Shadow Guardians: The Key
Chapter 5

Uriah followed Draven out after class. He led him across the passages, no words passed between them. Uriah strained to keep up with the big male’s long strides with his cramping limbs. He was anxious, worried about what kinds of lies Rip might’ve told him. Hell, he could get kicked out of the program altogether, and then where would he go?

Draven led him into one of the admin offices. “Sit down, Uriah,” he said.

He slid into the chair. The office was standard. Sturdy desk, filing cabinets, papers, and files open, no doubt containing the recruits’ information. An old computer, which he couldn’t believe still operated, stationary holder. There was a weapons cabinet in the corner. And he hoped the keys were hidden very far away from Rip. The floors had a moss-green rug, and the walls were eggshell. The chair he sat in had metal downward-curving armrests, and the seat was in a seaweed green woven fabric. And those damned white LED lights that drilled pressure into his eyeballs.

He was never so happy to have his weight off his feet, though, however slight he may be.

Draven sat down in the swiveling black leather office chair opposite him and laced his fingers on the desk. He wore a frown and pressed his lips together, his eyes trained on the closed file to his right.

Shit. That was probably Uriah’s file. Oh yeah, he was getting his ass kicked out of the game. He exhaled harshly and pushed down the urge to wrap his arms around himself. There was nowhere he could go if he wasn’t here. He’d die on the streets. Uriah primed himself for the worst.

“I don’t want you going into physical training later,” Draven said unexpectedly.

Uriah’s brows lowered. “What? Why?”

“You’re not in a good condition, Uriah.”

“No, I’m fine! I have to go…” He lied. “If I don’t, they’ll just think I’m weak.”

Shit, what exactly did Rip tell him? That he was going psychotic and beating people?

Draven held his gaze, looked right into those gilded eyes. Golden eyes were a rare thing for their species to have.

“You’re close to your transition. I don’t want you in the arena.”

Uriah was baffled. This was about his transition? “How would you know?”

“I can smell it on you. It’s close. May be days, may be a few more weeks. I can see it in your behavior. You’re not eating, and you’re tired all the time. Probably achy as hell. How am I doing so far?”

Uriah swallowed. No one had ever talked to him about his transition. It was one of those taboo subjects that no one liked to speak about—a private kind of thing, like the puberty talk. His parents never got the chance to explain stuff to him. He thought of the other recruits who’d gone through theirs. None of them seemed to have gone through as much discomfort as he had.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Brother, he wanted to add for some reason, but left it out.

“Why would you think that?”

Uriah shifted his little body around in the chair. It seemed to swallow his slight frame. “Because the others kept fighting the day before and after their transitions. Why do I have to be off?”

Draven shook his head. “You can’t compare your transition to the nosferi. They don’t have it quite the same way as us. Ours is much more brutal. You need to be in a safe environment when it hits, with a doctor present, preferably.”

“A doctor?” he gasped.

“Yes. Your heart could stop, or the fevers could send you into a seizure. You won’t be able to walk or move much once it’s over. You would need at least a day to recuperate.”

Uriah went white. He’d been wishing for it up until now, so he could stop being the child amongst a bunch of muscled warriors. Now, he was piss scared of it.

“We’re going to take care of you,” and then Draven said the word, “brother. I’m going to be keeping my eye on you. I’m not letting you go through it down here with Rip in the vicinity. You need to be kind to yourself until it hits.”

Uriah pressed his lips together and broke eye contact with him. He refused to let the tears brimming in his eyes fall. Like I have any control over what happens to me here. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Draven narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong with him beyond the transition. His lips parted with a smacking sound in the silent office. “There something you wanna tell me?”

Uriah’s lower lip moved slightly from side to side. He lightly shook his head. “No,” he said softly.

Draven could sympathize with him. He knew what it was to be the outcast. Now more than ever, ironically. While his relationship with his biological brothers was still whole, it has changed with the females now. Perhaps it was trivial, but Draven felt in a way that the females had taken his brothers away from him.

But Uriah wasn’t attached. He saw in him a younger brother. And if he were to join their ranks, they would seal the bond with the mixing of their blood. He would become their blood brother.

And Draven wasn’t hatched from a chicken egg. He knew he was lying about something. What he couldn’t figure was why he wouldn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth. It couldn’t be his looks because they knew one another before his little makeover. Perhaps, though, it could have something to do with pride.

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Uriah. You’re going to be a warrior. You’re going to fight with us.”

Assuming he survived his transition and Rip’s whippings, Uriah thought.

“I’m going to talk to my brothers. I think it would be better for you to move into the house.” Draven decided.

Uriah’s eyes widened, and he huffed out breath.

“Come on,” he used the word again, since he felt a powerful reaction from him the first time. “Talk to me, brother.”

Uriah felt torn. He was afraid to tell Draven about Rip, afraid of what he might do with him and, in turn, what his parents might do to them. And moving into the house? He’d be the laughing stock of every recruit down here. He’d be seen as an ass-kisser. And every time he called him brother, his heart just swelled to bursting with pride, camaraderie, and a sense of... family.

He swallowed past a lump. “How much influence do the aristocratic families have over you?” Uriah asked carefully.

So this was about Rip. “Public Relations, mostly. In the past, they controlled the spread of wealth among the covens. But we’ve been wise with our money and investments, so we hardly need theirs. We don’t answer to them. We answer to the gods. And I give a rat’s ass about the kind of reputation they spread about us. You shouldn’t worry about it either.” Draven answered matter-of-factly, “Civilians don’t need to like us or respect us. We just need to do our jobs and respect one another.”

He saw a very slight flinch around Uriah’s eyes as he shifted in the chair again. Yeah, he was hiding pain. That fucking sorry ass had done something to him again. And the last thing his body needed now was more inflammation to deal with. He needed to be gathering his strength before his transition, not adding more strain.

“Strip.” Draven demanded.

Uriah’s eyes popped wide open. “W-what?”

“I said strip. Down to your underwear.”

Uriah glanced over his shoulder at the frosted glass door. Ah hell, he wanted to run for the hills. Like he wanted Draven to see his scrawny black and blue ass. “Wait, like now?”

“It wasn’t a request... Get to it.”

He carefully rose and started undressing. Stalling for time, Draven thought. He’d get there eventually, he wasn’t in any hurry. The rest of the recruits were in Latin class now, taught by Z. They swapped so he could take care of his young. The fact that he appeared cornered told Draven his instincts were spot on.

Uriah was a warrior at heart, didn’t like people knowing he was in pain. Draven was the same at that age.

He might be going there again.

When he saw the condition of his body, he had pleasant mental imagery of sweeping the floors with Rip while he dragged him along by his balls, then yanking his cock right off his flesh and making him eat it.

Uriah stood near-naked in front of him, his thin arms clasped around himself, trying in vain to hide the bruises and swelling on his body. He’d never felt so vulnerable, so exposed in his life. He didn’t know what Draven was thinking. He seemed so dead calm it was creepy.

“Yeah, this isn’t cool, little bro. I can’t have this. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Uriah panicked. Gods, of course he’d let him go now. Who would want such a weak ass to fight? “Look, I-I can improve. I’m getting better with fighting, I swear. I’ll practice more if you’ll just let me go into the arena.”

Draven stood and lit a handrolled. “That ain’t happening. Get dressed. You’re moving into the house as soon as your classes are finished. Screw the talk. I’ll fucking tell my brothers that’s just the way it’s gonna be.”

“You still want me to move in?”

Draven frowned, confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Uriah climbed back into his pants, openly wincing now. No use in hiding anything anymore. “I don’t know, cuz I’m weak. I’m not exactly a warrior.”

A slow smile crept across Draven’s face. “You will be. Magnus was as small as you before his transition.”

That seemed like the stuff of legend. He’d seen, of course, the massive change that nosferi went through, but he had a hard time believing that could be him. “He was?” The guy was massive.

“We all were. I can’t have you look like this now. Your body is going through enough. You need to eat, and you need to rest.”

“I can’t eat. Not even the porridge.”

“All the more reason why you shouldn’t get beat to shit.” Draven took another long drag. “I was that bad. It’s not a problem. Before it hits, we’ll have you take blood. It’ll give you the strength to go through it. And again after. If you can’t drink it, Thomas can just pump it right into your veins.”

“You stay out of that arena, Uriah. You use that time to sleep or practice with your weapons. I’m gonna have a little chat with Rip.” He studied the burning end of his handrolled.

Something in his voice just told Uriah that it was better not to argue with him. “I’ll be the laughing stock of the classroom.” He murmured.

“Yeah, well. Don’t get caught up with the nosferi. You ain’t staying with them. You’re with us. And it’s very important that you survive your transition. Our numbers are thin. They get on your nerve, you can study in the house. Come to the shooting range when they’re all in their sorry ass bunks. You’re smart enough to study on your own. Which reminds me, how’s the prediction stuff coming along? You predict anything else except the course of my classes yet?”

Uriah shook his head as he threw his parka over his shoulders. “No. It’s just little snippets. Seconds, really.”

“You find you have some sort of control over it?” Draven inquired.

“Not so far. But it’s consistent throughout the class.”

Draven snuffed out his handrolled in the ashtray. “Want me to buy you a crystal ball? See if that’d help?”

Uriah smiled. “You wanna make an even bigger freak out of me?”

“Join the club, little bro. Us strange ones gotta stick together.” He came to him, placed a massive hand on his small shoulder, and led him out of the office. “Come on, we’re skipping Latin. I want to show you those Beretta M9 semiautomatics.”

He felt his shoulder drop. “I can’t see the targets that well.”

“It’s easy. If it smells like it came from hell and it moves, shoot it.”

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