The Fellowship: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (The Harbinger Book 2) Page 2

  She wanted to argue, but Faith found herself breathless at the thought. She couldn’t move, couldn’t argue, couldn’t speak her side of things. She was motionless as she gazed into his eyes.

  “You are not the hero,” Dracyrus continued, still holding onto her face. “This is not a story about a hero and a villain. Our tale has two villains. It is about our eternal struggle against each other. We are the same, you and I, soft flesh or no.” He slowly withdrew his hand, letting it fall to his side.

  Faith could not look away, even as her mind raced. “No,” she said, her voice wavering. No, he was wrong. He had to be wrong, otherwise…otherwise what? She’d refuse to be the Harbinger? It didn’t work like that. “No,” she said again, stronger. “You’re lying.”

  He looked at her—with pity? “If there is one thing you should know about me, Harbinger, it is that I do not lie.” His stare fell to her feet, the only thing poking out from beneath the cloak. “I wish I could say the same for your kind.”

  No argument crossed her lips. How could she argue with a man who’d been reborn dozens if not hundreds of times? How many lives had he lived before now? How much more experience with everything did he have? No, Faith couldn’t argue; she simply fell to her knees and did her best not to break down.

  But soon enough even that didn’t work.

  She wept.

  Chapter Three

  His friend hadn’t changed much, Camden was relieved to find. He had been worried at first, for the letter Light had sent did not say much, nor did it sound like him. Other than the change in hairstyles, Light was the same old Light. Well, there was one other change, he knew, this one much larger.

  The other change that involved the Human girl, the Harbinger.

  Cam was as skeptical as the rest, and he had spent his whole journey to Springsweet doing two things: dreading his return and wondering if Light had lost his mind. Why did he want to prove a man was the Harbinger? Why get involved at all? Truly, it was a good thing that Light neglected to mention Faith’s name and the fact that she was a girl. If he had, odds were that he wouldn’t have come.

  Light knew him too well, because he’d known him forever. That only meant Cam knew him well too, even if it had been a while since they last saw each other. Back when he was still an Elf, and the Ulen hunts were merely legends. The truth was a lot bloodier.

  “So you know nothing of any Ulen in Alyna?” Light asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  Camden shook his head slowly. They sat on a bench together, beneath a bush that was more like a tree. The seats were carved out of wood, one with nature, as the Elves loved. Nature made Cam uncomfortable, because nature was wild. It was vicious, deadly, and untameable. Nature had turned him into the thing he was now, a half-breed and yet he belonged nowhere, regardless of how much the Count had treated him like his own blood. He was not an Elf, nor was he a true Ulen.

  “No Ulen would be here without the Count’s permission,” Cam whispered, eyes on a winged insect nearby.

  “What does that make you?”

  “The Count knows I’m here, but he does not know I took the cloak. If he should find it missing, he will understand why I did it.”

  Light frowned. “You seem to put a lot of trust into this Count.”

  “He has been like a father to me,” Cam said, not liking the distrust that flashed in his friend’s eyes. Though it was fast and gone in an instant, he still saw it. He saw everything. “I am grateful he took me beneath his wing.”

  “One last jab at the Elves before the peace pact,” Light muttered, wincing at the harshness of his own voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound so…”

  “Judgemental?” Cam offered. “It’s fine. I am used to it by now.” Though he didn’t expect to get any judgement from Light.

  “No.” Light slapped him on his back. “It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have said that. I…I’m simply worried about her.”

  “About your girl?”

  Light recoiled, withdrawing his hand from Cam’s back. “She is not my girl. She is the Harbinger. Is it so awful that I want her to wake?”

  “Not awful, no, but it does say something that you feign ignorance.” Cam shrugged. “Even if you don’t admit it, I can see it. I also see the same feelings growing inside Jag.” He shot a look at Light, noting how he reacted. Just as he suspected—with a frown that was meant to push the truth away.

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Light muttered. “He practically said as much, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s the Harbinger. She’ll either die or…”

  Cam studied him, knowing what he was about to say before he could voice it. “You are afraid that she will leave you once it’s done.” He was not sure why he felt the need to comfort him, for no one had ever comforted him when he spent his first few years alone and craving the one thing the Count would not let him have, not until he learned to control it. “She would be a fool to do so.”

  “What’s an Elf or a Malus when you could have a chief, or a count, or a prince?”

  So he compared himself to everyone else. To do so would only bring him more negative feelings. Cam had stopped comparisons ages ago, for they never turned out well in his favor. He was always the lesser, the loser, the wrong hand and choice.

  Knowing Light would not be cheered up or swayed from his gloomy path, Cam chose instead to say, “I don’t like being here. It makes me remember things.” His banishment, for after the attack on his scouting party, the Ulen had not taken him. They’d left him, hoping that he would wreak havoc on the Court. And he had; he attacked two guards.

  They’d thrown him out, exiled him. Kept him in chains until Alyna was behind him and the mountains of Crystal Cove before him. Cam had been about to give up, lay down and let nature take him back, when he’d found him. He had been fortunate then, for the Count did not often leave his castle underground. Never left it now.

  Light spoke, “I take that to mean that you would go back?”

  “I have to,” Cam said. “I cannot stay here.”

  “No, but Faith will need a fellowship.”

  That got Cam to smile, something he did not do often. Not anymore. “Don’t tell me you mean to say you plan on being the first member? What would a Harbinger need with a hunter? That is still what you are, isn’t it?”

  With a nod, his friend said, “I am, but I feel…” Light changed tactics. “I don’t think I could hunt again. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I feel like I belong with her.” Noticing the smile on Cam’s face, he added, “Not with her, with her, but by her side at least.” His face scrunched, his eyes closing. He was not happy admitting that, certainly. “Listen to me. I sound like a fool.”

  “I would never call you a fool,” Cam said. “Willfully ignorant, but never a fool.”

  Light chuckled. “How I’ve missed you, Camden.”

  “I am glad you were doing well for yourself, before this. I’m glad my turning did not shatter your world like it did for her,” Cam referenced one Elf whom they both knew very well.

  “I was young, true, but do not think that I did not mourn you. I did. You may be Camden Cross now, but to me you will always be Camden Lightfoot, my brother.”

  Cam held back the flinch as Light spoke the word brother.

  He hadn’t been a brother in a long time.

  Chapter Four

  That was that, Dracyrus decided as he turned away from the girl. He did not like remembering those days, but for a moment, it was all he could do. Humans were liars. The best of them. It was not something a race should be proud of, not something he wanted to recall. Alas, he did, and he hoped his harsh but truthful words would get her to finally shut that mouth of hers so he could spend the rest of his time here meditating in peace.

  But of course that was not what fate had in store for him on this day.

  As he took steps away from her, he heard sniffing and he stopped. The sniffing was only part of it. There was also crying. Dracyrus glanced upward, at the blackened sky, wo
ndering if this was some kind of joke. Was this real? Was this truly happening to him? He would rather tear off his own skin than deal with this.

  He turned, expression hardening as he looked upon her hunched form. She was even smaller now, curled into herself, head bent towards the water below. This was the Harbinger? This was the being meant to fight with him until the end of days? This sniveling wimp, this pathetic girl, was to be his opponent?

  No. She would not last a single second in a battle with him.

  The thought of winning, of finally being the victor between the two, was all he had wanted for so long and yet, now that it was in his grasp thanks in no small part to such a pathetic Harbinger, he didn’t know how much enjoyment he would glean from it. He would win, that he knew, but as for the fun? Beating a whimpering child was not enjoyable.

  And then, like it always did, a feeling of hatred washed over him. He hated the girl before him, hated how weak she was, hated that he was destined to fight her. It would be no challenge. He would win but his triumph would be over nothing. He was a prideful beast, and knowing that she posed no challenge to him, knowing that he could not truly rejoice in her defeat, made him hate her even more.

  That’s all there was between the Dread King and the Harbinger. Hatred. Vengeance. Retaliation. A level of animosity no one else could understand. Dracyrus had known nothing but rage for so long, a burning desire to end the Harbinger, that he had not given much thought to what he would do after his victory. Perhaps he should start.

  The Harbinger before him cried. Was it all an act? Was it some kind of peculiar effort to try to get him to lower his guard? He would not. No amount of crying would change that. He would crush her as he would crush any other Human, for they brought nothing but death and destruction anywhere they went.

  An image rose in Dracyrus’s head, of similar crying near a window, and he was quick to push it away. But the doubt remained. What if she did cry, not to lower his guard, but because she was sad? What if this was not an act? The mere notion that the Harbinger could be this emotional girl was startling, and it made him apprehensive.

  “Why must you fill my ears with such sniveling drivel?” Dracyrus asked of her, frowning when she lifted her watery gaze to him. She seemed so weak and sad—how in all the kingdoms could this one be the Harbinger?

  “You’re mean,” she whispered, furiously wiping her cheeks, as though she were ashamed to be caught crying. She damned well should be. It was pathetic. “You are so mean.”

  When did he ever say he wasn’t?

  “Even if I didn’t hate you,” she added, “I’d still…hate you.”

  He laughed. A strange sound, one he hadn’t made in a long time. It came out wrong, though, so he cut himself off instead and said, “That was nonsensical.”

  “You’re nonsensical!” she threw back.

  Kneeling, Dracyrus slipped a finger through the ties that held the cloak closed around her, tugging her to him, making her crawl on her knees just a bit. Right where the Harbinger should be. “Dry your tears, Harbinger. Now is not the time to weep.” Those words were as comforting as he could be.

  “Is it that weird to you,” she spoke, eyes of fire even through the water of her tears, “that I’m upset? Is it that crazy that I don’t want to be like you?” She practically yelled at him now, which he wasn’t expecting. “I hate you. I don’t want to be just like you!”

  “Harbinger,” he growled, a warning.

  She did not back down, nor did she pull away. She simply glared at him, her eyes—a certain hue of green that were welcoming, entrancing. “My name is Faith.”

  “Your eyes will not beguile me, Faith,” he spat out her name. As if he cared enough to know it. He didn’t. He never cared about the Harbinger’s name, because it constantly changed. Simply because she was a female did not make it any different.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered.

  Heat crept through his body as the finger through the string curled into a fist. He pulled her closer, butting his wide forehead to hers. If she were Dracon, their horns would be snared, and whoever’s did not snap would be the victor. “You are fortunate we are not awake at this moment, otherwise I would—”

  “Kill me,” she cut in, seemingly unafraid of him, even though they were so close. Too close.

  “Would you stop interrupting?” he hissed, his fist moving to her neck, hand curling around it. Should he strangle her here? Would they be caught here forever? Was it possible to kill her here, now? Could he…

  “No,” she stated. She moved her arms up, through the cloak, raising them until she gripped something on him. His horns. “You’re lucky that we aren’t awake right now, because if we were, I’d snap these off.” As if she had the strength, as if— “I don’t know much about your kind, but I do have to wonder: what is a Dracon with broken horns?”

  A Dracon with broken horns was no Dracon. They were a disgrace. They were weak, unfit to bear the scales they wore. Dracyrus was not weak. He was not a disgrace. He was proud for his scales and his horns, and he would fight anyone for them.

  “No one touches my horns,” he growled, chest rumbling. He did not like the feeling of her miniscule hands on them, did not like how he felt it so deep within himself. It was both too much and not enough.

  “Really?” She spoke, no longer crying, “That’s funny, because I’m touching them right now—” That was all she had the chance to say, for he pushed her down upon the water they knelt on, laying her flat on her back so fast the wind was knocked out of her. Her hands lost their grip on his horns.

  Dracyrus exhaled loudly, glancing past the fur of his cloak, to the opening slit that now revealed her entire fleshy form. Well-formed in ways that would benefit those races with short lifespans, rounded breasts and wide hips for birthing. Dracon women were nowhere near as breakable. They were tough, slender, as tall as the men. Their hips were not wide, nor were they forced to carry so much weight on their chests. Dracon females were rare; one to every ten males. Were the Humans the same?

  The girl struggled to move the cloak, succeeding in only covering half herself. “Don’t look at me.” Her voice, though he did not doubt was as commanding as it could get, did nothing for him.

  “I will look wherever I desire,” Dracyrus spoke with a smile. He could not be controlled. Not by her, not by anyone. He was the Dread King, and everyone feared his name. It would remain so until the end of time. She would fear his name before she died, he would make certain of it.

  His horns still tingled, even though her hands clutched the cloak. He did not like the lingering feeling, he wanted it to disappear, wanted to wipe the sensation from his mind. Truly, it was her fault. She touched them. No one had ever touched them. No one. If Dracon horns were not butting against each other in a primal display of strength, they were entwined as other things happened…

  The more he looked at her, the more the feeling in his horns lingered, heightened, grew. He was sluggish in meeting her gaze, those eyes that were so green they could belong to a Fae, and he found no fright there. She simply stared up at him, daring him to say more about her naked body.

  He still hated her, just as he hated all the other Harbingers before her. Yet, beside the hate, in between the loathing, there was a hint of something else, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. War was a frantic, hectic thing, and after what he saw all those eons ago, how he felt when…regardless, females were one of the last things on his mind.

  “Perhaps,” he said, staring into those eyes of hers that were deceivingly innocent, “I shall have you before I kill you, conquer you in a way no Harbinger has been conquered before.” As he spoke the words, no louder than a whisper, he heard her exhale, felt her body shiver beneath his.

  Was she enjoying this? Dracyrus did not know what to make of it. Were Human females that different from their male counterparts? He would admit, the prospect intrigued him, enough to the point where he might take her if he had the cha
nce.

  Yes, he would make the Harbinger beg for it, beg for him, before he ended her.

  Chapter Five

  Light wished he had the words to say to ease Camden’s anxieties, but he didn’t. He didn’t even have the words to ease his own fears about Faith. The more time that went by, the more worried he became. She had to wake up. She had to. Granted, he was not too well-versed in past Harbingers, but he was reasonably certain that no other Harbinger had reacted this way to either the Ageless Blade or the Dread King’s cloak.

  She would wake.

  For a time, Light and Camden sat in the garden, discussing things of lesser and no importance. They made up for stolen time as much as they could, for Light had scarcely written to his elder brother once he became Ulen. It was not something he was proud of, but at the time, he was so young. Barely a boy; he did not know what was the right thing to do, and habits were tough things to break.

  Speaking with Camden did ease his mind somewhat; he could temporarily forget about Faith’s motionless form, the quick flutter of her eyes beneath her lids. Worry was not a natural state for Light.

  It was an unknown time later when a regal Court Elf joined them. Ophelia held a bag of food, tossing a handful into the wren pond, watching her precious fish swarm where the pebbles of food landed in the water. Her jeweled head turned to Light and Camden, and she offered, “Cam, would you like to try?”

  Camden tensed beside Light. Since Ulen were so intuitive, he probably sensed something was off here. Ophelia was just like the rest. Light remembered the day when the entire Court agreed to banish him for what he was, and there was no further retaliation than that.