Stolen Wings

I was not a thief.

But matches didn’t really take in the coppers. My scarred fingers clenched around the three slender sticks I held in my hand, the rest peddled long ago. It was freezing out, but richer families had a nice stock of flint at home. It was people like me that scrambled for any decent warmth. I had four half-coppers in my threadbare cloak. Despite my pride in those little hunks of metal, it wasn’t enough to escape my stepmother’s wrath, and I was tired.

So tired, and so very cold.

My dark hair dripped from early autumn frost. It was tangled and knotted in a way that made my inner femininity wail, but the wind ruined any attempts to sort it. My dress hung over my hungry frame like a damp tea-towel, thin and worn from years of use, and I had only a threadbare cloak to ward off the winter chill.

I clutched the fabric around me and tried to make myself melt into the shadows. I’d tried to resist the urge to stoop to thievery, but my stomach was begging me for sustenance. There were weeks when that witch did not allow me to pick at the leftover crumbs in our empty cupboards. It was during this time that the emptiness in my belly and the weakness in my limbs forced me to ignore my good senses. I needed something else to sell, something that would allow me to purchase a small loaf of bread from our village bakery.

My body snuck along the glittering stone wall, seemingly impenetrable in its fineness. I knew what was on the other side. There, the cold didn’t bite. It was a never ending, magic-induced summer, brought on by a master’s will. That wall protected a varied garden. There was cabbage and radishes, beautiful fruits that dripped off of trees like heavy jewels—and bees. Bees that made glorious honey, and around that honey, wax.

The gardeners would miss the vegetables, would miss any stolen honey, but I figured the beeswax was a touch harder to track. They didn’t harvest it regularly for money, as they had no need to. The lord of this palace was plenty rich. He didn’t need the wax for candles or anything. I’d heard he imported scented dinner candles from down south. He’d amassed his wealth for years through pillaging and taxation of this region. No one dared deny him or in any way induce his wrath because of what he was:

A dragon lord.

For hundreds of years, these lands had been governed by dragon lords. There weren’t many, but the ones that did exist were territorial to say the least. I’d never heard of another crossing near us, so I only had stories to go on unfortunately. The washerwomen tales were violent, supported by the poor living conditions found in most of our region.

I shuddered. I couldn’t even leave this life right now, couldn’t leave my home with its cold floors and chipped cups. You had to get permission from your high lord for that, and only people with money ever saw him. My stepmother received a few coins a month from my father’s death clause, and she guarded them fiercely, selfishly. I would never be able to scrounge up enough to request travel, and even if I escaped to the streets… I saw how those girls sold themselves.

Never.

I steeled myself, ducking into a tiny crevice hidden behind a bush of thorns. I could only pray that, if caught, my death was quick. I’d heard horror stories about those who dared steal from a dragon lord. They ruled over humans in a fairly lazy way, unbothered with their simple rules in place, but any tampering of their horde risked having the flesh slowly peeled off your bones.

I had only done this twice before, when I thought I had no other choice. After all, my kind, late father had not raised me to be a thief. But beeswax, oh I could sell that to the higher up for much more than a couple matches. It could buy bread, warm bread. People didn’t ask too many questions around here. I’d get the coin and fill my belly, at least a little bit anyway.

My mouth moistened, and I swallowed hard. There was a low hum in the air, along with a sickeningly sweet stench, like lilies and over ripe fruit. I let my hand steadily open the pouch at my side. I didn’t really have a knife, only a sharp bit of wood that I could use to chip off empty honeycomb here and there. My stepmother would notice if I took our only real one blade—a small paring knife on our kitchen counter.

I slipped through a small give in the fortress. The stone wall here joined a hedge almost seamlessly, and it wasn’t too thick this time of year. While an endless heat and sun fed the inside wall, cold wind and frost thinned out the side facing the hamlet. I crept through the brush, closing my eyes against stabbing twigs.

The servants inside the manor had scraped off lots of honey earlier this week. I knew this because I saw many of the wealthier ladies sitting at the main cafe on Monday, swirling fresh sticks of honey into their tea. Only the elite, those who fawned over Lord Cerid, received any of that liquid gold. The dragon would bestow it upon the upper class like it was a blessed boon.

It would make my task easier. The beeswax wouldn’t be missed so much after their hard work at it. They’d think any missing bits were from the harvest. Once home, I could melt the bits down in my grandmother’s old pot. It was the only thing I had from my mother’s side of the family. The thing was scratched and dented, but perfectly useful. I could rip strips of cotton from my skirts, dip them over and over until they were ivory horns, perfect for lighting…

I reached the hive boxes, and slid one open to begin chipping away at the rough edges.

Just a little.

I promised myself that I wouldn’t take much. I couldn’t afford to be greedy. The bees were a quiet song around me, sleepy from the hazy heat. My body slowly thawed, and I thought about better days ahead, drugged from their ditty and the lulling warmth.

As I dreamed, basked in the thoughts of those candles and the coin they would yield, I failed to notice the sinking sun. I failed to see the servant, who came to collect roots for the lord’s night-time tea. I failed to hide from their wide eyes and flee before their warning cry to those within.

It took a few moments for their actions to catch up with me. I was oblivious to my impending danger for much longer than I cared to admit, my body too tired to react. It took the booming voice of a rather large, oily looking soldier to alert me.

I dropped my makeshift knife, dropped everything. All those tiny bits of wax I had scraped away fell to the earth like bits of sunlight. They were discarded, ruined, and all that mattered now was that I run. I had to run.

I flew back the way I had come. The air in my lungs refused to flow properly, as I bolted for the brambles on the other side of the garden. Shouts rang out, and I gave up on the shadows. They could not shield me now. The entire keep now knew of my indiscretion, and I would pay for it with my life.

My anxiety ate at me, putting visions in my head of a blade across my throat, or my body being roasted over a spit. I had once had my stepmother stab my palm with five of her largest needles when I made her wait for her tea. I wondered if that’s how a dragon’s teeth felt at first, before they ripped the limbs from your body of course. I’d never seen a dragon, not even with him being so close by.

Almost there, just a little further—

A large body slammed into me, dragging my body to the hard ground. I could tell it was a male from the weight. He mashed my face into the dirt, filling my mouth and nose with it. I felt myself slowly suffocating and clawed for release. Blessedly, those rough hands pulled at my arms and hair, wrenching me up, and I desperately swallowed at the clean air. My lungs burned, choking up moss and soil. I was still thrashing, still trying to run when a knife came to my throat.

“Stop moving, you fucking bitch,” the guard growled in my ear, his rancid breath making me gag.

“Please, I meant no harm.”

He only laughed, tightening his grip on my hair before practically dragging me across the green expanse, away from freedom.

“You’re a pretty little thing. Maybe he’ll let us enjoy you a bit before he’s finished.” He rubbed his body against mine suggestively, and tears threatened to spill.

Do not show weakness.

I snarled at him with false bravado, knocking my head against his yellow teeth. We were inside now, so he shoved me to another guard to nurse his face, yowling like the dog he was. Serves him right. I would bite off his fingers before I let him touch me like that.

There were two things that could happen to me at this point. I could be tortured, yet live, or I could be tortured and put to death by Lord Cerid. The last time someone had failed to bow to the young dragon, he had ripped his claws across their face, blinding them.

What I had done was worse. I had dared steal from the beast. Yes, that was much, much worse.

I dragged my feet on the pearlescent floors, as I was marched through the house. It did not slow our journey. My feet only left dark streaks of dirt across the lavish floors. I’m sure the maids would have a fit when they saw it.

Everything around me was opulent. The walls seemed to be woven from gold, rimmed with pearls and jewels of all sorts. I’m sure if I touched the silk wallpaper, my fingers would leave behind a dirty streak of grime. Crystal chandeliers weighed down the ceiling, stretching out arms of precious metals and diamonds. The dazzling streaks of light it sent my way made me squint in pain. It was all so much, too much.

I thought about my own home, a hovel compared to this one. We had dirt floors and log walls. The cushions were old but loved, and our fireplace always burned low. The windows were covered in wool, our door was worn, and our rafters leaked each spring. It wasn’t much, but it was a comfort none the less. As much as I hated some of the memories within, it was a place I could take shelter in, away from harsh weather and leering men. I would choose my small, mud-filled house over this disgusting display of wealth any day.

I’m afraid my face conveyed as much.

“Don’t you like my home, little thief?” Hissed a burning voice.

Yeah, he’s definitely going to kill you, my inner-self snarked.

I looked up, only to see a golden god before me. The lord was tall, over six foot, with powerful limbs that gleamed like brushed copper. I think he had gold paint smudged against his tan skin. His hair was like fresh butter, soft and light, brushing his shoulders at a tickling length. And his eyes, they burned as hot as the wings behind him, shades of amber and red.

The appendages didn’t seem physical, more like wisps of fire and light. A part of me wondered if they were even real, as they were so flawless. They were a dangerous beauty made up of hell’s fires and springtime sunsets. My skin almost burned at the thought of them grazing me.

The dragon lord’s snarl ripped through the air, and I ducked my eyes in submission. His men shoved me to the floor, bruising my knees. Would he pluck out my eyes first? Or tear my fingernails off one by one? I swallowed heavily.

“Disgusting creature,” he muttered.

My cheeks burned with shame and anger. The streams were too cold now to bathe in. I tried to wipe myself clean daily, but I’m sure that wasn’t even noticeable after my tumble in the garden. I felt the filth on my face, the dirt that stung a scratch on my cheek.

The dragon swept closer to me, his nose crinkling with disdain. I watched in horror as he extended a hand, his nails lengthening into bony talons.

“She’ll have to be put in the cellars for now. I’ve no time for her with him here.”

That claw dragged down my chest, leaving a painful red line down from my neck to the top of my breasts. I tried to keep the terror from my eyes, but by the smirk on the man’s youthful face, I knew I was failing.

“You can play with her until our guest leaves.” He nodded to a couple of his guards, and I couldn’t hold in my gasp.

“Thank you, Lord Cerid,” one of them responded with a grin.

I started screaming then, biting and clawing at the men who guffawed around me. Hands pinched into my arms, wrenched my wrists, trying to contain me. I got lucky but once, and managed to rake my nails down the face of the main guard holding me.

He yelled out, slapping me onto the ivory floor so hard my teeth clacked. I was trying to crawl away when a door behind me slammed open. Darkness immediately flooded the room, and I couldn’t help but quake from its power. The sensations in my body felt raw and violent in its depths.

I sensed rather than saw the retreat of the men around me. Looking up, I could only see the Lord’s face, Cerid they had called him. His complexion had paled, losing all its golden splendor. A growl vibrated through the dark tendrils of night around us, so deep I felt the sound within my bones. It made my stomach clench, but not in an unpleasant way.

Warmth settled into me, and despite my current fear, I found myself leaning back into the darkness. It felt safe, like a thick blanket that had been fluttered over me. A dark shadow loomed over my tiny form, and I dared glance up through my lashes.

Oh fuck me, it’s another dragon.

If Cerid was a god of sunlight and warmth, this dragon was born of hell and darkness. He was older than Cerid, but still young looking. I knew he was probably centuries old though, despite appearing less than forty winters.

Black leather stretched over powerful muscles, and I noticed the glint of hidden knives here and there. Scars littered his tattooed arms and neck. This was a warrior. The man’s black hair was mussed, as if he’d just been lying down, but his dark eyes were alert and glittering. They were so dark, maybe even black, lit up only from the swirling gold and silver in their depths. I shuddered from the power, the raw strength emanating from him.

The lord stretched out thick, muscled wings. They had that same smoke and mirrors appearance as Lord Cerid’s, but they glimmered with strands of precious metals. The metals wrapped around rough jewels in some places, imbedded in a dark, velvet void. Scars blended in with the silver, while faint fold trickled over muscle. They were so beautiful, so dangerous. They reminded me of the endless night sky, glittering with stars.

I felt a pull in my chest, like those obsidian tendrils were reaching into me, caressing my soul, my heart. It felt safe, despite the obvious danger around me. I felt my mind scream bloody murder at me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from those pools of flame and starlight staring down at me.

“Mate.” The beast growled.

His eyes traced the scratches on my face and hands, along with the bruise that was starting to form on my cheek. His lips turned up in a malicious sneer, and a snarl ripped from his massive chest, aimed at the guards now cowering across the room. The smell of urine let me know one of them lost control of his faculties. I probably would have too, had that gaze been directed towards me. It promised a slow death.

“Who’s hand am I fucking taking?” The voice above me was frigid, barely controlled rage.

“Lord Rowan,” Cerid crooned. “There must be some mistake. This thief’s life has no value.”

A roar sounded above me, and I cowered, wrapping my arms around my head. I felt as if I could hardly breath. My breathing started to become laboured until, yet again, that darkness reached for me. It was as if it was trying to calm my wavering heart.

“You dare question me, young one? I was fighting wars long before you let go of your mother’s teat. My dragon knows what is mine.” Lord Rowan growled.

No, I am no one. I belong to no beast.

I tried to slide along the cream floor, away from this warrior, away from Cerid and his men. I could tell the warrior was aware of my movements, but he let me inch away. His body shifted to separate me from the others. Only one other figure reacted, and that was the guard who slapped me.

It was the same man from the garden, the one who had lecherously rubbed himself against me. He had gritted his teeth into a scowl. Five red lines raked down his face from my nails, angry and harsh. I unconsciously whimpered under his poisonous glare. If he got his hands on me again…

Lord Rowan’s gaze shot down to me, surprisingly tender, before following my line of sight. He looked like a wolf who had found his prey, and I realized my mistake too late. A vicious smile curved up his face, and I noticed a faint scar on the corner of his lips that disappeared into his short beard.

“Come here,” he purred, his voice a sensual timbre.

Cerid sent his men a scathing look, and the others pushed the guard forward.

Cowards.

The man trembled as he walked forward, the venom in his features melting into panic. He stopped just over a yard away, swallowing to a point of choking.

“My lord—”

He never finished his sentence. Cerid’s face was sour irritation, as his man’s head dropped to the floor. I let out a strangled cry, flinching as blood spattered over my skin. I hadn’t even seen the dark lord move. The warrior now gripped a long battle axe in his hand, flicking the double blade to dislodge bits of sinew. He shifted his body in front of mine to block the decapitated body as it dropped, and I noticed an empty weapon sheath at his back. It settled right where his wings flexed from his powerful body. That’s why I hadn’t noticed the impressive weapon before now. Rowan had grabbed it faster than lightning, felling the guard in one strike.

Death had come to claim me after all, just not how I expected. He looked down at me, scooped me into his arms. Death held me close, nestled his face into the crook of my neck. He breathed in my scent, soothed my trembling with a purr much different from his previous, threatening one.

Then Death sunk his teeth into my mortal neck, and the world turned dark.