Chapter Six
Arina drank ordinary coffee, brewed from a kettle and topped with semi-skimmed milk, considering her actions from last night. Her core ached in a good way, and the memories of their romp came to her fresh, making her shiver, and adjust her legs into a more comfortable position.
She enjoyed, perhaps too much, giving into the darkness, letting Markus take her, love and worship her and send her mind into a better state, a better existence than the world she knew.
If she stayed with Markus, made this a thing, then the world of the werewolves would come back to her, crashing and in force.
A world where her children had the chance to become werewolves, to endure the savage blood and urges their kind had.
A strange parallel existed as well, knowing the medieval punishments werewolves opted amongst themselves, and of the strict laws human society gave toward crime – two worlds she would be fully immersed in.
Awkward.
She certainly couldn’t imagine imparting the information to any of her human friends – not unless they witnessed the transformation first-hand. Even then, werewolves got nervous if too many people knew, as they preferred all knowledge bearers to exist within their inner circles.
They wouldn’t like someone similar to Arina, who had slipped through the net, though she had been reeled in again by Markus.
She sipped at her coffee, allowing the caffeine to ignite her neurons, to kick-start her brain into gear. Markus’s laptop lay on the table next to the sofa, along with a tawdry collection of magazines and newspapers, some of them utilizing the Cyrillic alphabet.
She sent one of her sporadic texts to her Godfather’s family, and decided to see if she could open Markus’s laptop to watch a programme on Netflix whilst she was still waking up. Her Sig Sauer lay by the side of the sofa, never far from reach.
Markus had saved tabs on Google Chrome, including a tab for emails displaying five new messages, which showed up when she opened them, starting to create a new tab when she recognized the name on one of the emails: Elinor Spirova.
The older sister of Markus. Arina bit her lip. She had no right to this. No right at all, but that didn’t stop her from clicking open the email, and reading the message, scrawled up in Bulgarian Cyrillic.
Hey, brother – it was good to hear from you again. Things have been quiet over here. The loudest troublemakers have stilled themselves into silence for now, and I’m left to tend to the garden, mind the honey, and stop the triplets from trying to eat all the honey bees. I’m still irritated with Branimir for landing me with them in the first place. I was prepared for one child – not three squalling demonspawns who will never let their mother know a moment’s rest.
Arina smirked at the idea of Markus’s older sister handling three children. Good for her.
I’ve got some news for you, little brother. You remember our uncle who disappeared off the map some time back? The same uncle who we both have a certain… interest in? He’s turned up again. He wanted safe passage through my territory, and he knows that you have left. I tried to keep it discreet, asking if he wanted to come and meet with us, and that you had emigrated to America, so he didn’t need to feel threatened by you.
He declined, but he’s certainly there near the Seven Lakes, though we are yet to establish why he needs safe passage, or where he has been all this time.
I will wait for you, but if you give me the word, I will send the whole might of the Spirova clan upon his scummy, rot-infested behind. You know what they say. Mad dogs must be put down. I await your judgement, alpha.
Love, Elinor Spirova.
Arina closed the email, breathing hard and fast. Fear and hatred coarsed through her, making her limbs tremble. They’d been searching for Ricten Spirova. Markus and Elinor had hunted for Ricten – that could be the only possible person Elinor meant in her message.
Her instant thought was to email back as Markus, and tell Elinor she could hunt and kill Ricten. However, Elinor would probably want to talk to Markus in person.
The second, she could admit she read the email. In fact, she’d need to – having one new email opened and four unopened ones would look a little suspicious.
Breathing heavily, Arina considered how plausible it would be to get a week or two off work, or even unpaid leave for a month – pack off to Bulgaria, and hunt for Ricten in the Seven Lakes.
Her heart thumped painfully at the idea that vengeance lay within a stone’s throw. Satisfaction filled her as well at the evidence Markus had been digging for Ricten himself, with the intention to kill.
All that remained now, was what choice should she make? Hunt, or stay? She glanced at her Sig Sauer, lying innocently in its holster.
Did she have the skill necessary to take down a full grown, rabid, flesh eating werewolf?
More importantly – would Markus allow her into the action, or insist she stayed out, once he knew she was aware?
She closed down the laptop, having lost the desire to watch Netflix. Instead, she messaged Markus, and waited for him to answer.
Let’s see what he has to say.
There was a long hesitation, before he answered.
Markus: I should have expected you to find out. Don’t go doing that thing where you run off without thinking of the consequences. Wait for me to come back. I promise I will listen to what you have to say, and I will be honest about the danger. If you think you are ready, I will not deny you vengeance.
Arina grinned. That was good enough for her. She chewed her lip, once again reading the email, feeling the boil of hatred at Ricten’s name.
Whatever doubts she harbored, she wanted to stay with Markus. Everything just seemed to fit, being with him. Answers to questions she hadn’t been fully aware of clicked into place. Her past no longer needed to be something to flee from, something to fear. She could face it with Markus, the boy she had not forgotten, or ever stopped loving, though she allowed herself to bury it out of mind, for a while. Too long a while.
Together, they would be strong.
The End
Captured by Gerran
Dragons Take a Princess
(Book 2)
Chapter One
When princess Esmer was six years old, her mother once asked her what she wanted as a treat. The princess’s prompt reply was: “I want a dragon.”
Her beautiful, dolled up mother, with stunning, crimson hair fluttered her eyelashes in mild confusion. “But, darling, you can’t own a dragon. They’re monsters. They steal princesses and only brave knights can rescue by them. Surely you want to meet one of the young princes from the nearby kingdoms instead…?” Her mother’s tone was rather hopeful, wishing that her daughter would say something appropriate and conventional, mostly to prove to herself that she hadn’t fucked up the raising process.
“People have pet unicorns. Why can’t I have a pet dragon?”
“You just can’t. Monsters, sweetie. They’re monsters.”
Esmer ignored the monster statement, completely fixated on her object of desire. “Can I meet one, then?”
“No. They’re monsters. I already told you, dear. They capture princesses and lock them away in their towers.”
“Then I want to be captured by one!”
The little princess stamped her foot on the ground, putting on her best pout face. Her mother at this point started displaying real panic in her eyes.
“That’s not a normal princess thing to ask. Your sisters all want to meet a prince. You should want this, too. Or a pony.”
Little Esmer rolled her eyes at this statement, stamped her foot again in childish tantrum, before screaming, “I want a dragon!”
Her screams followed her mother down the hall as she hastily called for the nurses to scoop Esmer up and place her in the nursery with her two younger sisters, to help calm her down by any means necessary.
Now Esmer was nineteen years of age, though she’d grown out of the horrendous spoilt brat stage, demanding impossible things, she never quite let go of her fantasy to meet a dragon. She stood in front of the mirror of her bedroom, the light perfectly illuminating the curve of her body, the red gown, the simple black wedge shoes, and her bright red hair fanning over her shoulders. She wore a red brooch and pendant, though honestly, she would have preferred to go without. Her mother had scheduled Esmer to meet a prince from one of the central kingdoms, and she’d gotten to the point of arranging four to five meetings a week, desperate to get her errant daughter married whilst she still existed in the “young and beautiful” time frame.
Except, well, so far, Esmer had managed to turn every single prince showing her the slightest sign of interest off the idea of marriage. Either through excuses, by telling them she had an incurable disease, or that she slept with hundreds of men daily. Well, the last one might be a stretch, but it certainly put off all the princes from ever wanting to interact with her again. Something about having a tainted princess made most of them squeamish, though some of the hardier princes seemed rather turned on by the idea of someone with experience.
Not that Esmer had much experience with anything other than her hand, and a few racy books.
Her mother, of course, was at her wit’s end, tearing out chunks of her hair in private and complaining to her poor, beleaguered father, who held the quiet sentiment that wives should be seen and not heard.
Eventually, queen Mereen simply summoned Esmer to the throne room one day, and told her in no uncertain terms that the next prince they procured for her, she’d have to marry. Warts and all. She simply couldn’t be an embarrassment to her kingdom any longer, and she needed to get herself married, to lessen her chances of being captured by Dark Clan humans or dragons.
“Mother, I don’t want to get married yet!” Esmer protested, staring up at Mereen, who sat regally on her stone throne, eyes hooded over in contempt.
“I know you don’t, dear, but at this rate, you’re on course to never get married. You’ll be like that wretched creature from Glenderal. Thirty years old, and still unloved. A tragedy.”
She means Marea? “Isn’t that the princess who got captured by a dragon?”
Mereen nodded, fanning her head. “Yes. A horrible fate. No one’s had any luck in Questing for her. Her parents are not offering a good reward for her, either. They know her age is a deterrant.”
Esmer chewed upon her lip. She liked Marea, and secretly admired her for being single for so long. Everyone else saw her as a freak, but Esmer aspired to be someone independent herself. So she did things princesses were not technically supposed to do, thanks to the assistance of the palace servants, who wouldn’t dare disobey an order. Especially from a notoriously bratty princess – though Esmer hadn’t yet resorted to chopping off heads like her eldest sister, Rure.
“The prince we’re engaging you to is a nice enough boy. You’ve met him once – it’s Samm from the Blue Bow kingdom. That small lake kingdom with the big fishery.”
“I hate the smell of fish,” Esmer said immediately, and Mereen laughed.
“Oh no, darling. You’re not wriggling out of this one. We’ll make a proper princess of you yet.”
Prince Samm represented the wheedling, sycophant type that drove Esmer up the wall. She shuddered at the thought of having to interact with the pimply faced prince on a daily basis even, ugh, kissing him.
“I have to do this, dear. It’s the only way things will work out.”
“For you, you mean,” Esmer spat, hands balling into fists. “You’ve never once cared about me. You only cared that I was a conventional princess. A girly girl.”
“That’s enough of that,” Mereen replied, her voice crisp and commanding. “Stop these ridiculous accusations and go and get yourself ready. We’re arranging to meet the prince and his family tonight.”
Typical. “You’re a selfish bitch, you know that?”
At this, Mereen stood up, blue eyes blazing in fury. “Don’t you dare speak to your mother this way. Leave. Now.”
“Oh, I will!” Esmer exclaimed, storming out of the throne room, seething in indignation. She hated her mother at this point, and the resentment infected her bloodsteam, making it difficult to think rationally.
Leave? I’ll bloody well leave.
Her guard trailed behind her, keeping at a safe distance. Esmer forced herself to take long, deep breaths, before considering her situation. Unless she actually left, she’d be subject to an arranged marriage to a prince that stank of fish, and held a bigger gap in his teeth than the Wilderness.
I should just run away. I should have done it years ago. Esmer began breathing faster as she considered the idea, wondering if she’d get away with it at all. She didn’t have the skill set to survive in the Wilderness, otherwise that might be an option. Everyone in the kingdom recognized her face upon sight, and the neighboring kingdoms also knew her identity.
She glanced at her rather impassive guard, still thinking furiously. I’d need to shake him as well.
To avoid suspicions, she went up to her room first, as if she was planning to have a good sulk and cry. The guards expected it. Virtually any princess who didn't get her way exhibited this kind of behaviour. Her lone guard waited dutifully outside her room as she locked the door, examined her absurdly pink room, and sighed.
She wanted to run away, but in all honesty, she didn't know where to run away to. She was too recognizable. People would spot her on the streets and haul her back to the palace. Her mother forbade lessons with the palace magician, so she didn't know how to make herself invisible, or anything particularly useful to that extent. The last witch that made it into the kingdom, hunters had tried to burn her at the stake, but she simply turned into a frog and hopped away from danger.
Nothing Esmer had learned would help her with survival outside of the palace, and it irritated her. Well, maybe the fact she knew how to cook might be useful, since she snuck down to the kitchens often to learn recipes and assist the cooks. At first, they'd been nervous of Esmer, since a wrong foot might have the little princess yelling for their heads to be chopped off, but they soon took Esmer under their wing, letting her assist with baking, stewing and chopping.
There was only about eight dishes she could do well by heart, out of the hundreds the palace cooks churned out every day. But Esmer was proud of those eight dishes.
Maybe I could cook for Samm and accidentally poison him, Esmer mused, as she went up to her window and stared out at the huge kingdom below her. Naterus was almost twice the size of Glenderel, and wealthier, too.
I really can't escape, can I? If my parents want to marry me off to someone, they'll do it. Because they know I'll just keep refusing them until I grow old and crooked.
It didn't help that the fairy Godmother present at Esmer's birth had proclaimed Esmer was destined to marry a rich and powerful prince, and discover the long lost kingdom relic known as the Sword of the Mountain. The weapon was supposed to be able to cause mountains to rise from the earth, and create rock shards to fling in combat. Some centuries before, thieves from the Dark Clans had stolen the sword.
Obviously, with such a powerful prophecy looming above her head, it meant her family were rather desperate to marry her off.
“Just make sure you bring back the Sword of the Mountain to us, yes?” Her father insisted, cradling his royal crown in his hands, as he sat upon a glittering throne.
Esmer couldn't exactly guarantee giving them the sword, but she agreed nonetheless.
She wondered what the single mage in the entire kingdom was doing now. Teaching lessons at the university? Brewing up new spells? Maybe she should dragoon them into giving her lessons. And fast forward invisibility lessons.
Her mind stopped wandering when she spotted the shape in the distance, high above the kingdom, soaring down with ferocity. Esmer's breath caught in her throat, and her chest quivered as the shape loomed nearer and nearer, until it resembled the distinctive shape of a dragon, with sapphire scales glinting in the sunlight. A dragon attack in broad daylight?
Dragons want to capture princesses, right?
Immediately, Esmer began searching around her room for something big and noticeable, found her tiara and whammed it on her head, and took out a huge golden statue. Dragons were supposed to smell gold from miles away, right? She dashed to the window and wrenched it open, stepping onto the battlements below. The guards upon the battlements weren't focused on her, and she held up the golden statue of a cat with glittering emerald eyes, trying to seize the attention of the dragon, which had now started breathing fire upon some of the city buildings.
Come on, you stupid dumb lizard. Smell the gold! Grab me! I'm a princess! I'm right here! For good measure, she started waving the golden trinket around, inhaling sharply when she saw the dragon hesitate, and face flick in her direction. Was the dragon sniffing? Did he smell the gold?
The dragon flapped towards her, roaring, and the civilians in the streets screamed and ran around, clacking into each other like marbles in their haste to escape. When the dragon flapped close enough, and he now spotted the princess upon the battlements, waving the gold statue in her hand, he actually slowed up, so he now beat his huge wings in front of her, displaying the whole of his underbelly, and fearsome limbs. A tail swished in the air, and the wind buffeted Esmer back slightly.
“Foolish princess!” The dragon roared, in a deep, gruff voice. “Know that you are to be captured by Gerran of the High Roost!”
“Excellent!” Esmer yelled back. “Take me away from this place!”
The dragon's scowl changed into a blink of confusion. “You... want to be taken?”
“Yes!”
“Really?” He seemed utterly confused by the notion, and more than a little shocked. Princesses probably didn't ask very often to be captured, Esmer figured.
“Why do you think I'm standing here looking as princessy as possible, waving this thing around?”
Gerran snapped his teeth shut. “Oh. Okay, then. Well, this should make it easier. Let me land there so you can climb onto my back.”
The blue dragon clambered awkwardly onto the battlements, and Esmer climbed up the spikes on his back, settling behind the bone frill of his head. She hung onto the statue, considering to use it as some kind of gift offering to the dragon. “Okay, I'm on.”
“It might get a little chilly, princess!” Gerran yelled, before leaping off, his great wings beating the air. He blasted flames out of his mouth, causing people to scream and panic beneath him, and he soared up into the sky. The cold whipped past her, though she avoided the worse of it, concealed behind Gerran's bone frill, which acted as a windbreak. All the while, her heart thudded in excitement and happiness.
The little girl who desperately wanted to have a dragon as a pet, finally got her chance to meet one. And get taken. Anything to avoid marrying that prince.
She laughed hysterically as Gerran flapped higher, heading towards the Wilderness, as far away from Samm as possible.
Take that, fairy Godmother. Bet you didn't see this coming!