Talon the Black (Dragonwall Series # 1)

Chapter 8 - A New Protector

Battle Ground, Indiana

Claire's mouth fell open. When Cyrus dropped into her life, she thought his death was the worst problem on her hands. Now she realized something more was at stake—an entire kingdom. Dragonwall was in danger. All the air went out of her. It was a lot to process.

In a few short days, she had learned enough about Dragonwall to fall in love with it—a world she had never seen and struggled to imagine. And even though it may not have been her world, she felt...protective. "Why do the wraiths want to destroy Dragonwall?" she asked, her voice a mere squeak.

"It is not they who want to destroy it. Vodar wraiths have no desires, save to be left alone in their disgusting wasteland of Undirfold. But come now, let us save these grim matters for another time. I need to rest and let my breakfast settle."

"Seriously?" Her skin flushed with anger. She was done playing nice. She wanted some answers and she wanted them now. "After everything I've done for you? You asked me to keep your existence a secret, so I have. I've fed you. I've clothed you. I've given you a place to stay. I saved your life, for goodness sake. The least you can do is give me answers. You've been secretive about everything. What's going on? If we're both in danger, then I have a right to know." She hesitated, breathing hard. "Besides, what have you got to lose by telling me?"

His shoulders slumped. "Fine. I will tell you, but on one condition."

"Which is?"

"You must allow me to rest for now. I promise I will tell you. Soon."

"Later today?"

"If you so wish."

She swallowed. "Okay. All right. Go rest."

Instead of going to his room, he went into the living room and plopped down on the couch, sighing. She watched him from the shadowy hallway, wondering if by rest he meant, turn into a living statue. When he didn't move, she went to the coffee table and picked up the remotes to the television and stereo system.

"How about some T.V. while you sit here doing...nothing?"

"What's tee-fee?" He looked up at her. Innocent—so innocent.

"This," she grunted, turning on the television to flip through a few channels. Cyrus sprang from the couch as though it were a pincushion and grimaced. His discomfort was quickly replaced by a look of disbelief. Sometimes she forgot how little he knew of her world.

"What in the name of all the gods is that thing?" He pointed at the television like it was a monster.

"You'll see." Her eyes watered as she held back laughter.

After flipping through some channels, she settled on an action movie—Bruce Willis's Die Hard. An absolute classic by her standards. It was in the middle of the shooting scene where John McClane gets busy machine-gunning the baddies, running all over broken glass.

Cyrus moved over to the television and examined it. "There are people inside," he muttered to himself, touching the screen. "How did they get in there?" He looked behind it, then back at the screen, then behind it once more. It wasn't a window. He got down on his knees to watch, his face inches from the screen. He couldn't take his eyes off the sequence playing out.

"You know, it's bad to watch that close," she warned him, completely amused. "You'll burn your retinas out."

He hummed, hardly listening. He raised his hand and laid his palm across the screen to touch it. His eyebrows drew tightly together. "Amazing. Your world never ceases to surprise me."