Tick. Tick. Tick. Maxwell Rogers could hear every tick coming from the antique mahogany mantle clock on his father's mantle as he re-read the letter from the estate attorney. His father, Maxwell Rogers Sr., founder and CEO of Rogers Technologies Incorporated, had passed away a little over 2 weeks ago. Maxwell and his father had never been close and their relationship could often have been described as antagonistic at best but there had never been any doubt who would inherit the man's fortune - until now.

Maxwell's pale icy blue eyes tiredly read the letter over and over again as though he would glean new information at any moment or find out the whole thing was a joke. With a slow flick of his wrist he swirled the melting ice in his aged scotch before downing the last drops, the burn down his throat somehow soothing compared to the burn of the letter in his hands. As though it were burning him, Maxwell dropped the letter onto his father's executive style desk. He ran his fingers through his curly brown hair with an exasperated sigh. He was going to have to get married in the next 30 days or he wouldn't just lose his father's company but everything. He would be penniless and he had no intention of becoming part of the common rabble. He could hire someone to marry him but he'd risk them not holding up their end of the bargain. No. It had to be someone not from his world that would be willing to sign an NDA. He'd also have to live with this person for at least 10 years as their was a stipulation on his inheritance about divorce.

Damn the old man. It wasn't enough that Maxwell already worked at the tech conglomerate despite having fought that losing battle since his teenage years but now to continue the lifestyle he had come accustomed to, the lifestyle his father had thrust upon him, he now had to get married? It wasn't even like the old bastard believed in the sanctity of marriage - he'd been married six times before his death. The old man had done this because he didn't think Maxwell could do it. Granted, Maxwell had never really had a relationship since high school, more like a revolving door of conquests that even surprised him with how he escaped with no diseases or children at this point.

"Game on Old Man," Maxwell growled as he poured himself another drink.

As she walked along the street the tiny dragon in her pocket stirred restlessly. She patted her dirty hand comfortingly over the thin fabric to quiet the baby down. She knew if she were caught with the thing she would be executed right along with the dragon. That wouldn’t do. No. This was their chance. Not just the chance for her or even the dragon but for the whole country. A living dragon had not been found outside the palace since the dragon riders had been put to death nearly six hundred years ago. She needed to find the resistance, give them the dragon so they could figure out what to do with it.

Her hand still curled around the dragon she walked through the city streets. No one paid her any mind; she was covered in the dust and grime of her apprenticeship as a blacksmith. She wouldn’t have an easy life but she would never go hungry with the skills she was learning. What was she doing? Should she be risking everything, including her very life, to save this dragon? She didn’t even know if the Resistance was real or if it was just something travelers in the bar told the gullible kids and young adults as a way to amuse themselves.

The shops became more and more dilapidated the further south she headed. She wanted to go somewhere where no one would feel it necessary to talk to a city guard. She brushed her flaxen hair out of her emerald green eyes as she approached a butcher’s stall. Quietly she placed a single gold coin on the counter.

The vendor, a man with a large gut and a stained apron barely clinging to him snatched it up and bit the coin to verify it was real. He didn’t dare ask where she had gotten the coin from but took it all the same. He cut about a half pound of good meat and wrapped it up in old wanted notices for her.

Tucking the meat under her shirt to keep it from view she hurried home, taking side streets wherever she could to avoid the eyes of the city guard, not that they were looking for the young blacksmith apprentice. She was a pretty slip of a girl but she was well known for being hard headed and independent. Side effects of being an orphan at a young age.

Her home was old but nice, she had made repairs over the years that added character. The front steps she had replaced with left over brick she had bartered for, the mortar she’d made herself and a quiet summer afternoon was passed as she worked. The wooden door was sturdy if weathered from age, it served its purpose. She locked it behind her and made sure the curtains at the front windows were drawn so no passerby could see in, not that many people walked about in the slums where she lived.

The roof was a mix of different woods as she repaired holes with whatever she could get her hands on. A single oversized armchair sat near the hearth of the fireplace that dominated the small living room. She set to work getting a fire going, pulling the small purple dragon out of her pocket so it could warm itself by the fire. She laughed as the dragon, just slightly larger than a lizard stretched out with a yawn before curling up like a kitten and dozing off.

With a sharp knife from the kitchen she began to cut the meat into strips, setting some aside for the dragon to have raw while she made stew for herself. The aroma of roasting meat filled the small cottage when her blood ran cold. There was a sharp knock at the door.

The waitress walked over and whispered in the stranger's ear, “You have to leave because your life is in danger."

Strange, to see her here. She seemed out of place. Not the soft out-of-place, like an uncle entertaining unfamiliar nieces and nephews, but the hard of out-of-place which drew every eye in the room. He watched from a shadowy distance, intrigued by her presence. What could a girl like her possibly need in a place like this? Whatever it was, he hoped she knew the risk, though he doubted she did.

His cool grey eyes traced her lithe frame as she went up to the bartender and quietly asked for someone or something. He sighed when he saw the bartender escort her to the backroom. He didn’t know why he was getting involved but he was inexplicably drawn to the girl. He left his shadowy corner but no one seemed to pay him any mind, though most preferred not to meddle in the affairs of vampires.

It must have all been some kind of sick joke, right? She had only gone to the stupid soothsayer’s booth at the county fair because all of her friends were going. They had all gotten the general “you’re going to have a long life and meet a handsome man who will sweep you off your feet” routine. The soothsayer was an old Romani woman and played up that aspect. She draped herself in flowy purple fabric with a worryingly excessive amount of gold bangles and earrings. Her fingers were gnarled like the roots of an old oak tree, covered in gaudy fake gold rings.

The woman almost fainted when she read her palm and hastily consulted the tarot cards. “This is no good,” the Romani woman rasped out. “I am sorry to tell you, but you have only a few days left on this earth.”

“What?”

“The cards, they do not lie. Your fate is tied to a man, a stranger with blond hair and dazzling blue eyes. Find him. Before it’s too late.”

She couldn’t ask any more questions as the Romani woman had insisted on closing up her booth for the night, lighting cleansing incense as she went.