Waves crashing against the shore. Seagulls crying overhead. Sunshine beaming down on pale skin. Sand shifting under cold hands.
It wasnât obvious what woke the young woman, but as her eyes snapped open to a clear sky and the visage of swaying palm trees she knew she was in trouble.
Gasping she rolled onto her front and coughed up the small amount of water that was caught in her throat. Wiping her mouth with the back of her arm she frowned at the wetsuit. She only wore that when she went out with the Professor on his boat- âUgh.â A throbbing in her head made her drop that line of thought, it wasnât important at the moment. What was important was trying to figure out where she was now.
Standing up she grimaced at the grit thatâd found its way into her clothes. Taking off her shirt she gave it a quick couple of flicks to get the sand out. Seeing a couple of low hanging branches nearby she quickly hung up her shirt before unzipping the wetsuit and stripping it down to her legs. After brushing away as much sand as she could she slipped the wetsuit back on and quickly slipped her shirt over top. She was hot in the full black body suit but it was better than leaving her skin unprotected. As for the shirt, she had no backpack and extra fabric was always useful. Either to make into a bandage or to carry other useful items.
Looking back out at the ocean she couldnât see a single ship. Not fishing, military, cargo, or even a pleasure yacht. She was completely alone. And without a cellphone she wouldnât be calling for help any time soon. With a sigh she turned away from the ocean and peered into the jungle. So far she hadnât heard anything besides the seagulls and the waves. It might have been safer to wait on the shore but there was no fresh water or food in sight.
âThree to five days without water, two weeks without food.â It was something the Professor said to her once about being stranded.
Mind made up she stepped into the jungle, grateful for her sturdy water shoes with their thick soled bottoms designed for rock climbing. She only wished she hadnât lost the matching gloves. There was no telling what might be a skin irritant in a foreign place like this.
Coming up to what looked like a sheer rock face that went on for as far as her eyes could see she almost turned back. But something glinting in the light caught her eye. Stepping closer she realized that the vines hanging down over the rocky face were actually hiding a crevice that had light on the other side. Hesitating for a moment she peered inside and tried to judge the size. It seemed safe enough, and she couldnât see any jagged edges sticking out no matter which way she looked at it. So she bucked up her courage and pushed onward, into the crevice.
Surprisingly it was a fairly easy fit. At itâs smallest she only had to let out her breath a little and push herself through. But by that point she was out and back in the jungle.
Right next to a trickling stream that came from the rocks and wound its way into the jungle.
Thirsty and having no canteen she knelt next to the stream and cupped her hands to catch the water. Sniffing it cautiously she let it sit in her hands for a moment. When she didnât feel anything bothering her skin, and the scent came back more earthy than anything, she took the smallest of sips. There was no acidity or metallic aftertaste, and her tongue didnât tingle or feel odd. So she judged the water to be good and drank enough to slake her thirst, but not enough to fill her stomach.
âDrinking too much water can slow you down and affect your blood, itâs always better to drink just enough.â Her brotherâs words⊠her brother?
Her head throbbed again as a memory surfaced.
***
âPrincess!â A voice called out to her and she grunted in response, not even bothering to get up. âHey mermaid princess, time to get your lazy ass out of bed!â Her blanket was torn away and she let out a groan, curling in on herself. âI still donât know why you dyed your hair blue instead of red.â Came a teasing voice above her.
Swatting at her brother she cracked open an eye and glared at him blearily. âBecause I got tired of people calling me Ariel.â She said crankily. âShe doesnât even have a name in the original book.â She muttered as she slowly pushed herself up off the bed.
âYeah, yeah.â Arthur said as he rolled his eyes and headed for the door. âYouâre going to be late if you donât get up, princess.â
âUgh.â Scrunching her face up she stuck her tongue out at him, making him snort in amusement. âAt least I donât go around telling people Iâm going to be king of the British Isles some day.â
The other blonde stopped before turning to grin at her. âHey, it could happen! I just have to find a really fancy sword and a crazy old man in a blue bathrobe to vouch for me!â
A smile crossed her face as she grabbed a pillow and chucked it at his face. âGet out, dumbass, I need to get ready.â
âHey, is that any way to speak to your future king?â He asked playfully, batting the pillow out of the air before backing out the door and shutting it with a wide grin.
Alone in her room she stood and stretched, her old worn pajama top barely covering her stomach as she reached towards the ceiling. Glancing at the clock she stopped dead, her eyes going wide. âOh shit!â Dashing to the closet she grabbed the outfit sheâd set aside the night before and hurried to the bathroom. She sped through her usual morning routine, opting to tie her long hair up in a loose bun rather than waste time styling it. Grabbing the bag sheâd packed the night before she pulled out her keys and closed the door behind her.
Sprinting down the stairs she almost bowled over her dad, who held his coffee away from him so it didnât spill. âWoah, whereâs the fire?â He asked, giving her a disgruntled look.
âSorry, no time, have to get to the marina!â Sitting down she yanked on her water shoes and grabbed her jacket.
âSay hello to the professor for me. And let him know weâll be coming to his barbecue on the eleventh.â Her father reminded her before disappearing upstairs to his office.
âWill do! Bye dad!â
***
Blinking back to her current situation she frowned. That morning sheâd been late to a meeting with the professor, a man she had a lot of respect for, and had hurried out of the house. But at the moment that was all she could recall.
âLydia DuPonte; Veterinary Technician. Sounds nice, doesnât it?â Dancing around her room, staring at her certificate, the small brunette giggled to herself in joy. After all her hard work and years of study she had finally received her diploma. âWhat do you think, Pepper?â Laying on the bed not three feet away was a five year old ginger tabby with long fur. The cat watched her with deep green eyes that slowly closed in the cat version of affection. âIâm proud of me too.â She said as she sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to scratch the catâs fluffy head. A rumbling purr answered her and she smiled.
After giving her daily tribute of attention to the queen who ruled her small apartment she finished getting ready for her first day of work. The small clinic was on the outskirts of town and had been opened about seven months ago. Rumor had it the vet there had already thrown out three other technicians and no one could explain why. She was nervous, of course she was, but she was also determined. Parson Veterinary was the only opening close to her apartment so when she got off work at the end of the day it wouldnât be pitch black outside by the time she got home. Except in the winter time, but that was a ways off.
âBe good while Iâm gone, Pepper.â She called over her shoulder as she left the small tidy apartment and hurried to the bus station.
Sitting on the bus she couldnât help but to fidget with her hands as a man in a grungy coat stared at her, his eyes glazed. She wondered what kinds of drugs he was on, or maybe it was alcohol. Either way she quickly looked back down at her hands, not interested in any kind of confrontation.
Getting off the bus at the closest stop she walked the last two blocks, looking down at her phone now and again to ensure she was going the right way. Stopping in front of what looked to be a large old style home that had seen better days she put her phone in her pocket and took a deep breath before letting it out again slowly. âEverything will be fine.â She told herself, trying to calm the nerves that tingled in her fingertips and made her knees feel like jello.
Walking up to the door as confidently as she could, she opened the door and walked inside. A soft chime that lower in tone than any sheâd ever heard before went off above her head. She glanced up to see a small box over the door.
âIâll be right with you.â A deep voice called from a different room.
Lydia didnât call back, her nerves making her throat tighten. Instead she moved to stand near what was clearly the receptionist area and looked around the room to keep her mind occupied. It was obvious this was the foyer of the old house, before it had been converted into a business. It was a cozy looking space with comfortable chairs and a soothing color palette. The lighting wasnât too bright or dark, which was good for the animals and their owners both. Hung on the wall were peaceful and dreamlike landscapes. There was no music or loud machine noises, unlike some places sheâd been before, which boded well for the vet she was about to work with.
âSorry to keep you waiting. Is there something I can help you with?â The voice that met her ears was deep and growly, stern. Yet somehow also gentle. As if he were talking to a scared animal rather than another person.
The man standing in the doorway was tall. Tall and built like an athlete. His shoulders were broad and his arms, even through the lab coat, were obviously muscled. His hair was black and tied back into a long ponytail, which was fairly uncommon to say the least. Beneath the lab coat he wore a buttoned up shirt, a tie, and a vest that kept his tie in place. All over he looked quite dignified. But the thing that struck her most about him, the thing that drew her attention like a moth to a flame, was his eyes. They were a pale shade of violet, so unusual it took her breath away.
Writer: *shows the serial killer the murder scene theyâre writing* babe, iâm not sure if this would actually work?
Serial killer: *kisses writer on the forehead and leaves, comes back later, a suspicious scent of blood coming off them* it works baby, youâre doing great
I love this, I love all of this, but quick question, does the author know? Like are they aware that their significant other is a serial killer or do they just think that they have a morbid sense of humor? Itâd be even funnier if the author had no fucking clue, like how Aurthur Conan Doyle was apparently stupidly gullible, and on top of it theyâre a horror or crime novelist. Like the serial killer works at a butcher shop or something so itâs completely normal for them to come home smelling like blood, no murders going on here, no sirey. Just my darling coming back home from a long day at work.
Now fast forward a bit and the author has managed to get their first book published, with loving support from the serial killer who helped them fine tune all the murder scenes, and itâs a big hit. Enough so that a detective with the local police department has noticed some disturbing similarities to several active cases, including details that were never released to the press. Obviously he brings this up to his superior and convinces him that thereâs something to the theory, but itâs all circumstantial right now. He stakes out the authorâs home and is super convinced that the author is the murderer, but they donât seem to do anything??? Like they literally are at the house all day, thatâs it. Most they do is leave for groceries.
So you get this dynamic of the serial killer mining the author for creative murder schemes, the author being lovingly encouraged by the serial killer, and finally the detective who is just so sure that the author is the killer and that if he sticks it out long enough heâll FINALLY have proof.
Today I saw a group of girls sitting together at the cafe. One of them was wearing a short top made of lace and very thin fabric. It looked very comfortable and cute. Iâm not so sure about the tight jeans though. Iâve never been allowed to wear pants and Iâm not sure Iâd like them that tight. My co-worker M said the fabric wasnât as tight as it appeared, and that the jeans would stretch. I canât even imagine. But I think one day I would like to try.
My father forbids such clothing and so I have none in my wardrobe. My schedule is also highly curated by my fatherâs assistant. She is a woman who does not care for me and is always talking about going shopping for the newest name brands. She and I do not get along.
Iven let out a small amused huff before taking a seat nearby. He watched her brush out her long hair for a while in silence, long enough she was a little surprised when he finally did speak. âYour hair is just like hers, you know.â
Looking in the mirror she saw the grief in his eyes and smiled sadly in return. âThat is because the ancient and illustrious line of our ancestors has long since decreed women to wear hair coverings outside at all times.â She huffed. âI dare say that if I were to spend many hours outside in the sun uncovered all the time like you, we would share the same shade once more.â
Iven grimaced but didnât argue. They both knew where she stood on the matter, and that he secretly agreed with her.
âBut that was not quite what you meant, was it?â
Iven shifted in his seat, eyes falling to the ground. âSometimes when I see you, I could swear that it was mother standing in your place. But then you open your mouth to speak andâŠâ
Yvanne wrinkled her nose and tossed a small pillow at him, startling her twin into laughter. âAre you saying my voice is not as lovely, is that it?â
âNot at all, Iâm just saying that it is different. Sometimes I find myself⊠surprised, is all.â As her brotherâs face did something quite odd, looking like a cross between disgruntled and entreating, she couldnât help but snort in amusement.
âWell, you are not wrong. Mother was a far better singer than I could ever be.â Her voice was low for a woman, and she was taller than even some of the men. It was rumored that the Gods played a trick on the King of Darlisle, that his true first born son had been turned into a daughter just to keep him from gaining more strength⊠and sometimes she believed them.
âYou are thinking ill of yourself again.â Iven chided quietly, knowing exactly where her thoughts had wandered. âWhere has my clever tongued sister gone?â He teased.
âWith the girl who was sold as a prize to a man a decade older than her, for killing the most enemies on the battlefield.â She retorted hotly.
Ivenâs eyes flashed, boiling fury and disgust carefully contained until he was able to reign himself in once more. âLady Lisa has Maja with her, and your blessing. The Gods seem to adore you, Anne, and I think it is because you do your best to help anyone in need of it. The two of them have each other now and will be fine.â
Watching her brother looking down at his calloused hands she knew it was her turn to chide him. âYou do as much as you can within the confines of your rank. I know that you walk the edge of a blade daily having to deal with the kingâs growing⊠eccentricities as well as his council.â A council made up of the worst kinds of men she could think of. Covetous, power hungry, brutal, and cruel. âThe king listens to you, Ven, he takes your counsel well.â
Iven snorted derisively. âYou mean he takes your counsel well. All the successes have been sown with your ideas for a better future.â He waved at her, looking down at the ground in disgust.
âAnd cultivated by the best farmer I know.â His eyes snapped up to meet hers and a soft smile crossed her lips. âYou take the bare bones of my ideas and do all the difficult planning to make them work, Ven. Without you none of them would ever be more than ideas. You are far too harsh on yourself.â Turning away she finished pinning her long braids beneath her head-scarf and looked herself over.
âNow, are you done feeling inadequate? Or do I have to knock some sense into you once more?â She asked with a small huff, standing and brushing her hand down her dress to make sure everything was in place.
Iven chuckled and stood. âNo, I am done feeling sorry for myself. As always you cut right to the heart of a problem.â With a polite bow he held out his arm. âShall I escort you, your Highness?â
Yvanne rolled her eyes and took his arm, schooling her features as she curtsied. âWhy thank you, your Highness.â
They shared one last chuckle before leaving the safety of the royal wing.
As they walked Yvanne had the sudden feeling that something would be different today. If asked why, she wouldnât be able to explain. But she could feel it in her chest.
Her life was about to change.
***
Outside in the outer courtyard, unseen by the prince and princess, a group of large beings stepped past the gate and gazed up at the stone home of the human king.
Today, they vowed, things would change. For better or for worse.
His mate twitched in his arms, eyes wide in surprise.
Anneâs brow furrowed slightly as her sky colored eyes took in Shakaâs mate. âOh dear. You are quite far from home, are you not?â She asked suddenly.
In his arms his mate let out a heavy breath. âI am. Forgive me, I am Raihnon alâen Phorenciel, of the Kingdom of Phorencia. I would bow but⊠wellâŠâ
âI am afraid we donât really stand on ceremony here. But it is a pleasure to meet you, Raihnon of Phorencia.â Anne glanced up at him then back down to his mate. âExcuse my lack of manners, but are you well?â
Shaka let out a low growl. The insinuation that he had allowed his mate to be harmed was a blow to his pride.
Dakal pulled his mate behind him, scowling and showing his teeth in a defensive display.
They stood there, eyes locked, no one daring to move. Until his little mate spoke up again. âUm⊠thank you for your concern, but I am mostly unharmed. Although I admit I am at quite a loss. I have no earthly idea why Iâm here.â
Shakaâs head whipped downward so quickly he almost made himself dizzy. âYouâre my mate!â Had he not been clear about that? At this point heâd forgotten what he had or hadnât said to his mate.
âWhat!? B-but youâre male!â His mate said, pale face flushing red.
âObviously.â One would have to be blind and oblivious not to notice that.
From the corner of his eye he could see Anne put her face in her hands and begin to shake with laughter.
âBu-wha- so am I!â His little mate spluttered.
[Raihnon]
When the massive orc had taken him heâd thought he was about to be executed. Then when a second orc asked if he was injured he assumed they wanted to ransom him back to his father. Regardless of his situation before being captured, he was still a Prince.
Now here he was being corrected a third time, in perhaps the worst way possible. Now that they were out of the woods and somewhere with proper light he could see the orcâs face properly. To be fair the orc wasnât as terrifying as he first thought. There were a few scars but they were fairly small and shallow. His eyes were striking and his dark brown hair had smelled of something very earthy. He also hadnât missed how strong and muscled the orc was.
Unfortunately the orc had the mistaken impression that he was a woman. A woman that could be captured and mated.
âBut-wha- so am I!â The moment the words left his lips Raihnon wanted to take them back. Surely now that they realized he was a male he would be killed. Though it wasnât his fault the massive orc had been âtrickedâ into believing he was a female it had to have some kind of consequences.
âLook at me.â The orc rumbled, his voice more felt than heard. When Raihnon wouldnât meet his eyes the orc rumbled again, although this time it felt somehow more gentle. âLook at me, little bird.â
Feeling compelled to do as he was told he looked up into molten gold eyes once more. He hadnât realized he was trembling until he saw his own hands clenched in the orcâs tunic.
âThere yâare, naj shurika. My mate.â The lack of anger on the orcâs face puzzled him. âSo youâre male then?â
Raihnon swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. âYes. I am the second Prince of Phorencia. My retainers and I were on our way to Darlisle when you came upon our camp.â
The woman, Anne, gasped. âYou are a hostage?â
He couldnât look away from the orc, the maleâs striking gold eyes pulling him in and keeping him there. âYes, although everyone knows that my being a hostage was only a pretense.â A proper hostage would be treated well. Trained, clothed, homed, raised with the kingâs children and made to learn proper governance. But everyone knew that King Ivar would have forced him into his bed. If not immediately then soon after his arrival. It was one of the many cruelties the King of Darlisle was known for after all.
âThey sent you as tribute. You would have been-â The woman choked on her words and let out a small gurgle.
âAnne!â The orc Chieftain sounded so worried for the woman, but still Raihnon couldnât look away from the male that was holding him.
His eyes had become dark with rage yet his hold remained gentle. âYouâre my mate. The Spirits chose you for me and thatâs all there is. The One-Eyed Bastard will never get his cursed hands on you.â
That declaration shouldnât make him feel safe, especially after the orc had hurt his men and kidnapped him, but it did. His body sagged with relief and he suddenly felt so tired. âWhat happens now?â
The orcâs hold tightened and his eyes brightened considerably. âShurikaâkar.â The word was spoken with a kind of purr and even though he couldnât understand the language he felt his face flushing at the heat of it.
All around them the orcs let out hoots and whoops, which he thought might be good?
âWhat is sure-eek-a-car?â
The orc frowned in confusion, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. âShurikaâkar is Shurikaâkar.â He shook his head. âYou will understand.â He said firmly as he started walking, his steps wide and sure.
Standing at his desk, coffee in hand, he stared down at the folder that had been left there. âSince when did Boyce pull the stick out of his ass?â
Nearby Ruelle, his assistant, snorted in amusement. âSince this morning, apparently. I just received the finished contract from Lord Noctis. It just needs a final look and your signature to seal it.â
Setting his coffee down he picked up the folder and began to quickly run through the documents. Every i had been dotted and every t crossed, how very like the prissy Vampire Lord. âRue, this is a body guarding contract. You sure that old bat didnât get confused and drop off the wrong docs?â Because there was no way in Creation that Boyce Noctis was asking for personal protection from a wolf shifter.
Even one as old and powerful as he was.
âItâs not for himself.â Ruelle said over his shoulder as he started organizing a pile of folders and putting them into the appropriate filing cabinet. âSecond to last page, boss.â
Grumbling, he flipped to the page and continued to read. By the time he was halfway down his eyebrows were kissing his hairline. âI didnât even know Boyce was Mated, let alone to a human.â That poor woman. It couldnât have been easy being mated to a stuffy ancient vampire.
âApparently he kept it really quiet because his mate is human and delicate, even for the species.â
Which meant that he would be even more possessive and protective of her. Damn.
Reading further his brows snapped together. Apparently his only child and heir, no age or sex given, was being stalked. It had started out with small notes and trinkets but had quickly escalated into disturbing letters and gifts. No one had been able to catch the stalker so far but the poor kid was half traumatized from the dead rabbit that had been sent to their home address.
He shook his head. âNo wonder Boyce is asking for a contract.â The vampire might be a stubborn asshole but he wasnât stupid. Vigo ran the best mercenary group in the world and was a hard bastard. Heâd only ever lost three charges and failed eight missions in his long life, which was saying something.
âAre you going to take it?â Ruelle asked, curious.
He thought about it for a long moment as his eyes landed on the poor kidâs name. Beldene. So probably a spoiled little lady. His nose wrinkled before he let out a sigh. âYeah. If Boyce wants to throw his money at me, who am I to say no?â
Ruelle chuckled. âIâm sure thatâs all it is.â
âItâll only be until the bastard is finally caught, anyway.â Setting the folder down on his desk he flipped to the last page and pulled out his athame. Nicking his thumb he pressed it against the page and watched dispassionately as his signature appeared in flowing golden script. Once the ink turned black he put away his athame.
âTime to go speak with my new employer.â Chugging his now lukewarm coffee he set the cup back on his desk for Ruelle to clean.
âGood luck, boss. I have a feeling youâre going to need it.â
Synopsis;
Arcturus Parson, a man in charge of eight troubled brothers with traumatic pasts and secrets of his own. Gifted with the ability to speak to animals, and given to an experimental military program at a young age, it is difficult for him to trust outsiders.
Lydia DuPonte, an animal lover whose kindness knows no bounds. Hired as the new technician of Parson's Veterinary Clinic, and quickly falling head over heels for her new boss. But will he be able to trust her with his secrets? Only time will tell.
The story of a veterinarian with a dark past and a vet technician who just wants to help!
On a sunny day near the beginning of spring a carriage and assorted mounted escorts made its way down a large trading route between two kingdoms. Inside the carriage was Raihnon alâen Phorenciel, third prince of Phorencia and soon to be Hostage. The kingdom he was being sent to was Darlisle, whose military might had grown in power over the last decade. So much, in fact, that his father didnât mind giving up a second son to King Ivar Dâar Leslie if it meant his people would be left in peace.
Rumors had it that King Ivar had particular proclivities and a violent nature, with a temper to match. Descriptions of him varied but they always mentioned the grotesque scars across his face and the fact that he was missing one eye. Supposedly heâd lost it in a battle with a Wyvern of all things.
âYour Highness, are you feeling well?â Sitting across from him was his manservant, Harold, who was watching him with concern.
âI am well.â It was the same response he had given since the beginning of their journey three days prior. âAlthough I may ask for a break momentarily.â He admitted, giving the man a sad smile.
âI shall inform the driver at once.â Rising from his seat he opened the door and leaned out to beckon one of the escorts. It was hard to hear over the rattling of the wheels but he was certain that more was said besides asking the driver to make a short stop.
But honestly what did it matter? He was being sent to his potential demise so that his family and his people might thrive. It was his duty as an expendable prince but he couldnât help the bitterness that welled up within him at the thought.
As Harold sat back down he felt the the carriage dip slightly and turned away from the window to see his personal guard closing the door behind him.
âUp ahead a ways there is a bend in the river. Iâve sent scouts ahead to find the most comfortable place to stop. Iâm sure the horses could use the rest as well.â Baylor Greywilde was a knight ten years his senior with soft blonde hair and gentle brown eyes. He had been the subject of many of Raihnonâs more colorful dreams the past four years or so, from the moment he first swore fealty with that confident smile of his.
âThank you, Harold, Baylor.â Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two giving each other worried looks but ignored them as he turned back to the window.
What was the point of their worry when his fate was sealed and none of them could change a thing?
Long ago there lived a family of royals in an extravagant castle, secreted away in a valley to the North. They lived in opulence and often mistreated those who toiled within their land.
One day, during a celebration, one of the servants anxiously brought forth a decrepit looking crone who had come to ask for a place to stay that night.
The Right of Hospitality was invoked, as the crone was the messenger for a nearby kingdom, but the royals didnât care. They ordered the servants to throw her out of the castle, so that she wouldnât ruin their happy festivities with her ugliness.
The crone warned them that there would be dire consequences if she was cast out, but the royals ignored her.
Even as the crone was led out of the castle the servants offered her what little kindness they could. Small gestures like a warm shawl off the scullionâs back, dry mittens from the stable hand, and a bag of preserved foods from the cook.
The next night, as the second day of festivities began, it was once again interrupted by the arrival of a messenger. But unlike the old crone this one had an ethereal beauty the likes of which no one had seen before.
The royals did their best to accommodate the beautiful woman, fawning over her and offering all the best hospitality.
âWhere was this hospitality yesterday evening when I first arrived?â She asked coldly.
When none of the royals could answer the beautiful woman revealed herself as a Fae Sorceress who had been sent by their Queen to judge the worthiness of the humans.
âI can see now that you are a duplicitous lot, swayed by physical appearance and not inner beauty.â
Only the servants were spared, fleeing into the night with a blessing of protection from the Sorceress.
Ages have passed since then, leaving the castle to stand as a testament of mortal folly.
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
blakekathryn
2087
