Finding Me: Book 1: All I've Ever Wanted (A New Adult Romance Series)

by Unknown

  "No, Darrel!" Anastania screamed as Darrel pounced. My life flashing before my eyes as I closed them tightly, prepared now to die before the sound of snarling, and wolfish gnashing forced me to open my eyes, and I looked upon fully now as another werewolf appeared, standing where Anastania had stood before, wearing the tattered remains of her clothing as she pinned Darrels wolfish body up against the wall, causing dust and debris to float down. I understood now fully as well, that Anastania was more than just a tool used by Darrel, but now realized, she was a werewolf the same as him.

  Together they fought, snarling and cursing as they slashed at one another, bit and scratched and fought. My senses coming back to me as I raised my rifle and shot out towards the stairs, yelling for Dad to do the same to keep them from interfering into the battle between Anastania and Darrel, striking several of the other werewolves as yelps rung out from the stairs. No doubt while they would not die from the strikes, they could still feel the bitter pain of bullets hitting their body, causing several of them to retreat further into the house as the storm outside grew worse and worse.

  However, eventually our ammunition ran out, but fortunately, Anastania, spurred on by her need to protect me and my Dad, continued to fight Darrel, gaining the upper hand as he backed up towards the door leading up the stairs towards the house proper. Bleeding from his snout, cuts and gouges torn from his flesh as he hissed towards us. "This... isn't.. over. Not by a long shot. We'll be back.." he hissed once more, snarling as he turned quickly, darting up the stairs, and out of sight. No doubt to join his pack and recover from their failure to kill us this night.

  For the longest of time, no one had said anything. The wolfish form of Anastania turning to look at me. Her own red eyes illuminating her features as she simply looked towards me. In a way, I sensed what she was feeling. Scared, hurt, and unsure of herself. In fact, I was feeling much the same way as I walked up towards her slowly. Reaching out with a hand towards her wolfish face as her body slowly melted off its feral visage, returning back to the normalcy of her human trappings, turning back into a person instead of an animal. Shaking her head as she looked towards me.

  "Danny.. I never wanted to tell you. You were so nice to me, the only one in a long time that I felt I could trust you."

  "Shh... Shh Ana.. Shh.. It's alright." I said, reaching out towards her in a hug, drawing her in. She saved us, and no amount of animalistic tendencies she had could change my mind for her, and my growing love for someone who was willing to sacrifice it all to save me and my Father.

  And that was the start of the relationship that me and Anastania ended up having together. Her moving into the home with me and my Dad, joining my family, falling in love with one another. In truth, my life afterwards was never the same, and while it's hard to fathom the many turns and twists that led to this very moment in time for me, I cannot say if I'm better off than I was a year ago. But for now, I have the love of a woman who wants to improve herself, who wants to protect Harborbooth and myself from Darrel and his gang, and I and my Dad feel like some sort of protectors of the citizens of this little Maine town, and I suppose, in a way that's good enough for me.

  Dragon Magic

  Chapter 1

  Taro gasped as he cut the connection with the Essence. He winced as feeling returned to his body, working through the cramps from meditating in one position for so long. As the Essence retreated from his body, Taro felt tired and hungry as he was forced to rely on his own meager energy.

  In front of him, Orefar looked up as Taro pulled out of his meditation. Taro’s master reached for a cup at his side, shuffling over and offering it to Taro.

  “You’ve been in a trance for a long time,” Orefar said. “How was it?”

  “I…I don’t know,” Taro said. “The Essence has become so confusing lately. It’s like I can see it, but I can’t touch it.”

  “What do you mean? The Essence is everywhere. Constant and always moving like the oceans themselves.”

  “I know, but it feels like it avoids me, goes around me, like a boulder in a stream,” Taro said.

  Orefar frowned. “We all have our place in the Essence. Perhaps one day you will find it.” He glanced at the nearby, glowing diaphanous ball of light. It had shrunk considerably from when they first started, feeding itself on the Essence provided by Orefar. “It’s late. Perhaps you should go home and rejuvenate yourself before we attempt this again.”

  Taro packed up his things and walked out onto the streets, feeling a little annoyed at himself. He glanced at the sky, the drab, gray clouds seeming to mimic his mood. Orefar thought it was mere inexperience, but Taro knew better—something was interfering with his ability to draw on the Essence.

  What if…he wasn’t supposed to be a mage?

  He shuddered at the thought. He had heard stories of children who displayed immense magic powers as younglings, only to have their power die out by adulthood. If he lost his magical abilities, what would happen to him? He had been separated from his family at the age of 3—Orefar and the clerics of the church were his family, but without the government’s payment to encourage his magical development, they wouldn’t be able to care for him. He turned 18 in less than a moon, and then he’d be on his own.

  As he approached the monastery, he noticed a dying plant on the side of the road, its flowers wilted and leaves grayed. Taro reached out, closing his eyes and breathing in the Essence.

  Waves of power surrounded him. He could see white light in the air, flowing through objects and plants like a current in a river.

  With his magical eyes, Taro looked down at the dying plant. Unsurprisingly, the flow of Essence directed towards the plant seemed weak and faded. It was dying.

  A bright stream of Essence was flowing above, wandering aimlessly and lazily, twirling around light rays. The sun was an enormous source of power for Essence mages.

  Taro reached out, attempting to pull the Essence from the sun and direct it towards the plant.

  The Essence pulled away from him.

  Grunting, Taro pushed harder, straining to grasp the tendrils of power.

  His concentration snapped, and Taro grunted as he pulled his own energy back inside of him. Why did it do that? Why did the Essence shy away from him?

  He realized that people were watching him, having realized he was a mage. He cursed, pulling his hood up and walking briskly down the street before the commoners started asking him to perform miracles or something stupid. He didn’t have much patience for anyone at that moment.

  It started to rain as Taro approached the stone monastery. The monks that guarded the monasteries doors opened the entrance as Taro stomped past, ignoring their greetings.

  He walked into the library, grabbed a book, and sat down on one of the palettes on the floor, content to ignore the world for a few hours.

  Unfortunately, the monastery’s library had little more than dry political texts, and with the monotone, hypnotical sound of the rain outside, Taro quickly found himself nodding off, struggling to keep awake.

  There was an enormous *boom* as the huge doorway opened. Taro and the other monks looked up as people started to shout, the sound of the falling rain constant in the background.

  Two monks had a third man clutched between them, leaning heavily on their shoulders. He was unconscious, his eyes clenched tight. His long black hair fell in front of his rugged, unshaven face. His cloak drenched with water and-

  Taro gasped. The man was covered in blood.

  One of the monks looked around, his eyes falling on Taro. He beckoned for him to follow, and Taro fell in line behind them without a word. He had a bad feeling that he would need magic before the night was out.

  Behind them, Taro could see the stranger more clearly. Long, thin scars covered his face and forearms, but that didn’t seem to be what was causing his pain. Taro could see a dark, deep gash, staining the stranger’s clothes a grisly, sticky purple. A knife wound, Taro supposed. He grimaced. Those wounds were almost always fatal.


  They crashed through the halls, finally coming into the infirmary. They placed the stranger on the floor, using knives to cut open his clothes to get to his wound.

  The monks started to work on dressing the wound. One of them turned to Taro. “He’s dwindling, fast. Can you sustain him?”

  “I’ll try.”

  They nodded, separating so he could get closer to the man.

  Taro vision turned into light rays. The Essence surrounded him, filling the room and its potent herbs, as well as the two men that worked beside him.

  He turned towards the stranger, and gasped.

  The man was completely black. Nothing flowed through him. It didn’t make sense. Even dead things flowed with the Essence.

  Still, he needed to try. Taro reached for the Essence—thankfully it responded this time—and reached out towards the man.

  The blackness moved, curling around Taro’s power. Taro screamed as fire raged through his body.

  Knowledge and secrets filled his head. The man…he was giving him power! Taro cringed away from the black inkiness, until he realized that he wanted to touch it. Gingerly, he reached out, absorbing the blackness into his body.

  Chapter 2

  Taro touched the…thing inside of him. It moved, responding to his touch, but not much more than that. Taro frowned, the desperation within him growing. He had been experimenting with the strange magic for days, unable to get any reaction from it. He had tried to use it like the Essence, but he had gotten nothing, though, strangely enough, his regular meditation sessions had been going better.

  The strange man had died almost instantly, and was gone by the time Taro had regained lucidity. Orefar had been worried obviously, but he had assumed that it was simply magical strain from meditating. Taro hesitated to tell Orefar, but he had searched through the old man’s tomes, reading anything he could on old, ancient forms of magic. Nothing seemed to fit. Some of the books warned of ill effects of using alien magic. Some of the effects had been so vivid, the scholars who had written the books had almost even persuaded Taro to simply forget about the strange black magic altogether and leave it alone.

  Almost.

  He was a mage. The urge to explore and to test the new source of potential power was intoxicating. And, more than that, part of him knew—a part he was afraid to admit, especially to himself—secretly, desperately wanted to use that power.

  “Taro? Are you alright?” Orefar asked.

  He blinked, looking up. “What? Oh, yes. I was just…thinking.”

  Orefar frowned, but didn’t say anything, instead turning to focus on the precipitous flight of stairs that led to the top of the watchtower. Taro knew that Orefar could easily use the Essence to lift himself up, but the old man refused to do so. It just seemed like a waste to him.

  A soldier approached them as they entered the tower. He glanced at Taro, and then turned towards Orefar, who nodded. “Master Mage. Our scouts inform us that the Makarians are close, within a few days march. They are escorting heavy siege weapons.”

  “What?” Taro’s eyes widened. “The Makarians? I thought they were peaceful!”

  “They were, until the dragons got a hold of them,” the soldier said. He spit on the ground. “Blasted things. They’re worse than monsters. They get inside your head, play tricks on your mind. Like nightmares.”

  Taro shuddered, but it was an instinctive reaction, one drilled into him after years of conditioning to hate the baleful creatures that lived in the mountains. For some reason, he didn’t feel the same disgust as he always did.

  Orefar frowned, stepping closer to the edge of the tower to look out. “I would appreciate, soldier, if you were more careful about the superstitions you adhere to, especially around my student.”

  The guard blushed. “Of course, Master Mage. I apologize, Master Mage.”

  Taro glanced at Orefar. What was that supposed to mean? He was mature enough. He was about to argue with Orefar, but he caught himself. Why was he getting so angry all the sudden?

  Orefar turned to look at Taro. “I’m going to be here awhile—I need to speak with some people. Go back and meditate. I have a feeling we won’t have much time for practice for very much longer.

  Taro nodded and began the descent to the ground, though secretly he was annoyed that he wasn’t going to be allowed to stay.

  As he climbed down, he suddenly felt restless thinking about the Makarians attacking his home. Would their army hold? He hated knowing that he had magic, and yet not being able to do anything. He couldn’t just wait around, twiddling his thumbs and meditating, but what else could he do?

  As he got closer to the ground, the anxiety seemed to worsen, and suddenly Taro could feel where it was coming from. The power inside of him was moving, reacting to something, drawn to something.

  Taro jumped to the ground, crashing through the streets. His head pounded as he scrambled through the marketplace. He could see the roads that led to the different sections of the city, and his heart beat quickened as he realized that the thumping was coming from the road that led towards the government buildings.

  Suddenly, Taro knew what was happening.

  Assassination.

  Taro glanced around the marketplace, his eyes scanning the crowd for a city guard in the throng of people. He knew however, that he would never be able to find and convince a guard that the government was in trouble.

  He had magic, and it would have to be enough.

  Taro sprinted down the path, praying that he wasn’t too late. He reached out, drawing on the Essence to grant him strength as he approached the stone and wood building.

  He felt them before he saw them. His senses were on overdrive. He could feel the stone on his feet, the burn of his muscle; smell the sweat on his skin.

  Taro slammed through the door, snapping the wood off its frame. Two men dressed in black yelped as Taro clambered through the door.

  One of them cursed, turning towards him and drawing a weapon from his robes. “You came here at the wrong time, boy.”

  Taro’s eyes fell on the knife, and his eyes widened as he realized the situation he had just gotten himself into He looked frequently for magic to use

  And then, something changed in his body. The magic inside of him He felt firm. His muscles hadn’t physically changed, but he could feel the fire inside of him.

  He drew on the energy inside of him.

  It was nothing like drawing on the Essence, where all the magic was outside.

  The strength was from inside.

  And this magic made him feel powerful.

  He slammed into the assassins. In his head, he could hear their screams, and he pushed harder, digging into their minds, their subconscious.

  One of the assassin’s eyes widened. “You…you’re one of us!”

  Taro grunted. “No…I’m not!”

  His vision went white, and the screams suddenly vanished.

  He gasped, blinking as his world spun. The assassins were gone. In their place, ash covered the ground.

  He could still remember their screams, like…like he was inside of them.

  They get inside your head, play tricks on your mind. Like nightmares.

  Not nightmares, Taro realized.

  Like dragons.

  Chapter 3

  He had magic. And not just any magic. Dragon magic.

  Taro stared at his food, unable to find the strength to lift the spoon to his mouth. His energy was gone, replaced by a shifting void of question and confusion.

  Orefar had mentioned dragon magic just briefly, if only to stress just how dangerous and illegal it was. He condemned them, called them traitors to life and order.

  Taro stood, unable to stomach the twisting knots in his stomach. This wasn’t his fault—he hadn’t sought the magic, and he certainly didn’t want to use it. Surely Orefar would see that and try to help Taro if only he explained things.

  But, as Taro walked outside the monastery and into the street, he realized that wasn’
t true. He did want to use it. Even now, he could feel the power pushing out from inside him, eager to be released. It took all his willpower to stop himself from simply grabbing a thread of power from inside of him.

  The air was chilly, a reminder of the storm only a few days prior. He could hardly remember the face of that man who came into his monastery, bleeding and half-dead—They never did figure out what had caused his wounds—but Taro could acutely remember the rush of power as the man’s life waned.

  Orefar looked up as Taro entered the room. The man frowned, pulling off his spectacles and putting down a piece of paper he had in his hand. “Taro? What are you doing here? Our lesson isn’t for another hour.”

  Taro opened his mouth, but then hesitated. Was he ready to just trust Orefar? Suddenly, the idea of having to be reliant on someone was repulsive. That was the Essence, weak and dependent. He was stronger than that, now.

  Orefar gave him a strange look. “Are you alright, Master Taro?”

  “What? Oh, yes, I’m fine.” He blinked, suddenly realizing how cold it was.

  Orefar’s frown deepened, and his eyes glanced back towards the paper he had been inspecting.

  “What’s wrong?” Taro asked.

  “The Makarians are closing in, and the reports are much worse than we thought,” Orefar said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I fear that the Makarians are already in the city. I-”

  There was a crash as the glass window shattered. Orefar groaned as something white slammed into his body, throwing him backwards. He collapsed to the ground. A man stepped through, wielding a knife and an unnerving grin.