Huntress: A Paranormal Romance

by Alexandra Christian

  “Dark prince,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She reached out for him and felt his hand close over hers then bring it to his lips. He kissed gently at the delicate bones. “Tell me your name,” she whispered, watching the shape of his mouth as his lips lingered on the slope of her wrist.

  “Names are unimportant,” he replied, drawing her into his embrace. “You may call me your own. Prince, lover, or savior. It does not matter.” She felt his arms slide around her waist, pulling her further into his darkness. His smell filled her, making it hard to breathe. Musk and ash, burning sandalwood—all those scents that when she caught a whiff of them in her waking world made her blood race and her sex tingle. “In your language, my name would mean nothing. It would be repugnant to your ears.”

  Thalia said, nuzzling into his neck and kissing at the bit of exposed flesh, “All that you are, whatever you are—I am forever yours.”

  He pulled away, threading his fingers into her hair and brushing it back from her brow. She wanted to touch him, but her arms were so heavy. She was like a carnival puppet in his arms, only moving as he wished. “I would almost believe you, little thing.” His hold was strong as he lay her down on the grass. “But you and I are only meant for dreaming.”

  “I know that you’re real.”

  “I am an illusion, Thalia. I have been selfish to let you dwell so long in this darkness. This dream world that can never be.” He knelt beside her. “It is time for you to find your own path.”

  Thalia panicked. “What are you saying?” she gasped, sitting up. “You can’t leave me!” She tried to reach out and take his arm, but he stopped her.

  “Every time we meet, it gets harder to let you go. I fear that you will follow me too far and not be able to find your way back.”

  “I don’t care,” Thalia whispered. “I want to be wherever you are.”

  “You don’t mean that!” he hissed, savagely pulling her body against his. He crushed his mouth against hers, holding her tightly so that she could not touch him. He held her so tightly she could feel the blood rushing to the site of the pressure. The hand that held her arm was thrust into the light, and she could see that it was strange, more of a talon that grasped her, its long nails and scaly flesh burning her flesh beneath its grip. She opened her mouth, offering herself freely to his invasion. Slowly his tongue slid along hers, tasting her, tasting him.

  Gathering the curls at the base of her skull in his fist, he pulled her head backward, drawing a moan from her lips. He blazed a trail of kisses down her jugular vein, then nibbled gently as if her skin were the most delicious of delicacies. His fingertips trilled lightly across her collarbone. The path worn by his fingers was still warm as he continued lower. He’d never been so bold before, and though it was frightening, Thalia craved his touch. He paused, looking up at her, his eyes beseeching. “No…” he snarled. “I cannot let this be!”

  “Please!” she said, taking hold of his cloak and watching it fade to smoke. “I would rather die here in your arms than return to that desolate place alone.” Looking down, she noticed the clasp of her own chemise between her breasts. She pulled at it gently until the wisp of cloth fell away, leaving her naked and trembling beneath his gaze. “You cannot tell me that you do not desire this.”

  The prince did not answer but pulled back his own cloak. By some strange magic, the moonlight broke through the trees, casting light on her lover. He turned slowly, letting the light illuminate his face. His fiery gaze was heavy as he was finally revealed. One side of his face seemed to be made of ash and fire. The skin was red and shimmering, reflecting the moonlight like some glistening, burning liquid. At the gradient of his cheekbone and the corner of his right eye, it appeared to crack and fall apart, revealing flame beneath the skin. As the mantle of black smoke fell away, Thalia could see that the distortion continued down his body. The scars carved harsh lines in his flesh. The longer she gazed on him, the more grotesque his disfigurement grew. “Is this what you wanted to see, little one?”

  “I am not afraid,” she replied, but the trembling of her hand as she reached for him betrayed her.

  “I am merely a magician, Thalia. But my illusions are shallow.”

  “What illusion?” she whispered, her mouth searching for his again. “I don’t understand.”

  “The real me is a monster, and I cannot let you pledge yourself to such a creature.” He took her hand, pressing it to his heart. More of the blackened and burnished skin appeared beneath her hand, growing outward. “You will always have my heart, little thing. But our time is done.”

  “No… please!” she cried, but he was already fading. The dream world began to crumble around her. “Don’t leave me!”

  “Goodbye, Thalia.” She opened her eyes to watch him fall into ash at her feet.

  Thalia pushed back the hood of her cloak and looked up in the gray skies to cool the burning in her eyes. She would not allow herself to accept that he was really and truly gone. She wished she could understand what she’d done. Was it Markus? Had her failure to save him caused the dark prince to abandon her? She could hardly blame him. In the month since Markus’s death, her emptiness had completely consumed her. Her dreams that had once been a refuge were now a mere void of darkness where she could only search for something she would never find again.

  It had started to rain intermittently, and if the sky was any indication, it would soon be pouring. Perfect, she thought. There is no situation that apparently can’t be made worse by rain. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in days.

  Esa had raised Thalia from infancy. Her mother had died in childbirth while the tribe was journeying across the continent, desperately seeking shelter from the harsh mountain winter. The old midwife had tried to save her mother, but by the time she reached their encampment, Thalia’s mother was dead. Her father, the most famed dragonslayer of Tarkin, had hated Thalia from the moment she first drew breath. He had called the child murderess and refused to even hold her. Esa had told her once that if she’d been left in his care, she would have died of starvation and neglect. The old woman had saved her life, but Thalia had inherited her father’s love of the hunt and realized her calling early on. Upon hearing of her father’s death, she had left Esa’s cozy cottage in Isling and journeyed to her kin in Tarkin and made them teach her to slay. Thalia rubbed the raised mark on her wrist. It itched as if to taunt her for running away, but she didn’t care. She would never hunt again.

  “Oy, love! Don’t have enough sense to come out of the rain?” Thalia’s head snapped up to see a young boy on the road gathering kindling.

  “Pardon?”

  “You’re soaked clean through! Don’t you know you’ll catch your death?”

  Thalia smiled and nodded. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

  “I’m guessin’ not, lovey,” he said, bending down to pull at a gnarled root on the path.

  “Why are you out here?”

  “Gatherin’ some scrap wood for me fire,” he said. “So’s I guess I don’ have much choice either. Gotta stay warm.”

  “Indeed,” she replied. “Is this the road into Isling?”

  “What’s left of it.”

  “What do you mean ‘what’s left of it’?”

  The boy didn’t answer but pointed up the road. The trees made a dark canopy as the road wound its way toward town, but just past the next bend, Thalia could see that the trees were broken and scorched, lying across the road like the blackened bones of some enormous beast. She could smell the stench of fire on the wind. It should be a comforting scent, but it had turned sour in the rain. “What happened?”

  “Dragon,” he replied simply, tying his sticks to sling over his back. “Last month.”

  “A dragon? There hasn’t been a dragon this close to the capital in ages.”

  The boy shrugged. “Isling must be cursed, love. The Wyrm of Gwynfir they call it. Come down from the mountain some years back and started burnin’ fields and farms. Then it started co
min’ toward town. Never this bad though.” Thalia’s heart clenched in her chest so hard that she doubled over coughing. “You okay, love?” the boy asked, dropping his bundle and coming over to pat her on the back.

  Thalia grabbed the boy, kneeling. “There’s an old woman. A midwife named—”

  “You mean old Esa?”

  “Yes! You know her?”

  “Of course,” he chuckled. “Everyone knows her.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “‘Course she is,” he said. “It’d take more than dragon fire to kill that old bird.” He pointed toward town. “Her cottage is right where it always was. Probably the only one that didn’t get a stitch of ash…”

  Before he could finish, Thalia was running down the road. She needed to get to Esa. She needed the reassurance of the old woman’s embrace. Suddenly the world had become very cold, and while she wouldn’t admit it to herself, Thalia, who had always been a solitary soul, needed the warmth of another.

  It had been at least ten years, but Thalia’s feet seemed to know their way despite how the village had changed. The streets were mucky, and she nearly fell three times trying to run, almost as if something were holding her back, but she finally made it. She pushed back her cloak and smoothed her hair. What if the old woman didn’t recognize her? What if she was angry that Thalia had gone and hadn’t even bothered to write and tell her that she was well? Suddenly she was entertaining the notion that she might not be welcome here anymore. Of course, there was only one way to find out.

  A pounding at the door startled Esa. “Who could that be this late?” she wondered, pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders. It was unusually cool for the late summer. Dark magic was afoot. She padded across the rushes and peeked out of the keyhole. “Thalia,” she whispered, disbelieving her old eyes. So her visions were true! Indeed, the old magicks were at play. She opened the door to see the small girl standing in the rain. “By the gods, child! What’s happened to you?” The girl looked like a drenched rodent as she stood there.

  “Please, Esa… I had nowhere else to go,” Thalia said, bowing her head to the old woman.

  Esa stepped aside and rushed her inside. “Of course, child. Come in before you catch your death out there!” Thalia came inside and dropped her shoulder bag and crossbow at the hearth. Slowly she peeled away her soaking jerkin and coat and knelt by the fire. Neither woman said anything for several minutes. It had been years since last she saw the girl that she loved as her own child. As Esa observed the girl, she could tell that the years had not been kind. Her face was dotted with mud and soot. Bruises highlighted her delicate features, and blood stained her hands. Her shoulders were slumped with exhaustion and an all-consuming sadness. Thalia was broken.

  “It’s been long since your last visit, child.”

  “I am sorry, Esa. Things have been difficult.” The girl stared into the fire, watching the flames lick and leap at the hearthstones. Her heart was broken; the old woman could sense it. She was lost in the world and hoped that she might find comfort at the foot of the only mother she’d ever known. “I’ve tried to come to Isling so many times. Much has changed.”

  Esa smiled. “No need to make excuses, child. You’re here now.” She pushed a cup of tea into Thalia’s hand. “Drink this while I fix you something to eat. It will make you feel better.”

  Thalia nodded and sipped at the warm liquid. She said nothing for a time, just stared into the fire and clutched the teacup as Esa chattered away about the dragon attack on Isling. It wasn’t like her. The child used to be so full of life. It troubled the old woman as she threw a rasher of bacon on the stove. “No, it won’t,” the girl suddenly said.

  Esa looked up and turned to the girl. “Pardon?”

  “It won’t make me feel better. It is likely I will never feel better again.” With that, she burst into tears, the teacup slipping from her fingers to crash on the hearth.

  “Oh… Thalia,” Esa started, pulling the pan off the fire and going to the sobbing girl. She gathered her in her arms, pressing her close against her generous bosom. “Shush, child… tell old Esa what’s troubling you so.”

  “I lost him, Esa,” Thalia sniffled. “He was depending on me to take care of him. And I failed! The boy is dead because of me!” The words were painful, and they spewed forth like a blistering venom as she related the tragedy of Markus’s death. “I couldn’t stop him. He just… he ran away from me. And I thought he was ready…”

  “Shh… there, child. Sometimes things happen that we cannot control.”

  “I’m so… angry! I want to kill them—all of them—but I can’t bring myself to fight. For the first time, Esa… I am afraid.” She threw herself against the old woman again, her bitter tears soaking into her shawl.

  “Hush now,” Esa scolded, brushing the heavy, golden curls from Thalia’s brow. “What you need is a rest. In a few weeks’ time, your heart will heal.”

  Thalia shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “No… I’ll never hunt again.”

  “Of course you will, darling child,” Esa replied, rising from the stool and getting the girl another cup of tea. It was a special brew that would quiet her mind and let her sleep. “Drink this, and I promise, you’ll feel much better in the morning. There is nothing that cannot be made better with a good cup of tea.”

  Chapter Eight

  It had been a month since Tristan’s meeting with Queen Mab, and much had happened. The decimation of Isling and his last meeting with Grafton had left the king ailing and weak. Raving about a curse upon his house, he had taken to his bed at his son’s insistence and not emerged in a fortnight. Everyone expected that Tristan would be named as successor any day. Christophe was not the mighty ruler he once had been, and allowing him to continue could spell disaster for Osghast. Already, hordes of wild men had been attacking the borders and burning out farm villages. Tristan had sent out several legions of knights to various outposts to combat these barbarians, but they were becoming bolder, and soon open war would be upon them. The dragon had been quiet, at least. But everyone seemed to be waiting, as if they were afraid that any moment the dragon would appear to finish its work, obliterating the entirety of Osghast with a mighty exhale.

  “Sire, the spring festival cannot go on while the country is in such a state,” Grafton sniveled as he struggled to keep up with Tristan’s long strides. “Inviting all of the people into the city is lunacy! Why not just feed them all to the dragon and get it over with? Or the Eastern Tribes?”

  Tristan chuckled at Grafton’s cowardice. “You worry far too much, Grafton. The festival will go off without a hitch. It must. The festival is the crux of my plan to save Osghast.”

  “Sire?”

  He paused, turning to the round little man and pointing out the window toward the vast countryside surrounding the castle. “Do you see all that, my friend? That is the kingdom of Osghast. It has been strong for a thousand years and will be strong for a thousand more. Some say our people are blessed by the Fae. That our forest brings sustenance to them, and therefore, we are under their protection. That is old thinking, Grafton. Ancient superstition. This dragon curse, this plague upon our people must be fought like any other enemy. The people must have a reason to believe in the house of Laurenz once more. A show of strength is what we need!”

  “But your father—”

  “Is wasting away in his bed! He cares not, one way or another. Once I’ve proven my worth, he will be content to retire and leave the kingdom in my care.”

  “What does any of this have to do with the spring festival?”

  Tristan scoffed, wondering how he got saddled with such an idiot as a confidante. “The spring festival was started thousands of years ago by my ancestors to gather all the kingdom’s virgin maidens. Three were chosen: one to be sacrificed to the king, one to the Fae, and the last to the fire drakes of the mountain. Over the years, the ritual has become merely symbolic, as the dragons were long ago driven from this realm.”<
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  “You mean to sacrifice a virgin to the dragon?” Grafton stared at Tristan as if he’d lost his mind and should take to bed like his father. “Do you really believe that will sate the bloodlust of such a beast?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Grafton. I only mean to draw the dragon into the city with the promise of a sacrifice.”

  “The dragon? Here?” he asked, his eyes wide with disbelief and fear. “We’ve been lucky that it has remained in hiding since Isling!”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll be prepared. Once the sacrificial lamb is chosen, she will lead the beast into a trap where I will dispatch it. Once I’ve taken the head, the people will insist that I be crowned, and we can all live happily ever after.”

  “And how do you propose to do this? You know absolutely nothing about dragon slaying.”

  “But I know people who do. Trust me, Grafton. In a few months, all this will be but a bad memory, and dragons will once again be the stuff of myths in Osghast.”

  Thalia awoke disoriented. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon. There were tears on her cheeks, and her eyes felt swollen and gritty. She’d been crying in her sleep over her prince. He had forsaken her, just like everyone else had. Her father, all of her kin… Markus. And why shouldn’t they? She couldn’t save them from the fires of their fears. Her father had been right all along. She was nothing and should be content to be nothing. A murderess condemned to walk alone forever. At least no one else would have to die. Perhaps she should draw up enough courage to throw herself into the sea and be done with it. Would her prince be waiting for her in the afterlife? Or maybe it was as Esa had always said and that the soul just traveled in death from one vessel to another. If that were the case, maybe her next life would be better than this one. Maybe she could right all her wrongs.