Banning

by Julia Mills

  I fly, as the dragon flies, through the cedars,

  pines, willows, and birch as animals

  below me wander and search.

  I call to the South, to the land down below.

  The Great Bear stands silent, as man strings his bow

  to hunt food and fur for his kin before snow.

  A life will end so others will grow.

  I call to the North, that Yansa once knew.

  I follow their path till it disappears from view.

  Once vast in number, there stand but a few.

  I hear only ghost thunder of millions of hooves.

  I call to the West, to the ends of the lands,

  to not only the Bear and the Dragon ...

  but all who receive the gift of two natures…all bands and Clans.

  Unite for the strength. Teach the young, respect the old, and demand that we are all children of the universe, sons and daughters of the Universe who were the brand.

  Learn your tongue. Speak the truth. Love your kin. Let our Unity stand.

  My name is Freedom...I roam this land and soar through this sky.

  I call to the Four Sacred Winds of gods and goddesses. Return this dragon to his mate that their love may freely fly.

  Somewhere deep in his psyche, at the very center of his being, a rumble, low and ominous like the warning growl of a mother bear protecting her cubs, resonated. The words of the Ancient prayer wound through his body, their continuous loops and swirls knitting the fibers of his existence back together, one tenuous stitch at a time.

  In the span of a single heartbeat, the deep hum burst into a rampaging cacophony of blinding light and tempestuous explosions within every cell of the Guardsman’s being. Racked with violent convulsions, he prayed for death, for any escape from the inhumane torture of the bears and their gods.

  Tendons stretched. Muscles tore. The very tether of Banning’s existence pulled tight, stretching to its absolute limits. Then, like a bolt of lightning from Zeus’ trident, Fate slashed the thread of his existence, releasing every atom of both man and dragon’s existence into the ether with a blast of almighty Universal magic.

  Snapping back as if it were the rubber band of an enormous slingshot, the magnanimous force ignited the ancient magic of the Dragon King, Gerallt. Immediately taking control, harnessing the nearly omnipotent godly enchantment with a single swipe of his wings, the winged-warrior exploded through the dark, dank veil of the old crone’s curse, shattering its evil taint to the four winds. Bursting forth with a victorious roar, his lunar white scales glistening in the glow of the nearly full moon, the dragon took to the skies with a single push of his tremendous wings.

  Looking down at the Alpha, the Healer, the First Beta, and the Guard of the Nantonka Bear Sloth, he finally knew what friendship outside the comforts of his own kin felt like. Not only were they among the most courageous and fearless, these bears in particular possessed the healing power of the Great Spirit and Mother Earth.

  “Many thanks to you and yours, Beau Nantonka. I owe you a debt far greater than I can pay in a thousand lifetimes, but I shall be at your side, shall you ever have need of me,” Banning called to his new friend, acknowledging the feel of the wind against his scales and the freedom that had been so long out of his reach a blessing, but knowing he would have to celebrate later, for now he needed to save Myanna.

  “Not so fast, Dragon.” Beau’s baritone rasp, lower in tone, its gravelly quality more pronounced. “You can’t be rid of me that easily. Your enemies are my enemies and I just happen to be spoiling for a fight.”

  Another glance at the ground had the Guardsman snorting a laugh through his massive snout as he took in the sight of an absolutely monstrous grizzly racing through the forest separating the park from the back roads that led to the prison. Banning was amazed at how fast the thousand-pound bear could run, nearly keeping pace with the shadow of his dragon as it skimmed across the landscape.

  “As my old mum used to say, the more the merrier.”

  “Oh yeah, Banning, my man. There’s gonna be a hot time in the old prison tonight.”

  Chapter Ten

  Thick… dense… bitter…

  She could cut the air with a knife. Clearing her throat, Mimi tried to dislodge the mass of sickly-sweet, acrid, malignant malice clogging her airway. Pushed as far into the corner as she could possibly get, sure the design of the blocks was embedded in the skin on her back, Mimi let her head fall forward, tucked her nose and mouth under the collar of her silk blouse, and inhaled.

  At least I can stand my own stench…

  Keeping her head down while hoping to avoid eye contact with the prisoners holding them hostage, she prayed, “Dear God, I know we haven’t always been the closest…and I know that you know that I blame you for taking my mom long before I thought it was time, but if there’s any way out of this mess, I’d sure appreciate your help.”

  She thought about all the men who’d made Death Row promises as she counseled them through their final days. Platitudes they had no intention of keeping but giving all who saw them a hell of a good show. Getting on their knees, clasping their hands and closing their eyes, tears cascading down their cheeks as they begged whatever deity they believed in to save them from the hell of their own making.

  Can’t do it…Can’t start lying now… Besides, Mom used to say my tongue would fall off if I lied. Not cool. Not cool, at all…

  Knowing in her heart-of-hearts that she wasn’t going to lie to anyone, let alone God on high, even to save her own ass, Mimi slid her eyes to the side, glancing at her coworkers. Four guards and one nurse, all men and all at the mercy of the psychotic sadist, Ted Dubronski and his crew of bat-shit crazy cohorts, just as she was.

  Yes, bat-shit crazy is a professional term, and I will now be using it in my case notes…

  Turning on the professional side of her brain, because looking at her situation as a clinical study was way easier than the grim reality before her, Mimi first examined the leader of the mutiny, the bane of her existence, Theodore Gregory Dubronski. He thrived in chaos. Yearned to control every element of his surroundings and hungered for the pain of others.

  Perfectly comfortable with his surroundings in this, their fourth day of the standoff, the homicidal maniac was laid back in the large, obscenely extravagant leather desk chair that any other time would have been in the warden’s office. With his feet on the desk, crossed at the ankles and a cigarette hanging from his thin, colorless lips, the serial killer let his head fall back and sighed. “Well, the cops aren’t taking me seriously. I think it’s time to start sending out some body parts.”

  “Can I help?” Henry Moiser, a twenty-four-year old serial killer who’d committed his first murder when he was seven-years-old by pushing his babysitter down the stairs then stripping her naked and writing obscenities all over her body with his mother’s red lipstick, asked with an evil gleam in his mud-colored eyes.

  “Yeah, why not?” Ted chuckled, leaning forward and stamping out the butt of his cigarette on the hard wood of the table where Mimi always ate her lunch. Looking up at the youngest of his literal partners in crime, Dubronski added, “And if you’re a good boy, I’ll let you lick up the blood.”

  Remembering her sessions with Henry, Mimi forced herself not to cringe as his words replayed in her mind…

  “I didn’t have my first taste of blood until my eleventh birthday. I had just been released from Hyde Park a few days earlier.” He looked up from the pad of paper he’d been drawing on and asked, “Ever been there?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Mimi softly answered, waiting for him to continue.

  “Well, it’s a nut house for young’uns like I was.” His usually slow southern drawl took on a more pronounced twang. “Ya’ see, I made those shrinks think I was cured after pushing old Mary Lou down the stairs.” He snickered, pushing the lead of the pencil deeper into the paper. “They gave me like six bottles of pills and told my ma to make sure I took ‘em every day.”<
br />
  He continued to slash at the paper as he looked up and grinned just enough for Mimi to see his rotten two front teeth. “But you see, my momma was a whore and my dad was dead, so there weren’t nobody to look after me and let’s just say, I put those pills to good use and made me a few bucks.” He sat back, crossed his arms, and nodded with a satisfied smile. “That’s how I bought my first real huntin’ knife. Used it the very next day to carve up that stupid asshole, Jessie McFarlane. There was blood on my hands when I was done, so I licked it off.” He nodded. “And ya know what, Doc? It tasted like pork chops that hadn’t been in the skillet quite long enough.”

  Pointing to the notes Mimi was making, he added, “You better write that name down and put that he’s buried underneath the propane tank in his old granny’s back yard.” His smile widened as he licked his lips and leaned forward. “Those fucking cops never asked, so I never told them about him. But, I like you, Doc. I like you a lot.”

  That was the first day Mimi had questioned her choice of professions. Meeting Ted was the second and four days ago was the third, and most probably the final…if she made it out alive.

  Pushing her chin even farther into her chest, Mimi bit her tongue, refusing to scream when Ted grabbed her by the hair, pulling her to her feet. It was more shock than pain at first, as she hadn’t even heard him move.

  Jerking her head back, forcing her to look him in the eye, Dubronski sneered, “Ladies first,” before dragging her into the tiny kitchenette just to the side of the breakroom as all the other prisoners yelled and screamed for him to stop.

  Her scalp burned as she tripped, causing the death-grip the killer had on the thick mass of her hair he had wrapped around his hand to nearly pull it out by the root. Biting down harder on her tongue, absolutely denying Ted what he wanted most—her fear—she tasted the sweet, copper of her own blood flowing down her throat.

  Throwing her handcuffed hands out in front of her, Mimi held her breath as she was shoved toward the Formica-covered island in the middle of the room with Dubronski ordering, “Get your ass up and lay down, Bitch.”

  Scrambling to comply, wondering if she could overpower both Ted and Henry and save her coworkers, Mimi did as she was told while praying neither inmate was going to add sexual assault to their repertoire of offences. Laying his hand over her neck, Ted leaned down until the tips of their noses touched and whispered, “I know what you’re doing.” Applying just enough pressure that Mimi’s fight or flight reflexes started to flood her body with adrenaline, he added. “Others have tried. All have failed.”

  Pushing the pad of his thumb against her carotid artery, the blunt tip of his nail digging into her flesh, he sneered, “You will give me your fear, Dr. Havers.”

  The fingers on the other side of her neck tightened until she could only draw tiny bits of air into her lungs. He was driving her to hyperventilate, trying to make it impossible for her not to open her mouth, not to cry out, not to gasp for air, but still Mimi refused. She simply refused to give a homicidal maniac control over her body or her mind.

  “I knew you’d be fun to play with.” Dubronski chuckled. “Until I met you, I thought all women were either sluts or bitches, but you, Doc, you’re in a class by yourself.” He patted her cheek with his free hand as he pushed his thumb ever so slightly deeper into her neck. “You’re strong. You’re gonna make me work for that first scream. The one that makes me hard, keeps me coming back for more.”

  “Go on, Henry. Give her a little taste of your magic,” Ted taunted as he jerked Mimi to a sitting position with the hand that was wrapped around her throat.

  The noose of his grip around her neck tightened.

  The breath froze in her lungs.

  The world around her flipped to slow motion.

  Helpless to stop what she knew was about to happen. Watching the smoldering embers glowing at the tip of a rancid cigar creep slowly to the tender skin at the back of her knee, Mimi shook uncontrollably.

  The pop and crackle of sizzling skin rang in her ears. The unmistakable scent of burning flesh assaulted her nose. Then it happened. Pain – sharp, unrelenting, excruciating agony beat at her every nerve-ending, forcing her to chomp down on her tongue until her she was sure she had severed it in two.

  “Fuck you, Doc. Fuck you to hell,” Ted thundered before turning to Henry and snarling, “Hit her again.”

  Over and over Henry shoved the burning cigar into her leg, then the underside of her wrist, finally heading for her cheek, right under her left eye.

  Nearly wringing her neck like she was one of Aunt Belle’s chickens as he whipped her head from side-to-side, Dubronski shrieked, “Scream, you fuckin’ bitch. Scream or I’ll cut your fuckin’ throat.”

  Turning her eyes away from Henry and glaring the best she could, Mimi croaked, “Fuck you.”

  Tightening his grip and cutting off the last little bit of air she was getting, Dubronski slammed her down onto the counter, bashing the back of her head against the hard Formica again and again. Darkness closed in all around her. Unable to breathe, her skull being pummeled by a madman, Mimi relaxed, resigned to her inevitable fate.

  Watching the warm, unwavering glow of the soft, white light in her soul, she floated on a peaceful sea of light blue fluffy clouds. Visions of her dream lover filled her mind.

  He was talking to her…his lips moving so quickly, she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Brow furrowed, his deep blue eyes dark and stormy like an angry sea, he reached for her but failed to make contact.

  Reaching again, Banning lunged at her. His hands gripped her shoulders. Heat like a bolt of lightning shot through her body. Her eyes flew open. She gulped for the air her oxygen-deprived brain needed to function at the exact moment the voice she’d been imaging since the first time she saw his face in her dreams roared, “Wake up, Myanna! Open your eyes and wake up!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Was it the ancient magic of the bears?

  Was it his boiling rage?

  Was it the all-encompassing need to rescue his mate burning in his soul?

  Maybe it was all three, but Banning could not have cared less. All that mattered was that Myanna was dying and he wasn’t there to save her.

  Listening to her struggling to breathe, he could hear the greedy howl of the grave staking claim to her soul. With his heart reaching for hers, he recited the words of his ancestors, forging a bond between them that would either heal Myanna or send them both to the Heavens.

  “My soul to your soul. My heart to your heart. I freely give all that I am to your healing and wellbeing.”

  Pushing copious amounts of dragon magic into the Heavenly light that bound them together, Banning willed the sluggish beat of Myanna’s heart to join his. Again and again, he repeated the verse, praying with every ounce of his strength for his mate to live until he could get to her.

  Repeating the prayer once more, his voice was joined by Beau’s deep baritone and the bear’s mother, Martha’s, reverent contralto tone. The calm warmth of the bears’ magic combined with the steely strength of the dragon’s forced Myanna’s heart into a more regular rhythm.

  “Thank you, my friends, so very much.”

  “We’ve got your back, Ban. Now, let’s get to your mate. I’ve got the boys with me and we’re overdue for kickin’ serious ass.”

  Glancing down, he saw Beau had been joined by two other massive grizzlies, a bit smaller than their leader but still enormous in their own rights. Picking their names from the Alpha’s mind, Banning now knew that Charlie, the bear with a white patch of fur over his left shoulder, was the Leader of the Guards while Amos, the darkest of all three grizzlies, was the First Beta of the Nantonka Bear Sloth. The Guardsman welcomed their help, but deep in his heart wished it was his brethren by his side.

  Racing across the sky, shouting her name, his unanswered calls echoed through their mating bond as the glow of her existence continued to dim with each passing second.

  Fearing the worst, instinct
took control as both man and dragon roared to their brethren, the Guardsmen of the Berserker Force, the only dragons with the ability to take on the Warrior Dragon form given to their ancestors by the Celtic goddess of war, Morrigan.

  One by one, he called the other twelve – ten males and two females – those with whom he shared a bond of not only kinship, but also of blood. Over and over again, his calls went unanswered.

  Everything culminated in a fearsome rage that flooded the Guardsman’s system as he landed on the roof of the prison with a resounding thud. A red haze slipped over his vision as Banning stood on his hind legs, embracing his fury and welcoming the berserker form of his dragon.

  “My Warrior Dragon comes.” His words were little more than a raspy grumble, his voice several octaves lower as his fangs elongated and his snout grew shorter while calling to Beau.

  “Do what you gotta do, brother. We’ll see you on the inside.”

  Unable to answer, his mind now a frenzied whirl of manic wrath and the unrelenting need to rid the world of the bastards who dared to lay hands on his mate, Banning threw back his head, flames flying from his lips as he roared to the Heavens.

  Seizure-like tremors shook his body. His blood ran cold, flipping to boiling hot in the blink of an eye. Icy madness filled every cell of his being, contracting and contorting his very physique, transforming the Dragon King into the compact, indestructible form of his Warrior Dragon.

  The magic of the Ancients beat against his body, forcing the large, elongated muscles he’d used for flying into his chest, biceps, and quads. The roof beneath his feet shuddered as he dug the long claws jutting from his toes into the concrete to remain standing.

  An inferno, like flaming shards of silver, sliced through the flesh and bone of his back. The tips of his wings curled downward, turning toward his shoulder blades, pushing through the thick layer of scales, tearing through his body as if it were no more than wet paper.