Forced To Kill The Prince

by Hollie Hutchins

  She compromised and brought him to the kitchen. For the first time since she'd adopted him, she gave him tuna, instead of the generic cat-food that she'd gotten in bulk. "You earned it," She said. Still, Cezar paid her little mind. He'd gotten what he wanted.

  Eliza checked the time. It was three in the morning. She had only been asleep for an hour. "How the mind works, huh Cezar?" She looked around her. Cezar had run-off again. "Okay, little guy! I'll remember that." She washed his bowls and took a shower.

  As the water ran over her head, she thought of the lake that she'd dipped her fingers into, she thought of the fire at the camp, she recalled the names. "Eli," she whispered to herself. The memory had caused her grip on the bar of soap to slip. Images of the "dream" flashed rapidly through her mind. She could still see, smell, feel, and hear it all—as if it were all right in front of her.

  Eli, she thought again. My dragon king. Eliza jumped out of the shower and snatched her towel from off of the bathroom rack—she didn't want to waste any good writing time with getting dressed. She ran to her desk and flung open her laptop.

  The power was unreliable, but she'd had a full battery, "The small gifts of being paranoid," she joked to herself. Cezar sprung out from the bedroom—he'd grown accustomed to sleeping in his master's company. He laid beside her foot as she smashed the keys of her computer at a rate that would have impressed her, should she not have been so fascinated by her own imagination.

  She typed through the remainder of the storm—rarely pausing for food or liquor breaks. She worked on the document for the remainder of the storm—stopping when she had to eat and nap.

  For the first time in her life, she'd been filled with exceptional levels of motivation. She pictured being in Eli's embrace. She fawned over Cezar's loyalty and commitment. She even found Tomlin, a suitable role as the comic relief. It all seemed to fall into place before her eyes.

  When she'd grown too tired to type, she saved the document. "What the hell do I call this thing, Cezar?" She said. Eliza thought back to her dream. To her and Cezar's time in the woods. She thought of how special she was and the near-fruition of a prophecy fulfilled. "And he shall arrive on a winged sky," she said to herself.

  She titled the document and went to bed as the sun pierced through the blanket of dark gray clouds.

  A Winged Sky, she thought and was pleased.

  No words were deleted that day.

  ***

  She was woken up by the ring of her doorbell. It'd been going off in rapid succession for minutes before she'd finally gotten up to answer it. She'd hoped the annoyance would simply go away. "I've got work to do," she scowled, stomping toward the noise. Even Cezar seemed a bit peeved—hissing with every wretched second of dinging repetition.

  "What is it!" She swung the door open, only be surprised by a man she didn't expect.

  "Hey. I'm..."

  "Eli," she said, after a long a staggered pause. She gulped down the stunned emotion that had clogged her throat when she'd seen him.

  "Yeah. How'd you know?"

  Eliza stared deeply into the man's fiery eyes and perfected stature. Once again, she'd thought of the dream. "Just a hunch."

  No words were deleted on that day either.

  The End

  Taken Hostage

  ~ Bonus Story ~

  A Dragon Shifter Paranormal Romance

  Anya is trying to come to terms with her new found success. She wants to be more than just a pop star. Anya believes in supporting the shifter cause. She knows the government is trying to exterminate this newly exposed race of humans. She wants to use her fame for good.

  But when she is captured and taken hostage by a dragon shifter, will she be able to get past her fears and accept that not all shifters are evil.

  * * *

  Ch. 1

  We are in the third month of what we at Action 5 are calling, ‘Shift-a-Geddon.’ They have come out of the closet, but many questions remain, what are they? Who are they? Are they human, or are they the next evolution of man, seeking to assert their dominance over their ancestral species?

  Chuck Hunt, the anchorman from Action 5 was going on a rant about shifters, and the possible dangers. He was trying to convince his viewers that they had to stay tuned to his broadcast if they wanted to survive in our new post-apocalyptic reality. Nothing had even happened and half the world had gone full on tin foil hat over the existence of shifters.

  The sensationalism was making me sick, but who was I to judge. I was waiting to go on this jack ass’ show. My performance was going right between a story on the dangers of dating shifters, and a prepper/survivalist who was promoting a scavenger’s cookbook.

  These are people that you may know, and in their human form they may be harmless. That is not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is, who is really in control when the claws come out? When the fur begins to fly? When the animalistic rage, fury, or the bestial lusts of these inhuman creatures rears its ugly head, who will protect us then?

  The only thing harder than looking at the Chuck Hunt on the tiny flat screen by my make-up chair was looking at the one standing over me. “What is that tattoo all about?” The fake smile didn't move as he spoke. I had trouble looking the anchorman right in the eye. He probably thought I was trying to be aloof, but really I just didn't want to lose my lunch.

  “It's the mundane egg,” I started to explain the image of the world cracking open. I had it tattooed on the inside of my right calf. “Many cultures believe that the world is an egg. It cracked open and all of life was released from inside…”

  “Okay, nope, sorry you lost me,” Chuck was out. He was searching for something that was going to captivate his audience. “I just think you're going to lose everyone there. I'll ask about your tattoos and you say something like, ‘I love them all, they mean so much to me.’ Oh! Maybe I'll just ask how many you have.”

  I agreed with a nod of my head. I hated these pre-interview meetings. They all end the same way, with me wanting to kill myself. This was the price of selling my soul. My single, “First Touch,” was originally titled “Cleveland Streamer,” it was a gaudy song that challenged how people thought about sex, and relationships. “First Touch,” had the same rhythm, but all of the lyrics were about how I’m pretty and I want to be touched. It was just like every other song on the radio.

  “Oh, turn it up,” Chuck said as he turned up his own recorded broadcast.

  Until we have the answers to these questions, we must stay vigilant. The shifter threat is growing every day, and Action 5 is not going to tell you what you want to hear, but only Action 5 is going to tell you what you need to hear.

  “Bam!” Chuck was in the middle of some ritualistic celebration behind me. The make-up artist had finished with my face. I tried to sneak away, but Chuck threw an arm around my shoulder. “I came up with that right there on the spot, and it is going to be the new slogan of Action 5.”

  “Why are you doing this Chuck?” My question seemed to hit Chuck hard. His whole demeanor changed. His fake smile was still there, but it was an angry fake smile now. “Did the shifters do something to you? Have they hurt you?”

  “Course not,” Chuck tried to laugh it off. “Ratings, listeners, money, that’s what this is about for all of us. I don’t need to be judged by some bubble gum pop star. You have one job here today. Sing your song. So, shut-up and sing your song!”

  So I sang, Chuck announced me and I sang. I wasn’t mad at him, really. I had provoked him, and his answer was totally justified. I was selling out just as hard, if not harder than the anchorman. There was really no reason for me to seek retribution for Chuck’s rage fueled screams. I sang my song, I swung my hips provocatively, and I pretended to have sex with Chuck’s desk.

  I tried to walk off stage when the song was done. I wanted to just disappear into the background as the curtains came around. I have no idea what possessed me to say anything. “We don’t need to fear the shifters,” I had moved forward to avoid the curtains. C
huck was the color of a tomato, the redness was coming through the layers of make-up, and he looked like he was ready to spew fire at me.

  “Thank you,” Chuck said through clenched teeth.

  “They haven’t hurt anyone, and we are not giving them a chance to prove to us that they can lead normal lives.” I had read all of the stories about the secret government camps, and the programs trying to force all of the shifters to register with the government. “Let’s band together and demand better treatment for shifters! Let’s prevent a genocide…”

  I only saw the fist at the last second. He went on to tell his audience that is was an accident, and that he didn’t mean to punch me. I couldn’t defend myself, because fake smile, or not, Chuck Hunt had a very real right hook.

  “Anya, will be appearing tonight at the Nacho Bowl,” Chuck said, smiling into the camera, standing over my body. “The show is sold out, but there are still three chances to win your way in coming up later in the broadcast.” The show went to commercial and Chuck dropped the mic on me.

  Ch. 2

  “The make-up will take care of that sweetie,” Franz said as he fixed my face up. Chuck had left a huge red bruise on my chin. I had decided not to press charges, but I wasn’t going to talk to the press about it for a few days.

  “That is the right decision,” my agent looked like he was about to cream his pants when I told him. “We shouldn’t talk about it, but let everyone see the bruise. We can get miles out of this.”

  Jimmy was always thinking about how to get more exposure. A few years back he had even tried to orchestrate a fake kidnapping plot. It was going to happen in the middle of a show, but I wouldn’t let him go through with it. It seemed too morbid.

  “You look smokin’!” Franz shouted as he slammed his make-up brush down. He was finally done getting me ready for the big show. I was already shaking with nerves. A huge bowl show out in the open air. Tens of thousands of fans screaming for me. I had been doing the shows for years now, and they still got my blood pumping.

  I crawled underneath the stage, and into a small room. It was a hydraulic lift that popped out of the middle of the stage. “An-ya, An-ya!” The crowd was chanting over and over. I was getting so excited, the vibrations pulsed through me. I took a deep breath and the lift started to move.

  “Come on, New York Ci…” I saw him push through the bouncers as soon as I started to emerge onto the stage. He was moving fast and he threw the large men out of is way like they were made of foam. It seemed like he was 3 feet taller than me as he took my hand.

  The skin on his hand felt hot to the touch, and kind of unstable. It was like it was moving around independently. I tried to pull away, but this tall, muscular stranger was too powerful.

  “Let go of me,” I protested, but I stopped when he looked at me. His eyes were glowing, and they were filled with passion and anger like nothing I had ever seen. I shrunk back and started looking around for help, but everyone around me seemed to be frozen.

  “Urrrggrraaawwgh!” The man let out the cry as he bent forward and huge, black, leathery wings shot out of his back. His unstable skin was all turning black, and scaly. He was a shifter, and I thought for a minute that there was a misunderstanding. I thought to myself, maybe he came to thank me for what I said on Chuck’s show.

  The fully formed dragon took off with me wrapped in his arms. I fought at first, but seeing the stadium shrink away below me I thought better of it. I shouted out for a while, but it seemed pointless. Who was going to help me? 20,000 people had just sat back and let this happen. Who was going to help me up here?

  I rested my head in the crook of a scaly arm, and waited for the ride to end. It seemed to go on forever. The heat of the dragon’s skin actually started to make me sleepy. I tried to fight away the heavy eyelids. The adrenaline had finally started to fade and the flying was actually a very relaxing feeling.

  When my eyes opened again we were flying over a huge crack in the Earth. I could see the red glow coming up to the surface. On either side there was snow and ice. We were in the artic, and the dragon folded his arms around me tighter so that I could be warmer.

  The cold air made me a lot more conscious of the outfit that I was wearing. It was a see through, roman-inspired get up with a gold bikini underneath, and it was doing nothing to keep out the cold. I was starting to shiver, even though my skin was almost cooking where it was touching the dragon.

  We landed on the side of a mountain just a mile or so from the crack. I was glad that the flight was over, but I still had no idea what this man wanted. He shifted back and dragged me quickly into the cave. I was too cold to speak.

  He threw a blanket over me as we entered what looked to be his home. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace and I threw myself right on the mouth of the hearth. He stoked the fire, which was a little more than embers. I considered throwing myself right on top of the burning coals.

  “W-wh-what?” It was all I could get out.

  “I am terribly sorry,” the man said as if this was all just a little inconvenience. We had just bumped into each other in the grocery store and no one was hurt. I stared at him and shook, from the cold sure, but from anger as well.

  “Why?”

  “I needed to get some attention,” the man laughed. “The world only seems to pay attention to pop stars and actors so I grabbed one.”

  “But I stood up for the shifters, I stood up for your kind!” The anger had revived me. I was still huddled by the fire, but I was yelling in complete sentences again.

  “Yes, and I need people to hate the shifters,” the man laughed. “I am using you to start a war. I need a human-shifter war to make room for my people.”

  “Who are your people?” I was a little confused. “Who are you?”

  “I am Dagur,” his gravelly voice obscured the name a bit. It made everything he said seem more mysterious.

  I found it intriguing, but I hated him a little too much in that moment to really care. I just wanted to find a way out of this cave, and back home. Nothing makes you want your Malibu dream house more than a trip deep into the artic without any clothes on.

  “I am the last dragon,” Dagur sighed as he stared into the flames. “But I will not be the last dragon soon. You are going to help me with that. You will bear the next generation of dragons…”

  “Why would I help you?” I screamed.

  “Because you have no choice,” Dagur laughed as he crossed the room to grab a small wooden armchair. He pushed it over to me. I glared at him as it sailed across the rocky floor. It came to a stop right in front of me. I was going to send it back to him, but the chair was heavy, but it looked better than the floor. I sat in it as angrily as I could.

  “So what was the point of all of this?” I asked as I adjusted the blanket around myself. I was starting to warm up a bit, but there were little drafts and gusts of wind in the cave that chilled me to the bone when they kissed my nearly naked body.

  “I am starting a war,” Dagur laughed. “I have their attention now. My next move is too attack the concentration camps they are setting up in Montana…”

  “So you are fighting for the shifters,” I said. I was feeling a bit hopeful for a second, but then I saw the smirk of Dagur’s face.

  He was a handsome man. Large, and muscular, he had wide shoulders, and huge biceps, and they almost made it look like he had wings in his human form too, as it all trailed down to his small, tightly defined abs. He had thrown on a robe of furs, but it was tied very loosely. He was an imposing figure, but he had a cruelty to his face.

  “I am fighting for my kind,” Dagur scoffed. “We ruled this world long before the humans even crawled out of their caves. We will take this world back, and the plan starts with you.”

  “I will never have sex with you!” I shouted as I looked around the room. I needed a weapon, or something that I could hit him with. Everything was too far away. Dagur was going to get to me before I could do anything to try and stop him.

 
Dagur threw the blanket away, and a gust of icy air hit my skin and froze me in place. I got my hands out in front of me, and I turned my head. I couldn’t bear to watch what he was about to do.

  “I’m too tired for this,” Dagur groaned.

  I could hear the shift going on. I tried to get away. I charged for the exit. I was leaving this cave. I knew it was a bad plan, but I had to try something. I grabbed his robe and threw it over myself as I ran. It was heavy, and warm, but it wasn’t going to be enough.

  A leathery tail wrapped around my leg and pulled me back into the middle of the room. The dragon now took up most of the room in the chamber. Large claws, grazed my skin as the dragon threw the robe off of me and then blew out the fire. I started to cry as I felt the temperature in the room dropping. I was already so cold, but the dragon wrapped me in its massive wings and I felt the heat transferring through the scales, warmth brought sleep.

  Ch. 3

  The tail was curved around me, and the arms held me tight. I had to stretch my neck to look out through the tops of the wings. I was glad for the cover, but I didn’t want to touch this monster any longer than I had to. There had to be a way out of here.

  This guy had been sleeping here for thousands of years and he hadn’t even bothered to furnish the place. He had one armchair and a robe, there was a rusty sword in the corner, but it looked like it would crumble at the touch. It seemed to belong to the pile of bones scattered around it. All of this just added to the charm of Dagur. I needed to escape.