Dragan

by Plum Pascal

  “Why would he think that?” I ask.

  Raflamir shakes his head as if to say he doesn’t know. “There’s been no…no sign of s…such activities, but Variant refuses to see…r…reason. He thinks his enemies are lurking around…around every corner.” Raflamir swallows noisily, and a knock on the door causes him to jump.

  Baron and Dragan immediately stand up and Dragan faces Eilish.

  “Hide her,” he says before he and Baron seep into the shadows of the darkest corners of the room, remaining unseen. Flumph leads Eilish to the staircase and she climbs up the stairs with him at her heels. I watch as the trap door of the staircase closes into the ceiling, presumably at the hands of Baron or Dragan although I can’t see either one. The floor above my head creaks before going startlingly silent.

  I hide behind a corner of the living room leading into the kitchen and instruct Raflamir to open the door. When he does, he lets out a long sigh of relief and opens it wider. Three people enter the room. I recognize one of them immediately and step out from my hiding place.

  When she sees me, Aima gasps.

  “Cambion…” she says. “So, it’s true.”

  NINETEEN

  Flumph

  Earlann

  “Flumph!” King Shadow Taint yells up the stairs. “You both can come down!”

  My ears are ringin’ from how loud that fuckin’ cock shouts my name.

  Pretty walks beside me as my tiny little wings carry me towards the staircase that lead back down to the shitty floor level.

  Thunder buttercup! There be three newbies sittin’ ‘round the table. One o’ ‘em’s a girl. Or least she look like one. I’m even more convinced she be a girl when we takes our places at the table. Her ears are pointy, like the fancy elf’s, but she got these big-ass fangs that be flashin’ each time she talk.

  Speakin’ o’ the fancy elf, I can’t fer the life o’ me figure out what be wrong with his sense o’ fashion. I get that he ain’t been out o’ Geldingstock for like ever, but he dressed like they used ta dress back in the long-ago times, with them poofy pants—and I’m pretty sure he got on a pirate shirt. He look right stupid.

  But back to the three newbies we find waitin’ fer us at the table…

  I hears the creepy-ass vamp call the girl with them long-ass fangs, Aima, or somethin’ like that. She be an Unseelie woman—an’ she pretty, but not nowhere nears as pretty as Angelbus.

  Speakin’ of… Angelbus takes her a seat beside Baron, who be her new bestest friend now, or so it seems like it. The two o’ them been inseparable since we got here. I ain’t jealous or nothin’… okay, well, maybe jist a little.

  Anyways, Aima’s big ‘ol eyes be watchin’ me like I’m a tasty snack and I don’t like it, not one bit. Her eyes give me the heebie-jeebies ‘cause those black, soulless pits looks like they can swallow the whole damn room.

  I can tell she know the Elf King and King Shadow Fuck from a long time ago, and maybe she even know the vamp, ‘cause she actin’ real easy ‘round all three o’ em. Her other two cronies jist look big and scary and dumb, like the rest o’ these assholes gathered ‘round the table.

  One o’ the new giants gots a real beefy head. He a satyr, with big-ass hoofs an’ hairy-as-fuck legs. His beard so long, he could easily hide a family o’ squirrels in it. An’ for all I know, maybe he do. Satyrs be creatures o’ the forest an’ I’m wonderin’ if this one be housebroken. Hope so; last thing I wanna deal with is satyr piss ‘cause that shit stinks real bad.

  Satyr drinks from a goblet he musta brought with him, ‘cause I ain’t seen it on our table before. He finishes the thing an’ slams it on the table, all barbarian-like.

  “You! Sprite!” he shouts as he glare at me. “Get me another!”

  Wha? What the? What the wha??

  Who does this cock thinks he is?! Bossin’ me ‘round, like he one o’ them other dicks I been travelin’ with!

  “I ain’t no waiter!” I says, and I cross my arms ‘gainst my chest and stay seated on Pretty’s lap. She pats my head with her index finger like she tryin’ ta make me feel better. It ain’t workin’, but feels good, so’s I tell her to keep keepin’.

  “Kolver, your manners,” Aima say as she look over at the satyr an’ shake her head. She got a real stern expression on her face.

  I’d spit in Satyr’s cup, if I could. Allies my fat ass!

  This brute ain’t no warrior. He a drunk, an’ a nasty one at that. I hear him slurrin’ his words and lookin’ at Pretty like he be wantin’ ta eat her. Good thin’ for Pretty that Satyrs be vegemetarianisms.

  King Night Twat notice the satyr noticin’ Pretty, an’ he don’t look too happy ‘bout it. In fact, the vamp ain’t too happy ‘bout it, neither.

  “Stay close to me,” Vamp Bat whispers in a voice meant just for the twos of us.

  “I ain’t goin’ nowheres,” I say an’ look back up at him like we be bros. He look down at me, real annoyed-like. That’s when I realize he weren’t talkin’ to me.

  Dick.

  Pretty giggles an’ then nods at the vamp like she heard him loud an’ clear.

  Good thing the other one o’ Aima’s tribe ain’t opened his mouth an’ revealed himself ta be an idiot yet, even if I can’t see his face ‘neath that creepy fuckin’ mask he wearin’. Yeah, he wearin’ a mask, like it be All Hallow’s Eve. I wonder if he got him some melted skin or somethin’ underneath it? Maybe the squirrels that live in the Satyr’s beard chewed off this guy’s nose or somethin’?

  The mask he wear’s shaped like a skull with a wide smile, made outta bone. Probly part o’ whatever poor critter was used to make the long bow on Masky’s back, a bow which looks fashioned outta somethin’s spine.

  Masky be the only one who ain’t lookin’ at Pretty an’ me like we be their’s fer the takin’. S’pose that got somethin’ to do with the fact I can’t see his eyes, but it make no difference to me so long as he stay the fuck over there, on his side o’ the table.

  The assface Satyr—Kolvar, I thinks his name be—keep runnin’ his mouth ‘bout needin’ another drink, an’ then he look at me like I gotta do somethin’ ‘bout it. Well, fuck him, ‘cause I ain’t no waiter no more.

  “Sprite,” he start up agin.

  “Nosiree, I ain’t listenin’,” I tell him, shakin’ my head. “I left me that waiterin’ job a long times ago, an’ now I’m a nanny. An’ nannies ain’t about refillin’ drinks!”

  “A nanny?” Dragan repeat at the same time Kolvar do. They both looks at me like I be the crazy one.

  I shrug. “Who you think in charge o’ watchin’ Pretty all night an’ day?” I point out. “Her fuckin’ nanny!”

  “A sprite with an attitude,” Kolver say.

  I flip him my middle finger all pissy-like and Shadow Dick snorts a little. Saevel finally gets him that refill on his wine. An’ that be right fine by me. Let her be his slave, ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t.

  The one in the freaky mask? His name be Pyre, an’ he don’t talk much. Mostly jist sit there quiet in his chair, like he some sort o’ phantom. For some seconds, I think he just part o’ my imaginin’s, but that can’t be right if the others be talkin’ to him, too. And they’s is.

  Assface say somethin’ that perks my little ears up.

  “I don’t know why the fuck we’re even here,” he slur real bad, an’ then look over at Pretty—er, at her tits, anyway. She drop her attention to her lap, where she got her hands folded an’ I’m sittin’ on top o’ ‘em.”

  No one ‘round the table say nothin’, so he continue. “Aima’s been warming the bed of the Unseelie King like some kind of worthless whore,” he continue. Pretty’s eyes go wide as she glances up at him, clearly surprised ta hear him sayin’ somethin’ so crude—an’ right next to his supposed friend, no less! Fuckin’ Satyrs, I tell ya!

  Well, Assface keep on starin’ at Pretty like he turned on by the fact that he jist freaked her the fuck out.

  “We can’t trust someone who’s loyalty
lies between her thighs, eh?” he continues, reachin’ down ta fondle his Satyr rod all the while he be starin’ at Pretty somethin’ obvious. He might as well be sayin’: this sausage fer you!

  “That’s enough,” Dragan growl, real low.

  Assface’s big worthless mouth turn up into a ugly smile that make me want to shove my fingers right in his eyes an squish ‘em ‘round real good.

  Aima don’t say nothin’, an’ everyone ‘round the table is like holdin’ their breath. Then, in the blink o’ my beedy eyes, she pick up her butter knife from off the table an’ she stab the fucker right through the hand! Pretty gasps an’ Dragan start chucklin’ and Assface is screamin’, an’ blue blood is spillin’ out from his fingers like a river.

  I glance over at Vampy Bat an’ notice him starin’ at the blood an’ lickin’ his lips. The thought make my belly feel all quivery. Nasty! Then Kulver flinch away from the Unseelie fang chick like he a little bitch.

  “Variant must be stopped,” Pyre speak up in a real deep voice, all grumbly-like, in a way that remind me o’ the gargoyle. “Whether Aima’s allegiance lies with Theren or not, it certainly doesn’t lie with the false king. That alone is enough to trust her.”

  I want to pull that mask off his face and see what he look like under there, mainly ‘cause I wants ta know what kinda damage squirrels can do. But, even if I ain’t never get the chance ta see his eaten-away face, if the three o’ thems help us against Variant, then Variant gonna be real scared. ‘Cause I ain’t seen nobody scarier than these three fuckers in a long ass time.

  Well, maybe except for King Shadow Butt.

  An’ King Vampy Bat ain’t exactly the warm an’ fuzzy type, neither.

  But, yeah, these three newbies is definitely scarier than Elfie.

  ###

  Eilish

  Earlann

  Our new allies are not what I expected.

  Aima is beautiful in the way fire is beautiful: lovely from afar, but lethal if one gets too close. Her ebony eyes and golden skin are unlike other Unseelie females, or so Baron tells me. Her full lips and long lashes soften her otherwise sharp features. Long, talon-like fingernails tap against the wooden table as she observes the room. She’s tall and thin but well-built and curvaceous in all the right places. I find myself in awe of her a bit because she has that sort of energy about her.

  And of course I find myself wondering if Dragan and Baron are attracted to her. I watch them and occasionally their attention shifts her way, mainly when she’s addressing all of us.

  “Do you know her from before?” I whisper to Dragan.

  Dragan leans close to me and I breathe in deeply, loving the scent of him. I miss him. God, how I miss him. I miss how we used to be, how caring he used to be.

  You can’t think about the way things used to be, anymore, I tell myself. That relationship is dead and buried and now you and Dragan are… different.

  “Different” is a nice word for whatever we are now.

  At least you have Baron…

  “Not well,” he says.

  I nod and continue to watch her.

  Dragan’s breath rustles my hair as he whispers into my ear. “Cambion has known Aima since he was a child. They grew up together.”

  “Oh,” I reply and focus on Cambion, watching the way he looks at Aima. There isn’t any of the anger or hatred that appears in his eyes when he looks at me. Instead, there’s nothing but admiration in his gaze, now. I feel my stomach clench with what I imagine is jealousy.

  “Aima was Cambion’s first love in many ways,” Dragan continues. “But ultimately, she fell for Theren, Cambion’s brother.”

  I imagine that had to sting, and I wonder if that was part of the reason there became a rift between Cambion and Theren?

  I turn my gaze back to Aima. She’s striking and regal, even though the dark energy surrounding her is like a physical thing. I’m surprised she was Cambion’s first love—she isn’t of the same light magic as he is. As a member of the Unseelie Kingdom, she’s obviously driven by shadow magic.

  Hmm…

  Flumph hovers beside me, eyeing the newcomers with open suspicion, and I admire him for it. I wish I could wear my heart on my sleeve such that Flumph does. But one falter on my part and I risk angering my companions. I feel as if I’m constantly walking on eggshells around all three of them—Cambion, most of all, and Baron, least of all, but even with him, the feeling is still present. Regardless, it feels as if my survival depends on this frail bond between the four of us, even as I try to convince myself otherwise.

  Cambion and Aima laugh together, and the two of them are equally beautiful. Her darkness balances his lightness. They would have made a very attractive couple; I can only imagine what their lives would have been like if Aima had never chosen Theren.

  Kolvar, the Satyr, crass and arrogant, makes me uncomfortable. It’s the way he looks at me—like he wants to force himself inside me and won’t take no for an answer.

  He has large horns that curl back from his brow. Gold hoops decorate his ears and septum, and dark coal lines his honey-colored eyes. His inky black hair is long, and his beard nearly as long, coming to a stop at the center of his muscled and bare chest.

  Nothing much was made of the fact that Aima speared him with her knife. He howled in pain and then simply removed the blade, tossed it aside, and carried on as though being stabbed was a commonplace occurrence.

  After a few minutes, I notice his hand has healed itself. Thus, his blasé reaction begins to make sense.

  Kolvar, though larger than his Satyr brethren, is not the largest male in the room.

  That honor is bestowed on Pyre, who looms over the others, casting a shadow on the table and blocking the light of the sun that streams in through the cracks in the shutters. Though Pyre isn’t quite as broad, he’s even taller than Dragan, which is a feat in and of itself. There’s something about Pyre’s ominous presence that pulls me, makes me want to know more about him. I feel as though I can trust him, that he’s a good sort.

  Of course I have no basis for these feelings but I feel them all the same. And, by now, my intuition is really all I’ve had to rely on.

  Pyre reaches out and braces each of his hands on the table. Black runes cover his pale hands and wind up his muscular forearms, forming labyrinths of spells I can’t understand.

  “He a necromancer,” Flumph squeals. Dragan nods to confirm the sprite’s exclamation.

  “And a skilled archer. I’ve never seen anyone match his talent with a bow,” Dragan offers.

  “Why does he wear the mask?” I ask. Flumph looks just as intrigued by the stranger as I am. Dragan spares a brief glance at the hooded figure and sighs.

  “Squirrels?” Flumph asks but neither of us respond because, as usual, Flumph makes sense only to himself.

  “Variant,” Dragan answers. “Not unlike Raflamir, Pyre was also tortured. He was the last of us on the battlefield, using his undead army to hold off Variant’s forces while the others were able to retreat. He even tried to fight Variant when Cambion and I were taken. His loyalty to us nearly cost him his life.”

  As if he senses our eyes on him, Pyre faces us. He stares at me and I return his gaze, thinking this might be a test of whether or not I’m as weak as I appear. We hold one another’s stare as he brings his runed hands upward and pulls the mask from his face. It clatters against the table as he lowers the hood on top of his head.

  His long, crimson hair is braided away from his face, shaved on both sides of his head. His eyes are white with just a tinge of ice-blue and, after a moment, I realize he’s blind. I’m not sure how I didn’t notice it earlier.

  Then he wasn’t staring at me? I wonder to myself.

  Perhaps not, because as I watch him now, he stares unblinkingly around the room. Still, he follows Baron’s words as if he can clearly see the vampire and, eventually, his white eyes land on mine again and he holds my gaze.

  “How are you able...?” I ask unthinkingly, slapping a
hand over my mouth to cover my outburst. But I’m too late.

  Pyre’s thin lips twitch into a breathtaking smile. He’s blind, yes, but unnaturally handsome. The rune on his forehead and the scar beneath his left eye don’t distract from his ethereal beauty.

  “The spirits,” he answers. “They speak to me. They are my eyes and I am their voice.”

  A chill courses up my spine, as if a ghostly caress slides across my skin. I’m fairly sure it’s Pyre’s doing.

  “Pyre is extremely powerful,” Dragan says as he leans over and the heat from his breath fans across my cheek.

  I can’t explain why I do it, but I reach out and touch one of Dragan’s hands where it rests in his lap. At the same time, I’m hit with a vision so strong, it takes the wind out of me.

  I see images that make little sense as they race in front of my eyelids, each fighting to take control in the picture of my mind’s eye. Finally when the pictures begin to settle, I recognize Dragan, only this vision of Dragan reveals him as his younger self.

  As I watch, Dragan removes his clothes and the picture pans down to reveal a woman in his bed, underneath him. She’s beautiful with long, flowing black hair that cascades out across her silk pillow and matches the black of her eyes. Dragan kisses her but there’s something in his expression that stands out. Something that makes me realize whatever he’s doing, he doesn’t want to be doing it.

  The woman reaches up and loops her arms around his neck. She smiles and says something to him that I don’t understand. He doesn’t respond but his jaw is tight and his eyes appear angry. He breathes in deeply and then shuts his eyes tightly. At the same time, the woman reaches down and begins stroking his already enlarged cock.

  I swallow hard as I focus on his hard length. Jealousy begins to wend inside my stomach and I have to chase it away in order to pay attention to the images before me.

  I focus again on Dragan’s face and I’m surprised by his expression. He seems hostile, angry, and though he’s obviously primed and ready to take this woman, it doesn’t appear as though he wants to.