Heh, cockpit. What an apt location for what we were doing.
I felt him release within me, filling me with a primal warmth, then he slumped against me.
Bliss, utterly bliss washed over my head and I leaned back against the console, feeling protected by Gabriel’s mass above me. But eventually, we pulled apart and looked each other in the face.
“That’s one way to end a story,” I murmured, caressing his face much as he had mine.
“On the contrary,” He responded, smile quite apparent on his handsome features. “I think this might be just the beginning.”
I laughed and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his chin, then his lips. We shared a small, quiet laugh and then he helped me stand. My legs were already sore and I didn’t want to imagine how they would feel the next day.
Except, the next day for me involved traveling the stars with a rebel who had taken down an entire cult of murderers. In retrospect, my work at the library didn’t seem all that pressing. If they knew, I was sure they would understand.
Besides, I was sure I would visit eventually. But, for the moment, the stars were the limit.
“So,” I murmured, settling into the co-pilot’s seat. “Where to, Rider-Killer?”
“Rider-Killer?” He echoed, raising his eyebrow at her. “I like the sound of it.”
“Good. I thought of it myself.”
“Did you?”
I nodded cheekily. “Do you see anyone else around here?”
“Right.” A moment of quiet settled between us before he straightened and tucked himself back into his pants. “Tell me, have you ever walked on the rings of Saturn?”
“Only in my dreams.”
The grin on his face was as excited as it was charming. “Would you like to?”
I reached over to grab his hand once more, lacing my fingers through his. “Take me away, Rider-Killer.”
He laughed quietly at that and then we were zooming off, Earth disappearing behind our ship as we raced off.
Together.
To Carry The Last Warrior’s Child
~ Bonus Story ~
A Dragon Shifter Paranormal Romance
Some dreams, become reality. Others, become nightmares. On a stormy night, alone in her apartment, Eliza doesn't know what to make of either. After weeks of chasing "the greatest story ever told" she finds herself trapped in the clutches of what seems like a Shakespearean tragedy. Destined for love and facing death, can she survive it all before the storm ends? Or be faced with her own demise at the hand of fire?
* * *
The sun had set in the windy city—casting a diluted orange hue across the sky. It'd soon be a sea of purple, pierced with flittering, fleeting, lights. Stars, satellites, and air crafts were all that Eliza had known to go bump in the night. She never cared much for the spectacle—heaven nor human made. For her, it was all about "the story." Little else could ever keep her attention.
Journalism was a dying craft, due to the rise of social media. Her once promising position as a field reporter began to yield more pain than profit. Eliza put up with it for some time—even considering settling down with one of the many men that had courted her, if only to retain the stability to continue. But, facts were facts. Her passion was a fading trend, thanks to trending.
She resolved to repurpose her skills with a "whirlwind" bestseller. Eliza had known that the "Great American Novel" had laid somewhere deep within her. If she couldn't report, then she'd find another way, to tell the truth—universal truths—as monumentally as she could. She still hadn't managed to keep a single word. Turns out, Eliza was less inspired than she'd thought.
It was another night of nothing, but feeble attempts and deleted words. She stared at that white screen, for the "umpteenth day in a row," just waiting for something to materialize, but nothing good enough ever came. She'd stare. She'd type. She'd pout. She'd delete. Those actions had become the metronome of her spiraling descent.
Eliza knew that eventually, she'd hit a breaking point—good or bad, she wasn't sure. Because of that, whiskey had begun to accompany her on those long nights with no progress. She'd stare. She'd drink. She'd type. She'd quit.
The liquor made it easier for her to walk away when things weren't clicking. Eliza would reserve the deleting for her inevitable drunken tantrum. It's never good to be blackout drunk, but if you must be—aim it at something. The self-destruction kept her sane.
She resigned to couch for the night, still, a bit buzzed from her last round of "writing." She'd make some tea to quell the headaches that would come before long— "with a dash of whiskey, like grandma taught you," she'd say, as she topped off the honey tea with a strong spritz of Jack Daniels. With every sip from her mug, she was sleepier.
Like the nights prior, she'd fall asleep without knowing: on the couch, in pajamas, while her Netflix queue played romance movies. Sometimes she spilled the tea. Sometimes she finished it. Either way, when she awoke, the cup would be on the floor, and she'd start her day, by cleaning her own mess. It's just what life had become for her.
***
She lived alone in her tiny apartment. Her neighbors often chided her for her hermit-like habits, since she'd quit her job at the local paper. Eliza knew that the concern came from a genuine place of worry and hope for her well-being, but once she'd brewed on the thought long enough—it became yet another reason not to leave the house.
They'd be moving soon, but for the time, she loved having the excuse to stay inside. By her count, it was day three. Even her cat, Cezar, had frequented the outdoors more often. She'd hiss at him if his lingering stares seemed too judgmental.
It was day four, on the night of the storm. Eliza was grateful for it. The heavy rains and threatening winds would mean that everyone stayed inside that day, and her "hermit-clock" would reset due to poor weather conditions. She turned her phone off and planned an evening, filled with nothing.
She took the day as it was, and started drinking early—"No reason to lie to myself today, Cezar" she said filling her mug to the brim—without the tea. "Nope, nope, nope." She sipped from the glass, and stared at the quickening rainfall through her two-doored living room window. The skies were gray, and turning black. Her lights flickered. Cezar joined her on the couch to cuddle. It was the last thing that she remembered, before falling asleep.
No words were saved on that day either.
***
A crack of thunder shattered through the calming ambiance of the rainfall. Normally, Eliza would sleep through something like that, but for some reason, it shook her awake. Her lucidity was met with a heavy pant as she started up from her slumber. She didn't dream but felt as if she'd just been jostled from a nightmare.
"Cezar!" She called, but to no avail. She wondered why she was soaked and wet. A flash of lightning shone through the room, the culprit became obvious. Her windows had been flung open.
Eliza gathered that it was likely the cause of violent winds that had, at the moment, been blowing loose items around her apartment. She searched for her glass—at that point, by instinct. It wasn't where she'd left it, no matter, she thought while she got up to close the swinging doors of her window. There's more, there's always more.
Eliza shut the panels and walked away—cursing subtly to herself, as her feet slushed through the puddles of water that had accumulated on her wooden floors. "Son of a bitch," she said, gritting her teeth. She rolled up the ends of her pajama-pants and went to the kitchen to grab a towel. She heard the doors of the window burst open again, but continued onward anyway.
Cezar hissed first, when she approached, "Well there you are, you animal. Just gonna' abandon me in the middle of a storm?" A wall had separated the living room and the kitchen. When she called to him, Cezar fled thusly. She followed the cat behind the wall, thinking he wanted to play. She was met by the shadowy silhouette of a stranger. He'd been drinking whiskey from her glass.
"Hello, love," he said, in a cockney English accent.
A cold
chill ran through Eliza's spine. Before she could scream, a hand wrapped around her mouth. It felt like a frozen leather glove gripping her face—from one end of her jaw to the other.
"Come on, poppet. Don't be rude." The stranger finished his drink and reached down to pick up Cezar, "And who's this little guy?" He said to the small orange cat. He received nothing but an angry hiss in return. "Well screw you too, kitty."
Cezar grew.
It was hard to make out much, but shadows, in the darkened apartment. Eliza had still been shocked by the intrusion and fighting a total faint. But she knew what she'd seen.
The fur on Cezar's body retracted to his back, as his belly inflated and engorged—as if he'd been getting pumped full of air. His paws stretched and cracked as they lengthened into humanly sized digits. His eyes burst forth from his skull and popped out from their sockets. The bone around his pupils extended to once more wrap around them.
"You may want to look away, love." The intruder suggested with a steely grin on his face, "This part's hard to take if you're not used to it," he joked. Eliza shut her eyes, as the cold scaly hand tightened around her mouth. She'd been screaming into it as she watched in horror.
She heard another -pop- similar to the sound of an over-filled water balloon. The floor filled with liquid. The fluid spread across it and crept nearer to her through crevices of the kitchen floor. It'd been making its way toward Eliza's bare feet. She wiggled her toes in the warm sensation as it flowed beneath the arch of her foot. She attempted to avoid it but was quickly stilled by her assailant's bristled arm as it trapped her. She'd closed her eyes and refused to open them.
A man had grown from the fleshy pile.
"There he is. How long's it been, Cezar?" The Englishman said.
"Too long. But, I had to do what was needed. I served, as we all do." Eliza hadn't recognized the voice, but at once, felt that she'd heard it before—long ago, perhaps in a dream. "Hello, Eliza." The deep voice invited. She pressed her eyelids tighter together until they were sore and welted.
"What is this! Who are you?" She screamed. A clawed hand grazed against her face. The rough grip of the cold leathery skin around her mouth and arms loosened, and then released. "Open your eyes, Eliza. We have much to discuss."
She hesitated—hoping that it'd all been a hellish nightmare. She faced toward the strange, yet familiar voice, and complied with the request. She took one look at Cezar's bright yellowy eyes, enlarged, lion-sized head, and snake-like pupils. Eliza eked out the beginnings of a word and lost consciousness.
The moment had overwhelmed her.
***
"Well don't be a friggin' animal mate! Leave some of the bloody meat for the rest of us. We've nearly starved on account of keeping your company." The cockney accent had awoken Eliza from her slumber.
She didn't realize, at first, what had been going on. She raised her dizzied head up from the pile of dirt and crackling autumn leaves. It wasn't until she saw the fire, that her memory had begun to return.
It roared hypnotically—bigger and more voluptuously abound than any that she'd ever seen. She stared at the flame until her blurred vision cleared. Soon the spinning replicants of the giant flame congealed into one clear sight. She pinched herself to ensure that it was all real. Numb, she thought.
Cezar noticed her rise. He hid behind the shrouding branches of the forest, as not to startle her, while he idly watched. Before she could scream he requested "Please," from the darkened shrubbery behind her. "Get the hell, away from me!" She said—inching backward and away from her distracted captors, "I need you to listen to me." Cezar continued.
Eliza threw her head around to search for an escape. The oval shaped plot of land that they'd been occupying seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, and near impossible to navigate. It was like no place that she'd ever seen before. "Easy there, love. Wouldn't want us to have to chase you down," the Englishmen said—barely paying mind to her, before returning to argue with his companion.
Defeated, Eliza attacked. "What the hell is this! Who are you!" With panic coursing through every subtle tone of her speech. "I swear to God, I'll call the cops!". She patted her pockets in search of her cell phone. She found nothing but lint and a single lighter. I don't even have any cigarettes, she thought. Sweat beaded on her face, and her heart throbbed against her chest. She'd barely been able to keep herself from hyperventilating.
Cezar remained hidden, hoping to calm her "I'm sorry that we had to take you under such circumstances. Had we been given the option; this entire situation would have been handled much differently. Unfortunately, we just didn't have the time to explain. We thought that it'd be best..."
"To fucking kidnap, me!" Eliza interrupted.
"Easy," Cezar pressed, "This place is safe for now, but only if we remain silent and still. You don't want what's out there to find you. Now, if you would just calm down, I can answer any question that you may have. Just ask it...calmly." Cezar spoke slow, as if he'd been trying to communicate with a child. The condescension angered her.
Eliza fumed. She inhaled deeply to slow her racing heart, "What the hell was that?" She asked. "Let's just start there, okay?" She rubbed her temples, hoping that some minor detail could help make sense of what was going on. At least then, I can think of a plan.
"Fair enough," Cezar said. He stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the fire. Eliza shrieked back—terrified, but mildly intrigued, "What the...What the hell are you?"
Cezar had grown to a height that dwarfed her five-foot frame. He'd had the full face of a jungle cat, and stood upright. He'd donned, what appeared to a robe of earthy brown yarn. It covered most of his body. What skin of his had been exposed, was covered in thick black markings that rose up from its surface. He extended an arm to her, in the hopes that it would quiet her fears, "Please, my child. Touch my hand, and see that I am real. I will not harm you."
Eliza stood to her feet and shakily brushed her fingers across his padded palm. She gasped. Memories of her adopting Cezar, years earlier, flashed before her eyes. All at once, she was inexplicably comforted.
The situation had still confused and frightened her, but she knew that this was him. This was her cat—whom she fed and nursed back to health; who'd kept her company in her darkest moments. "Cezar?"
"Yes, Eliza. It's me." Cezar gave her, what looked like a smile. His mouth was large enough to swallow her whole.
"But, I don't..." she paused, "Cezar, what the hell is going on?"
Cezar dropped the hand to his side, and walked closer to her—with his enormous, weathered fangs exposed. "I descend from a line of immortal beings. As do the two men who've assisted me in bringing you here. What you've seen, is something that few other outsiders throughout time have ever witnessed. It is one of many, gifts that we've been given to protect this world, from those who wish to harm it. It keeps us hidden in plain sight."
Eliza gazed across the fire at the two men who'd broken into her apartment. They'd been bickering over the little food that had been prepared. She squinted to see them in better detail. The Englishman had removed his coat—large reptilian wings floated behind him, as he wrestled with his partner over a slab of meat. His face was tattooed, and though he appeared—somewhat—human, his skin was rippled and coarse looking. "You're aliens?" Eliza queried and looked back to Cezar.
"Nothing so drastic. Biologically, we can be considered hybrids of a sort." Cezar turned to look at the two quarreling men. They'd been throwing punches until the larger accomplice finally took flight with a bag of rations. Cezar didn't seem to mind it much, "Some of us are more evolved than others." He joked. Come. Walk with me."
Cezar pulled a hood over his head and trekked in the direction the moon. Eliza followed. She was tense but knew that she'd had little other option.
They made their way through a wall of leaves and bushes.
Into the darkened arboretum.
***
The forest was unlike any that she'd seen before. The br
anches of the trees had extended throughout their redwood trunks—from top to bottom—and seemed to part their branches for the moonlight.
Cezar was able to walk through them with little effort. He'd held the tree-limbs, as Eliza followed, to create a clear path for her to walk through. Though she'd tried to deviate from his footsteps—once or twice—she found that she couldn't move them with her strength alone.
Eliza couldn't explain the living sensation that had overcome her as they traversed the woods, but it felt as if she'd been surrounded by billions of conscious beings. The ground was soft and sand-like, yet had the fluidity of an untainted ocean.
When she stepped, it'd surround her foot, but once raised, the earth would fall from her skin as if she'd just immersed it in water. The dirt would run off from the base of her heel, then descend smoothly back into the ground. It waded until it rejoined the solid soil soul whose inner workings had known of their presence. The forest was alive.
Forced To Kill The Prince Page 10