Huntress: A Paranormal Romance

by Alexandra Christian

  “Well, that’s probably wise. No one will come any closer to Gwynfir than Isling. And your own sovereign has already decided your fate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The dragon sat up once more on his haunches and yawned with a rumble she could feel in her own chest. “Surely you’re familiar with Sheakhol. That ridiculous sacrificial rite you were subjected to.”

  “Of course I am,” she said with an air of superiority. “The spell unites the dragon and his virgin bride.”

  “Poetic isn’t it?”

  “It’s barbaric.”

  The dragon laughed, a deep gravelly tone that was both warm and frightening. “Humans are such delightful little hypocrites.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The dragon whipped around, stretching its long neck to curl around her body. “Did you think that I could not smell the hilt of my brother’s dagger? That my keen eyes could not see it hidden in your skirts as you lay sleeping on the floor?” His teeth were much larger this close, and Thalia shuddered. She could smell the bitter scent of decay on his warm breath. “Do not think me a fool, dragonslayer!”

  “Of course… I would never…”

  “No,” he growled, his enormous body slithering around her as she tried to back away. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I only… I was chosen…”

  “Chosen?” he asked.

  “Yes. To be the sacrifice.”

  “And why is that, I wonder?” Thalia stumbled backward, falling over his massive tail and sitting down hard on the stones. “What makes you so special?”

  “It was only coincidence.”

  “No such thing.”

  “My father was a great slayer of Tarkin, that’s true.”

  “Ugh,” the dragon scoffed with obvious exasperation. He lay down once more. “Boring.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your ridiculous lies and tricks. They won’t work. I’m not some mindless reptile skittering along the stones at Thane. Tristan was obviously trying to use Sheakhol to lure me into the city so I’d take his little dragonslayer to my lair where she would, in turn, slaughter me while I was vulnerable. Am I wrong?”

  “I…”

  “Of course not. So here you are. The only thing I haven’t figured out is why you haven’t tried to use your dagger yet.”

  Thalia gathered her courage. It was the only way she was going to survive this ordeal and get back home. Home. The thought of Esa and her warm fire pit made fresh tears spring to Thalia’s eyes. “Perhaps I’m just waiting for the opportune moment.”

  “Perhaps I am,” he said with a grin that showed all of his teeth. His meaning was not lost, and Thalia recoiled. He laughed a great, growly noise at seeing her bravery fall short. “Not to worry, Mouse. I’ll not be eating you today.”

  “But why not?”

  “You’d prefer to be eaten?”

  “Well… no. But what makes me so special?”

  “I’m a Dragon Lord. I don’t have to explain myself to one so lowly.”

  Thalia narrowed her eyes. “Lowly?”

  He turned that great reptilian head toward her again. He seemed to be examining her body language. Studying her reactions. “Surely you don’t think yourself greater than I.” The dragon raised up to his full height and spread his wings. The ends of his horns brushed against the impossibly high ceiling, and his claws left deep cracks in their wake. “My strength surpasses any force imaginable! My breath of fire can raze even the greatest of kingdoms to the ground. My wings can shake the very foundations of the earth with the slightest gesture! My mind is so keen that it can pluck the thoughts from your head. I can see your past, present, and future. This is why you are lowly, Mouse. Humans are merely food. Or pets.”

  Thalia lay on her back before him, propped on her elbows and staring up at him with awe and terror. He could crush her with a mere flick of his talon, but she dared not show fear. “Your arrogance is quite a performance, my lord.”

  “You would do well to watch your tongue,” he snarled. “Lest your words be carved upon your tomb.” Thalia stood up, her heart pounding as she brushed the dirt from her gown. She was fascinated, watching the muscular frame move beneath the iron scales that slipped over one another. She could see that he had a deep wound between his shoulder blades that had begun to weep blood down his back.

  “You’ve hurt yourself,” Thalia murmured, hugging her body to try and keep warm in this dank, dark place.

  “It will heal,” he growled. “It would take more than the impotent blade of my brother to kill me.”

  “Brother?”

  “Oh yes… the great Tristan of Osghast is my brother. My father, believing me a monster, cast my body out. It was only by the mercy of the Fae that I survived. If you can call being forever banished from the world, cloaked in a sheath of scales and horns mercy.”

  “If he is your brother… surely he will…”

  “What? Show mercy? Take me into the kingdom as his equal?” he roared, turning on her with a dexterity that frightened her. “Your naïveté is charming, Mouse. My brother and father cast me out, and now I will take my vengeance upon them!”

  “And what of the people? Those innocents of Osghast…”

  “Those innocents who would chain a lone, terrified maiden to the rocks to either be eaten by a hungry dragon or slowly die as the cormorants feast upon her wind-burned flesh in the slimmest hope that they might save themselves!”

  “They were frightened!”

  “They are weak!” the dragon shrieked, startling her. “They fear what they do not understand, and that makes them dangerous. Better that I rid the world of their ineptitude. Your people… the kingdoms of men. They are a virus! A plague upon this earth that should be eradicated.” The dragon bowed down on his haunches until he was staring into Thalia’s eyes. The fire and ice intensity of his gaze burned into her, and though she was afraid, she could see something there. Something lurking beneath that was so human and familiar. But that was impossible. “A cleansing fire could be the medicine this land so desperately needs.”

  “There are good people there,” she said, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. “You are a Dragon Lord. You could guide them…”

  “To what end? Do you know why it would be pointless for you to run away, little one? Not because I would stop you.”

  “I wouldn’t…”

  “Surely you realize that should you escape, no one in the whole of Osghast would offer you friendship or shelter for fear of incurring the wrath of the Dragon Lord. In fact, if you were found, the citizens of Osghast would throw your body on a blazing pyre to await the lord that would come to feast upon your bones. You see, Sheakhol doesn’t just attract one particular dragon, it attracts many.”

  Thalia’s heart pounded in her chest, and she abandoned all hope of hiding her fear as the dragon’s body slithered around her like a serpent. “I… I don’t wish to escape…”

  “Go ahead! Run!” he shouted, his growling voice echoing off the stone walls until bits of the crumbling fresco fell at their feet.

  “Please, my lord…,” she whimpered.

  “What are you waiting for? Run, tiny mouse! Run for your life!” His massive foot stomped the ground, shaking the room.

  “No,” she cried. The hot sting of tears wetted her eyes and soon they would fall. “I won’t run.”

  “No,” he said finally, his voice quieting. “You won’t. These good people you speak of would beat you to a pulp and drag you to Prince Tristan and his idiot magician. These good people are cowards. Only looking after their own hides!” And now his voice seemed full of tears and loathing. “How else could they cast out one of their own? Even a dragon cannot be so cruel!”

  “I… I’m sorry.” She reached a shaking hand out to touch the leathery scales. He narrowed his eyes, watching in disbelief that she would dare.

  The dragon turned away, folding his wings behind him. “Go. You will find appointments for one more… human. Up the
stairs.”

  “But I…”

  “Go!” he roared. “Out of my sight!”

  Gathering her skirts, Thalia did the only thing she could. She ran.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What were you thinking?” Christophe shouted. He turned on Grafton. “It was you! You put him up to this!”

  Grafton shook his head, fearing this old man who had suddenly been invigorated with rage. “Sire, you can’t possibly believe that I would have purposefully tried to hurt the people of Osghast!” Grafton bowed and sniveled to him, practically kissing the old man’s slippers. “My only intention has ever been to help you, my king.”

  “It seems you missed the mark. A dragon in Thane! The tower destroyed! Nearly a hundred dead! An innocent maiden from Tarkin thrown to the crags!” He whipped around, turning on Tristan. He stood there with arms crossed next to the fireplace. He didn’t seem bothered by any of the events of the last several hours. “Is this how you intend to save our people, Tristan?”

  “Father,” the prince began. Honey dripped from his lips. Tristan had been manipulative since he was a boy. “Nyxyn thought that the dragon might be satisfied with a sacrifice. The way our ancestors dealt with these beasts.”

  “A magician? You thought a magician and his parlor tricks might deal with a dragon? Have you completely lost your mind?”

  “Father, he assured myself and Grafton that he could stop the dragon! What would you have us do?”

  “Keep my counsel in those matters of which you know nothing!” Christophe spat. The old man was quivering with restrained anger. His silver hair hung in sweaty tendrils, and his eyes were bloodshot. He turned on Grafton. “You! Out of my sight. Scuttle back to your gypsy shithole before I have you arrested for abetting this mess!”

  Grafton gave a short bow and cast a livid glare toward Tristan. “As it pleases you, sire.”

  Christophe watched as the minister left, practically shuffling along the floor like the snake his personality so heartily emulated. How Tristan had allowed himself to fall in with the likes of Grafton. The man would betray them at the first opportunity. Such foolishness only strengthened his resolve not to retire as his son would wish.

  “You shouldn’t let this upset you so, Father. Your heart…”

  “Yes, son. My heart is broken to think that my own flesh could be so stupid!”

  “Father!”

  “Yes. In trying to show our strength, you’ve made us a joke amongst every kingdom on the continent! And that’s not the worst of it!”

  “Oh please…”

  “Oh yes, my son. Once word reaches Tarkin that a slayer has been sacrificed, what do you think they’ll do? It will be an invitation for open rebellion!”

  “Then let it come!” Tristan shouted. “The people need an example!”

  “The people need a strong leader!”

  “And who will lead them, Father? You? You’re an old man, pining for a lost love like a pathetic adolescent. The last several months you’ve barely gotten out of your chair except to piss into the fire!”

  “I didn’t raise my son to talk to me this way,” Christophe mumbled. When he looked into Tristan’s eyes, he could see the hatred there burning brightly. It had always been so. When he was a boy, Christophe had tried to love him, but whenever he had gazed into his child’s face, all he could see was Katrin. Tristan was a constant reminder of Christophe’s sins. His birth had crippled their relationship from the start. As an adolescent, Tristan had been desperate to win his father’s approval, but nothing had ever been enough. No matter what he did, Tristan could never bring his mother back. Soon after, the boy had stopped trying.

  “You think Grafton is a revolutionary? Perhaps he is! Perhaps he and his kin will lead the way toward an open war we will not win! Show him that we will not stand for it, Father!”

  “You are blinded by your thirst for power, Tristan. You will be king someday, but you are not ready!”

  “And when will I be ready, Father? When there is no kingdom left to rule? Perhaps this is all your doing, Father! Perhaps it is you who is in league with the dragon!”

  Christophe fell silent for a moment. Tristan’s words had taken him aback. His mouth worked as if he were searching for the right words and falling short. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about! The past is full of old ghosts that you could not possibly understand.”

  “I went to see her, Father,” Tristan spat. “The Fae within the Dark Forest…” Christophe turned, and for a moment, he could not speak. How much had Mab told him? This secret, their family’s poison boil, had been bubbling under the surface far too long. “She said she knew you. That you had brought this upon us.”

  “Tristan…”

  “No! Just tell me the truth!”

  “Your mother,” Christopher said. “She could not conceive, and Mab was the only hope we had to secure Osghast’s future. She promised to help us, but fairies cannot be trusted. They are fickle friends. I had no idea what evil would befall us.”

  “Don’t you dare blame my mother for your treachery!”

  “My son… I tried to spare you this. But what’s done is done. Leave the dragon be!”

  “Leave him be! You killed my mother! Just as sure as if you’d run her through with your blade!”

  “Tristan,” Christophe gasped. “You must believe me. I did not know what was going to happen! I was desperate.”

  “This is why you’ve hated me! My whole life you’ve been the specter at the feast, lurking in shadows. You knew! You watched the towns burn one by one!” With every word, Tristan became more furious, backing his father against the wall. “You let our people die to protect your lies!”

  “I’ve never… hated you, my son.” Christophe reached for him, desperate for his forgiveness. He knelt as his feet, taking his hands as if desperately trying to hold on. The realization that Tristan thought—had always thought—that his father hated him was too much. “Everything I’ve ever done was to protect you. Your mother… she wanted a child so badly. And I needed an heir. I loved her, Tristan. I could never deny her happiness.”

  “So you made a deal with that Fae whore!”

  “Believe me, son. I never imagined that Mab could be so cruel.” He bowed his head. “That she would cause such misery. We were friends. I’d known her since I was a child. I trusted her! Your mother tried to warn me. She sensed that something was wrong, but I was too foolish to listen.” Christophe broke down, crying openly at Tristan’s feet. “Please, my son… please forgive me…” As he looked down on the old man, the prince felt nothing but loathing. His weakness ran so deeply that it outshone all else. “You’re right, Tristan. I killed her with my lust and greed…”

  “So what she told me is true? The dragon… it’s my brother. My twin.”

  Christophe nodded, sobbing into his son’s hands. “Gods help us, it is. The dragon is your brother.”

  Tristan shook his head, bringing Christophe’s hands to his lips. “Rise, Father,” he said, kissing the back of his father’s knuckles gently. “Please… it is I who should be asking your forgiveness.” He helped the old man to his feet and pulled him into a tight embrace. “I’ve been a fool.” As Tristan held him, Christophe could feel the tension still there in his son’s embrace. The hatred and greed that rolled off him in waves. “For not seeing what you really were.”

  “Tristan!”

  The sharp blade slid between the king’s ribs easily. White hot pain exploded in his side, and instinctively he tried to pull back, but Tristan held him tight. He wanted to scream for help, that his son had taken leave of his senses, but it was no use. The tip of Tristan’s dagger pierced his lung, and no air could escape. The blood was already blossoming hot and wet from the wound. Christophe could already hear it dripping to the floor in a viscous syrup. “A groveling, impotent…,” Tristan hissed, twisting the dagger so that it tore through organs and tissue. It was indeed an effective weapon. “…coward,” he whispered, kissing his father’s cheek as he
let him down slowly.

  “Long live the king.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thalia burst through the first door she reached at the top of the ruined staircase. To her surprise, there was a bedchamber there. It was old and strewn with cobwebs as if it had been frozen in time and a transparent, shimmery cloth had been laid over everything. She could smell decaying flowers and the sharp stench of charred wood. An old fireplace, cold and full of ancient ashes dominated one side of the room. In the center was a large bed with the charred remains of drapes hanging around it. The coverlet was covered with dust, but Thalia could tell that it had once been magnificent. Like everything in this place, it told the tale of a lavish past. She’d never seen anything like it. Even before her life as a slayer with her tribe in Tarkin, Esa’s cottage had been no palace. It was cozy and warm. In fact, she thought that someday she’d like nothing more than to spend the rest of her days there, but there was nothing lavish or resplendent about it.

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” she said aloud as she wandered around the room. “No one has lived in these ruins for a thousand years.”

  “On the contrary. It’s been more than two thousand.” Thalia turned to see a chambermaid standing in the doorway. “But time doesn’t mean much in this place.” As the maid came into the light, Thalia was struck by her extraordinary beauty. Delicate features adorned pale alabaster skin. Every movement was a graceful dance as she moved across the room. She was familiar, but Thalia could not place her. Surely she would remember someone like this maid. “Does my appearance frighten my lady?”

  “No,” Thalia stammered. “I was... I was frightened... yes. But only because…”

  “I know. Malik can be frightening. Of course, he’s really just all bluster and arrogance. He’s really not so bad once you get to know him.”

  “And you know him I suppose?”

  The girl chuckled. It was a pleasant, tinkling sound that immediately made Thalia smile. “As much as anyone can know a dragon.” The chambermaid began fluttering around the room brushing the dust and grime from the furniture and opening drapes. Golden light pushed through the gloom, and Thalia began to relax. Everything looked better in the day. “You’ve very pretty.”