“We thought we would welcome you properly, Tara, and wish you a long and happy future in Spellholm.” The dryad’s voice was almost musical.
“Thank you,” said Tara, but he could tell from her tone she was still convinced there was more to this visit than a welcoming committee. Around them, more dryads appeared, as though they were materialising from the very trunks of the tress. Tara turned to watch, fascinated, but Dòmhnall began to feel uneasy.
“We have a gift for you, Tara. Artemis, who watches over us, asked us to gift you a piece of our forest.” She walked towards Tara, a small carving in her hand. It was a dragon, its scales a shimmering green, just like Dòmhnall.
“It’s beautiful,” Tara said, transfixed. His feeling of unease grew as she reached out to touch it.
“And such a likeness to your mate, the Dragon Lord.” The dryad’s voice was so mesmerising.
“If he will ever have me,” Tara murmured.
The dryad smiled gently, pity in her face. “And this is why Artemis granted you such a gift.”
A sudden frisson of electricity filled the air as Dòmhnall changed into his human form. He rushed forward just as she touched it, shouting, “Tara. No.”
Too late. She faded from the world and was lost to him.
“What have you done?” he demanded to know, but the dryad simply smiled. He had to hold himself back from changing into his dragon and smiting her with his big talons.
“Giving you a choice, Dòmhnall, Dragon Lord. You may either follow your mate or remain here without her.”
“Follow her where?”
“Touch the dragon and you will find out.”
“You expect me to trust you?” He stormed over to her. “Who put you up to this?”
“Your answers will only be found if you follow Tara. Or you can walk away.”
“And Tara?”
“She will no longer be your mate. Fly now, dragon, and when you reach your home, you will not remember her as your mate. We are offering you freedom. Isn’t that what you want?”
He stood and stared, not sure whether to believe her or not. Could it be possible the dryads could break the mating bond? Everything about her told him she was speaking the truth. Whatever they had done was not malicious. They were acting with love and kindness. Should he believe that, or were they very good at lying?
For one moment he stood, looking inside himself at all the feelings he had for Tara. She was the most infuriating woman to ever enter his life. She was disrespectful and sarcastic, so much so that she drove him insane with the way she spoke to him, especially in front of the other dragons.
Yet tinged with this was a need for her, so deep-rooted, so primal, he knew his life would always be lacking something if she were not in it. Did he want to risk losing that?
With no more thought, he reached out and touched the dragon.
A sudden ache for him filled her heart: why couldn’t he love and accept her? Those were her thoughts when she reached out and touched the carved dragon.
And then it was gone, he was gone, she could no longer feel his presence. No. Wait. He wasn’t gone,
she was
. All around her were trees, but this was not the same forest, there were no dryads and no Dòmhnall.
Nothing was the same
. Somehow, the dryads had shifted her to another part of the forest.
Fearing the worst, knowing it had been a trap and Dòmhnall must be in danger, she summoned her powers. Tara had the power to return herself to the Stronghold, it was like a homing beacon, and once there she could raise the alarm and go with the other dragons to rescue him.
But as she called the energy to her, nothing happened. Her magic was gone.
“Come on, Tara, get yourself together.” She closed her eyes and tentatively reached out for the magic that was always there and had always been part of her. Nothing.
Feeling sick, she placed her hand on the rough bark of an old oak, searching for the natural magic that she always sensed in living things. It was closed off to her. A sob caught in her throat. She swallowed it down; she never cried. Never.
Yet the overwhelming sense of loss was too much. Everything was gone from her, everything she held dear. Her magic, the friends she had made in Spellholm—a strange thing to miss, because she hadn’t really let herself accept she had friends, that people, especially Charlotte actually liked her.
But most of all, the loss of the man who was her mate. Dòmhnall. It tore at her heart, the need to be with him, for him to love her as she loved him.
Covering her mouth, shocked at this admission, she tried to shake it off. She didn’t love him, they were fated to be together, true, but that was not the same as love. But she did…
Before she could deal with this realisation, the air around her was torn; the same current of electricity that she experienced when Dòmhnall changed from man to dragon surrounded her. And then he was here. Falling to his knees as he touched the ground. When he looked up and saw her, he looked relieved and then a little puzzled.
“I am still a man.”
“What did you expect?” Even though relief flooded through her, she could not keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“To be a dragon.” He stated as if it was obvious.
“Oh.”
“Your
oh
does not give me confidence.” Dòmhnall looked around him, and then his eyes looked faraway as he tried to summon his dragon. The look on his face conveyed his appalling confusion. “It’s gone.”
“My magic is gone too.”
“Your magic?” He came to her, reaching out to touch her. “Tara, I am sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said, about to shrug off his touch of kindness. She didn’t want his pity, she wanted more than that. However, she accepted him, allowed him into her space, trying to force down the barriers that had kept him out for so long. They were quite a pair, neither allowing themselves to open up, too caught up in their own self-worth. Now they were worthless.
They were normal
.
“It is,” he persisted. “I asked you to come to see the dryads, and now look at us.”
“We will find a way out.” She looked around. “It has to be some other part of Spellholm, right? Maybe it has an ancient spell on it. One that binds all magic.” She looked up, caught by the brightness of his eyes, of the warmth that was there, tinged with something else. Fear?
This great man, Dragon Lord of Spellholm, was completely out of his depth. He had never known anything other than his power, and the hold it granted him over other people. So when he said, “What if we are stuck here forever?” she should have been prepared for the way his voice shook ever so slightly, but it caught her off guard.
Looking away, she gave him time to compose himself. “I should imagine even the great Dòmhnall can muster enough strength to walk through a forest for a day or two without having to resort to his dragon. It’s about time you proved to everyone that there is more to you than fire and brimstone.”
His hand left her shoulder; he straightened his back and said, “In the same way the great witch Tara should be able to manage without her spells and potions. I see it hasn’t taken your sharp tongue too.”
“Shall we go, Dòmhnall?”
He smiled at her. “Yes, Tara. Any preference as to which direction?”
Tara lifted her chin, feeling the sun on her face as it filtered through the green leaves of the canopy high above her head. This was an ancient forest; it could be anywhere in Spellholm, or anywhere in the world. As long as they were in their world, and not some parallel universe, then if they headed west, they would hit the edge of the forest. Hell, if they walked far enough in any direction they would hit the edge of the forest. They just had to avoid walking around in a circle. Simple.
“West. Let’s follow the path of the sun as it sets ahead of us. We’ll have to keep an eye out for a stream; our greatest threat will be dehydration.” She took a step forward and Dòmhnall followed, walking side by side with her.
Tara let herself relax; she had longed to be with him like this, to be at peace in his presence, not to be constantly striving to impress him. Now was her time to get to know him, to get him to open up to her. But one look at his impassive face told her this was not the time. He was fighting to come to terms with what had happened. Brief flashes of rage crossed his face. She could only imagine the internal dialogue flashing through his mind, and she hoped for the dryads’ sake they didn’t get out of here too soon, as a certain dragon might very well be burning down swathes of ancient forest where the dryads lived.
“You seem calm,” he remarked, and she heard a hint of an accusation in his voice.
“There is nothing else to be. I have no magic, neither do you. So all we can do is walk and try to figure out how we get out of here. I could shout and wail about it, but all that will do is make me feel lousy and tired.”
“So you have just accepted our plight?” he asked.
“Not exactly accepted it. But I can do nothing more.” She glanced over to him. “Unlike you, Dòmhnall, there have been periods of my life when I have been as helpless as this. I have learned to be patient.”
“Does that period of helplessness include the life you live now?”
“You mean living at the Stronghold?” She thought carefully before answering, not because she was trying to be clever with her answer, but because she had never thought of it that way. But, yes, it most probably did. “You know we are fated mates. I know you do not trust me, and most likely never will. I find it frustrating.”
“So you plotted with the dryads?” And there they had it!
Tara turned to face him, hands on her hips, chin thrust forward. “You think this is all my fault? That I asked the dryads to send us here? To take my powers and yours?”
“I have heard you say that your gift as a seer is often a curse.”
“So what? You think I gave it all up to come and play house here in the middle of a forest with a cranky old ex-dragon?” She laughed at him. “Wow, you really think you are something. I mean, I want us to be together. But I am not willing to sacrifice who I am for you.”
“Yes, I suppose you only want a dragon lord. It would be too far beneath the greatest witch of all time to be with a lowly man.”
“That’s just it. I am no longer the greatest witch of all time. I’m as useless as you are right now.”
“So you say.”
“What! You think I really have my powers and am hiding them?”
“Maybe.”
“I can tell you something, buddy.” She jabbed him with her finger. “If I did have my powers, I would be turning you into a frog so you could hop away out of my sight. Because if you didn’t, you might just be about to disappear in a puff of smoke.” Her breasts rose and fell as she shouted at him.
“Thank you, Tara. I had to be sure.” He took hold of her finger and removed it from his chest; she hated the shockwaves of desire that flooded her veins at just this simplest of touches. She also hated the way he had made her all angry and defensive, all to prove she wasn’t trying to trick him.
“I can’t believe you don’t trust me,” she said, her hurt obvious in her tone.
“I’m beginning to,” he said and then walked off towards where the sun was beginning to descend in the sky. It wasn’t exactly an apology; Tara knew she would never get one of those from Dòmhnall. She chose to accept it as one all the same.
Powerless. Worse, as he walked through the forest with Tara, he realised that without the ability to turn into a dragon, he was normal.
Normal
. What did that even mean? Boring, that was what it meant, boring and vulnerable. Could he protect them both if he had to?
“What’s on your mind, Dòmhnall?” Tara’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Nothing. Why?”
“Because you’re looking around as if the bogeyman was about to jump out at any minute.”
“Bogeyman?” he asked, not sure what she meant.
“You know, the unseen thing in your closet, or hiding under your bed at night.” She shook her head. “You didn’t have the bogeyman when you were a kid?”
“My childhood was so long ago, I don’t remember it. But there was definitely no mention of this bogeyman.”
“So how old are you?” she asked.
He thought for a moment. “I have no idea. Not in years. It didn’t seem to matter, so I never counted.”
“Ballpark will do?” she asked, looking into the distance and frowning. “Have you noticed there are no features in this forest? No landmarks.”
She was right; they had navigated their way through the trees, sometimes struggling to keep heading in the right direction when the trees grew too thick to pass between. It had taken them a long time; to go what he expected was a short distance. “I have seen nothing but trees since we started walking.” He looked up into the sky. “And by my reckoning, that was around two hours ago.”
“We need to think about finding water, and then possibly shelter for the night.” She stopped, turning to look at him. “What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. Apart from the dryads wanted us both here for a reason.”
“Wait. How did they trick you? Into touching the dragon. Or did they use something else? I mean, you had seen what happened to me.”
He kept walking, not knowing what to say. It sounded ridiculous in his head. How could he tell her he came in case she needed him? In case she needed a dragon to rescue her, when there was no dragon left in him.
“Ballpark. What is that, a modern term?” he asked, changing the subject.
“You aren’t going to tell me. OK, keep your secrets.” She didn’t press him for a reason, but it must be obvious to her why he was here. Instead she said, “Ballpark is like a rough idea, so give or take a century or two.”
“I don’t know. Millennia.” He hated talking about how old he was and the amount of time that had passed, the things he had seen. Especially when it might be all about to come to an end. “Do you think without my power … without my ability to become a dragon, that I will begin to age as a mortal?”
She caught up with him and fell into step, or at least tried to; she had to do one and a half steps to his one stride. “I don’t think so. But I can’t be sure. I
think
that you are still a dragon, and I am still a witch. I know we can’t access that part of ourselves, but we haven’t changed that much, have we?”