by M. A. Roth
“Princess,” the wolf says in a deep voice.
I stumble slightly back. A wolf talking is not possible, yet his blue eyes meet mine with knowledge and a hidden smile.
“I am Patrice, I welcome you.” Patrice keeps his blue unflinching eyes on my face. It’s unnerving, yet thrilling.
His voice is coming from inside my head. I wonder if I think my words will he hear them too? All the other wolves watching. So I choose to speak loudly in case they can’t hear.
“Thank you, Patrice. But how?... Why?” I want to say why me. But it seems like such a stupid thing to say, as they must have seen me as their savior. I just don’t feel that way.
“One day soon you will need us, and we will come.”
I look at all the wolves as they watch me. A shiver runs all over my body and goosebumps press against my clothes. I believe what Patrice is saying, but what would cause me to call on them?
I feel something slick move under my feet. Like as if the ice is melting. The wolves look weary and start to retreat.
“Wake up, Princess!” Patrice says in an angry snarl.
Blood soaks my feet, the snow runs red. I lower my white fur hood, feeling coldness on my back. I don’t want my view altered by the hood, but what I turn to I don’t expect.
Carew is kneeling in the snow, naked. I would have blushed if the blood that soaked the snow wasn’t running from his wrists. His eyes meet mine. “Forgive me,” he says as tears slip from his chocolate-brown eyes.
My heart breaks a little.
The wolves howl behind me. But I can’t take my eyes off Carew. I try to get to him but find I can’t move. A foot of ice has encased my feet. My heart starts to race. No, no!
Carew reachs out his hands, blood still pours from his wrists, his face grows hard. “Well, don’t just stand there, help me, Sarajane?” his words are delivered in a snarl.
My panic at not being able to move becomes overwhelming. “I can’t, Carew,” I cry with panic and fear.
Carew starts to laugh bitterly. “You are letting me die?” he questions cruelly.
“No. No, never. I can’t.” I try to move my feet again, but the ice has encased me to my knees.
The howls of the wolves have returned to my ears. I didn’t realize that they had stopped. Carew continues to shout for me to help him, his anger making me panic and scream back, as I cry, “I can’t move!” Pain sears into my back.
Patrice’s voice fills my mind. “Go now, Princess, before he comes.” A roar leaves my mouth from the pain at the same time that Carew bursts into flames as he races toward me.
“Wake up, Sarajane! Come back to us!”
I shoot up, panting, my body is covered in sweat. Mirium sits on the ground beside my bed. Worry pours from him.
“I’m okay… just a nightmare,” I say, breathless. My gaze darts around the room, looking for Carew with his wrists slashed.
“Sarajane,” Mirium says softly, getting my attention. “Drink.” He hands me a beaker of water. I know that he had called my name more than once. I gulp the water down. But the terror of what I saw won’t leave me. My heart rate slows to a normal speed, my senses return. I am safe in my room. It was just a nightmare. Not my room, Tristan’s room and what is Mirium doing here? I don’t ask, as the pain in my back is penetrating through my disorientation. I reach my hand under a long tunic, which I am certain I hadn’t worn to bed. Before I can reach where it’s sore, Mirium pulls my hands away. “It is healing, the ointment is working,” he says.
I look at him in bewilderment. My heart rate starts to pick up. I must be still dreaming. In the corner of the room sits a white fur coat, parts of it covered in blood and the ends are singed.
“No. No, that’s not possible,” I whisper more to myself.
Mirium pulls my face ever so gently so that I am looking at him. His gray eyes bore into mine. “You have been gone for three days, Sarajane.”
***
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Lost Prince Copyright © 2020 by M.A. Roth.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organiza- tions, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Edition:Julyl 2020
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
SARAJANE
CHAPTER TWO
SARAJANE
CHAPTER THREE
SARAJANE
CHAPTER FOUR
SARAJANE
CHAPTER FIVE
SARAJANE
CHAPTER SIX
SARAJANE
CHAPTER SEVEN
SARAJANE
CHAPTER EIGHT
SARAJANE
CHAPTER NINE
SARAJANE
CHAPTER TEN
SARAJANE
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SARAJANE
CHAPTER TWELVE
SARAJANE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SARAJANE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SARAJANE
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SARAJANE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SARAJANE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SARAJANE
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SARAJANE
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SARAJANE
CHAPTER TWENTY
SARAJANE
About The Author
About The Author
M.A. Roth lives in Ireland, has two leprechauns and a hawthorn tree in her back garden, which she guards day and night against the mischief fairy folk.
When she's off duty she loves to write, read and drink tons of coffee. Oh, and she eat's lots of chocolate, LOTS of chocolate!
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