Barbarian's Prisoner: An Alien Romance

by Abella Ward

  “How long does she have?” Arathor felt a lump in his throat.

  “A month or two, maybe, if she responds to medication. Arathor... please be honest. What magic are you talking about?”

  Qizet asked him narrowing her eyes at him.

  He took a deep shuddering breath. “She’s a Magi... a Drakonaar.”

  “A Drakonaar, you say,” Qizet said, as she paced the room. “I know a Drakonaar witch who might be able to help her. I’ll send her a message right away.”

  Arathor nodded and sat on the bed beside Arana.

  “A demon’s death mark is irreversible. If she is a Magi, then she should heal on her own. The infection should stop spreading... I don’t understand,” Qizet wondered aloud. “This must be a very powerful demon.”

  “Where is the demon now?” Arathor asked.

  “He’s dead. She somehow killed him, but not before the damage was done,” she said quietly.

  “She is new at this, and she doesn’t know any spells to protect herself. She must be working with pure instinct. Dr. Qizet, please tell your friend this is urgent. I don’t want to lose her.”

  Qizet nodded and left the room. He wished he could have claimed her... Then again, that wouldn’t have made much difference or her fate would have been much worse. And now he wished he could heal her...

  The next couple of days and nights slipped by in a swirl of haze. Arathor would not leave her alone. The doctors stopped all treatment as she wasn’t responding to medication. And he saw her grow weaker every day and he blamed himself for not going back earlier and killing Lorcan. He even put the stone of Huzosh around her neck, wishing it would somehow give her the strength she needed.

  It was ironic that after her magic had been awakened, she couldn’t use it to heal herself. And it killed him to see her wither away with every passing day while he couldn’t do anything about it.

  And every night he would punish himself for his past sins by standing in the cold shower till it hurt.

  Chapter 10

  A week after Arana had been attacked, Iorrae, the dragon-witch from Iovis, reached Andromeda 13. She couldn’t have reached them so quickly if she hadn’t teleported here. The moment she got the message from Qizet, she prepared to leave.

  Qizet was an old friend of Iorrae, and she had helped her many times before. And in return, Iorrae had helped Qizet whenever she needed it.

  And Iorrae couldn’t believe it when Qizet told her about Arana. It was the revelation that shocked her. Qizet had done a DNA test on Arana’s blood, and it matched with Iorrae’s. There was no doubt that Arana was Iorrae’s daughter. The daughter she thought had died in the war all those years back.

  Arana was just a baby when her father took her away from Iovis. He said he would take her to a safe place. Long after, when the war on Iovis was over, Iorrae had tried looking for Arana and her father. But even with her magic, she couldn’t find them because Arana’s father had hidden her true identity with dark magic – to protect her.

  Now, years later, as she walked down the hallway toward the sickbay of this remote space station, her heart raced, and she wondered how her daughter would react. A tall and graceful woman with silver-white hair and ridges on her forehead that went all the way back on her head, she was a true Drakonaar.

  Arathor saw the tall woman with silver-white hair and sapphire blue eyes enter the enclosure. Qizet followed behind. She gave one look at him and snarled, knowing at once that he was a fire-breather. And then, ignoring him, she moved toward the bed where Arana lay.

  Arathor saw the resemblance was uncanny. It was her eyes... Arana had her eyes. Dr. Qizet had filled in on him the other day, showing him the DNA report. So, her biological mother was still alive. And she clearly despised the Slayzaryn.

  Iorrae fought back tears when she saw her daughter weak and helpless. She took her hand in her own. And in that instant, she could see everything... everything Arana had been through all those years at the castle.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she gazed at her only daughter. She had grown up to be a beautiful woman, and her red hair was a striking sight. She prepared a potion for her with exotic herbs and her own blood. She kept whispering incantations as she poured a few drops of the potion in Arana’s mouth. She waited patiently for the potion and magic to work.

  “You really shouldn’t be here,” Iorrae told flatly to Arathor.

  It was late and they were in the deserted lobby of the sick bay and Arana was still unconscious.

  “Why?” Arathor said, tilting his head as he looked at the ice dragon-witch. She stood there in her gray robes and hair swept up in a bun that made her look regal. She was a graceful woman, he had to admit.

  “I can take care of things from here,” she said coldly. “Qizet said you’ve been here a while. It’s time you should go.”

  “Iorrae, I am not going to abandon Arana like this,” he said clenching his fists. The woman was testing his patience. “I owe her my life and...” he faltered.

  “And?” she asked him, raising a perfectly arched brow.

  “And she is my mate,” he said finally.

  “Have you claimed her?” she asked in a low, cautious voice.

  “Not yet,” he said quietly as he rose and walked to pour himself a drink.

  “Why not?” she asked relentlessly, although she knew.

  With his back to her, he took a swig and was quiet for a while. “I love her... I don’t want her to lose her magic.”

  “Does she know if you claim her, she could lose her powers?”

  He turned toward her and he shook his head.

  “You stay away from my daughter, Arathor,” she said in a low, cold voice. “She can never be your mate, and she deserves to know the truth.”

  Arathor’s jaw clenched as his blood boiled at her words. “She is my mate, Iorrae. I know it,” He looked her in the eye then. “And where were you all those years when she was at the mercy of her brother? And where were you when he was burning her alive?”

  “For years, I have searched for her. She had been hidden by some dark forces. I thought she was dead...” she snarled as her pupils turned to slits, her dragon baring its teeth.

  Arathor sighed as a headache returned. She was right. Arana deserved to know the truth. “I guess I was afraid of losing her,” he said as he drained his glass.

  “This demon that attacked her, it was Lorcan’s doing,” she explained.

  “That bastard. I couldn’t save her – again,” he said remorsefully.

  Iorrae could see he was deeply in love. His eyes betrayed the turmoil of emotions he so easily masked.

  “I am here to protect her now, but you should leave,” declared Iorrae. “We’ll see if she wants to be with you after she knows the truth.”

  Arathor quietly glowered at her. He set his glass down and walked out, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. He went into the enclosure Arana was in. She looked as if she were sleeping. He went toward her side and bending down he planted a soft kiss on her lips. “I’ll come back for you...”

  Arathor knew Iorrae was a powerful witch and she could take care of Arana. And meanwhile, he had to deal with Lorcan. He went back to his chambers, packed his things, and took a ship back to Tirron.

  ***

  Arathor stood before Lorcan and studied him. He wore the chevalier’s armor. The red cloak with the steel shoulder plate only covered his arm and shoulder and left his chest bare. In full human form, he wore the now useless collar.

  “You have failed, Arathor,” Lorcan seethed.

  He took off the collar and threw it on the marble floor. “I am no longer your slave,” Arathor declared as two guards positioned themselves behind him with their swords drawn.

  Lorcan glanced at the collar, unmoved, and then back at him. “And yet, you are stupid enough to come back,” he said with a smirk pasted on his face. “Where is my sister?” he sat on the throne, dark eyes glinting with something evil.

  “Somewhere safe,” he said calmly
. “Far away from you and your demons.”

  Lorcan laughed. “She has you under her spell. What are you now? Her little puppet?” he said scathingly.

  “No, I’m her mate,” he said. “And oh, your old demon is dead. She killed him.”

  The laughter disappeared from Lorcan’s face, replaced by pure revulsion as if he had tasted something bitter. “Arrest him! Tomorrow, I’ll execute him myself.”

  The guards moved, and without warning, Arathor drew his sword, the Silver Shadow, and swung it around. He was so fast that both the men fell on their knees and then to the floor, blood gushing forth from their slit throats.

  He didn’t miss another second. And sheathing his Silver Shadow, he dropped it to the floor and took off his armor. Fire engulfed him, as he shifted and transformed into a huge dragon.

  The rest of the guards huddled together and moved away, fear evident in their eyes.

  Arathor swung his tail around and swept them away. They fell far away at the end of the hall. He glimpsed Lorcan, who was holding a spear at him, ready to throw.

  “This is for Arana,” he said wasting not another second as Lorcan threw the spear at him. He missed and it flew past him. Arathor breathed in and out, as a big ball of fire exploded out of his mouth and burning the king in front of him. Lorcan screamed as fire consumed him. And it was over. The throne room was filled with smoke and the smell of burnt flesh. He heard screams of the men in the hall as they scurried away in fear like rodents.

  The empty throne was left with only ashes as Arathor, still in full dragon form, climbed up the huge window behind the throne and flew outside.

  He flew around, circling the Death-Pit, and found it deserted. He circled it twice and then breathed fire, burning all the bleachers, the cage of the golden death, the makeshift throne and everything else. He landed in the center and saw the guards running away. He placed a large talon in front of the exit stopping a few of them.

  “Release the prisoners... all of them. Your king is dead,” he said, as they shook in fear at his rumbling and thunderous voice, and hurried down into the dungeons.

  Arathor flapped his giant wings and rose above from the smoke and flames and flew back to an open field. He shifted back to human form and pulled on pants and some dark robes which he had hidden under the tree. He tapped in commands on the band at his wrist as white particles appeared around him and he disappeared. Once he materialized inside the spaceship that was stationed above the atmosphere, he revved up the engines and set the course toward Andromeda 13. He sat back in his command seat with only one thing on his mind... Arana.

  Chapter 11

  Everything was a haze. Arana blinked a few times, trying to focus on the blurry light source. Then her vision cleared, and she saw a beautiful woman with silver-white hair and blue eyes standing at her side.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked Arana gently.

  “Better,” she replied groggily. “Where... am I?” she asked frowning.

  “Andromeda 13,” she replied.

  And then she remembered, the demon, and she stared at her hand. It had healed completely. “Um... are you a doctor?” she asked the woman. “And how long have I been out?

  “No. I’m a witch, like you,” she said gently. “And you have been unconscious for a few days.”

  “My hand... it had completely withered. How did you heal it?” she gasped amazed.

  “With the help of herbs and a little bit of magic,” she winked smiling down at her. “You weren’t wearing the chain of Huzosh, so it took a while for you to heal. I knew you were strong.”

  “Who are you?” Arana asked her, narrowing her eyes at the gorgeous woman in front of her. How the hell did she know about her mother’s chain?

  “Arana... I am your mother, Iorrae,” she said as Arana gazed at her, wide-eyed.

  Arana laughed and then winced as pain throbbed in her head. “That’s not possible. My mother died giving birth to me,” she said, feeling tired.

  “That’s the story your father must have told you,” she said raising a brow.

  “Yes, and he said this chain is yours...” Arana said, lightly touching the chain at her neck.

  “It is. Its magic has protected you all these years,” Iorrae elaborated.

  “Where were you all this time? You never came for me?” Arana asked her.

  Iorrae closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Some dark forces had hidden you from me. Must have been your father’s doing as he wanted to protect you. I had searched for you everywhere, but I failed. The symbols in the universe told me you were dead.”

  Arana glanced at the door just then and thought about Arathor. “Oh, no... Arathor, where is he?” she sat up and a wave of nausea hit her.

  “He’s gone. And he is not coming back,” Iorrae said flatly, not at all amused by Arana’s concern over him.

  “I... I don’t understand... Where did he go?” she said, trying hard to suppress a wave of panic. “And why isn’t he coming back?”

  “Arana, sweetheart, please relax,” Iorrae gently coaxed her daughter. “My guess is he has gone back to Tirron.”

  “No... no. He can’t go there alone... Lorcan would kill him,” she said as her breathing became labored. “I must go after him.”

  “Arana. You are not going anywhere,” Iorrae’s firm tone caught her by surprise. “You don’t have to worry about him.”

  “He’s my friend... His life could be in danger...” she said as tears streamed down her face. “I... I can’t just sit here...

  “He’s more than a friend, isn’t he?” she cut her off.

  Arana blushed and looked away.

  “You need rest,” Iorrae declared as she understood. “Arana, he is a Slayzaryn: a full grown, fire-breathing dragon. I think he can take care of himself,” she said.

  “Yes, but...”

  “And Arana, he is not meant for you,” her mother said, coming closer and sitting down on the bed beside her.

  “How can you say that?” Arana sniffed. Her beautiful eyes were bloodshot, and Iorrae’s heart melted.

  “Listen to me, Arana,” she began gently. “You are a Magi, a witch with incredible healing power. You can’t get involved with a fire-breather. If you choose to mate with a Slayzaryn, then you risk losing all your magic and becoming an ordinary human.”

  Arana grew quiet as she stared at her hands.

  “He didn’t tell you this...” Iorrae said, gazing at her daughter. “He should have told you. And did he tell you that his people will punish him by cutting off his wings if he claimed you?”

  Why didn’t he tell her this fact? But the thought of leaving him forever made her stomach churn.

  “I don’t care...” Arana glanced up and gazed into her mother’s eyes... “I love him...”

  “You are being impulsive, Arana.” Iorrae tried reasoning with her. “You barely know him. Take some time and think about it. You were born a witch with a rare gift. And I don’t want you to give it up and regret it later,” she said as Arana looked away.

  “I will not regret it, mother,” she said. “I know he is my mate...”

  “I just want you to be happy. But I would advise you think about it. If you mate with him, you not only risk losing your magic, but also your life will be short and ordinary. You will grow old and die long before he does. What kind of life will it be for you? Come with me to Iovis. Your magic has been newly awakened, and you need a lot to learn. I’ll teach you,” Iorrae said.

  Maybe she was right. She did need to learn before she gave it all up. And Arathor? He was a stranger, after all. She didn’t know him any better. He could have told her...

  Arana slowly nodded. “Okay, I’ll come with you,” she said and a smile spread across Iorrae’s lips.

  They left for Iovis the next day.

  ***

  Arathor was on his way to Andromeda 13 when he received the call from Qizet. She informed him that Iorrae had taken Arana back to Iovis and that she left a me
ssage for him.

  Arathor read:

  Don’t ruin her life. She is young and naive. Doesn’t know how precious her power is. She needs to learn a lot, and I’ll teach her, so leave us alone.

  Iorrae.

  Arathor read the message and his chest constricted. She must have known by now. And she would be mad at him. He quickly typed a message for Arana. He knew the message would take months to reach her.

  Dear Arana,

  I went to Tirron and took care of Lorcan. I killed him. I know you must be thinking I could have chosen otherwise, but he was beyond healing and he wouldn’t have rested till he had killed us both. And I wanted you to be safe.

  Please, forgive me, for I should have told you earlier that if I claim you as my mate, you will lose your powers.

  Arana... you are the reason I want to live now. I owe you my life, so how could I be so selfish and take your magic from you? I was afraid of losing you. But then again, it was wrong. You deserved to know the truth about us.

  You go on and live your life. You have a wonderful mother to protect you now. Learn to use your magic wisely.

  You will always be my mate and remain in my heart... I just wish I could see you one last time...

  I am back at Trorth, and I have quit working for the king. I just couldn’t do it anymore.

  Forever yours, Arathor.

  He pressed send and changed course. He decided to head back to Trorth.

  ***

  One year later...

  It was late, and the blizzard was terrible that night. It was always winter on Iovis. Arana wasn’t bothered by the cold, but her heart caught the essence of it. It crept into her soul and made her shiver inside.

  A huge volume of spells lay open in front of her as she read it and meticulously took notes. Like some robot – not feeling anything, she read. She was good at it. Working long hours helped a little as she could focus well and forget about the dreams she had every night about him... They were disturbing... Arathor just wouldn’t leave her alone. She had got his message, and her heart shattered that day.

  Her mother watched her work as she sat for hours and hours without eating or drinking. Iorrae took a sip of her wine and bit her lip. Arana hadn’t been herself since she got here. She was a good learner and she was doing fine with her magic skills, but it was her health... She wouldn’t eat or drink. Never once did she see her laugh. And there were dark hollows under her eyes from lack of sleep. Her eyes would mostly be red rimmed in the morning, as if she had been crying a lot.