The Greyman Saga

Author's Note: Hey y'all, Ruby here. First off, I'm back! And I'm here to stay :) I'm writing full-time these days, and have more stories to share than ever and the time to do so. I've finished my debut novel (Not under Ruby Grey) and I'm ecstatic to get back to writing some spicier, grittier, sexier work for you with consistent weekly releases.

I have a schedule for Greyman (TGS) in my Author Bio, along with some teasers for new work I will be posting soon. You can always check for updates, and my release schedule there!

Chapter 13 is the last chapter I had written before stepping away to work on my novel, but I've gone through and edited/looked it over and it will stand up just fine to my newer, and likely improved, writing. I've planned out the entire first Arc in full, and intend to release cleaner, tighter, and more digestible chapters (those of you that felt the terminology was a excessive and confusing can rest a bit easier) going forward.

(IMPORTANT FOR PAST READERS)I have revamped and done a lot of work on the earlier chapters to also make things cleaner, tighter, and more digestible for new readers. I was going to post the new revised chapter 1 this last week, but it wasn't getting through submissions (probably because its the 'same' as an already posted work??). My question for those reading is this: Would you like me to take down the old chapters and replace them with cleaner updated ones AND post a new chapter a week, or would it be better to just finish writing the first arc (35-40 chapters) before updating the old chapters? Regardless, I WILL be posting at least a chapter a week. Please comment below your thoughts!

PS. As always like, comment, favorite to help get the series out there.

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Chapter 13: Less than Love, More than Dread:

I can't say I wasn't suspicious. Well, maybe nervous was a more apt description. The day had hardly been restful and my instincts were acutely exacerbated. I felt antsy; in all honesty, part of me even had to resist the immediate urge to summon Melidyl. Part of me screamed to cleave the glowing hand the Vermyr was cautiously extending towards Shane at the wrist. Rationally, it's probably what I should've done. It was the safest choice, but her eyes stopped me.

'Those goddamn eyes.'

They held something in their depths that was both foreign and intimidating. They were vulnerable. Eyes that begged for trust, in a moment where the last thing I wanted to do was give up control. I wish I could say exactly what she was wordlessly trying to convey, but one doesn't need to see the wind to witness it catching a leaf or downing a tree. Some things are enough when simply felt.

A slight prick of pain tickled my arm as Miramae's fingers loosened their grasp on my skin. Her other hand still remained aloft, shimmering with a soft light that looked both gentle and chilling at the same time. She cast me an anxious glance.

"I need to get next to him."

I hesitated briefly before nodding, then adjusted to her left. I felt her hand slide down my arm and into my palm. Our fingers interlocked, and I did my best to support her as she lowered into a crouch in front of Shane. The boy's breathing had gotten shallow, but he was alive.

"What are you..." I began to ask, but my words dwindled into the air at the smallest shake of her head.

Part of me wanted to be annoyed. A boy's life hung in the balance of what came next. I wanted to know what the cost was. I needed to know; but she shook her head, and I let my feelings fade. Shane had already suffered enough from my hesitation.

'So has she.' The thought sent my eyes briefly tracing over the hundreds of cuts and scrapes that were still fading from Miramae's skin. They were healing slowly, but they were still there. Proof that I couldn't always protect everyone.

"Joran?"

I felt my focus center, drawn towards the pair of dark lips that had called my name. I raised an eyebrow, meeting Miramae's gaze for what felt like the millionth time in the last two days, or the first. It was getting hard to tell.

She smiled weakly at me. "If this doesn't work...I'm sorry. I know this is my fault."

I felt my mouth move momentarily but no words came to mind that could console her apology, or rebuke her sense of blame. I didn't even know where to begin, I just knew I didn't agree. However, it mattered little. She didn't wait for a response.

It wasn't more than a wave--a small gesture of reassurance that one might give to another in encouragement--as Miramae extended her hand to Shane's shoulder. The soft white light that was eclipsing her fingers flared momentarily, spreading outward, then it submerged into his bloodied skin. It was like watching a swarm of sewing needles diving into a tapestry, but, rather than threads of cloth, it was burning strands of light that were being pulled into place.

A small groan escaped Shane's lips and what remained of his right eyelid flickered briefly. I felt my hand twitch, but a soft drag of Miramae's finger along my palm stilled the momentary worry.

"It's...working." Miramae spoke almost inaudibly, even in the noiseless space, but I could hear the obvious relief in her voice. "It's really working."

I felt my brow furrow slightly in curiosity and I lowered myself down towards her level. My eyes roamed her briefly before turning towards the recipient of her efforts. It didn't take me long to understand what she meant.

All across Shane's upper body the soft glow of pale energy ran beneath what remained of his flesh. Blood that had been trailing freely from deep gashes began to retreat inward, as if being summoned back to where it belonged by some unseen order. Patches of subcutaneous tissue, entirely skinned and lying bare on Shane's torso, began to ripple and soften in colour. It shifted and bubbled outward until fresh, pink skin coated the previously filleted area. It was as if time was moving backwards, steered by the tendrils of pale energy that studiously swam throughout the boy's body. He was being repaired.

I felt something wet trail down my cheek and I absentmindedly wiped away the stray tear as I looked back towards Miramae. She turned her head slightly towards me in response, her eyes bright as she summoned forth another timid grin.

"Miramae..." I said her name softly, and a small glow of gold light began to well in her amber irises. She looked proud, and nervous.

"I'm glad it's mainly external injuries. I don't know if I could've fixed deeper issues," she murmured as she bobbed her head, pulling her gaze from mine as she focused her attention back to the task at hand. My eyes remained on her.

A minute or so passed in absolute silence as we stayed that way. Her irises shifted sporadically as they roamed Shane's reforming skin, somehow willing the obedient strings of light to tend to specific areas and more severe injuries. My gaze roamed over her, noting the care and attention that was clear in her every adjustment. Noting the thin lines of dark blood that began to open across her flesh as the damage from her battle with the Zephyr began to reemerge.

She winced occasionally as thicker gashes pulled apart, but she made no attempt to stop what she was doing. She was committed; piously so. More lines of damage continued to split and tear across her pale skin, and I felt my own resolve wane.

I glanced towards Shane, feeling my heart racing as I noted the steady rise and fall of his chest. He wasn't entirely healed--not returned to what he had been before--but he was going to live. Even the parts of his head that had been cleanly scalped were beginning to grow clusters of short hair. She had already saved him. There was no need for her to continue further.

My lips parted slightly as I turned back towards her. A long gash that seeped black liquid emerged above her left eye, and she winced as it began to roll down her nose. It left a trail of Dread ichor across her ivory skin, continuing down to her chin. Along her chest, a puncture began to peel outward from what had only been a faint scar a few seconds prior. It grew, widening cruelly until it matched the baseball sized tear in her shirt. An audible gasp pushed from her lips as it began to bleed heavily, and her eyes bulged. Still she continued. She was going to stop, that much was clear, but I couldn't bear to watch further.

"Mir--" My fingers clenched and my plea was cut short as she jerked stiffly. Our heads turned in unison, jarred by the loud slam of a door.

Seizing the brief opportunity, I stood, dragging her up with me as the sound of clattering shoes filled the room behind us. The Vermyr attempted to protest, but it was too late. Her hand separated from Shane, and a soft pulse rippled through our connected bodies.

Miramae inhaled deeply as the light from her hand sputtered out. Her knees gave way, but I caught her firmly, wrapping my left arm around her waist so I could secure her against my chest. A moment later, Susan came to a halt in the doorway. The poor woman looked like she'd aged a decade in the span of a few minutes.

"V-van's ready! How is he doing?" The woman's voice was scratchy with worry as she looked at me, then towards Miramae in my arms.

I felt my ears go oddly hot for a moment, and I glanced down at the Vermyr. There was nothing to be embarrassed about and it was hardly the time for me to be worrying about her. She would be fine. She would be...

My rambling thoughts faded as felt her head come to rest against the crook of my shoulder. Her eyes were closed, and her long black hair was a chaotic tangle of delight as it hung across her back. More importantly, her wounds seemed to have stopped spreading. They weren't healing as they had been before, but they weren't getting worse either.

I felt a small smile form on my lips, and I turned back to Susan.

"He's stable.

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I took a deep breath, lifting my hand in a small wave as Susan pulled her little white van out of the lot of the Brew Crew. Somewhere in the back, invisible to my naked eye, Shane was resting comfortably on the floor, likely unaware of what had just occurred.

Susan did not have a much better understanding of the disastrous accident herself, but in most ways that was for the best. Mumblings of "a freak storm," and "I couldn't believe my eyes," would honestly serve her better than rational, deeply thought out explanations. Sure, the doctors would be skeptical, but that was the least of my problems. Shane was alive, and they had far less work to do on his behalf than I could've dared to hope.

'Thanks to Miramae.' I turned slowly, rubbing the back of my head anxiously as I walked towards the van we'd driven from Cali.

Thankfully the vehicle had stayed largely unscathed during the altercation outside. A bit of paint chipping here and there, but that was about it. The fact all four tires were still inflated felt like a miracle. It wasn't the first of the day.

I shook my head, feeling a frustratingly infectious smirk attempting to take my lips as I passed by the driver's door. I could see Miramae resting in the passenger's seat as I came to a stop. I gently pressed my hand against the glass as I let out another heavy exhale. It felt like that was all I was doing these days; watching the Vermyr and sighing loudly.

Swivelling, I let my back rest against the window and stared back towards the coffee shop that had nearly seen both Miramae and Shane to the afterlife. All in all, it seemed unperturbed by the day's events when looked at from the outside. The windows had even been broken cleanly enough that I could fool myself into thinking that they might still be there. Even the shards of said windows, glistening along the pavement, could be taken as icy remnants of the passing blizzard. It was almost like the whole thing had never happened. Almost.

I can't say I wasn't being dramatic, I most certainly was, but it felt like something inside me had broken free in the wake of the day's events. Not broken in a bad way either, I suppose. It was hard to explain. The first thing that came to mind was the pain and relief of popping a zit, but honestly it was a terrible comparison.

No, it was more like being in the middle of an argument and realizing you were wrong. That feeling in your gut, where you have to physically fight the urge to continue arguing anyway. The heat in your chest when you attempt to back down without actually recognizing your fault. The foolishness of wondering why you had clung so tightly to your side in the first place. The embarrassment of your own pride, and the relief of accepting your mistake. The release of self applied and entirely unneeded pressure.

A stray gust of wind rustled across the lot and I absently watched as a small pile of shimmering crystals slid across the ground. I couldn't tell whether the broken pieces were ice or glass. Maybe they were both.

"So cryptic," I muttered aloud, both amused and annoyed by my melancholy state. "Liss would smack me upside the head if she saw me like this." I chucked, doing my best to crawl out of my brooding penitence. I had better things to do.

The door handle was cold on my finger tips as I pulled it open, and I was immediately greeted with a small burst of warm air. I had turned on the ignition when I'd initially settled Miramae into the car. That had been my first order of business before returning to carry Shane to Susan's beat up Dodge Caravan.

The result of my preparation was a fairly toasty interior as I slid into the front seat and closed the door. I was grateful, considering I'd severed the Gate to Tasori shortly after dropping off the injured barista. I didn't exactly want Susan asking why steam kept rising from my shoulders if it could be avoided. She was going to have enough on her mind and I didn't feel like answering questions.

It was surprisingly nice to just sit. Using Tempo always took a good bit out of me, and my body was stiff. I was happy to just exist, even if just for a few moments.

Eventually I did begin to drive, calmly steering us out of the parking lot and on to the road. Miramae remained asleep, but I didn't mind. There was something peaceful about driving alone. If I was lucky, I might even be able to make sense of the infuriating ache that had opened itself in my chest before she woke.

The transition to the interstate was smooth and effortless, and I briefly said a prayer of thanks to the universe that we hadn't been stopped by cops or road blocks. A few local responders had shown up to the café as I was shuffling Shane and Miramae into the cars, but they had been sufficiently distracted by the confused locals. We had slipped away without being noticed.

I had been half worried there would be a squadron of men in blue waiting off ramp two-fifty-six, but that had come more from a place of paranoia than pragmatism. I'd learn the hard way over the years that the moment you assumed everything was going your way was the moment you were well and truly fucked.

In spite of my unease, there was no one. Just the beginning stretch of a quad lane that would take me out of New Mexico and into northern Texas. I flexed my fingers happily on the wheel, glad to once more be in motion. I'd spent the better part of my life on trips like these. If there hadn't been a tantalizing beautiful Dread resting soundly in the opposite seat, it would have been just like any other job.

"Bones, come on out would you?" I asked softly, my eyes flickering cautiously to Miramae. She remained tranquilly asleep.

Along the dashboard my shadow, skewed from the midday sun, began to move. It crawled downward, passing through the area between the seats until it was no longer in my vision. It was only after it had fully vanished that I felt the soft nuzzles of a long nose against my arm. A fraction of a second later, my typical shadow was once more on the dash, unmoving, and no longer carrying a passenger.

I looked up at the rear mirror, smiling at the sight of a moor hound gently resting against me. Bones's dark black fur glistened in the passing light and her eyes were closed as she dutifully snuggled my shoulder.

"Hey, girl. How were the shadows?" I tilted my head so I could nuzzle hers.

One of her bright eyes opened at the sound of my voice, but she was as quiet as always. Still, her company was welcome. The pup had been with me through more than most, and she never ceased to provide a sense of reassurance even if she had no encouraging words to impart or sage advice to give.

"We've found ourselves in a strange one, Bones. A fucking crazy one," I muttered and her ear lifted at the sound of her name.

"I might have bitten off more than I can chew." I mulled over the admission, weighing the truth of it carefully.

I had been a member of the Grey Ward--the Damorian order of Greymen--for years. Since birth, really. I had long grown accustomed to horror, the unknown, and the feeling of despair that often clung to the soul like desperate claws. The gnawing darkness that plagued my mind and body after each and every hunt has become familiar and manageable.

There is a truth to the idea of 'learned discomfort'. That even the awful things in life can become normal and accepted if seen and interacted with regularly. Those horrific things; that specific brand of supernatural terror, I could bear with a certain amount of numbness.

This beautiful Dread lying next to me? This confusion? That was much harder to deal with.

There had been pain travelling with her, sure. Horror, even. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Miramae Lavorr was no longer *just* a Dread. Not in my eyes.

I could feel it: the same compulsion to protect her that I felt for humans. An endless itch of irritation that forbade me from abandoning this cursed life. The reason I couldn't ever be free. Now, that feeling forbade me from abandoning her. From leaving behind a fucking Dread, of all things.

The car spasmed slightly over a section of poor concrete and a small moan escaped Miramae's lips as she slept. Furtively, I squinted at her. Even asleep it was like looking at a painting of unparalleled elegance. At desire made flesh and bone.

I wanted to be annoyed as I turned my attention fully back to the road. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the energy. I was just glad we were alive and moving forward again.