Huntress: A Paranormal Romance

by Alexandra Christian

  Tristan rounded the corner in the chaos and Nyxyn knocked him off his feet. “Run, sire!” he shouted.

  “You!” Tristan growled, grabbing the man by the collar. “It’s looking for you, you idiot!”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he sniveled as the prince pulled him off his feet. “The dragon was supposed to take the sacrifice!”

  “And he’ll get one,” Tristan snarled, dragging him toward the tower stairs. Nyxyn struggled as Tristan pulled him over the stone steps. His body bumped along the path as the servants rushed about, practically trampling them. Tristan could hear the dragon hissing and breathing fire overhead. The castle shook with every movement, and the screams of the guards below were deafening. The once peaceful Thane had erupted into a hell on earth for which Tristan was responsible. He would not let this be for naught. Suddenly, the unintelligible hissing of the dragon grew and morphed into something like speech that quieted the cacophony. All movement ceased, and it seemed that time stood still. Tristan could feel the low growling deep in his chest as the dragon spoke. It was thunderous, and everyone dropped to their knees, holding their ears. He didn’t understand the words, but their meaning was clear.

  Suddenly, a shattering of masonry and oak girders sounded overhead, sending an avalanche of debris raining down on their heads. In the confusion Nyxyn slipped away, and Tristan let him go as he fought his way to the top of the tower. As the dust cleared, he peered up and saw stars glistening overhead. “Gods,” Tristan breathed just as the dragon reared back, showing itself for a brief moment. With one more hissing word, it pushed its head into the gaping maw that had once been the turret and breathed a stream of fire down into the castle. Tristan pressed his body against the stone wall, using his armor to offer protection from the flames. Others were not so lucky, and he saw them set ablaze before falling from the crumbling tower to crash on the ground below.

  Tristan drew his sword from the sheath at his back. Large and heavy, his father’s sword had been forged for one purpose, and he meant to put it to good use tonight. Gathering his courage, he raced up the staircase, carefully avoiding the places where stones and mortar crumbled. As he emerged into the night, the dragon was perched on the side of the turret like a watchful raven, its head held high, proud of the destruction he’d wrought and daring anyone to defy him. “I do not fear you, Dragon Lord!” Tristan shouted, brandishing his weapon. Looking around, he realized that there were no more guards to defend him and no more distractions of screaming peasants. Anyone left alive would be hiding in the keep or the dungeons by now. Tristan was on his own. “Time to prove your worth,” he whispered before lunging at the beast.

  The dragon turned just as Tristan slashed downward against its clawed foot. The serpent hissed, whipping around to bring the barbed tail down upon him, but Tristan was faster. He dodged the blow and rolled across the stone floor. In an instant, he nimbly got to his feet. He avoided another swipe of the tail and managed to pull a shield from the arms of a fallen guard. He used it to shield his body as the dragon reared back and spit flame. The shield was heavy, and the dragon’s breath was so hot that for a moment Tristan feared that the metal would melt around his gauntlet.

  “My turn,” Tristan snarled as the beast coughed its last. He taunted it, beckoning it closer as he darted here and there. The dragon got down on its haunches, stalking him. It rather reminded Tristan of a great bat, crawling along the sill. More of that rumbling speech. The prince knew that the beast was talking to him, as crazy as that might seem. “What’s the matter, beastie? Don’t like the present we had for you?” He had no idea what to do next. There was no way he would be able to slay the dragon unless its breast was exposed, and no dragon would do that willingly. What he needed was a distraction. A sideways glance offered Tristan an idea. A bit of the wall left behind would get him higher. He needed to be above it. With a great leap, Tristan made it to the wall. He landed precariously, dropping the shield. It clattered across the ground. The dragon swept it aside with its wing, throwing sparks. “Come on… come to me then,” Tristan shouted. Higher and higher he climbed, the bricks beneath him quaking under his weight. They wouldn’t hold him long. The dragon sat up and reared back. It had tired of playing with Tristan and wanted to be done with it. Before it could open its mouth, Tristan had leapt onto its back. He came down hard with the edge of his sword. The blade slipped between the black scales, and there was a satisfying suction as it pierced the flesh beneath. The dragon hissed and spat, thrashing about, trying to throw off his attacker. Tristan smiled and pulled the sword back and thrust again, this time clipping the edge of the wing where it joined its back. The dragon roared and unfurled its wings. This time it was not surprised; it was angry. The beast threw back its wing and twisted its body in such a way that Tristan was thrown the ground. He howled in pain, his skull connecting with the hard floor beneath. His eyes clouded, and he tried to shake it off. He gripped his sword, but the dragon encroached upon him, kicking it away with an almost gentle brush of its tail. “Go on, then,” Tristan said. “End this!” The dragon crouched over him, one sharp talon stepping down on his shoulder. He cried out in pain as the beast’s head lowered to his level. It growled, baring its teeth as it leaned in.

  “Over here!” The feminine voice startled the dragon and Tristan both. The prince turned to see the Tarkinian girl limping toward them. The dagger he’d given her was clutched in her hand. She hissed and growled at the beast. The sound was eerie, like the speech of a serpent. “Come for me,” she said again. The dragon backed off of him and looked toward her. His head cocked to one side as if he were studying her. “Well, come on, then!” she shouted. “I’m what you came for, aren’t I?” It hissed and spoke back. Tristan spied his sword, lying just out of reach. If only he could stretch his arm just a little farther. “I am the virgin bride! I am the tribute of Sheakhol. The one you want!”

  The dragon’s body was strangely agile as it turned, creeping toward her slowly as if confused. Tristan used the distraction and heaved his body to the side, grabbing the sword. There was a great percussive noise as the dragon took flight once more, streaking into the night sky until it was out of sight.

  Everything was silent. Tristan and Thalia stood there, staring as the contrail behind the beast dissipated. “Well… little Huntress,” Tristan said, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he could scarcely breathe. “Seems there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  Before she could respond, the dragon appeared out of nowhere. With a single shriek it descended, grabbing Thalia in its horned talons and flying away into the darkness.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Do not be afraid. No harm will come.” Thalia’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself gazing into the pearlescent eyes of her prince. Once more his form was more of a ghostly mist than material. As he brushed his fingers along the crest of her cheekbone, he felt more like an icy breeze, and for a moment, Thalia was convinced that she was still there, cowering on that cliff face.

  “Am I dead?”

  “Of course not,” he replied. “You are very much alive.”

  “Then why are you here?” Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears. As if she were speaking through a murky sea. “Have you come for me?”

  “I’ve come to tell you that all is not lost, little one. Things are not always what they seem.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. Now. Open your eyes.”

  No one could have been more surprised than Thalia was when she awakened, still alive. The last thing she remembered was the massive talons of the black dragon closing around her waist. After that, everything went dark. Dreams of the shadowed prince mixed with images of blood and death devoured her mind, keeping her in darkness. Thalia tried to sit up, but her shoulders screamed in protest. She was acutely aware of being cold. Looking around, she could make out dark, polished stone. She reached out, her fingers grazing the cool, wet surface. Was she somewhere underground? Her eyes focused, and she
could just make out the outline of what appeared to be a boulder jutting out from the smooth wall. A cave then. And there must be water nearby. She could hear it dripping into a pool somewhere close. “Hello?” she called out. “Is there anybody there?” No one answered save for that steady dripping.

  Slowly Thalia got to her feet. She brushed the dirt from her gown, glad to see it was still intact. There was no blood, and she did not feel any injury. Evidently the dragon had decided not to kill her just yet. Thalia would prefer that he just hurry up and get it over with. She did not fear death nearly so much as the anticipation of it. Finally confident on her feet, she decided she might as well explore.

  The chamber where the dragon had apparently left her was enormous. As she looked up, she realized that she could not see the ceiling. Funny that a dragon would live in such a place as this. She walked on expecting to see a treasure room full of gold, but there was none. No treasure or piles of broken skeletons lying about. No stench of death. This was most unusual for a dragon’s lair. Perhaps Tristan had been right. Perhaps this beast was no ordinary dragon. She passed a waterfall that emptied into a small pool. The water was so rich with minerals that it was thick and white like milk. Soon she came to a split in the cave wall. One passage was quite dark. The other was lit with a stream of light from above. Perhaps this is the way out, she thought. She continued down the path, relaxing as the air felt much lighter here. There was no trace of the sulfurous steam that so often accompanied dragons. After walking for what seemed like hours, she began to be aware that the path had turned and she was climbing. She could feel it in her thighs that ached with the exertion. “Where am I?” she wondered aloud. Finally, she turned a sharp corner, and the path narrowed to a marble corridor. The tiles were cold beneath her feet, and as she looked down, she could see her reflection in the polished stones. Perhaps it wasn’t a cave after all. She came to a door, simple but sturdy. She expected it to be locked, but when she turned the knob, it opened easily.

  As soon as the door opened, she could smell the dragon, an earthy scent like burning leaves. It was not unpleasant, but it filled Thalia with dread. She crept in as quietly as she could, wincing as the door creaked. She stepped into what appeared to be a ruined throne room. Charred tapestries hung from the frescoed ceiling. The floor had been inlaid with a jeweled mosaic that was tarnished and missing pieces. She had to be careful not to step on the jagged tiles with her bare feet. The forest floor had begun to take over with scrub weeds and tree roots coming through the crumbling stones. The only light was from a fire pit in the center of the room. And there, lying outstretched beside it, was the black dragon.

  Thalia stopped short, her body still as stone. Had it heard her approach? Another beat and she could tell that it was sleeping. A great rumbling sound, almost like the purr of a lion reverberated off the walls. Its wings were folded around its body like a shroud, and its tail stretched out motionless behind it. Thalia almost laughed in spite of herself. This dragon looked like some great mastiff lying in front of a fireplace. “You certainly don’t look frightening now,” she whispered, stepping closer. If the room had been much smaller, the beast wouldn’t have fit. It was clear from the crumbling walls to one side that he’d had some difficulty getting inside in the first place, and his body was stretched from one end to the other with only a little clearance over its head. She’d never seen a living dragon from this close before, and she had to admit she was curious. In the dark before, its scales had appeared quite black, but in the dim light of the fire, she could see that they were multicolored like the inside of an oyster shell. They sparkled in the dim firelight. Thalia wanted to touch them but was afraid of waking the wyrm. Would the scales feel wet or dry and coarse like a lizard?

  The wind outside howled around the ruined turrets, and Thalia shivered as the cold seeped through the walls and into her bones. The fire had nearly died, and only a few embers still glowed. She hugged herself tightly in an effort to warm her body. It was of little use. She looked around for something to poke the fire. A loose branch hung down from a tree that had grown in through the wall. She tiptoed over, taking care not to step on the noisy, crackling leaves underfoot. She stretched for the branch, but it was just out of reach. Thalia looked over her shoulder to make sure the dragon was still sleeping. “Just one… little… jump,” she said with a leap. She grabbed the branch and pulled it down. Unfortunately, her weight wasn’t quite enough, and the flexible branch snapped backward, smacking Thalia in the nose and making her sit down hard on the stone floor. “Shit!”

  “Are you having difficulties, little mouse?”

  Thalia froze. She gripped the branch in her hand, prepared to use it to defend herself. She was afraid to turn around as the only other living thing in the room was the dragon. “Uhm… well… I…” She tried to get to her feet, slipping on the leaves and pebbles and sitting down again. “Ouch,” she muttered.

  “Come into the light, Mouse,” it growled. Thalia heard a great rustling and thump that she could feel in the floor underneath her. Slowly she turned to see the dragon standing up, stretching like a large cat and shaking the sleep from its head. It even yawned with a rumble like thunder. “Don’t be afraid. You’re far too small to satisfy an appetite such as mine.”

  Thalia stood up and walked slowly toward the beast, dragging her branch behind her. Now that she had it, she realized that it was much too flimsy to do any real damage. Or indeed to stoke the fire. “You talk?”

  “Don’t you hear me speaking?” the dragon replied. It sat low on its haunches watching as Thalia crossed the room.

  “Yes, but… I…”

  “You didn’t know dragons could speak. Common mistake. It’s true that most dragons can’t speak, but I am not most dragons.” Thalia could feel herself beginning to smile, and she bit the inside of her cheek. How odd for a creature such as this to be arrogant. Arrogance was a human trait. She should have been terrified, but found she was only amused. “You find me amusing?” he said, plucking the thought from her brain.

  “Well… I suppose.”

  “Don’t suppose. You should be sure of yourself, Slayer of Tarkin.” He spat these last words with a dose of venom that cooled Thalia’s blood.

  Thalia gasped, stopping short. How did he know? Her heart pounded in her chest as she realized that he had understood the game from the beginning, despite Tristan’s best efforts. “You think I’m a dragonslayer?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it, silly mouse.”

  “But…”

  “You slept for a long time. I had plenty of time for examination. You have scars along your back and side that suggest you’ve been scratched by talons. I’ve never seen a bird so large as whatever got you. So you’ve fought a dragon before. On the inside of your thigh you have a healed-over burn that could only be from dragon fire. And, of course, you have the mark on your wrist.”

  Thalia’s color deepened. “Perhaps I was attacked.” She unconsciously put her hands behind her back. “And you can’t blame me for wanting to defend myself.”

  “Do not lie, Mouse. It does not become you. But have no fear. I won’t hold your past murders against you if you’ll extend me the same courtesy. Now. Come here so I might see you better.” As she approached, the dragon sniffed the air, taking in her scent. “Hmm… you smell of the Fae.”

  “Is that good?”

  “I’ve no idea. Perhaps. Fae are very tricky. Ungrateful little beasties.” He quieted, staring down at her with his head cocked to one side as if concentrating very hard. It made Thalia very self-conscious, and she shuddered again. “Are you cold, Mouse?” Not knowing what else to say, she nodded. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Without another word, he turned his head and breathed a plume of fire into the pit beside him. Immediately the coals inside ignited into a spectacular column of flame. Though she was afraid, Thalia moved closer in an almost involuntary movement. She was desperate to find warmth and held her hands out in front of her. “A thank you wouldn’t be inappr
opriate,” the dragon said.

  “Oh,” she said, feeling her cheeks blush hot with embarrassment. “Thank you.”

  “No need to be embarrassed. You are, after all, the slayer of Tarkin and not used to being gracious to dragonkin.”

  “You said yourself that you’re no ordinary dragon.” It was a bit disturbing that he could almost hear what she was thinking. She made a note to ask him about it later if she lived that long. Thalia had never encountered a dragon that could read minds.

  “Indeed, I am not.” He settled back down with a lazy sigh. Thalia stared at the enormous creature. He was definitely the largest dragon she’d ever seen. And certainly the most intelligent. She’d never encountered one that could speak, much less one schooled in etiquette. Now that the fire was high, she could see the dragon and was fascinated by its body. Glints of color shimmered on his scales in the changing light, but they did not look wet. Underneath, they lightened to the color of ashes, but there was a dim illumination visible beneath the armor. It must be burning beneath the skin. Perhaps this was where he drew his fire from. As she drew closer, she could see that his wings were like those of a bat: leathery with a hard ridge of veins that extended from the sharp talons. A number of horned protrusions highlighted his sharp, serpentine face that was surprisingly expressive. Suddenly, he opened one enormous eye and stared at her. Thalia could actually see the muscle in his eye expand and contract as it focused on her. She got the distinct impression that he was staring as his eye narrowed and his entire body stilled. Finally, he spoke. “Do you plan on standing there gawking at me for the rest of the night?”

  “Well… I really just…”

  “Or perhaps some tiresome escape attempt?”

  “Of course not!” she replied a bit too quickly.