The Soother (30 page)

Drake didn’t quiver, but Ghanem sensed nervousness even as the messenger shifted his eyes to look down at him. They hadn’t seen each other in years. Many years. Years in which Ghanem’s appearance had drastically changed. Once, he had been on the verge of being one of the strongest and mightiest guardians ever to exist in the Adamo family. A family of warriors, a family with power whose sole task in life was to guard and protect the innocents of the world, human and non-human alike. But Ghanem was no longer part of the family, and with his banishment had come the loss of his prized horns, the tribal tattoos, and the ever-changing color of his eyes. Eyes that at one time had changed to brilliant shades of the most vibrant of gemstones depending on his mood. Emerald, blue topaz, diamond, and the deep crimson of a ruby. Now? Now they were as brown as the dirt beneath his feet. Human brown.

“I cannot give any other information. Dominic has summoned you.”

Ghanem lowered him to his feet. He knew this as the truth. Dominic would punish Drake severely if he uttered any other words. The fault did not lie with Drake, just his unfortunate station in life.

“When?”

Drake cocked his head.

“When am I to go to him?”

“Dominic has summoned you,” Drake repeated, his eyes widening slightly for emphasis.

“Apparently I’m to go now.” The only way to get there was with Drake’s assistance. Just one of many things they’d done to make Ghanem appear weak and less of a guardian. If they’d wanted to embarrass him, they’d succeeded. With one last glance over his shoulder and a silent
good riddance
to Harold The Idiot, Ghanem placed his hand on Drake’s shoulder, and, within a moment, they disappeared.

They materialized mere seconds later in his father’s study, a place in which he had spent countless hours centuries ago. He took in the familiar leather furniture and antiques Dominic had collected. The room should have invoked good memories, but those memories were overshadowed by the event that had changed the course of his life.

After Drake disappeared through the outer door, Ghanem wandered around the room, careful not to touch anything. If he laid his hands on even one of his father’s prized possessions, he’d probably smash it against the nearest wall. His emotions were perilously close to the surface, a dangerous mixture of anger, rage, despair, and that bitch, hope.

He closed his eyes and found it easier in this realm to conjure a memory of his siblings. He allowed it to sweep him away to a better time, a better place. In his mind he saw purple skies. He saw the alluring woods behind their home, trees towering over them in a canopy of wonder, orange sunlight filtering through the dense foliage as they ran and taunted one another. He saw two dark-haired boys and one fair girl. As she wove in and out of the trees, her hair, the color of the purest cotton, danced. Out of the three of them, he was the oldest. His brother, Thane, a mere two years younger, had practically been his twin. They were two halves of a whole. Together, they’d both been protective of their baby sister, Amella. And though she could hold her own, she never squawked at their need to come to her defense.

Ghanem remembered a time when they had no worries. Their days had been filled with laughter, intrigue, and unlimited amounts of energy. Thane had been the thinker, Ghanem the doer, and Amella the constant voice of reason. If only he’d listened to her words of wisdom instead of dismissing them as those of a child. He’d learned since — far too late to save himself — that one should never rule out someone’s advice as nonsense, but should take the time to study it from all angles.
Take the time to see how your choices will affect the rest of your life.

The sound of voices outside the door interrupted his disturbing thoughts. Ghanem should have been thankful for that, but he wasn’t. Any memories of his siblings — even troubling ones — were always welcome. The voice outside the door was not.

His father, the mighty Dominic Adamo, was about to enter the room. The last time he’d seen him, Ghanem’s heart had been filled with hope. Hope that he would get his chance to join his family once again. That hope had been squashed in seconds and with it, Ghanem’s heart. This time he wouldn’t make the same mistake. His father would use him before condemning him, again, to spend his life with humans — humans who had a life span of about eighty years. His would be endless.

Dominic entered the room, filling the width of the doorway with his massive form. To Ghanem, he had always seemed larger than life. Time had not diminished Ghanem’s awe. Dominic wore a black Armani suit custom-made to fit his immense stature. His hair, as intense as ever with its varying shades of black and white, was shorter than the last time Ghanem had seen him, the style emphasizing the curl of his horns. Horns that twisted and curled back from his forehead. While all guardians had horns — unless they were stripped of them — the look of their horns was uniquely their own.

Dominic’s were black in color, giving them an ominous appearance. Feared but revered within their community, he’d been branded throughout this realm, the realm known as Saharren, as one of the mightiest warriors of all time, a trait he would have passed on to his sons. A trait that did not just exist but one that had to be taught, melded and perfected over time. A trait his brother Thane no doubt not only possessed but oozed.

Ghanem stood erect, awaiting some form of acknowledgment from the mighty guardian. What he got was a flash of color within the depths of Dominic’s eyes. The red, as if blood had seeped into his irises, could have been sorrow, anger, regret or disdain. Ghanem would never know. Without a word, Dominic handed him a scroll of parchment paper and disappeared.

He should have expected as much, but the hurt could not be denied. Only his father could make him feel so worthless. Ghanem’s shoulders slumped as he sank to the floor, his back supported against the wall, his heart thudding against his chest, his breathing shallow. He carefully untied the corded rope and then just as carefully unrolled the fragile and aged scroll. The words swam before his eyes before he could focus his vision, but when he finally did his heart no longer thudded, but slammed against his ribcage, causing an ache, a longing so intense he could scarcely breathe.

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