Ask the Oracle (24 page)

involved was too great. For a moment, he thought he saw the hazy impression of dark eyes

and a curtain of sable hair, but as he struggled to bring the figure into focus, it became more

and more distorted until it finally vanished back into the darkness of his mind.

“Not without his consent,” the familiar voice growled. “He has to choose it. You of all

people should understand that, Maddox.”

“He’s not in any shape to make that choice. If you don’t do it soon, there won’t be

anything left to save. The man is your mate. If you don’t do this now, you will lose him

forever.”

“He’ll hate me.”

“Better to have him live and hate you, than let him die and you hate yourself.”

The room descended into silence. For a moment, Gray thought they had left him—that

they were allowing him to succumb to his fate. He started to slip away, falling back down

into his world of peace. It would be so easy to just let it happen. Gray thought that

knowledge would make him happy, but something about the idea of never hearing that

familiar voice again bothered him deeply.

He didn’t have long to examine his feelings. There were others in the room again,

surrounding him. Shuffling footsteps and the scrape of objects being dragged roughly across

a hard floor met his ears. A hand was on his forehead, and another brushed his bottom lip.

The unexpected contact startled him, but he relaxed when he recognised that familiar touch

from earlier.

“That’s it, love. Relax for me,” the voice soothed as fingers touched his forehead and

gently brushed the hair away from Gray’s eyes. If only he could see—he could put a face to

that amazing voice. For reasons he didn’t understand, he knew that if he could just

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remember this man, everything else in his world would make sense again. Unfortunately, the

more he struggled to remember, the farther away the memories seemed to be.

“Gray, my love. I need you to trust me now. Can you do that for me?”

Gray knew, in his heart, that he would do anything for the man. Anything in his power,

all the man had to do was ask, and it would be his. Gray tried to voice his agreement, but his

vocal cords proved to be just as useless as his eyes at the moment. Thankfully, he must have

managed some noise or movement of confirmation as the man, Dreo, let out a relieved

breath.

“Thank you, love,” Dreo breathed. “Your trust means more to me than you know. Now,

I need you to drink something for me, okay? It’s medicine. It’s going to make you feel

better—stronger. It’s going to help with the pain. Are you ready?”

Again, Gray assumed he must made some noise of affirmation because before he knew

it, gentle fingers were at his mouth, prying open his lips while another hand lay relaxed at

his throat. Gray hadn’t given much thought to the taste of the medicine he was to be given,

so when the first drops landed on his tongue, he was surprised and slightly repulsed by the

thick, metallic flavour that filled his mouth.

His gag reflex kicked in almost immediately. As his stomach began to heave, Gray

knew there was no way he was going to be able to keep the ‘medicine’ down. Tears welled in

his eyes and ran down his face as his stomach began to spasm and seize. Despite his struggle

to keep it down, Dreo continued to drip the fluid into his mouth, massaging his throat to

encourage him to swallow it down. While the taste may have been ghastly, the effects were

nearly instantaneous. The effects, however, were vastly different than what Gray had

expected. Instead of making Gray stronger, he felt like his insides were on fire. Before the

medicine, the pain in his chest had been severe but tolerable. This was different. It was an

inferno within him, boiling his blood and charring his bones. It seared through him with a

force that made him wish for death. Gray struggled to lift his arms, desperate to shove away

the poison that was masquerading as medicine, but the agony was too great and what little

strength he’d previously had was long gone.

Why would Dreo do this to him? Gray had thought he could trust the man—believed

that he could put his faith in him, only to have that faith thrown back in his face. And for

what? Gray didn’t understand.

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The vile, noxious fluid continued to dribble into his mouth as Gray’s body started to

convulse. His body was consumed with tremors and still Dreo forced more of his poisonous

brew down Gray’s throat. Hands were on him then, strangers all around him, holding him

down, allowing Dreo to do this to him. Gray wanted to fight them—to throw off their

restraining hands and escape. Unfortunately, it was not to be. His strength was gone. The

only escape he could hope for now was death. Damn, how he regretted not allowing himself

to slip away peacefully when he’d had the chance.

Another blast of fire shot down his back, burning its way through his body like a wave

of molten lava. His back arched as his spinal cord cracked and splintered under the torturous

heat. The scream that escaped him proved his voice still worked if the need was great

enough. Even knowing the cry came from himself, it was painful to hear. The desperate

sound was torturous and heart wrenching. It was the sound of a soul pleading for mercy.

Gray hoped it would haunt Dreo every night in his dreams for the rest of his extremely long

life. It was no less than he deserved for such betrayal.

Desperate to face down his betrayer, Gray finally managed to crack open his eyes. What

he saw was like a scene out of a war movie. The room was on fire and bodies littered the

floor. Broken and bleeding, they were strewn around the room like shattered dolls. His initial

horror was quelled, somewhat, when he realised that many of them were still moving. He

released a sigh of relief. Injured was better than dead, any day of the week.

It was difficult to make out the rest of the room. There was a haze of smoke hanging

heavy in the air from the still smouldering fires. A body to his right caught Gray’s attention

and had him squinting into the fog. A sudden draught of air blew through the room,

disrupting the thick smog and briefly clearing the air.

As the man’s face came into focus, Gray felt his chest clench and his body start to

tremble, as fear and relief warred within him. With his head turned to an impossible angle

and a glassy sheen in his eyes, it was clear Povell’s days of torture were now over. Deep

breaths, though painful, helped to calm Gary’s racing heart as he soaked in the knowledge

that the monster was dead.

Another wave of anguish struck him like a runaway freight train and left him gasping

for air. The heat was not far behind it, striking back with a vengeance, burning through his

chest, stealing all the oxygen from his lungs until Gray felt like he was inhaling fire. It

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scorched his airway and singed his throat. He tried to scream out his misery, but it was

useless. It had finally succeeded in stealing his voice.

“Dreo! We’re losing him. Finish it!”

“Fuck!”

As Gray’s eyes became fixed on the stone ceiling above him, an arm appeared in his line

of vision. As it moved over him, blood dripped onto his face and neck from a deep gash on

its wrist. Gray didn’t understand what was happening. He was fully prepared to assume it

was some kind of death induced hallucination, until strong fingers once again pried open his

lips, allowing that crimson spray to flow freely into his mouth and throat.

Choking and sputtering on the noxious fluid, he tried to turn his head away but was

caught by strong hands that held him firmly in place. Writhing beneath those hands, he

struggled in vain to escape what was being done to him. Voices sounded above him, but he

wasn’t able to make out their words. There was a rhythm to it, like a song or chanting. As

more of the toxic fluid entered his body, he felt his strength leave him. Within minutes, even

breathing became too much work. He tried to drag in one last, sawing breath, but it was

useless.

His vision began to darken, no longer a warning of a vision creeping in—now, a sign of

death come to claim him. As he lay on the floor, open mouthed and gasping for air, Dreo’s

face appeared above him. It was hard for Gray to reconcile the man he’d thought he loved

with the man who was trying to kill him.

“Why?” he croaked, forcing the words out of his charred throat.

Dreo’s expression was wrecked. His hair had come free from its usual queue and was

hanging in a tangled mess around his shoulders. The blood, dirt and ash smudging his face

did nothing to detract from his natural beauty. Even with his wide, red-rimmed eyes and

clenched jaw, he was still the most gorgeous man Gray had ever seen. When Dreo reached

down to cup his face, Gray couldn’t hide his flinch. The look of total devastation on Dreo’s

face would have killed him if the blood Dreo had forced him to drink wasn’t already doing

that job.

“I know you don’t understand, but you have to trust me.” Dreo’s words were pained.

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Gray wanted to. God, did he want to, but Dreo was right—he didn’t understand. All he

knew was that Dreo had done this to him—whatever ‘this’ was. He wasn’t sure, but it felt a

lot like dying.

Spots appeared before Gray’s eyes as the last of the oxygen left his lungs, then his

vision went black. The room became quieter, more muffled, as he felt himself sinking back

down into his blissful nothingness. It would all be over soon. The faint touch of lips on his

forehead barely registered to his fading senses.

“Trust me, Gray. I won’t let anything happen to you. I love you.”

Gray would have laughed if he’d had the strength.

Yeah, right. Too late.

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Gray felt strange. Maybe it was just an aftereffect of his near-death experience, but

something was definitely different. The last thing he remembered, he was pretty sure he’d

been dying on a cold, hard floor with Dreo, his murderer, hovering over him. Now, instead

of enjoying happy hour with angels at the pearly gates, he found himself waking up alone on

a small pallet in a small, dark room. In fact, if he were to guess, he’d say he was in some sort

of cell. There was no art on the walls and no rich fabrics covering the bed. Besides the

mattress he currently lay on, the room was completely devoid of any furniture or personal

touches.

What the hell?

He wiggled his fingers and toes experimentally and was pleased when they moved

without difficulty. It seemed that whatever had happened had reversed the effects of

whatever Dreo had done to him. The reminder of the gorgeous man filled him with

conflicting emotions of love, lust and betrayal. He still didn’t understand what had happened

to him but, goddamn it, he was going to find out.

Letting out a deep breath, he heaved himself up into a sitting position, instantly

surprised at how little effort the movement took. He’d been expecting some pretty

debilitating side effects from his ordeal, at the least. In reality, Gray couldn’t remember the

last time he’d felt so good. A quick inspection of his body didn’t reveal any physical changes,

but something was definitely different.

The sound of a throat clearing immediately grabbed his attention. As his head came up,

Gray was trapped by the familiar power of an amazing set of fiery, chocolate-coloured eyes.

Dreo leaned against the wall by the door. His posture was relaxed, but his body language

said he was anything but. His thick arms were crossed over his chest, his muscles clenched so

tight his veins were standing out in stark relief. His jaw was clenched to the point of

shattering. He was striking. Strong and compelling. Gray couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss

him or beat the shit out of him.

“What are you doing here?” Gray hissed furiously.

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Ignoring Gray’s anger, Dreo took a step towards him. “How do you feel?”

“How the hell do you think I feel? You tried to kill me!”

“Never!” Dreo’s response was immediate and vehement. “You are my mate. I would

never hurt you. I couldn’t harm you, not even if I wanted to. You are everything to me.”

“Wouldn’t harm me? Is that a joke?” Gray shot back bitterly. The memory of the fire

and scorching pain was too much for him to dismiss so easily.

Dreo looked at him, his expression blank. “The pain was both fleeting and necessary. I

am sorry for any discomfort you felt, but I will not apologise for the act itself.”