DC #5 Fight: Isabelle/The Prince

Much had changed in Raej these days. The Queen was absent, and the Court was trying to rule in her stead. Why the Province Queens hadn’t stepped in to fill the gap was beyond Isabelle, but she was so very grateful that they hadn’t. It meant that she and her Sisters could go about trying to find a new Queen, and keep Raej from being torn apart by the greed that had permeated them for generations.

There was a newer, more personal, change however. Well, several of them. The first being the astounding enmity that Isabelle was receiving from her elder brother - the Steward. He’d once been her strongest ally, and now he was her greatest enemy. To make matters worse, Isabelle had fostered a viper in her own home. Henrick, battered and tormented, who was in turn battering and tormenting her.

Today, she’d had enough. She paced, and struggled, and wept, and cursed. The threads of her lovely life were falling further into disarray, and panic was setting in. How was she going to fix this?

The familiar old street was new, and Isabelle stared at it as though she didn’t know where to go or what to do. She balled her fists into her skirts, the Tiger Eye at her throat flaring and sparking. A Prince ran into her, and she hissed - nearly as crazed as her ragged Warlord Prince himself. The male read the challenge for what it was.

Isabelle couldn’t have known it would happen that way. She’d never sought to harm a living soul a day in her life. It was she who ended up in the gutter, her nose bleeding freely and her skirts absorbing filth. It was her first fight, and she felt like a child. Like a pitiful wretch. Helpless, trapped within an uncooperative body, set in a useless mindset.

Perhaps Henrick had a reason for his uncontrollable outbursts. She’d certainly found her own.

DC #4 Healing: Oliver/Caroline/Miranda

“Do you think he’s dead?” The dark blue eyes regarded the man, and a slim finger poked the Ebon-Gray Warlord Prince’s bicep. The girl, well- the young woman, really, was about sixteen or so. Although she was in the Healing room, she was not a Healer. Not even one in training. Caroline Hunter was merely the daughter of the Healer, and as such, used to assisting.

“Caroline, he is most certainly not dead. He’s submerged in a deep healing web, and please stop checking him out. Your Uncle will have your hide.” The girl laughed at her mother’s words, musical tones that brightened the room.

“Uncle Samael doesn’t have to know, mother. Besides, the Prince is unconscious. That’s no fun!”

Miranda quirked an eyebrow at her fair-haired child. As usual, Caroline ignored her mother’s expression, and continued to explore the attractive man. Her hands trailed down his chest, and still ignoring her mother, closer to the sheet that draped the man for modesty’s sake. Just as her fingers had taken hold of the sheet, a strong hand wrapped gently around her wrist, pulling her away.

“Lady, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” His light-blue eyes were unfocused. Another woman might think he was still waking up. Caroline, a Queen with a Warlord Prince in her service already, knew better.

“I think you’re right, Prince.”

DC #3 AU: Adele/Balthazar

The Eyrien’s wings were outspread, blocking the door and her escape. She knew that her father wouldn’t have turned her over to just anyone, but this man was completely frightening. He reminded her of the mountains, of how stony and immovable they truly were. She didn’t understand what she’d done to merit such a stern escort, except that she was supposedly the Darkest female in the Territory.

Adele Belmonte curtsied deeply, and extended her hands, palm-up. The Sapphire Jeweled Warlord Prince, covered her hands with his, the calloused fingers bruising her delicate wrist. It was a symbol, of what was to come. Of the treatment she could expect in Askavi, of the power that could subjugate her.

Adele inclined her head, shaking slightly under the weight of Balthazar’s presence, and she wondered what would have happened if someone entirely different had been the one to escort her to her new homeland.

Or if she’d still have crumbled under the weight of their expectations.

DC #2 Angst: Juliette/Kalan

“Lady!” A strong arm steadied Juliette in the downpour, keeping her balanced and on her feet. She didn’t recognize the Purple-Dusk Prince, and she was tired enough and frightened enough to be wary. She jerked her arm free, the drained Gray swinging against her breasts. Juliette knew she ought to vanish it, and call in her Green. But was was too tired.

“Lady, are you alright?” Was she? Juliette didn’t think so. She was too bone-weary, to heart-sick to be able to claim being alright. Her eyes closed, scrunching her face to keep the tears at bay. She pressed her hand to her stomach.

“No, my friend, I am not.” She’d always known the cost of Shalador’s freedom would be high. She’d never imagined what it would require her own hands to enact.

The man regarded her with gentle blue eyes, and he drew her close, wrapping protective arms around the small form that did not resist the embrace.

“You have freed us, I know that it is little comfort. But we are grateful.”

Juliette abruptly pulled away, and glared up at the man, with sickened eyes.

“I have saved no one.” With that, she continued her way home, soaked to the bone.”

Drabble Challenge #1 Kiss (Caroline/Samael)

The ocean spray was cold against her face, and Caroline wrapped the masculine coat tighter against her frame. Ethavar, her step-brother, had insisted that she wear it to meet her uncle’s ship. He might not be a Warlord Prince, but she was quickly discovering that Eyrien males were all as stubborn and snarly as such. The boy was a handful of years older, though not yet old enough for his Offering. His lingering scent on the coat was comforting, and she deeply breathed in the emanating aroma from the wide leather collar.

Uncle Samael was due in port, or at least Aunt Juliette had said as much - and she was often right about such things. Caroline wasn’t typically allowed by the docks, but Ethavar had helped her to sneak out, even if he was waiting a few yards away. It had been several month since Samael had last been in port, and this time he’d be taking Aunt Juliette away. This was not fine with Caroline, for her young aunt was the most interesting adult in the home. Well, she was the least vigilante in her own way. She too often knew what Caroline planned on doing before it happened - which was a damn nuisance.

Before she’d waited long, she saw the ship moving into the harbor. It was pretty, she supposed, as far as they went. Hers would be prettier, when she had one. Without any thinking Caroline moved closer to the edge of the dock, though she stopped when she felt Ethavar’s warning. He wouldn’t hesitate to swoop in and pluck her out of a crowd; he’d done it before. The young Queen frowned, itching to fly up to the deck of her Uncle’s ship and throw herself into his arms.

Caroline crossed her arms around her waist, snuggling into the warmth of her step-brother’s coat, feeling his concerned albeit respectful, presence hovering in the back of her mind, on the edge of her thoughts, ready to defend her should the need arise. Fortunately, it didn’t, and she scrambled up to the docked boat, and up the rigging, swinging herself easily on deck.

“What are you doing here?” Strong arms swept her up, her back pressed against a firm chest. She would have been horrified and frightened, had it not been for the familiarity of the voice, the long-expected scratch of his whiskers against her neck and cheek, and her uncle bestowed the familial kiss of greeting upon her.

I'm a king, but I played with the aces.

“Tray, what are you doing home?”


Trace glanced over at his sister, taking in the mussed braids and her pajama clad body. The fourteen year old had grown up fast, and it broke his heart. It also made him angry- not with little Xai. He could never be truly mad at his sister. No, he was pissed at the situation, at the streets, at everything that was pressuring the fourteen year old to think of herself as a woman. He was even more pissed at what a friend from the old ‘Hood had warned him about. Little Xai was attracting attention- one of the gangs wanted her. They wanted her to be one of their ‘ladies’. It was what they called the girls who put out for whomever in the gang they ended up under. Trace was going to be damned if his little sister got sucked into the streets. Not on his watch, not when he could stop it. But he hadn’t expected to encounter her when he’d snuck into the house to lift his Uncle’s piece.
“Xai, I just came to pick up something.”


“Liar.”


Trace blinked at the profanity, but also at the terror etched on his sister’s face. That was when he knew- she already belonged to them. They hadn’t marked her, she was still too young to be properly used as one of the ladies. The girls who would put out for the gang, lie for the gang, and ultimately die for them. No, she wasn’t being used, but she was being indoctrinated. And they both knew that she was helpless. It was the cycle of their culture, and even their mother would not intervene. Belonging to a crew guaranteed that someone would be around to watch Xai’s back constantly, that she would belong. Having a baby of the gang wasn’t shameful here. It shocked Trace how unaccustomed he’d become to his own culture. Xai was helpless, and they both knew it. Even worse, Trace realized, Xai knew full well why her brother had returned. He was leaving her just as helpless as the jerks that he was saving her from. Without a word, Trace walked over to her, wrapping one arm around his sister’s slim form and pressing a kiss to her forehead.


“What about Elliot? What about me, and mama? Tray, you ain’t gotta be no hero! You trippin’!”
“I can’t expect you to understand, but if I can’t take care of someone in my life, I can’t take care of anyone.”


She couldn’t argue with it, and she knew better than to try. Her brother tucked the piece into his jeans, kissed her cheek, and left the house. Xai couldn’t help him, but she’d take care of him when it was over. The girl raced to her room, yanked on the warmest clothing she had, and chased her brother down the streets, shadowing him as only a child of the streets could. He was a fool, and she watched him walk right into the club where the crew was waiting to chill, and began to yell. Xai couldn’t watch, and she covered her face with her hands. But she could still hear what was happening.


---------


“What the heck, man?” Trace held the gun steady, the barrel aimed right at the man who ran the crew. No one moved, no one breathed. Trace’s rep had never quite left the ‘Hood, and no one wanted to tangle over the man’s sister. But no one could just let him walk away with her, either. The first hit took him in the shoulder, and instinctively Trace pulled the trigger. He missed killing his target by a few inches, though the bullet caught the thug square in the chest. Trace’s own shoulder was bleeding, but as Aidan Hawthorne had taught, boxing was fifty percent mental. Trace pivoted, and a powerful blow knocked the other man back. They thought they were tough, and they might have been, but Trace was trained. He still knew that he stood no chance. He was too outnumbered.


---------


Xai wasn’t sure how long the beating and shooting lasted, but when there was silence, she peeked from behind her hands to see something be dragged out the back. Xai slipped through the front door, and around to the broken body of her brother. He was losing so much blood. There was a gunshot wound in his shoulder, and two in his chest. One more in his leg. His face was beyond recognition, and the rest of him was red, black, and blue.


“T-Tray?” She was clinging to his hand, staring at the torn knuckles. She could see his chest rise and fall, and fumbled for his phone. She hit the number one speed dial, and was surprised by the male voice that answered.


-------------


“Hello?”
“H-Hi…..I-I don’t know you.”


There was a long pause at the other end, as Aidan Hawthorne tried to ascertain just who had called him. The number belonged to Trace….


“LeXaibriar?”
“Y-Yes….p-please come. It’s Trace they hurt him, and…and it’s all my fault.”


Aidan glanced at the blonde who was seated at the table across from him. Julie Beauchere, his close friend and co-coach, was already flipping her phone open, and began dialing as Aidan coaxed answers about location and her brother’s condition from Xai. As soon as the call was made, Julie and Aidan were in Julie’s car, heading for the girl.


----------------


The ambulance arrived before Trace’s teacher, and Xai refused to be parted from her brother. She clung to his hand, as his eyes flickered open to stare in her direction.


“Tray….why? Why did you have to do this?!”
“….love you.”


The little girl shook her head.
“Don’t start talkin’ goodbyes, Trace. You….you can’t.”
“Love you. Love Ellie…”


The paramedic swore and shoved Xai onto the bench, wrenching her hand from Trace’s.


Trace Cooper coded at 3:17 a.m. Six days after Christmas.


--------------


There were two adults waiting for Xai as she clambored out of the ambulance. It was the male who caught her easily as she stumbled out, and he held her gently. Like she remembered her father having done when she was very young.
“Mister Hawthorne?”


Those kind eyes watched her with so much mutual pain and compassion, that the teen lost it. Sobs ripped at her chest, and clung for dear life to the man who reminded her so much of what Trace would have been like all grown up. Aidan, for his part, held the girl tight, lifting her easily into his arms, and allowing her to weep onto his shoulder.


“Aidan, take her to your place. I’ll call her mother- the woman told me that Trace had this coming. We can’t send her back into the lion’s den tonight.”


“Why not with you?”


“You were closer to her brother. Besides, she might talk to you.”


Aidan nodded, stroking her hair slowly. Trace had been like a son to him; there was no reason he couldn’t treat the boy’s sister like a daughter. He’d tuck her into bed with Vivianna, and allow the sweet and soothing nature of a child to calm her. He could sit in the chair, and watch them sleep, and have his own private moment of intense grief.

Trace your footsteps in the sand.

“Hey, Lee what’s this?”

Lina glanced over at the young woman in the passenger seat; she was a curvy brunette, with an oval face and bright green eyes. The two had met in college, and had been roommates there. Sarah, the girl was called, was a musician and played in one of New York’s premiere symphonies. She was lively and spunky, and the opposite of Lina in nearly every regard- including her opinion of men. Lina preferred the hands off approach; she welcomed friends, but wasn’t entirely certain she wanted a romance. Sarah always spent her holidays with Lina (and they enjoyed Lina’s new apartment). The pair of them generally swapped music, as they shared tastes. Lina’s was more broad- as a suddenly-prominent music critic, Lina seemed to acquire all sorts of varying types.

“It’s a celtic band. They’ve been pretty popular lately.”

“Are they any good?”

“I enjoy listening to them.”

Sarah seemed to consider this, opening the case and popping the cd into Lina’s stereo. As the first song started, a husky and slightly accented voice filled the car. Lina’s lips twitched as she suppressed smiling at the familiar voice. It was at just that moment she remembered why she’d not really wanted Sarah to open the case.

“OHMYSWEETJESUS.” The southerner’s roots were revealed as her drawled voice squeaked out the expletive. “You got an autograph with a phone number. From the hot blonde!” Sarah flipped through the pages, trying to figure out which songs he seemed to sing. When she realized he sang the first one, she lifted one hand to find herself. “Jesus, Lee. Tell me you’ve called him.”

“On occasion.” Lina didn’t want to tell her friend that Keith had a habit of calling her first thing every morning- his time. That meant he was generally the last person she spoke to. It was a testament of how deep their new friendship ran- her speech impediment was much more pronounced late at night, and she tended not to speak with anyone when she found the words difficult to get out. The Irishman would simply wait in adoring silence while she struggled to speak. He never judged or grew impatient. Lina couldn’t tell her friend that either. If Sarah knew that Keith was pursuing her quiet friend, word would get out. Lina had a very, very, very good reason for not wanting anyone to know she was being pursued. Her father. She really needed to call her Uncle Christian. He was good for chatting about things, and she knew he’d understand her emotional confusion over the rather persistent musician.

“Seriously, Lee. He’s hot- I’d do him! Ohmylord. You’d have gorgeous children.” Sarah laughed as Lina looked quite panicked. She knew how her friend felt on the subject. Lina was too scared to get involved with a relationship. The girl really had her insecurities. “C’mon. Dating him isn’t like you’d have to make a lifetime commitment! Just enjoy his affection.”

Lina had been thinking that herself, honestly. Still, she wasn’t entirely certain.

------------

Reuben Hughes wasn’t entirely comfortable with Lina living away from home. He was well-aware that his darling was now twenty-five. Entirely aware. It occasionally made him feel old, when he ran his fingers through that spun-gold hair, and thought about how it used to be short and curled in adorable ways around his fingers. Instead of smothering her with his affection, Reuben spent every Sunday evening with his daughter, and they made dinner together. Just the two of them. He really did adore the girl- she was his little angel. Naturally, fatherhood had changed his life; Lina’s birth had done more than that. He’d been changed even more, had fallen in love with his little girl. His princess.

He might have spoiled her more than necessary, but somehow she’d turned out alright. Sweet and darling, with a smile that could brighten a room. It was also a smile that could keep him up at night. He knew how men thought. He didn’t want any of those thoughts surrounding his daughter. In any way. Reuben shook his head to clear such thoughts, as he took the elevator up to the fourth floor, where Lina lived. It was a lovely building, and a gorgeous two-bedroom apartment. Roo had seen to that- a beautiful view, and lots of light. Most importantly, it wasn’t very far from home, and on a lovely day he could walk over to see her, or vice versa. Reuben paused by her door, and knocked lightly. He was early, so he’d not be surprised if she wasn’t quite home yet. Sarah had been for a visit, and that was always interesting; poor Dawson was always glad to see the flirt go back home, he was certain. Reuben crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall to wait. He had a spare key and could go in, but that would inevitably startle Lina. He’d be patient.

Or at least, he was until someone else knocked on the door. With his eyes closed still, he shook his head.

“She’s not home.”

“Oh, I can wait.” The masculine voice had Reuben’s eyes flashing open, and the image of a young (and attractive, he grudgingly admitted) man holding flowers outside of his daughter’s apartment had him instantly in a black mood. He stared blankly at the lad, mistrusting everything from the mop of blond hair, the accent, the grin and the lean body. Of course, he mistrusted any male interested in his little Lina.

“Those flowers had better be for me.” The blond looked confused for a few minutes, and then arched an eyebrow. Roo doubted that the boy had any idea how close he was coming to incurring bodily harm. Reuben’s hands ached to pitch the boy out the nearest window, and pretend to Lina that no one had ever been there. Fortunately, it seemed that the young man figured out a few things.

“You know Miss Hughes?”

“Quite well.”

There was a long pause.

“Are you her father?”

“Yes.”

“Well, damn.”

Suddenly there was an understanding of sorts. The blond knew that Reuben was a rather pissed-off father who was grateful to have been around when a strange man descended on his child’s doorstep.

“I’m Keith.”

“Keith?” There was a definite smirk on Roo’s face, as he eyed the blond from across no-man’s land.

---------------------------------------

Lina had dropped Sarah off, but her words lingered in Lina’s head. Call him. Lina was tempted to, she’d admit, because the sound of his voice always had her unwinding. Making her decision, she dialed his number, and was disappointed when it rolled to voice mail. Rather than shut the phone, she dialed another number, and smiled at the greeting on the other end of the phone.

“Uncle Chris, do you have a few minutes to talk?”

As usual, Christian Hearst helped things to make sense for her. She was enjoying their conversation until the elevator doors opened.

“…..let me call you back later.”

Her father and Keith were standing in the hall. Together. It was like a nightmare. Lina closed her eyes and prayed that she hadn’t been noticed, that the doors could shut and she could get back in her car and drive to her Uncle Christian’s apartment. Sadly, a familiar hand stopped the doors, and the attached arm wrapped around her shoulders. Lina smiled up at her father weakly.

“Hello, Daddy. I see you’ve met Keith?” His face was unreadable.

“Why yes, I have.”