Forced

by Daniella Wright

  Finding a rock in the brown, spiny shrubs, she walked around to the back of the house, hurling the rock at a window out back. The glass shattered, and she covered her hands with her shirt sleeves, grabbing onto the window ledge and pulling herself up. Her abdomen dragged across the sill, making her gasp in pain.

  She awkwardly climbed inside, dragging a duffel bag behind her. Looking around in the darkness, she waited for her eyes to adjust. She was afraid of turning any of the lights on—she knew that the security system would be sending an alert to the company, thus Lance would be receiving a call soon, so she needed to get moving.

  Unzipping the duffel, she began placing items into the bag—a few crystal champagne flutes, a small oil painting, a cut glass vase. She heard a sudden noise—movement in the basement. She walked over to the basement door, opening it. The dank, musty air wafted up toward her. It was hot, as though the basement was heated, and it smelled musky, as though a large animal were down there. She heard a scratching of large claws and snuffling sound; the intake of breath. Something was down there. She frowned, walking down the moist, wooden stairs.

  Looking around the unfinished wooden banister, she gasped in surprise. Taking up most of the tiny basement, there was an enormous lizard. It was golden, and it glowed with its own inner light. It was looking at her mournfully with two iridescent blue eyes that seemed almost human. It exhaled, releasing a wind of hot, steaming air. Lance was trapping this animal—just like he had trapped Laney.

  Laney looked around. There were empty food and water bowls on the ground beside the beast, which was standing in the dust and filth of the dirt-floor basement. Thinking back to the full mailbox, Laney realized that the creature must have been here, alone in the dark, for several days, potentially without food.

  She crept across the dirt floor toward the beast, which loomed over her. She held out a hand, and it lowered its majestic, reptilian face. It smelled her hand, rubbing its scaly face on her tiny palm, giving it a gentle, weak lick. Laney then felt safe enough to release it, fiddling with the buckle on the metal woven collar.

  Finally, the collar dropped to the floor. There was a mark along the scales of the creature’s neck, as though from an acid burn. Horrified, Laney covered her mouth with a hand. The creature rose on its hind legs, causing Laney to step back. It angled its large, triangular head so that it looked down at her before it took off up the stairs.

  Laney ran after the creature, but it was fast, and gone by the time she reached the upper floor. There was no sign of destruction or damage from its large body as it moved through the house. Aside from the basement where it had been held, the creature had left without a trace, as though it had never been there to begin with.

  ~*~

  Without knowing why, Laney went back downstairs to retrieve the collar. Inspecting it, she found that there were strange symbols woven in to the strange metallic interlace. She did not recognize them. It was strange and beautiful in its deadly appearance. She placed the collar inside of the duffle bag with her other stolen items, and then quickly left the house; she had lingered for far too long as it was.

  The pawn shop’s fluorescent lights hummed annoyingly above her as the door shut with a bang, and the ringing of the bell that was over the door. The shelves were packed with items of varying value. The accumulation of unwanted, desperate junk was depressing; it made Laney glad that she had next to nothing.

  A rough-looking man with a goatee and a leather motorcycle jacket stood at the counter. Rubbing his hands together, he looked Laney over, an eye brow cocked. He did not smile, and his face was grim, as though he had seen everything and found it wanting.

  “Buy, sell, or pawn?” he asked her wearily.

  “Sell,” she replied in what she hoped sounded like a confident voice, and placing her duffle on the counter. She removed all of the items but the collar from her bag. The pawn broker sighed heavily, glancing over each piece tiredly.

  “I can give you fifty for the lot,” he replied.

  “Some of these things are worth way more than fifty,” Laney protested.

  “These things are a dime a dozen,” he said. “It’s going to take me time to move them, and I have to make a profit.” Laney choked back the question, how much profit? She nodded her agreement. Beggars can’t be choosers, and Laney was desperate. She sighed and took the collar out of her bag.

  “Do you, by any chance, know how much this would be worth?” The man’s eyes widened greedily, and her heart raced, hoping she’d struck something big.

  “Where did you get that?” his voice came out almost as a whisper.

  “Oh, my grandmother died, and I found it in a box of her old things in the attic.” She tried to keep a straight poker face and her voice modulated and calm, as the man picked up the collar, inspecting it.

  “The only time I’ve seen something like this was when a man came in trying to sell one to me.”

  “Did he say what it was for?” she asked. He laughed.

  “He said it was for capturing and holding dragons. Can you believe that? Dragons.” The man laughed again as he looked at the collar. “That guy was nuts. But I’ve never seen anything like it until today.”

  “How much would you pay for it?” Laney tried to keep the excitement from her voice. This had to be worth something—at least enough to get away and start over…maybe even to keep her going for a few months. The man shook his head and she felt her heart sink.

  “Well, there’s little to no chance of me being able to sell it,” he said. “Near impossible to find a buyer—I wouldn’t even know where to look for one. So, honestly, it’s worth about its value in metal.” He placed it on a small set of scales on the counter, looking at the digital readout.

  “Well, I can give you twenty-five dollars,” he said, rubbing his chin. Devastated, Laney nodded.

  “Okay,” she said. She had to take whatever she could get. The man counted out the seventy-five that he owed her from her sack of the safe house. At least I have enough to get a bus ticket, she thought to herself.

  ~*~

  Laney left the pawnshop. She felt exhausted already. She wondered how long it would take her to get to a safe place to sleep. There was a hotdog vendor, just packing up his cart for the night. She reached in her pocket, pulling out a five.

  “Do you have anything left?” she asked the vendor.

  “Certainly, miss,” he replied. “I have a few hotdogs and a soft pretzel or two.” Both sounded good, but she needed to conserve money until she got to wherever she was going.

  “Can I have a hotdog, please?” Her stomach growled as he took out a pair of tongs, and took a hotdog out of the heating tank. He placed it on a white bread bun within a silver-toned wrapper, and took her money, calculating the change as Laney dressed the hotdog in ketchup and mustard.

  “Your change.”

  “Thank you.” She chewed slowly, taking small bites and savoring the hotdog as she began to walk to the bus station. As she walked, she began to get the feeling that she was being watched. Surreptitiously, she began to look around her as she walked, glancing at the passersby to see if she recognized anyone, and no one was paying her any attention as they went along on their way.

  Entering the bus station, she walked down the stairs, and toward the ticket window. She heard someone call her name, and she looked up. Sitting casually on a bench, sat Dan Miller, one of her ex’s close friends. He smiled at her with a threatening, cold look in his eyes. As he began to get up, Laney ran, sprinting for her life.

  ~*~

  Laney ran, disappearing into the crowd at the bus station. Forcing herself to walk at the pace of the rest of the crowd, she looked about her, heart hammering in her chest. She let herself go with the flow of foot traffic, allowing herself to be propelled back out on to the street.

  Lance, by now, must know that she had not yet left town. He will have known about all of her movements, aside from which pawnshop she had gone to, although he might even have a vague idea about tha
t. She headed toward the low-rent district, hoping to find a room at a cheap motel in the area that was run by a rival gang to Lance’s. He would think twice before going into the Kings’ territory.

  The farther away she got from the bus station, the more decrepit the buildings looked. The sidewalks here had not been repaired in at least a decade, cracks spider-webbing their away along the streets. Laney jumped over deep scores in the cement, which was dirty and smelled of urine, garbage, and vomit.

  A group of men, dressed in wife-beaters, low-slung jeans, and yellow bandannas was walking toward her. Her adrenaline kicked into overdrive as they casually and quickly surrounded her. She clutched her duffle to her chest, trying to hide the fact that her hands were shaking in terror.

  “Hey baby,” one of the guys asked her.

  “You want some company darlin’?” Another asked, looking her up and down.

  “No, thank you,” she mumbled.

  “Aw, come on, baby,” said a third. Laney looked around her, realizing that the six of them definitely had her trapped. She was grabbed, and dragged down an alleyway that stank of musty pavement and garbage. She gagged at the smell.

  Two men held her down, while another unbuckled his pants. He smiled dangerously, exhibiting yellowed teeth with a gap in the two front ones. Her heart pounding frantically in her chest, Laney fought against the hands that held her, tears streaming down her face as she panicked.

  A large beast sprang from the shadows, scattering the men. It landed on the one who had been undoing his pants, caving his chest in with a punch from one of its massive claws. It tore at his throat, tearing it out with a bold swipe of its talons. It glittered dangerously in the dim lighting of the alley. Noticing the still-visible chemical burn mark around its neck, it was the dragon that she had rescued earlier, Laney realized. Or, at least one that looked very similar to it.

  As the other men began to scatter, the dragon made another swipe with its claws, and another man fell to the ground. The men screamed in terror, running for their lives as the dragon shot a brilliant stream of fire from its jaws, the heat searing their flesh and lighting their clothes on fire.

  Laney stood, her legs shaking, as she rushed to the dragon, throwing her arms around its hard-scaled neck. She sobbed, hugging it tightly. At that moment, the creature seemed to melt, shifting its form as bone and sinew snapped and scales resolved into caramel-toned human skin. Laney stood back, her arms held to her sides as she beheld a man; he was all lean muscle; wiry as a willow wand, yet strong and well-muscled. He had long, tousled, golden hair that covered his neck, and ice-blue eyes that seemed to look deep into the depths of Laney’s soul. He reached out, touching Laney’s face, as though it were something precious, and Laney felt something deep inside of her, something that she had long believed to be dead, respond to his touch.

  The man looked exhausted, as though he had not slept in days. He had deep, dark circles beneath his eyes, and he had the hollowness around his cheeks that signaled someone who had not eaten well for a long time, and then there was the burn from the collar. His hands shook with the severe combination of fatigue, pain, and hunger.

  “Who are you?” Laney whispered.

  “Kyle Danner,” he replied.

  “Laney Parker,” she replied, and then took off her denim jacket, holding it out to him to cover his nakedness.

  “I have clothing. It’s all there,” he said, gesturing toward a pile of discarded clothing and a backpack that had been haphazardly flung against a wall of the alley that they were standing in. He walked over, leaning down to pick up a pair of ragged blue jeans, and giving Laney a good view of his attractively articulated back and well-formed rear-end. Laney flushed, and turned her glance away.

  “Were you following me?” Laney asked, frowning and recalling her sense of being followed.

  “Yep,” he replied evenly, stepping into the jeans.

  “Why?”

  “Because you saved me.” He paused, looking at her over his shoulder for a second before pulling a well-worn white t-shirt over his head.

  No man had ever stood up for Laney in this way before. If they had, they would have demanded something in return. She felt special…for the first time in her memory. She had been in a long string of foster homes throughout her childhood. No one had ever gone out of their way for her, or put her first, like Kyle Danner had. She had no idea how to act. How could she thank him?

  Kyle was pulling something on, placing it around his neck—it looked like a simple felt strip. Laney noted the presence of the chemical burns from the collar, still etched in red across his skin.

  He patted his pockets, checking for his wallet. When he seemed satisfied that all of his belongings were still present and accounted for, he looked at Laney, his eyebrows raised, questioning.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked her.

  “Sure,” she replied. As a foster kid, you had to learn how to roll with the punches, to take what came your way, and to not question it. Kyle Danner had come her way—and she was gladly going wherever he was.

  ~*~

  Laney’s heart raced with delight as she walked the seedy back streets with Kyle. She felt safe and protected in his company. He led her to a motel, a dark and run down affair tucked in between a greasy spoon restaurant and a foreclosed shop with old mannequins in the window. The front lobby smelled of stale cigarettes. They walked up to the front desk, which was enclosed in safety glass.

  “One double room,” Kyle requested. The desk attendant looked up from the cheap romance novel that she was reading. Her huge, watery eyes seemed to look through them. She pointed to the ledger, which, to Laney’s relief, Kyle signed with only his name. The attendant slid a key through the opening at the bottom of the safety glass. Laney reached into her duffle bag to take out some of the money that she had gotten from the pawn shop earlier in the evening.

  Kyle pushed her hand aside, taking out a beaten-up black leather wallet, peeling off a couple of twenties and sliding them through the slot in the glass. He took the key, and took Laney’s elbow, guiding her to the dingy elevator against the back wall of the lobby.

  When they arrived in the room, they found that it, too, smelled of stale cigarettes and astringent cleaner. There was one bed, which took up most of the space, and a television which had been screwed securely into the wall. A tiny table with a wingback chair occupied the rest of the space. Kyle set down his backpack, glancing around.

  “I can sleep on the chair,” he said.

  “It’s fine if we share the bed,” Laney replied.

  “No, you—”

  “No, really—it’s fine,” she said, looking Kyle in the eye. He nodded, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Laney sat down beside him, folding her hands when she realized that she didn’t know what to do with them. They sat in silence for a moment.

  “Why were you chained in that room?” she asked him. “How did you get there?” He was silent for a while, and Laney was afraid that she had asked too personal a question of someone who she had just met.

  “Dragon hunters,” he began. “People who hunt my kind to harvest our blood, scales, and saliva, which can all be used as spell components.”

  “That’s horrible,” Laney said, her hand going to her mouth.

  “It’s the least of it,” he said. “We can be sold for sport—kept in the dark, starved, and kept awake for days before being turned on others of our kind in a cage. I think this is what they had planned for me. They were waiting until I went mad and weak from pain, hunger and exhaustion. That’s what that collar does—it burns until we can no longer bear it.” Tears were springing to Laney’s eyes. She felt for him, and the pain that he had gone through. She felt as though she could not trust her voice. He was staring at the floor, eyes wide, imagining his near-fate. Laney reached out, touching his cheek gingerly. He flinched, as though shocked by her touch.

  “Oh, I—” Laney began to apologize, but Kyle was holding her in his arms, kissing her passionately. She resp
onded, hungry for his touch. The kisses deepened, and he pulled her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he placed his large hands on the small of her back.

  He stopped, studying her, his eyes appraising.

  “What’s wrong?” Laney whispered, pushing his golden hair back with a finger, and cupping his cheek in her palm. He leaned into her hand.

  “Touching you…” he began and then paused. He squinted, as though it was hard to say. “This is the first time since my family was murdered that I feel as though I belong.” Laney smiled, a tear winding its way down her face. He was a stray, too, it seemed.

  “To be honest, I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere like I do when I’m in your arms.” He smiled in response, wrapping his arms around her like steel bands. Laney arched her back, leaning into him as much as possible while ignoring the pain from her injured rib. He reached up, pulling at her shirt. At the same time, Laney found herself tugging on his desperately. Laney rolled off of Kyle’s lap as she fumbled at his zipper while he removed her pants. He stood, letting his own slide down. Laney rotated so that she was sitting on the bed in front of him. He leaned over her, kissing her hungrily, letting his skin touch hers. Laney placed her hands on his sternum, running them over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin. She wondered whether this heat was from desire, a fever, or whether it was part of his being half dragon. He paused, looking at her. She realized that he was asking her for permission. She nodded, unused to being asked.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She had never wanted anything more. He entered her, and she inhaled deeply, feeling him fill her. He looked her in the eyes as he ran his hands gingerly over her bruised abdomen. He frowned slightly when he noticed them. She reached for him, pulling him under with her.