She squatted down on the newly buffed and stained hardwood floor of her foyer in nothing but her panties and a skimpy top that was now soaked with sweat from her remodeling labors. She normally didn’t run around in her underwear, but it was the heart of the summer in Dixie and the peak of the day, and the men from the air conditioning installation company had called her early in the morning to tell her they were ‘sorry’ that they wouldn’t be able to make it until tomorrow.
It didn’t really matter that she was running around half-dressed anyway. It was her house. It wasn’t like she was on her front lawn mowing the grass in next to nothing where the neighborhood children could see. And it wasn’t like anyone was coming over, not until tomorrow at any rate. She had been more than miffed at the message that the installation men weren’t coming, especially because if she had actually talked to them on the phone, instead of receiving the message via her answering machine, she would have given them a hefty piece of her mind before they explained that there was nothing different that could be done and it would still have to wait until tomorrow. Venting on some poor repair man or secretary would have made her feel better initially anyway. It was just as well she hadn’t talked to someone, though. She knew she would have felt guilty later for lashing out at someone who wasn’t actually at fault.
Opening up the pink ‘I’ll do it myself’ tool kit that she had bought as a present for herself, she took out a screwdriver and began to install the largest doorknob from the collection. It was her absolute favorite, and she wanted everyone to see it when they came to her door or passed by on the street. The stress from the heat that had been creasing her brow vanished as she took in the simple pleasure of gazing at the precious antique. The large oval stone in the center shone beautifully in the light from the chandelier overhead, illuminating the strange carvings that surrounded it. She turned it back and forth and wondered briefly who had made it. Why would someone spend so much time laboring to create such an ornate doorknob? It brought back the question of the note and the possibility that the piece held significance to the family she had never really known.
Heather fitted the knob into the hole in the door and began putting screws through it. Finally finished with the last screw after a couple of intense minutes of screwing, she tested her handiwork, twisting the knob to see if it wiggled at all. Seeing that it was fastened securely to the front door, she shut the door and decided to test the knob one last time. She grabbed the knob and twisted it, but she didn’t get the chance to fling the door open wide. Instead, the door was pushed hard from the other side and she was flung back onto the floor, thankfully not far since she had been squatting down, but it was hard enough to make stars dance before her eyes for a minute. She closed her eyes tight for a minute to make them go away. When next she opened her eyes, she wasn’t sure whether she was awake or still unconscious.
“Where are we hoonan?” Fade said through gritted teeth in a low threatening voice that emerged deep from within his throat like a feral guttural growl, his face mere inches from hers, the jagged end of his sword never wavering from her throat.
The fact that her fantasy beast spoke English and the feel of a cold blade at her throat brought Heather to full awareness. She blinked rapidly a few times in shock and dismay at being pinned by a large muscular frame and held at knifepoint by . . . ‘someone’.
Taking a few shallow breaths to still her ragged nerves and not inadvertently press her throat against the blade that was so close to it, Heather tried to calmly assess her situation by injecting logic. She noted that there were no more stars dancing before her eyes. There was no black veil encroaching her vision. She had seen enough personal accounts following concussions on television to know that she wasn’t suffering from delusions brought on by being knocked down and out. But the beast on top of her was way too much for her duress-addled mind to fully comprehend. He, for the beast was obviously a male and a surprisingly very attractive male with darkly handsome good looks, was scowling severely at her and threatening her with some kind of weapon. His tousled black locks did little to hide the fact that he had slightly pointed ears similar to the elves she had seen in fantasy movies, but, after further inspection, she noticed that when she looked past his square jaw lined with stubble and his breathtaking emerald green eyes, he had two huge dark brown, almost black, wings folded together behind his broad shoulders, something she didn’t recall being mentioned as being associated with elves.
After a moment of awkward silence, she realized that he had asked her something. She thought hard for a second to try to recall what it was. She had been so shocked, first by being knocked down and then by seeing . . . him, that she hadn’t really listened when he had spoken, or perhaps her shocked mind couldn’t absorb any more information than what her eyes had been transmitting. Who could think clearly with someone in their face brandishing a weapon anyway?
“What?” she said a little weakly, swallowing convulsively as she tried to push him off and wiggle away, hoping that whoever, whatever he was, he wouldn’t become more enraged than he already appeared to be by the fact that she hadn’t heard what he’d said or her attempt to get away.
Fade became more and more agitated at the hoonan, but it wasn’t because she acted as if she had not understood him. It was partly her reaction to him and his subsequent reaction to her, so contrary to his nature he had trouble assimilating it at first. His whole life he had fought everyone. He had lost his mother to the king. He had been tortured for his appearance and the reasons behind it. He had been beaten by the king his entire life, most times until he thought he would die. He had fought off the hoonans, at first in his youth as a foolhardy attempt to gain the king’s respect, and then, when he realized that was a fool’s errand, he did so to release the rage that had built inside of him at the injustices of his life.
But being hated by everyone his whole life had had its advantages. He had long ago stopped wanting anything in return. He no longer yearned for affection, be it familial or other, as he had when he had been naught but a youth. He no longer recognized any of his own needs or wants . . . until now. This hoonan was unlike any he had ever seen before. The sweet smell of flowers drifted off of her porcelain skin, which was soft to the touch, like the finest silk. Her hair was not black like the hoonans he had encountered before. It was a warm brown like tanned leather, but it had streaks of spun gold in it as well. Being so close to her, breathing in her essence, brought something to life, something he had long believed dead inside. Or perhaps it was the combination of battle lust and the way her becoming form writhed beneath him as she tried in vain to remove herself from the powerful hold he had over her. He could feel his body reacting to his power over her, reacting to her proximity, to her movements between his legs as she inadvertently grazed his cock with her nether region, to the feel of her breasts brushing his bare chest as her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing.
Moisture slowly began to bead on his skin, and a liquid warmth spread and began to pool in his cock, bringing it to life, making it throb painfully against the taunt leather of his breeches with desire. And the more his body responded to her, the more resentment for his reaction to her and his lack of self-control built, and resentment of her terror-stricken face at the sight of him. Before, he had used the terror he inspired to his advantage in battle, but this was different. As he looked down upon her sweet pale face, her soft pink lips fell slightly agape, and he wanted nothing more than to take her, the sudden insane wish for her to look upon him with favor instead of terror overwhelming him.
Angry at himself for wanting her, angry at her for her immediate revulsion, Fade decided he would show her to be afraid of him. His mission momentarily forgotten, he let his desires take reign as he leaned a little closer and took her lips in a demanding kiss, grasping the hair on the back of her head and wrenching it around his hand so he could hold her tight to his lips in a searing kiss. He speared her mouth with his hot tongue, relishing in the soft moan that he elicited from
her and the stilling effect he had on her body. Still holding his sword, he raked his knuckles along one of her nipples through the thin material covering it, making the pert little nub hard. His cock became more engorged as he tasted of her, and it throbbed painfully against its prison within his leather breeches, trying desperately to burst free and claim his prize. A small sound from the hoonan brought him around to awareness, and he broke off from her abruptly. So abruptly she fell back, just barely catching herself on her elbows.
Heather didn’t really know what had just happened. Things were happening way too quickly. One moment she had been having a normal day, installing a door knob, and the next . . . . Well, it was just too much to comprehend. To add insult to injury, her fantasy had frightened her, then excited her, and was now pushing her away.
Fade pushed himself up from the floor and stepped away from the hoonan to the doorway he had come through minutes before. He opened and shut the door over and over again, but each time the scenery on the other side was the same. Frustrated, knowing that the battle against the hoonans he had just been leading was raging on somewhere, feeling that the hoonan before him must be a witch that had transported him to where they were now and had been seducing him with her wiles, he said on a low growl in an accusing tone, taking time to enunciate each word, “What . . have . . you . . done, hoonan?”
Feeling pretty irritated at this point, hulking handsome beast in the room or no, Heather decided she’d had enough attitude. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. And why do you keep calling hoo-nan? My name is Heather, and, at this point, I don’t even know that you’re real, and I don’t know why I’m trying to argue with you if you are a figment of my imagination.”
Fade left the door alone for the time being and began to pace her foyer, trying to retrace his steps to the present. He had been engaged in battle, and then he had found the doorway. He had been trying to break through the door when it had suddenly opened.
“What were you doing just before you met me?” he asked, stopping to look down at Heather, who had gotten off her elbows and was now leaning against the wall holding her knees in a sulking juvenile manner.
The fleeting desire to ignore her figment occurred to Heather, but she tamped it and decided it was probably best to just go with the flow. Grudgingly, she answered him, keeping her chin on her knees but watching him out of the corner of her eye, “I was installing a door knob on that door you were just messing with. I was testing it to see if it was on their good. I opened the door, but it was being pushed from the other side, I guess, because it hit me hard and I blacked out for a minute or two, and when I woke up, you were here.”
She was beginning to suspect that whatever this beast was, he had to be real. She’d never had a dream try to rationalize a situation, and she had certainly never had anyone tell her that they had a dream like that. Of course, it could be that her subconscious was trying to rationalize through him? It was a possibility. But everything about what was happening seemed so real. He seemed so real. The muscles in his arms flexed as he opened and shut the door. His emotions played out on his face when he spoke to her, a muscle ticking in his jaw that she was sure indicated more irritation. And when he had kissed her, her toes had felt like they had really curled with pleasure. She let go of her knees and touched her lips with one hand. Her lips honestly felt bruised from his crushing kiss. She had even smelled him, a leathery masculine scent. Never before had she had a dream that was this vivid. She wrapped her arms around her knees once more as the beast took up his pacing again.
Fade stopped again and looked at Heather, “Where are we?”
“My house,” Heather said matter-o-factly. If he was her subconscious, wouldn’t he know this was her house?
Fade stopped pacing and racked her with another icy glare, “Where is your house?”
What kind of question was that? Heather was becoming increasingly angry at his inquisition. “My house is in my town, in my state, on my Earth!” she spat out angrily. She resented having to feel defensive, having someone question her like she was a child who didn’t know where she was. If anything, she should be asking him questions, which prompted her to ask, “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”
Getting back to the wear pattern he was creating on the floorboards, Fade responded with equal ire, “I am the prince of the Dark Throne, I am the commander of its armies, I am Prince Fade Roban. I was on a mission to retrieve the king’s betrothed from the insolent thieving hoonans that kidnapped her. I was breaking down a door on the very castle where she was being held when it suddenly gave way and I fell on top of you.”
He stopped abruptly as a realization suddenly hit him. He turned and walked with purpose to the door he had come through. Pieces of the door knob were now lying about the floor. He picked one up and examined it. “Here is the answer,” he said with triumph, shaking the remnant in the air. “This knob had some kind of words carved on it. What did it say?” He turned to look down at her as he waited for her response, his expression stormy.
Heather’s brow wrinkled as she became more frustrated with the turn his questions were taking, not fully understanding what relevance any of them had to their current situation. “It didn’t say anything. It just had carvings on it. It did have a note with it, but I couldn’t really make out what the note said, so I gave up.”
Fade made her bones jump when he dove nearly halfway across the room and down to her level. Pinning her against the wall behind her forcibly, his large strong hands cupped her shoulders, slightly twisting and applying more pressure as he seemed to take a moment to collect himself. His voice was low but threatening when he next spoke, “You mean you used a magical object and you didn’t know what it would do? What kind of fool are you?”
That was the last straw. Heather tried to wriggle her shoulders out from under his powerful hands, but to no avail, which only served to make her angrier. “It was a door knob!” she yelled at him. “A knob! And there is no such thing as magic.”
* * * *
Calder, Head of Council to the Dark Throne, was rummaging through some of the magical items that occupied his personal quarters. He had acquired them when Fade’s mother had been beheaded by the king thirty years before. He was looking for something that would help the king’s foot ailment when one of the items, a large orb that he had never been able to use, began to glow. He dropped what he was holding and ignored the sound of shattering glass as he scrambled over to the tabletop where the orb sat. Wiping a thick layer of dust off of it with the sleeve of his threadbare robe, he saw that the orb was not only glowing, it was portraying images. As he looked closer, he saw that it showed Fade falling through a door on the hoonan castle and into another room. As he watched, the light the orb emitted grew stronger when Fade came into contact with a hoonan woman. He jumped when he heard Fade’s voice come through the orb. “Where are we hoonan?”
Calder watched and listened to the scene that played out until the orb went dark. A realization struck him like a lightning bolt. Fade was trapped in another realm! His wrinkled face lit with malicious glee, and he rubbed his hands together, his mind working over the possibilities this new series of events presented. It was fate! This was his time. He had waited so many years to be king. He had killed all of the king’s unborn children since Fade. He had groveled for years to the king, had ran to do his bidding. Now it would be his turn. Now that the king was weak with illness, his young successor, Fade, was trapped somewhere else, and the battle with the hoonans for the next queen was still raging, he could kill the king and lay the blame on Fade, who would never return to defend himself. And, if for some reason Fade did manage to return, he would already be anointed king, and he would behead Fade before he had the chance to relate his side of the story to the people.
Walking over to his personal collection of weaponry on display on the stone wall of the castle, Calder grabbed a small metal blade and slipped it into a pocket on the front of his robe. He would first
drug the king until he was sleeping, and then he would kill him, that way he would offer no resistance. He walked over to a table laden with beakers filled with various potions. He selected the sleeping aid he had given the king many times. He could not hide the overwhelming joy he felt from his face as he left the room. He would be king by the morrow.
* * * *
“I want you to try to translate the message that came with the knob. We may get useful information from it.”
Heather looked at the multitude of broken pieces of knob on the floor and then gave him her best burn in hell look.
But, she had to give him credit, he must have had a lot of experience on his side because his evil glare was a lot more menacing than hers. Or it could have been the fact that he was huge and hulking and still carrying a weapon on his belt.
Heather caved in and got up to get some paper, a pen, and the plastic encased note. She came back into the foyer and laid them down on a small desk she had set beside the stairwell for mail. She crossed the room to retrieve the broken pieces of the knob and then walked back to the desk with them. She laid them out carefully and fit them together like pieces of a puzzle. When she was done reassembling them, she began to try to translate the message. She started by creating little dashes for each letter in each sentence at the bottom line on each row of the paper, figuring that she could possibly recognize several letters in each word and then perhaps make an educated guess as to what each word was from there, or perhaps guess what the sentence was based on what little she could recognize, kind of like the child game hangman.
Dark Stallion Page 19