And the invisible waves’ hands pulled me under, again.
Again, I fought to break back to the surface.
The battle was on.
I roused, releasing one last rousing scream, as loud as I could. “Help me!” I couldn’t see anything now, the ship long faded from my sight.
“Help is on its way, dear. Alistair is coming,” Gran said, appearing again at my side.
“I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up. Whatever you do, don’t you leave me again. There are things in this water that can devour me in one bite,” Those were the things I’d wanted to say. Instead all that came out was one word, “tired.”
“Leslie?” Her voice shifted.
I was too tired to answer.
My life was slowly leaving me, and my thoughts shifted to the chance at love which would never blossom. Alistair’s face lingered. A part of me knew him. Maybe not in this lifetime, but somehow, we were indeed linked. To lose him before we’d had a chance to truly rediscover each other—to kiss under the moonlight. How could I change this ending?
Alistair? Hurry.
Gran then started to chant—something I’d never heard her do. Her alto voice, full-bodied and hauntingly ethereal.
Whenever I sank under the waves, her voice grew louder, calling me back from a bright light that appeared. Her voice filled a void within me, and I closed my eyes and continued to swim, barely humming the tune she sang, which made the light grow ever fainter.
Suddenly, a beast rose out of the water. The starlight reflected off its large, scaly frame, and its head—the size of my mother’s minivan—reared up.
“Dear, Alistair is here,” Gran announced, her voice filled with relief. “Now climb on.”
I heard what she said, and I stared at the beast before me. Its reptilian eyes took me in and waited.
He was a freaking dragon!
“Get on, dear, before you catch more than a chill. He will bring us back to the coast. You’ll see.”
The thing moved closer to me. “Alistair?” I croaked.
“Yes,” Gran assured. “You mustn’t be afraid. Not everything is as it appears. You should know that. He is here because he’s magical, and that’s why he could see me and come to help you.”
If she could have, Gran would have pushed me onto the dragon’s back, and I would have let her. Instead, she sang loudly again, and I drew forth the last of my energy to splash over to the waiting beast.
He exhaled, and a large poof of steam floated upward when he lowered his head, then I climbed up on his large back. The dragon’s scales shimmered slightly under my hands.
“I know you wanted to be closer tonight, but you didn’t need to fall overboard,” the dragon said. Truly, it was Alistair, his voice loud in my head.
I flinched away.
“Don’t be afraid, dear,” Gran said. “There’s a reason you can hear him, but that can all be explained later.”
I wrapped my hands around him. His warmth slipped around me like a warm cardigan, and I held on tightly as he took to the water.
My Alistair is a water dragon?
Chapter Fourteen
Alistair
Underneath his skin, his dragon clawed for release. The magic sprayed in those bottles, at first barely a nuisance, now proved irritating. He’d hated to leave Leslie’s side, but the unmistakable scent of death had his hackles rising.
He’d excused himself, upon recognizing a female vampiric face in the middle of their dance and gave chase.
To say that he despised vampires, well, that was an understatement. Vermin, a blight on the supernatural world, really. Since their awakening they’d done nothing to benefit the Order. Instead, vampires sought only a way to undermine it.
He raced after the vampire in question, finally locating her in the bowels of the ship.
“Ambrosia,” he called out after her, and she finally stopped running, turned toward him, flashing him a fanged smile, and curtsied.
“Good evening, Your Highness. What a great evening it is on the Sea.” Her voice was filled with false humility and charm. If she’d not raced away, he could have dealt with her presence in a much more efficient way.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Ambrosia, as far as he knew, was a member of the Order, although on the outer realms. He combed through his memories. Over the years, she’d stayed out of supernatural politics preferring to recreate her Jack the Ripper day glory in Gothic vampire fiction.
“I am here for work, sir.”
He raised an eyebrow in question. “Work?”
“Yes, I received the invitation, and permission to travel from the Order.”
She lived under the rule of Leif in Virginia, he recalled. Maybe Leif had provided her with the papers and permission.
“My sire jumped through every loophole for me to be here,” she continued and wrung her hands.
“Then why did you run?”
“For the dragon prince to be aboard there must be something grave amiss, and I was afraid. There has never been kindness to my kind by the Order, sir.” Her shoulders fell, and she seemed to wish to fold herself tighter away in that small corridor.
Shame hit him. She was right. He’d never extended a hand to the vampires under his control.
“So, the magic I smell, that is your work?” He raked his fingers through his hair.
“Aye.” She nodded. “All authors were asked to offer something for the gift bags, and I thought it would be fun to sprinkle in some happiness. The potion is light, and only guarantees that those present will have a nice time.”
Bullocks. He’d been chasing a dead end.
“May I go now? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
And indeed, she hadn’t. The only thing she’d done was give him a bag of invisible shame to carry on his wide shoulders.
Ambrosia quickly scurried away, and as he turned to leave, a female ghost appeared.
“What is happening tonight?”
“It is Leslie, sir. She needs your help.”
Alistair didn’t ask her how she knew Leslie or who she was. The family resemblance was easily seen in her face, but of course, he knew her from her reputation: the fabulous pirate, Myrtle Davidson.
“This way,” Myrtle, Leslie’s ghostly Gran, said.
They raced back above deck.
“I know these waters and will find her,” Alistair declared. As a dragon, he didn’t fear much, but the potential of losing Leslie propelled him forward. “Return to her side.”
That is all he needed to hear. He didn’t even strip off his clothes. Instead, taking a running start he quickly followed Myrtle, jumping overboard without any questions. Alistair plunged into the ocean, and once underwater, he quickly morphed into his dragon form.
Diving under those waves felt like flying.
As a mighty water dragon, Alistair moved in and out of the water, embracing the freedom it gave him. He no longer worried about the problems that would still be there when he returned. No, instead, all he focused on was his breath and the way his muscles propelled him through the ocean’s depths.
Six feet high and twenty-five feet long, he measured larger than many of the boats on the waterway. Under the blanket of night and deep in the water, he moved through the school of fish that darted out of his way, as well as the other animals—mainly eels and sharks. He could feel Leslie in the sea.
All that mattered was Leslie. He’d waited so long to find her. He couldn’t lose her now.
“Alistair?” He heard her mentally call out to him, although very week.
Finally finding her, he took in the situation. Time was not on their side.
“Leslie, I’m here.”
She wrapped her arms around him, and he felt her cold body. This was a nightmare. Her heart thudded in his ears, but it was too slow, her thoughts and brain activity muddled. Even worse, her breathing was shallow.
Her pain struck him.
How much was he willing to risk to keep her safe?
Staring down at her, his dragon answered, “Everything.”
“Worry not. You will be home soon.” If he pushed himself, surely, he could return her to Beau’s Compound and save her.
“Home,” she muttered upon his touching her with his rune-covered scales. She morphed before his eyes, the magic of the sea and the gods filling her, and embraced the power of the air, which gave her the ability to breathe underwater like a mermaid.
His mouth gaped open. In all the magic he'd used, he'd never seen such a thing. She wasn't a mermaid, he knew. He was to make sure that she arrived unharmed to the safe house, but still, that sight freaked him out.
And not much could shake Alistair the Brave.
This would buy them time to get her back to the compound.
He pushed his body as fast and hard as he could go. The more time passed, the weaker Leslie became.
Finally, reaching the dark caves connecting to the Beau’s Compound, back on the outskirts of New York City, her lifeless body rested in his grasp.
Maybe the prophecies were wrong. How could she be the great seer if she was dead?
But still, prophecies couldn’t be forced into fulfillment, even for one as beautiful as her. Gods, don't freak out. They will just create something else, he considered.
Her death could not be the end.
Chapter Fifteen
Alistair
Leslie’s body lay still on the gurney and her ghostly gran remained at her side.
Alistair followed the doctor, Sethos, the Order’s Ancient Egyptian physician, herbalist, and mage, out of the room into the corridor, where Beau waited.
Alistair couldn't allow the doctor to confirm it there in the room, but he knew the truth, too. Leslie’s lips were blue, her skin a lifeless gray.
“I gather you didn't wish for me to say my opinion as to the state of things in the room,” Sethos said. “I’m sorry, but I must confirm. She’s expired.”
Alistair nodded. He didn't understand much about human physiology, but he did know that hypothermia, when it set in, left little chance of survival. Although he'd rushed through the waters to get her to the safety and warmth of the compound, every delay worsened it. Soon, her spirit would no longer hover but leave, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“You did all you could do, sir.” Beau clapped his hand on Alistair’s shoulder.
Walking through the hallway door appeared the now-shocked grandmother. For a ghost once put together, she now appeared disheveled. “Although you try to hide from me this truth,” she began, “I know she is dead. There must be something that you can do. Soon she will be called into the light.”
Alistair shook his head. “Death is a part of life. Although you are still here, that should also not be so. We must all rest.”
Sethos interrupted. “There is a way, but it is a risky and pricey one,” he began. “During the reign of King Frederick of Thule, one of his sons was saved by a dragon. The prince was raised from the dead. You are dragon royalty, surely your blood has this power, too.”
Alistair was reminded of what Rose had told him, and that he’d be given the choice to save Leslie with his blood or let her die. How he could create a creature he despised. But this was Leslie. This was the woman who’d given him hope. He could never detest her, and to be honest, he’d take her in any form she’d have him.
“So, a dragon can save a mortal?” Myrtle asked. “If this is so, you must try.”
“But it comes with consequences.” Alistair waved his hands. If given time, what he and Leslie might have could grow into something passionate, but it wasn’t there yet. What if she only saw the dragon, a monstrous creature and wished nothing to do with him? What if she considered him unworthy of love? With all the power and might he’d had, he’d never found the one thing he could never buy—a lover’s unconditional love. Would she be willing to be tethered to him? He couldn’t ask her. He couldn’t have a heart to heart with her on creating this irremovable bond. Once there, it would remain until they died, together. Life force bound to life force. “Everything does.”
“The reapers will come to gather her shortly, sir,” Sethos deadpanned.
Again, the beast rumbled in his chest, “Mine.”
“What is this consequence of which you speak?” Gran asked.
“She'll become undead,” Alistair cringed. “A day-walking vampire.”
Gran’s eyes widened as if she were considering the options.
“She'll thirst for blood, unable to die,” Alistair continued. “She'll also be tied to me.” He shook his head. He could deal with everything except that whole “tied to me” bit. He’d been truly alone for so long. He cleared his throat, pushing off the emotional baggage. Now was not the time to deal with his personal wounds.
His sister had done this once before, and created the first day-walking vampire, Leif, so he knew it could be done. It would require him to take care in this process, and there was no guarantee Leslie might walk in daylight.
“What of the rogue vampires, sir?” Beau asked.
“No.” Alistair interrupted.
“But, they, too, are after her. You could remove their potential threat completely by letting her die, ridding the rogue vampires of what they need to ascend.”
His dragon rumbled within. Dragon scales puckered on his arms again.
Usually, he’d have to petition the queen to even consider this. He turned on his heel back to Leslie’s side and pulled her into his embrace. “In for a penny—”
“In for a pound,” Gran finished his sentence. “Save my granddaughter.” Gran’s eyes welled and large tears raced down her sad face as she waited for an answer. All of eternity rested in that pause.
“We're running out of time, sir,” Sethos said.
Whatever decision he made, there would be hell to pay.
Chapter Sixteen
Leslie
Have you ever awoken and had a hankering to kill everyone around, and of course, to crack every skull within range? The room was filled with darkness, the curtains were thrown open, and the moonlight shone brightly inside.
Rage filled me with a tangible heat. It was a combination of thirst—like the morning jonesing for hot coffee, combined with a desire to peel the skin off of every living soul, to yank out their hearts and drink from the tap.
“Leslie.” I could hear Gran's voice through the cloud of rage, but it did nothing to calm me. The voice I recognized as my own growled. I struggled against the bindings around my wrists.
I wasn't into any kinky stuff, and the loss of control riled me up more.
I screamed. A strange, almost feral guttural sound ripped through the room, and when the door opened, faces I didn't recognize approached me. But I didn't care about that. Instead, my gaze homed in on their necks. I could hear the blood whooshing through their veins, their hearts thudding to push the sweet liquid.
Even their sweat smelled appealing. My mouth watered with want. I struggled more against the ties and bared my teeth.
“If she keeps pulling like that, she's going to break the restraints,” someone said.
Snap. One arm broke free.
Felt like heaven to be able to move.
I tore from the other restraint and leaped from my four-poster bed to the female who stood only a few feet away. She smelled like fresh gingerbread. I inhaled deeply and leaned forward.
My canines descended, and I reared back my head.
There would be no consequence. Nothing but my hunger mattered. My appetite had to be sated.
Her neck was so close. All I had to do was lean in closer and allow my teeth to sink into her delectable flesh, and that heat would fill me.
As I reached forward to bite down, strong hands gripped me and tore me away from her. I kicked and clawed. Only air shifted through my fingers. I wished to bleed her out and bathe in her fresh blood.
I snarled like an angry beast, only then to whimper in a strange plea.
“I want just a tas
te,” I pleaded. My eyes filled with crimson tears, blinding me. “Just a taste!” I demanded and pushed back against the strong arms holding me down.
A new wave of rage rushed through me. The anger spread, and in a heartbeat, I stared at the man I hated. Him. Alistair. There was no shade of gray. Any attraction that might have been there, he’d poisoned.
“No, Leslie,” Alistair ordered me, and my limbs responded. I could no longer struggle. I no longer pushed against him. Instead, like a dog brought to heel, I stood still. At his word, I was to obey his every command. And every second I stood across from him, I heard hearts beating and cursed him for not allowing me to sate my hunger.
“This is for your own good, dear.” With a snap of his fingers, I again sank into this black abyss of unconsciousness, with the putrid stench of fish burning my nose.
I really hated seafood.
I cracked my eyes open. I didn’t know how long I'd been out, but the happy sigh from my gran told me all I needed to know. She'd been afraid, and I'd pulled through.
Snuggled in thick blankets around me, a fire roaring in the large fireplace, I glanced around at my surroundings. I was in what appeared to be an ostentatious room with white embossed wallpaper and carefully chosen, high-end furniture. I rested on a plush settee in the salon. In the corner, a grand piano waited to be played.
Expensive, designer taste. Not on a budget for sure.
On the opposite wall, beside the floating bookcase, oil paintings of men and women in Edwardian, Regency, and Victorian-aged royal regalia decorated the room. The pictures were not aligned but positioned in a triangular shape with a beautiful woman at the apex. On her chestnut-brown hair rested a diamond and jade crown. There under, they all must have been important to hang on the walls, as well as the coat of arms which displayed the Macleod tartan and a dragon, of course, in the middle.
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