Her Captive Dragon: Howls Romance

by Marianne Morea

  The old woman held a tattered book as though it was a cherished possession. “I’ve held onto this tome for more years than I can count. Waiting, as time passed, hoping to find someone to entrust its secrets.”

  “Books are my life, Aggie.” Hannah watched the old woman’s face. It was a mix of reverence and regret. “I’d love nothing more than to accept your gift, but I can’t. Not when it’s apparent the book means so much to you. Besides, I do what I do for you and Sam because I want to. Not because I expect anything in return.”

  Hannah covered Aggie’s hand on the cover, and the volume warmed beneath their fingers. Was it a trick of temperature or was this like the flash of gold she thought she saw earlier?

  “The book recognizes you, love. It senses what I sense.”

  More with the cryptic. The old lady talked nonsense, but she knew Aggie, and the stubborn women wouldn’t budge or eat or anything until she accepted the gift.

  Aggie pulled her hand back, leaving the book in Hannah’s palm. One glance and Hannah’s trained eye knew in an instant the book was rare. Older than old. Unlike anything she’d seen. Her hesitation switched to curiosity in a millisecond.

  “Your interest betrays you, Hannah. It’s one of the things I love most about you. You’re inability to lie. From the first, your sincerity struck a chord. Your age is nearly devoid of genuine hearts. Yet you trust without prejudice. You give without expectation. Anyone less could never do my secret justice.”

  Secret? What secret could this sweet woman carry?

  “You’re right. The book is beautiful, Aggie, and so unusual.” Hannah could hardly wait to get back to her desk and explore it cover to cover.

  Flecked gold circled the perimeter with strange symbols. At first glance they resembled either Greek or Nordic runes, but not. They were strange and beautiful, and she itched to decipher their meaning, but what caught her attention most was the intricate dragon on the cover. It wasn’t painted or stamped, yet it shined with an odd iridescence. Like fish scales in sunlight.

  She opened the book and sounded out the inscription, tripping over her tongue. “That’s quite a tongue twister.”

  It was written in a language she didn’t recognize, and Hannah squinted at the strange words finding two that seemed somewhat familiar.

  “Is this your full name?” she asked, pointing to the looping script. “Aglaope Dra—”

  “Aglaope. Yes,” she replied quickly. “But no one has called me that in centuries.”

  Hannah ignored the feeling Aggie had redirected her away from the inscription. “I can’t place the binding stitch or the cover material. It’s unlike any leather I’ve seen, and the inside looks like a cross between parchment and papyrus.”

  Aggie didn’t reply.

  Why was the old woman holding on to this treasure? Even to the untrained eye, it was clear a find this old would sell for millions at auction. Yet Aggie had carried it around in her shopping cart for God knows how long. The old woman could have lived in a Park Avenue mansion, instead of in the park.

  “Aggie, how did you come by this? Did you find it?” Hannah turned the volume over to examine the spine, and for a split second it seemed to ripple beneath her fingers. Again with the weird.

  “If I told you how I came to possess it or what it’s bound with, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  The older woman’s gaze dropped to the ink on the inside of Hannah’s wrist as the younger woman studied the bindings. “I’ve always admired your markings. Angel wings?”

  Hannah’s lips curved in a close-lipped smile at Aggie’s old-fashioned turn of phrase. She and Sam were certainly a pair. “It’s a tattoo, Aggs, and no, they’re not angel wings. They’re dragon.”

  Hannah’s fingertips drifted to the image on the book’s cover, still puzzled at how it was made. “I have a full tattoo on my back, as well. A magnificent beast with its wings spread in flight.” A small, absent grin tugged at her mouth. “Dragons are my favorite mythical creature.”

  “The story it recounts is an oral tale.” Aggie nodded toward the volume. “The language is ancient Tanapag, so I don’t expect you to decipher the words, but the drawings tell the story well enough.”

  “Aggie, this book is too valuable to keep. I could make some calls. See what price Sotheby’s or maybe even Christie’s would place on its value. Drum up interest from their collectors. You wouldn’t have to live on the street—”

  Aggie lifted her hand, in effect cutting her off. The look on her face was loud and clear. Selling the tome was not only a hard no, it was an insult.

  “Aggie, I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. I only want what’s best for you, and this book could help you live your life in peace and security instead of in constant danger and fear.”

  “I don’t live in fear, Hannah. And the dangers of this world don’t affect me. As for peace and security, I have both now that the book is where it belongs. Keep it safe. At least until it reveals itself to you.”

  That got Hannah’s attention. People often say stories speak to them, but this was different. Aggie meant it. Literally.

  Hannah indulged her, holding tight to the old woman’s hand as she climbed onto the green slatted bench. “Oh, I’m definitely the one for safe keeping. Just call me ol’ reliable.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’ve known almost from the first. You are the one to free what I’ve guarded all this time. What has been held captive for hundreds of years. You will set old wrongs to right. I feel it in my bones.”

  Hannah searched the old woman’s face. This went beyond Aggie’s harmless cryptic sayings. City psych wards were no picnic for the homeless, no matter how ill, and Aggie was sounding a bit delusional.

  “Aggie, I think I’d better get you to a doctor.”

  “Don’t look at me that way, Hannah. I’m not crazy. There are stranger things you know nothing about. I could tell you about me, about the book and our origins, but time is running out, and right now, time is of the essence.”

  The book warmed in Hannah’s hand again, and this time the dragon on the cover seemed to undulate. This was no weird trick of the light.

  “Tell me, Hannah. Do you believe in dreams?”

  “Dreams? Aggie, I mean it. I think you need a doctor.”

  Aggie waved her away. “I’m fine, sweetheart. In fact, I’ve never been better. Now answer my question. Do you believe in dreams?”

  “I guess,” Hannah replied, hesitating.

  “I don’t want to waste what time I have left dithering. Can you believe in the impossible? In things your mind tells you isn’t real, but your heart and your senses say otherwise?”

  Hannah didn’t know how to respond. Her hand slipped to her phone in her pocket in case they needed 911, but something in the old woman’s gaze stopped her cold.

  “You’re no shrinking violet, Hannah. You’re surrounded by books every day. Immersed in fact and fiction. It’s a safe bet you bury yourself between their pages most nights, too.” Without warning, she took Hannah’s hand and held it tight.

  Startled, Hannah’s mouth went sandpaper dry when the old woman’s eyes glowed iridescent blue again. This time the shimmering held, and it wasn’t from her glaucoma.

  Aggie softened her grip, and her eyes settled back to their usual milky blue. “All I’m saying is if you’re going to curl up in bed, it might as well be with someone you’d like to wrap more than just your mind around.”

  Hannah blinked. Did the discussion just go from supernatural to sex? A sharp turn in conversation was one thing, but combined with Aggie’s weird glowing eyes, maybe the old lady wasn’t the crazy one.

  “I may be old, but I still believe in all kinds of romance.” Aggie chuckled at Hannah’s obvious nonplus. “From sweet and sassy to full on erotica. In fact, I hate those snobs who paint romance novels as claptrap aimed toward lonely, desperate women. My guess is those same misogynists need Viagra by the handful just to get a hard-on.”

  Hannah gawked at the woman.


  “Back in the day, before I ended up here—” she spared a tired glance for her shopping cart and the rest. “I had a romance to rock the ages. Then one stupid, thoughtless mistake lost me everything.”

  Aggie’s eyes took on a million-mile stare for a moment before she found Hannah’s confused gaze. “Perhaps all that might change.”

  “Um, give me a sec, Aggie. I have to call into work.” She needed to call in sick or something. There was no way she was leaving Aggie alone today. Maybe this delusional talk would pass, but if it didn’t—” she didn’t want to think about that.

  She held the book to her chest as she texted her boss. With each breath, the book warmed until it was so hot it felt as if flames licked her palm, sending tingles through the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. Hannah’s eyes flew to Aggie’s knowing gaze, and she put her phone away.

  “What’s really going on, here? Tell me. I’m not leaving here until you do.”

  The old woman’s eyes took on that same far away melancholy, but she straightened her shoulders and gestured to the book.

  “You’re the expert. See if you can decipher what’s hidden between those pages. My guess is the book will reveal itself to you first, whether you want it to or not.”

  She patted Hannah’s hand and then slipped from the bench, her fingers giving the book a final caress before she took her shopping cart and pushed it toward the gate

  “Aggie, wait! You didn’t answer my question.”

  The old woman gave an absent wave and left without another word. In that moment, the tingle in Hannah’s wrist spread to the tattoo on her back.

  She turned on her heel as well, but not to follow Aggie. The old woman would be back. Of that she was sure. What she wasn’t sure about was this strange book and its former owner.

  Heading out of the park, she made a beeline for home. There was only one way to find out.

  Chapter Three

  Hannah muttered to herself, kicking off her flipflops. She spared a glance for Aggie’s book, sitting on the chaise beside her reading table.

  In the muted sun, the tome seemed ordinary. Old, definitely. But mystical? No. What she saw, earlier, or thought she saw, was simply a trick of the eye. There was no other logical explanation. Books didn’t shimmer or warm to the touch, and they certainly didn’t sent shivers down your belly to your—

  What if it did?

  It didn’t.

  Well, it was either that, or Aggie’s delusions were contagious.

  Hannah sat on the edge of the lounge chair, sliding her fingers to the tender flesh on the side of her foot.

  Despite her decision not to search for Aggie, she did so anyway. Her quest led her up 5th Avenue, past Central Park East and the Museum Mile, almost to Harlem. She scoured all the old woman’s haunts, accomplishing nothing but a blister and a headache before ending up at square one.

  Wiping a hand across her forehead, she frowned at the heat. What did she expect with a back yard more greenhouse than garden?

  Even so, she couldn’t complain. Her librarian’s salary was nowhere near enough to cover a brownstone rent in the heart of Manhattan. Yet here she was, in the lap of luxury. A sublet from a generous patron. So what if they preferred a citified hot house to the great outdoors.

  Not that a postage-stamp sized yard on East 68th Street was anything akin to the outdoors. Still, the price was right, and all she had to do was water the plants and indoor fruit trees.

  “God, I need a drink.” Getting up from the chaise, she winced on her blistered foot. “The old broad is lucky she’s Yoda cute.”

  Aggie hadn’t gone far. Not like the last time when she went M.I.A. for a week. The old lady was merely making a point, and she’d surface soon enough.

  The book will reveal itself to you first, whether you want it to or not.

  Yeah, okay, Aggs.

  Whatever Aggie’s point, it could wait. There was a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge with her name on it. Just what she needed after her trek up New York’s eastside.

  Hannah headed inside to grab the bubbly from the bottom shelf, and a carton of orange juice from the fridge door. “Here’s to mimosas. A traditional pre-noon drink. Even if Ritz Crackers and peanut butter don’t exactly qualify as brunch.”

  Untwisting the wire from the cork, she popped the champagne over the kitchen sink before pouring the entire foaming contents into a glass jug, adding just enough juice to turn the pale champagne orange.

  She caught a glimpse of her lounge chair from the kitchen window and craned to see Aggie’s book on top. Nothing was going to happen to it in the five minutes she was gone. Yet she couldn’t not look.

  There was something about the old book that fascinated her. But why? She’d handled dozens of rare manuscripts over the past year. Wasting brain space on whether or not Aggie’s book had mystical properties was ridiculous.

  With a butter knife between her teeth, and a jar of peanut butter and sleeve of crackers under her arm, Hannah carried the mimosa jug and a tall glass outside, placing them on the small reading table beside the chaise.

  She moved Aggie’s book off the lounge chair, putting it on the table before she sat, stretching out her legs. “It’s just a book, Hannah Banana. An old book.”

  Pouring herself a full glass from the jug, she drained the mimosa with a wince. “Ow. Can curvy girl say lightweight?” A burp rumbled in her chest, and she covered her mouth.

  She refilled her glass, downing half before picking up the book to scan the inside parchment. “Okay, Aglaope. What mysteries have you for me decipher?”

  She tapped her glass with her fingernail. Aggie wasn’t hard to peg. For the past six months, she seemed sweet, yet quietly eccentric. But a nut job? No.

  Between what Val said at the coffee shop and Aggie’s weird ramblings about romance and whether or not she believed in dreams, the two made her feel halfway to being the neighborhood cat lady. Yet she was the one with a steady job and actual home.

  “You’re drinking in solitary, Foster. If that’s not halfway to cat lady then I don’t know what is.”

  With a sigh she glanced at her tabby cat curled in the grass by an indoor lemon tree, his tail swishing without a care.

  “Who the hell cares what people think? Right, Tigger?” Lifting her glass, she clicked the inside of her cheek in salute. Fucking meow.

  Hannah finished her second mimosa and put the glass on the round table. Her head was already fuzzy, but that’s what happens when you drink on an empty stomach. She opened Aggie’s book and scooted higher against the cushions.

  She was a professional. There was no reason on Earth the timeworn tome shouldn’t fascinate. The manuscript belonged in a museum or at the very least a rare book auction, like she originally thought. Not sitting on her lap in a greenhouse garden.

  “Aggie gave you to me, so I can decide the proper course of action.” She hiccupped.

  Problem was, she’d never bring herself to go against Aggie’s wishes. At least not while the old woman drew breath. It would be a slap in the face to sell her gift for profit. Having the book appraised was one thing. Peddling it to the highest bidder? No.

  “Okay, book. Show me your secrets. I’m half drunk and naked under my robe, so nothing’s going to shock me.”

  Hannah ran her hand over the cover, her wrist tingling again. More weirdness. Nice.

  Not.

  She opened the book and turned the fragile pages with practiced care. Aggie was right. She couldn’t read a word written, but the images were spectacular.

  She expected woodcuts or sketches, but these illustrations mesmerized with the same iridescence as the cover. They were stunning. Like a sketchbook from one of the great masters.

  Hannah turned to the center spread. “Wow. Score one for shock-value, Aggie. Your book certainly revealed itself. Talk about ancient porn.”

  With a chuckle, she licked her lips. The image stretched across both pages, rivaling the brothel frescoes in ancient Pompeii.

&nbs
p; The vivid descriptions didn’t spare the eyes, detailing every sexual position imaginable. The more deviant the image, the more defined.

  “Wherever this came from, they certainly knew how to get their freak on.”

  The champagne made her giggle at the kinky images, and she browsed the following pages, turning them slowly for full effect.

  “Oh. My. God.” Her hand froze on the delicate parchment, her eyes skimming a full frontal illustration spread in all its well-hung glory.

  “Holy Penis Pump. Dude!” she murmured, licking her lips again. “If only you were real.”

  The image was so perfect and inviting.

  …and sexy.

  The man’s eyes seemed to smolder as if privy to her innermost secrets and an invitation to strip them bare.

  Hannah traced the meticulously drawn masculine features, her fingertips sliding over the two-dimensional planes of his broad chest. She traced his well-endowed package.

  “Damn. I would straddle his saddle for sure and ride myself bowlegged.”

  The same strange runes from the book’s cover also bordered this particular spread, making her wonder what wonders or warnings they held.

  Still, it was the picture that held her captivated at the moment, and she couldn’t drag her eyes from the sexy image. With all its detail, the drawing had to be a depiction of an ancient fertility god. He was certainly hot enough to make a woman’s ovaries stand up and take notice.

  Odd pins and needles prickled her tattoos, and she lifted her hand only to gasp as the dragon wing tattoo on her wrist seemed to glow.

  Fuzzy from the champagne, she let her fingers drift toward her décolletage. Arching her back, she shivered as the tingle at her wrist brushed a nipple.

  “Oh, God.” She hiccupped again. “Valerie is right. I really need to get laid.”

  Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the chaise and let her knees fall open against the cushions.

  “You may not be real, lover, but your sexy picture is hot enough to tease, and in my imagination I can make you whatever I want.”

  Hannah circled his likeness with one hand while she skimmed her palm over her nipples, their peaks stiffening inside her robe. She opened her eyes, keeping her gaze on the gorgeous man in the picture.