His blood boiled in his veins as he stood in the middle of the grand hall, the gleaming thrones mocking him. Cole had been born the third Prince of Umora, a planet so advanced in civilization that there was no pain, no suffering, and virtual immortality through science. Everyone on Umora was some sort of shifter, some sort of magical creature – whether it be wolf, lion, or otherwise. The dragon shifters, however, had always been the royal family, ruling over those beneath them. The witches, the werewolves, and the lions all bowed down to the dragon shifters.
Cole always believed his place in the world was at the top with everyone bowing down to him. He knew that his magic was better than the rest of his family's, but he never thought anything of it. It was a gift, after all.
What he didn’t know, however, was that he was a half-breed witch and dragon shifter – a bastard orphan left on the door steps. He claimed potential royal blood from both sides or neither. He was everything and nothing at the same time.
He should have inherited the richness of the witches and the power of the dragons.
Instead, he lost it all when his father admitted the truth.
There would be no throne for Cole on Umora, no happy ending here. He had been cheated out of everything by matters of his birth.
Cole saw only red as he spun around, looking at the murals on the walls.
This explained so much about his life, about his feelings, and about why he felt like he never fit in. Growing up, it became apparent that he was different than the rest of his family. His magic did not come in the same way theirs did. He could not focus in the same way, could not create the same things. Cole needed to eat more than the rest of them, and more frequently. Alexander seemed to only nibble twice a week, and Nicholas took great pride in large feasts and social meals. But Cole was always ravenous, always strong, and always a moment away from rage.
His rage was so different than Nicholas's rage. Nicholas was simply a kind soul and fiercely loyal, but also ready to destroy anyone who came near those whom he loved. Cole seemed to rage out for no reason, and he himself admitted that he threw tantrums when he didn't get his way.
Everyone was unfair to him. His brothers were allowed to do things that he wasn't. His parents let them lead wars and lash out. But Cole was punished unfairly, even by his brothers. They always treated him like a mischievous child who didn't know how to handle himself.
Death was nothing to him. Feeding for the sake of something to do was nothing to him. He loved the attention, loved the power, but hated how they scolded him.
And now, it was clear that this was not the place he belonged. All these years of trying to fit in, and he wasn't really one of them anyways. They didn't want him; that much was clear.
He continued spinning, barely seeing, barely thinking. His anger was uncontrollable, and his rage lay in front of him. He wanted power. He wanted control. He wanted to show them what he was capable of. He was not a child to be scolded, nor was he someone to be put aside.
And that is when he spotted Earth – painted blue, small, and fragile – in the upper corner of the wall.
If he could not have Umora, if they thought he didn't belong here, he would show them where he did. He would find his own Kingdom; he would make his own throne.
He knew how to take control of a planet. That was nothing foreign to his family. They kept peace and ruled over several planets in the system. One simply needed to purge the planet, control its people, and make them fear you. Only then would they bow down.
Cole turned on his heel and stalked out of the throne room and into the records hall. The records hall contained scrolls of all nature, including rules for unlocking magic on each planet. The Gods who had created the planets, millenniums ago, had written down the secrets to unlocking each one, in the ancient tongue of each planet.
"Cole," a not-so distant voice called.
The unexpected sound startled him; he had thought he was alone in the hall. But his brother, Alexander, was standing there, looking majestic and comfortable. But then again, why wouldn’t he be? He belonged here.
"We've been looking everywhere for you."
Cole smirked.
"And why would that be? Seeing as how I don't belong here? Do you want to lock me up, too? Toss me out of the only home I've ever known?"
"Cole," Alexander took a step further. "I know we've had our differences. But there was no reason for the tantrum you threw."
"Tantrum?" Cole sputtered. "Tantrum? Is that what you call a reaction to finding out your whole life is a lie?"
When his father had finally told him the truth, Cole barely remembered what he had done. All he remembered is rage; all he remembered was his dragon brain taking over.
It was only after coming back to his human form that he heard about the destruction he had caused. He had flown – flown until his wings hurt – and killed whatever had lay in his path. The reports said that he went to neighboring planets, breathing fire, tearing up villages, and leaving civilians dead in his wake.
They had trembled in fear when they saw him coming, bowing to their knees and begging for mercy. But he didn't care about their pleas, nor did he care about their tears.
If his family was going to tell him that he was some half-breed monster that didn't belong, he would show them how he didn't belong.
Let them say he was a criminal; let them say he was a monster with a black soul.
"That is what I call it when it was followed by the amount of destruction you caused, yes," Alexander replied. "Cole...the people..."
"You and father have done much worse in your so-called 'peace keeping missions,'" Cole spat. "Following in his footsteps, as if he's always been around to encourage us."
He knew it wasn't much of an excuse, but there was no excuse that mattered, really. If Alexander was questioning him, then he would not see reason. Alexander was always calm, controlled, logical, and frankly, in Cole’s eyes, boring. He thought carefully about every word that exited his mouth.
"He is not the kind of King I want to be," Alexander growled.
“Poor, poor Alexander,” Cole teased him. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Always acting as the martyr. Had Finneas still been alive, your life would be so easy, wouldn't it?”
Alexander's eyes flashed at the mention of their oldest brother. Finneas was supposed to be King, and Alexander would have been his second in command. But Finneas struggled with his own identity, trying to come to terms with what his life's purpose was, and it was never meant to be. It had been two years since Finneas vanished, flitting into the black magic world that was simply known as the Other. No one had ever returned from the Other, and the weight fell heavily on Alexander's shoulders. He had lost his confidant, his mentor, and his best friend. And suddenly, he would rule the land when their father perished.
“Don't you mention him,” Alexander said, although his voice trembled with emotion. “Finneas fought a fight he could not win. But the rest of us are still here. And it does not change the fact that–”
"The fact that I am no longer your brother, just some bastard orphan," Cole cut him off, standing tall.
"That your rage may have killed people," Alexander answered. "You know that when we transform, control is harder..."
Cole simply smirked.
"So, you intend to rule passively? Kill them with kindness, is that it? And be nice to your bastard brother, who was born into a terrible life, but go lucky."
"Cole..."
"Forget it." Cole had found the scroll he needed. "Forget all of you. I was born to rule, and if you won't accept me here, I’ll find another kingdom!"
Alexander's eyes widened.
"Where are you going?"
Cole smirked, drawing the magic around him.
"It's a magic trick, brother," he said, and snapped his fingers.
He felt the familiar magic swirl around him. Magic was always his comfort zone, his safe place that he could go to – a place that baffled his brothers.
The gol
den light filled his soul, and he felt his dragon wings spread. It was only for a moment though, to make the impact with the ground easier. His wings retracted, and he found himself sitting on grass.
It took a moment for him to adjust to the air. It was different than on Umora, not thicker or thinner, but different.
The scroll was still clutched in his hand – the key to controlling this race. Humans were weak minded, he had always been told. It was simple magic.
That is, if he could unlock it. He couldn't even read the words that were written, the characters unfamiliar.
It had seemed like such a good plan in the moment, standing tall against Alexander. But Cole was smart, and he knew he'd never figure this out without help.
He pulled his knees up to his chest, laying his head on them, thinking.
There must be people who worked with ancient texts around here. He could probably intimidate someone into helping him. It shouldn't take long for someone who knew what they were doing. This weak-minded planet could be his by this afternoon.
And once one planet was his, there were more for the taking. He would show them.
Cole slowly stood up, glancing down at his clothes. Squinting to catch a glimpse of people in the distance, he snapped his fingers and became dressed like them. He wanted to remain undercover, at least for now.
In his world, if he faced this problem, there were only a handful of people he could go to – archive managers, elders, perhaps travelers. But he had no idea who those people would be here, or where to find them.
"Oof!!!"
He was so wrapped up in his own head, distracted by his thoughts, that he didn't notice the girl he bumped into until it was too late.
The force sent him stumbling back a few steps, but she tumbled right to the ground, as if she was a limp rag doll.
He wanted to roll his eyes and walk away; humans were so weak, especially compared to the force of a Dragon. But what she said next stopped him.
"I'm sorry."
He paused.
"You're sorry?" he said in complete confusion. His English was rough, but he had paid some sort of attention when they had taught it in school. "I bumped into you. I should have been watching where I was going," she said.
This girl was slight and pale as ivory with jet black hair and dark eyes. Her collarbone stuck out, her cheekbones were sharp, and her body clad in a long skirt and long-sleeve shirt. She was completely different from any woman he had ever seen. Something about her seemed odd, however, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Dragon women were normally large boned, tall, and strong. Their clothing was made to show off their bodies with their armor wrapped around their strong muscles when they fought. This girl couldn't have been more different from them had she tried. Dragon women were also strong willed and held their heads high, hardly ever apologizing.
"You should have been..." he shook his head. He was surprised to find it bothered him that she took the blame. It had been his fault, and he was fine with that. It was almost intentional. That was just who he was. But when she met his eyes, he felt disarmed. He sighed, reaching to help her up. What a weak, pathetic little kitten. "It's fine."
Now standing, she was taller than he originally believed, although they weren't anywhere close in height. She was oddly beautiful, he thought, if one liked that look.
Not that he knew what he liked; there had been no one who caught his fancy back home. His brothers, on the other hand, always seemed to have women in their arms.
"Thank you," she said. "I walk this route all the time, so I space out sometimes."
Something clicked in his brain.
"You know the area well then?"
"Yes," she said, shrugging one bony shoulder. "Are you lost?"
" I..." He paused. What difference did telling her make, though? If she couldn't be trusted, he could always be rid of her. "I need some help with a," he said, holding up the scroll, "family heirloom."
"Oh," she clearly wasn't expecting that response. "I could show you in the direction of the museum in town? They are mostly a modern art gallery, though, so I'm not sure that'll help."
"Uh..." he translated the words in his head. "No. I need someone with languages, ancient ones. The older the better."
"Seriously?" she said, brushing the hair from her eyes. He was confused once more.
"Yes."
"Sorry, that was rude of me," she said. "It's just a coincidence. That's my degree in school."
"Languages?"
"Dead languages to be specific," she said. " I mean, I'm only in my second year, but my grades are good. I could take you to one of my professors..."
"No," he quickly cried out. When trying to orchestrate a plan like this, the less people involved, the better. She was already involved. "I mean, you're in your second year?" Their school system was much the same as Earth, and she seemed a bit old for that.
"Sort of," she said. "I mean, technically. I've been taking classes a bit slow, a few at a time when I can."
He cocked his head.
"Busy life?"
"I uh...have a medical condition," she replied. "So, I just take it slow."
That was what he felt radiating off her earlier. Illness – the aura of death. This fragile little thing didn't have much left in her.
Of course, he could fix that with a snap of his fingers. Magic could heal any human disease in a blink.
"Well," he put on a sly smile. "I could fix that."
She looked at him like he was crazy.
"I'm sorry?"
Quick as a whip, he reached forward, grasping her arm. She didn't even have time to scream, although he saw her eyes widen. Her face did lose the little bit of color it had as his hand tightened around her wrist.
There were other people in the park. She could have screamed had she wanted to.
But a strange feeling flooded her body; the sudden heat and sense of wellness stunned her. She had a headache when she first ran into him, but she noticed it was virtually gone. She felt less tired, her eyes more alert, her body lighter.
Cole’s eyes flashed yellow, the telltale sign of a dragon shifter. He glanced away, but she had already noticed.
When he knew that the magic had done its job, he let go of her arm.
She remained stock still, almost paralyzed as she met his eyes.
"What...are you?" she whispered softly.
"Does it matter?" he asked, a smirk curving his lips. "Does it matter what I am, so long as you are cured?"
"Can you...cure me?" she asked.
"I can, there is more where that came from. This will wear off, but I can make it permanent," he replied. He wasn't entirely sure what the details of her condition were, but in the end, she was simply a weak mortal. He could cure anything. "Can you read my document?"
"It'll take some work," she answered, "but I can."
"Are you afraid?" he asked with such intensity that she had to take a step back. But there wasn't any fear in her eyes.
"No," she said. "I’m not afraid. Should I be?"
"If you don't do as I say," he said, quietly but firmly. "I will kill you. "
"I'm dead anyways," she raised her chin. "So, what have I got to lose?"
He liked her attitude. It wasn't quite strength, but there was commitment.
"What's your name?"
"Enya," she said, and held out her hand. He remembered that this was a human tradition and took it.
"I'm Cole," he said. "And together we will change the world."
Chapter 2
Every night, she lay in bed, asking herself whether it was possible. Asking herself whether he was just conning her; whether he had some cheap trick to make her believe that she felt better. Enya wanted to be healthy more than anything in the world. Her mind was strong; her thoughts kept her awake long after her body failed her. She watched healthy people run, jump, laugh, and work 12-hour days with envy. But she had never known that life. Plagued with chronic pancreatitis that she had inherited fr
om her father's side, she had always known pain, always known weakness. And the way things were going, she would soon know death. Her pancreatic tissue was slowly fading, and the disease affected all systems of the body. Normally caused by heavy drinking, hers was idiopathic, inherited, and deadly.
But the day after Cole touched her, she had a blood test taken at the hospital. The physician who had followed her since birth seemed genuinely confused at the results.
"I'm going to redo these tests next week, if you don't mind coming in," he said, squinting at the paper. "Because it says that you are gaining digestive enzymes. That's odd."
"Right," Enya said, knowing exactly why that was the case. "Odd. And there's no cause for it? Maybe I'm getting better?"
"Enya," he leveled with her, looking her straight in the eye. "You know it's not possible for you to get better. Having false hope isn't going to help."
"I know, I know," she said, abandoning all reason. She had spent a lot of time googling her disease and of course had spent a lot of time within the medical system. She knew there was no hope of curing herself with science the way it was.
This meant Cole was telling the truth. She hadn't just been hypnotized into feeling better; she really had healed a bit.
"I'll come in next week for a retest," she said to the doctor, but she was sure that unless he showed up again, her levels would go back to normal. She had a feeling Cole's magic was temporary until he cured her for real.
He had left her in the park with the scroll and the promise that he would be back soon to check on her progress. But she had no idea when soon would be.
All she knew right then was that she was suddenly motivated to work on it.
After a few more follow up words, she was allowed to leave. Enya didn't usually schedule class on days that she had appointments because she felt like they were too draining.
Today, however, there was a new spring in her step as she headed back to the small apartment she paid for with student loans. Her parents had been nervous about her moving out by herself, especially when her disease caused frequent medical attacks. But she had to have independence; she had to have a life. Her apartment was ten minutes from the school, but just two streets down from the hospital, of which she was a frequent visitor.
The Guardian Mikhail Page 9