Seon's Freedom

by Lisa Daniels

  He left a note explaining things to Arina and saying she could steal food from his fridge and explore a bit if she wanted, that the night had been amazing and sad at the same time, and he hoped they could keep in touch. Stay with each other. He didn’t know how long he would be in Canada, so she shouldn’t feel the need to wait for him. He didn’t want to wake her, because seeing her talk and stare at him with those brilliant dark eyes would likely make him want to hop back into bed and never leave.

  Together, he and Danny prepared, and left.

  In his car, as they drove for the four hours to the Canadian border, where Markus had already discreetly arranged for the Forsythe clan to provide safe passage for Danny, along with a promise of explanation – he sent a message to his sister in Bulgaria, who he hadn’t spoken to in over a year.

  “If they accept you, Danny, what do you plan to do?” Markus asked, his car engine purring along the murky road. A half-moon hung in the sky, dark as an orange slice, and the terrain around them rolled into fields, woods, and lonely, small lanes. “You have that human girl you’re interested in, right? I’m not sure if it would still be safe to go into America, even with safety in Canada.”

  The Lubanov, gaunt with purple bags under his eyes, set his jaw in a determined line. “I don’t know. I’m hoping I can fix relations with American clans as well. Though I know there’s a few that will want blood vengeance. She might not be entirely safe, so I feel it is my responsibility to make sure she is. I will ask her to move with me.”

  “Really? And you think she will just agree, like that? You’ve not exactly known each other for long.”

  “Doesn’t matter. If she doesn’t, then I’ll find a way. Disguise myself and slip back in to check on her, ask her to please keep in contact, and maybe offer you as a sanctuary as well.”

  “Guess we’ll see,” Markus said heavily. He drummed his fingers on the inside of the window, face grim as he drove.

  When they approached the Pembina Emerson border, and processed through without incident, Markus rolled up into the designated meeting spot, an abandoned farmstead eight miles north-east from the border.

  Five people were waiting for him, and by their scent, he could tell they were all werewolves. He stepped out, and Danny Lubanov came out as well.

  The alpha, the one with the strongest, most pungent scent, walked forward as well.

  “Greetings, Markus Spirova.” Arthur Forsythe inclined his head, though he didn’t take his pale orange eyes off Markus. An air of superiority permeated Markus’s nostrils. He remembered Arthur Forsythe as one who expected others to adhere to his rules, and respect the members of his clan. All in all, not the worst clan to talk with, but not one you wanted to surprise. The other four members were all males, either affiliated with the Forsythes, or from smaller branches within his territory.

  “Greetings, Arthur Forsythe. Thank you for taking the time to arrange this with me.”

  “No problem. This is the Lubanov, correct?” Arthur Forsythe rested his gaze on Danny, who stood alert, wary, betraying his unease like a nervous dog.

  “Yes. Danniven Lubanov. A childhood friend. I can vouch for his character as friend and alpha. The person he was with was mostly responsible for the blunders that you have heard. I need him to have safe haven and passage in Canada, until the border clans may be more susceptible to allowing him back.”

  “We have heard things about the Lubanov,” Arthur said, his dry voice cracking. His human body looked withered, reaching late eighties – though the werewolf blood would likely give him another ten to twenty years before expiring. “They were flesh eaters. Part of the Plovdiv massacre that caused Bulgarian authorities to start hunting them – and then the other clans to annihilate them.”

  “The same. Not all of them wanted to be flesh eaters, though. Danny was unusual in that he befriended humans. He helped me save one human from a village slaughter. We were eleven at the time. Both our clans were flesh eaters.”

  Arthur Forsythe digested the information for a moment. He did not want to appear ignorant, Markus could tell, and he was glad Arthur had taken the time to research up about Markus’s background. It made sense, if you wanted to understand the nature of the one who shared borders with you, who had taken over an entire state regarding werewolf factions, fragmented and leaderless as it was, within six years.

  “You have kept your word, and you have kept your packs in check. If you vouch for the Lubanov, then my clan will be happy to shelter him. As long as there is no refusal or dissent amongst my pack members here.” He drew out the last statement, slow and deliberate, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips.

  “I refuse,” one of the other gathered werewolves snapped. All eyes turned to him. Arthur raised one eyebrow, as one of his pack sniffed at Danny, and growled, eyes glowing.

  “Then if you refuse – you must fight.” Arthur nodded to the others, who cleared a space. Markus groaned inwardly, suspecting that Arthur had deliberately brought along someone who would contest. Most likely, someone who had personal beef with the Lubanov name.

  Bastard.

  “Until one surrenders?” Markus licked his lips. He wasn’t sure of Danny’s fighting skills. He had no idea how the Forsythes felt or believed in the matter.

  “I won’t surrender,” the young, bulked up werewolf with red-pink eyes snarled. “I had a cousin in the Swinton clan. He killed them.”

  Danny glanced at Markus helplessly. “I do not want to fight. Is not my choice to do so.”

  “Then you will die,” Arthur said coolly, glowering through his snowy white beard. “As I am not about to stop young Frederick from having a chance to exact his vengeance.”

  Frederick’s fingernails extended, growing into claws.

  “It would be no loss, either way. May the wolf spirit grant victory to the one who deserves it.” Arthur folded his hands into jean pockets, tilting his chin upwards, as he looked down on the rest of the werewolves.

  Irritated, Markus asked for a word with Danny, and he was given the moment to approach his friend and hiss, “Can you do this? If not, I’ll try and find another way out.”

  Danny Lubanov smiled. “I can.” Danny had quite a decent amount of muscle mass on his body, but it was nothing compared to Frederick, who looked as if he enjoyed weightlifting on a regular basis.

  “Don’t die,” Markus whispered. “I know a few people who would be sad if you did.”

  When Markus finally stepped away, Frederick wasted no time in transforming, his nose and mouth elongating into a snout, his arms spread for a grab on Danny, who danced backwards, fur growing from his face as well.

  With a roaring, spitting rumble from Frederick, the two ferals clashed.

  Chapter Six

  Arina drank ordinary coffee, brewed from a kettle and topped with semi-skimmed milk, considering her actions from last night. Her core ached in a good way, and the memories of their romp came to her fresh, making her shiver, and adjust her legs into a more comfortable position.

  She enjoyed, perhaps too much, giving into the darkness, letting Markus take her, love and worship her and send her mind into a better state, a better existence than the world she knew.

  If she stayed with Markus, made this a thing, then the world of the werewolves would come back to her, crashing and in force.

  A world where her children had the chance to become werewolves, to endure the savage blood and urges their kind had.

  A strange parallel existed as well, knowing the medieval punishments werewolves opted amongst themselves, and of the strict laws human society gave toward crime – two worlds she would be fully immersed in.

  Awkward.

  She certainly couldn’t imagine imparting the information to any of her human friends – not unless they witnessed the transformation first-hand. Even then, werewolves got nervous if too many people knew, as they preferred all knowledge bearers to exist within their inner circles.

  They wouldn’t like someone similar to Arina, who had slipped thro
ugh the net, though she had been reeled in again by Markus.

  She sipped at her coffee, allowing the caffeine to ignite her neurons, to kick-start her brain into gear. Markus’s laptop lay on the table next to the sofa, along with a tawdry collection of magazines and newspapers, some of them utilizing the Cyrillic alphabet.

  She sent one of her sporadic texts to her Godfather’s family, and decided to see if she could open Markus’s laptop to watch a programme on Netflix whilst she was still waking up. Her Sig Sauer lay by the side of the sofa, never far from reach.

  Markus had saved tabs on Google Chrome, including a tab for emails displaying five new messages, which showed up when she opened them, starting to create a new tab when she recognized the name on one of the emails: Elinor Spirova.

  The older sister of Markus. Arina bit her lip. She had no right to this. No right at all, but that didn’t stop her from clicking open the email, and reading the message, scrawled up in Bulgarian Cyrillic.

  Hey, brother – it was good to hear from you again. Things have been quiet over here. The loudest troublemakers have stilled themselves into silence for now, and I’m left to tend to the garden, mind the honey, and stop the triplets from trying to eat all the honey bees. I’m still irritated with Branimir for landing me with them in the first place. I was prepared for one child – not three squalling demonspawns who will never let their mother know a moment’s rest.

  Arina smirked at the idea of Markus’s older sister handling three children. Good for her.

  I’ve got some news for you, little brother. You remember our uncle who disappeared off the map some time back? The same uncle who we both have a certain… interest in? He’s turned up again. He wanted safe passage through my territory, and he knows that you have left. I tried to keep it discreet, asking if he wanted to come and meet with us, and that you had emigrated to America, so he didn’t need to feel threatened by you.

  He declined, but he’s certainly there near the Seven Lakes, though we are yet to establish why he needs safe passage, or where he has been all this time.

  I will wait for you, but if you give me the word, I will send the whole might of the Spirova clan upon his scummy, rot-infested behind. You know what they say. Mad dogs must be put down. I await your judgement, alpha.

  Love, Elinor Spirova.

  Arina closed the email, breathing hard and fast. Fear and hatred coarsed through her, making her limbs tremble. They’d been searching for Ricten Spirova. Markus and Elinor had hunted for Ricten – that could be the only possible person Elinor meant in her message.

  Her instant thought was to email back as Markus, and tell Elinor she could hunt and kill Ricten. However, Elinor would probably want to talk to Markus in person.

  The second, she could admit she read the email. In fact, she’d need to – having one new email opened and four unopened ones would look a little suspicious.

  Breathing heavily, Arina considered how plausible it would be to get a week or two off work, or even unpaid leave for a month – pack off to Bulgaria, and hunt for Ricten in the Seven Lakes.

  Her heart thumped painfully at the idea that vengeance lay within a stone’s throw. Satisfaction filled her as well at the evidence Markus had been digging for Ricten himself, with the intention to kill.

  All that remained now, was what choice should she make? Hunt, or stay? She glanced at her Sig Sauer, lying innocently in its holster.

  Did she have the skill necessary to take down a full grown, rabid, flesh eating werewolf?

  More importantly – would Markus allow her into the action, or insist she stayed out, once he knew she was aware?

  She closed down the laptop, having lost the desire to watch Netflix. Instead, she messaged Markus, and waited for him to answer.

  Let’s see what he has to say.

  There was a long hesitation, before he answered.

  Markus: I should have expected you to find out. Don’t go doing that thing where you run off without thinking of the consequences. Wait for me to come back. I promise I will listen to what you have to say, and I will be honest about the danger. If you think you are ready, I will not deny you vengeance.

  Arina grinned. That was good enough for her. She chewed her lip, once again reading the email, feeling the boil of hatred at Ricten’s name.

  Whatever doubts she harbored, she wanted to stay with Markus. Everything just seemed to fit, being with him. Answers to questions she hadn’t been fully aware of clicked into place. Her past no longer needed to be something to flee from, something to fear. She could face it with Markus, the boy she had not forgotten, or ever stopped loving, though she allowed herself to bury it out of mind, for a while. Too long a while.

  Together, they would be strong.

  The End

  Captured by Gerran

  Dragons Take a Princess

  (Book 2)

  Chapter One

  When princess Esmer was six years old, her mother once asked her what she wanted as a treat. The princess’s prompt reply was: “I want a dragon.”

  Her beautiful, dolled up mother, with stunning, crimson hair fluttered her eyelashes in mild confusion. “But, darling, you can’t own a dragon. They’re monsters. They steal princesses and only brave knights can rescue by them. Surely you want to meet one of the young princes from the nearby kingdoms instead…?” Her mother’s tone was rather hopeful, wishing that her daughter would say something appropriate and conventional, mostly to prove to herself that she hadn’t fucked up the raising process.

  “People have pet unicorns. Why can’t I have a pet dragon?”

  “You just can’t. Monsters, sweetie. They’re monsters.”

  Esmer ignored the monster statement, completely fixated on her object of desire. “Can I meet one, then?”

  “No. They’re monsters. I already told you, dear. They capture princesses and lock them away in their towers.”

  “Then I want to be captured by one!”

  The little princess stamped her foot on the ground, putting on her best pout face. Her mother at this point started displaying real panic in her eyes.

  “That’s not a normal princess thing to ask. Your sisters all want to meet a prince. You should want this, too. Or a pony.”

  Little Esmer rolled her eyes at this statement, stamped her foot again in childish tantrum, before screaming, “I want a dragon!”

  Her screams followed her mother down the hall as she hastily called for the nurses to scoop Esmer up and place her in the nursery with her two younger sisters, to help calm her down by any means necessary.

  Now Esmer was nineteen years of age, though she’d grown out of the horrendous spoilt brat stage, demanding impossible things, she never quite let go of her fantasy to meet a dragon. She stood in front of the mirror of her bedroom, the light perfectly illuminating the curve of her body, the red gown, the simple black wedge shoes, and her bright red hair fanning over her shoulders. She wore a red brooch and pendant, though honestly, she would have preferred to go without. Her mother had scheduled Esmer to meet a prince from one of the central kingdoms, and she’d gotten to the point of arranging four to five meetings a week, desperate to get her errant daughter married whilst she still existed in the “young and beautiful” time frame.

  Except, well, so far, Esmer had managed to turn every single prince showing her the slightest sign of interest off the idea of marriage. Either through excuses, by telling them she had an incurable disease, or that she slept with hundreds of men daily. Well, the last one might be a stretch, but it certainly put off all the princes from ever wanting to interact with her again. Something about having a tainted princess made most of them squeamish, though some of the hardier princes seemed rather turned on by the idea of someone with experience.

  Not that Esmer had much experience with anything other than her hand, and a few racy books.

  Her mother, of course, was at her wit’s end, tearing out chunks of her hair in private and complaining to her poor, beleaguered father, who held the quiet
sentiment that wives should be seen and not heard.

  Eventually, queen Mereen simply summoned Esmer to the throne room one day, and told her in no uncertain terms that the next prince they procured for her, she’d have to marry. Warts and all. She simply couldn’t be an embarrassment to her kingdom any longer, and she needed to get herself married, to lessen her chances of being captured by Dark Clan humans or dragons.

  “Mother, I don’t want to get married yet!” Esmer protested, staring up at Mereen, who sat regally on her stone throne, eyes hooded over in contempt.

  “I know you don’t, dear, but at this rate, you’re on course to never get married. You’ll be like that wretched creature from Glenderal. Thirty years old, and still unloved. A tragedy.”

  She means Marea? “Isn’t that the princess who got captured by a dragon?”

  Mereen nodded, fanning her head. “Yes. A horrible fate. No one’s had any luck in Questing for her. Her parents are not offering a good reward for her, either. They know her age is a deterrant.”

  Esmer chewed upon her lip. She liked Marea, and secretly admired her for being single for so long. Everyone else saw her as a freak, but Esmer aspired to be someone independent herself. So she did things princesses were not technically supposed to do, thanks to the assistance of the palace servants, who wouldn’t dare disobey an order. Especially from a notoriously bratty princess – though Esmer hadn’t yet resorted to chopping off heads like her eldest sister, Rure.

  “The prince we’re engaging you to is a nice enough boy. You’ve met him once – it’s Samm from the Blue Bow kingdom. That small lake kingdom with the big fishery.”

  “I hate the smell of fish,” Esmer said immediately, and Mereen laughed.

  “Oh no, darling. You’re not wriggling out of this one. We’ll make a proper princess of you yet.”

  Prince Samm represented the wheedling, sycophant type that drove Esmer up the wall. She shuddered at the thought of having to interact with the pimply faced prince on a daily basis even, ugh, kissing him.