by Lola Gabriel
“I have to go,” Maximus said again. He had enough to worry about without imagining Rui flying into London like some mad dragon king, hellbent on killing Poet. He disconnected the call before Titus could say anything else.
Glancing at the address, he felt his heart welling with disappointment. The phone had pinged from the apartment Maximus had listed as Nick Taylor’s last known address. Either Nick was there, or his phone had been left behind. In any case, Maximus had no choice but to go back to Oxford and look for Nick again.
On a whim, he texted Titus, not wanting to be kept on the phone with his brother again.
Can you check the numbers and see if they move or relocate?
Slipping the phone back into his pocket, Maximus opened the door to his hotel.
“Mr. Maximus Williams?” the plain clothed policeman in front of him asked, flashing his badge. Maximus stifled a sigh and nodded.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Chief Inspector Charlie Downs,” the policeman introduced himself. “Will you please come with me, sir?” His question left no room for argument, and Maximus suppressed the urge to run, knowing that it would only cause him problems in the future.
“Of course,” he replied tightly. “Where to?”
“Scotland Yard, sir. We have some questions about your whereabouts last night.”
Maximus drummed his fingers on the table impatiently, glancing at his wristwatch again.
They haul me down here and then leave me waiting for an hour, he thought grimly, pulling out his cell phone. There was no text from Titus yet, so Nick Taylor might still be at his flat, if he had been there in the first place.
It was ten o’clock, and Maximus had had enough. He rose to his feet, pulling open the door just in time to see Chief Inspector Downs walk in.
“It looks like we keep running into one another when you’re on your way out,” the copper joked. Maximus did not smile.
“I’m sure you’re aware that King Henry is supposed to be making a ransom drop in exchange for his daughter soon,” he said curtly. “I would rather be waiting on news about Poet’s return than staring at the walls in here. No offense.”
“None taken,” the detective replied, smiling. “And I can see your eagerness to leave, so let me get right to it, shall we?”
“Please,” Maximus agreed, turning to take a chair across from the inspector.
“Can you tell me where you were last night?” Downs asked, and Maximus felt his back tense.
“I was out looking for Poet,” he answered, trying to keep his voice steady. “I haven’t been able to relax, and I needed to keep myself occupied, futile as that seems.”
“I see. How did you do that?”
Maximus’ eyes met the inspector’s, and he felt a small fission of alarm coursing through him.
“On foot,” he said slowly. “Why do you ask?”
“Why would you think she’s within walking distance?”
“Can you tell me what this is about?”
“I would prefer to ask the questions here, Mr. Williams,” Chief Inspector replied evenly. “Can you tell me where your search took you?”
Maximus shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t. I am not familiar with London, actually.”
The lead detective’s face twisted into a smile that didn’t meet his cold, grey eyes.
“That was going to be my next question,” he sighed, sitting back. “How did you manage to weasel your way into the princess’ life, under the radar of her security?”
Maximus bristled, fully understanding that he was being questioned about the kidnapping again. There was no time for these trivialities. “We met on campus at Oxford. I was auditing classes, considering taking some of my own. I happened to see her, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Ah, love at first sight,” Downs said. “How romantic.”
“Look, mate,” Maximus began, “I know you have a job to do here, but I really think you would be better off getting ready for the hand-off, don’t you? Something tells me these people are not pros. They are taking on a kingdom, after all.”
“People?” Downs echoed. “More than one that you know of?”
Maximus grunted in frustration. “You can’t hold me here without cause,” he said shortly. “I know my rights.”
“Do you spend a lot of time with the police then?”
“Don’t twist my words,” Maximus snapped, rising. “If there’s nothing else—”
“You are free to go, Mr. Williams,” the inspector said, “but I do have one last question for you. How did you manage to evade the detail we had on you last night?”
Maximus froze in his spot. Of course. Of course they had been following him. They had suspected he had Poet all along, and he had almost blown his cover by shifting last night.
“I cannot speak to the incompetence of your own men,” he replied. “It seems to be a recurring theme around here, though. First the princess is kidnapped from under the noses of the King’s Guard, and then you lose your eyes on me.”
The phony smile faded completely from Downs’ lips.
“We are watching you, Williams,” he growled. “We will find where you have hidden her, and you better pray that not one hair on her head is harmed or you will find your testes in a vice until kingdom come, do you understand?”
“Forgive me if I have absolutely no faith in your abilities as an enforcer of justice,” Maximus spat back, reaching for the doorknob. “Good day.”
He hurried into the corridor, glancing over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. It felt as if all eyes were on him, but he knew he had to shift if he wanted to get away undetected. He had to find Nick and Mya before noon. Once they had the money, it would be too late for Poet.
Maximus rushed outside, ducking through the side streets and looking for a place to hide until he could gauge his surveillance. He glanced at his watch again. It was ten thirty.
Shit! he cursed. I need to get to Nick’s flat.
The tube was the only solution. It would ensure his anonymity, even if he was being followed. In morning traffic, he had a good chance of getting where he needed to be.
Maximus ran through the streets, trying to orient himself with the nearest subway station. Pulling up his phone, he downloaded the underground map and finally found the entrance to St. James Park. He made his way to the platform and stole onto a train heading west, where he lost the reception on his phone.
God, please still be there, he begged, his chest pounding as he willed the train to move faster toward his destination. He was cutting it too close, knowing that the pick-up was near. If Nick was still at his flat, he would be raring to leave any minute.
Maximus hoped he was not too late.
He barely felt his feet on the steps leading into the street, and it took everything in his power not to shift into flight as he sprinted through Oxford. Spinning around the corner of Reading and Herkimer Streets, Maximus saw Nick’s flat looming before him.
At that moment, his cell phone pinged in his pocket.
Your boy is on the move. He just left the location I gave you, Titus’ text read.
Maximus raised his head, almost as if he had been guided by an invisible string. Nick raced down the front steps of his building, a panicked expression on his face.
Without pausing to think, Maximus increased his pace. He pushed past the unsuspecting pedestrians, knocking some aside as he closed the distance between him and his unseeing prey. His heart thudding, he leaped into the air, his body transitioning on primal need. As his mouth jutted into a scaly, reptilian face, his wings broke free from his shoulders.
A scream of terror filled his ears, but Maximus did not turn to see who he had terrified in his shift. He only had eyes for the rodent scurrying down the street, only several paces from him.
Nick never saw him until Maximus was atop him, pinning the skinny grad student to the ground with massive, pinching claws. The smell of urine filled his nostrils as he emanated scalding puff
s of smoke.
“Where… is… she?” The voice he emitted was otherworldly and terrifying.
Nick’s face turned translucent with fear. “Wh-what are you?”
Maximus’ head fell back, and he released a screech so loud, all the window in the vicinity reverberated. The swell of screaming increased, and even in his most primitive state, Maximus knew that he had precious seconds to get the information he needed.
“Where… is… she?” he repeated. The words hurt coming from the depth of his charred windpipe, but he would not relent until he had an answer.
“S-S-South B-B-Bank,” Nick choked. “Near the—”
Maximus did not allow him to finish. He bared his rows of teeth, a gleaming mass of silver and white reflecting off the sun’s rays as he plucked Poet’s captor up on one jagged canine. Tossing him carelessly onto his majestic back, Maximus began to run, his claws clicking against the pavement as the hordes ran out of his way, ducking for cover.
With a final ferocious roar, Maximus jumped into the sky, his leather wings covering the street in a shadow before he spiraled upward into the sun. At the last moment, knowing that Nick was about to fall off his scales, Maximus leveled his body, feeling the light fall of the boy against his back.
You can’t die yet, he thought grimly. Not until you take me to Poet.
13
When Mya returned, Poet could immediately see that something was amiss. The woman constantly glanced at her cell phone, muttering to herself as she strutted back and forth against the filthy floor.
Poet swallowed the sarcastic comments brimming from her lips, sensing that antagonizing her kidnapper in that instance would only move forward the inevitable plan to end her life. Her throat was far too raw to waste words, anyway. She may as well save her breath for her last words.
The idea that she was about to die was almost amusing at that point. Then again, Poet knew that the cold and lack of nourishment could be to blame for that.
I had a good life, she mused, studying Mya with puffy, red eyes. Who else can say they were born a princess and held for ransom? A strangled sob escaped her throat, and Mya’s head jerked up to glare at her.
“What the hell are you sniveling for?” she snapped. “I’m the one who can’t find that skinny bastard. He hasn’t answered my texts all morning!”
Poet realized that Mya was speaking more to herself than she was to her, but that didn’t stop her from laughing before she could stop herself. Mya’s face turned black with fury.
“Is something amusing to you, Princess?” she hissed, drawing closer.
Poet shrugged, suddenly aware that she could no longer feel her legs or arms. The cold had penetrated her so deeply, she could no longer remember what it was like to feel warm.
I have nothing to lose, she realized. No one is coming for me. Max tried, I’m sure. Father did, too. But in the end, we’re born alone, and we die alone, I suppose.
“It looks like Nick had the same idea as you,” Poet offered, an almost serene smile on her face. “Well, maybe not exactly the same, because he didn’t kill you.”
Mya’s mouth parted in surprise, as if Poet saying it aloud confirmed all the fears she’d been harvesting since the morning. The slap of her hand across Poet’s cheek was meant to sting, but Poet could barely feel anything.
Is this what apathy feels like? she wondered, a half-smile still on her face as she tasted blood inside her mouth.
“What the hell are you smiling at?” Mya howled, hurrying behind her. Poet did not even bother to see where she had gone. “You think it’s funny? Even now, you’re better than me?”
The rope encircled her neck, and Poet realized that it was time.
“After I kill you, I am going to strip you naked and leave you here for the rats to eat,” Mya hissed, pulling the noose tighter around Poet’s throat. “Then we’ll see how pretty you look.”
Poet gasped, desperate to breathe. What she had assumed was apathy suddenly evaporated from her body, being replaced by the instinct to survive and the panic that she might not succeed. She rocked violently against the chair, straining to free her still-bound hands as life slipped from her body.
A terrible rasping noise filled the room as Mya pulled the noose tighter, her fury evident in her actions. Poet felt her eyes bugging from her face, and she began to fade into unconsciousness.
I’m sorry, Max, she called out as the world went dark around her. I tried to hold on so we could have more time together.
Abruptly, the rope fell onto her lap, and Poet gasped for air in huge, choking breaths. She bucked backward in her frenzy to breathe, landing on her back. Slowly, she turned her head, as if in a dream, and stared at the scene unfolding before her.
Am I dead? she wondered as a huge, amber-eyed beast prowled down the steps, its giant head peering at her like some prehistoric dinosaur. But Poet knew it was no dinosaur. It was a dragon, and she knew exactly who it was. Max!
As if hearing her silent call, Max unleashed a feral, high-pitched scream, and Mya fell to her knees in shock.
“Oh, my God, what—what the hell is that?” she whispered.
Poet watched his claws inching down the steps. Then she saw the almost minuscule shape of another figure on Max’s behemoth back.
“What did you do?” Mya screamed. “You screwed up everything!”
It wasn’t until Mya said those words that Poet realized it was Nick on Max’s back. But not for long. With a massive shake from Max’s form, the thin, terrified man was sent flying against the far wall of the basement, a crunch of bones accompanying his cries of pain as he crashed to the floor.
Mya rose quickly, as if sensing her only hope was to run. Before she could move, Max unhinged his jaws and unleashed a stream of fire toward her. Poet could not be certain if his intent was to miss her, but Mya howled in fear as a line of flames danced past her.
“Please! Stop!” she begged. “I didn’t hurt her! Tell it, Poet! Tell it I didn’t hurt you!”
Again, a vibration escaped Max’s enraged body, and Poet exhaled, feeling the heat of the fire dart past her toes. It felt so good to be near warmth again. Unbelievably, she found herself relaxing, the fear of the past two days washing away while Mya’s only escalated.
“YOU CAN’T HURT ME!” Mya screamed hysterically, darting around the enclosed space like a trapped rat. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”
Max stalked closer to her, his saffron eyes locking on her hysterical brown ones.
“I can hurt you,” he rasped, and Poet heard Max’s voice deep inside the leviathan cornering Mya.
“Who are you?” she moaned, once more falling to her knees in defeat. “How is this possible?”
“I am the man who will be watching you for the rest of your life,” Max told her, his scales falling away to expose his rugged handsomeness as Mya stared at him in awe. “No matter where you go, no matter what you do, I will always be there. And if not me, one of us. Expect us, Mya. We’re everywhere.”
Max whirled and rushed to where Poet lay, his hands undoing the tight knots around her ankles and hands.
“Talk to me,” he urged her, cupping her face in his hands. “Poet. Poet, look at me.”
Poet tried to focus her eyes on him, but she was drifting off somewhere else, somewhere much brighter and more pleasant.
“I’m taking you home,” he murmured. “I’ve got you, Poet. You’re going to be okay now.”
But his voice floated away, much like her mind. Suddenly, there was nothing but warmth and darkness.
Someone was holding her hand, and even before Poet opened her eyes, a smile blossomed over her face.
“Max,” she murmured, turning her head toward the dark-haired man at her side.
“Poet! You’re awake!”
Her smile faded slightly as she realized it was not Max at her side. “Papa?” she murmured. “Where is Max?”
King Henry reached down to stroke her face, his eyes darkening.
“He won’t ever get near yo
u again,” her father promised. “He’s locked up in London.” Poet’s eyes widened in shock as she struggled to sit up, looking around.
“Where am I?” she demanded. As soon as she asked the question, she realized the answer. The windows of the room were open, and a soft, tropical breeze fluttered through the sheer curtains. Despite the hospital equipment surrounding the bed, Poet recognized the palace on the Island of Luxe.
“No!” she cried, tears of frustration filling her eyes. “Why is he in prison?”
The king looked at her pityingly and waved his hand dismissively at the others in the room. Without a word, the medical staff exited, offering Poet timid smiles.
“You don’t remember what happened to you, do you?” her father asked sadly, stroking her face. “You were—”
“Kidnapped,” Poet interrupted, impatiently swatting his hand away. “By Nick Taylor and Mya Christensen, two classmates of mine from Oxford. Papa, Max saved me from them!”
The king studied her face, his brow furrowing in confusion. “No, Poet, he was in on it, too. The police said—”
“The police are wrong!” she snapped. “Did you pay a ransom? No, because Max stopped Nick from collecting. Papa, you have to get him out of prison! Get on the phone with whomever you need and do something!”
“All right, Poet, all right!” King Henry said, holding up a hand in protest. “Just lay back and relax. I will make the calls and have your friend freed.”
“He’s not my friend,” Poet said quietly. “He’s my soulmate.”
The waves of the Pacific crashed at the white sands as Poet paced the dock, glancing onto the horizon again.
“Are you sure he’s on his way?” she asked her father again. “He should have been here by now.”
“You know how things are on the mainland,” King Henry told her, but his gaze followed her closely. “Punctuality is not their strong suit.”
Poet continued to walk back and forth until the glint of metal caught her eye.
“He’s here,” she whispered. “He’s here.”
