by Eve Langlais
Not anymore. If Remiel began to bless those unions, then soon, the world would swim in dragons.
And then true hoarding and mayhem would begin.
Samael would be a part of that chaos. Anyone could see a wicked—ly sexy—ruler hid in that body. She planned to draw it out.
Jabba Two spoke lowly. “Infertility was a problem. Even longevity.” He stopped in front of a wooden door carved with flowers. “Until we discovered a dark path.”
“A dark path to where?” she asked. Discovering new places was her lady-boner moment. Some guys used cars. Some gals had shoes. Deka poked her nose in places she shouldn’t.
“It led us all into damnation.” The door swung open at his touch.
Given Jabba Two didn’t enter, she handed him the scraps left over from her dress as a tip. Kind of like the royal court used to give tokens to their champions.
Ye are my champion of smell.
Also information. A picture formed, one piece at least. As she discovered more parts, maybe she’d understand.
“This is nice,” she said with admiration as she entered the room. The halls she’d come through might have been plain; however, the lavish bedroom showed some comforts.
Plush white carpeting that her toes sank into. A marble fireplace, gleaming brightly with silver flames dancing in it. A divan, the single armrest displaying a furry gray pillow.
The pièce de résistance was the bed, a monstrous four-poster thing piled high with a mattress and pillows, the silver-stitched comforter plush and inviting.
“About time you upgraded my accommodations.” Deka fluffed her hair, which she’d bound into a messy bun atop her head.
“These are the suzerain’s quarters.”
“You mean Suzie is letting me have her room?” She clasped her hands. “Best evil kidnapper evah!”
“What? No. You misunderstand.”
She waved off Jabba Two as she entered the room. The table by the divan held a tray.
“Oooh. Snacks. But I don’t see any wine. Fetch a bottle from the cellar.”
“This isn’t for you. You are to stand here and wait for—”
Holding a half-eaten piece of cheese in front of her mouth, she interrupted him. “Yeah, you can stop talking now. I wait for no one, except our matriarch. Oh, and my mother.” Her brow furrowed. “And I guess my king, too. But that’s it, unless they’re super important.”
“I am more important than you.”
Despite his blobby face, he managed an indignant expression, and his complexion turned a rather interesting shade of orange. Once he reached red, would he be like a lobster, all done?
The piece of cheese didn’t survive. Nom nom. Another piece followed it while Jabba Two had a mini fit.
Since Aunt Yolanda taught them to ignore those beneath them, she kept nibbling. But, eventually, she couldn’t help herself. “Where’s the wine? I tried to let you have your moment there, but it’s interrupting my drinking time. Fetch it before I complain to Suzie about her lazy staff. Mother always says you gotta watch them like hawks. Except we can’t eat them if they’re slow.”
“I am not your servant,” he spat before walking—slithering?—away.
Deka sat in a chair and nibbled some more, the grapes providing some sustenance.
Could have really used some wine, though. Hopefully, Jabba would hurry back with it.
“Who told you to sit?” The voice came from behind her.
Interesting as she’d not heard anyone approach. “You may join me,” Deka offered quite graciously. Aunt Yolanda would be so proud.
“Your temerity is rather fascinating.”
“Your attempt at sounding tough isn’t.” Deka hid a yawn behind a hand, remembering her manners.
“You think this is a joke?”
She leaned back in her seat, but still didn’t crane to look.
Never give them an advantage. She could practically hear Aunt Waida in her ear. When you can, always assume a position of power.
Which, in many cases, meant making them come to you.
A swirl of smoky fabric drifted into her line of sight. It billowed in alternating directions without a breeze.
The strange, wispy cloak covered a slender frame that stood taller than she, but one not likely heavier.
The deep hood hid the face. Poor thing must be hideous. It brought out the compassion in Deka. “I know a good plastic surgeon if you need help.”
“Help? I don’t need help,” the feminine voice hissed.
“If you say so. I’ve got a guy who can get you paper bags if you’d like a break from the hood.”
“I don’t hide because of my face.”
“Says you. I’m going to assume you’re butt ugly.”
The slender fingers tugged back the hood, revealing fine features, a long, straight nose, full lips, and eyes that shone red.
Deka canted her head. “I don’t suppose you’re related to Rudolph.”
“Insolence,” Suzie yelled, those bright irises flaring.
Deka made a note: might be working for Santa. Good to know. She could use an in for some cool high-tech stuff.
“So, now that I’ve got you here, I need to file a complaint. A few actually. One, where is my luggage? I assume when your staff came to find me as a guest that they thought to bring along my things.”
Suzie blinked. She could have really used some mascara for those short lashes. It would totally make those red suckers pop.
“And where’s the wine? I am thirsty, dude. If you’re going to offer cheese and grapes, the wine”—she pointed to the almost empty tray—“needs to be imbibed with it.”
“That wasn’t for you.”
“Well, that’s rude. Here I am, letting you bask in my presence, and you can’t even provide an adequate snack. You suck at being a hostess. If you’d like, I can have Aunt Yolanda refer you to an etiquette instructor. You know, so you don’t faux pas.” Look at that. More French. Perhaps this second language thing wasn’t so hard after all.
“Enough.”
The word rang out with vibration, the two syllables striking her skin and freezing her. Holding her immobile.
The woman in the robe moved closer and crouched down. Staring into the red holes of the woman’s eyes, Deka noticed a swirling in them. An eternal loop, around and around.
Pretty.
“Answer me.”
“Sorry, were you talking?” Deka asked.
Suzie’s lips pursed. “How is it your impertinence keeps growing?”
“Mother says it’s a gift.” She smiled. “I’m also able to burp the alphabet, but I’m not supposed to brag about that one in public.”
“Who sent you?”
“Do you really think I take orders from anyone?” She sometimes took suggestions that paid off, but mostly Deka just wandered at will.
“I captured you, which means you’ve failed as a spy.”
“Failure is such a harsh word. And did it ever occur to you I just arrived?” She smiled. “You’ve yet to see what I can do.”
“Your optimism is going to be lovely to crush.”
“I am going to miss you when you’re gone.” As Deka carried on a conversation, she pushed at the compulsion holding her. It wasn’t the first time someone had tied her up—and failed to hold her. She wondered if the father she never knew had a touch of Houdini in him.
“Tell me why you were searching for Samael.” Suzie stood and paced, the robe snapping in a stiff breeze with her agitation.
“I thought Sammy skipped out on me. Which is totally uncool, especially considering the universe has made him my mate.”
That got Suzie to whip around. “Samael is unclaimed.”
“Because you stole him before I could take him.” There was no doubt the man would want her.
It’s fate.
“Samael isn’t for you.”
“Holy shit.” Understanding widened her eyes. “I get why you don’t want me to get with him. You have a crush on me.” She
leaned forward, total compassion in her tone. “It’s okay. It happens a lot on account I’m so incredibly awesome and sexy. It’s a wonder anyone can move on after they’ve met me. Everyone else pales in comparison. But you’ll have to get over me because I belong to Samael.”
“I have no interest in you like that.”
“You keep telling yourself that. I’m sure in time you’ll believe it.”
Teeth gritted, and those eyes took on a strobing pulse. “Your insistence on Samael belonging to you is laughable. He barely knows you exist.”
Deka waved a hand. “Details. And again, your fault. You interrupted the natural progression of our courtship.”
“There will be no courtship. No mating with him either. Because you’ll be joining with me.”
“With you?” Deka tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Hate to break it to you, darling, but I don’t swing that way. I prefer some sausage for my bun, if you get what I mean.”
“Indeed, I do,” Suzie said, whirling enough to present her back. “I have to say,” she continued in a now low-timbered voice, “that I prefer to fuck rather than be fucked. The term driving you like a hammer comes to mind.”
The transformation proved so fluid that Deka had to blink to realize it had happened. But when she did… “Holy shit, you’re a hermie.”
“A what?” Said in a deep, masculine rumble.
“Hermaphrodite. You know, a person with guy and gal equipment. Totally, awesomely cool, which leads me to wonder, why do you need a boyfriend or girlfriend at all? I mean, aren’t you your own best friend? I’d rather date my BFF, which, in your case, means you could fuck yourself.” Her toned turned to hero-worshipping adoration. “It would be like the ultimate masturbation. Hot damn, you should get your own live feed channel. You could make a fortune doing it to yourself for a crowd.”
The man, tall and tanned, much broader of shoulder now and possessed of ruggedly handsome features stared at her.
Being stared at in awe by people was kind of powerfully cool. She smiled, accepted it graciously, but at the same time that fact that she stole people’s breath away made for one-sided conversations.
“You know you can speak to me,” Deka advised. “Don’t be shy. I know it can be intimidating meeting someone like me for the first time.”
“You seem to think you’re in control of the situation, and yet I”—an invisible hand clasped her by the hair and lifted her—“am the one actually holding the power.”
Having had her hair forcibly yanked and pulled growing up—and every time she got in a fight with any of her cousins since—Deka didn’t really react much. She dangled a few inches off the floor with her arms crossed.
“This is why you need etiquette lessons. This is not acceptable host behavior.”
The face leaned close to hers to hiss, “You will listen to me.”
Her nose wrinkled. “How about instead you find some mouthwash because Evil Kidnapper breath is preventable. And so is gingivitis.”
He flung her, and because she’d had plenty of practice, she landed on her feet.
Slowly, she turned, tucking stray hairs behind her ears. Smiled at him, making note of his sneer, then rushed him, headfirst. She made it two steps before he muttered, “Freeze.”
She stopped moving, one leg up and bent, arms outstretched. Freeze dance taken to the extreme.
He walked over to her. “Now who’s in charge, bitch?”
Through stiff lips, she managed to say, “Who’s suffering from little dick syndrome?”
She expected the slap, and thus braced for it. Before a second blow could land, a knock sounded. While her Wattpad story would describe it as ominous and full of portent, in reality, it was a quick flurry of taps.
Suzie—or should she now call him Hermie?—yelled, “What is it?”
“There is a problem in the dungeon.” The door opened, and the jailor entered. Slithered, rather.
“Short of it being swallowed by a rock worm, I highly doubt it’s urgent,” snapped Suzie.
“You need to come and deal with it.”
“I’m not done with the girl.”
“Play with her later. You need to handle the situation in the dungeon now.” Jabba One—recognizable by his less nasally voice—insisted.
Suzie scowled. “I do not understand your urgency. The prisoner is in his cell, is he not?”
“Yes.”
“And you put on his collar?”
“I did.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Jabba rumbled, “The dragon is rampaging.”
“And? He can’t escape.”
“That’s just it.” Jabba took a look at her and moved closer, lowering his voice.
Hello, she could still hear him just fine.
“He’s snapped the chain and cracked the walls.”
“What has him so agitated? I thought we’d finally broken him,” said Suzie/Herm.
“It appears as if the woman is the trigger.”
Ah, how cute. Samael was having a fit and, according to Jabba, a jealous one. She couldn’t help but smile.
Two pairs of eyes swiveled to look at her. She managed a tiny wave from her awkward pose.
“Grab the girl. I want to test your theory.”
How predictable. They were going to use her as bait.
She couldn’t wait for Samael to take it—ahem, her.
Chapter Eight
Anger seethed in Samael, a formless, shapeless thing that pulsed as he paced his cell, the links of his chain rattling.
I should have done something.
It bothered him that he hadn’t. The cowardly voice inside, the one that was now silent, had made it seem like the only choice.
But it was the wrong choice.
I should have done something to save her.
But you’re weak. And stupid. And a coward.
Arrrrgh! He beat at his chest, a dark, roiling push of emotion bursting out of him, splitting skin and bone, reshaping him, the collar at his neck almost snapping as his serpentine one filled it.
He hated wearing his dragon in here. It seemed a travesty to make his greater self suffer. Yet the need in him was too great.
Arrrrrrruuu. The warbling trumpet of his discontent echoed in the cavernous room. The cell might prove more than sizeable for his human shape, but now he was large and light. All his flesh, an atomic latticework of bio matter, stretched thin, yet solid enough to provide decent armor against most attacks.
Why am I so weak?
He never used to be weak.
She’s taken almost all my soul.
That doesn’t explain all your actions.
When did he become craven?
Had he truly fallen that low? Even he should have some standards.
I should have saved her.
The thought reverberated inside, filling him with anxiety, making him pace; however, the sizeable chamber was not large enough for his fury. He kept pivoting too quickly. He rumbled toward one wall.
How dare it stand in my way?
Slam.
He barreled into it, the force causing a tremor. Stray drops of water from the shower earlier fell from the ceiling.
No escape.
He whirled and charged back in the other direction, running as fast as his dragon legs could go.
Wham.
Another brute force attack against the offending wall.
A dragon should not be caged.
He wailed at the injustice of it, a sharp, bright sound, before chugging back in the other direction, his chain rattling loosely behind, torn from the wall in his fury.
Over and over he charged. Hit. Failed to smash the turmoil amassing within.
By now she’s probably got her arms pulled tautly, exposing that luscious body of hers.
My body!
Slam.
Is she being hurt? The pain meted out by the suzerain, not that of a whipping or beating. Physical pain could be handled, but the pain of someone shredding
through your mind, tearing open every vulnerability, every secret… It hurt. Hurt so much. And then even worse was when the hurting stopped and pieces of you just disappeared.
I should have helped her.
He should have had some fucking balls. Should have acted. Then he wouldn’t be stuck in a cell, collared like a beast, racing back and forth, slamming into walls, making the entire structure shake.
“Hey, stud muffin, miss me?”
The sudden bright appearance of her voice stalled him in his tracks. His large head swiveled, and he glanced through the bars to see Deka marching ahead of the jailor, her skin unmarred, her dress somehow different than before.
His gaze narrowed. She appeared too brave. She must be hiding the pain.
A swirl of darkness filled the corridor. The bloody suzerain, the one behind all his problems, stalked toward the cells, probably called upon because of Samael’s behavior.
Good.
It’d worked.
If the suzerain were here, then she wasn’t torturing Deka.
A low growl, one not heard in a while, rolled from him. His dragon shape shrank rapidly with a snap as Samael snarled, “Did that bitch hurt you?”
“As if, Sammy.” Deka stopped in front of his cell and twirled. “Right as rain.” She stopped, facing him. “Did you miss me?”
“Sammy?” The deep voice had a familiar hint, and yet…
Samael’s head snapped as he turned to look at the suzerain, only he noted the shape was different. Taller, broader, and the hands…
He grabbed the bars and pressed his face against them before asking, “Who are you?”
“Don’t you recognize me,” mocked the voice. It came from a man, one with dark hair raised in a crow’s wing, but those eyes… Those red-iris eyes.
“It’s you. It can’t be.” His forehead wrinkled.
“You didn’t know about Hermie?” Deka said with a hint of surprise. “Half man, half woman. And, apparently, hasn’t seen the possibilities in exploiting that for the masses.”
“Your new cellmate is mouthy, Sammy.” No mistaking the mockery. “I look forward to punishing it out of her.”
His grip on the bars tightened. Metal groaned.