by Owen Oakley
My new life as I’m calling it now is surprising. This penthouse is fit for royalty. A beautiful desk that I wish I could write on. Another couch that’s in the middle of my bedroom away from the matching softness of my king-sized bed.
Each room has the floor to ceiling mirrors with a balcony and walk area, which I’ll never use, and a beautiful view of the entire realm as far as the eye can see. Dragons fly through the air, some even pull carriages along the way, and I stare astonished by all of it.
This is my world now, the world that I wrote about for many years. I’m living the thing that I once fantasized about.
All this excitement was blooming inside me until my mind goes to Aiden. I wish there were a way I could tell him I’m okay. He must be worried about me.
Which then leads me to think about what would happen to my life. My brand of being an author I worked so hard to build.
Would people think I disappeared? Fell off the map? I have no family to miss me, just a legacy filled with stories, and that’s satisfying enough for me.
I wrap my arms around myself and lie on the bed. I pray that Aiden is okay and doesn’t miss me too much.
The pillows relax me and the last thing I see before drifting off to sleep is the clock, 4:15 I have plenty of time before dinner and the bed has me wrapped in its spell, and I let it take me.
“She’s here. I can feel her presence. Somewhere in one of these realms,” the Warlock says. He paces back and forth.
Battle ready soldiers surround the woman with the platinum pixie cut.
“We must start the search,” the Warlock snarls to his men.
“Sire we don’t know what she is, or who we are looking for,” a man steps forth with fangs. He’s beautiful. Tall, pale-faced, lean muscles, and long black hair.
“She is your future queen and the foretold demigoddess.”
“And how do you know she will join our cause?” The vampire questions him. “Neither by force nor manipulation, she has to join you of her own free will. Choose her path.”
“And she will,” the Warlock says with conviction.
“Sire,” the pixie cut woman says. “What of Demetri and his realm?” The Warlock’s eyes turn black as voids at the mention of Demetri’s name.
“He will die soon enough.”
I fall into my forest. Evergreen and the cottage surrounded by the picturesque lake. I belong here.
Down by lake others lie around, children and woman alike. These are my people, and they run around with smiles on their faces — my people.
A loud chime sounds in my room.
The Warlock knows Demetri.
10
W hen I enter the grand dining area, it isn’t what I expect. The rest of the manor was elaborate, this massive room just added to its beauty with marble floors, floor to ceiling windows, and an open floor plan.
Since it was night or so the clock on the wall shows eight at night, thick black curtains cover the windows, like the ones in my room. It seems I live in a realm that doesn’t experience night.
Yay! A great way to instill insomnia and confuse a person with time.
The long cherry mahogany table could seat twenty people. Its smooth unmarked surface suggests it’s not used often. But there were only three plates set at the far end, and I was the first to arrive.
I notice Fae and vamp servers lined the wall, and they don’t bother to give me any directions. I’ll just continue to muddle my way like I’ve been doing since I got here with no information.
I still wore the same yoga pants, and grey workout shirt filled with sweat. They had dried but still clung to me.
My hands brush the white lace designer tablecloths that covers the table.
I make my way to the table and take a seat that faced the door’s entrance. Keeping an eye out for surprises is a habit I refuse to give up and would be permanent while living in a realm with hot supes but also very temperamental.
There was another beautiful centerpiece that make me feel human again. It was smaller than the one in my room — red roses, baby’s breath, and Lilies creating an unusual combination but some how beautiful anyways.
I shift in my chair that was made for decoration and not comfort, and my hands graze the arrangement.
Flowers, plants, even weeds, and some leaves draw me in; they’ve always been my solace, and I drew strength from them.
They were soft, or so I assume with their buds not opened. Their blood-red color makes the dirt on my gloves stand out with several holes throughout it.
I frown, drawing my hands back. I needed new gloves; these wouldn’t last much longer.
The door flings open, and my head snap in its direction. Demetri was the first to enter, and he looked stunning. He had on another suit, that’s tailored for his body’s frame.
Now that I’ve been here most of the day, I can see the magic that swirls around him better. It was blue with a mixture of silver that makes me feel calmer, which is highly unusual given his hostility.
He walks with grace and elegance, more like a walking time capsule, now that I know he’s over ten thousand years old it makes sense.
Roman was right on his heels, and at the sight of him, my breath quickens. I see why he fits in here, being shirtless and wearing a shendyt that hugged so tight I could see his dick print.
I would imagine he’d get some interesting stares back home. But here, he was proud of who and what he is.
The magic that outlined his muscled body sucked the air from my lungs, one so powerful it drew me in like a magnet.
Everything about this man makes my body long and want him, from his blonde hair that he pulled back into a man bun, to his V pubic area. Yikes!
Gorgeous and the cocky bastard knows it. He threw me a wink as I stared at his body with hunger.
As they made their way towards the end of the table, I panicked. How was I supposed to greet Demetri? He’s an asshole, but he’s also the Lord here.
His servants bowed their heads as he passed each of them, so I stood and lowered my head before he took his seat at the head of the table. Just a sign of respect, not that I was trying to get on his good side. I don’t think this man had one.
Demetri says nothing but a small smile tugged at Roman’s lips along with a curt nod, a sign that my actions was the correct gesture. I feel proud of myself and the ability to adapt to their or should I say our customs here.
Once Roman and I see Demetri settle in, we join him.
I had asked Roman was it possible to eat in my room, but that was a hard no. Told me Demetri requested that I dined with them. I don’t know why since he doesn’t even like me.
We wait for our dinner to arrive and it’s more awkward than the boat ride. I stare at my empty plate, admiring the porcelain glassware that held light blue clouds and birds.
Handmade and tailored designed with real silver forks and spoons.
The wine glasses were a box shape, tall and frosted colored with gold trim around the rim.
They should serve this dishware at a fancy event or wedding, not at a dinner between three people. Or was he trying to impress me?
I thought about the food they ate here, and my nerves were on edge. A hint of sadness tugged at my heart too. I would never get to enjoy my hometown food gain.
Cajun food; fried chicken, gumbo, soup, and year-round seafood. I sighed, and with that thought, my stomach rumbled. Crap!
I looked up with a nervous smile. Demetri didn’t look my way, but Roman had a broad smile on his face, amused by my hunger.
“Hungry?” He asked with laughter. I nod, my cheeks flushed.
“Nervous about the food too,” I reply with honesty.
“Why? Think we eat people here?” His tone was severe, and I felt terrible. I never thought, not even for a second.
I offended him, I thought.
At least until he laughs, relief escapes my lips. Can’t have the only person who likes me here hating me too.
In no time the servers bring
out trays filled with a different course meal on each.
The first plate they sit in front of us is pot roast— or I hope it is— with vegetables. Next, they serve a lighter dish comprising a clam chowder, which smells delicious and by the time we make our way to the apple crumble pie I’m stuffed.
The only thing that motivates me to indulge in the dessert is the knife I spot, with a pointed edge sitting next to the pie. Bingo.
Listen, this may feel like home, but between the dreams, no information, and remembering that they kidnapped me, I need to keep my wits about myself and that means protection.
Since no one bothers to talk and the only sound is our eating utensils hitting the plate, now is as good as any to slip the knife underneath the table.
My eyes dart between the two, I prop my elbow on the table, even though it’s terrible table manners it’s the only way to block Demetri from seeing what I’m doing, and he was my biggest worry.
With my right hand, I rest it over my knife and ease it across the table and into my lap. That was easy, and I smile to myself, from my peripheral, I see Roman is busy eating, but Demetri has fixed me with a hard stare.
The air in the room shifts, turning colder and menacing, and Demetri’s once calming magic turns a deep blue.
“What are you doing?” Demetri asks, his voice echoing throughout the massive room.
I adjust my knife on my lap, seeing no reason to hide anything, I go with the truth. “Protecting myself,” I say with no shame. I rake a piece of pie with my fork, biting into it. It’s so good, best pie I’ve ever tasted, hands down.
“Give it to me now!”
Please isn’t in this guy’s vocabulary is it? I don’t care how insanely attractive he is; he’s a jerk.
“No!”
Roman eased to the edge of his chair, alert and ready to come between the two of us if need be, but it wasn’t necessary I can handle this ass myself.
“Dem. Chill. It’s just a small knife.”
“She’s not permitted to have a weapon. I order you to hand it to me at once!”
Order? This motherfucker right here! As if slamming his hand on the table will be an incentive to make me obey him although I flinch. Another reason I need this knife, he’s unpredictable.
“And I said no! Look buddy after your rage flair up and power trip earlier; I’m not taking any chances with you. I’ve had a very rough childhood. Shit, that I worked hard to tuck away, but after that episode, it brought up a lot of stuff. I’ve got some serious PTSD, and you reminded me what people like you can do.”
For a moment, I see a flicker of apologetic embed into his face, but I blink it away, and just as expected, he was scowling at me.
“Everyone chill the fuck out!” Roman says to us. He was a carefree, fun incubus that didn’t like drama or arguments if they aren’t his own, he’s partaking in.
I feel bad for him because as long as I’m under the same roof with this bastard, he would play peacemaker and referee a lot; better get used to it.
“I won’t have her putting you,” he points to Roman, “me or any of my people at risk. She’s dangerous and powerful. I can feel it.” His words sting and are poisonous to the ear. “Maybe more powerful than I am, and that worries me. So. Hand. Me. The knife.” He says through gritted teeth.
“S’il vous plaît aller. En enfer!” One perk of being Creole French is our heritage, and because I took to it more than most in Louisiana, I’d become fluent.
Both men seem taken aback by my native language and familiarity register in their eyes.
Demetri, who was now towering over me, sits back in his seat. “You’ve been to France?”
Oh, now he wants to play nice. And how in the hell did he know about France?
I roll my eyes.
“No. I’m creole so it’s a part of my heritage and I took several courses in college.” Why my second language was a wonder to them was interesting, but if it eliminates our bickering and allows me to keep my knife, I was all for it.
A servant collected our remaining dessert, and I forgot they were present during that entire spectacle. I groan and palm my head. I was a terrible guest, arguing with this man. I should know better than to play into people’s bait.
“Can you please take off those disgusting gloves? They’re horrible and stink,” Demetri says with his voice laced with utter disgust.
See that’s the bullshit I’m talking about, right there. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. What the hell did he expect? They didn’t allow me to get my clothes except for the ones on my back, led me through a death adventure; it’s common freaking sense.
“I can’t,” I say in a tone that doesn’t simulate too much attitude, but also says ‘I will cut you with this knife if you don’t stop fucking with me.’
“Why not?” Roman ask with interest, with his hands propped under his chin. A glint in his eyes is enough to warrant he wasn’t letting it ride so easily this time.
After all this, we’re back to the same question I avoided in the boat a day ago. I wasn’t ready for them to know, with Demetri spatting around the word dangerous and me being the subject to that adjective. They would freak out, and he’d lead the pack to have me killed.
“I half a condition that doesn’t allow me to interact with people, a skin mutation,” I tell them, and it’s nowhere near a lie.
For the first time, Demetri looks at me with compassion. It’s a far better look than the scowl he wore. But I prefer it over sympathy that he’s offering.
“So, you’ve never touched anyone with your bare hands before?” Roman was fascinated with me, and he hadn’t hidden it from the moment he laid eyes on me; it’s etched all over him.
“No, I’ve never touched, kissed, or been intimate with anyone. The condition doesn’t stop at my hands.”
I take a huge gulp of wine needing it to get through the rest of this questionnaire.
Roman was slack jawed, while Demetri’s expression was unreadable. I hate self-pity and hated empathy and sympathy even more. There had been no room for neither of the three growing up the way I did.
“Let me get this straight. You’ve never had sex before?” I shook my head at Roman. “But don’t you get,” he lets the sentence hang, waggling his brows around causing me to snicker.
“I get like anyone else, but you can’t miss something you never had.” A lighthearted conversation taken into a more serious direction and my nerves were haywire.
I snatch the whole damn wine bottle; this shit is depressing! I don’t need a reminder I’ll never receive the warmth of a man and never experience love and have that connection with someone. And the only man that showed me affection, they took me away from him.
Tears pricked at the back of my eyes. Don’t you dare cry right now! The room’s coldness shifts again, and a warm sensation caress the nape of my neck. It covers me and makes my body pulse with excitement.
I let my head loll around, leaning into the sensation. The scent in the air is familiar, one I’ve breathed before. One of cinnamon and spice. Roman.
I open my eyes to find myself enveloped in the crimson red magic that he extended to me. Something that gave me a shot of pleasure, made me complete, cared for, and even a smidge of love.
We stared in each other’s eyes for what seems like an eternity, just he and I, and I don’t mind. A connection forms between us, and I’m closer to this man. Since this journey, he’s made me feel safe and comfortable, and I’m grateful.
I’ve read that being an incubus doesn’t leave room for a connection or emotions for someone but knowing that he’s trying makes me want him more.
I miss his embrace all too soon when it leaves me, and I drift back to the cold room where I hug myself to compensate for the lost. I’m not the only someone frustrated.
Demetri slides his chair back as it scapes against the marble floor and in an instant, he disappears in a puff of smoke.
“What’s wrong with him?” Jealous? That Roman and I had a moment.
&nb
sp; Roman shrugs. “Dem will be okay.” He gives me a wicked smile along with his gorgeous features, making everything in me quake.
He’s intoxicating, addictive, and lust all wrapped into one, and that made him dangerous for a girl like me.
11
R oman and I spent the rest of the night talking and laughing. It was a welcoming surprise that we have things in common and someone that understands me. Not only that, but it’s safer having a weapon close to me. He sent everyone away and gave me a tour of the entire manor. Demetri retreated to his room for the night after his dramatic exit, and again Roman was quick to leap to his brother’s defense. His loyalty for the Lord was baffling and unwavering; one more reason I liked him so much.
It was late when we returned and even though I slept most of the day, I had no trouble going back to sleep. A hot bath had something to do with it too.
With the sun shining in the room, it kissing my skin I would have thought I was in my home in the French Quarter, but as I looked around the room, reality hits me, I’m in Ardam. The shades are on timers, and at eight they draw back and let the sunshine in.
I pull the plush bedspread to get myself together. Roman told me he’d leave my door unlocked.
A little trust. Where could I run off to? The only way on or off is by a dragon, carriage, or freaky killer mist, and neither are happening.
I make my way towards the bar for a cup of coffee, hoping it can wake me up from the wine I gurgled down last night.
Halfway there, I hear a faint knock at the door. It’s almost as though the person doesn’t want me to hear but wants to get my attention to come to the door.
Unsure if I want to open it or not, I let my hand hover over the doorknob. If it’s important, whoever’s there will knock again, but nothing happens. As soon as I turn to walk away, another knock comes, faint but with urgency.
I yank the door open, but no one is there. Beautiful, add losing my mind to the list of things I have going on. I search the halls, both to my right and left, but nothing. When I step back a silver box was at my feet.
