Chapter 38 Chapter Thirty-eight
I sat there for another ten minutes, pushing food around my plate without really eating it. The silence of the dining room pressed in from all sides, suffocating in its emptiness.
This was pointless.
I thought to myself as I stared at everything.
I wasn't going to sit here and pretend all was well when it clearly wasn't. I didn't want to go on eating alone in this large room like some tragic figure in a fairytale, waiting for someone who wasn't coming.
If Asher wanted to avoid me, fine. But he was going to have to do it to my face.
With that single thought driving me, I stood abruptly, like I was back in the courtroom about to defend my case to the judge. And my trembling hands relaxed with my new found determination.
Crystal Noir never did shy away from a fight.
Out of the dining room. Into the hallway.
I knew where I was going even though I'd been explicitly told not to go there.
The west wing.
The private area Asher said was off-limits to me. The one place in this entire estate I wasn't supposed to venture on my own.
Which meant it was exactly where he'd be hiding like a bat.
My footsteps echoed as I walked, each one feeling more deliberate than the last. I was done playing by rules I hadn't agreed to. Done sitting quietly in the background while everyone else made decisions about my life without consulting me.
If Asher wanted to shut me out, he could explain why.
To my damn face.
The corridors began to change as I moved deeper into the estate though. The warm lighting from the main areas gradually dimmed into something mysterious. The stone walls grew darker, less decorated. Fewer paintings. Fewer windows. Even the air itself felt different here and it made my skin begin to moisten from the cold sweat soaking my back right now.
'Maybe this was a bad idea.'
The tiny voice in my head said. But did I stop walking? No. I pushed on.
'Maybe I should turn around and go back to my room and just accept that some things weren't my business.'
That sounded logical enough, yes?
But my feet kept moving forward, drawn by something I couldn't quite name.
'Stupid and naive.'
Where have I heard those exact words before? Right, from my nameless and faceless cellmate.
Or maybe it was just the desperate need to understand the man who'd saved me when he didn't have too, tried to get close but then pushed me away and went into hiding.
Illogical things like that irked me. I demanded clarity from actions and emotions. But humans and beast? They were mysterious like that.
The temperature dropped noticeably as I turned down another corridor. This one was narrower than the others, the ceiling lower, the walls closer together. The torches—actual torches, not the modern lamps from the other parts of the house—cast flickering shadows that danced and twisted in ways that made my heart beat faster.
I wrapped my arms around myself, as my steps slowed down a bit.
'How far did this corridor even go?'
It suddenly felt like I was in a book and my better judgement to turn around was being clouded by curiosity.
Just as I was about to turn back—to admit defeat and return to the safety of the lit corridors—I heard something that sounded so feral that I almost ran back the way I'd come from.
"What the-- "
A groan.
The animalistic growl turned into a pained groan and I stopped to listen more closely.
Was someone hurt? No. What kind of hurt could someone be in to make sounds like this?
The sound came again. Louder this time. More agonized.
The thought cut through my fear like a knife, replacing it with something sharper. Someone was in pain and I was standing here like a coward instead of helping.
"Shit." I moved forward, faster now, following the sound. I didn't know where I was going, just that the sound got louder as I passed through doors that had only God knew what hiding behind them.
The groaning grew louder. More frequent. Punctuated by harsh breathing and sounds that were growls than groans at this point.
The corridor opened slightly ahead, and I could see a door that was slightly ajar, like someone had closed it but it hadn't latched properly.
The sounds were coming from inside there someone knowing that the source of these growls are coming from there made me uneasy.
"GAHH--!"
A scream.
Not a human scream. Something else. Something that started human and ended in a roar that reverberated through the stone walls and made every hair on my body stand on end.
My hand flew to my mouth, stifling my own gasp.
What was happening in there?
But my feet carried me forward instead.
Slowly. Carefully. Like I was approaching something wild and dangerous that might bolt—or attack—if I moved too quickly, I reached my hand out to push open the door, but the gap was just wide enough for me to see through it if I positioned myself at the right angle.
And trust me, a part of me wished I hadn't done that. I wasn't ready for what I was about to witness.
The room beyond was sparse. Stone walls. A few pieces of furniture pushed against the far wall. Chains hanging from the ceiling—thick, heavy chains that looked like they could restrain something massive.
And in the center of the floor was the man I'd come searching for. Asher.
He was on his hands and knees, his body convulsing violently. His shirt was torn, hanging in shreds from his shoulders. And his back?
Oh god, his back.
Black scales that looked like he'd been burned by something hot. They were patchy. Irregular. Like they were forcing their way through his skin in places they weren't meant to be. Some areas were covered completely, dark and iridescent in the flickering torchlight. Others showed raw, angry flesh where the scales hadn't fully emerged.
Scales?
What was he?
That question floated freely in my mind. It has been for a while. Aquila was a demon, that much I could tell. Miridath? A Shewolf. But Asher?
Another mystery. But I think that mystery has been solved.
Asher was a black dragon. He had to be. But how? Black dragons should have been extinct. Or maybe not.
Dark veins spread across his skin like a web of poison. Spiderwebbing out from the scaled patches, pulsing with something that looked sickly. Like corruption spreading through his body. Mapping a path that looked like it hurt.
His fingers had elongated into razor-sharp claws that scraped against the stone floor as his body shook. The sound made me flinch.
He let out another groan--deep and guttural--and his back arched unnaturally. I watched in horror as more scales pushed through his skin, forcing their way out with wet, tearing sounds that made my stomach turn.