Rare Form: Descended of Dragons, Book 1 (2 page)

I didn’t care to question him further about this ‘other business.’ Considering the scary vibes I was picking up, my goal was to get to the scene of the accident, find a phone, and have someone pick me up. ASAP.

The police had arrived and were questioning witnesses. Miraculously, no one seemed to have seen anything.

I tried to give my statement to an officer, but Señor Samaritan approached like he was the mayor. He loomed over me with a possessive bearing. He was too close, too much.

“Excuse me,” I sidestepped him and shook my head in a “back-the-eff-off” gesture. “I’m trying to talk to Officer…” I checked the gold badge at the officer’s chest, “Officer Polk.”

“The officer has all he needs,” my rescuer said. “There’ll be no need for a report. We can leave as we like.”

He said this as if it was the most sensible thing in the world. And he was so confident that I almost believed it myself. I would have, too, if not for those same bells going off in my head. Lucky I had such keen senses. My mother always chalked them up to a woman’s intuition, but mine were overdeveloped. I knew a weirdo when I saw one.

“…no need for a report. You two are free to go,” Officer Polk concluded. I squinted suspiciously at Hot Creepy Rescuer Guy and the officer walked away without another word leaving me alone, again, with…

“What’s your name, anyway? My name seems to be of interest to you; I’d like to know yours.”
Damn, I forgot to use the officer’s phone.

“Gresham. Rowan Gresham. I’m so glad to finally find you, Stella.”

“What? Why?” I sputtered and took a step backward.

“We’ll clear up everything in time. Shall we go? My Rover’s still operational.”

I shook my head determinedly. “No. That’s okay. I’ll call a friend.”

I took a step toward the throng of people, but he went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’ll call a tow to deal with your car. I’m afraid both it and anything you had in it are gone. I’m sorry.”

I hadn’t yet thought of that. My laptop, my handbag, everything in my backpack was burned to a crisp.
What a freakin’ day.
“Listen, mister,” I said. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know you and, frankly, you’re creeping me out. There’s no way I’m getting in a car with you. I’ll go over to that coffee shop and borrow the phone.”

“Get in the car, Stella,” he grated. “We have a lot to discuss. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m only here to talk to you.” He must have been losing his patience because I could see the muscles in his jaw contract as he gritted his teeth. My ears rang and I had the strangest sense he was trying to coerce me into the car.

“Huh-uh,” I shook my head again. “Nope. What, you have some ice cream in there? Candy? Maybe some puppies you want to show me?”

That was it. I was determined not to waste any more time with him. The muscles in my legs jumped and tensed, anticipating my next move. With what I thought was lightening speed I lifted a leg to run for the coffee shop. But before my foot had even touched the ground, he’d thrown me back over his shoulder and headed for the Range Rover.

The force of it knocked the breath from my lungs and my eyes shot wildly around the landscape as I gasped for air. I could see everything in that moment. Traffic was backed up due to our accident. Several people milled around my car, pointing at the charred mass. Others went on about their day as if nothing had happened. I could see everything; why could no one see me?

I kicked and hit and screamed at my captor, my body rigid with fear the second time he manhandled me. This wasn’t a rescue, but a kidnapping. He ignored my efforts, which did nothing to slow his clipped pace. Time wasn’t on my side. I stilled for a moment and his grip loosened almost imperceptibly. Gathering both my physical and mental strength, I twisted my body to throw myself from his shoulder. It worked. I fell right into his arms. He looked down at me irritably as thick muscles jerked me into his chest.

Despite my frantic bucking and attempts to bite everything in close range, he managed to buckle me into the back seat of his Range Rover and slammed the door.

It wasn’t my day for success with door handles. For all my efforts tugging and manipulating, the door was locked and there was no manual way to undo it. The pounding of my fists on the window competed with my ragged screams for help, but it was useless. No one heard me.

My circumstances had degraded fast, and the situation was serious— life-and-death serious. I needed a plan.

I searched my pockets and the back of the car for something to strangle him from behind, but came up empty handed. My only defense was to attack him. I considered doing it as he drove, but ruled that out. I’d hate to survive one wreck only to be killed in another.

My best option was to attack him when he opened the door to do god-knew-what with me. I had taken a self-defense class my sophomore year for a PE credit. What was that acronym? Oh yeah, S.I.N.G. for Solar-plexus, Instep, Nose, Groin.

My heart pounded furiously within my chest and I feared another panic attack. Sure, being kidnapped and thrown into a car with a strange man was reason to panic. But I considered myself a woman of action, one who in the face of fight or flight would always choose to fight. These panic attacks were useless and demoralizing. I was angered by them. Ashamed. Anytime anxiety or anger or stress approached, my heart raced and beat so hard within my chest that the vibrations racked my petite body.

Breathing deeply, I made an effort to calm down. Tried to mentally prepare myself to whip the guy’s ass. Okay, at least to stun him long enough to escape. But then my thoughts turned to the loss of my beloved Beast, to being physically forced into a car…I was furious. I
wanted
to attack him, to hurt him.

Rowan Gresham cleared his throat in the front seat and looked at me through the rear view mirror. His expression was guarded, tense. “All right, Stella, we’re at your apartment.”

My guts heaved with dread at his words. The back of my neck broke out in a cold sweat and suddenly I was a rabbit in a snare.

What were we doing at my place? Shouldn’t he be taking me to an underground bunker to keep me locked up and abused until he tired of me and found another? And how did he know where I lived? As if there weren’t grounds enough already for me to be freaked-the-hell-out.

“I’m going to open your door,” he said slowly. “Please, let’s go inside peaceably. There’s a lot I need to tell you. A lot you need to know. And we don’t have much time.”

“Mmm-hmm. Sure. Let’s go in my apartment where no one can hear me scream,” I muttered.

I steeled my nerves and held my breath as he opened the door. I could do it. I would kick him in the stomach, and then again in the face when he doubled over in pain. Then I would run for a neighbor.

Gresham opened the door and I kicked, hard, heel-first into his stomach. But he didn’t fold in pain as I’d anticipated. Instead he grunted and managed to grab both of my hands and use them to pull me out of the car. I continued to kick whatever I came in contact with. He huffed in pain, pulled both of my arms behind my back and lifted straight up, forcing me to my knees.

“Ow-ow-ow. Let me go. Someone help me. Help!” I screamed, but no one came to my rescue.

I was pulled to my feet, my hands still held behind my back with just enough pressure to disable me as we crossed the lot toward my apartment. He opened the door, which had, to my extreme dismay, been left open by whoever last left. I yelped as he shoved me down onto the sofa before backing away.

His chest expanded with two or three deep breaths. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “Calm down and give me an opportunity to tell you why I’m here.” This was delivered in a calm, soothing tone as if he was addressing a spooked horse. I imagine that’s what I looked like. I certainly
felt
like an edgy mare. My hands shook with such force that clasping them together only forced the vibrations up to my teeth, which chattered in time to my racing pulse.

Gresham stood back from me, obviously afraid to make another move. With a great deal of effort, I switched tactics. I nodded my head slowly and forced a relaxed expression. My hands only slightly shook when I placed them on my knees and scooted toward the edge of the sofa.

“All right,” I said. “I’ve calmed down.”

Gresham’s high cheekbones looked even more severe in his irritation, but he nonetheless stalked toward me. “Good, now, where to begi—Ooof.”

I launched myself at him, intending to get a good shot at his eyeballs…or the other pair of balls…whatever I came in contact with. The move was naive, ill-advised. Just as I thought I was doing a fair job of attacking, he flipped me onto my back, straddled my hips, and held my hands above my head.

“Dammit, girl.” His growl was laced with more than irritation. “Will you stop this? I just want to talk to you.” He was furious. His breath came hard and his face was dark, severe. The bulk of him towered over me, and I couldn’t see anything around his wide-set shoulders.

“Yeah? Tell that to your pants, asshole.” I could feel his substantial erection pressing onto my pelvic bone as he sat atop me, looming over me and pinning down my arms as I fought to free myself. I should’ve known putting up a fight would turn on someone like him.

I wondered frantically where my roommate, Lizzie, was before the harsh reality of my circumstances set in. No one was going to save me. Fear and panic were replaced by despair, and my throat swelled and convulsed with emotion. Tears welled in my eyes as I met Gresham’s gaze. Despite my nearly crippling fear, I swallowed past the lump in my throat, and with the full force of my gaze pleaded with him not to hurt me, to walk away.

Gresham’s face fell in horror as realization dawned, and before a single tear could fall, he was off of me and across the room. The barstool scraped loudly over the aged linoleum as he drug it from its nest beneath the counter. He fell roughly onto the stool and buried his face in his hands.

For several moments neither of us dared breathe. The tone of his voice had changed when he spoke again. It was remorseful; almost tortured. “I’m sorry, Stella,” he said. “I…there’s nothing I can say to excuse my behavior. But please try to forgive me. I assure you you were never in any danger. It’s just a physical response. I have no desire to…I would never…I’m sorry.”

The defeated set of his shoulders and the fear and panic in his eyes told me he was completely horrified. I believed him—at least in that.

“I can see no productive conversation can be had today,” he said. “I’ll leave. But I must speak with you, and soon. Will you meet me tomorrow morning?”

“What, so you can kidnap me again? I don’t think so. Get the hell out of my house.”

His face, until then contrite, flashed rage before he caught himself. “Stella, I have information on your father. And there is more I—”

My head jerked in confusion at the mention of my father. I’d never known him, and my mother was stubbornly silent on the topic. I had tried for years to find information about him. I didn’t know the story of their courtship or my conception. As any child would, I asked why I didn’t have a daddy like the other kids at school. Mom either changed the subject or told me families come in all shapes and sizes and we were lucky to have each other. When it’s all you know, you accept your reality and move on. She never remarried; she never dated.

“My father?” I breathed. “What could you know of my father?”

“I know important things you don’t,” he said, his brow furrowing with the emotion behind his words. “And much that you should.”

I worried my lip between my teeth; shook my head. Despite my attempt not to, the fact was I believed him. “I do want to know about my father,” I said. “But I also want you out of this apartment.” My head throbbed with the effort to form a plan. I wanted whatever information he claimed he had, but wasn’t comfortable being alone with him. “I’ll give you my number. You can call me later. After we’ve had a chance to calm down. You can tell me whatever’s so important then.”

His amber eyes took on a kinder look. A gentler one. “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?”

“It’s…it’s complicated. And incredible. Besides, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” I mumbled, and he shot me a censorious look.

“Look, do you want to learn about your father or not?” he asked. He had me at a disadvantage, and he knew it. I was desperate for information. When I made no answer he continued, “Let’s meet somewhere public in the morning. Did you see the coffee shop near the accident today?”

We agreed to meet and he let himself out, wary of getting too close and frightening me again. The moment he was gone, I engaged both the handle and deadbolt locks, then headed down the hall to my room and shut the door.

I crashed face-first onto my fluffy down comforter and let the tears flow. I cried in release of the panic that had overwhelmed me over the last hour. I cried for my beloved car, and for my favorite handbag. I cried because I had no idea what to do next, and I cried because I always thought my life would turn out differently; that it would be epic. I cried because it was the third time I’d cried that day when I
never
got emotional. And I cried because my nose was running and my tissue box was empty. Next thing I knew, streaks of morning sunlight skimmed across my sleep-swollen face, warming my cheeks despite the cold dread I felt inside.

I
had
reason to be wary of Rowan Gresham when I saw him at the coffee shop. Crazy doesn’t always look crazy. Sometimes it looks like the most handsome and refined gentleman ever encountered in one’s short life.

Gresham sat at a corner table for two but the confident set of his shoulders, the rigid turn of his jaw, and the indiscriminate menace in his glare occupied the space of half a dozen. The pendant light above him had blown providing a concealing shadow, and despite the prime coffee consumption hour the tables around him stood deserted. I wasn’t the only one who picked up on his threatening vibe.

The gray counter near the register betrayed streaks of white from repeated abuse as half-conscious and completely-apathetic baristas slid hot beverages across it day after day. I ordered a large latte and added a shot of mocha at the last minute because I sure deserved it after the day I’d had.

The air in the coffee shop was infused with the thick, robust aroma of coffee beans, and I took a fortifying breath. Blind courage was what I needed to face him again. It had gotten me this far. Just a bit further yet to go.

I made my way to the back table and sat across from Gresham, who stood while I approached and sat again once I was seated. This unfamiliar display of chivalry pleased me, but I hastily remembered I hated him and quelled any gushy feelings.

“Thank you for coming, Stella. I had my doubts you would. Do you care for anything besides coffee?”

Rowan Gresham had a slight accent. Not English, exactly. Not French. I couldn’t quite place it, but it seemed to have the influence of a romance language. He rolled the “r” in ‘care.’ Sexy.

No, Stonewall. He’s a weirdo, remember?

His lightweight black sweater probably cost more than my entire ensemble, which that day was nothing to sneeze at. I’d worn my navy sheath dress, the one cut a little too low in the back and a little too high in the hemline. A patterned belt cinched my waist and defined the line of my chest. Casual ballet flats ensured the outfit still said ‘daytime.’

“I almost didn’t.” I forced the words out and raised my chin. “But I couldn’t overcome my curiosity.” Nerves inspired me to swipe an imaginary strand of auburn hair behind my ear. “So? Let’s hear it. What do you know about my father? And just so you know,” I warned, “I asked the woman at the counter to keep an eye on our table, should you get any more ideas about throwing me over your shoulder. And three people know I’m meeting you.” A complete lie. I hadn’t even told my roommate Lizzie the truth about the meeting.

“Yes, I’m sorry about that,” he stammered uncomfortably. “But you must admit that the first time was to save your life, and the second…well, I did need you to get you into the car quickly.” To his credit, he looked abashed as his gaze shot to the floor and he licked dry lips.

“Well, let’s get right down to it, then, Mr. Gresham.” I sat back in my seat, crossed my arms and gave him my best scowl—eyebrows pulled together in the middle and everything. “What do you want to tell me so desperately that you were willing to kidnap me?”

He gave me a smile that was less like a smile and more like a you-were-cute-for-a-minute-but-now-shut-the-hell-up.

“I have some information I’m afraid is going to give you a bit of a shock. There’s no real way to ease into it. The world…you…things are not what they seem.”

He was silent for a moment and scrunched up his face, turning his head from side to side as if he was trying to work out some great mystery. He hesitated so long I thought he wouldn’t go on. But then he set his square jaw and nodded once.

“Look, I’ll just dive right into it. Stop me if you have questions. There exists a whole other realm in which beings have varying lineages, abilities, knowledge. This world is parallel to the one you know, but it is vastly different. My world knows of yours, of course, but very few people within your world have the slightest idea about mine.”

“Well, sure,” I said and leaned back in my chair to look over my shoulder and see if a) anyone had overheard the whackjob, and b) I could make it to the exit before he grabbed me again.

“You will undoubtedly find this impossible to believe, and for that reason and for the sake of saving valuable time, I’ve brought a substantial token of proof of my world’s existence.”

I was reeling from his sudden louie into Looney Land, but this profession did grab my attention. Visions of tin-foil Fedoras and Hot Pockets bearing the likeness of Baby Jesus filled my mind as I waited for him to produce his ‘proof.’

Idly, I concluded it was surely one of life’s great travesties that such a fine specimen of a man was a raging nut-job.

I looked up to find Gresham glancing nervously around the coffee shop. He put his hands under the table and motioned with his head and eyes that I should look down.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, great. More penis tricks. No freakin’ way.” I shook my head on a smirk. The guy was unbelievable.

His eyes bulged and his jaws clenched in silent disapproval of my resistance. He made a jerky nod toward the floor again.

“Oh, what the hell. Seen one, you’ve seen ’em all.” I leaned over and peeked at what he wanted so badly to show me under the table.

What I saw under that table shelved any further sarcasm because there, plain as the smirk on my face, was the tiniest person I had ever seen. Dressed in a three-piece brown tweed suit, he looked more like an old-world attorney than a mythical creature, though he did have facial hair enough to deserve the gnome moniker. Or was that a gnomiker? The distinguished little man stood with hands on his hips and tapped a foot in impatience. Despite being the size of a large doll, he managed to look down his spectacles at me and raised a furry eyebrow in the universally understood, ‘Well, seen enough?’

I nodded numbly in answer to his silent question. Gresham offered his own nod of thanks to the little man, and then he was gone.

I aimed for cool and collected, but my heart raced madly and my mouth was so dry I couldn’t move my tongue. I reached for my latte, but my hand shook so that I returned it to my lap. I smoothed my dress against my legs in an attempt to rid my hands of their sudden moisture.

No. I did not just see what I thought I saw. Not possible.

“Since you seem to be at a loss for words—a phenomenon I don’t take lightly since in my experience you rarely have little to say—I‘ll proceed.”

I shook my head dumbly—again—so Gresham continued.

“My world is made of beings far different than this one. The major variant between the two is that humans on Earth evolved from primates, while the residents of Thayer evolved from many groups within the animal kingdom. Thayerians trace their ancestry from hoofed animals like deer and horses, from wolves, bears, amphibians, as well as primates.”

My eyes lost focus as I considered his words.

“Are you still with me?”

“Yes,” I croaked. My brain-to-mouth function was firing at a snail’s pace.

“Another marked difference is that Thayer is a far more magical realm. Since it’s much older, and our people have varying lineages and talents, we have developed and learned to control supernatural abilities.”

I didn’t believe what he was saying for one minute.
Another world?
No. I’d know if something, somewhere else existed.
Wouldn’t I?
Astrophysicists and astronomers would know if worlds existed parallel to ours.
Wouldn't they?

“You expect me to believe all this? That there’s another world out there where people evolved from wolves and birds?”

“I know it will be hard to accept,” he said.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I scoffed. “You’re trying to demolish the foundation of the very existence I’ve stood on my entire life, and you think it’ll be ‘hard to accept’?”

“I’m sorry, Stella. This situation is unusual. I’m doing the best I can. Please try to keep an open mind.”

“Having an open mind would mean trying bok choy or bungee jumping. What you’re asking is outrageous, Mr. Gresham. A parallel world? Come on.”

He didn’t address my protests, but continued, “Ironically, despite having been in existence far longer than this one, ours is a world that exists now as yours once did—an age gone by, a simpler way of life, but with the benefit of modern technology and scientific knowledge. It is a world that I wish yours had turned out to be. But somewhere along the line people of your developed world began seeking fortunes and possessions forgot what the pursuit of happiness is all about.”

I was not offended at Gresham’s negative synopsis of our culture. It was true, after all, especially in first world countries. As I pictured the world he described and imagined simpler times and hairier people, I found that his description of this ‘alternate realm’ sounded dreamy. I mean, I loved an episode of Andy Griffith as much as the next girl. Throw in magic and technology and, well, sold.

Sadly, his description of a variegated utopia made it obvious that poor Mr. Gresham’s elevator did not go all the way to the top floor. Bless his heart, he was an eggroll short of a pu pu platter.

On the other hand I had just seen a real-life gnome. Perhaps I was the one
thisclose
to converting to Scientology.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s say—hypothetically—your perfect little magic world does exist, and I really did just see with my own eyes a tiny little professor. Why did you hunt me down? Why tell me all this? What does it have to do with me? And what can you tell me about my father?”

“Yes, well…” The sides of Gresham’s mouth pulled back and down to reveal a thin line of his bottom teeth. “This is the difficult part, isn’t it?” He shrugged and let out a long breath. “One of your parents was born in our world. You’re half Thayerian. And despite being only partially so, you already have or will inherit certain….abilities…characteristic of your family’s lineage.”

I sat, mouth agape, for what seemed like an eternity. I ran his last statement over and over in my head, denying its possibility outright. For fun I tried to imagine my mother as an otherworldly being. I mean, she ain’t right, but I would never have considered her ‘alien.’

I wasn’t ready to board Gresham’s locomotive to Locotown and shook my head in an effort to clear it. What he said could not be true. But I
had
just seen a tiny man. Wearing a suit.

Maybe my suspicions that magic existed were true. Sometimes I daydreamed that if I just thought hard enough; just knew the right things to think or say, I could make something magical happen. Sometimes when I looked at the stars I felt they were looking back—that they were sentient. I was drawn to them like the sailors of old, and felt their pull as sure as gravity’s.

But there was no way people evolved from animals other than apes. Hell, it was a miracle I believed in evolution at all. Since childhood it had been ingrained in me that evolution didn’t exist. That ‘Man has always walked Earth as we do now,’ and ‘God made Adam and Eve in his own likeness’ was drilled into my head from the time I could talk. In high school my science teacher refused to teach us the subject of evolution. I’ll never forget the day he said, “Class, the next chapter is on the theory of evolution. You can read it yourselves but I won’t, as a Christian, teach it.”

You bet I read that chapter. What’s more, I became a science major.

I sat in stunned silence in the coffee shop; this time deep in thought. My erratic breathing had slowed, but my mind continued to race. The idea of Thayer and its people was completely enthralling. I had always been a little odd. I was the girl that drew unicorns on her notebook—the one who looked for rainbows and spun in circles on the playground. Normal girls dream of their wedding day, but not me. I always wondered who I would be, not whose bride. I never really fit in.

Not to mention my overwhelming fascination with the stars and astronomy.
Could some alternate universe have been calling to me?
I wondered.
Was there a whole other half of me that I had yet to discover?

“So, you’re saying my father...” I trailed off, not sure how to finish the thought.

“I have done some initial research into your background, Stella. I could find no connection between your mother, Elena, and Thayer. Stands to reason that your heritage is derived from your father, but I could find no record identifying him. I‘d hoped you could help with that information.”

“Well, that’s going to be a problem. I never knew my father, and my mother refuses to speak of him.”

The last time I asked about my father was for a genetics assignment in high school biology. Mom completely ignored my questions, ran to her bedroom swiping at her eyes, and stayed there until morning. The woman had always been prone to prayer, but I could hear her crying out for hours. The next morning she made breakfast as if nothing had happened. I let it go.

“Surely she would be more forthcoming if you asked her now,” Gresham said. “You’re twenty-two years old. An adult, though barely.”

I snorted and shot him a ‘barely this’ look. I saw no reason for being condescending about my age again.

“I’ll be twenty-three in August. And I’m telling you, she’s kept this secret my entire life. I don’t think she’ll come around, but I’m willing to try, if for no other reason than to put all this nonsense to rest.”

I looked out the window and noticed that Lizzie had pulled up outside the coffee shop. If I wanted to make my final, I had to hurry. We made plans to meet again that evening. I needed some time to soak all of this new information in. It wasn’t every day a girl learned of an alternate utopia with dwarfs and magic.

It was even more infrequent that she learned she belonged in that world.