina. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh.” Zanya paused. “I didn’t think about that.”

“You need to.” Drina grabbed her arm, and for the first time, her scolding was directed at someone other than Arwan. The woman let go and waved her wrinkled finger in the air. “You need to t’ink before you do, or you will get everyone killed. Is your job to lead. Be strong.” Drina gave a single nod, as if declaring her statement to be law.

Zanya nodded along. “You’re totally right. My mistake.”

“No more mistakes.” The woman stepped over the threshold, studying their home. Her tight lips parted. “Ohhh.” Drina hobbled farther into the living room, skimming her fingers along the walls as she walked. “Is very nice.” She clapped her hands together and turned toward Zanya with a broad smile. “Very nice indeed.”

Zanya chuckled. “I’m glad you approve.”

“T’is home needs to be blessed.”

“Um…” She glanced at Arwan, who shrugged. “Okay. Sure. What did you have in mind?”

Drina’s brows furrowed. “Blood, of course.”

Zanya’s slouched. “Of course.”

“Where are the others?” Arwan asked, taking Drina’s focus off the weird Mayan blood blessing thingy—thank goodness. She’d kiss him for that later.

“T’ey will be here soon.”

“You didn’t come together?” Zanya asked.

“T’ey flew on t’e arrow-plane.” She drifted her flattened hand through the air, then dropped it to her side. “Man is not meant to fly. I came on bus, t’en kayak, and t’en Balam lead t’e way while servants carried me on
litera
t’rough much of t’e jungle.”

“Servants?” Zanya looked at Arwan. “Wait, what’s a
litera
?”

“One of those open chairs attached to wooden handles that servants carry someone on. Like for royalty.”

“Oh, yeah.” Zanya nodded at Drina. “That’s totally less weird.”

Arwan softly nudged her in the arm. “She is an ancient Mayan healer,” he whispered. “Even higher than royalty with our people.”

Zanya cleared her throat. “Right.” Still weird. “Well, I’m just glad you made it okay.”

A low chuff grabbed everyone’s attention. Balam dragged himself through the door, his fur slick and his ears pinned back. The jaguar paused at everyone staring, bared his teeth with a quick snarl, and stretched out on the floor in the sun, licking his paw clean of mud.

“Where’s Cualli?” Arwan asked.

Drina frowned. “She will be here soon.”

Zanya stole a glance at Arwan, who looked equally worried over the vague response. “Okay. Well, you’ll stay with us, in the spare room.”

Drina shook her head. “I will camp outside, under t’e stars wit’ t’e others.”

“The hell you will.” She snatched Drina’s bag from the floor. “This is my house, my rules. You’re staying with us in a comfortable bed.”

Drina raised both of her bushy brows. “You
have
grown up.”

“Yeah.” Zanya smirked. “It happens to the best of us.”

She led Drina into the second bedroom—what used to be Arwan’s room as a boy. Since they moved in, she dragged the bed against the far wall, but left the wooden mask hung on the hook where it was. Anything to chase away evil was welcome to stay.

She set Drina’s bag at the foot of the bed and shrugged. “This is it. I hope you’ll be comfortable. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, though there’s not much. Balam’s been hunting for us, and Arwan and I have been harvesting fruit from the local trees. I guess his mom had quite a garden going before she left. Cualli is taking care of the fruit and veggie-bearing greenery so we have food year round. Also, there’s just one bathroom, but it has two doors. One in our room and the other in the hall.”

Drina walked to the wall where the wooden mask was displayed, admiring it in silence.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Zanya shadowed her. “Arwan’s mom hung it there. This used to be his room.”

“Yes.” Drina touched the mask, as if recalling a memory. “Yes, it was.”

***

The night had crept up on them quicker than she anticipated. Though they hadn’t heard anything from Contessa, Arwan hadn’t been himself since the night before.

He sat on the foot of the bed with no shirt and a pair of shorts. His hair had gotten longer. The longest layer framed his square jawline while loose strands fell around his face.

Zanya fluffed her pillow and sank into the down feathers. “You okay?”

Arwan glanced at her. “Just thinking.”

“About…” He hadn’t really elaborated on how he felt about this whole situation. Usually, she would be comforted with them having similar viewpoints. But this time, now more than ever, she needed him to be strong.

She leaned over, spotting the red, swollen lump on his forehead. “Would you
please
let me heal that for you?”

He grazed his fingers over the bump. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Liar.”

He exhaled and lay down beside her, folding his hands behind his head. “If it makes you feel better.”

“Finally.” She pressed her hand over the lump, channeling heat and healing energy to her fingers. “There.” When she pulled her hand away, the mark was still glaring at her. She brushed her fingers together. “Hang on. Let me try that again.” It had been some time since she used her healing ability. “You know what they say—if you don’t use it, you’ll lose it.”

“Who says that?”

She snorted. “Forget it. It’s stupid.” She positioned her hand over the mark again, concentrating harder this time. When she pulled her hand back, a smooth patch of flawless skin replaced the large bump. “See.” She thwacked his earlobe and lay back down. “Told you.” She flashed a smile. “Goodnight.”

Once the room fell silent, another noise crept in—the rhythmic sound of what could have been a motor. “Is that…” She perked up and stared at the door. “Is that Drina,
snoring
?”

“Don’t blame me. You invited her to sleep in the other room.”

She groaned and wrapped her pillow around her head, muffling her ears. “Is she going to do this all night?”

“Unless Balam eats her.”

Zanya giggled and snorted.

He wound his arm around her waist, pulled her close, and whispered in her ear. “
Te amo, querida.
”

She didn’t have to understand a lot of Spanish to understand that. She bit her lip through a smile. “Me too.”

It felt wrong to spoil the moment, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he said it for the first time aloud now, before it was too late.