by T Shadow
The anticipation is almost too much to bear. If I thought that a sinfully gorgeous woman was my biggest weakness, I’d say that access to unknown or crucial information would be a pretty close second. The feeling of knowing something that no one else does, or being privy to secrets that could bring down an entire monarchy is a feeling that only few experience— it’s an exhilaration beyond your wildest dreams; for me, it’s like my own personal brand of narcotic.
Was Remi going to be my knight in shining armour, providing me information that would benefit not only me but the others as well, or was she going to be the epitome of sin, personification of lust and the devil in human skin; could she wrap me around her little finger quick enough to make hell feel like home?
Because this hell isn’t worth living in anymore. Banished to the wastes after that minor incident with the First Knight, my days have been filled with an aching loneliness, an endless void of depression and an insatiable need to tinker with broken and abandoned cars; as though I’m trying to fix and replace the things I have lost and so desperately seek.
All of my thoughts have focused on the memories that plague my mind. Why is it that reminders of the past can wrap a cold, hard hand around your throat and squeeze until you’re gasping for breath, but wishing for death? Lost in the throes of war memories, endless screams and the clash and clang of swords— the only thing that breaks through is a gentle, calming voice. It pulls me back from the bloody war and into the eerily silent store. Minutes may have passed, but in those memories, it feels like years have gone by; yet here I am, still sat in the armchair that I fell in when I tried, and failed to apologise. The voice was Remi’s. That sinful girl with the voice like an angel. She could be a trap all by herself but thankfully, I’m more than willing to be caught.
It’s Remi’s question that snaps me right back to our sad excuse of reality. I can’t afford to lose myself in shitty memories any longer. “I want to talk about you. I need to trust you implicitly first before I tell you what I know. And by trust you, I mean, trust all of you.”
All of me? Like from my head to my toes, or an intimate meeting with little Landon?
A startled cough escapes from her lips. “Huh, uh, no. I don’t mean your penis. I mean all four of you. Now unless you can create clones of yourself, I mean you, the Alpha-asshole, the Ginger Giant and the Kid.”
“Wait, you’ve given us all nicknames? What’s mine?”
“Not that it’s important, but I don’t think you want to know.”
It’s obviously really bad then, like dick-face or cunt-waffle.
“Right okay, so… you said you wanted to know about me… This is a weird place for a first date, but what do you want to know?”
“Pretentious to assume that we’re on a date. However, I want to know what exactly you’re here for in Stonehold.”
I’m unsure if it’s the lights in this place, but did Remi’s eyes glaze over white for a mili-second? I’m almost certain that they did because this uneasy feeling comes over me, as if I’m being compelled by an unknown force. I’m opening my mouth to reply, but I’m not speaking. My inner beast— who has been unresponsive for many years, has finally decided to speak up and interject through me. It turns my voice into a raspy, predatory growl.
“Secret objective, to find the hoard.”
“What is it about the hoard that you seek?”
“An item which holds secrets that no other knows.”
“And where do you think the hoard is?”
“We do not know.”
“We, as in you and your beast, or all four of you and your companions?”
“The latter.”
“Interesting... as I am talking to the beast, what is your name?”
My beast balks at this question— not because he hasn’t spoken in a few years, but rather because no one has asked him for his name before. No one has been rude enough to broach the sensitive topic.
“My… name?”
“Yes, your name. Not the meat suit’s name.”
“Why... my... name?”
“Because I asked, now, what is your name?”
“Valkar.”
“Beautiful.” Staring at me, longingly, she moves on with her subtle interrogation, “And the names of the others?”
“Remington, Finn-”
She tuts at him, as if scolding a small child. “Nuh-uh, I mean the beast’s names. You can’t fool me, Valkar.”
Her voice purrs and I’m suddenly dealing in sensitive information. “Remington and Kinar-ai, Finnegan and Oshi, Leland and Rokanis.”
“Good, good. Do you know about the legend of the First Knight?”
“There have been many legends about the First Knights.”
Shaking her head slightly, she laughs. Her laugh isn’t gentle like a caress, but smug. “No silly, I said the First Knight. You know, that one that no one talks about?”
My hands are sweating at the question— if her laugh didn’t set me on edge, her question did. “Yes.”
“Good.” As she turns to look at the front door, I feel the cold touch of a blade against my neck. Her trusty sidekick has evaded my senses and snuck up on me unawares. It’s the growl of a purr in my ear that reminds me of the predator that Mika really is.
“I think we all need to talk. Preferably soon. But just so you know that you can trust me, I’ll show you that I’m not the meek and disrespectful human you think I am.”
Protesting seems redundant now, but as I go to protest my innocence, Remi is already crossing the room and holding her hands to the side of my face, forcing images into my brain without any consent. Closing her eyes, she concentrates.
I said pictures flash, but really it’s like old videos as they move in a slow motion way that reminds me of old camera reels. I see a woman with ginger hair, braided down her back like a viking ready for battle. Wearing a suit of armour, free of imperfections or scrapes, she looks like a Goddess sent down from the heavens to avenge us. She looks like perfection, sleek and toned, but ruthless and powerful at the same time; skilled with archery and swordsmanship if the bow and blade she carries is anything to go by, she truly is a well-rounded leader and soldier. As I study her closer, I notice the gentle dusting of freckles across her cheeks, and her light green eyes that capture mine without hesitation. It takes me a second, but I realise that I’m looking at a version of Remi that only looks a few years younger than she does now— but then I notice the sword.
The sword she holds is important, gold at the hilt and silver on the way down, it’s the sword that is granted to the First Knights upon their knighting ceremony. A prestigious honour that only few have experienced. But before I can absorb more details about this alluring familiar woman, Remi removes her hands and my vision returns. It replaces the younger version of Remi with the one in front of me, her ginger hair hanging past her shoulders and her eyes that never dull in the absence of light.
Not much has changed between that memory and the present day, looking as perfect then as she does now, it’s just her presence that commands an air of honesty. Remi back then looked as if she was elated to wear an armour and fight, but now… she looks defeated, yet resilient.
“You saw?”
Valkar replies again, taking over my ability to voice my own response. “Yes, we saw.”
“I think we should set up a meeting, between us all, don’t you?”
Ever compliant, Valkar replies, “Yes, milady.”
“Good, how about in… thirty minutes? At the Hotel? Mika will ring Ariane and Zachariah and let them know that we’re coming.”
Nodding my head as Valkar offers no reply, we stand at the same time as Remi, following her outstretched hand towards the front of the bookstore. Before I have the opportunity to place my hand on the door handle, Remi speaks up.
“Don’t say anything until I get there, Landon. It is not your story to tell.”
I refuse to turn around, not wanting to face her somewhat dejected expression again. My time to get
back to the hotel before her imminent arrival is running out. I nod my head once more to acknowledge her before leaving, slowly the door shutting behind me just as I hear her shout, “Mika! Call the twins, we’re going to du Vin!”
Not one to look like I’m running scared, I speed walk back to the hotel to avoid suspicion and get there before Remi even sets foot in the Hotel foyer. The images repeat over and over in my mind... the sword, the armour, it’s all inherently coincidental that we found a piece of the past, alive and kicking.
The Hotel du Vin looms in the landscape like one of those homes in horror movies. Or at least, that’s how I see it. Probably because this whole town is full of odd and creepy-ass people. Crossing through the foyer, I ignore the bell-boy and receptionist Vinnie, breezing past him and running straight up to our shared room. Unfortunately for me, I hear the sounds of people partaking in activities in one of the nearby rooms; the moans ricochet off the walls like metal from an explosive. Without taking the time to think about whether they’re engaging in consensual sex or just being rough as fuck, I head on away from the room to the last set of stairs where our room resides at the top.
How the hell do I explain this to the guys? I’m a little in over my head here, even as a high soldier in the Lord’s Guard, I never had to deal with this memory overload that I’m dealing with. I could deal with the clash of swords, the screams that echoed around an open clearing and the squelch of mud and blood beneath my feet, but a pretty woman and a big problem that even I couldn’t comprehend? That is out of my wheelhouse.
As I enter the room, all three of them are sitting there. Leland is sat with his computer stationed on what was the dining table, but now it’s a mess of wires and cables and god knows what— Finnegan is sat in the armchair in the corner, reading one of those raunchy romance novels underneath a very outdated victorian lampshade. Remington however? Well, he’s the only one who looks coiled and ready to strike, perched on the edge of that ridiculous red chaise lounge with his hands on his knees, eyeing me wearily.
“Landon, we didn’t know you went out… why do you look like someone just pissed in your cornflakes?”
Leland lifts his head from his computer, a scowl on his face as I’ve interrupted his research again. The scowl seems half-assed though, because I can still hear his fingers rapidly pressing keys while he’s throwing daggers at me. Finn looks lackadaisical though, but he’s always the one that looks quiet and unassuming.
“Well, I think we might have a small problem.” Holding up my thumb and forefinger for emphasis, I leave a miniscule gap between the two.
“How small?” Remington growls out. Because in our case, small never actually means small.
“Uhm, well… she’ll be here in a minute… so you’ll find out. My head is still fuzzy from all the shit she showed me.”
That makes them all sit up to attention. “Your head?”
“What do you mean, your head?”
“S-she s-showed you s-stuff?”
My headache slowly increases with their questioning. Closing my eyes, I wave my hand at them, attempting to shut off the cacophony of noise. “Yes, she… look, it’s not my story to tell… she wouldn’t let me. You’ll just have to wait. She won’t be long.”
“She?”
Oh fuck my life, this small problem just got a little bit smaller.
So Landon comes in, drops a fucking dookie on the carpet, and then takes a seat on the bloody ottoman and stares at the freaking door without any explanation. I mean, obviously Landon didn’t take a steaming dump on the fucking carpet, but he might as well have. I would’ve been less surprised by a turd than I would a visitor.
It’s comical really, that we don’t even know who this visitor is. None of us, not even Remington, cunt-waffle extraordinaire over there has asked. Looking from dick brain to no brain, I see one staring intently at the other, Assessing and re-assessing his cryptic words to try to make sense of this poorly scripted shit show.
Our silence lasts for several moments before Remington opens his mouth to question this recent endeavour. “What the fuck do you mean, she showed you something?”
Landon sighs dramatically, like the overdramatic wanker that he is. “It was the weirdest feeling. One second I’m aware of what I’m saying what I think, and then in the next second, Valkar is answering all of her questions without stumbling over words or hesitating.”
We’re all sat and stunned into silence by that one comment. Yes, our beasts talk to us on a daily if not fucking minutely basis but Landon’s beast hasn’t spoken to him in… well… years. Why? We have no clue. Landon never told any of us why, and to be honest, we’ve never asked— it’s not our damn business. But one day, Valkar closed his mind off and hasn’t spoken since… now. Something must have drawn him out of his dark, festering pit.
Rokanis and I talk continuously throughout the day, snippets, snide remarks and approvals. He’s also taken on my sense of humour, unlike the rest of the old-ass dragons around here. All they do is bitch and whine about politics and other senseless dribble. Us? We’re more interested in computers, because at least they don’t whine at us.
The growling retorts bring me back to the present, pulling my head from thinking about the unwinding amount of codes and software that I normally immerse myself in. Finnegan is having a staring match with Landon, and Remington… well… he’s being Remington, again. As calm and collected as he seems on the outside, on the inside, he’s wrath and fury combined. Sometimes though, it’s not him that deals the final blow, it’s Kinar-ai. Right now, I see his beast rather than his snooty self.
“So what, pray tell, are you fucking telling me?” A beastly growl ripples through the suite, the temperature slowly rising. “She, whoever she is, managed to bring forth your beast, essentially controlling your mind, and then relayed her memories to you!” Over his bones, his skin ripples with anticipation for a fight, his body preparing to take on the shift. “What kind of creature can get past your own mental defences?”
If it wasn’t the worst timing, the events would have been humourous. As Remington huffs and puffs like a storybook character, a gentle clang of metal on metal brings all of our attention to the only entrance and exit— the door. The metal on metal could only be the master key being used from the other side, because we have a card.
We’re all waiting with bated breath, coiled tighter than a snake ready to strike as the lock chamber in the door slowly slides back, allowing the person on the other side to gain access. With the earlier mention of a visitor, none of us are willing to lunge to take the head off the poor, unsuspecting animal on the other side. As the door opens, we don’t recognise the male that stands in the open doorway.
White blonde hair, angled cheekbones and piercing violet eyes, this man looks like something sent from Heaven. His eyes do a quick sweep around the room, accounting all four of us before he speaks. “Greetings, dragons.” Bowing slowly at the waist before straightening, he looks behind him. “Miss, they are all here…”
It’s the moment of truth to see who our mysterious visitor is, but it’s not who we expect. Sweeping around the doorframe in a flourish with her black trench coat billowing behind her, she enters our suite, but not before grabbing the earlobe of the man next to her and dragging him in forcefully behind her. I expected anyone else but the dainty little human who helped me at the supermarket.
The violet eyed male loses his calming, regal demeanour and instead reverts to what must be his normal stature, being slightly afraid, and a little bit shocked. His purple eyes seek me out, pleading almost, but as I go to reply, this tingle comes over my body like it has during the night which makes me feel… things in places I normally wouldn’t. Now I’m not an introverted male, I know what sex is, but this doesn’t feel like when I have a private session with my right hand. This feels odd. “W-What are you doing to me?”
Remi’s head whips around so fast, I’m surprised that she doesn’t snap her neck. Her eyes lock onto me, and instead of asking what
’s wrong like I assume a normal person would do, she looks from me to the guy, whose eyes are still firmly on me. I don’t expect her to do anything, but it all happens so fast. She releases his ear and whacks him around the back of the head like a disobedient child. He yelps understandably, holding the back of his head with his eyes closed and the tingly feeling that I felt, disappears.
Remi picks up the guy by his arm and pushes him into one of the armchairs near the door. “Zachariah, don’t play with your food.” Wiggling her forefinger in front of his face, she carries on with her scolding, “This is why we don’t have guests!” He looks up at her, reverting to a more child-like in her presence. Regardless of the fact that he’s wearing suit trousers, a crisp white shirt and waistcoat, he curls up on that chair like a five-year-old. It takes a second, but he then mumbles out an apology, but it's so quiet that we have to strain to hear it, “I’m sorry, Miss Remi.”
She nods her head, accepting his apology, but it doesn’t stop me from exclaiming out like a degenerate teenager. “P-Play with his food? H-he’s a Vampire?”
Zachariah looks up at Remi, perplexed at my reaction, but she just looks back at him with a small, unexpected all-knowing smile on her face. This is not a situation for smiling so— Why is she smiling?
“Vampire?” as she turns towards me, I see she’s trying and failing to stifle her laughter. “Oh no, Kid, he’s not a Vampire. He’s an Incubus, remember? Zachariah and his sister Ariane run the Hotel… I told you about it after the incident at the supermarket?”
“Incident at the supermarket? What incident?”
I would have laughed if it wasn’t so absurd. Remington, caring about an incident involving me? It’s an absolute joke— this man had the same amount of compassion as a Praying Mantis after killing its spouse. I’ve seen no hint of remorse or compassionate understanding in any bone of his body.
