Chapter 1: The Girl With The Red Hair

AN: Hey guys. This is my first draft of The Light Prince of Ligera. While I read it over before posting, there is no guarantee I caught all the editing errors. So please bear with me. While this is a harem fantasy adventure, there are clear elements of gore, explicit sex, harsh language--the works. If you are triggered by any of these then please select another story. LPL is crazy business. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy my work and stick around.

I will try to post regularly, but keep in mind that I am also tending to three other series, some on kindle so they won't be available here. If you'd like to support my work, you can subscribe to my new .

If you'd like to read my kindle books, visit my online store by searching my name, Troy Maverick, on Amazon.

I am fairly new to the game, so if you like or don't like something, please don't hesitate to let me know. I love crits. Thanks!

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Lucian

Dragonlord Placidusax had been kicking my ass last night, and I stayed up later than I’d like to admit trying to beat that hellish boss. Granted, all of my hours of hard work went down the fucking drain, and now I was late for my shift at my grandmother’s café shop. Brush, wash, eat, repeat. Only this morning I would skip breakfast to make up for the four hours I missed at the register.

-eh hem-

I was sure my Nonna wouldn’t have a problem with it, seeing as I skipped the whole going to college thing to save her business a year ago. I had so much to look forward to, the world opened to so many possibilities for me. I was a six-plus frame, lean and clean, engineering machine. And it was safe to say the ladies loved a guy who was triple stacked—nerdy, built, and attractive. Don’t get me wrong, I was no Adonis, but I hadn’t met a chick yet who was able to resist my messy brown hair, gray gentle eyes, and razor-sharp jawline.

But, like I said, I was bolted down to this lifestyle that had blindsided me. A year ago, my Nonna needed to save her business, and of course, I had jumped in and lent a helping hand. Helping around her shop wasn’t something I planned on doing permanently. But, I was bringing in so many customers that she’d begged me to stay.

Mostly women of course.

From high school girls, to soccer moms, and, dare I say, feisty ol’ maids from that nursing home two blocks down—I attracted all types. And it didn’t help that my Nonna was super religious, or that she lived with me in my apartment. So no snu snu until I was married.

Little did she know…

In my Nonna’s eyes, I was the purest grandson she could have asked for: kind, caring, and a total gentleman with a sailor mouth.

Something had to give, right?

I wouldn’t keep my grandmother waiting though, dashing out of our apartment with my apron in my backpack, running down to Giovanna’s Cafe which was seven blocks down from our condo complex.

We lived in the city of Syracuse in Central New York where the roads were busy and the sidewalks even busier. I’d gotten used to the lack of space, the towering on top of people, and the ridiculous traffic. My Nonna said it hadn’t always been this way, like, something crazy increased the population a little before I was born. The growth was irregular even for New York. She couldn’t tell me what caused it though, no one could, and even though it had slightly decreased, I wouldn’t know the difference unless someone who had been here longer told me.

So I made my way down Bermin’s Street using my elbow as a path sweeper, rushing as fast as I could to the café. I didn’t mind the dense people; what I did mind was the strange surge in homicides that had started happening lately. That’s what stopped my stride right in front of my Nonna’s café, the rubber in my heels burning as I made a sharp stop right across the booth with the flat screen TV hanging over it.

I couldn’t hear much, but the visuals were clear enough for me to make out what was happening. The headline sliding from one end of the bottom screen to the other read in big bold letters:

‘Scorched Unidentified Body Washed Up To Shore’

Not the best news to have with your morning coffee or gin if you ask me, but this type of shit always made me feel a certain way, especially seeing as this rise of homicides started jumping right after my mother had been murdered two years ago.

About the same time my father went missing…

I told myself to make nothing of it. It had become so common and regular, that people stopped batting an eye to it. We became immune, tuning in just to see if the last location was close enough to where we were living. And if it were, we’d run extra high-end security and maybe board up our windows and doors.

Sure ADT loved the back end of that.

I zoned out to the news, someone’s current crisis triggering my past ones. The fact that no one had been arrested or convicted of this trail of crimes was crazy to me, this scumbag targeting both men and women alike. Granted there were more male victims, but no one could connect the reason for that.

I took one long unsettling sigh and squinted, my attention snatched by my grandma in the far background inside the café, waving her hands manically behind the counter.

Shit, maybe I was in trouble with her after all.

I waved back, being cheeky with her, even gave her a huge proud smile before I skipped in like Snow White just to grind her gears.

Nonna was so prune-faced right now…

“Where are my rabbits, chipmunks and birds to sip my morning cup of tea with me?” I said in a pitched voice, acting exceptionally cheery with her while she fed me that mean glare.

“How about I give you a grumpy dwarf, Lucian?” she fired, putting her hands at her hips.

“Heh, don’t insult yourself like that, Nonna, you’re at least four foot ten!”

That back head slap, I deserved it. Super funny that she had to jump up to reach for it, though. But I loved my little angry sassy Italian. Her attitude was spicy, her soul was sugary, and she knew her way around the kitchen. Hence, why I hadn’t shoved her out of my apartment yet.

Haha, nah, I was messing around, she was amazing. I looked up to her like my mother, my little old lady always out for me, ready to straighten me out, and choke me out too with her huge chunky hugging arms.

“Hurry up and get into that apron and start busting that cash register!” she barked, in that charming Brooklyn accent. I did as I was told, looking at the dining room, noticing medium volume. And then I noticed something else, or should I say, someone else.

Badda bing—that fine as wine strawberry jam with extra filling. She was sitting at table nine by herself, with that fat hardcover book over her eyes, pretending like she wasn’t paying attention to me. My Nonna must have noticed me staring, walking over to me and whispering over my shoulder, “You know, she’s been sitting there ever since I opened shop. Didn’t order a damn thing.”

“Yeah?”

“I think she’s waiting for you.”

Three days in a row, now. She’d stalked me ever since I knocked into her that day on the street, picking up her jacket while I was running to work. I mean, I knew I was something to look at, but I was nowhere near her league. The girl was a total bombshell, with that long springy ginger hair, those amber eyes, and that hourglass figure that would have any straight man doing a double take. For some reason she found me interesting, interesting enough to wait in my grandmother’s café for hours until I showed up.

It wasn’t until she got up off her seat, tired with all of that flirty back and forth glancing, did I notice the dress she wore. It hugged those delicious curves perfectly in forest green, the bottom of that number stopping only two inches off that heart-shaped ass of hers.

“Good morning,” she greeted me, with a voice as soft and sweet as honey.

“More like good afternoon, now,” I said with a cheeky smile.

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“You are late.”

“When am I not?” I teased.

“Well, I don’t trust anyone else to make my regular but you, tasty barista.”

“Eh, are you calling me tasty, or your pink powerhouse latte?”

“Hmm, maybe both,” she flirted, my nosy grandma whistling when she made her exit to the back.

“I’m finding it hard to believe you waited all this time for me. You come this way for leisure?”

“You can say that. It’s not like I’m working.”

“So, what do you do for a living?” I asked, while preparing her drink behind the counter. She was noticeably older than me, but not by much. I was twenty, so maybe she was like in her late twenties, early thirties? Didn’t matter to me either way. I didn’t discriminate, taking all types of women, except for maybe cougars over twice my age.

She waited a bit before she answered my question, as if she had to think about it, leaning into the counter with that low cut collar smiling at me.

I tried hard not to stare, with a rack like that ready to hypnotize me. “I’m a painter,” she finally said. “I sell art to the highest bidder. So, I guess you can say that I’m self-employed.”

“Sounds like a good business for you to have enough time to be waiting for me at an ol’ café shop,” I jested.

“It pays reasonably well. I also like to do some figure art in my downtime. Are you interested in modeling?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you have the body for it,” she cooed, tossing me a raunchy look.

My eyes grew, her distracting comment nearly making me overtop her latte. I pulled the blender jar away from her medium sized cup, chuckling nervously at her compliment. Was she... picturing me naked? That was what figure art was, right? A bunch of naked poses while someone else drew you?

“Should I take that as, you’re not interested? I promise, it pays well.”

“How about you take me out on a date first before getting me in my birthday suit?”

She giggled, hiding that shy smile behind her hand.

“Should I take that as a yes?” I sang.

“Sure, you can take me out. How about tonight?”

I placed the lid on her drink and handed her the order with a straw on the countertop. Before she could reach into her purse I interjected, “It’s on the house. You know, for waiting on me.” I smiled. “And yeah, tonight is fine.”

She didn’t seem thrilled about me taking her offer though, those amber eyes suddenly lost on my chest.

Eh, that was a good thing, right?

But she was a different type of lost, leaning into me while her eyes squinted hard. “What is that?”

I looked down, noticing that she was distracted by my necklace. “Oh, this? Something my old man gave me a few years ago before he… um, left.” Actually disappeared, around the same time my mother was murdered, but I didn’t tell her that. I didn’t want our first conversation taking a gloomy turn.

“It’s… beautiful,” she sang, her hand dangling over it, almost like she was afraid to touch it. “What’s it made out of?”

The metal that looked like a spearhead with a yellow gem in it? Honestly, I didn’t know. “Hmm, maybe citrine, wrapped with tungsten. Your guess is probably as good as mine.”

“No, that’s not tungsten. And that gem, certainly not citrine. It looks like something out of this world... Almost like… I can see a whole other universe through—” she stopped short, reeling herself back while she cleared her throat. “What a lovely gift from your father… um,” she stuttered, an opening for me to give her my name.

“The name is Lucian,” I said, always forgetting my name tag at home.

She smiled sweetly, like she was overcompensating. “Nicole.”

While her reaction to my father’s gift was a bit off, it was nothing for her to feel sheepish about. I looked at it like any other piece of jewelry, my father begging me to wear it at all times. Didn’t know why, and still didn’t have a clue, honestly. But I abided by this strange law ever since he had given it to me.

Under this wild superstition that if I took it off, something bad would happen.

Thanks, Dad.

“Well, let me not keep your line up,” she said, my head poking behind her, where nothing stood but air.

I snickered. “Sheesh, you could have thought of a better escape route than that. If you were sick of me already, you could have just said so.”

She chuckled. “A sense of humor too. I like that.” Nicole took her drink, then fished into her purse for a folded note. “See you tonight, Lucian.”

She puckered up and blew me a kiss, and I got to watch that bouncy backside make it out the front door. I picked up the folded sticky note she gave me, Miss Nicole leaving this lucky barista with her digits.

A Friday night was a great night to go out, too.

 

 

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