Andor needed a better body.

Unknown to the other drunken patrons of The Dragon's Head, the wraith's dark spirit had controlled the fresh corpse of a tattered peasant nobody had yet found. It was wise to choose such a character so that Andor could blend in with the rest and become invisible.

No one paid much attention to a grubby farmhand.

His more permanent physical host would require much more agility and strength to defeat Magnus in battle. Andor knew all too well his brother's lean draconic physique could prove surprisingly deceptive. Back when they had both shared the same body, they'd fooled so many foes into complacency.

Best not to fall for my own trick.

Andor didn't want to fight. If only Magnus could see reason and end the foolish Split once and for all, they could reunite in peace. Alas, his foolish half always complicated matters: Only with his explicit consent could Andor rejoin him.

But Magnus would not consent. Neither to rejoining with his brother nor to going back home. Andor knew this to be true, though he dared not to explore too carefully how he could have been so certain.

Reap the harvest, his Queen had said.

And he would. But not without a powerful body.

Andor knew one thing above all: Magnus would never deign to amuse himself at a tavern where students and travelers succumbed to their base desires. Here Andor could observe his potential hosts without any danger of being discovered by his haughty twin.

To the tune of manic fiddles and flutes, the other patrons pressed up against each other's sweating bodies. Arguing, eating, drinking, dancing, celebrating, and breathing words of forbidden lust.

All Andor's host had wanted was a warm meal.

Andor ambled toward the roaring hearth, his knobbly knees almost buckling under him from poor nutrition. The autumn chill had frozen him to the bone. It persisted. Still the warmth from both the fire and the multitude of bodies embraced him like a tender lover.

But the stench did not.

That smacked him in the face like a cast-iron frying pan. Even the scent of freshly baked bread and hot stew couldn't overpower the potent combination of sweat and stale ale.

While Andor warmed up, he grimaced at the trophy hanging above the mantle. The one that had given the tavern its namesake. On the brick chimney the owner had placed a huge stuffed shadow dragon head. Scales as dark as night. Glimmering in the flickering flames.

The wraith recognized him as one of the truly noble generals from the last great battle with the Light, slain by the fearsome Monster of Minningen, General Stormbringer.

Once Andor had rejoined with Magnus, he could challenge the dwarf general in combat and return with his disgusting head on a pike. Only together could they manage it. If so, they would be hailed as one of the greatest warriors Teufelwald had ever created.

They would atone for their crimes at last, and his Queen would gaze upon him with pride.

Andor turned to the boisterous gathering in the far corner where Hilda, the defiler's daughter, partied with her friends. They were celebrating some great achievement. Though what exactly, they did not reveal.

It would have been so easy to attack her. But Andor could not bring himself to do so.

Fierce loyalty, gruff kindness, and crass but jovial humor radiated from her like a warm blanket. Her magnetism plucked the strings in his draconic soul to make soothing music.

She was not a monster like her father.

This one Andor would not kill unless she gave him no choice.

The shadow dragon stared at Andor with large reptilian eyes, his pupils narrowed in silent accusation. Traitor! I can sense your doubt. Your soul has always craved the Light.

Andor smacked the side of his head as though that would silence the hissing voice inside him. I am one with the Shadow. I will find Magnus and bring him back.

Weakling! Don't deny it. You will become one with the Light.

A dancing couple crashed into him, drunk and oblivious, knocking Andor from his reverie. The half-giant extended a hand to him in apology. "Sorry!"

It was the one they called Harald, a towering pillar of bulky human flesh. Once Andor shook his hand, the man escorted his gracile elf to a discreet corner of the tavern. There he pawed at his woman as though desperate for their bodies to become one. The blonde gave a sultry moan under her breath, grinding against him to the beat of frantic drums.

Andor stared at them in wonder at the striking resemblance. My Queen...

Despite his host's desperate hunger, his aching body responded to their movements. Secretly desiring. Coveting the body of the half-giant so that he could touch the woman who resembled his Queen. Perhaps this elf would deign to show him her true affection.

Her love.

Since his Queen had refused to forsake others for him—and had decided to cast him away to find Magnus, the other half she preferred—perhaps Andor should forsake her too.

Just for one night.

Raucous laughter erupted like Mount Balaam from Hilda's group, drawing Andor's attention away from the erotic couple. He'd watched them all night. Unlike the others, the half-giant would be a perfect host. Thanks to a sixth sense only dragons could possess, Andor could perceive their relative strengths and weaknesses in waves of heat and cold.

Only Harald had just the right combination.

One creature of the Light was physically weak despite her strong mind and heart—the wizard they called Kara. Her headstrong spirit would prove difficult to overcome. And for what? A pathetic frame with useless curves and a nondescript pasty face, probably from spending too much time indoors hunched over books.

No way could he use the wizard to convince Magnus, a dragon with a heart as cold as ice. Unlike Andor, he had no passion. No desire. Even the blonde elf would not sway him, much less a plain human such as Kara.

Hilda impressed him greatly thanks to both her physical prowess and strength of spirit, but she was a dwarf. Wraiths could not meld with her kind. Besides, she lacked any impressive height, which would put him at a distinct disadvantage against someone as tall as Magnus.

But the giant male? That one had potential in more ways than one. Harald lacked a strong mind and heart, making him an easy target. Besides, his impressive physique more than made up for his deficiencies.

More importantly, Harald could barely string two words together, which made his speech patterns easy to imitate.

Yes, I can overpower you very easily indeed as soon as I catch you alone. Andor homed in on Harald and waited in the shadows ready to pounce. You have drunk too much, and human bodies cannot keep their liquid for long.

After the song had ended, Harald kissed his partner and led her back to the table. But he did not join her.

Instead, the giant guzzled the rest of his tankard and gave a loud burp. "I gotta take a piss. Hold the seat for me, babe."

"Only for you," purred her sweet voice, which teased and tickled Andor's spirit.

If only his Queen could speak so kindly. If only his Queen could touch him the way the elf touched Harald. If only his Queen could gaze at him with such warm tenderness.

Soon...

When Harald stumbled out back, Andor followed him from afar. Stealthy as a Teufelwalder lynx. As soon as the wraith turned around and realized no one had followed him, he sloughed off the peasant's corpse like an old snakeskin.

It sank to the ground with a soft thud. Thank you, friend.

Andor's dark spirit slipped through the stone walls of the tavern and hovered in the dark behind the warrior, waiting for him to finish his business.

No need to make things messy.

After he'd tucked himself away, Andor attacked. The wraith enveloped the half-giant in a cloud of poisonous smoke. The helpless creature stumbled away to no avail, crashing into a wooden gate. He swatted at the tendrils of smoke as frantic as a broken windmill, but they slipped through his fingers like silk.

Once Harald began to breathe heavily in distress, the smoke plummeted down his nose and throat. Andor squeezed the air from his host's lungs.

Choking and gasping, Harald clutched his chest before clawing at his throat. The wraith knew he had to act quickly rather than savoring the kill. If anyone else came to relieve themselves, he would have to abandon the host and start the search again.

But Harald succumbed all too soon. Before the half-giant took his final breaths, weakly kicking his legs at nothing but air, he choked out a plaintive, "Why?"

"Because you were there," came the wraith's chilling reply.

With a final squeeze, Andor crushed the human's spirit and expelled it from the corpse. Simpler than he had hoped. The body slumped, lifeless, ready for him to assume control.

Shocking the heart back to life, the wraith traveled up his host's spinal column and into his brain, reigniting it with a spark. Only Andor's spirit could control the dead man now.

The host opened his eyes with a spluttering cough and grasped at his burning throat and chest. Thanks to plenty of alcohol, a gentle warmth radiated from his skin. His peckish belly grumbled while his loins ached with a different kind of need. It felt both foreign and strange.

I'm alive! For the first time in six years, I feel strong.

He stared in awe at his large hands, his long limbs, his powerful core, his—

A dwarf burst through the rear exit of the tavern and marched toward him. It was Hilda! Her flaming red braided beard swayed as she leveled her eyes at him.

"Curse me, Harald! That drunk already?" she asked in a gruff Dwarvish accent. "Break any more gates, and we'll never be welcome here again."

Andor balked.

She extended her hand to him, one larger than a human male's. He grasped it and hoisted himself to his feet, out of the slippery mud.

"Come on! Up ya get!" She winked at him. "Don't want to keep Astrid waiting."

"Astrid?"

"Light above, you are hammered," she muttered. "Ya know, the blonde rogue you've chatted up all night? The one you're pretending to plow while calling it dancing?"

Ah, Astrid! That was the beautiful woman's name. All the idiot had ever called her was babe, like she was some kind of toy or child rather than a woman to adore and treasure.

"Sorry, I'm quite..." Andor hiccuped and cringed at the burning in his lungs. "Drunk."

"Oh, well! Ya secret's safe with me." The dwarf slapped his back. "Go get 'er, wildcat."

When Andor ambled through the tavern with blurred vision, he stumbled, unused to limbs as thick and long as tree trunks. He hoped he could pass it off as drunkenness.

Perhaps it was only drunkenness. It had been so long since he'd enjoyed a pint of ale that Andor had forgotten what it felt like.

Andor's eyes widened when he met Astrid for the first time. The radiant elf brought to life vivid flashbacks of his Queen. Her radiant locks of gold. Her delicious curves. With his host's fierce need stirring, how could he resist? This lady's eerie resemblance to the woman he held dear made his heart thunder and ache in equal measure.

Two tight side braids, interwoven with green ivy and tiny white flowers, separated the golden hair on her crown from the rest, which hung down in luscious curls to her waist.

She stared at him with gray eyes as sharp as a blade, her full lips parted, inviting him nearer. Andor's blood rushed through his veins.

All he could see was her. Only Astrid didn't seem to possess her cruelty. Her malice. She was warm. She was strong. And she was his.

Forgive me, my Queen. My heart is yours, but I ache for human touch.

"About time," quipped Astrid as he sat beside her. "I was beginning to think—"

Drunk and overcome with unfamiliar sensations of the giant's lust, Andor cupped her face and pressed his lips to hers. She stiffened at first. Self-conscious at her rejection, Andor blushed and began to pull away.

But the beautiful creature grasped him forcefully by the shirt and kissed him back with even greater fervor. So sweet. So gentle. So unlike his Queen in the depths of her heart.

Andor's heart swelled with pride. I adore you.

His host's friends cheered and pounded the oak table in unison, barking their approval.

"About time!" shouted Hilda.

"I've waited six years for this moment," whispered Astrid in his ear before grazing his lobe with her teeth. The unfamiliar sensation made him shudder. "Let's get out of here."

Though his body responded powerfully to her touch in a way he did not regret, Andor's heart clenched. What would she say? His glorious Shadow Queen?

For once, Andor didn't care.

___

Word count: 2,142
Total word count: 8,799/8,000 

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