“You won’t be so cavalier when there are no longer any Trannk to hunt,” Ash commented.
The young Torshin’s yellow eyes blazed at him. They were only starting to turn the crimson of his sire’s, a result of over exploiting the energy bound in crystals. “You have no right to criticize,slave,” he hissed the word. “My father owns this island. I have the right to do whatever I want with it.”
Ash looked away. The boy had only gotten worse over the time he’d been gone. Finn grew more like his father every day.
The jolt of power through the metal collar around his throat knocked Ash flat onto the sand. He couldn’t stop the shock from registering on his features, but he shoved the rage that followed it down deep. Attacking the young tyrant would only bring the parents’ wrath down upon him.
He’d had enough of that as of late.
But it took real effort not to lash back, with Finn smirking over him. “Didn’t think I could do that, did you? Now get off your lazy Dragon ass and fill up that net, or I’ll send Mother down to have a talk with you.” The tall young Torshin offered a savage, pointed-tooth grin before stalking away across the sand, the dead Trannk flopping over one shoulder.
Another pulse of rage threatened to push Ash over the edge. After all this time, it still surprised him that he was capable of anger.
Both Finn and his older brother had been born long after Ash arrived at this island. They grew much faster than him, but with their father mostly absent in those early years, the only one Ash had to fear was their mother, who was a wicked piece of work.
When they grew old enough, and big enough to be an issue, Ash started using his talent to avoid them. It wasn’t perfect, but it kept them on their toes, hunting for him.
Then Rindek had figured out what he was doing. Eager to capitalize on Ash’s blossoming talent—it was the reason he’d acquired the Dragon shifter in the first place—he hauled him along on his missions to the realms. And he often brought his oldest son with him.
Which was when Ash’s life went from frying pan to fire.
Ash had attempted to bolt exactly three times. Such attempts were pointless while on the island, but once he was traveling, the opportunities arose to use the gateways. That was when he discovered Rindek could track him with the collar.
There was nowhere he could go where the Archmage couldn’t find him. And soon, Ash’s body bore the scars of not only Rindek’s wrath, but that of his son, Demeti.
The only way to fight back was to out think, rather than outmuscle. Ash put his efforts into cruising the timelines for a way to defeat Rindek.
And just maybe, he might be able to break free.
Gritting his teeth, Ash picked himself up and hefted the bag of Malla. Although Finn’s new ability was troubling, he wanted to avoid Orena if possible. She had a purely sadistic approach to dealing with him, and had done so since he was a newborn. Only Rindek’s intervention had kept her from causing permanent physical damage.
The Archmage didn’t give a crap about the emotional bit, so long as Ash could still do his job.
Ash collected for another hour. It was hard physical work, which was the reason Finn preferred using his fledgling Warlock ability—and the crystals his father provided—to suck the life essence from nesting Trannk.
Ash worked his way along the beach. As he looked for the breathing holes left by the burrowing Malla, he also searched the sand for the latest gifts offered by the tides. Finally, he found something that appealed to him—a piece of pearlized shell that reflected rainbow colors in the sunlight.
He walked to where the cliffs rose from the sand and set his full bag on an outcrop before he began to climb.
About one hundred feet from the shoreline, he dropped into a hollow. Within it was a pile of smaller rocks, from eight inches across to bigger than his head. The pile was about seven feet long by five wide and covered in small trinkets—bits of shell, pretty stones, even the odd skeletonized sea creature.
Whatever the tide had offered over his young life lay around these stones. Ash crouched down next to them and arranged the bit of shell, turning it until it caught the sunlight. Then he sighed and sat back on his heels.
“For you, Mother,” he whispered.
* * *
The anxiety attack came out of nowhere.
Dani staggered to a bench beneath a tree and huddled there while her heart fluttered like a trapped moth, her rib cage spasmed, and her panicked thoughts spun.
“Are you all right?”
She looked up into the elderly pastor’s concerned gaze. He’d come from around the corner of the church building, but she must be in bad shape not to have heard him approach.
Dani managed a quick nod. “I will be. I get these panic attacks from time to time.”
“If you’d rather finish the work later—the weeds will still be there tomorrow.”
