Terraformed Skies

by Anna Lewis

  The beating of the wings faded into the distance and all of Amaya’s other senses kicked in to fill the void. It was freezing, the December air bit through the thin white silk of the evening gown her father had insisted that she wear to his annual Winter Solstice soiree. The cold marble of the chair was unforgiving against her slender body. The edge of the seat bit into the back of her thighs. She tried to shift herself into a more comfortable position, but her wrists and ankles were bound; impossibly thin silver cords lashed her tightly to the chair.

  The last thing Amaya remembered, her father had been toasting her with a glass of dry champagne. She had taken a sip from her own glass and then darkness had fallen.

  “Father!” Amaya shouted, but her voice was swallowed by the winter wind and the ominous flapping sound, coming nearer again.

  There was no voice in reply, just the beating of wings, so close now that the frenzied flurries of the air stung her eyes.

  Where is he? Amaya thought frantically, struggling at her ropes. The silver cording sparkled in the clear moonlight, merrily mocking her struggles. “Father!” she shouted again, and again her cries died in the wind.

  A memory flashed, just a brief moment after she had sipped her champagne but before the darkness swallowed her. Her father smiled sadly at her, resignation in his eyes. “I love you, Amaya,” he’d said to her. “And I’m so, so sorry.”

  A shot of adrenaline coursed through her and Amaya struggled once more against the bonds. “Help!” she cried, twisting against her cords. She knew it was pointless to shout, she was over a thousand feet above the city. Her father had built the tallest tower he could, a symbol of his wealth and power. The old-money families of the city mocked him, turned up their noses at William Bond’s newly earned fortune. But William didn’t care about the opinion of New York’s old families and their dormant dynasties. He had conquered the stock exchange and become one of the richest men in America in only three short decades. They could mock him all they wanted, he was now worth more than almost all of them combined.

  The Bond Building was a symbol of William’s success: it was new, it was tall, it was gaudy. And now it was a trap for his only daughter.

  The door banged open behind her and Amaya craned her head, trying to get a glimpse of the visitor. She wasn’t able to see him, the tall stone back of the chair was too wide, but the voice was familiar.

  “Your father requested that you cease shouting, Miss Bond.” It was Holm, her father’s bodyguard. Amaya had known that low, comforting voice all her life, but there was a new tone in it. An indifferent chill that she’d never heard before.

  “Holm, thank god,” Amaya gushed. “Please, I don’t know what you and father are up to but—“

  “It will all be over soon, Miss Bond,” Holm interrupted.

  “What?” she said. “Holm, what are you talking about?” Amaya had to raise her voice now because the beating of wings was almost too intense to bear.

  “Holm!” she shouted once more, but the only reply was the slamming of the door, metal against metal.

  The wind whipped over the rooftop. Holm was gone, but Amaya did not think she was alone.

  The irate air was beating down on her now, tangling her carefully-coiffed copper curls. Amaya dropped her head, closed her eyes tightly against the intensity of the wind and begged whatever deity watched over imperiled socialites to make it stop.

  And it did. The only sound now was the blood rushing through her ears, the beating of her heart, her own ragged breathing.

  A curious scent– a mix of sea salt and sulfur– reached her only a moment before a voice.

  “Well, what do we have here?” A rough-edged drawl cut through the fresh stillness of the rooftop.

  Amaya hazarded a glance through her squinting lashes. A black-haired man stood in front of her, tattooed arms crossed firmly over his bare chest. Her peripheral vision informed her that the nudity wasn’t restricted to the stranger’s upper body. She resolutely kept her eyes locked on his face, ignoring the urge to drop her eyes to the dark patch that hovered tantalizingly at the bottom of her vision. It was impolite to ogle naked strangers, even if they were trespassing on her father’s roof.

  The stranger grinned at her, and took a step closer, as if daring her to drop her gaze. Amaya held his eyes instead, keeping hers locked on his, not looking away from their emerald depths.

  Something stirred deep within her, past the fear, past the anger. The mocking gleam of the stranger’s gaze had reached a part of Amaya that she didn’t even know existed. It was confusing. It was terrifying. It was intoxicating.

  She pushed the feeling aside and sat as straight as she could as the stranger approached her, his bare footsteps silent on the flagstones. She may be tied to a weird stone chair and faced with a nude, handsome stranger, but she was Amaya Bond, daughter of billionaire entrepreneur and heiress to the Bond fortune. Whatever was about to happen to her, she would face it with dignity.

  The man never looked away as he strode toward her, and Amaya matched him. As he grew closer, his scent again filled her nostrils but there was something else under the salt and fire, an un-nameable musk that hinted at tobacco, or perhaps the last dregs of a bottle of Malbec. Amaya wondered if this was the last thing she would smell before she died.

  When the stranger was close enough to touch her, he extended one roughened hand and ran his finger down her cheek, smoothing an auburn strand away from her tear-stained cheeks. Amaya hoped the moisture was from the wind, not fear. She did not know what fate the man had in store for her, but she’d be damned if she was going to let him see her cry.

  After a few long seconds, the man broke Amaya’s gaze.

  “Huh,” he observed, flicking his eyes up and down her bound figure. “You’re not a goat at all.”

  ***

  There wasn’t time enough for Amaya to form an answer a before a new voice sounded from behind her.

  “No, Raeph,” this voice said, golden and clear. “She’s not a goat. You of all people should know that.”

  Amaya already learned her lesson about trying to see behind her, so she simply watched the black-haired man, Raeph. His eyes narrowed and he took a sharp step back, away from her and away from the stranger, before he covered up his obvious distaste with a lopsided grin.

  “Endres! First son of Clan Solas!” Raeph said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for you: my father warned me you might show up. Although I didn’t expect to see quite so much of you.”

  Raeph shrugged and grinned. “It’s always such a pain in the ass to pack a change of clothes, isn’t it? I hate trying to manage luggage when I fly in.”

  Fly? Amaya’s brain spun wildly.

  “I didn’t hear you arrive, Endres. How did you get up here?”

  “I took the stairs, like a normal person,” Endres had finally stepped around the back of the altar, and Amaya breathed in sharply at the sight of him. If the naked dark-haired man, Raeph, was ruggedly attractive, this other one, Endres, was dazzling. White blond hair drooped over his forehead, lightly stirred by the cool night breeze. He was impeccably dressed in a gray silk suit that clung to him lovingly. The newcomer didn’t deign to look at Amaya, but instead kept his eyes on Raeph.

  “Ah, but you’re not a normal person, Endres,” Raeph retorted.

  “Neither are you.”

  “And I don’t pretend to be, do I?”

  Endres took in a sharp breath and exhaled slowly. “Do you mean to pick a fight with me every time we meet, Raeph?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe if you graced me with your company more than once every century—“

  “Oh please, you know my family isn’t welcome in your inner-circle—“

  “And whose fault is that?!”

  “The fault of every clan who shunned us after our fortunes turned,” Endres snapped.

  The two men instantly fell to squabbling, Amaya completely forgotten.

  “Excuse me,” Ama
ya hazarded. Although one was naked and the other dressed like a Hugo Boss model, neither man seemed an immediate threat. Perhaps they could take a break from their arguing to help her escape. “Excuse me!” she repeated, louder this time.

  Both men turned to her, eyes wide, as if they’d forgotten she was there.

  “The goat speaks,” said Raeph.

  “I’m not a goat,” Amaya replied.

  “She’s not a goat,” Endres said. “We’ve been over this.”

  Raeph frowned at him. “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Perfect, that I’m taking a little poetic license here.”

  Time was running out. “I don’t mean to be rude and I’m sure you have perfectly good reasons for being on my rooftop and making weird goat jokes at my expense, but could one of you please do me a huge favor and help me get loose? Please?”

  Raeph and Endres simply stared.

  “My father did, I don’t know, something to me and left me out here,” Amaya continued. “I don’t know if he meant it as a joke or a life lesson or a—“

  “Ceremonial sacrifice?” Endres finished.

  Ceremonial sacrifice. Amaya was suddenly too aware of the silver cords digging into her bound wrists and ankles, the cool silk of her white evening gown, the auspiciousness of the date: the Winter Solstice.

  “A what now?” she asked weakly.

  “Ceremonial sacrifice,” Raeph spoke this time, a mocking bite to his words. “It’s typically a goat. But, hey, whatever. I’ll accept a girl instead.”

  Neither man appeared to be armed. There were no knives in hand or ceremonial daggers tucked into belts. Honestly, Amaya couldn’t even begin to imagine where Raeph would be hiding a weapon, and the smooth lines of Endres’ suit betrayed no sign of a hidden knife.

  It had to be a joke, had to be. Amaya laughed, trying to stifle her crippling fear with a show of bravado. “And what exactly am I being sacrificed to, gentleman? The Sacred Brotherhood of Nudity and Calvin Klein?”

  Endres frowned at her feeble attempt at humor, but Raeph grinned even wider and leaned into Amaya’s space until they were also nose-to-nose. His teeth were astonishingly white, she noticed, very white, perfectly straight, and unusually sharp looking.

  “No, little goat,” Raeph whispered. “You’re being offered up to the dragon.”

  ***

  The fat winter moon hung over the city, casting pale light down on the rooftop of the Bond Building. The silver ropes glittered in the cold moonlight and the chill winter wind tugged at the white silk of Amaya’s gown.

  The two men stared at her intently; Raeph still leaning into Amaya, Endres looming behind. They seemed to be waiting for her to react.

  A good businessman has to have a great poker face, her father had always told her. It was time to put Amaya’s to the test.

  “There’s no such thing as dragons,” she said coolly, returning Raeph’s gaze.

  One black eyebrow shot up in surprise. “Oh really?” he sneered.

  “Oh no, here we go,” Endres muttered from behind him.

  Amaya was about to retort, but there was a booming sound–as if a large quantity of air had very quickly been displaced—and she found herself still staring into that disconcerting pair of emerald eyes, but now they were further away, set back at the end of a long, black-scaled snout. The smell of sulfur was overwhelming.

  “Still don’t believe in dragons, little goat?” The voice was still Raeph’s, but now it sounded like it had been dipped in molten iron.

  “Ignore him,” Endres stepped up and pushed Raeph’s snout away from Amaya’s face. “He’s just showing off.”

  “Showing off? That’s not showing off—“

  “Raeph, don’t—“

  “This is showing off, Endres.”

  With one great flap of his wings, Raeph was airborne. He snatched at Amaya’s stone chair, grasped it with his long black talons and lifted her high into the night sky.

  “Raeph!” Endres screamed from beneath them. “Come back here!”

  “Catch me!” Raeph roared, wheeling back toward the roof of the Bond Building. Amaya dangled below him, grasping the arms of the stone chair as best she could with her bound wrists. The remnants of her drugged champagne lurched in her stomach. If she threw up, she desperately hoped it would spatter up on Raeph’s silver-scaled belly. That was the least he deserved.

  “Raeph!” Endres shouted again. “She’s not yours! Bring her back!”

  “Make me, golden boy!” Raeph dipped back down toward Endres and then took off, screaming toward the East River.

  There was another pop of displaced air, and Amaya’s periphery was filled with another set of wings, these ones a deep blood red. Raeph banked left, but the other dragon kept pace with him.

  “You owe me a suit,” Endres’ voice said, coming from the red dragon’s mouth.

  The red dragon stretched his clawed talons toward Amaya and she ducked away. A burst of pain blossomed through her left leg and she screamed.

  “You’re hurting her, Raeph,” Endres shouted, and he lunged at her again.

  Amaya screwed her eyes closed, waiting for another blow, but felt only the wind whipping around her as the black dragon lurched away from the threat.

  A growl rumbled directly over her head.

  “I’m not hurting her, Endres! You are! Now, back off!” The black dragon flapped his enormous wings and jetted low over the river, screeching toward Brooklyn. The red dragon fell in behind them, no longer reaching for Amaya, but not giving up the chase.

  The sky-high lights of Manhattan disappeared behind them, giving way to the lower landscape of the borough.

  Great, Amaya thought, as the dragon carried her farther and farther from her father. I’m gonna die in Brooklyn.

  The journey took only lasted a few more minutes, but it felt like a lifetime to Amaya. Finally, the black dragon circled low over an abandoned factory and dropped Amaya ungracefully on the gritty rooftop.

  A small pop, and the dragon was gone. Raeph stood beside her, panting from the effort of the chase.

  “Let’s go,” he said, gripping her hard by the arm. “We need to get inside before Endres—“

  A skid of gravel, another pop, and Endres was standing on the rooftop beside them. His suit was gone, and he glared at them, naked and angry.

  “This is where you’ve been hiding out, Raeph?” Endres growled, his deep brown eyes aglow with contempt. “In a factory? Typical of a Donaes, I suppose.”

  Amaya didn’t know what reaction she expected from Raeph, but it certainly wasn’t good humor. The dark haired man, naked again, shook with laugher.

  “How completely Solas of you, Endres. Your clan never fails to disappoint me with your pretentious snobbery. Ironic, considering your current misfortune.”

  Endres reddened and took a step closer to Raeph. His eyes burned. “How dare you speak of my clan’s misfortune, when it was brought about entirely by the duplicitous actions of your—“

  Amaya toppled over. Blood seeped down her torn leg.

  Raeph and Endres leaned over her prone form, their argument momentarily forgotten.

  “Uh-oh,” Raeph muttered.

  ***

  When Amaya came to, she found herself in a small bed with clean white sheets and a chain attached to the footboard. The other end of the chain, much to her dismay, was linked to a thick iron cuff around her right ankle.

  Endres appeared at her side, his expression of concern nothing like the anger that had gilded his face on the roof.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered, voice kind. He wore a light gray t-shirt and slim pair of jeans that hung just a little too large on his lanky frame. Amaya wondered how long she’d been out. Long enough for Endres to go shopping?

  “They’re Raeph’s,” Endres informed her, as if he read her mind.

  She pulled herself up to sitting, and fresh pain shot up her right leg. Amaya gasped in pain, and Endres put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Easy, there,” he said. “I tried to c
are for you the best I could, but I am no healer.”

  The shreds of Amaya’s white silk gown hung over her injured leg, stained with streaks of red, drying to an ugly brown. The wound had stopped bleeding, however, and appeared to be knit together, the repaired skin shining in the waning moonlight.

  “I… well, I cauterized it,” Endres admitted. “It’s the best I could do to stop the bleeding.”

  Amaya said nothing, just stared at her leg.

  “I’m sorry that I caused you pain,” the man said, his head dropping with shame.

  Insane laughter burst from Amaya. “You’re sorry you caused me pain, dragon boy?” she snapped, trying to quell the laughter. This was neither the time nor the place for histrionics. “You’re sorry? Oh my god, of all the ridiculous, stupid statements—“

  “You have my apology, what more do you want?” Endres looked pained.

  “I want to go home,” she replied.

  “Then you ask for the one thing I cannot give you,” he said. “Ask for something else, and I will do my best to fulfill your wish.”

  Amaya didn’t want money or a favor; she just wanted her freedom. “I’d like to use the restroom please,” she told the dragon.

  Endres looked puzzled. He fished through his borrowed jeans, pulled out a small key and unlocked her fetter. “Lean on me,” he instructed, hoisting Amaya up against him for support.

  They proceeded like this—Amaya limping and Endres holding her up—through the dimly lit room.

  “It’s an old light bulb factory, I guess,” Endres informed her as they passed a stack of dusty cardboard boxes with “100 watt” stamped on their sides. “Leave it to Raeph to pick the grungiest lair he could find.”

  Raeph. Amaya had forgotten about the other dragon. “Where is he?” she ventured.

  Endres shook his head, white-blond hair falling over his forehead. “He stepped out for a moment.”

  “And left me with you? Weren’t you two just arguing about which of you was going to eat me?”