by Lola Gabriel
“But you’re not afraid,” he told her quietly. “And you would not leave me. You have proven your integrity by doing the right thing.”
“She was scared,” Ara murmured, Isabella’s emotions and thoughts filling her mind. “She thought she could go back for you.”
Titus nodded, his irises brightening as he realized she had remembered.
“We didn’t know she was out there,” he whispered. “If we had known…”
“Shh.” Ara slipped his arms around his neck and gently kissed his parted lips. “She was afraid, but she wasn’t angry.”
He nodded miserably, tears misting his eyes. “She would never have accepted me if she learned what I became.”
Ara lowered her gaze, knowing that he spoke the truth.
“But you accept me,” Titus continued. “And this is how I know you are not like Isabella, no matter how much you look like her.”
“Are you disappointed?” she asked, unable to help herself.
Titus chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers through her.
“No,” he replied. “I am relieved. I have found my soulmate after wandering the world for eternity.”
Happiness exploded through Ara’s heart, and she embraced him, feeling all the emotion he had bottled inside him since Isabella’s death course into her body.
Fate is on my side for once, she thought, exhaling all her doubts in a wild breath of air. My uncertain future is now a destiny filled with love and fire.
“Let’s get out of here,” she mumbled, wiping the tears of joy from the corners of her eyes. “I’m craving Marta’s cooking.”
“And I’m craving you,” Titus growled, kissing her neck.
Epilogue
“Which one is this one again?” Ara asked, sighing as she gestured at the open email. Titus glanced over her shoulder, taking another chunk of his apple as he read.
“That’s Cassius,” he replied.
“I can read,” Arabella chuckled. “I mean, which brother is he?”
“He owns a conglomerate? Lives on a private island off the Coral Sea?”
Ara nodded. “Right. Sorry. There’s so many of them.”
“He’s emailing you now?” Titus asked. “Should I be jealous?”
She giggled as he kissed the top of her head, taking another chomp out of the fruit piece.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Is he cute?”
“Cute? Sure, if you’re into warts and leprosy.”
Ara laughed aloud, knowing he was joking. She had seen pictures of all the Williams brothers, and she knew they were incredibly handsome in their own ways.
“No, really, why is Cass emailing you?” Titus asked, curiosity filling his face. “Are you trying to get in good with the family?”
“Kind of,” Ara replied evasively, turning to face him. “I’m looking into our family histories.”
Titus froze and stared at her. “What do you mean?”
She sighed. “Don’t overreact,” she said quickly. “But I’m interested in learning what I can about our genealogy.”
Titus scowled slightly.
“Bella, I thought we talked about this,” he said in a low voice, sitting at the table. He looked about to ensure they weren’t being overheard by Marta or Solomon. “You know my history. I’ve been forthcoming with you.”
“I know you have,” Ara insisted. “But…” Titus waited, his eyebrows raising. “I want to know about me, too.”
“You’re not making any sense,” he said slowly. “What does my family history have to do with you?”
She cleared her throat. “Nothing and everything.”
“You need to stop talking in riddles,” Titus sighed. “My head is still dizzy from the heat today.”
“I have told you about my dreams. Maybe I was in Isabella in a past lifetime, or maybe I am related to her.” Ara told him. “The one thing we know for certain is that she lived in Misty Woods with your family seven hundred years ago.”
“And you want to trace her back that far through my family and their extended families,” Titus finished. “But that was a long time ago, Bella. Will they even have records going back that far?”
“It’s the age of the internet, baby,” she replied, chuckling. “Everything is online. Even ancient artifacts.”
“Are you calling my family ancient?” he rasped, reaching forward to grab her arm.
She squealed and pulled away laughing. “If the shoe fits…”
“What will this do?” he asked softly. “What difference does it make if you were related to Isabella somewhere down the line? That was my past. You are my future.”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a wide smile. “Because maybe I can find a way to make things right now. Maybe if I go back far enough, I can find someone in my bloodline who was there when Opal worked her magic and…”
Titus’ brow furrowed. “And what? Make what right?”
“And I can be a dragon, too!” Ara blurted out, her face staining with red. “The way Isabella was supposed to be!”
Titus seemed to be at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing again. “You… you want to become a dragon?”
She nodded, her expression filled with naked plaintiveness. “I want us to be together forever.”
Titus suddenly swept her into his arms, crushing his lips to hers as she gasped in shock.
“We will find a way,” he promised her when they parted, his eyes boring into hers. “I vowed that I would never let you go again, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that happens.”
Ara relaxed into him, her arms encircling his waist as she felt the heat of his crotch against hers.
“You promise?”
“I swear it. We will never be apart.”
Dragon Hunt
Misty Woods Dragons
1
Cuyler groaned heavily, his breaths ragged and shallow as he attempted to lift his filthy head from the mud floor, but the action was futile. It was as if his blond hair had been mixed in among the grit and grime of the mud. He was dying, just as his countrymen around him, dissolving into a stinking pool of sweat and blood, their agony tangible.
How long had they been there? Days? Weeks? Months?
It was impossible to gauge, time melting into an endless despair of nothingness, each man’s anguish worse than the last. The swell of human suffering, coupled with the stench of misery and desperation, was enough to inspire suicide, even to a group as proud as these men had once been.
If Cuyler parted his swollen lids, he could barely make out Hemming’s silhouette, slumped against the crumbling stone, lapping at the black water seeping through the walls.
“Do not drink that!” he wanted to cry, but formulating words was impossible, his cracked lips parting to make a string of incoherent sounds.
What have we become? Cuyler wondered mournfully. We are disgraced men, a mere umbra of our former selves. Ove and Gustav sat back to back, propping the other up, but Cuyler could see neither was conscious.
It was a terrible way to perish, starving and thirsted. They had not seen food nor water in what felt to be eons.
Lord of Death, please take us soon! Cuyler begged silently. We have served this earthly realm the best way we know how, and now you must claim us into your bosom.
“Listen!” Steen cried, his voice a strangled whisper. “Someone is near!”
With the last iota of energy they could muster, the men crawled and stumbled forward, bony hands outstretched as a rustle of material met their ears.
The flickering of a torch lit the narrow passageway, and abruptly, a stunningly lovely woman appeared. She was undoubtedly of noble peerage, her intricate headdress slipping over a cap of red hair, her vivid eyes wide with worry as she moved toward them. It was not until they cried out to her, however, that she seemed to notice they were there.
“Help us!” they chanted at her, holding out their hands through the iron bars to reach for her pleadingly. “Water! Food! Help
us!”
She gasped in shock, nearly dropping her torch as she backed away, her pale face almost opaque in the grotesque light of the lamp.
“Please!” Cuyler begged. “One sip of water…”
But she was gone as soon as she had come, not a word spoken between them. Her long skirts whirling about her ankles, she made her way toward the end of the dismal corridor.
“Bloody hell!” Tore howled, although from where he gathered the strength for such an expression, Cuyler could not know. His own face was still pressed against the cage of the dungeon where the Englishmen had them imprisoned.
Where had she gone? Surely there was nothing that way, was there? Yet why else would a noblewoman be in the bowels of the castle, mucking her dress when she had servants to do her bidding? There must be a reason she came alone. Something was there, Cuyler was certain of that.
What difference does it make now? We are all doomed to rot here, molding into a rat-chewed pile of bones.
“The men will charge the kingdom and we will be free!” Hemming sang in a delirious way, making Cuyler worry for his sanity. “On the morrow, perhaps?” He had spoken those very words more times than Cuyler wished to count, if he was capable of such a feat.
If the Northmen ever did penetrate the walls of the Misty Woods’ fortresses, it would be far too late for all of them. The men would see them as a liability and would leave them behind to die an honorable death, one their women would honor. No wife should be left to tend to an invalid husband. It was not their way.
At least they will end it for us quickly, Cuyler reasoned. One or two good blows to the head and we will be rid of our misery forever.
“Make your peace with the gods,” Cuyler said sharply. “Or assist me in finding a way to free us from this cage. I believe there is a passageway over yonder.”
He did not need to look at the men to know that they stared at him with contempt.
“How do you propose we accomplish such a task?” Gustav growled, pushing Ove to the side so the other man fell into an unconscious pile at his side. “We can barely feel the tips of our fingers, those of us who have any at all.”
“Then you may rot,” Cuyler retorted, his eyes scanning the dimness for a tool to free them. “I will find safe passage alone.”
If there was an escape, a way to leave the castle unseen, perhaps they would not die at the hands of the English, after all. He did not need their help. He could easily—
A low rumble began below their feet, and the men jumped in unison, looking around in surprise for the cause. The noise grew, and the earth beneath shook so much, the men reached out for support, but as the rock above their heads began to fall, there was nowhere to find shelter as they were pelted with debris.
“Cover your faces!” Steen shouted as Gustav threw his body over Ove, who remained unmoving.
We will be buried alive! Cuyler thought, a foreign sense of panic seizing him. There was nothing they could do but allow the dirt to encase them, the storm underground intensifying.
A flash of light blinded the men before their heads fell beneath the rumble, sending them into an unwilling grave.
All was still. For minutes, not a sound was heard in the belly of the castle, the death of the prisoners inevitable as the air was slowly, painfully sucked from the chamber.
Abruptly, the silence was overwrought with screams, loud and feral as six heads popped through the surface of their live graves, gasping and choking, wrenching their arms free to claw out of the pile, their terror palpable. They looked around to one to another, their cries subsiding as they realized they were, in fact, still alive. The men stared at one another, unsure of how they had managed to escape such a horrific ordeal.
Cuyler turned his head and realized the fatigue and pain which had filled his body had subsided, and he positioned his freed arms up to pull himself from the pile, watching in awe as his countrymen did the same.
“Is everyone well?” he demanded, dusting himself before reaching to assist the others from the mess, but he was waved aside, each one moving with ease and grace, as if the rocks weighed no more than a feather. The men murmured their assurances, each sounding as confused as he felt.
For the first time since their capture, Cuyler found himself thinking clearly, his eyes sharp and focused, and he gazed about.
“We must find a way out of here before the castle falls on our heads,” he told them, and there was no argument, everyone rising to scramble about for tools.
Soon, they had fashioned a shovel to dig the bars from the unstable dirt, and in moments, they were free from the cage.
“Why did we not do this long ago?” Ove grumbled, his earlier state of near-death obviously forsaken. It was only then that Cuyler noticed his eyes, and he paused to peer at his battle mate inquisitively.
“What is wrong with your eyes?” they chorused simultaneously, gaping at each other.
But as they turned to examine the rest, they realized that they all shared the same trait: glowing amber eyes.
What happened to us? Cuyler wondered, slowly examining his counterparts for any other abnormalities, but he could see nothing obvious. That does not mean that nothing else has changed, he realized, again noting the burst of strength in his body. Something had occurred in those few minutes, something that would forever change the course of the future.
The Northmen simply did not know it yet.
2
She’s following you. Get your ass in gear.
Anders’ perfectly polished Guccis seemed to float over the pavement as he moved, the gentle slap of his suitcase touching his pant leg in perfect rhythm.
“Woah! Get back here!” the woman behind him cried. “Williams! I know you can hear me!”
Don’t turn around. Keep walking. Pretend nothing is amiss. Smile and nod at strangers. Keep your game face on.
But the advancing clacking of obnoxious heels told Anders that he had lost his slim opportunity to flee, and a second later, Virginia Branson’s hand reached out and clasped his shoulder. They were abnormally large for a woman’s and emanated the threat she so clearly wished to portray.
Ah, shit.
“Oh, hey,” he said nonchalantly, turning reluctantly to face the prosecutor. “How are you?”
“Don’t feed me your bullshit, Williams. What the hell are you trying to prove with this motion?”
“What is that?” Anders asked, forcing a blank look on his face as he pretended to read it.
“You know exactly what the hell this is!” Virginia roared, her face painted with anger. “Don’t play dumb with me!”
A small smile formed on Anders’ lips, and he stared at her innocently. “I’m just doing my job, Ginny.”
“Your job is to sully my reputation in open court?” she snapped, red staining her cheeks. “I could get sanctioned for this!”
“You can always recuse yourself now, and the whole thing will be dropped, but I can’t promise it won’t come up again.”
“You’re a son of a bitch, Williams. You know that?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“So have I,” Virginia said.
Anders made a commiserating sound and shook his head. “You should have thought about that before going after my client,” he retorted, spinning to walk away. “That was some advice you could have used months ago.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong!” Virginia howled. “You need to drop this before it goes public. You’re going to ruin my life, Anders!”
“I am not ruining anything. You are the one who failed to disclose your relationship with the lead detective, who, incidentally, has a history with my client. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to see that this was a frame job orchestrated by your lover, one which you abetted without regard for a man’s life and reputation. Ain’t karma a bitch, Ginny?”
“No!” she snarled. “You are! You’re a bitch, Anders Williams. One day, all these scumbags you have gotten off for murder and embezzlement and fraud will be your undoing.
This will all catch up with you.”
Anders cast her a look over the shoulder of his Armani suit and snickered. “You can watch my downfall from your prison cell. I hear Rikers is lovely this time of year. I imagine you’ll be very popular among the inmates you helped put in there.”
He didn’t give her a chance to reply, his long strides taking him away from the courthouse to the curb, where Connor waited for him.
“How was court, Mr. Williams?” the driver asked, opening the door of the car.
“Fruitful as always, Connor,” he answered smugly. The door closed, and Anders could not resist taking one last look at Virginia Branson as they pulled away from the curb. She stood, still seething in his direction, and it took everything in his power not to wave at her in satisfaction.
Anders was not malicious by nature, nor was he a saint by any standards. Sticking it to a prosecuting attorney was not something that gave him pleasure, and he was not convinced that his client, Randy Martin, was innocent of the double homicide for which he was being tried. However, Virginia Branson had it out for his client for no good reason, and that was something he couldn’t tolerate.
The evidence was circumstantial at best, and if not for her lover’s incessant digging and possible witness tampering, they would not be at trial. She had even foregone a plea deal, her desire to put Martin away overriding her civic duty. She needed to be stopped, and if Anders had to play dirty to do it, so be it.
Karma has a way of working things out. Of course, sometimes karma needs a helping hand. No one can do everything, after all. Not even me.
“Home, sir?” Connor called, and Anders glanced at his Rolex, shaking his reddish-brown head slightly.
“No,” he replied. “I have a meeting at the Plaza in an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Anders pressed the button to the partition, closing the glass between them, and stared out the window, his mind on the upcoming hours.
There was never a moment of rest for the lawyer. He led a life filled with flights and depositions, jumping from boardrooms to courtrooms with minutes to spare. When he did manage to venture to his three-story condo on Park Avenue, it seemed like a museum to him. Sometimes, Anders didn’t recognize it as home.