Dragon Guardian (Drakins of Wyrmarach)

by Eden Glenn

  He cocked his head as if considering many divergent possibilities. “I’ll do as you suggested and be ready for customers.”

  Wren returned to her office feeling something monumental was happening around her without understanding her place in the events. She sipped at her tea while she tried to concentrate on the financial mess before her. Her eyes kept drifting to the couch. She remained distracted by memories of the delicious feelings the two men had given her.

  The front door chime rang. She almost got up before she remembered Caleb was handling customers. Amazing how much she already relied on the two, she couldn’t shake the feeling of connectedness, like she’d known them so much longer than just the chaotic morning.

  She deleted twenty-five emails from Ron without opening them. Jeash, the guy never gave up. She went over her sales inventory. Renee’s chain mail bracelets sold well, along with Georgia’s lemon grass eucalyptus goat’s milk soap.

  If she could only predict what items would be hot and stock them. Looking at the expenses versus the income revealed the sad truth. If she didn’t get a handle on things soon and build a steady customer base, she wouldn’t have to worry about it much longer. She would be out of business.

  The tinkling bell attached to the front door rang again. Damn bell. Either Caleb was going in and out of the door a lot or the gossip mongers had descended.

  She peaked out to see him talking with two women she didn’t recognize. He seemed able to handle himself. She leaned back in her chair, determined to think of how she could save her dream business. Instead of focusing on the need for more fairy necklaces in stock, she lost herself in fantasies of Ethan and Caleb. Fixing the mess her life had jettisoned into would take a lot more than fairy dust.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ethan held up the hex head bolt from Wren’s stairs for Old Man Monroe to scrutinize. He was as much a fixture at the hardware store as the baskets of bolts, nuts and screws. Ethan had never heard anyone use the man’s first name. He’d already been home to gather tools he needed for the construction project. He couldn’t find a socket that would fit the odd shaped bolt.

  “Maybe I’ll have to get a different size but this is the original bolt that matches the others on the stairs. I need to find a socket that will fit.”

  Old Man Monroe ran his hand through his wiry whiskers sticking out from his face much like a hedgehogs bristly coat. “Jeb.” He called to the other veteran in hardware residence. “You ever seen one o’ these. None of the standard sizes seem to fit.”

  Jeb shuffled his way over, the hard soles of his steel toed boots making a gritty scoff against the concrete floor. He took the bolt from Old Man Monroe to examine. The round thick lenses of his glasses made his eyes magnify to owlish orbs as he squinted and turned the bolt looking at the head.

  “Forty-five millimeter McMaster Penta-bolt” he pronounced. “--Made in Italy--Takes a special socket. There was a metal stair way kit you could buy that had everything in it for assembly, boards were even cut to size for the treads. They also make a size for manhole covers. Several of the buildings around here have them as a replacement when the original wooden stair risers rotted.”

  The man’s recollection was amazing. Something niggled at the edge of Ethan’s psi-awareness; Jeb’s recollection was a little too phenomenal.

  Old Man Monroe dug through the collection of sockets looking for the right one. “I thought we’ve had one here then.”

  “We did have. Don’t now.” The grizzled Jeb said matter-of-factly.

  “Why’d we get rid of it?”

  “Didn’t get rid of it.”

  “Then why isn’t it here.”

  “Sold it.”

  “Sold it?”

  “Sold it. That’s how I recognized the bolt. Fella had a picture and exact measurements of one just a few days ago and needed a socket for remodeling to some stairs on one of the buildings down town.”

  Ethan steadied himself placing a hand on the shelving as a vision descended. “I don’t suppose you know this guy’s name.” Flashes of the scene blew through his consciousness revealing the description of the man in question. He’d recognize him if he came across him.

  “Naw, he paid cash. Nerdy character, he didn’t look the handy sort to me. But what do I know. He bought the socket. It musta worked he hasn’t been back.”

  ≽∞≼

  Kiernan steeled himself against the onslaught today’s torture would bring. Bits of his dragon body, Phaux, carved away on a sea of pain. The mad scientist hummed while he worked. He was at his worst when he hummed. The heat in the slaughter house wrung a new level of sour from the cretin’s body odor.

  Kiernan doubted he’d stop even when the Phaux was nothing but a husked carcass of bone. He’d probably whittle into his bones and fester in his organs like a maggot. Yes, maggot suited him better than weasel, stinking little maggot of pain boring under his skin.

  The iron bound him in dragon form. He’d struggled to shift to human to slip the wretched collar and escape. Then when the maggot concocted another bizarre experiment he’d turn up the booming base beat pulsing from the stereo speakers. The throbbing base caused the massive dragon into a physical paralysis Kiernan was unable to break. That he was reduced to a hulking slab of meat by sound waves defeated him. His mind screamed against the violation. I’m a man, I’m a MAN, not an animal; I’m not an animal; not an animal. Yet the beast remained a helpless prisoner to the insanity of the maggot.

  He listened to the worm rant about Wren and rejoiced that she’d managed to escape harm. If he understood his captor’s occasional outbursts, Wren was in the company of shifters or watchers. If he could reach her with his thoughts, she might be able to send help. They’d dated for a few weeks before Kiernan had been captured. He’d considered deepening their relationship. She was a breath of fresh air from all the pressure he was under from his home dimension and from his mission of infiltrating the Knights of Druiere’.

  In moments he considered turning his back on the whole mess and finding escape with Wren. He’d not tried to contact her with his mental energy before, not knowing what she might do to free him. But if she were in contact with Watchers now there might be hope. They’d established enough rapport in their time together that she might hear his thoughts and get him help.

  He closed his eyes and grasped the illusive threads of memory of the woman-- everything about her whispered peace to him. He thought on memories of her shining redness of her hair, burning flames wreathing the glow of her happiness, a radiant smile, sparkling green eyes. Wren, Wren, hear me, I need your help.

  He’d been drawn to her even if he’d not been pointed in her direction by his masters. She held some fascinating power he’d not been able to decipher the origin. Even in his madness the maggot had been drawn to her as well, a dangerous attraction. Another cut in his hide drew a scream unconsciously from him. Get help, Wren. Can you hear me? Nothing. He must go deeper into the darkness to find escape. Despair settled on him, blanketing any hope of Wren hearing or answering him. At what point would there be no return from the darkness?

  Kiernan’s mind wandered back to the single act that had been the root decision that led to this personal hell. What had begun as a search for meaning behind a rumor. The decision that had played him into the power of the spider queen who’d delivered him into the hands of another. Dirk Hamilton, the rogue who’d infiltrated the Knights of Druiere’, in order to become the driving force of their destruction.

  Instead he’d turned that power into his own Earthside kingdom. Perhaps he too was an agent of the Queen. The power of a name trusted to the wrong person brought his ultimate downfall. Dirk had first summoned him with the sacred name words entrusted to the queen verifying that link in the insidious chain.

  He’d awoken with Dirks hands clasping his skull, eyes boring into his having finished planting a mind control so deep and so powerful it bound him surely as this iron did. Kiernan had become a pawn in a magnificent game of chess all in sear
ch of a prophesied deliverer that never arrived.

  One betrayal leading to another and another until at last he arrived here as worm food for the maggot, delivered into the hands of madness. The hopelessness of despair set the stage for the kill. Knowledge that there was no hope eroded his tenuous hold on sanity.

  A presence soothed across his despair. That small fae woman hadn’t left, he bellowed for her to go away, save herself. No, wait she’d escaped. Was it only days ago or maybe longer? His time sense was scrambled. A faint gleam suffused the corners of his vision. This couldn’t be, his eyes were closed. Perhaps a vision then, maybe death had come at long last. The pain reduced him to babbling whimpers begging for the final darkness.

  “Hush now, I have purpose for you. Your suffering is not unheard or in vain.”

  Her raven darkness held its own glow and encompassed him around like pale light. Death has come for me, deliver the mercy blow of ConAnasia to end my suffering.

  “No my warrior. I am not your death. I am life.” She placed her hands about his huge draconic head, spreading a balm of soothing from her fingertips.“A curse remains deep in your soul. You must fight it. When the time is right you will have the power you need. For now you must survive.”

  There is no survival of this hell. There is only death. The destroyer will take you as well if you don’t go now, escape, save yourself.

  “Fear not dear one, only you can see and hear me.”

  You are the Goddess and I am not worthy of the paradise of Gla’hera then. I am already dead left to suffer in the wards of hell.

  “Kiernan, listen to me. You draw breath and you continue to live. I need you alive. I bring you a message of Lumatia Sacrismo. You are destined to serve my appointed daughter as the Tao'Taran.”

  A Revelation of the Goddess, who am I to receive such enlightenment, I’m nothing. This can’t be. I’m a pawn of evil, broken and near death. Now you tell me I am to be the sword arm of the warrior Queen. Our people have waited so long for a deliverer who never came.

  “You will not die. Everything will work together for your good and the glory of the Goddess. My chosen elect.”

  Chosen? The mad maggot that carved on his flesh called himself “The Chosen”. He screamed as pain penetrated his fading body as clearly as a blade stabbed into his flesh. My destruction engineered for your glory. I have arrived at another level of hell, my own madness.

  “Ah dear Kiernan. You may think you’ve descended deeper into hell before your mission is accomplished. Remember my words, you are the Tao’Taran of the Queen to be. She comes soon. You will join with her mates the Man’Tung who now enforce the veil between worlds as they journey toward ascension with her to rule our people. She will become Queen and Guardian of the race. While you are predestined to this path you must claim it as surely as she claims you.”

  He knew he’d fallen into hallucinations from the pain of torture. How long had he lasted, six months, more? How much longer could this go on, his body failing and his mind broken? Dirks voice chuckled in his mind. Why as long as I say it shall, my dear boy and you will submit because it is my will.

  He’d always submit to the demand of the evilness that controlled him. He had no choice-- no choice. Pain became a sharp focal point that made his existence continue moment by moment. Pain took him away and pain always brought him back.

  “Take courage and claim your destiny. It is for you to choose, save her, save our people or become the ultimate betrayer.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Caleb surveyed her kingdom, the small curiosities shop Wren reigned as Queen. A gossamer wisp of commercialism in the store poorly disguised the raw under current of ancient power. He’d missed the slumbering potency of energy before.

  He leaned against the mantle of the older stone fireplace, small objects randomly displayed on the wooden shelf above the hearth. A long blade with gold overlaid from button to quillon rest gently in its display rack.

  A whisper of power stroked him. She’d inherited an interesting trove of artifacts bearing further investigation. And, he would need to learn more about this grandmother she’d so lovingly referred to.

  If she needed him to be a shop keeper this morning and give her room to think then shop keeper he would be. He couldn’t miss the concern over her finances. She needed to sell things here to make money to stay in business. However, it was more than selling things. The task would be to get the necessary objects to the right people. He slid his arms in the sleeves of the t-shirt she’d given him, flexing and giving it a fabric screaming stretch before he pulled it over his head. He’d set aside a hideous pink one for Ethan. He’d wear it just because Caleb would convince him the girl had picked it out for him. He chuckled to himself. It would be sweet.

  There a woman walked down the street as if to pass the store. She must need something. She looked idly in the windows, hesitated then pushed open the heavy walnut door. She looked around bewildered.

  “May I help you Miss.” Caleb intoned with just the right amount of, of course I can help you, laced in his voice.

  “I’m sure you can help me. I’m looking for…” she paused, seeming at a loss for what she was looking for.

  Caleb glanced around grasping for what she could possibly want. “A gift for a friend, perhaps, we have some specialty made goats’ milk soap, scented with essential oils.” He held up a bar from the display. She walked forward smiling in obvious relief.

  “Yes, of course I should pick up a thank you gift for my secretary. She’s been so helpful lately.” She sniffed the bar of soap, judiciously at first and then inhaling the aroma gustily. “Oh my god, that smells so good. What is it?”

  He read the label. “Rosemary, lavender and lemon grass.”

  “I’ll take three for gifts and three for myself.”

  That set the tone for Caleb’s morning.

  ≽∞≼

  The doorbell interrupted Wren’s thoughts again. How annoying, the tinkling noise announcing the opening and closing door all morning. She’d entered the week’s receipts, made deposits and orders. Looking around she was somewhat surprised the amount of time that had passed and all the really did accomplish while her mind wandered. She might as well check on the shop and find out what was going on.

  Surely all the old biddies in town had been by checking out why the cruiser had been parked out front. Sitting in the office stewing over the financial situation she had little control over wasn’t productive. It was depressing. There was a chance the Samhain open house would infuse the business with new patrons, a hope she clung to. She still wanted coffee, but maybe he would want tea now. She fixed him a cup and then wandered out of her office, balancing the mug of Asian White.

  He was lost in earnest conversation with a customer about the metaphysical properties of gems and stones. He’d chosen a black t-shirt with a white silk screen slogan across the front that read, I come with my own background music. The shirt fit him snug, enhancing the definition of his sculptured muscles. She leaned on the counter and watched him in action.

  He spoke to the woman; his voice carried a lilting cadence, as if English wasn’t his primary language. The accent was strangely familiar but she couldn’t remember where she’d heard it before. He listened carefully to the woman talk then helped her select a hematite, a piece of amethyst, a nicer carved jade, and a velvet pouch to hold the stones together.

  He encouraged her choices with soft words and shy smiles as he pointed and held crystals for her to examine. Wren noted the woman’s predatory looks at Caleb and her coy touches on the back of his hand and arm.

  She managed to keep her possessive urges to herself, but her freaking tongue would probably have scars to prove it. She sighed in relief when the woman finally left the shop with $175 dollars’ worth of product. Opening the register drawer, Wren found it packed with, cash, checks and credit card receipts. Caleb had done more business in one morning than she usually did all week.

  “You’re a natural,” she told him com
ing around the counter. “I should pretend to do the books all day and let you work your magic.” She handed him the cooling herbal. “Maybe you should walk up and down the sidewalk outside. That should bring a few more women over out of curiosity.” The asperity in her tone was at odds with the mushy way he and his brother made her feel. At least she had a voice again. The tea he’d given her earlier did soothe her throat.

  “You have a beautiful voice. I’m glad the tea helped.” Caleb’s eyes explored her as he sipped the drink. She frowned. Were they that in sync that he could guess her thoughts.

  Caleb braced his hands on the counter behind him, and leaned back, oozing more sensuality than a Calvin Klein billboard. Sexual harassment or not, she ogled. She needed a distraction or she would end up draped over him like a silk sheet. The places and ways she wanted to kiss him were totally inappropriate.

  “Where is Ethan?” She fought not to sound breathless.

  “He’s outside. Perhaps you should check on him. He’s been working on your stairs.” He took a long swallow of the tepid tea, and then added, “He has your wish for outside advertisements covered.” He winked at her. The man wore smug oh so well.

  “What is he doing, besides fixing my stairs?” She demanded. “What outside advertisement?”

  Instead of answering, Caleb turned her toward the door. Another woman made her way into the shop and Wren was torn between leaving to see what Ethan was doing or staying to see what Caleb would do. Curiosity over Ethan got the best of her and she forced herself to go outside to find him.

  She found Ethan, naked from the waist up, working with a circular saw, a light sheen of perspiration covering his hard packed torso. Boards, tools and debris lay scattered over the tailgate of a dilapidated grey dodge truck, which looked held together with bondo, wire and rust. The pine pitch aroma of saw dust caused her to breathe deep filling her senses. She relished the sharp, clean smell.