My Fated Dragon Prince

Don't Let Me Hold You Back

Nell's POV

I re-read the letter at least three times before finally looking up at Ash with a dubious expression on my face. “Seriously?” 

My adopted mother, Ash, was once a beautiful woman. It was long enough ago that I can’t quite picture her that way anymore, but recently enough that I still remember the men who fell for her. There were quite a few of them, and some weren’t half bad. Why she chose Chuck, I’ll never understand. Even now, looking into her soft, hazel eyes, I can see the latest shiner he gave her. She did her best to cover it with makeup, but it’s a doozy.

“I know.” Ash crosses her arms. She seems pretty hung-over, which is normal these days. I’m just glad she’s not wasted yet. It’s only seven o’clock in the morning, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she was. “I don’t know what to tell you, Nell. As you know, you were left on my front porch one morning with no explanation and a note that read, Her name is Eleanor. Love and protect her. I never told you about this letter because of the instructions on the envelope.”

I glance again at the envelope the letter came in. Give this to her on her 18th birthday, and not a moment sooner.

“Did you read it?” I ask her. The seal of the envelope—red wax, with a bird of some sort on it—was broken when she gave it to me, so I’m fairly certain that I already know the answer.

“Many times. I debated giving it to you at all—it’s totally insane, of course. But…” She glances behind her as if worrying that Chuck might hear her. He won’t; he drinks even more heavily than her, and sleeps in until at least ten every morning. “What if it’s true?” she whispers to me. “What if you’re destined for… more than this?”

Her words make me sad. She wants me to get out of here, I realize. She’s mad at herself for giving me this life, and she wants me to find a better one.

I want to find a better one, too, of course. I hate it here. I’ve never particularly liked it, but ever since I lost Archie, I’ve really hated it. 

But I never had any idea how I’d leave. I have no money for college—not that I have the grades to get in anywhere decent, anyway. I could move away and start over, but…

“Even if it were true,” I tell her, “I could never leave you, Ash. Not with him.”

She reaches out to touch my cheek, smiling softly. “I’m the mother, remember? Just… keep an open mind tonight. Okay? I have no idea what this ‘journey’ you’re supposed to make will entail, but if this is real… Don’t let me hold you back.”

I’m not sure I’ll be able to do what she’s asking; I’ve seen too many close calls with her and Chuck to ever truly be okay with leaving her. But the look in her eyes is desperate enough that I nod, if only to appease her.

What does it matter, anyway? There’s no Farnethia. There are no Six Senses.

There’s only the messed-up, broken world I live in.

- - - - -

“Something bothering you, babe?”

I’m in Charlie’s car with him. We’re supposed to be in class, but I convinced him to skip with me. I endured as much as I could take, but I’m in no mood for lectures. 

Charlie doesn’t know that it’s my birthday. I made a point not to tell anyone—not that I have many people to tell these days.

I should have skipped alone, but I needed something to take the edge off, and Charlie always has a stash of weed in his car. Now, though, three hits in, I realize that even his top-notch indica strain isn’t enough to calm my spinning head. 

“No,” I cough as I hand the blunt back to him. “Just thinking.”

Miriam and Robert. Those are their names. My birth parents.

That much, I believe to be true. They wouldn’t have any reason to lie about their names. The rest, though? Portals to other worlds? Phoenixes and dragons?

It’s insane. The likeliest scenario is that they were both mental patients, he somehow got her knocked up, and the hospital brought me to Ash’s doorstep because…

That’s the part that doesn’t make sense. Ash always used to call me her “blessing,” since she was never able to have children of her own. But how could a mental hospital have known that about her? Even if they did, they wouldn’t have just left me on her doorstep; they would have used the normal adoption route, whatever that is.

I wave the blunt away when Charlie offers it back to me, and he puts it out. We sit in silence for a few minutes, and then he turns to kiss me.

I’ve been with Charlie for about six months, and it hasn’t gotten any easier to kiss him. Before Archie died, I was with Trent Taylor, the quarterback of the football team—the most popular guy in school. It was never particularly easy to kiss him, either, but I did it because I thought I was supposed to. Who in their right mind would reject the hottest guy in school? Archie used to tease me when I admitted I had my doubts about Trent. He was only joking, of course. He wanted me to be happy, whether that meant being with Trent, the King of the Jocks, or Charlie, the Lord of the Stoners. 

When Archie died, I ended things with Trent. Not immediately—I did my best to stay with him at first. I kept wearing the smile that’s required of the quarterback’s girlfriend; I kept styling my hair and makeup to perfection; I kept attending the right parties. Then, one day, when I burst into tears in the middle of a make-out session, Trent asked me, “When are you going to get over it, already?”

It had only been two months. Two measly months, since my best friend died in my arms.

I know the real reason he was pissed, of course. It was because I didn’t have s*x with him. I dated Trent for almost a year, and I never slept with him.

I haven’t slept with Charlie, either.

“You’re so sexy, babe,” he murmurs into my mouth between kisses as he reaches to fondle my breasts. I don’t stop him, though it does little to excite me. “Let’s move to the back seat.”

I do as he suggests, crawling into the back seat and allowing him to press me down and into it as he continues to kiss me. I feel his erection dig into my jeans, as I have a hundred times before, and it doesn’t excite me any more than his overeager hands. I curl my legs around him, pressing my tongue deeper into his throat, even letting out a moan or two of my own to try to get myself in the mood, but I can’t.

He can tell, which I appreciate. He’s always been substantially more empathetic than Trent ever was.

“You’re not into it,” he says, pulling away from me. “What am I doing wrong?”

It’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation; I’ve become skilled at lying to him. “Of course, I’m into it, Char. I’m just… not quite… ready yet.”

The truth is, I am ready to lose my virginity. I do have feminine urges. I wake up squirming in the middle of the night just like everyone else my age; I’ve even experimented with my hands beneath the sheets. If I were to meet the right person, I’d love to know what it feels like to have something besides my own fingers inside me.

But Charlie isn’t the right person any more than Trent was. 

I know what you’re thinking.Who, then, Nell? I could have been with the hottest guy in school, and now I have the chance to be with the coolest guy in school. Charlie is almost as popular as Trent, with the opposite crowd. He’s funny, charming, and has such blatant disregard for the rules, it would be a turn-on for anyone.

Anyone but me.

I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I don’t know who I’m waiting for.

I just know he isn’t here.

- - - - -

When I get home that evening, Ash is cooking dinner while Chuck sits on his ass on the couch, drinking bourbon and watching Sons of Anarchy. Per usual.

“Hi, birthday girl,” Ash greets from the stove. Her words are slurred; I’d guess she’s had about four drinks already. “How was your day?”

Chuck glances back at me, and I instantly feel the urge to cover myself, despite already being dressed. Chuck has always looked at me like I’m a piece of meat, but it’s gotten worse with every cup size I’ve grown. He’s never sexually assaulted me, though. I think he knows Ash would leave him if he did. She tolerates a lot from him, but she wouldn’t tolerate that.

“Fine, thanks,” I tell Ash. I start to make my way to the kitchen, but Chuck catches me by the wrist with his arm.

“Your eyes are red. Have you been smoking?”

“No.” I try not to roll my eyes. It’s beyond hypocritical for the biggest alcoholic I know to criticize me for smoking a little weed. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t release my wrist; instead, he pulls me down toward him. He doesn’t bother hiding his glance down my shirt. He’s such utter filth. “Are you lying to me, little slut? You know what I’ll do if you are.”

Chuck loves to call me a slut, despite the fact that, if anything, I’m just the opposite. As for the rest of his threat, he’s right: I do know. He doesn’t hit me as much as he hits Ash, but he’s still hit me so many times, I’ve lost count. 

“I’m not lying.”

His grip on my wrist tightens so hard, I nearly cry out.

“Sir,” I manage through the pain.

He smirks, releases my wrist, and turns back toward the TV.

When I finally make it to Ash, there are tears in her eyes. She saw the encounter. She always sees.

“I’m making macaroni for your birthday,” she tells me with a weak smile. “Your favorite. Are you hungry?”

“No, thanks.” Macaroni stopped being my favorite when I was about ten, but she was already drinking by then, so I don’t blame her for forgetting. “I think I’m gonna crash early tonight.”

Her weak smile turns into a real one then, and my heart goes out to her for it. She wants the letter to be real. She wants me to get out of here.

“Sweet dreams, Nell.”