“I'll decide what to tell her when the time comes,” Ulric muttered, vowing to remain celibate until he found his mate while simultaneously hoping he didn't meet her anytime soon. He just wasn't himself now, and wouldn't be very good for her until he recovered from these traumas.
Though a part of him feared he'd never get over this completely.
Chapter 1
Orange Falls, Pennsylvania
Present Day
“I hate dragging you down with this again, Edith. I know I bitch too much.”
“I don’t think you bitch enough. Usually you either dwell on it, or bury it. Neither’s a good thing.”
Charlotte grumbled, deciding her best friend was probably right—or she was simply being nice when this was at least the millionth time Charlotte had complained about the same thing.
Not that she was whining about the weather, or a bad hair day. Instead, her divorce was the topic of conversation.
Three months ago, Charlotte Mulligan was still Charlotte Fuller, wed to her fiance of two years, Mitchell Fuller. They were steadily coming up on the six month mark of their marriage when he'd decided it just wasn't working for him.
Charlotte wanted to try reconciling their differences, but he closed up entirely, stating a divorce was the only way, as if their marriage simply wasn't important. After spending two and a half years of her life with the man, planning their future together, she was devastated.
The fact that she wasn't worth his effort hurt the most.
Thankfully, Edith was very supportive, and sometimes Charlotte wondered if her best friend was even more upset by the situation than she was. Sadly, her support was long distance when she lived two states away and could only call to talk, but Charlotte was appreciative for it nonetheless.
Rolling onto her back where she lay on her bed, she told Edith, “I just want to stop thinking about it already. It’s been three months, we've signed the papers, and I’m tired of missing him, tired of shit popping up that makes me feel like it just happened all over again.”
“Understandable. You were with him for close to three years total, and Mitchell hurt you worse than I think anyone ever has. Sadly, drama like that doesn't die easily.” Edith sighed before asking in addition, “Speaking of drama, have you heard back from Donna yet?”
Donna Richmond was a childhood friend who'd been rooming with Charlotte when she was wed. They'd moved from Florida to Pennsylvania three years ago after Charlotte's mother passed away, and lived together until the wedding when Donna found a place of her own to give the newlyweds space.
But two days ago, Charlotte learned from a friend and coworker that Mitchell had moved in with Donna a mere week after announcing their separation.
Furthermore, they were officially dating now.
All this time, Charlotte thought Mitchell was living with his brother, and hadn't even seen Donna aside from an occasional email or phone call that never lasted very long. It definitely suggested infidelity, but the divorce itself was enough of a blow that she didn't want to think her longtime friend had betrayed her as well. It's just too much.
Several women would've ripped Donna's face off regardless of their friendship status, but Charlotte just didn't have the energy for a confrontation. So she'd sent an email saying—as politely as possible—that they couldn’t be friends if Donna was going to do this.
“No, she hasn’t replied yet,” Charlotte answered. “I saw her at Shane's birthday party yesterday, but we didn’t get a chance to talk. She started crying anyway when Shane asked if she was pregnant.”
“Why'd that make her cry?”
“I guess she thought it meant she looks fat.”
Charlotte heard her friend groaning on the other end. “Good grief. Let’s stop talking about Drama-Donna before I get pissed off. Instead, you know what I think you need most?”
“What’s that?”
“Rebound!” she snickered into the phone. “You need some hot guy to take your mind off this shit. String ‘em along 'til they’re not amusin’ anymore.”
Charlotte grinned, “Yeah, maybe.”
“Maybe my ass. You can’t tell me that if some hot man crashed through your door for whatever reason, you'd turn it down.” Chuckling, Edith added, “Okay, maybe you would, prude.”
“Hooker!” Charlotte playfully countered.
The two always teased each other that way, and Edith used the word prude due to Charlotte's general disinterest in sex. It had simply never been a priority, and besides, she liked the idea of having only one lover, waiting for quite a while with Mitchell—who'd been her first—before finally hopping into the sack.
The fact that he was her first didn't make things easier to handle.
But there was an oddity in all of it, one Charlotte didn't like admitting. Among Mitchell's reasons for divorce was the fact that he'd been unhappy in bed. Charlotte tried her best to satisfy him, but whenever they had sex, it hurt—and not just the first time.
After a few tries, the pain lessened, but she still couldn't figure out what the big deal was. Becoming aroused and staying that way was a problem, even when interested, reminding her of how people said sex was blown out of proportion.
With her track record, she believed it.
Maybe she should've clued into something being wrong whenever she and Mitchell would engage in other activities prior to going the whole way. He never seemed to have trouble, but she rarely ever got there.
Edith asked if she'd faked it, but Charlotte couldn't do that. The thought of giving a dishonest response to the man she wanted to marry just didn't sit right.
Because of this, she usually worked to satisfy Mitchell alone in many of their encounters, and in the meantime, sought a solution—anything from doctor’s visits to reading books and trying techniques.
But they simply never worked.
According to the doctors, she was impotent and needed sexual therapy to overcome it. Still, her first session was scheduled two days after Mitchell left, so Charlotte didn't show. What's the point?
No longer able to sit on the bed while she talked, she pushed the thoughts away and stood up to pace, hoping to shed her negative energy by walking it off.
While she stepped into the hallway, Edith wondered aloud, “Where the hell are the decent men at anyway?”
“If I knew, we’d go there,” Charlotte replied, listening to her friend snicker. “We wouldn’t even have to hook up with anyone, we could just sit on some lounge chairs, sip margaritas, and rate the packages as they passed us.”
“I’m there now,” Edith chuckled out. “Let them come to us.”
The joke gave Charlotte a much needed laugh as she entered the living room. Her cat, a Serengeti named Pepper, was sitting on the computer desk, and she stopped to pat his head when an unexpected knock came to the door.
“Charlotte? You there?” Edith asked.
“Yeah, sorry, someone's here. Give me a minute, okay?”
“No troubles, bubbles.”
Charlotte put the phone down to go see who was there, and on the other side of the peephole stood a delivery man. When she opened the door, he turned to face her completely, asking, “Charlotte Mulligan?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
In his hand was a cardboard box about half a foot long and tall in size. On top of it was a device to sign electronically.
“If you could just sign here,” he requested politely.
Charlotte wasn’t expecting any packages, supposing she'd been sent a surprise from someone who knew her situation and wanted to help out somehow. Once done signing, she took the box and exchanged thank you’s before shutting the door.
The package was light weight, and she carried it to the coffee table where the phone was sitting, lifting it back to her ear again.
“Edith? I just got a package from a delivery guy.”
“Oh? New issue of a dirty magazine? Is the delivery guy on the cover?”
“No! It’s not a dirty magazine, and I really
doubt it,” Charlotte chuckled.
“Too bad. You could’ve invited him in to open his other package.”
“Hooker!” Charlotte teased as she sat on the couch and lifted the box to read the return address, which confused her.
“I’m not familiar with the sender, Edith. It says the name James Claybourne in Georgia.”
“No one you know?”
“Nope.”
“So open it up,” Edith said just as Charlotte was doing so. “Maybe it’s some expensive jewelry from a secret admirer … who’s not so secret now with his name all over the box. Okay, bad suggestion.”
Charlotte smirked, tugging the lid open to look inside and see … another box. It wasn't cardboard though, but some kind of trinket box with tissue paper crammed around it, a piece of which she tugged out and tossed to the floor for Pepper to chase—which he did without hesitation.
Snickering over the cat's playful display, Charlotte tugged the trinket box out and noticed it was made of some kind of black marble material, smooth and cool to the touch, with red markings decorating each of its sides as well as the top surface.
Whoever made the box put some finely crafted care into it.
At the front center was a lock, and attached to the knob was a red ribbon with a key tied to the end.
“It looks like a jewelry box with a lock on it,” she told Edith who waited patiently for a description. Lifting the key, she stuck it into the lock and tried to turn it both ways, but it wouldn’t budge. Puzzled, Charlotte attempted to just open the top, but it was definitely sealed tight.
“It won’t open.”
“That’s weird. Shake it, see if it makes a sound.”
Taking Edith’s advice, she lifted the item by her ear and gently jostled it about. “It's clinking like … metal beads.”
Edith sounded just as puzzled as Charlotte felt when she suggested, “Get a butter knife out of the kitchen, see if that’ll pry the sucker open.”
“I don’t know, Edith, it looks antique. I mean it really looks like someone put some hard work into it, and I don’t want to break it.”
“Hmm … is there anything else inside the package?”
Grabbing it again, Charlotte started shifting through the tissues inside, and uncovered a plain white envelope beneath them.
“Yeah, there’s a letter here.”
“What’s it say?”
Charlotte placed the package to the side and opened the envelope to find a single piece of paper within possessing a handwritten note that sounded like a poem, further confusing her.
She read the words to Edith aloud.
Here’s a box for you to keep,
and lure to you the things you need.
Hold it close and keep it safe,
with the promise that we'll meet one day.
Don't be alarmed, your woes will end,
until then, be well my friend!
“That is weird.”
“Very,” Charlotte agreed. Somehow, she couldn’t stop staring at the item, uncertainly suggesting, “I could take some pictures of it and show it to Julian.”
“Julian? You mean your old co-worker from Florida?”
“Yep.”
“Why would you show him?”
“He runs an antiques shop now, and he's always telling me about the things he finds to sell there. He knows the periods they're from, what styles, everything. I think he could tell me what it is.”
“Sounds like your best shot to me. If you take it to someone in town, they might try to swindle it out of ya, well, saying it’s worth anything.”
“It really does look it, Edith.” Charlotte lifted the box again, eyeing it curiously. “It's strange. Besides that weird note, I have a funny feeling about it.”
“Just about the box?”
“Yeah. I can’t put my finger on it, but,” she paused for thought, “I just feel like it’s important somehow.”
“You really need to get properly laid.”
Drawn out of her thoughtful daze by the dryly stated joke, she smirked and rolled her eyes. “Shutup, hooker.”
“Prude!”
Charlotte smiled. Leave it to Edith to make light of any situation.
She picked up the box and the packaging to carry to her room where she’d stored her camera and laptop. Hopefully, Julian would be able to tell her a little more, and she wasn’t actually being stalked by someone who sent odd trinket boxes to their victims.
But figuring out what the item was still wouldn’t explain why she’d gotten it. James Claybourne wasn't a familiar name, and Charlotte had only been to Georgia once when passing through the state on her move to Pennsylvania. So it was definitely a mystery.
Though, thankfully it took her mind off of other distasteful things, like Mitchell and Donna. So it couldn't be all bad.
Could it?
Chapter 2
Atlanta, Georgia
“Is that Rozdra?”
“Yeah, she's cranky.”
“I would be too if you left me in the car like a dog.”
“You never complained before, Garrick.”
“You always cracked the window, Ulric.”
Ulric grinned. “I'd crack it for Rozdra, but she'd break it to get out.”
“This is why you shouldn't have her with you right now.”
“What am I supposed to do? Liam needed a baby-wyvern-sitter on short notice. He'll be back for her in a day or two.”
Ulric was settled in his car speaking on the phone with his brother, Garrick, while looking over at the topic of conversation. Rozdra was a baby wyvern, currently about three feet long from snout to foot, with blue scales, a silver belly, black horns crowning her head, and spines running down her back from her neck to the tip of her tail.
Like all wyverns, her wings served as her arms, and because her hands were so small, she worked with her clawed toes.
Though able to fit in Ulric's passenger seat where she was currently watching him with crystal blue eyes, when Rozdra was fully grown, she'd be about the size of an average home.
Ulric's brother, Liam, brought her to the mortal realm to help her escape poachers who killed young wyverns for their scales, endangering the species. Many draconians sought to reverse this by periodically caring for baby wyverns in a world where they wouldn't be hunted, then returning them home once they were big enough to better care for themselves.
Thankfully, the endeavor had gotten worthwhile results.
Because her kind were nocturnal, Rozdra spent her days sleeping in a black, windowless carrier now sitting in Ulric's backseat, usually only stirring a few hours after the sun had gone down—like now.
The wyvern was softly shrieking at Ulric to let him know she wasn't happy, most likely due to hunger after sleeping all day.
“She's probably hungry.”
“I was just thinking that,” Ulric replied, opening his door. To Rozdra, he added, “Go on, find something to eat.”
The wyvern stood immediately and hopped onto his arm, then leaped through the open door and spread her wings, swiftly taking to the sky over the trees nearby. It wasn't a worry that she'd get lost when her carrier was enchanted to act as a beacon, so Rozdra always found her way back, even if Ulric left without her.
He shut the door in her wake as his brother inquired, “Are you still in Arkin City?”
“No, I'm back in Atlanta. Isadora contacted me in Burston last night and said to meet her here. According to her, the curse box isn't even in Georgia anymore.”
“Damn, rough luck,” Garrick replied. “But the pay you're getting for this job is easily worth the effort.”
“Why be here otherwise?” Ulric asked rhetorically. As far as most draconians were concerned, if the payment wasn't substantial, the job wasn't worth the time.
A little over two weeks ago, his eldest brother, Dalris, notified him of a job to find a curse box. The pay was half a million dollars in platinum, which was definitely worthwhile.
Because the supernatur
al world oftentimes overlooked humans and their activities, many mystical items unwittingly fell into mortal hands on a rather frequent basis. So Ulric started his search by checking mortal communities, and just as suspected, learned that the curse box was stored in a museum—conveniently located in Georgia—where it’d been put on display to mortals who had no idea the significance of the item they were viewing.
Thankfully, it wasn't dangerous when most humans had no inherent magical abilities, and never really understood the purpose of such items. Instead, they would've thought of it as nothing more than an antique trinket box to be placed on a shelf for show.
So essentially, it was his for the taking.
But before he could even reach the museum, the box was stolen and gambled away on lupine wolf fights—which was where his hunt grew complicated. The renegade pack running the fights kept their territory a secret, so Ulric enlisted the help of their enemies in Arkin City to find it.
A local witch turned up the small town of Burston, and when Ulric arrived, all he found was a message from Isadora saying the box was no longer in Georgia.
She was a fae witch that Ulric went to after the box was stolen, hoping to track it mystically with her abilities. Sadly, a shroud surrounding the item prevented such attempts, so Ulric followed the thief's trail while Isadora tried to figure out where the box was located more precisely.
Now, he was sitting in his car, parked in a lot across from a strip club where she'd told him to meet her, speaking with his brother before going inside.
“I'll update Dalris,” Garrick mentioned, “but not before I remind you how big of a pain in the ass it is that he bothers me so much when you don't call him like you're supposed to.”
Ulric came from a large family with a total of nine boys and only one girl, and Dalris, the eldest, served as the head of their family's affairs in the mortal realm. As such, he kept tabs on all of his siblings and their work.
But Ulric had a bad habit of never calling him, telling Garrick, “I like keeping him on his toes. He's too straight laced otherwise.”
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