by ML Guida
Kathy took a small intake of breath. “I just can’t believe she’s gone.”
Agnes rubbed her arm. “I know. I can’t either.”
Kathy sighed as the haunting memory flashed over in her mind. She had stepped out of the elevator, sipping her latte and carrying a tray with a grande mocha and a regular coffee. Agnes’s partner had blocked her from going into the apartment and told her what happened. Screaming, she’d dropped the tray, spilling coffee on the floor and splashing it on the wall.
Later, she learned…Lisa’s limbs and organs had been strewn around the bed. This all happened over her obsession for Starbuck’s. “It’s my fault she’s dead.”
She woke every night in a cold sweat, replaying the scene in her mind like a bad re-run.
“Lisa’s body was so badly mutilated I had to have a closed casket. It’s my fault she’s gone.” Her low voice cracked.
Agnes glanced to the side of her. “Lisa doesn’t blame you.”
Heat flushed through Kathy's body. She looked up at the heavens and clenched her fists. “Do you know how much I hate hearing you say that? I know it’s not reasonable. But I can’t stand it that you can see her while I can’t.”
All of the pent-up frustration and anger rolled out in her voice.
Agnes flinched. “You’re right.” She hugged her. “You’re right. It’s not fair.”
Kathy stared down at her feet. “Is…is she still here?”
“Yes, she’s standing on the other side of you.”
Kathy turned to the side, desperately wanting to see Lisa one more time, but all she saw was the rain, grass, and blowing trees. She reached out her shaking hand, wishing she could touch her, but only the wind blew across her flesh. “I’m sorry, Lisa. I’m so sorry.”
“Kathy, Lisa wants you to forgive yourself.”
Kathy jerked her hand back and narrowed her eyes. “Well, that’s not happening. Besides, when you say that I never know if Lisa is really saying she's forgiven me, or if you’re pretending that she’s saying it.” Her sharp and rushed voice shot barbs at Agnes.
The color drained from her face. “You know I’m telling the truth.”
Pain shot to the back of Kathy’s tight throat. She gobbled down cough drops. “I know.” Light blue aura shimmered around Agnes, which meant she spoke true, but it didn’t matter. Neither she nor Lisa would ever convince her that she was innocent in Lisa’s death. Now, every time, she made a decision, she second guessed herself. What if she made the wrong choice again? What if someone else died?
The stale argument grew wearisome. Drawing on her attorney voice, she said, “Let’s go. People will be arriving soon.” She stood. “If you’re here, Lisa, I’m sorry. I should have protected you.”
Agnes clasped her arm. “Kathy, Lisa…”
Kathy raised her hand, the jangling bracelet skimming down her wrist. “I don’t want to hear it.” She left Agnes and Frank, with her head high, but then her normal strutted strides changed into a heavy-footed walk.
She headed for the stretched out black limo, drawing her arms close to her waist. A thickness rooted in her throat. Her vision blurred. She pulled out her phone and called Lisa.
“Hello, this is Lisa. I’m out and about. Just leave a message and I’ll call you right back.”
Her chirpy voice made Kathy wonder where she was right now. She wanted to believe she'd call her back. That she hadn’t been murdered. That she was out shopping or hiking a mountain or getting her hair done. But she wasn’t. She wouldn't return her call. And never would.
Kathy clutched the phone close to her tightening chest, hoping Lisa could hear her beating heart and know how much she loved and missed her.
“Ma’am.” The chauffeur opened the door.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, not really seeing him. She slid across the seat and rubbed her sweating forehead, trying to ward off the lightheadedness. How could this be happening?
Agnes followed shortly behind. With all of Kathy’s family gone, Agnes was her closest relative. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I know.” She darted a hesitated glance at Agnes. “I just need to get back to work.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Are you sure?”
The limo pulled away from the grave site, leaving Lisa back in the cold and rain. Kathy would never forgive herself for Lisa dying instead of her. She wiped her damp face. “If I don’t go, I’ll go crazy.”
“When my dad died, I took a week off.”
Her skin tingled as beads of sweat formed. “But you had Frank. I have no one. I don’t even have a home anymore. I’ve been living out of a damn suitcase.”
Agnes squeezed her hand gently. “You could come and stay at my place.”
“I don’t know.”
Agnes lowered her head. “I know I’m not the cleanest person, but…”
“No, your housekeeping isn’t the problem. I have a hard time being around Anonghos.”
She stiffened. “Why?”
Kathy avoided her penetrating gaze, leaning her head against the cool window, and watched all the other sad graves. “If he hadn’t come here…”
“If he hadn’t come, Daidhl would have killed everyone–including you.”
Tears slid down Kathy's face. “I understand that, but I can’t help what I feel.”
“Without the Zalarians protecting us, the Kamtrinians would have destroyed Earth.”
“But Lisa would be alive.” Kathy ran her fingers slowly down the window.
“No, both of you would be dead.”
Her hard-cop voice failed to ignite the usual spark that would result in an easy banter between them, but Kathy didn’t have the strength. She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Did you ever think that maybe Lisa was killed because she was a mate? Daidhl only killed mates.”
She frowned and tore up the tissue still in one hand. “No. Yes. I don’t know…I never thought she would have been on the list.”
“But Lisa had a healing power, Kathy. She was a psychic. Zalarians can only mate with psychics.”
Kathy opened and then closed her mouth. She was at a loss for words. And she was never at a loss for words. In court, she had dazzled the other attorneys and judges with how she could think on her feet. But lately, she had difficulty wearing the same matching shoes.
Agnes broke her thoughts. “When my mom and dad died, I thought my life was over. Frank and I were on the outs and the only thing I had was the job. I thought…that’s all I wanted…”
Her voice drifted off.
“Then, you met Anonghos.” Kathy smiled through her blurry eyes. “A dragon after your dreams.”
Agnes linked her arm through hers. “Yes. You don’t have to do this alone. All of us care about you.”
“I appreciate your support. I really do. But right now work is what will make me sane.” But that wasn't exactly true, either. Work made her crazy. Every time she reviewed a case, a thousand questions posed in her mind. Had the police coerced her client into a confession or not? Had her clients been given their Miranda rights? Should she file for a mistrial or proceed? Before Lisa's murder, she was so sure of herself. Now, she had a hard-time deciding what suit to wear.
“I get it,” Agnes said. “Work always used to be the answer for me, too.”
Kathy bit the inside of her cheek. Her muscles bounded up tighter than a tongue-tied defendant’s. She avoided looking at Agnes. “At least, I have a slew of cases that will keep me busy until next Christmas.”
Hopefully, working sixteen hours days as a defense attorney, she’d be able to find herself again. But the daunting task of making decisions haunted her. Maybe she needed to work for a firm or the Public Defenders's Office. She didn’t trust herself. All because of the damn alien. She never wanted to see another one as long as she lived.
Chapter 3
The Angarth Citadel’s bells rang. Ysam grimaced, holding the barbell in midair, sweat trickling down his face. Another mate was about to be chosen. A heaviness b
uilt up in his throat. He didn't deserve one after what his brother had done.
For the last couple of hours, he’d been the only one in the Zalarian training gym. He liked being alone since he didn’t have to compete with the Bravian and Dominan dragons. As an Inquistian dragon, he was built slightly smaller and shorter, and he was supposed to be a researcher or a scholar, not a warrior.
He exhaled loudly and pumped the bar up and down gain and again, his arms shaking. The bells clanked angrily again. His gut clenched at the dreaded summons. The last thing he wanted to do was go to a Mating Ceremony, but ignoring it wasn’t an option. Not if he ever wanted King Greum to appoint him to the Orion's security team.
Ysam slammed the weights on to the bench press with a loud clink. Fates, he so didn't want to go to the citadel, but he was out of excuses. Besides the Fates, he doubted anyone else would notice if he wasn't there. He slowly sat up, gasping for breath, and snatched the nearby towel, then wiped the sweat gently off his bruised face and battered torso. Maybe the others were right. What if the Mistonian had picked his brother because he was an Inquistian dragon and weaker than the Dominan and Bravian dragons. What if he followed in his brother’s footsteps?
All Ysam cared about was becoming a security officer, but what if he was never strong enough? He threw the towel in a tub and put his hands over his face. His stomach quivered. He stood and his legs shook. Everyday he pushed himself a little further, determined to bulk up his body.
The bells chimed again. He jogged over to the showers, then quickly rinsed off the sweat, still wishing for the ninetieth time he didn’t have to go to the ceremony. Within minutes, he was dressed and headed toward the annoying chimes. Men were coming from all directions, heading for the three-turret Citadel. His breathing slowed as he thought of all the women, who had been murdered. Only the queen had survived, because she was on a mission when the Kamtrinians detonated a dioxide torpedo on Zalara. He missed all the women’s easy chatter and their sweet smells.
But they were gone––forever.
In the middle turret, the sun’s rays glistened off the oval glass-stained window of two intertwining dragons. Above the window was the annoying bell.
“Where the Fates do you think you’re going?” An angry voice growled behind him.
Ysam groaned silently.
Slap. Slap. Slap. The sound of a fist pounding into a palm sent Ysam on red-alert. He refused to answer and quickened his step.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.” Someone pushed him hard from behind.
Ysam stumbled and fell on his hands, scraping his palms and knees, tearing his pants.
His tormentors laughed and surrounded him.
“Stay down there like a gur.” A surly voice commanded.
Ysam jumped to his feet. Adrenaline whooshed through him. His walloping heartbeat grew louder in his ears. Six Bravian dragons surrounded him. He immediately went into a side stance, fists raised, his weight on his back leg.
The leader of the bunch, Povour, towered over him. Hate flickered in his eyes. He pointed his finger. “Because of your brother, some of us won’t have mates. We don’t need your kind to reproduce.” He spat, barely missing Ysam's boot.
Ysam narrowed his eyes. One side of his cheek twitched. “My kind?” His voice was a low, warning growl.
“You’re a vorkon. Vorkon’s don’t get humans.” He walked around him, seizing him up. “Why don’t you go mate with a dirty vorkon?”
Fuming heat flushed over Ysam’s face, neck, and ears. Vorkons were hairy, fat creatures with long claws that liked to bury themselves in the mud. He curled his toes, but didn't lower his fists. “Back off, Povour.
The bell rang again–three more minutes.
“Who’s going to make me, Inquistian?”
Ysam puffed out his chest. “I am.”
Povour growled, then swung his meaty fist. Ysam ducked and slammed his fist into his blustering face. Blood burst from Povour’s nose.
“You bastard!”
Two of Povour's friends pinned Ysam’s arms. He struggled to free himself, but it was useless.
Povour wiped the blood off his face. “You’ll pay, Inquistian-vorkon.” He doubled his fists and smashed one into Ysam's face. Pain exploded in his right eye. Two fists rammed into his gut repeatedly lifting him off his feet, stealing his breath.
The bell rang like a bugle to the rescue.
“Povour, we’re going to be late.”
“Fine,” Povour said. “Drop him.”
Mercifully, they released him. Ysam fell to the ground, spitting up blood and gasping for air.
“To remember who you are.” Povour kicked him hard in the ribs.
Ysam fell to his side and watched them head to the Citadel. Pain pulsed through him. He dragged himself to his feet. He wiped blood on his sleeve and winced. Damn, there wasn’t time to change. Hopefully, he could huddle in the back without anyone noticing his bloody appearance. Besides, there was no way the Fates would call his name–not after what Daidhl had done. Or what he could do.
He gasped for breath as he climbed the paver stairs. With each step, he winced, holding his throbbing side. A guard opened the door and cast a disapproving look over him. In the back of the Citadel was a window with a bench. He huddled on the bench, put his hands on his knees, and lowered his head, sucking in deep breaths.
The bell finally ceased ringing and the citadel grew quiet. Ysam raised his head, barely able to see out of his right eye. Over hundred-fifty men were crowded in the pews, anxiously waiting to see if their name would be called.
King Greum and Queen Cosima stood on the altar and above their heads was the stained-glass window. The King raised his hands over his head.
“Welcome, all of you. Soon one of you will be granted a mate.”
A fluttery, empty feeling filled Ysam's aching stomach. Heavy tension sucked the air out of the room. He hung his head, wishing they would say the name so he could get the hell out of here.
Queen Cosima bowed her head. “Another mate has been chosen.”
Quiet murmurs broke out in the citadel.
The baptismal pool bubbled. The Fates floated out of the water, their white robes sparkling. They were the mothers of their race and the last of the women shape-shifters.
Rillo, the smallest of the three and the most powerful, raised her arms. Her dark hair and eyes were a sharp contrast to her robe. “Greetings, Zalarians.”
Murmurs ceased. The tension in the citadel skyrocketed. Everyone was eager to hear their name read, but Ysam. What if Povour was right? What if there was something inside his genes that would lead him to commit a monstrosity?
He stared out the window, not caring whose name was called.
“I am saddened over those of you who have lost mates. Daidhl laid a heavy stroke against us."
His fingers turned ice-cold. Another bull-size target was just painted on his forehead.
“But remember,” she said. “It was not the Orion’s navigator who committed these terrible crimes. The Mistonian was the one who possessed him and forced him to commit these ghastly murders.”
“Because he was an Inquistian,” someone mumbled in the back of the room.
Ysam tensed. He couldn’t tell who it was and was too tired to care.
“Shut up,” someone else growled.
“Gonna make me, Inquistian?”
“Silence!” King Greum raised his arms.
The bickering immediately stopped. The king was the largest and the fiercest dragon. No one in their right mind dared defied the king.
He turned to Rillo. “Please, continue.”
Ysam sighed heavily. Was Daidh’s legacy going to be Ysam’s? Fates, he’d do everything in his power not to fall down that path.
He leaned the back of his head against the window and wrapped his arm over his throbbing gut. Every time he took a breath, pain pulsed in his ribs.
He licked the blood off his lip.
“Yehti, do you have the Mating Stone?”
The eerie stillness sent chills down Ysam’s spine. He edged off the bench and crept toward the doorway. All he wanted to do was fly back home before Povour and his crittens decided to use him again for a punching bag.
Rillo frowned. “But, Yehti, there are two stones. Why?”
“I don’t know.” Yehti shook her head and her red hair shimmered. “The chosen one has not been revealed to me.”
“I can answer this,” Avenor said. She was the tallest of the three and rarely spoke, but she was supposed to be the wisest. Her blond hair was like a halo around her slender shoulders. “The stones are twins–brothers if you will. One is active while the other is dormant.”
Her voice was so low that Ysam had to strain to hear her.
“Meaning?” King Greum looked curiously at the stones in Yehti’s stretched out palm.
“Both Mating Stones must be used before the next stone will be revealed.”
“You’re talking in riddles.” Queen Cosima’s green eyes flared with anger. “Speak plainly.”
Avenor bowed her blonde head. “As you wish, your Majesty. The gray stone is Daidhl’s and the other is Ysam’s.”
Sudden coldness hit Ysam's core like an iron fist. Loud hisses and growls broke out at once. Ysam quietly banged his head against the door jam. Nonononono…
“Silence!” King Greum snarled, his eyes glowing fiercely. Once again, the grumblings instantly stopped.
“Ysam, come forth.” His command was a death sentence.
Ysam glanced at the crack between the two wooden doors, wishing he could transform into a tiny set and escape. But that would be the coward’s way out. A member of the security team would cringe at such a gutless thought. He took a long deep breath, braced his shoulders, and made his way up the main aisle. His heavy boots echoed off the wooden floors.
Each row he passed, he could feel their deathly stares on his back and hear whispered remarks, but he couldn’t make them out. Not that he wanted to know what they were saying. For the past month, he’d had his fill…reject…traitor…butcher.