Wyvern Awakening

  Wyvern Awakening

  Mage Chronicles #1

  Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Newsletter

  Copyright © 2017 by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  The real nightmare.

  “Mum? Where are you? Please, Mum. Answer me,” I ask, noticing I’m back in a dark, dreary chamber. The space around me reminds me of a dooming, dirty dungeon. It’s the same nightmare—the same room I've been dreaming about night after night.

  I slam my eyes shut, telling myself this is my dream and I decide what happens in it, but uncertainty looms over me like a stormy, dark cloud. I don’t even know how I got out of here the last time. It’s cold and I’m shivering—the temperature keeps dropping. Fear hatches out slowly, slinking down into the pit of my stomach. My inner dragon longs to be unleashed, but the space is entirely too small; too cramped and there may be other shifters around. My body locks up as a series of tight tingles travel over my spine. I register movement somewhere nearby. I take a few steps back until I hit the wall behind me. A door opens to my left. My hands splay flush against the wall to balance my weight, as I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart.

  Someone’s in the chamber with me, another mage member or shifter. Their energy is caressing my cheek, circulating around, trying to leach into my inner dragon. A few moments pass and I hear loud breathing—hoping it’s only my mother.

  She finally found me.

  A shudder of revulsion and fear rocks through me as the sound of footsteps approach.

  “Mum? Is that you?” I ask again, my voice uneven, then I remember—it’s not Mum. In this terrible nightmare she never appears.

  “Your beloved mother is dead and I’m here to finish the job,” says a deep, raspy voice I don’t recognise. “You’re the last of your clan, the final piece of the puzzle. Minerva begged me to spare her and I laughed when she tried to shift one last time. A pathetic attempt at bravery, but I digress.”

  My heart accelerates and I press my back to the wall, knowing I have nowhere to escape. It’s a trap, the darkness has me now. My inner dragon whispers “use the fire” and I know this is the only way I’ll be able to survive.

  Tingles of energy roll over my spine and the air is static with electricity. I’m too afraid to move—to release the flames in fear of being trapped in this chamber forever.

  “Get away from me or you’ll die. My fire brings death and I can easily lose control,” I shout. A blue light above starts flickering and I see the mage’s face. He smiles widely and twisted excitement glimmers in his eyes.

  I close my eyes and fist my hair, telling myself this isn’t possible. It can’t be him. He’s the greatest protector of the city. He can’t be the enemy.

  “Your father begged me to spare him too. He was a coward and he didn’t even try to fight for your mother. I took great pleasure ending his life. Now it’s your turn. You’re the last in the Wyvern’s clan and you must die,” the male mage says, smiling deviously.

  I shake my head, and tears are streaming down my cheeks now. I’m not meant to be weak; my father told me countless times mages feed off weakness.

  “Please stop. Step away. My parents aren’t dead–they’re coming for me. We’re the true dragons—”

  “Wyvern’s aren’t the real dragon shifters. They’re a beneath the mage and other shifter races. Your family was working against the clan, and they brought shame to their breed!” the mage roars while my dragon rises inside me, brewing its deadly fire as sparks escape from my fingertips. It just a matter of time before my fire magic gets out of control, killing anyone who dares turn against me.

  He’s standing so close now I can feel his hot breath on my face. He’s going to die any second, only he doesn’t know it yet. I can see him bleeding on the floor, writhing in agony in my mind’s eye.

  My heart pounds as I let go of a high-pitched scream, unleashing the nuclear–power strength energy. My inhuman roar echoes throughout the entire space. Fire moves within my body, easing out of my pores. My fiery ball spins in the air—growing like a massive thunder cloud, then something unexpected happens.

  My fire magic blows back instead of protecting me and the pain’s even greater than I imagined. My beloved parents are dead. Grief cracks my chest open, filling me with anguish and a steady stream of despair.

  Suddenly, raw flames are burning my left cheek, moving slowly down my neck melting my skin. Fiery bursts of pain cause my ears to ring. The mage laughs ominously. Everything’s spinning out of control—I can’t even touch my face. Pain lances through my chest, making me dizzy. It feels like arsenic’s tearing my skin apart, reaching into the depths of my bone marrow.

  “Your own dragon turned against you, little girl. I owe you now and I’ll owe you forever.” Menacing laughter echoes inside the chamber.

  I wake up breathing hard and disorientated, taking long, wheezing breaths continuously until I know it was only a dream. The heavy silence of night surrounds me, my pounding heart is the only thing I hear.

  I caress deformed parts of my face, feeling an uneven and lumpy surface underneath my fingers.

  It takes me a long moment to gain control of myself. Luckily, I didn’t wake up screaming at the top of my lungs as I usually do. My uncle told me he’d throw me out if he heard me shouting in the middle of the night again.

  I scramble off the edge of the bed and glance at the watch on my bedside table. It’s two a.m. The silence is broken by a loud snoring. Two Welsh Pixies are fast asleep, embracing each other. I should be used to their snoring by now, but tonight it’s unusually loud. I put my bare feet on the cold floor and wait for my breathing to calm down.

  I gasp when I realise what was different about this dream. I finally remember the face of the mage who tried to kill me. Ever since I was a little girl, I woke without knowing any details about the man. In the past, his face was always hidden in the darkness. My pulse quickens and heavy bricks cascade into my stomach.

  The mage who scarred me for life and admitted to killing my parents is the Duke of Rivenna.

  I put my head between my knees, taking shuddering breaths, telling myself once again, as if saying it over and over somehow will make it true—this is impossible. He can’t be the same person—the same mage. There’s no way the duke would’ve had anything to do with my parents’ death. I get up, ready to pull my clothes back on and run to the castle …

  And then what?

  My inner self asks this question and I don’t have an answer.

  This is stupid, Astri. The castle is riddled with guards and the duke’s most likely fast asleep. No one would even consider letting you anywhere near him, especially in the middle of the night.

  I sigh loudly and lay down on the bed again, staring up at the ceiling. The dream…it
was just a dream, but my cheek is warm and the skin is still slightly burning. Now everything is clear. My own magic turned against me, disfiguring my face and neck all those years ago. The blow-back spell left a permanent mark on my body. My own magic left me deformed, and now the dreaded spell can’t be removed.

  Over the past several years, I’ve been having the same dream. I wake up when my own spell hits me. I’m soaked with sweat, screaming, and I hear the same, looming voice; I experience agonising pain, but the mage’s identity is never revealed—until tonight.

  My thoughts are racing and I hate myself because he isn’t someone else. The truth hurts–he’s untouchable.

  After eleven years, I’ve finally discovered the identity of the mage who took my parents away from me. Maybe tomorrow I could think about a plan—about a way of confirming what happened all those years ago, but deep down I realise it’s nearly impossible. The duke is the most powerful dragon shifter in Rivenna and no one has ever challenged him. I run my fingers over the scar on my cheek again and close my eyes. The moment’s finally come—the dream was just a reminder that I’d been scarred for a reason. My dreams have always revealed the truth or reality of a situation. They’ve never been wrong before.

  Now … I know.

  “Hey, Astri, you lazy arse … wake up … wake up!”

  “Ouch, Lenin, what the hell is your problem?” I hiss, massaging my arm. My Welsh Pixie just pinched me really hard while I was dreaming about having my own apartment. I usually never have this kind of dream, but it’s good to have a break once in a while.

  Now he’s flying around, screaming and banging a miniature spoon into a pot, probably because he likes annoying me. “I’m up now, so stop making all that racket and let me get ready.”

  “I don’t want to. It’s my new morning routine. I read it in one of your magazines. It’s supposed to set me up for the day ahead,” Lenin says flying closer to my ear. “Jetli thinks the noise scares demons away.”

  I glance at Jetli, who’s pretending she doesn’t see me, and I can’t help but smile. Of course it was her idea; she just likes seeing me suffer in the morning.

  It’s been years since I adopted Lenin and Jetli. It was during one of my hunts in the Black Forest. I found them cold and scared under a tree. Neither of them could remember who they were or how they got to the outskirts of Rivenna. They knew their names, but that was about it. In the past, I’d read a little bit about Welsh Pixies and I knew humans weren’t able to see them, so I decided to take them home with me. It was pretty clear from the beginning, those two were quite the characters. They kept me company, they made me laugh, but unfortunately, they never regained their memory.

  “There's no demons and I have a headache, so give it a rest, will you?” I ask, dragging myself off the bed. It’s freezing in this stupid basement. The days in the city are hot, but at night the temperature may drop to below zero Celsius. My uncle won’t allow me to turn the heating on; he thinks keeping me warm is a waste of money.

  I’m supposed to be at work by eight in the morning, so I still have a bit of time to waste. When I start putting my clothes on, the face from my nightmare flashes in front of my eyes again.

  The Duke of Rivenna, Jorgen III. I still can’t quite believe he’s the one responsible for everything that went wrong in my life. His image must have been inside my subconscious for years, but only now I’ve managed to retain his face in my memory after waking from my nightmare.

  Since I started living with my aunt and uncle I’ve had these odd dreams reflecting both the past and future. I was shopping with my aunt when I experienced it for the first time. It was Sunday and my uncle was away on business. Beatrice didn’t want to leave me alone in the house, so she begrudgingly took me with her. It was one of those rare occasions when I finally had a chance to go shopping with her. She was in Madame Belini’s Boutique, discussing the alteration of a dress she was going to wear for a very important party at some politician’s house the following week. We were just about to walk out when I suddenly pulled her bag, as a dream from the night before flashed in front of my eyes.

  I saw her being robbed on the street, just outside Madame Belini’s Boutique by some random human man who wanted money for drugs. He was tall and very boney with rotten teeth and dirty, torn clothing. In the dream, I saw him ripping my aunt’s bag–her stuff went flying everywhere, pushing her onto the pavement, then running away as fast as he could. She wailed and screamed until people stopped to help her and the police arrived.

  “What are you doing child? I don’t have time for your nonsense,” she shouted when I tried to delay her in the boutique for as long as possible.

  “But aunt, there’s a man waiting for us. We can’t leave yet. We should wait in here until he disappears–until it’s safe,” I mumbled not understanding what was going on or why my instinct told me to wait. I couldn’t tell my aunt I saw her being robbed in some random dream–she would never believe me.

  “Astri, you stupid girl. We’re already running late. Let go of my bag or I’ll lock you in the basement when we get back to the house,” she warned, through gritted teeth.

  She smacked my hand when I didn’t let go of her and literally dragged me outside. Seconds later, the man sped past us and snatched her bag. It was exactly as it happened in my dream; my aunt’s scream could’ve been heard up and down the entire street.

  All of a sudden, I feel someone pulling my pyjamas and I glance down, noticing Jetli. Lenin’s sister is mute. I have no idea if she could talk before or not, but she hasn’t said a word since the day I found her and Lenin in the forest. Her bright, blue eyes are asking me what’s wrong.

  The Pixie brings me back to the reality that’s my life–living in this cold, dreadful, basement, and the memories about that incident quickly fade away.

  “Nothing, hon, it’s nothing. I need to get myself ready,” I tell her, knowing this is only one of my many lies.

  They’re like miniature, little children, except they have pointed ears. I’ve tried to find out where they’re from, but the books are pretty vague. Their wings are beautifully translucent, sprinkled with golden pixie dust as they flutter about and their bodies are so tiny they fit into the palm of my hand.

  Lenin and Jetli are rude and mischievous. I’ve tried teaching them manners, but they just don’t seem to get that farting in front of humans or shifters is so very inappropriate.

  “So what are we going to do today, Astri?” Lenin asks, flying around me while I try to find something decent to wear. I live with my aunt and uncle who are both humans. They raised me after my parents died because my other family wanted nothing to do with me. “I’ve been thinking, you know… How about I pour vinegar into Richard’s tea? Can you imagine his face when he spits the whole thing out all over the kitchen in front of your aunt?”

  I point my finger toward Lenin, trying not to laugh while attempting to look angry that he’s even considering something so mischievous.

  Jetli thinks it’s hilarious. She’s already rolling on the floor, holding her tiny belly.

  Oh yes, those two love annoying humans in general. My aunt and uncle especially. We all live in a huge detached house in a very nice human neighbourhood.

  “I’m going to get in the shower, Lenin, and if you behave then we'll do something exciting today,” I say.

  I have to walk through the main part of the house to get to the bathroom.

  The basement’s often used as a storage, and I had to adapt to the fact that there’s not much space to move around down here. The basement’s where my aunt and uncle moved me after my nightmares became too much for them–I was an embarrassment. They needed to remind me I was never meant to be part of their family.

  Richard and Beatrice had no children of their own. They never showed me any warmth or affection. I just had to be quiet and pretend as if I was never there, then things remained under control.

  I manage to sneak into the bathroom without bumping into anyone in the hallway, which
is a hell of a relief. I switch the shower on and for a long moment I stare at my scarred face in the mirror. My pale skin on the left cheek is completely deformed, and it looks disgusting. I always knew I was hit with a blow-back spell—the scar runs all the way down to my neck, creating a perfect balance between ugly and disturbing. I can’t stand staring at it.

  I’m a full-blooded dragon shifter from the Wyvern’s clan, yet the creature inside me turned against its own kind due to powerful magical forces beyond my control. I haven’t found a way to get rid of the scar. Spells, potions and formulas aren’t working and I don’t know if anything ever will.

  The mage managed to manipulate my magic and turn it against me; now I know his identity. It’s still a bit of shock.

  I step into the shower and ten minutes later I’m running back to the basement, contemplating my revenge.

  “Watch where you’re going, Astri. You nearly made me spill my coffee!” snarls the unpleasant voice belonging to my Uncle Richard. He’s a tall man, over six feet, broad with a huge stomach and ugly, thick moustache. He’s dressed in a grey suit and a boring, black tie. His eyes rove over my face and he instantly cringes. The scar—my aunt and uncle hate I don’t look like everyone else. They think I’m a freak of nature, someone who should be kept in a cage.

  “Sorry, Uncle,” I mutter under my breath. For now, I have to obey their rules because I’m forced to live under their roof.

  “What time are you going to be home today?” he asks, when I try to walk past him. The water’s dripping down my body, onto the floor and I’m shivering with cold chills. I wish I’d dressed in the bathroom, then this whole meeting could’ve been avoided.

  “Same time. Around eight,” I respond.

  “All right, just use the back entrance. We have guests tonight and it’s better if they don’t see you,” Richard says, reminding me no one in his firm knows I’m part of their prestigious family.