THIRTY-SIX

She found him in the gym beating the crap out of a punching bag. He was sweating and panting heavily as he hopped around the bag, throwing punch after punch and making the bag swing wildly. It looked like he was working off some major aggression and she wondered what had happened between waking her up with soft kisses against her shoulder, to now.

She had never seen him like this. She had seen his tightly reigned control. She had seen his melancholy when he had danced. She had seen his fierceness when he fought the chades. She had even seen him when he was annoyed and frustrated. But she had never observed him in a mood so raw. She hadn’t thought he was capable of it but she should know better than to think she had him all figured out by now. The guy was about as deep as they came – it was one of the things she liked most about him. Unsure if she should approach him or just leave him alone, she decided on the middle ground and sat herself down on the bench to wait him out.

His vicious energy lasted longer than she would have thought and it was a full fifteen minutes later when he finally stopped punishing the bag. She thought he would turn around and say something to her, knowing he must have noticed her presence by now. The man noticed everything, especially when it came to her. It always made her feel special. But instead, he just leant his head against the bag, hugging it to him as he sucked in harsh breaths. She felt herself get even more concerned now and began making her way over to him.

“Lark …” she said softly, wanting to alert him to her approach. She saw him stiffen but he gave no other indication he had heard her and she felt her gut clench; something was very wrong. She may not be able to say the ‘L’ word like he did but she was as emotionally invested as she was capable of being. Seeing him obviously hurting, hurt her and she placed a tentative hand on his back.

He flinched at the contact, hissing; “Don’t!”

She immediately removed her hand, startled at the anger in his voice. Had she done something wrong? Was this little rage-against-the-innocent-punching-bag routine, about her? Maybe he had changed his mind about how he felt about her. After the ‘intervention’ his fellow knights had held, she knew he had thought the whole thing to be humorous and endearing. But what if he had reconsidered – even after his declaration last night? Well, if she was going to get dumped, she wished he’d get on with it;

“Whatever it is, just spit it out.”

He chuckled but the noise sounded bitter as he pushed away from the bag and faced her, “What?” he asked, acerbly, “I’m not allowed to have a bad mood?”

She thought about it for a moment because it was just so strange to her. Sure, he was allowed to have a bad mood. Everyone had bad moods. She just hadn’t thought it was possible. He was always just so … Lark. Another rough chuckle had her looking up once again and she was relieved beyond measure to see a wry smile on his handsome face this time as he shook his head;

“You look so confused,” he pointed out, beginning to unwind the wraps on his hands.

“I guess I am. I’ve never seen you like this. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do,” she admitted.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, throwing the long length of bindings to the floor.

She shifted from foot to foot, feeling vulnerable because what she really wanted to do was hug him. But if this little fit of temper was about her, there was no way she wanted to admit that. But then she remembered his words of love from the night before and knew the courage such an admission took, especially considering he hadn’t heard the words in return. She decided to be honest; “I want to hug you.”

He continued to eye her for a few seconds before speaking, “That would be just about perfect.”

“Yeah?” she took a step forward.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

But she still hesitated, “A second ago, you acted as though you didn’t want me to touch you.”

He winced, “That wasn’t about you … it was about where you touched me. My back. I was lost in some memories …”

Not needing to hear any more, she reached up and drew him down into her arms. He came readily, pulling her in close and aligning their bodies perfectly. She felt him sigh hugely before he finally relaxed into the embrace, burying his face against her neck. “It’s not about me,” she stated.

“Huh?” his voice was muffled against her skin.

“Whatever has you so upset. It’s not me,” she explained.

He finally pulled back, tugging playfully on her ponytail, before stepping away. He ran a hand through his sweaty mop of reddish-brown hair before placing both hands on his hips, “Of course it’s not you. You’re perfect. I’m sorry if I made you feel any different …”

She hushed him with a finger to his lips, “Don’t apologise to me for my own insecurities. Just tell me what’s wrong … please.” She knew it wasn’t just bad memories – he lived with those every day.

She saw him clench his jaw before he spoke, “It’s my father.”

She stiffened, “What about him?”

“He’s here,” he informed her.

Ivy cursed and automatically reached for her sickle, swearing ripely when she realised she didn’t have it. When Lark tried to step around her, she pushed him back, frowning over her shoulder when he chuckled at her.

“Relax, Wonder Woman. He’s not literally right here, right now.”

Despite being the butt of his jest, she was happy to see the teasing glint back in his emerald eyes. She relaxed her stance minutely, “Tell me.”

“Orders are being recalled from all over the world with instructions to congregate here so they can meet Max. The Order of Tor is one of them. For all I know, he’s already at the Lodge.”

“And that makes you mad,” she guessed. It sure made her mad. She wanted to hunt the sick fucker down and remove his head from his shoulders right this instant.

“Mad? No, not mad,” Lark responded, surprising her.

“But what about …” she waved her hand at the punching bag.

He shook his head, “That’s not anger. My anger runs cold – not hot. What you saw was fear,” he snorted, “More than four years away from the man and just the sound of his name makes the spit dry up in my mouth. The man terrifies me,” he revealed, colour infusing his cheeks.

She wouldn’t allow him to feel even a second of shame over that fact. He had every right to feel afraid of the monster that had tormented him as a child. She was afraid of him too, if she was being honest. Isaac made her sick and scared and filled with loathing. Placing her hands on her man’s cheeks, she drew him down so she could press a series of soft kisses to his lips. He held still under her ministrations, letting her soothe him – the act soothing herself in the process. Finally, she teased his lips with her tongue, feeling his mouth open and then she was tangling her tongue with his in a deep, searing kiss. She allowed the moment to spin out until warmth turned to heat, before tearing her mouth from his;

“I won’t let him touch you again,” she promised, fiercely. Instead of saying he could take care of himself or he didn’t need a woman to fight his battles for him, he only smiled brilliantly at her;

“Thank you. I won’t let him touch me again, either.”

“Well … good, then.” Considering the matter settled, she moved on, “You said Orders – plural. Do you know how many?”

He shook his head, “No. But I intend to find out soon. I’ve asked Mordecai to come here to answer some questions. Surprisingly, he’s agreed. He’ll be here tomorrow. I do know that Stefan is here too – Cali’s former liege. And I understand a bunch of Dex’s old paladins are making their way back.”

She contemplated the new information for a moment, “All these people, all connected intimately to your family … you think it’s deliberate?”

Lark angled his head in the direction of the changeroom before heading toward it, “I have no doubt. The question is why.”

“An army?” Ivy suggested, feeling ice form in her gut. Lark shrugged and yanked his saturated tee shirt over his head once inside the changing area. She had to force her thoughts to stay on the very serious matter at hand rather than the creamy expanse of muscled skin in front of her eyes.

“If it’s an army, who’s recruiting? And who are they planning to strike at?” Lark asked.

Ivy figured the questions were rhetorical but she answered nonetheless, “At Max. Although, I can’t understand why someone would initiate such an attack considering Max hasn’t made any bold moves. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t. But I’ll figure it out, mark my words.”

She knew he would. No-one could outsmart her guy. And wasn’t it a special kind of luxury that she had someone to call her own? Life is weird, she thought, realising Lark was still pacing now and still talking;

“And if that’s not enough, I still can’t shake the feeling about this chade Max – and I – keep dreaming about.”

“Is this about your nightmare last night?” She hated the nightly dreams which haunted him but she couldn’t fault his duty or dedication to his liege.

“Yeah. It’s the damn Darth Vader chade,” he huffed in aggravation.

She blinked at him, “The what?”

“It’s what I’ve been calling this super evil chade Max keeps dreaming about. He’s not like the others. He’s different – more important somehow. I just know it.”

“You’re saying Max is dreaming about one chade in particular?” she was trying to understand what had him so agitated.

He stopped pacing to stand in front of her, nodding his head fervently, “Yes. Over and over … he haunts her.”

“And he’s not the same as other chades. In what way?” she pressed, hoping to help ease him by being a sounding board. It had worked pretty well in the past.

“Well, he has the same look – white skin, black hair, skinny, black eyes. But …” he broke off, literally shuddering.

“But?” Ivy encouraged.

“But his eyes seem to have an awareness in them – an evil awareness.” He held up his hands, “I know how dramatic that sounds but there’s no other way to describe it. He’s like those chades from when you got hurt – only worse. The blackness in his eyes isn’t devoid of all emotion like other chades. It’s filled with malevolence, hate, calculation. Plus, he’s wearing a ring. I mean, how weird is that? Chades don’t wear jewellery.”

Ivy felt herself freeze; a ring? She’d heard a story once about a chade with a ring …

“Ivy! What is it? Ivy?!” she felt hard hands grab her upper arms and give her a small shake.

Refocusing her gaze, she saw that Lark’s face was filled with worry and wondered how long she’d spaced for. Wanting to reassure him quickly but also explain, she patted his chest, “I’m okay, I’m sorry. It was just the mention of a ring. I – I’ve heard about a chade with a ring …”

“What?” he grabbed her arms again, “Where? Tell me!” he demanded.

She shook her head, “I don’t have all the details. But I know someone who does,” she confirmed.

“Nikolai?” he guessed correctly, his ability to read her now well and truly honed, “We have to tell Max.”

He began dragging her out of the changeroom and she had to physically dig her heels into the tile. She didn’t think he even realised he was still shirtless; “Wait, Lark. Just wait! Let’s not get alarmist – it could be nothing. Let me talk to Nikolai and see where it leads, okay?”

He stopped and drew in a deep breath, “Shit. Sorry. You’re right, I just –”

“It’s fine. I feel the same urgency as you, trust me. I’ll call Nik immediately and …” she trailed off as Lark moved back into the room and stripped his track pants off, leaving him blessedly naked. She saw him smirk at her and she cleared her throat, “Well, maybe not immediately …”

“Hmm,” he murmured, reaching behind him to turn on the closest of the three showers. “It seems I’m very sweaty. I probably need someone to wash my back for me.”

She was already peeling off her clothes and tossing them to the tiled floor before he even finished his sentence. Thoughts of evil fathers and chades flitting to the back of her mind for now, “I’m sure I can accommodate you.”

He reached for her as steam began to fill the room, “You’re so good to me.”

No, Ivy thought as she pressed herself against his hard frame, you’re so good to me.