Secret Secrets: Chapter 2

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The teeth that pressed against Milarose’s throat somehow weren’t the most unsettling part of the flight. No, he’d have to say that was feeling the primal’s wide, flat tongue pressed against the side of his neck. It was wet and abrasive, wriggling as if trying to taste him, and if he’d had an ounce of strength left, Milarose would have thrashed to get away from that disgusting feeling. 

As things stood, the most Milarose could do was look back in the direction he had fallen and find comfort in knowing that Sammal and Caledonia had each other. The sprite was smarter than she gave herself credit for, uncertain of herself because she had yet to go off on her own and find out what she was really capable of. Milarose knew she would be okay, but he still worried. 

He had expected something like this might happen eventually, poaching wasn’t a foreign concept to Milarose. And though he hadn’t been immediately involved in the industry knew the signs to watch for. It had become increasingly difficult for Milarose to find drakiri in the lands around the barn in the last year, and when he’d found a kainu dead in a ditch without its skin, horn, mane, tail or hooves, it had confirmed to Milarose that this area was no longer safe. 

Milarose had been on his way home to gather Sammal and bring her somewhere safer when he’d stumbled upon the primal and nightmare who now held him captive. They’d had Caledonia in a net sack hanging from the primal’s back—what had her name been? Milarose couldn’t remember and didn’t really care if he was honest. He’d seen a child in distress and attacked. He’d caught them by surprise and snatched the child away, flying as fast as he could, but he hadn’t expected them to be able to follow him. And though he’d lost them a time or two they had tracked him down—he hadn’t been fast enough. 

At least he’d gotten that fucking collar off the child. It was how Milarose knew the young crossbreed’s name, Caledonia. An unusual name that had been scratched into the metal collar that had kept the child’s head painfully low, attached to the chains that shackled his feet together so even if he’d somehow managed to run away he would not be able to go far. That had been the first thing to go as they flew; Milarose had only just removed it when he’d been attacked from the side. Seeing a nightmare fly without wings startled and infuriated Milarose, but he had fended Vyno off and even managed to hurt the bastard. But the fight gave the primal enough time to catch up to him and stay close enough that he couldn’t shake her. 

The pressure on Milarose’s throat grew as the little magic he had left at his disposal failed him and he could no longer hold his weight suspended in the air. He was larger still than the primal, and she obviously felt the strain, because she tightened her jaws around his neck until he cried out in pain. 

“Bodaecia, don’t hurt him any more than you have already,” Vyno chastised, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. “You’ll mark up his hide more. We can only regrow the skin if it’s removed wholly.” 

The primal growled ferociously but relaxed her jaws again so she was only holding him once more, but Milarose heard and felt the wind strengthen around them as Bodaecia compensated for his weight with more magic. How long could she maintain that?

Long enough that Milarose’s blood loss and weariness overtook him, it would see. His heavy eyes closed and when next he opened them, he saw nothing but darkness. For one blessed moment, Milarose thought he was dead. He felt relief so sharply that it felt like a knife in his heart. Milarose had never believed in life after death, maybe it wasn’t too late to start. He believed until he felt that sharp relief turn into white-hot pain focused on his chest. Was there pain in the afterlife? 

The pain doubled and stole the breath from his lungs as something tugged at his chest, pulling and ripping. He wanted to cry out, to scream and try to relieve some of the adrenaline that pounded through him, but he couldn’t so much as move his whiskers, let alone any other part of his body. 

“He’s awake.” Vyno’s voice came from far away, distant like he was speaking across a long hallway. 

“I am wrist-deep in his chest fixing what that beast did to him, I can tell he is awake.” A female voice this time, accented on the vowels and the roundness of the words to suggest the common tongue was not her first language. 

“Put him under again then,” Vyno said. “He’s stronger than he looks.” 

“I cannot be expected to repair an artery, keep him from bleeding out and hold him unconscious all at the same time,” the female voice snapped back. “This task you ask is too much.” 

“You’ll do it or you’ll take his place,” Vyno retorted, though his voice sounded odd, almost uninterested. Milarose felt the hand that must have been in his chest move and he nearly lost consciousness again from the agony. 

“I’ll try to put him back to sleep. Do not touch me,” the female said, a low growl in her voice. 

There was a moment’s pause before Milarose felt something press against his temple. His eyes felt heavy and his breathing slowed once more before he fell into the ease and comfort of unconsciousness. 

Dreams seldom came to Milarose as he slept. When they did, they were more often than not fraught with stress and anxiety, or outright terror in the worst of them. When this dream came, he didn’t know what to think of it, only that he knew it was a dream and he immediately did not want to be there. 

He opened his eyes to find himself in a field of wheat, the stalks gently swaying in a cool autumn breeze that smelled of sweet meadow grasses and honeysuckle. It offset the heat of the sun on his back as he looked around and watched the fluffy clouds in the sky drift heavily across the pale lavender sky. They promised rain later in the day, and if he searched for it, he could smell it lingering in the air. He knew this place; he remembered the crisp, cold stream that trickled through the nearby foothills, the buzzing of fat little bumble bees as they drifted haphazardly from flower to flower. He did not want to be here. 

“Milarose!” 

The voice that spoke his name stirred anxiety in his chest, setting his heart to a gallop. He turned his head to see a dark chestnut dracus with eyes of warm honey and a mane of deepest mahogany flying toward him from the direction of the distant mountains. 

“I thought for sure you would have left, I’m sorry I’m so late.” 

The dracus landed lightly on the ground beside him among the swaying wheat stalks, his smile wilting slightly. Milarose did not want to even think his name, he did not want to be here. 

“Are you well?” 

Milarose turned and to leave when he felt fingers brush his mane back from his brow, the backs of them stroking over his cheek. 

“I’m fine,” Milarose said forcefully, backing away as he stood. “I just…I have to go. I don’t want to relive this. I don’t want you.” 

He expected some rebuke, shouting or insults. What Milarose hadn’t expected was the gentle chuckle he heard from the other dracus. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw the other smiling at him, eyes bright and ears perked forward with interest. 

“Of course you want me,” he said. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? And you don’t want to admit it. That’s why you won’t say my name. Why you’ve convinced yourself that you’re the victim so you can feel bad for yourself and not take responsibility for your actions.” 

“What are you talking about?” Milarose asked, his voice choked by the tightness in his throat. His eyes burned with the threat of tears and he clenched his teeth together in an effort not to cry. 

“We both know you’re smarter than that,” the other dracus tutted, shaking his head in disappointment. “Say my name, Mila. You said it before, when you complained about me to my friends behind my back. Why is this different?” 

“You made it impossible to talk to you about things that were wrong between us,” Milarose snapped, his voice rising in defense of himself. His heart pounded in his chest, pulse nearly deafening him as it roared in his ears and he felt a flush in his face in response to the anger and indignation he felt. “I had to talk to someone. I told one person that I was upset with you and didn’t go into details. You’re the one that blew it out of proportion.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, maybe you’ll believe it someday,” the other dracus said. “But now, I want you to say my name.” 

“Why?” Milarose demanded, exasperated. He should just leave. He COULD just leave, this was a dream, he didn’t have to stay—he had control here. 

“Because you’re never going to stop thinking about me, I’ll always be here. I want my name. Say it.” 

Milarose shook his head hard and turned away, taking several steps away to put distance between them. That would be the end of it, he could finally wake up. 

A rush of movement to his left, hands grabbed him, and he hit the ground hard with the heavy weight of the other dracus on top of him. He stared up in abject shock at the honeyed eyes that glared down at him through pupils slitted in hatred. 

“Say my name!” the dracus bellowed, voice so loud it silenced the birds and insects around them.

Tears stung Milarose’s eyes and he had to fight to find his voice. When he finally found it, he managed to choke out, “Gherijan.” 

Gherijan smirked and pulled away, but even then his smirk fell and all that remained was purposeful disinterest. He knew this tone crushed Milarose, it would cut deeper than any knife. 

“When you tell people about me,” Gherijan said, “remember this. And remember why you are where you are. You keep trying to convince yourself you are a good person. I know your truth. You are small and sad and selfish. You help others to make yourself feel better, you should be ashamed of yourself. You already are, but you’re so self-righteous about it—” 

“Stop!” Milarose cried out. 

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