The Soul of a Dragon

Chapter 34

Heyy there. Over a thousand reads! Damn. I never thought I'd reach that many people haha. Thank you!

Anyway. Here's the next chapter. I am not entirely happy with it but I'm currently struggling with...well...lack of motivation. So, apologies, I'll try to write better / longer chapters after the holidays :)

Merry Christmas and happy new year!

Vara

My insides shake any time someone refers to that sharp-teethed man – who is, thank the fucking universe, supposedly my father – and who left me not only one time, but, yes, two times.

So, here we are. About to get into yet another fight and I just want to cuddle up next to Aria, read a book, and eat something sweet. That would be nice, wouldn't it? Yes, it may sound like a grandma's wish, but I don't care. It's definitely better than-

Oh, darn.

I grunt at the impact my body makes with the muddy ground. That woman, who could, by the way, definitely use some sun, but is also freakishly tall, tried to stab me with – well...

My eyes shoot to my left.

...about three daggers.

I roll my eyes. Amateurs.

Although my breathing is shallow, I remain remarkable calm. I am too tired for this chaotic drama. Yes, I am Grimmel's daughter. And, yes, he may be an abominable dragon-hunting son of a you-know-what, but why does that immediately make my face a target for these people who look like they come from three different worlds?

Again, I roll away in time as the broad guy attempts to knock me unconscious with his bear paws. Hah, try again, mister.

Somewhere to my right, I can hear Malcom doing the same as I am. We lock eyes for a split second and there is true worry in his eyes. My heart clenches at the sight of that emotion but I shove my own feelings deep down. He betrayed me. And my friends. All of us.

Sighing, I now evade the attack of the amber-eyed man. Moving swiftly and with ease, I almost struggle to counterattack and avoid getting killed by his sharp-edged swords. With his red-golden armour, he blends in well with the smoky and fiery surroundings – nearly camouflaged, he fights skilfully. Nevertheless, I block each of his punctual attacks with ease and end up back-to-back with Malcom at the centre of this village – encircled by those three weirdos.

The woman fixates her stare upon me again. Thick, dark red blood is slowly dripping down from a fresh wound atop her left eyebrow. She wipes it off with one sleeve and then grins spitefully.

Oh, my Thor. I just want my peace, man.

I feel someone softly pushing me aside. Malcom comes to stand in front of me, his legs wide and his fists clenched. Much like me, there is not one single wound decorating his skin. We've always been similar when it comes to fighting.

No. Don't go there, Vara. I shake my head and focus on the woman instead, who's stepping forward with a threatening glare.

"The ever so noble hero," the woman says sweetly, "Those intentions are a tad too late, don't you think?"

Malcom clenches his fists even harder and I can see the muscles of his back tense under his dark navy shirt.

"I will warn you this one time because you used to be one of us," the woman continues. Her tone changes instantly as she growls, "Step away."

"No," is all that Malcom has to say. And it's enough to anger all three of them. Luckily, my reflexes work more rapidly than my mind. Otherwise, I wouldn't be clutching a beautifully crafted dark metal knife with my right hand right now – merely inches in front of Malcom's chest. I don't need to look to know who threw it in the first place. The precise throw and skill alone are enough to know.

But as my eyes find the darkness enveloped in those of the pale-faced woman, I realise I made a mistake. I couldn't let Malcom die –

And judging by her expression, she knows now, too.

The corner of her lips curls up into a wicked smile and she lowers her head again. A carnivore staring at its prey.

"The girl will come with us," she muses, drawling out each word. The empty dark of her eyes now glances towards Malcom, "Or the boy will pay the price."

What a fucking bitch move.

I furrow my eyebrows in disgust and detest. Why do people enjoy making my life hell so much?

Malcom questions me with a small look over his shoulder. I don't imagine the surprise in his face as I move to step forward. I do this without hesitation, but I ignore that fact.

The woman, whose identity is still a mystery to me, straightens her spine and watches me approach her with pure victory gleaming in her eyes. Both men next to her seem to be beaming as well.

But it is kind of funny what difference a split second can make.

Suddenly, the dark viper no longer stares at me but at something behind me. There is nothing but righteous hatred colouring her features. Giving in to confusion, I turn around and find my heart stopping for a beat.

With a flick of his hand, his dragons snarl at the trio and sneak to my side. The fire of the burning houses around us reflects off the dragons' black-red scales. Next to me, they form a protective circle – the bright green acid drips off their large protruding tusks.

My eyes find the trio in front of me again. All of them – pale. I can't hide the satisfaction on my face as I fight against grinning as viciously as they did moments before. Malcom softly pushes himself between the dragons, asking for my wellbeing with a single look. I also subconsciously scan him for injuries – simultaneously I wonder why I do that again. A strong hold around my right hand brings me back to reality and I look down to see Malcom's hand holding onto mine. I don't snatch my hand back. Instead, I find a loophole between all those scales and find him standing there as always: the ice-cold, ruthless vampire.

"Griselda!" Grimmel shouts warmly and opens his arms as if greeting a very old friend. He, then, acknowledges the men with a single nod, "Ragnar. Chagathai." Clasping his hands together, Grimmel presents all of his sharp, pointy teeth in a wide smile, "How nice of you to come over for a little visit. I apologise for my tardiness. But if we're lucky, there are still some baked goods left from yesterdays cooking."

If eyes could kill, we'd all be dead by now. The woman – Griselda – as well as the other men reciprocate none of the familiarity and warmth. Sharp as a freshly fashioned sword, Griselda's stare seems to be cutting Grimmel into pieces.

The latter responds simply by laughing. "What's with the long faces?"

Unexpectedly, his eyes find mine. But just as quickly they leave them again. Grimmel arches an eyebrow at the trio, "Silent treatment? What are we – children?"

"You know why we're here," Griselda spits out. Malcom's grip on my hand tightens, which makes me wonder if he knows what she's talking about.

As usual, Grimmel folds his hands behind his back and assesses the woman an icy minute long before speaking slowly, "Yes. There have been some changes."

"You are not allowed to make changes! We hired you!" yells the man in red-golden armour with a thick accent.

Unbothered, Grimmel shrugs his shoulders, which only seems to anger the strange trio even more. "I decided to quit."

All of a sudden, the woman – Griselda – snatches something from underneath her cloak and throws a tiny blade with terrifying precision in my direction. If it weren't for one of the Deathgrippers' flexible tails, my head would look like one of Tuffnut's apples on a spike right now. That thought almost causes me to giggle like a lunatic but I snap back to focus due to Malcom shoving me behind him once again.

I don't manage to look over his shoulder on my tippy toes, so I peek to the side to find Grimmel's figure again. Even though he is smiling menacingly, there is nothing funny about his smile at all. It might as well be icy poison.

For a moment, everything seems to fall silent. That's when I hear my father's deadly whisper, so quiet it may be mistaken for the crying wind. "Try to harm my daughter again and I will make sure you'll never see the light of day again."