Chapter 8: Chapter 8

SILVER

~“The trees!”~ I cry out in a panic. ~“You can’t let them see you. Let’s transform.”~

Elena follows me into the foliage, where I mist and pick up a green dress I stole from someone’s backyard.

Elena has clothes strapped to her leg. Once she is human, she pulls up leather pants, her long, straight white hair a flurry around her as she also pulls on her leather bra.

I am finished before her, and she seems annoyed that I beat her to it.

“Who are ‘they’?” Elena asks me, looking frightened…legitimately frightened.

“Storm’s Horde. The Lost Horde. I’m not with them right now,” I murmur, and I watch as Elena abruptly relaxes.

It is odd seeing her aura go from fierce to terrified to relaxed, all in a matter of moments. “And who are you running from?”

“Nothing.” She shrugs her shoulders, and I see the lie through her aura, and I hear it too, through the way her tone wavers.

“I said who, not what,” I rub it in, and her patience breaks.

“Enough of me.” Elena looks up through the trees to the sky. “What is your story?”

“Forgive me, but you’re not someone I particularly want to confide in,” I answer honestly, and she looked confused.

“Why not?” she asks. “A Rogue knows no one and wishes to know no one, so I will not tell anyone anything—”

“If you wish to know no one and you hate me, why do you care for my story?” I retort, only to see her eyes zone in on the sky.

“If your Horde is looking for you…if you are truly a mate of a Legend…then I would assume they saw us. Perhaps not you, with the mud. But they will round back, into the wind like I did.

“You told me to run to cover with you… Why? Do they not like Rogues?” she asks me with a hint of curiosity mixed in with some fear.

“The last Rogue who got near their camp, they slaughtered it and ripped it apart. The Rogue had eaten a child. I would say they are not fond of Rogues.” As I speak, Elena looks more worried.

“If you haven’t already worked it out,”—Elena glares right through me—“Silvers don’t like Rogues, and Rogues don’t like Silvers. Silver—what a stupid name. It’s like if someone called me Black.”

“Summer refers to you as Midnight,” I retort, and she looks embarrassed as she realizes I am correct. Plus, she never had anything against Summer referring to her as Midnight.

“What?” Elena shrugs like it’s no big deal. “At least Midnight’s a cool nickname.”

“Whatever. It’s not safe for you out here… I dare say it’s not even safe for me. That many shadows would suggest most Dragons are away from the Gypsies who are in their Horde.

“I think we should return to Water Fallen Lakeside, where the Lost Horde usually resides.”

“Genius or stupid?” Elena whispers, finding it hard to agree with me.

“It’s the only place most of the Silver Dragons won’t be, since they’re up in the sky. They might have a scout or guard left to protect everyone else, maybe…

“But we don’t need to enter the camp. We should just go closer to them, agreed?” I ask her, and she hesitantly nods.

“Whatever,” she snaps.

“Whatever.”

I shrug and I turn from her, heading toward Water Fallen Lakeside, while she follows.

***

Through a few smart maneuvers, we avoid detection until we make it to the lakeside opposite the camp. I suggest we climb one of the larger trees just on the outskirts of the water.

I find a big branch to recline on, and Elena stays closer to the ground, leaning into it and looking both relaxed and bored.

For the last few hours, I have been watching the camp, too afraid to give the okay to leave once the Horde is flying back in.

I have been terrified since the moment we chose this tree, and my eyes lie on Storm’s cabin, where Storm is reclining in a seat outside, seemingly napping.

He hasn’t yet been with his Horde in the sky…which both annoys and scares me.

Every now and then, Rawk or Zoraul will bite at his leg or interrupt his nap by flying around him. However, Storm just shoos them off and occasionally talks to Gypsies.

All the while, he is staying in that chair.

I find it suspicious.

Elena hasn’t questioned me for hours, but now, as Dragons land and transform back to their human selves, we are ~still~ reclining in the tree, too close for comfort…and for no good reason.

“I believe we should have left this location as soon as the first Dragon landed,” Elena whispers to me, even though we are separated from them by a whole lake.

“But I’m curious about why you keep staring at that old man like he’s—your mate?”

“He’s not old,” I snarl at her and glare from built-up frustration. “He just has long burned-silver hair… He is ~very~ handsome.”

“All Silvers are ugly in my eyes.” Elena can’t help but be a smart-ass. “But I’ll put aside that…huge issue…and I’ll help you. Okay?”

“Help. Me?” I have to say the words slowly and with precision, not believing I’ve heard right. ~“Help me?”~

“You will help me, and I will help you,” Elena suggests. “I am running from Jordan Culling. I have escaped his hold on me once again.

“The last time he had me, Summer betrayed me and held me over to stop a war. Believe it or not, I understand why she did it.

“But I need a safe place to hide, and I want guaranteed access to this place if I ever need it to avoid capture. Culling will not believe that I would reside in a Horde…a Silver Horde of Dragons.

“Plus, I doubt he’d come anywhere near this place, because I don’t think he or anyone else has even heard of this area…or this hidden Horde. So now that I’ve told you about me, tell me about you.

“Why are you running from a mate that you’ve been drooling over since we climbed up here?”

“I have ~not~ been drooling… But I can probably help you. I just don’t know how you think you can help me,” I answer. “Storm is a brute; he’s—”

“Enough,” Elena holds up her hand. “I already have your answer.”

~“You what?”~ I ask. “I haven’t even told you what—”

“You see, Silver Breeds have a thing… They all have this ~thing~… It’s so weird… It’s strange…

“But imagine someone kicks a puppy, and everyone goes crazy. They help that puppy, and they report the animal abuser.

“Well, Silver Breeds, they don’t just help the puppy; they fall into Blood Rages to avenge their kind. Like brutes. Angry, crazy, emotional psychos.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with you,” I answer Elena truthfully, and she grins from ear to ear, a rare sight to behold on the grouchy Rogue.

“Like brutes. How do you understand brutes? How do you speak and act around them? How do you ~manipulate~ them? Don’t look at me like that.

“I mean, how do you ~manipulate~ the ~good~ out of them? Out of brutes?” As Elena speaks, she leans forward out of her trunk, and starts to shuffle closer to me on her hands and knees.

“How do you make brutes understand? How do you think Jordan Culling…fell in love with me?” My eyes widen at this unexpected admission. “How did a Dragon Slayer fall for their pet?”

She’s crawled forward until her red eyes are inches from my own. “Guess.”

“You manipulated the kindness out of him?” I whisper, confused.

“Mm-hmm… I was sick,” Elena answers me. “I caught a Dragon Flu. I passed out in his arms. I woke up in his bed. He saw me as a ~vulnerable~ human, and then he fell in love with me.

“We all feel empathy to some degree, Silver, but your Breed is built around that feeling. The ability to feel others.”

“You want Storm…to feel sorry for me?” I ask, already hating this idea.

“He wouldn’t care. He just wants me alive so he can live, but he doesn’t care if I’m with him or on the other side of the world.”

“I doubt he’s as heartless as you make him out to be. Silver Breeds can’t be heartless… It doesn’t make sense…

“Maybe that’s why you’ve been so confused the last few hours, staring at him, trying to work him out.” I hate how spot-on Elena is.

However, now I slowly turn to her until we are nose to nose.

I boldly stare into her eyes to read her intentions.

My own eyes widen when I realize her intentions are worse than I first thought they’d be.

“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask her needlessly, because I can already feel her intention for violence.

“No.” Elena shakes her head, pretending to look shocked. “I’m going to help you”—she snatches my throat in her hand before I can comprehend her actions—“by hurting you.”

She shoves me off the branch, and as I fall, I mist straight into my Dragon.

I mist about a hundred feet from her, watching her own black mist swirl from the top of the tree.

She wants to fight me.

And ironically, that was the last lesson Storm tried to teach me.

To fight.