The Last Dryad: The Complex Page 4

  They worked together in silence, sorting the herbs and flowers. Aerwen wondered at the easiness between them. She was no longer nervous in his presence, only eager for whatever came next.

  As the day wore on, their casual conversations faded to more serious words. “I haven’t figured it out yet, but I will,” Wezlei said after he’d finished telling her about his childhood on Raxu.

  “What?”

  “Tariq,” he replied. He leaned over the oven where four pots boiled. “You must think I’m just this blustering idiot. Two night ago, I went on about saving you, and nothing has changed, has it?”

  Aerwen’s heart plummeted to the floor. His guilt ate at her from the inside, and she wanted to push it away, far away, and press his hand to her face and say, see! See what you’ve done for me already! You are my hero, Wezlei of Raxu. But words failed her.

  She set down the knife and moved across the small room. Inches from him, she breathed him in, sighing as his scent and life force passed through her lungs. Who are you?

  Wezlei turned. His face was a mask of terrible regret, and she couldn’t bear it. She wrapped her hands around the back of his head and kissed him, without thought to meaning or consequence. He paused only for a moment before pulling her closer and deepening the kiss, his hands pressed at the small of her back in tender intimacy.

  The kiss… the kiss changed everything. She was Aerwen of Arda once again, gracing the treetops, living both within and without the oaks, breathing in nature and laughing, always laughing, always happy. She folded into Wezlei’s arms and fell further into this image of herself, of simpler, wonderful times.

  He was the one who ended it. “I’m not the same,” he said with a dazed look. He stumbled, his back to the oven, reaching for a cool surface. “Since meeting you. Since seconds ago.”

  “Nor am I,” Aerwen whispered. She stretched a hand toward him. He took it. “Our universe is one of many mysteries. I don’t have the solution for ours, Wezlei, I only know you’ve saved me. Already, you’ve saved me.”

  “But—”

  “But there is nothing else. Three days ago, I was resigned to die. Now… now! I wish to live. Can you understand the magic required for such a shift?” Aerwen closed her eyes.

  “I’m so afraid of failing and letting you down,” he confessed, still disconnected and unsteady. “What if I can’t win against him? Ah, God, why am I even saying this aloud? I shouldn’t share these doubts with you!”

  “The most essential element of innocence is candor,” she told him. “When we are together, we are like children… untarnished by the world. Don’t ask me to explain it. I cannot. I only know how I feel. And we must protect this at all costs.”

  “We only just met.” He wanted to understand, but his own magic had all come from science. He hadn’t seen what she’d seen or lived what she’d lived.

  “Only just is all it takes.” Outside, the lights dimmed. They’d somehow passed an entire day with one another, and she wasn’t ready. How could she leave this feeling for what lay ahead this evening?

  “I know you have to go,” Wezlei said. With a tentative tug, he pulled her back into his arms. “But you’ll come back?”

  “How could I not?”

  VIII- Wezlei

  June 25, 4 AS

  What can happen in two weeks? How much of your life can pass by or move forward in a fortnight?

  Wezlei had never considered time in more than an abstract way. His life had not been bound by anything more than the position of the sun. He’d never had to be anywhere by a certain time, so he had never been late. The strict pickup date for the Complex was the single time in his life where he’d been forced to put his mind around the precision—and consequences—of time.

  Two weeks… two years. Time blended together in a fluid consistency, painting the days of his life with almost irreverent abandon.

  Yet he’d measured this now because it mattered. In two weeks, Wezlei had fallen in love with Aerwen of Arda.

  He didn’t think this had been his intention. Had Wezlei loved her the moment he’d beheld her on the deck of Tariq’s ship? He didn’t think so; at least, this had not been his motivation for wanting to help her. Simply, he’d seen someone who could no longer fight for herself, and without a single creature rising up to right that wrong.

  He also didn’t need to ask if the feelings were reciprocal. Aerwen had snuck off to meet him every day since their initial kiss, and she’d willingly spent every free hour helping him in the store or the field. Each day she came to him, her glow burned ever brighter. Now, she smiled with her eyes, a secret sentiment reserved only for him.

  She stole equally as many kisses as he did. Sneaking up behind him as he washed the mortar and pestle in the basin, arms snaking up around his waist and up to his shoulders to pin him from fighting back. Whipping around him in the field in a flash, too fast for prying eyes to catch what she’d done, but slow enough for the moment to exist for him in perpetual rewind.

  Aerwen told him about Arda. Her world of treetop kingdoms and gloaming moonlit dances. He learned that, when connected to the source of Arda’s strength, her form morphed from the lovely nymph before him to one resembling a centaur, her long, sleek body dropping from two legs to four. He’d give anything to see that, but she said it was impossible. Any Human in Arda would witness only trees and nature. Their kingdom was invisible to all but Dryads. Or what was left of them, anyway.

  What they didn’t talk about was Tariq. Not for Wezlei’s lack of trying. Each day, he attempted to broach the subject, and each day she would find a means of deflecting. He couldn’t stand to hurt her by forcing the words on her, nor could he bear knowing she went home every night to terrible abuses. This knowledge put their magical afternoons into a hazy light, one where everything they did no longer fit in the same reality as the one she lived through night after night… one she never spoke of, and one he couldn’t ask about.

  As the artificial light crested over his storefront on the morning that marked their nineteenth day since crossing paths, Wezlei resolved they would make a plan.

  Aerwen breezed into the shop an hour later. She flung her cloak over the hook with an effortless toss. Wezlei glanced up from where he sat behind the counter, reconciling his sales for the month on the small LCD, and she brightened from head to toe.

  “So, did you? Sell any?”

  Wezlei grinned. “Twelve in just the first day. Your Arda Love Elixir was a smashing hit.”

  Aerwen clasped her hands below her chin, beaming. “I thought it might be. We never needed such things, of course, in Arda, but a touch of verbena can cure any mood, even that one.”

  “I’ll admit, I was skeptical. I’ve mostly used it as fragrance, and occasionally in spice mixes for food, but you’re the expert. I’m going to have to double the plot for verbena to keep up with demand.”

  “Now you exaggerate,” she said with a sidelong glance as she meandered through the store. His gaze followed her every step. He loved the ease with which she made herself at home here, as if it were her store, too. It was—in a way, in the same way everything of his was hers, and everything that made him the Wezlei he desired to be—a result of her presence in his life.

  “Not a strength of mine,” he protested, but her lips silenced him from any further rebuttals. They were forgotten anyway, with her in his arms.

  The morning was young, and the shop quiet. Aerwen flitted around the store doing inventory checks while he managed the books. Should the telltale ring sound from the bell, she would quietly disappear into the back. In these ways, they’d grown more careful. In others, they weren’t vigilant enough.

  The shop had a sum total of four patrons before noon. Two were Witches seeking healing potions (that they would undoubtedly pass off to their customers as their own creation), a nervous young Human wringing sweaty hands who sought a potion to make a boy take notice of her, and, lastly, one of Wezlei’s regular customers, a pub owner, who used Wezlei’s hand-crafted spice
packs in his recipes.

  After the last transaction had been done, he announced, with a nervous glance, that he was closing early so they could spend the afternoon together. Aerwen immediately knew he had something on his mind.

  They retreated to the back room. He was struck with unusual shyness, as Aerwen watched him through an expectant, patient gaze that always stopped his heart.

  Within moments, that same look melted. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “Because I’ve already said it fifty times?” he asked, focusing on his feet. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I can’t pretend everything is okay when I know you go home every single night and die a little. I do, too, because I’m safe while you’re enduring something no one should ever have to.”

  Her hand brushed his. “It’s worth it. You make the sacrifice worth it because I know my pain is not for nothing. And you restore me, Wezlei. You know this.”

  It hurt him to do it, but he pulled his hand away. Aerwen wouldn’t charm him with all the emotions that brought down his defenses, not about this. He had let it happen, and, by extension, allowed her husband to continue to sell her to the highest bidder. “Nothing is worth what Tariq does to you, Aerwen. Not even this.”

  She started a protest, but he stopped her. “What type of man am I, if I can enjoy you and then let others abuse you? I’m not worthy of you, that’s for certain.” He stood and put some space between them. Whenever she touched him, he forgot everything else. He couldn’t forget, not this time. “I’m not going to sit back anymore and let it happen. I don’t care what he does to me, this is going to stop tonight!”

  Aerwen jumped to her feet and cried out. “Even if you don’t worry about it, I do! He will kill you! Don’t you understand?”

  “I do get it, but I don’t care anymore. I won’t let him treat you this way any longer.”

  “Tariq has eyes and hands everywhere in the Complex. He has more creatures on his payroll than you probably have on the list of people you know on a first-name basis. If you go after him, you won’t even get the chance to fight him. You might not even see him before his cronies take you out!”

  Wezlei diverted his eyes and turned away. “You underestimate me. Maybe I don’t have his army, but I’m not completely useless.”

  “Oh, Wezlei.” He didn’t even have the chance to fight it. Her arms flung around him from behind, holding him in a fierce embrace. “No one in my life has ever been more useful to me, and in ways I can’t even describe. Don’t you understand? You keep me alive. You, and only you. Being around you heals me from anything, but it’s more than that. Knowing I will end whatever horrors the evening holds by spending a day of joy with you is the only true happiness I have ever known. I was dying before I met you, and now, every day I think about living. I dream about the day we leave here, together, and Tariq can’t hurt either of us anymore. But we are trapped here, and there is no escape from him right now.” She pressed her lips to the back of his neck, and that was it, all defenses were shattered. His knees buckled. He steadied himself against the counter. “I love you, Wezlei. Don’t you understand who you are to me?”

  He had no words for her.

  She caught him and with a gentle nudge, turned him. “Tell me you understand.”

  Wezlei slowly nodded, intoxicated with her, with the sudden turn of the moment. He wanted to say it back, I love you, Aerwen, but his mouth was full of everything but words.

  “I’ve never been with someone who didn’t want to own me.” Her breath burned at the corner of his mouth. He inhaled it.

  “I do, though,” he confessed. He took her bottom lip in his mouth. “Want to.”

  Aerwen lifted Wezlei as if he weighed nothing, backing him up to the surface of the counter. She gingerly stepped upon the short stool. One knee came up, brushing his hip. Then another. She shadowed over him, silken tendrils of her hair tickling his face in short sweeps. “You already do, Wezlei,” she whispered, and then he was lost, lost to all his good intentions.

  Lost to her.

  IX- Tariq

  July 15, 4 AS

  Tariq was out the door before he spotted a fresh clot of blood on his black uniform. It was hardly noticeable except up close (and no one was allowed that near Tariq, unless they were approaching the final moments of their life). He noticed it; a small chip in the fabric of his orderly life but would not be satisfied until the flaw was filled.

  And if the body was not yet tended to… that had been a lesson worth learning for all. Surely his cronies were not fools, not after he’d dispatched the Dhampir who kept dumping Tariq’s victims haphazardly in waste receptacles or other semi-public places.

  He ducked back into his suite and rinsed the trousers. Much better, except now his pants were wet. He ground his teeth and winced as the action drew his own blood. He’d forgotten his fangs weren’t put away.

  A shuffling noise several rooms down the hall pulled his attention. Aerwen, of course, dressing for her daily foray into Main City. What she did there had never concerned him, and didn’t now, except the manner in which she returned.

  It began with a brighter, healthier glow, which was good for business. The more herself she was, the greater the high for the clients, which meant larger tips (which Tariq, of course, pocketed). Fine. Dandy. Great.

  What was not so wonderful? Her fresh insubordination. It had begun with her crying out—in pain, discomfort, who knew, who cared—during the entertainment, instead of quietly acquiescing. Some clients enjoyed the resistance, but most were annoyed, and one recently even left halfway through the act and demanded a refund. A refund! Tariq only gave him half his money back because the client had already enjoyed half his prize before running off.

  Yet refunds weren’t even the worst of it. Two nights ago, Aerwen had swung her fist into the face of a Warlock. The creature had bitten her, and she flew into a rage. Biting was not off limits by Tariq’s rules—not much was, aside from murdering her. She had whirled on the client, assailing him with her fists until he’d cried for mercy. Tariq had initially gaped in utter disbelief at the unfolding scene but jumped in too late to save the transaction.

  Tariq beat Aerwen soundly for her horrible lapse, but what truly bothered him was why. And that he even needed to wonder the reason for analyzing behaviors, thoughts, and actions of others was far beyond anything he had any desire to do. The entire process angered him.

  Instead, he wouldn’t attempt to unravel her intentions. He possessed no desire to better understand who she was. Her hopes and dreams were as uninteresting to him as the histories of the Humans he bled for his own amusement. Aerwen was an asset to him, and assets did not get to take his interest hostage for more than fleeting periods.

  She was an annoyance, though, and like any other, he would deal swiftly with the source and put an end to it. Until she returned to acting as an asset, he would increase her nightly workload, and end it with beatings she would remember for days. Cause and effect, as he liked to say. One of the many expressions that defined his black and white world.

  He glanced at the digital screen built into his wrist. Half an hour late for his Intra shift.

  Tariq blamed her. For the untidy, forgotten clot. For his now wet pants. For his tardy appearance of duty. For the potentially unhidden body of his latest victim. Hell, he thought, why not add my sour mood to the list of her crimes. The bitch is costing me money, reputation, and who knows what else?

  For now, he was done letting the problem rent any more space in his thoughts.

  X- Aerwen

  September 20, 4 AS

  Aerwen rolled onto her elbow and watched Wezlei sleep. His light, steady breaths rose and fell with his slumber. In these moments, she was often awed at the peace emanating from him. Dryads didn’t require sleep, so she had never learned to try. Why spend any time elsewhere when you could have all of it to do as you wished? Watching him, though, she was drawn to wander wherever he was, and stay there, if only for a short while.

>   Wezlei’s eyes fluttered open. He took several moments to focus before he flashed her a sleepy smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

  “I’ll take it as a compliment.” She spoke the words against his lips as she kissed him… then, she kissed him again.

  “As you should,” Wezlei replied. His eyes twinkled with desire, but also something more important, more powerful.

  “Don’t worry, I was keeping an eye on the shop,” Aerwen said. “No one arrived during the last hour, just as I predicted.”

  “Well, how was I supposed to know Mabon was going to be such a killer for business?” He laughed.

  Aerwen leveled her gaze on him. “Because I told you?”

  He swatted a hand at the air and shrugged. “Just because you live in tree kingdoms, talk to animals, don’t sleep, and are generally awesome in all the best ways, doesn’t mean you know everything.”

  “Don’t forget… we grant wishes, too.”

  Wezlei slapped his forehead. “How could I be so inconsiderate of your many talents?”

  “I forgive you. It really isn’t your fault you can’t count that high.”

  In a whoosh, Wezlei was on top of her. He pinned her hands above her head and scrunched his face in a forced frown, inches from her petulant smile. “Four. That’s the only number you need to worry about right now.”

  “Four?’

  “Orgasms I’ve given you today.”

  Aerwen considered the past hours. “I only count three.”

  With a wink, his face disappeared as his lips moved down the length of her body, leaving a delectable trail of kisses on his way to where she was already wet again with her desire of him.

  Darkness came fast. It always did, but each day, the moment where she had to say goodbye felt like a weight that only grew heavier. She sagged with the sadness of parting, even knowing she would be with him again in a matter of hours.