Chapter Seven

Driven from her dreams by the smash and crash of rocks being reduced to rubble, coupled with the heavy scent of blood, Willa reached for Asher only to find the soft patch of earth they’d found to sleep on cold and empty. Getting to her feet and wrapping her hair in a bun atop her head as she headed out, she couldn’t help but pray that her Dragon was still lucid.

“What will I do if the Madness is back?” She whispered to the shadows. “You’ll pull up your big girl panties and take care of him.”

The Madness, akin to the Thirst of an ancient Vampire, the Hunger of an Alpha Wolf or the Psychosis other breeds of Shifters could suffer, had always been thought of as a myth, something the Elders of whatever Clan, Coven, Pack or Pride told to keep the young ones in line. Sure, each Species had their causes and symptoms, but one thing, the most important and deadly detail remained the same – if left untreated, there would be death, destruction, and bloodshed for the innocent…and execution of the one in the throes of the Madness. Oh, and in every case, it was up to the One the Universe had made for them, their True Mate, to save the afflicted.

“Wow! Imagine that.” Her chuckle sounded like glass breaking as it reverberated off the stone walls. “Over my Cold, dead body is anyone taking Asher’s head. That man’s been through enough.” 

Following the echoes of chaos down one tunnel after another, weaving and winding, twisting and turning, she began to wonder if the cave went on forever. “Maybe we’ve fallen into an alternate universe. Sounds about right,” she scoffed.

Going further into the cavern, tempted to turn around but forcing herself to continue, Willa finally caught sight of light shining from the farthest end of the impasse ahead. Hurrying to make sure her Dragon was okay, she stopped in the threshold, unsure what to make of the scene playing out before her. Standing in a sliver of light that shone through the tiniest of holes at the apex of the cavern, naked as the day he was born, stood Asher, hurdling rocks across a huge spring-fed pond and shouting curses in a variety of languages.

Absolutely amazing to watch, the loss of his hand not slowing him down in the slightest, Asher possessed a fluidity, an elegance, a quiet grace that belied the enraged mountain of a man before her. Traveling his body, her eyes followed the vast landscape of broken and disfigured skin that reminded her of hills and valleys of a war-torn world. Everywhere her eyes landed was a reminder of the brutalization he’d suffered at the hands of maniacal scientists. She’d been gutted by the two minutes she witnessed from his memories, it was mind-boggling to consider how long and how much he had truly endured.

Shivering at the thought, Willa wrapped her arms around her body and took a deep cleansing breath. Slowly exhaling, she stepped farther into the grotto as Asher heaved another boulder at the far wall. A slash of crimson on the face of the rock drew her gaze, forcing her to look more closely at the haphazard pile of stones next to Asher’s right foot.

Walking closer, her feet moving of their own volition, what at first looked like blobs of paint began to take shape. Sickeningly dry, the sweet metallic scent of blood hit the back of her throat. Gagging, she slapped her hand over her mouth, not because she was going to throw up but because she finally understood.

Stopping a couple of yards from Asher, not wanting to surprise him and get a rock to the gut, she read the letters on the stones, immediately remembering the nametags the White Coats wore on their lapels. Smith, Jones, Henderson, Samples such simple, everyday names for such diabolical people.

Letting her mind join with his, something she’d been avoiding since she woke up and he was gone, Willa found him torn into two. It was as if his subconscious had known he was once again close to the breaking point and had built a dam between the Madness and Asher’s true nature.

Reaching out, she calmly called, “Asher.” Waiting a second, she took a tiny step forward and tried again, louder and with more conviction. “Asher… Asher, please stop and look at me.”

Rock in the hand perched above his head, the Dragon cautiously and deliberately turned until he was facing her. His hazel eyes were the color of dark chocolate, an empty, lost anger swirling in their depths. Inching closer, extending her arm as far as it would go, Willa stiffened her spine and strengthened her resolve. There had to be a way to pull him back from the edge.

“Drop the rock, Asher.” Her request sounded like a demand, but she refused to falter, refused to give up without a fight. “Look at me.” One more slide of her feet. “See me, Asher. Willa.” Her free hand slapped at her chest as she saw a brief glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “Trust what you feel.” Nodding, she took another tiny step forward. “Can’t you sense it? It’s me.” Searching her mind, she added in Gaelic, “Do mhac.”

Letting the rock roll off the tips of his fingers as he walked forward, the darkness faded from his eyes as he wondered, “Willa, mo maite, mo shláinte?”

“Yes, it’s me,” she nodded, smiling that he finally remembered.

Closing the distance, Asher didn’t stop until his arms were wrapped around Willa’s waist with his head burrowing into her neck as he lifted her feet off the ground. Walking to the far corner of the cave, he sat on a natural stone bench, holding her tight, mumbling so quickly in Gaelic that she couldn’t understand his words but the meaning was clear.

Running her hands up and down his back, reassuring him everything would be alright and that she would never leave him, Willa felt something warm and wet sliding down the skin just under the neckline of her blouse. It was then she realized that it was not so much the speed with which he spoke or the Gaelic, but the sobs he was trying to hide that made it impossible for her to understand his words.

Tightening her arms around him, letting all the faith and hope she possessed flow to her mate, Willa laid kisses on his hair, his forehead and his cheek as she spoke directly into his mind, “Let it out, Ash. Let go of all that crap. Give it all to me. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Holding her mate, her heart breaking a little more with his every sob, her need to watch the ones who’d hurt him burn alive for their actions festered inside her. With each tear that wet her blouse, Willa prayed for the man who’d held her so sweetly throughout the night to return. Hours passed and the single ray of sunshine that had brightened the grotto disappeared as Asher’s sobs became little more than hiccups.

Leaning back, deciding the time was right to try and talk to him, Willa barely had the time to look in his eyes before Asher was on his feet. Still in his arms, he raced towards the front of the cave.

Screaming his name, trying everything including gripping his shoulders and shaking him, Willa screamed, “Asher! Stop! What’s wrong!”

Out into the night he sprinted, taking a long-forgotten trail leading down the dark side of the mountain, he ignored her questions, instead snarling in Gaelic. Giving up the battle for his attention, she held on tight, listened to his words, and eventually understood what had spooked him so.

Speaking directly into Asher’s mind, she reassured, “I understand your need to run. I know nothing makes sense right now.” Carefully choosing her next words, she added, “They are your brethren and want the best for you. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to talk to them.”

Turning so quickly Willa thought she might fly from his arms, Asher ducked into a small hole in the backside of the mountain. Barely large enough to be called a cave, dark as night and smelling of rot, she prayed it wasn’t where they were going to stay as her Dragon set her feet on the ground. Placing his hands on her shoulders, looming over her like an avenging angel, he bent forward until the whoosh of his breath warmed her cheek.

The glow of his eyes and the frown on his face was the only warning she got before he snarled, “No Willa. No talking. Not me. Not you. Got it.”

“But…”

Spinning away from her, repeatedly punching the opposite wall with his fist and his nub, splatters of blood covered his chest, flew over his shoulder and splattered onto her face. Racing forward, only thinking of Asher’s safety, Willa gasped as his fist stopped mere millimeters from her face.

Falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around her legs, Asher looked up at Willa like a lost child or a homeless puppy. Anguish, like shards of glass shredding her heart, tore at her soul. How was she ever going to help him? How could he ever recover from what those bastards had done to him?

Kneeling down, her knees touching his, she laid her palms upon his cheeks, looked into his agony-filled eyes and promised, “Okay, no talking until you’re ready.”

And I can’t begin to imagine how long that will be…