Unleashed: The Deepest Fears Lie Within (Secrets of the Makai) (33 page)

“They’re sleeping,” Tristan said. “Nothing more.”

Donovan frowned for a moment, then nodded. “I agree. No need to check on them.”

Dorian bit her lip, but didn’t run to check for herself. “I’m so sorry, Tristan. I had no choice!”

“Philip could have waited to see if I’d attack.”

“Why didn’t you take this off?” Donovan asked, attempting to peel the poncho away from the wound. “It’s badly infected.”

“It’ll heal.” Tristan gasped in pain as Donovan tried to straighten his bad arm. He couldn’t move away from the inspection and squeezed his eyes shut, unable to inhale.

“It’s been weeks.”

It couldn’t have been that long.

Dorian knelt to lift a lock of matted hair from the side of his head, reminding him about the band. “Get it off!” He scraped at his scalp with his good hand to find the metal, his heart leaping into high gear.

Donovan gripped his wrist and held him still.

“Can’t breathe.”

“Is that blood in his hair?” The horror on her face said it all.

Donovan didn’t answer.

“I can help with the oxygen...maybe.” She took the glass heart hanging from around her neck and twisted the cork to open it. “It’s how I stay under water for so long. It multiplies the oxygen in blood but....”

“But what?” asked Donovan.

“But maybe we want him unconscious.”

“No,” Tristan said. “I’ll take it.”

“If it makes you dizzy, hold your breath. Too much oxygen will make you pass out too, got it?”

Tristan nodded.

“I’m giving you less than what I take, just in case.” She tipped the tiny flask with the opening sealed to her finger, then put the tip of her finger on his tongue. “It takes a few minutes to work into your bloodstream.”

Tristan tried to roll to his good side, only to be held down by Donovan. “Your burning up.”

Dorian placed the back of her hand against his forehead and jerked it back. “Organs aren’t meant to function at this high of a temperature. It’s not even possible.”

Tristan focused on Donovan, trying to keep his chattering teeth still enough to speak; a hopeless task.
Molajah said I’m shifting, to stop it at all costs.

Shifting to wha—?
Donovan didn’t bother finishing.
How do we stop it?

Tristan blinked as the surrounding trees changed in color. Dorian’s skin glowed red, while Donovan’s remained a pale shade of blue, almost green. Philip’s unconscious body, along with the others behind the semi-transparent trees, seemed to have blankets of glowing orange light hovering around them.

Donovan’s icy hands gripped his face, forcing Tristan to look at him. “Focus, Tristan. Tell me what you see.”

Heat maybe? But you aren’t…. I don’t want Dorian to know.

“Who is this Molajah person?”

“I think I know why it won’t heal.”

A power from one of the other gems is overriding the emerald’s ability to heal?
Donovan suggested.

Objects around him solidified and returned to the normal colors; Tristan eased back into the ground. Donovan’s answer was much easier to swallow. Logical even. He almost nodded just to avoid facing his own theory.

Tell me!

They said the poison was for dragons, only, I’m not a dragon.

Yet,
Donovan finished.
It’s reacting to the trace of dragon, which is getting stronger.

It seemed crazy to keep denying it.
If I shift—

“What are you guys talking about?” Dorian asked, rubbing her arms nervously.

“He’s been poisoned by something designed to kill dragons.”

“I guess that’s a start.”

“We have to cure him before—”

I am not an abomination.
Who was he trying to kid?
Please don’t tell her.

“We have to get him to a safe place,” Donovan said, changing the subject. “You’re welcome to come along if you wish.”

“You are
not
taking him off this island.”

“Look around, Dorian. There’s more than twenty armed people waiting to kill him right here. He’s not staying.”

35
-
A F
EVERED
F
IRE
-

QUEASY WAVES ROLLED through Tristan’s stomach as a stone ceiling flowed overhead. Someone carried him through a narrow hall with flaming torches, down a descending staircase that never stopped turning. “Dorian?”

“She’s here.”

The next time he opened his eyes, Dorian was within reach, studying him intently. Her beautiful brown eyes seemed reddened with tears. Something had to be wrong; he tried to untangle himself from the weight of covers pressing him down.

“Shhhh,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. “He’s awake.”

Donovan appeared behind her. “We can’t break the fever, so we’re letting it run.”

The words barely registered.

“There’s a needle and tube connected to your arm,” Donovan said. “It’s there to keep you hydrated. Understand?”

“Landon?” His words slurred.

“Upstairs. They both are.”

“Home.”

“Not yet.”

“Cold.”

“I’m sorry. More blankets won’t help.”

Dorian backed away, returning with a dark bundle. It flew over his body like a swarm of bees. He panicked, remembering too late about the band on his head, and tried desperately to get it off.

“No, Tristan,” Dorian whispered, trying to keep him still. “There’s nothing on your head. It’s gone!”

His left arm wouldn’t move, but something at his shoulder tore. “You don’t understand—I have to get it off.”

“It was destroyed. It’ll never, ever be on your head again.”

“But I feel it.”

“Trust me.”

Dorian put her hand on his cheek, drawing his attention from Donovan. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

“You ambushed me.”

“No, we’ve been through this—” Her hand tightened on his as she sat back down in the chair beside his bed.

“What about Philip?”

“He’s fine.”

“I wouldn’t have hurt him.”

“You have the right to defend yourself.”

“Can’t.” Sleep pulled at his eyelids. “The band.”

“It’s gone.” She shook his head, forcing him to open his eyes. “You have to remember that.”

“Sorry.” He resisted the urge to feel his head for himself.

“Stop apologizing!”

“Why are you here?” He cringed at his own question. “Sorry.”

“I don’t want you to think you’re alone. Even for a second.”

“I’m not alone. I have Donovan and Landon and Victor.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

He didn’t dare ask what she meant. “Where am I?” He couldn’t quite see the walls, but it looked like a small room. Maybe a tent of some sort.

“It’s a safe location,” Donovan answered, keeping watch from the flap of a doorway.

“Is everyone on the island okay?”

“They’re fine,” Dorian said, resting her head against his good shoulder. She pulled away suddenly. “Does it hurt? Do you mind? It’s the middle of the night....”

“It’s fine.” Tristan smiled as she put her head back down. “Does Oliver know where you are?”

“Yes. But there’s not much he can do about it.”

“Thanks.” Tristan drifted back to sleep.

The bed shifted and Tristan tightened his grip on Dorian’s hand. “Don’t leave.”

“Let her go, Tristan. There’s a fire.”

Tristan’s eyes flew open. Smoke filled his lungs. Donovan carried Dorian through the haze, through a fabric flap that made a door.

Tristan choked on the thickening air and pushed at the blankets to get out of bed. Flames leaped into his face, blinding him from the rest of the room.

His legs had no strength when he tried to stand. His scream of terror died, realizing the flames eating through the bandages on his shoulder and chest felt good. Soothing even.

He rolled to his back on the ground and soaked in the warmth, finally able to relax every aching muscle.

Donovan flung blankets over him, smothering the flames, dousing the relief. The searing pain returned.

“Let it burn,” Tristan said, clenching his teeth. “Please!”

“You’re not in your right mind.” Donovan tucked the blankets around his body and poured a pitcher of water over them.

“I’m begging you.”

“Fire is not pleasant when you’re immortal. You must protect your flesh at all costs. It’s all you have.”

The cold seeped back into Tristan’s trembling hands. “If it kills or cures me...I’m better off.”

“Engulfed in flames can be as psychologically traumatic as any torture....”

“It felt right.” Tristan held his breath against the pain as Donovan lifted him from the ground and put him back on the bed. “Is she okay?”

“She’ll be fine, just a little smoke inhalation.”

“Why was she here?”

“She cares for you.”

“No she doesn’t.”

“I thought she might keep you mentally grounded, because I know you care for her as well. And if shifting into a dragon puts her in danger, perhaps you’ll try harder not to shift in the first place.”

“Don’t risk her life. Keep her away from me.”

Donovan nodded. “I’ve already taken her home.”

Tristan let his eyes close, half asleep. “Victor and Landon?”

“They’re fine,” Donovan said irritably. “Everyone is fine.”

Donovan left the room, then stormed back within seconds.

“Damn it, Tristan! I don’t know what to do with you. You need food. You need to get out of bed and move around before your muscles deteriorate completely. Tell me about Molajah. How does he communicate with you? What does he know about dragons? Surely he’s told you something.”

If only the pain would lessen. “Burn the poison.”

“I will
not
watch you burn!” Donovan glared, then left the room again.

Before Tristan could find a quiet dark place in his mind, Donovan returned with three pitchers of water and a few more blankets.

“I am not the slightest bit happy about this.”

“Can I see Landon?”

“Hell no! He’s beyond sensitive right now.”

Tristan rolled his eyes.

“This is serious. If you’re right, the flames will go for flesh after the poison is gone. Are you prepared for that?”

Tristan nodded, flinching when Donovan yanked back the blankets. Nothing happened for a few tense moments, and then, tiny licks of flame beaded like sweat.

A soothing warmth crept up his neck, down to his toes. He glanced at Donovan, who seemed to be concentrating all his attention on flesh beneath the flames.

Dizzying waves made him nauseous. Donovan blurred in and out. He had to stay awake, just so Donovan wouldn’t extinguish the fire.

“It’s too much,” Donovan said, clutching the pitcher. “Your nerves are confused.”

“Air,” Tristan breathed, afraid Donovan would panic and use the water. “Need air.”

36
-
T
HE
T
RAINING
R
OOM
-

CLEAR BLUE SKY spanned above him. The fabric walls appeared to be the same, but there was no ceiling to the tent surrounding him.

Tristan’s hand automatically went to his head, searching for the band, then drifted to his shoulder. It was tender for sure, but there was no bandage covering it, nor was there anything keeping his arm immobile. He could move his fingers, but not much else.

He pulled back the single quilt and let his feet slide off the bed, waiting for his head to stop buzzing before attempting to stand.

Patches of grass tickled his toes in an odd way. Odd in that, the blades of grass were fake. A shiver of dread shuddered through him as he realized the clumps of dainty yellow flowers were fake as well.

He gathered the quilt around his bare shoulders, glad he at least had flannel pants on, and took hold of a wooden walking stick that had been left against the foot of his bed.

Beyond the fabric door was an entire forest. A fake forest.

Movement caught his eye—Donovan stood in a circle of large boulders, doing some sort of Tai Chi.

Tristan kept his sore arm tucked protectively against his bare skin, under the quilt. Walking was slow with the staff, but he managed.

“A new player has entered the field,” said a female voice, almost mechanically. “Analyzing new player.”

Tristan glanced through all the trees, searching for speakers. “What’s going on?”

“Training. I will not have you so vulnerable under my watch.”