by Eve Langlais
Slam. The door held up splendidly.
“And that’s that,” Deka said with a satisfied grin. “We have now done our familial duty. Not our fault we didn’t get along.”
“Leaving us free to do whatever we like.” Babette giggled. “You are devious, heifer. So devious.”
“I know.” It was a gift.
No one accosted them on the way back to the hotel, even though they went through some pretty dark alleys.
Paris wasn’t as fun as expected and not for lack of trying.
Deka spent the next few days visiting more museums, popping by to see Louis, who aimed a crossbow at her—the man did love to play, although if he were going to shoot arrows, he really should learn to catch them when she tossed them back.
Everywhere Deka went, she asked loudly about her missing dragon and ensured she gave everyone she met her contact info.
If it weren’t for the fact that Deka couldn’t find Samael, she would have called her vacation in Paris a success. She got banned from the Eiffel Tower for taking a selfie on it—topless. Kicked out of all kinds of restaurants because, apparently, patrons did not want to share their meal with her so she could make up her mind. Even the hotel sent her an ultimatum to stop calling the kitchen to ask if they had King Albert in the can.
With every lead and corner she peeked in coming up empty, she almost began to wonder if she’d fail. A first, and not an achievement she wanted to start a collection of.
Given her shenanigans weren’t exactly discreet, Auntie Zahra heard of her exploits and, jealous because she couldn’t join Deka on her vacation, ordered her home.
I can’t go home. Not until I find him.
Time was running out, and there were still so many bars she’d yet to get thrown out of.
But, finally, all her work bore fruit.
As she staggered out of a tavern, which served the most delicious sidecars, into the alley where someone had smashed all the lights, she noticed a distinct lack of smell.
Which usually would be a good thing in a garbage-stinking alley, except she was looking right at a rabble of men and women. Tough-looking wyverns wearing leather and chains.
“You the woman looking for Samael?” asked the big bald dude at the head of them.
Excitement bubbled inside. “Indeed, I am.”
“You need to come with us.”
“I’d be delighted,” she exclaimed, her smile wide and welcoming. “I was wondering what a gal had to do to get abducted around here.” She held out her hands. “Take me to your leader.”
Hold on, stuff muffin. I’m on my way.
Chapter Three
A chattering feminine voice woke him.
“Mind hurrying it up there, minion of darkness. I’m excited to see my dungeonesque quarters. Although, I really wish you’d let me keep my phone. How am I supposed to Snapchat about my incarceration? Do you have any idea the number of views I’d get? Not to mention the jealousy factor because I went on a European vacation and was abducted by someone with a castle.”
The bright sound in this place of pain and darkness had him lifting his head. A chain rattled with the movement, a discordant chime reminding him of his status.
Just a prisoner. A broken shell of the man he used to be.
How long since he’d lived on top of the world? His every whim catered to. His every vice fulfilled. Women, booze, riches, and more…he had it all.
But that was before.
How long now? The days of torture and vile potions melded together, making it seem as if an eternity had passed. Now, he only remembered the good times in his dreams because, when he woke, he lived a nightmare.
How dramatic.
Shut up.
He’d earned the right to his melancholy.
Then do something about it.
The inner voice didn’t seem to recognize the futility in trying.
Just like the woman skipping down the hall still harbored a joyful outlook. That would soon change.
He roused himself enough to venture a peek through the bars at the far end of his cavernous prison and thus saw the bare legs of a woman in a short dress as she skipped by.
“Is it this one?” She pointed to his cell. “Or that one?” She gestured to the one across from it. Onwards she went, still talking. “Oooh, that one has rats. Can I have that one?”
“Halt,” gargled the jailor, a vile creature he’d come to know during his incarceration. Half slug, half more revolting slug, the jailor was the one who’d dragged him to his punishment.
“But I haven’t seen the ones on the end,” the woman said in a pouty voice much too cute for this place. “Mother always advises to ask for a corner room. Less noise that way. Do any of the cells come with windows?”
Did the foolish female not grasp the severity of her situation? How dare she sound so cheerful?
How dare the brightness of the sound warm something cold and dormant inside him!
“Come back here. Those cells aren’t for the likes of you.” The jailor jangled keys in front of his cell.
No, not a roommate. He wanted to wallow alone in his misery.
But she sounds so tasty, the beast inside whispered. And we are so hungry for meat. The rats she so admired no longer strayed anywhere near him.
“That one?” The woman reappeared, back turned to him, her platinum hair touching the tops of her shoulders, the skirt of her dress hugging a pert ass. “It’s hu-u—u-ge.” Followed by a snicker.
The silly woman joked. Did she not notice the prison cell? Then again, perhaps she was fooled by the bars with their misleading dull appearance that should have been easy to bend, except they burned when he touched the metal alloy.
What is it? Whatever the bars were made of, it acted like kryptonite. He’d learned the painful, blistering way.
The cell across from him had the same kind of bars, and now it would have a new occupant. Someone like him. Someone with a voice he dimly recognized.
She cornered me after the rooftop encounter with the wyverns and said, “Hey, good-looking, wanna get wild?”
He’d not taken her up on her offer at the time, too preoccupied with his brother stealing the limelight.
But now she was here, a part of his nightmare.
There’s nothing I can do.
Aren’t you even going to try?
What’s the point?
While he argued with himself, she whirled to face his cell, and he noted her slim ankles leading up to toned calves.
Calves made for wrapping around my waist.
She couldn’t stay still, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she stared right at him. His imagination, surely. No one could see into the darkest pocket he’d found to hide in.
His gaze strayed upward to see the pink fabric of her dress smudged with grime, the front low-cut and hugging her breasts.
The cleavage almost managed to rouse a hunger he’d not felt in a while.
He couldn’t see hands, as her wrists were tethered behind her back, and having been in the same position once before, he knew those shackles were made of the same material as the bars but lined with fabric. It prevented the skin from burning on contact, yet proved impossible to wrench apart.
The woman wearing them didn’t seem to mind. She rocked on her heels as the jailor shoved the first of three keys into the locks of the cell across from his. It had to be done quickly, one after another, in order for the door to spring open. It meant that picking one did shit because he couldn’t pick the other two quickly enough. Usually, as he worked on the third, the spring connecting them together would snap, and the locks would slam back with a frustrating click.
Also known as the sound of failure. He had quite a collection of those now.
She peeked closer, her nose almost touching the bars. “Who’s in the other cell?”
Despite him remaining still in the shadows cloaking the far end of his prison, she’d noted his presence. More like smelled it. He’d not bathed in a while. A good thing be
cause cleanliness usually meant a visit from her.
“Don’t you worry about him. He don’t say much since the suzerain broke him.”
“Broke him how?” she asked, turning away.
“You’ll soon see.” The ominous chuckle sent a shiver down his spine because he knew. Knew the pain awaiting her.
Save her.
Not my problem. He wasn’t a hero before this all happened, and he wasn’t about to become one now.
“In you go.” The jailor went to shove her, only she moved more quickly, skipping into her new home and twirling to exclaim, “This is just dreadful.” She grinned. “I love it. Babette is going to be so mad she didn’t go out drinking with me. She won’t be able to say she was caught by some evil Suzie—”
“Suzerain.” The title his captor insisted on. It proved easier to give in after repeated uses of the word bitch left him a bruised mess.
“Whatever. This is epic. Although it would be more epic with a camera, hint, hint.”
The jailor didn’t reply, instead choosing to slam the door of the cell shut. It didn’t need the keys to automatically lock with a loud click.
“Turn around. Give me your hands. I’ll remove the cuffs,” the jailor ordered.
The manacles only came off after they were safely stored in the cell.
“What if I want to keep them?”
The jailor growled. “Don’t be difficult.”
“Or what? You’ll spank me. My fiancé probably wouldn’t appreciate that. So, since you insist.” She whirled and presented her hands through the bars then hissed as the jailor yanked on them, forcing them against the metal, burning her skin as he removed the cuffs.
“Damn, Jabba. Those bars are made of some legit dracinore. I thought that stuff was extinct.”
“You thought wrong,” was the reply. “You should probably rest. The suzerain will come for you later.”
Was it only him, or did those words deserve a dun-dun-dun musical score?
The plodding steps of the jailor receded, followed by a distant thud as the door to the dungeon slammed shut. Alone again in almost perfect darkness but for the one flickering torch in the hall.
But you’re not alone anymore.
“Yoo hoo. You can come out now,” she sang.
Answer her.
Why? What can I say? Oh, hey, welcome to my nightmare. Hope you have a high threshold for pain, not that it matters. The suzerain will have you sobbing in no time flat.
Whiner.
Fuck off.
“Would it kill you to say hello?”
Wait, that wasn’t his mind speaking but her.
She approached the bars. “There’s no point in hiding. I know you’re there.”
He held still.
“Listen, I understand you’re overwhelmed. I mean, it’s not every day your future intended, who is drop-dead gorgeous, comes to your rescue. Some men might find that emasculating, but I’m sure you’re evolved enough to not care.”
Rescue me? A dragon did not need a female to come to his aid.
Have you not noticed your current dilemma?
What part of fuck off do you not understand?
“Just in case you suffered some kind of amnesia, it’s me, Deka Silvergrace. We met a while back when you were in your evil overlord phase.”
Ever get the distinct impression someone wouldn’t shut up unless you answered?
With a mental sigh, he shrank on himself, compacting all his lovely body into the confined form of a human male. A dirty, stinking one, sporting a ragged growth of beard and no clothes. He kept to the shadows and not just because the collar around his neck tethered him. He wasn’t about to let the woman who practically shone with a silvery inner light see how far he’d fallen.
“What is that smell?” she exclaimed.
“Shut up.”
Now there’s a way to say hello to a beautiful woman.
You can shut up, too.
These conversations with himself were driving him a little crazy.
“It speaks!” she crowed. “All hail, Samael. The smelly, evil overlord.”
“I said shut up!” He lunged to his feet and approached the bars, body bristling, the chain rattling along with him. He made sure to keep clear of it lest it burn. He had enough scars.
His lunge brought him out of the shadows, and her eyes widened.
“Holy Captain Caveman. You know, stud muffin, I thought you were hot before, but this whole untamed thing you’ve got going is pretty sexy, too.”
“Why do you persist in blathering? Do you have any idea of the gravity of the situation?”
“I thought gravity was constant all over the Earth. That’s what my science teacher told me. Or was that false? Is there a conspiracy afoot to keep us from really knowing the true gravity that exerts a force on a body? Is that why my scale at home always has me ten pounds lighter than at the doctor’s?”
The direction her mind took was so drastic, he didn’t dignify it with a reply. “How did you get here? How did they capture you?”
“In an alley outside a club. I thought for sure they’d come after me at the hotel, though. I even made sure to leave the balcony doors open every night. But no, they were so cliché about their abduction.”
“You sound as if you expected it.”
“Well, duh. I didn’t go around Paris leaving clues everywhere for nothing, you know.”
“We’re in Paris?” He’d wondered at his location, given the last thing he recalled was a warehouse, then the inside of a box, then this cell.
“Yes, Paris, the city of love. It will add a romantic element to our story when we tell our children.”
That rendered him speechless. “What the fuck did you say?”
“Oooh, listen to you using bad words. Good thing Aunt Yolanda isn’t here. She won’t care if you’re the Golden king’s brother. She’d make you swallow some of that nasty oil. Which, I will add, is kind of dumb because I usually spit it out and say something worse.”
He couldn’t follow her, so he didn’t bother trying. “Why did you want to get captured?”
“To find you, of course. I told my family you were mine, but they wouldn’t help. Which is cool. I mean, I can totally rescue you myself. So cheer up, my sexy stud muffin. I’m here to take you home.”
Chapter Four
Poor guy. He was overwhelmed with emotion. Gasping and choking in his cell.
She grabbed the bars, determined to be with him, only to suck in a breath as the metal singed the skin on her hands. She snatched her poor abused appendages back and glared at the offending bars.
Stupid dracinore. She’d learned about the metal at her mother’s knee. Xylia, the Silver Sept’s resident alchemist, possessed a tiny sample. Deka still remembered the burning lesson when she’d grabbed it from her mother’s worktable with her chubby fist and popped it into her mouth—she’d gone through a stage of swallowing anything that her mother told her not to touch. It led to a few visits to the ER and some X-rays that she’d framed on the walls of her hoard.
Mother had made her spit it out then gargle a saline solution to neutralize the effects. Deka remembered trying not to cry—because, according to cousin Gilly, only sissy babies cried.
Holding Deka on her lap and rocking her, Mother had proceeded to explain why it hurt so badly—worse even than the bleach she’d swallowed in an attempt to make her blood the same color as her hair.
“That chunk of metal is dracinore, baby girl. The most dangerous metal known to our kind.”
“It burns,” she lisped.
“It does. And it’s harder to recover from because it affects us on a cellular level, impeding our rapid healing ability. You can blame this metal for our downfall. Someone gave large amounts of dracinore to our enemies, and they made swords and arrows out of it. Not expecting it, we fell by the hundreds to their weapons.”
“Why do that?” she asked. ‘Why’ being her favorite word ever, along with, ‘Hey, Babette, wanna jump off this?’<
br />
“Why else but to kill the greatest species ever. The other races have always envied our kind. Humans, especially, feared us. Rather than serve us as the superior species, they chose to murder us into extinction. They almost succeeded. But despite our grievous losses, we rallied. We became wilier than the hunters. For decades we hid from the deadly weapons, made the humans think we were extinct. But meanwhile, we plotted. Our ancestors infiltrated the castles of those who attacked us. They collected all the dracinore weapons. Every last one of them.”
“Where are the swords now?” little Deka asked—because a mighty blade to smite anyone, especially that hateful cousin Peter with his braying laugh, sounded like just the thing.
“Gone. A person with magic opened a rift and tossed that nasty metal back into the dimension from whence it came. Except for this one piece.” Mother held it up with tongs.
Then slapped Deka’s hand when she grabbed for it.
The lesson from it all? Don’t eat rocks, and supposedly only teeny-tiny pieces of dracinore remained.
Until now. Cue the ominous music.
Apparently, someone had access to the dimension where it came from and had brought some back because the bars of her cell were covered in it.
The worst part? The stuff didn’t just burn. It had some strange magical attribute that made shifting into her dragon almost impossible and nullified a dragon’s strength. Even if she’d been able to bear the painful touch, she wouldn’t be able to bend the bars.
It meant that, for the moment, she was—gasp—no better than a human.
The shame. Speaking of shame…someone in the cell across from her didn’t have any.
“What happened to your clothes?” Not that she minded his nakedness. Despite his Grizzly Adams appearance, Samael had nothing to hide. His lean body—leaner than she liked to see—boasted nicely toned muscles, and he was rather… “Mind moving your hands? I’m trying to check you out.”