CHAPTER SEVEN
~ Osirdan ~
Kapustin Yar, Astrakhan Oblast
Russia
I WALKED THE perimeter of Kapustin Yar, enjoying the fire lighting up the already sunny sky. No birds were heard in the distance. Only theboomsof magnificent explosions rattled my bones and the very ground beneath my feet. It was a splendid sight to behold, only brought higher when a human coward could be seen racing from the attack, usually with piss staining their fatigues.
I took the stragglers. I was parched, after all.
But I stayed back. I didn’t want to destroy the festivities inside the raging base by killing all their prey myself. That would be entirely too selfish. The vampires and the druids deserved this. These humans are far too foolish. Their play toys needed to be put in their place with a firm hand, and it appeared the druids and vampires were doing a marvelous job of it.
Except for this druid. This one was missing all the fun.
I stopped my progress and stared down at the prone man, the back of his head full of wild, strawberry-blond curls. He was snoring into the grass loudly enough to be heard over the gunfire, the blades of grass bending around his head with each heavy exhale he took. This was very peculiar, indeed.
I bent my knees and squatted. With my white hair fanning over my left shoulder, I gripped him by the shoulder and shook it soundly.
“Wake up.”
More snores met my demands.
I pushed a dash of power into my rough shaking while my brows crinkled together. “I said, wake up!”
The druid jerked inside my hold, and his head flew up from the ground. He blinked listlessly up at me, his crystal blue eyes horribly bloodshot, making them that much more startling to look at.
“Huh?”
I reached forward and picked blades of green grass from his face, revealing a healthy smattering of freckles on his sleep-flushed face. Honestly, this man was quite stunning in an innocent sort of way. I asked bluntly, “Did you drink yourself into oblivion before you even had a reason to celebrate?”
He attempted to push himself up…and fell back down onto his face. The druid grumbled into the grass, “What in the fuck happened? Did you drug me, asshole?”
“I can assure you that I have done no such thing. I was taking a nice stroll when I came upon you lying dead to the world.” I grabbed a handful of his curls—the texture of each strand soft as spun silk—and jerked his head up again to look him in the eyes. “So you are not drunk?”
His eyes turned to thin slits as he glowered. “No.” He raised his right hand and knocked my own away from his hair. The second time he attempted to sit up was a success. He sat cross-legged on the ground and rubbed harshly at his face. “This has been a very odd day.”
This druid intrigued me. I sat down next to him, copying his stance, and tilted my head to evaluate his profile, my shrewd gaze taking in every angle. The ground shook beneath us with another explosion, as I asked candidly, “How so?”
He placed a bracing hand down on the dirt as if he would fall over again from the rattling shaking our teeth. “For starters, I could have sworn I saw King Niallan.”
“And why is that odd?”
The curly-haired druid laughed softly and shook his head, ignoring my question. “Second, I wake up on the ground to find someone who looks kind of familiar.” Those bloodshot eyes flicked to the side, toward my face, then returned to eyeing the ongoing battle. “But I can’t place it. Have I met you before?”
“No, you have not.” I had finished my perusal. This druid wasstriking. And aman. Very unusual, indeed, for me to think of him as such. I brushed away those thoughts, gazed up to the sky and smiled at the brilliant fire licking high, each flame trying to reach the Earth’s boring sun. “Now that you are awake, are you going to join the fight?”
“More than likely.” His chuckle was deep and infectious, a melody that soothed the soul. “What is your name?”
I hesitated but eventually spoke the truth. “Osirdan.” I lifted a finger and played with the flames, making them twitch to and fro in the sky. “But you may call me Oz if you wish.”
“I’m Chester.” He hummed softly in his throat. “And I think I’ll call you Osirdan. It’s a good name. There’s no need to shorten it.” Chester’s tone was resonating within my veins, a curious affair that I didn’t particularly enjoy.
I stood to my feet and brushed the grass and dirt off my trousers. When I moved to leave, my feet weren’t taking me anywhere. I hadn’t moved an inch; my attention homed in on the top of Chester’s head.
My sigh was profound. Then I kneed him in the temple.
“What am I doing?” I grumbled to myself, staring down at the unconscious druid.
