With their hands pressed together, Drake leaned forward, hesitating just before contact, giving her the chance to say no. Instead, she closed the distance, and as their lips touched a jolt of awareness zinged through him. This was where he belonged, with Megan, in her arms. She was his home. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her closer as she threaded her fingers through his hair. As love for her poured through him he knew that he would spend the rest of his life doing anything and everything he needed to, to be worthy of her.
He pulled back and she smiled at him, a smile full of joy that lit her countenance. Looking at her like this, he could believe in angels, for Megan surely was one.
“I love you, Drake. Maybe you don’t want to hear that, but it doesn’t matter, because like it or not, I do love you.”
“That’s good,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” she asked.
“Yeah. Makes life a lot easier when the woman you love loves you back.”
“You love me?” she teased.
“Like you can’t believe.”
She traced his brow, his cheek, his lip. “I can believe it,” she said, tilting her face up for another kiss. Drake was happy to oblige.
Afterlife
Alashon danced around impatiently as she waited. Vindar would arrive soon, though it couldn’t be soon enough for her. They’d spent sixty-three earth years together, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
He’d found her. He’d promised he would, and he did. It would have been so much easier if they’d been able to retain their memories from before, but she knew that wasn’t how it worked. It would have been so easy for Vindar to miss her. They weren’t anywhere near each other on earth. He’d made decisions, what he called bad decisions, decisions that nearly took him on Lucifer’s path, but they weren’t bad, not really. If he hadn’t made those decisions, he would never have found her. And they both would have spent their lives searching for something they couldn’t name.
She peeked down again, saw Vindar—Drake—lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by their family. She missed them, all of them, but she knew they were going to be okay. She was proud of the family they had raised. Even their grandchildren were in his hospital room with their children. That’s how deep their love for him went, that they wanted to be there for his last moments.
“Can I go now?” she asked the angel standing guard.
The angel laid a loving hand on her shoulder. “Yes, you can go now, Alashon.”
Alashon hurried down to Vindar. He looked awful, she thought, and completely wonderful at the same time.
“Vindar,” she called. He didn’t acknowledge her, and she realized he wouldn’t know that name—not yet. “Drake.”
His eyes snapped to hers. “Megan?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “I’ve come for you.”
“You’ve come for me?” he asked, happiness lighting his voice. She saw some of the others glance at one another as he spoke. They couldn’t see her, or hear her. She knew they thought he’d finally lost it.
As she moved closer to the bed, she ran her fingers lightly over those around his bed. She couldn’t feel them, nor they her, but she couldn’t bypass this last opportunity to touch these people she loved so very much. They weren’t ready to join her and Vindar yet. They still had much to do.
She reached for Vindar’s hand, and he gladly placed his own in hers. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said, tears gathering in his eyes.
“I know,” she said, “but we can be together now. Forever.”
He sat up, and then stood, looking as she remembered him on the day she first met him in his earthly form. She knew she also appeared to him as she’d looked then. A gasp sounded around them, as tears and crying filled the room at their loss of Drake. Alashon glanced at them, wishing she could tell them not to grieve, that this was a joyous occasion.
“Alashon,” Vindar said, remembrance filling his eyes.
“Yes,” she answered. “You found me. You vowed, and you found me.”
“I found you,” he said. “But you, you saved me.”
He pulled her into his arms, and Alashon’s soul filled with the light of love. They began their ascent.
“We saved each other.”
The End
About the Author
Cindy C Bennett is the YA author of Geek Girl, Heart on a Chain, and Immortal Mine. She has also written the short stories Reluctance and Beautiful Beast (Enchanted Fairytales Book 1). She loves losing herself in her make-believe worlds where she likes to pretend she has control, and that the control does not really belong to her characters and those voices in her head. Watch for her other upcoming Enchanted Fairytales installments, and her full-length take on Rapunzel due out in February 2013 from Sweetwater Books, and well as the sequel to Immortal Mine, due out December 2012.
Find more about Cindy C Bennett at:
www.cindycbennett.com
Return to Table of Contents
I Was Here—Before You Came
Legend has it—before Romanians there were Dacians. And before them Agathyrsis, beautiful and luxurious people who brought into Dacia the cults of Apollo, the god of light, healing and poetry.
Dacians lived, worked and died for the rich land between the Danube and the Carpathian Mountains. My people stood tall in the way of Huns, Goths, and Vikings, all barbarians in a hurry to kill, and steal our women, gold and silver. No matter the army, in the end our fields soaked in blood, the putrid corpses a stark reminder that Dacians had no fear, no rival worthy to defeat them.
Until one day—Romans came.
Romans thrust through sword everything in their way, killing helpless women and children, enslaving men, poisoning our wells ... They destroyed the Sarmizegetusa Fortress, and with that my home ... They crushed and chased our army off the cliff, and with that my people. They tortured my mother and my sister, killing them one by one, and with that my family . . . They hunted my father, the brave King Decebalus into the woods, his back against the steep hill. Nowhere to go, no way to turn.
I watched my father die.
I saw him go down on one knee, on the land he loved so much, his sword and shield at his side. The war was over, but not his courage. Being a Roman’s prisoner was not an option. With one last breath he called my name before reaching in his sleeve for the dagger. As he drew the blade across his throat, blood spewed forth like dragon’s tongues.
Legend has it—Marcus Ulpius Nerva Traianus ordered my father’s head and right arm to be paraded in Rome for 123 long days whilst Romans celebrated victory against my people. While they danced and sang, I buried my mother and my sister.
Vengeance.
That's what I live for, the only reason I survived.
I will not rest. I will not give up. For ten years I built an army, my army to take back my land, reclaim my birthright to the Dacian Kingdom as the only survivor of King Decebalus. I've learned, trained, fed my hate, waiting for the right moment to strike.
The moment has come.
*****
The night descends—sinister outside the fortress. I keep close to the rock wall until I reach the gate to the hidden tunnel. Soon my usher shows up. I exchange gold coins for a key he hands me before disappearing, leaving the path open.
Galtys and Ursus guard the entrance. Vipero, Bastisza and Zyraxes follow me into the tunnel. My men. I feel their thirst for blood. I trust them with my life. We carry only daggers, our forefathers’ daggers. Today is the day to make them proud.
The pungent smell is as thick as the darkness. We walk deeper and deeper beneath the fortress. I've been here before, during the construction, learning my way around, counting my steps inside the maze of underground corridors. Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa is a solid castle the Romans built after destroying the real Sarmizegetusa Fortress, my home. But not solid enough to stand against the hate running through my veins, feeding my very soul. I can't wait to see it burn.
The sound of water leaching on the east w
all beckons I need to turn right, into a narrower tunnel. I walk hunched, as do my men. The air becomes impossible to breathe. Almost there. One more turn into a shorter tunnel. Sweat trickles down my forehead, into my beard. Rats scurry between our feet. We reach the bottom of the stone steps taking us into the main courtyard. I take two steps at a time, guided by the night's fresh air wrapping around me like a blessed cloak.
After the darkness in the tunnel, the stars offer more light than I want. We stay hooded behind the pillars, moving fast under the arcades. Flowers decorate the courtyard for the morrow’s celebration. Only there will be none. Blood instead of wine. The smell of death instead of intoxicating garlands. Wails instead of music.
We strike. Guards at Emperor Traianus’ chambers fall quietly, taken away by death's claws. I can hear Traianus snore. All I have to do is open the door and slice his throat. The thrill of killing my father's nemesis ripples across my muscles, and it takes both Vipero and Bastisza pinning me against the stonewall to stop me from doing just that. “We need him to suffer,” Vipero wheezes in my ear. An old neck injury prevents him from speaking otherwise. Zyraxes' back pushes against mine as he protects our retreat.
What we came for is at the end of the next corridor. Sentinels at each door don't know what hits them. Eternal rest receives them one by one. The path is clear. We reach the last chamber's doors. Oak, massive doors. Behind them the night's trophy. Revenge is within reach. This time no one can stop me.
I stand at the foot of her bed, watching her slumber. Candlelight veils her with a silver glow. Long, black hair spills around her face, a stark contrast to the white pillows. Her curves reveal through the thin blue chemise and for a moment I forget my plan, almost giving into the painful need to make her mine. I’ve watched her grow since she was but a foal, a fragile lotus lily amidst weeds. I watched her play while Romans scourged my people to work harder, building their new fortress with Dacian timber, Dacian stone, Dacian marble on Dacian land. My land.
Nerva.
Traianus’ pride and heart I’m about to destroy.
*****
I don’t know if the glow surrounding us comes from the sunrise or from the fire we set, but I’m about to find out atop the mountain with a glorious view. I force myself not to look behind, wanting to put as much distance as possible between our group and the blazing fortress. I'm not worried Romans are after us. If they are smart the garrisons should ride in the exact opposite direction.
My epistle must be in Traianus' hands by now. I wish I could see his face, waking up to his family’s and disciples’ screams, desperate to find out Nerva's gone.
There will be no betrothal.
If he wants her back, he must fight my army. He must remember where my father died. I know that place like the back of my hand. It’s the place he’ll reunite with Nerva. The sorrow and pain he feels now will be nothing compared with what he’ll feel then. I will make sure of that.
Until then I have to focus on the task at hand, getting us safe. My men talk little. I hear the horses’ hard breathing going up the steep trail, but I know they can do it. They are the best horses my father’s hidden treasures could buy. Blanca, my mare, stumbles. She carries more weight with Nerva tied across her back, but she regains her balance and moves ahead.
Vipero’s oozed voice trails behind me. “Is she still numb?”
“She hasn’t moved since we left the fortress.”
“Mayhap the potion was too much.”
I nudge Nerva, wondering if she feigns or I indeed used too much mixtum. Miura assured me it would only numb her, not kill her. She better not be dead. I nudge Nerva again and this time I hear a faint moan.
The wind whispers through the pinewoods. I want to reach for a branch and rub the green between my fingers—it smells like the goodness of my land. July in the mountains feels cold until the sun crests over. A few more horse lengths and the meadow opens up. I prod Blanca, keen to finally drink in the image of the burning fortress. I promised myself I wouldn't look back until we arrived here, but I can’t wait any longer.
I dismount and so do my men. Slaps on the back and laughter disappear behind victory shouts bouncing off the mountain walls. It gives me great pleasure to see the fortress burning. Make Romans suffer the way I suffered when they burned my home. Below us the flames seem to reach halfway to the sky, a curtain of thick smoke drifting into the air. My plan worked.
“Your father must have been very proud of you, Ilias.” Bastisza's hand squeezes my shoulder like a bear paw.
“The gods have blessed us,” Ursus whistles. These words are more than I’ve heard him talk in the past few days.
“Let's have a look at our princess.” Zyraxes, our own Apollo god, walks ahead of us with a sprint in his step.
I find Blanca nibbling grass a few steps away among other horses. Her ears perk up at our arrival. I pat her neck before reaching for Nerva. She's still and yielding, but the moment her feet touch the ground she jerks away, struggling to free herself. Her bound ankles don't give her much room to find her footing. She’s wrapped like a mummy, and I can't help but chuckle. The torrent of cursing she screams when her behind slumps into the knee-long grass brings all my men around, each one laughing harder than the other.
“She's quite a dancer,” Ursus says, “who wants to sing?”
“I lost my flute.” Galtys slaps Ursus' back sending him two steps ahead. The brothers brawl like two cubs. Except for Nerva everyone cheers and laughs.
I reach for her. “Up.” She jerks away, but I steady her as I remove the cloth from her face. It pools at her waist and so does her dark hair. Narrowing sparkling black eyes remind me of a nymph. She looks flushed and beshrewed beautiful. It would be so easy to reach for the dagger and kill her like Traianus killed my mother and sister. Instead my dagger cuts the rope around her wrists.
She jumps at me, her fingernails nearly scratching my face. But I'm quicker. Within a blink, I have both her wrists in my hand, twisting them at her back and causing her to flinch. I have her pressed hard against me. My muscles tense with her breasts pressing at my chest. Curses spill out of her mouth like foul water from a bucket.
“For a woman you have quite a lewd mouth, I daresay.” I squeeze her even tighter.
“I know the just thing to do to her, Ilias. Just say the word,” Galtys spits in his palms then rubs them together. He comes toward us. Nerva pales.
“You filthy goat, you can't touch me! I'm Princess Nerva, Traianus’ niece, let me go!” She wrestles in my arms.
“Traianus’ niece,” Zyraxes guffaws, bowing gallantly, “Why, it's a great honor you bestow upon us with your regal presence.”
“Tie her back.” Ursus snaps a piece of rope between his hands. I know all he needs is my sign and he'll tie her quickly.
“This time gag her. I can't take all that petty hissing,” Bastisza says, the oldest of my friends, turning around and leaving us.
I place my dagger in my scabbard without taking my eyes off of Nerva then grab her upper arms and shake her. “Who you are and your title mean less than the dirt under my sandals. You are my prisoner. If Traianus wants you back, he’ll have to fight me.”
“You are no match for him! He will kill you and your filthy army, all of you!” Nerva wrestles to free herself.
I admire her bravery. Instead of tears she goes for clouts and scratches. Somehow she loses her footing and splays on her back with me atop of her. The morning dew is cold against my skin. My men laugh so hard I’m sure the people behind the mountains can hear them.
“Stop,” I command.
“Get off me, brute!” she spits in my face.
I wipe my face, my temper roofing up there with the blazes of the burning fortress. I bring her to a sitting position then wrap my arm around her hair. She shrieks, but I don’t let go. “Scream and punch all you want. You can’t go anywhere. There’s your home—” My fingers hold her jaw, forcing her to look down toward the fortress.
Nerva pushes on all f
ours then kneels. Her cry matches a lynx when it returns to find her cub killed. I used to imagine this very moment with Nerva hurt, the flames reflecting on her horrified face. It gave me great pleasure in the sleepless nights. Now it makes me edgy. Mayhap I’m just too tired.
“Ilias, we’ve wasted enough time. We should be going.” Bastisza’s lower arm holds onto mine as he helps me up. Without my asking he ties Nerva’s wrists behind her and hurdles her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. She wrestles in his arms but he walks undisturbed.
Once atop my mare he hands me Nerva. She doesn’t put up a fight; she must be worn out. I hate carrying her over my saddle, but I can’t risk having her jump off and run away. That would slow us down and tamper our plan.
And I can't just have that.
*****
Galloping atop the mountains is hard and I don’t want to risk injury on any of our horses. I urge my men to keep a steady pace. If needed, we will ride into the night. We stop only to relieve ourselves. I tie Nerva with a long rope and walk away from my men, so she won't be embarrassed by their presence. The sun beats down on us, merciless. We share slanina and bread and keep going. I doze off and on, letting Blanca guide the group. We’ve gone down this trek so many times, I trust her to find her way around. Once we begin descending and the pine forests offers heavenly shade I see my men invigorated.
I untie Nerva when we first stop to refill our jugs. She doesn’t try to run away. She goes down the freshet’s bank behind a bush and splashes her face and arms with water. She must’ve hurt herself for she hops on one foot, then hobbles. She takes my breath away when she walks toward me. The front of her blue chemise is wet, leaving little to my hungry imagination. I can’t have my men see her like this. My extra shirt falls to her mid thighs, but it’ll have do for now.
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