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Serving My Dragon

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Book Cover: Serving My Dragon
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Part of the The Dragocracy Chronicles series:
  • Training My Human
  • Serving My Dragon
  • Taming My Human

My name is Matias and my life has become a soap opera since a bossy dragon adopted me.

I found a half-drowned lizard while hiking, but the hungry reptile isn’t the only thing I picked up in Charcani Chico. Kayleigh, a beautiful and curvy woman with amnesia, needs my help, too.

Somehow, they both end up living in my house and that’s where the craziness starts. First off, turns out the little lizard I came across is a dragon. How do I know? Because she told me! Yes, my little Pollita can talk, and she’s making grandiose plans for the future.

If I can keep her safe.

That won’t be easy because it turns out Kayleigh’s amnesia wasn’t caused by an accident. Someone tried to murder her because she was a witness to Pollita’s attempted kidnapping.

To keep both Pollita and Kayleigh safe, we end up hiding out in the jungle for a while. However, trouble ends up finding us in our piece of paradise.

Who knew that serving a tiny, demanding dragon would have me living out my very own telenovela? Bring on the danger, drama, and excitement, because I’m ready to face it all for love.

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Available on: 2025-08-14
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
dark humor, dragon romance, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Prologue

Ah, the sweet heat of magma roasting my shell. I squirmed inside my egg, knowing my hatching neared. I’d waited long enough. I couldn’t measure time while nestled in my cocoon, but having dreamed for so long, I would wager many years had passed since my maternal progenitor dropped me in a volcano.

It was the fate of all unhatched to be at the mercy of the erratic cycle of volcanoes. Some erupted with regularity, others without warning, some never. At least mine finally proved fruitful. Soon I would burst into the world and claim my territory.

My shell began to thin and cracks appeared. In my excitement I flailed, pushing at the weak spots, bursting free from my egg. I emerged in a river of lava. So warm and cozy. I could have floated in it forever, but my tummy rumbled, demanding I feed.

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Despite just hatching and having rather weak limbs, I swam to the edge of the magma river flowing downward and clambered out. A shake of my body dispelled the molten rock before it could harden. My inherited memories let me know this would have been unpleasant.

The air smelled of sulfur and smoke and I inhaled deeply. My first breaths. How marvelous. While the area around the volcano had a distinct lack of anything edible—only charred stumps, for the most part—in the distance, I spotted greenery. Trees! Where there was foliage there would be life. The crunchy, yummy, belly-filling kind.

I waddled as fast as my short legs would go—the only choice being walking, as my kind didn’t hatch with wings—and tired quickly as my newly-hatched muscles protested. It would take time and food to build my strength. The latter being the simplest thing to accomplish quickly.

The jungle canopy filtered some of the smoke and ash from the air. Pity, as I quite enjoyed the aroma. I trudged through the foliage, listening for movement, sniffing and looking for a sign of something edible nearby.

None of the animal traces were recent, leaving me to grab what fruit I could find lying on the ground and flourishing in bushes. Nutritious, but lacking the muscle-building benefit of meat.

I hunted, moving further into the jungle, and my senses became more attuned as I digested my first meal. When my hearing sharpened, I realized something was following me.

Who would dare hunt a dragon?

Probably something looking to destroy me before I became too strong. It was ever a weakness of our kind to be hatched so small and ineffectual.

A glance at a tree showed a branch suitable for watching. I clambered upwards, my claws short but still enough to give me purchase. Perched upon a limb, I waited.

Crack. Murmur. Not an animal tracking me, but humans; the question being, were they the kind that worshipped dragons or those that sought to murder us?

A cluster of people paused under my tree. Two females and five males wearing strange garments. What country had I landed in that women wore trousers? My memories had females usually dressed in gowns of some sort.

The women, their heads encased in strange hats and veils, chattered. The males huddled in a group to converse. The language they used resembled nothing from my inherited collective. That would make giving them orders difficult. Hard to make a servant obey if they didn’t understand.

Then again, these most likely weren’t the serving type. I noticed one of the males had a metallic cage strapped to his back while the others held strange devices in their hands.

A thickset male pulled out a finger-sized white stick and put a flame to the end. This caused the smaller woman to go into a harangue. The male sucked on the white tube and blew smoke in her face. The petite one grew even more irate. She gesticulated and became quite strident. Surprisingly, the men didn’t slap her or make her stop, and of more interest, the one smoking extinguished his white stick. Fascinating. Had I hatched near a matriarchal society? Not very common, but encouraging, given my sex.

The curvier female took a turn speaking and pointing in the direction from which they’d arrived. That led to much head shaking. A male grabbed his groin and thrust his hips, which in turn resulted in the woman huffing and turning her back on him.

The comedy of it had me snickering.

And they heard.

The petite female glanced upward and spotted me despite the veil she wore over her face and eyes. She pointed and yelled in that unfamiliar language leading everyone to stare at me, but did they gape in admiration? Nope. I quickly discovered the strange objects the males held could fire missiles! Not very well, as it turned out, since the small, tufted arrows missed me. Still, I did not wait to see if they would get better. I leapt to another limb and raced across it, jumping again at its tip to grab at the next branch on another tree.

The humans followed.

Perhaps if I’d not been newly hatched, or had properly fed, I’d have had the stamina to outpace them. Alas, I tired too quickly. I encountered even more ill luck as the line of trees ended. As did the ground. I scampered down the trunk and raced to the edge of the cliff and peered down.

So far down.

A river ran below, dotted with rocks. The sheer face of the bluff showed few handholds, the rock not permeable enough for me to grip with my small claws.

The noise of my enemy crashing through brush alerted me to their imminent arrival. A glance showed them emerging from the jungle, spread out in a line.

Two of them held out the tiny arrow launchers while another unstrapped the cage. The tallest of the males crouched and walked towards me, crooning, as if I’d suddenly meekly allow myself to be captured.

The curvy female inserted herself in front of him, her hand waving, her tone angry.

He yelled back and took a menacing step towards her.

Perhaps the women didn’t have power over the males after all.

When the man would have stalked past her to reach me, the female grabbed hold of his arm. The male, his expression twisted in anger, grabbed hold of her and shoved. Shoved hard enough the woman stumbled and kept reeling right over the edge of the cliff.

This predictably led to the other female wailing as she tore at her veil, screaming as she hit her knees.

In my distraction, I’d not been paying the other males any mind.

An arrow launched and as I jerked to avoid it, my foot slipped and I lost my balance. For a second I teetered, then I fell. Plummeted fast. If I had my wings, I would have swooped to safety.

But I was but newly hatched. Not even a day old. Unfed. Weak. Undeniably unlucky.

I hit the water hard and knew no more.

Chapter 1

It had been a good day’s hike, and I dropped my knapsack on the ground as I surveyed the shore of the river snaking through Charcani Chico. The view never failed to calm. Just what I’d needed after the insane hours I’d been putting in at work.

When I’d gone to study dentistry at Cayetano Heredia Peruvian University in the city of Lima—a sixteen-hour drive that meant not visiting home often during those years, breaking Mama’s heart—I’d been excited to open my practice in Villa de Cayma where I’d been born and raised. I’d understood I’d probably be busy, I just never realized how insane it would get, especially since I did my best to keep costs reasonable, and in some cases, didn’t charge at all. For the families who couldn’t afford it, I usually provided care in exchange for a service. Like Luis, in pain because of a rotten root. He handled my garden. Or Maria, who’d needed several cavities filled. She repaid me by keeping my home clean—mine not Mama’s who’d been greatly offended when I made the offer.

But being so busy and trying to find ways to pay the bills when many of my clients provided food, goods, or service instead did take a toll. It was Mama who took one look at me and said, “You need a vacation.”

“I can’t,” I’d replied, already thinking of the long hours I’d have to put in the next week.

“You will, because if you don’t, you’ll be useless like your papa.”

It should be known my father was dead. Died of a heart attack at forty-nine because, as Mama lamented, “He wouldn’t listen and worked himself into an early grave.” Actually, his bad heart had been the true cause, but Mama did have a point. Burnout did happen, so I cleared my calendar for a week. A week where I’d have no one to answer to but myself. Seven days of hiking and reconnecting with nature, something I’d not done in years. I’d almost cancelled when Misti erupted. However, the volcano quickly settled and the winds kept the ash clouds away.

The emergency alert for the area didn’t last long. The government wasn’t eager to lose the tourism dollars they raked in from the Andes, which drew even more visitors with the eruption.

While environmental scientists claimed the area and waters safe, I’d been warned by Papa’s sister, Tía Carmelita, not to eat any fish as they could be contaminated with evil spirits. She claimed the volcano god Solimana was showing his displeasure at all the sinning happening in the world. The older members of my family tended to believe in the old legends. Me, not so much.

I chose to hike along the Rio Chili, the route popular with those looking for outdoor adventure. It ran through Charcani Chico, a canyon with breathtaking views that did much to reenergize my tired spirit as I spent days trekking its length.

Late afternoon, two days before I had to return to reality, I set up camp, knowing that this time of year dusk would arrive shortly, and I wanted to bathe before then so I could enjoy the sunset. I cleared an area of debris, using the rocks to form a ring to build a fire. It took me a bit longer to scrounge out some branches for kindling, not that I worried about getting cold. It was more about keeping the wildlife at bay. With that set up, I laid out my oversized sleeping bag—which I’d likely have to shake before I crawled in, in case any insects decided it looked comfy.

I’d heard my lack of tent and other amenities was called “wild camping.” I preferred it to the commercialized excursions offered to tourists that involved fancy tents with bendable poles that exploded into mini houses. Portable stoves. Inflatable mattresses. They even toted around composting toilets!

Personally, I preferred to interact with nature on a more basic level, hence I slept on the ground under the stars and did my business in the bushes or dug a hole.

I stripped out of my damp, sweat-drenched shirt and shorts but kept on my tight-fitting briefs and boots. Only an idiot—or someone who enjoyed leeches between their toes—went barefoot in Peruvian waters.

As I neared the shoreline with my shirt, which I’d decided to rinse and hang to dry overnight, my attention was caught by a lump splayed over the pebbles. A lizard-like creature had washed ashore, limp and unmoving. Most likely dead. I could have left it alone, but who knew what kind of carrion feeder it would draw. Skunk spray had nothing on vulture vomit.

Rather than touch it barehanded, I returned to my pack for some gloves. Nothing worse than digging your fingers into rotting flesh. I might have a stomach of steel, but some things made even a grown man’s gorge rise.

I returned to the small lizard, a type I’d never seen before, its skin a grayish hue. As I went to push the body into the water so it could continue downstream, it twitched. I withdrew my hand. Not dead after all but definitely injured.

What to do? Tío Santiago would claim I should leave it to the circle of life and allow it to die either of its injuries or because something would come along and eat it. However, to Mama’s annoyance, I’d been the kid who brought home all kinds of injured creatures growing up. A bird with a broken wing that I splinted and set free only to see it eaten by a condor. The mangy dog Bruno who’d been my companion for four years. The toad who’d lasted a whole summer before he mysteriously disappeared, coincidentally before Tía Consuela’s frog leg bake.

It had been a long time, though, since I’d taken in a stray. My life didn’t have room or time for a pet. A wild lizard wasn’t a domesticated animal, though, meaning it wouldn’t be a long-term commitment for me. Chances were, soon as it felt better it would scurry off. And if it didn’t, then on my way back I could drop it off at a wildlife sanctuary for them to handle.

I scooped up the reptile carefully, its body small and frail, but warm. I cradled it to my chest and brought it to my sleeping bag where I sat with it in my lap. I took a moment to carefully examine its limbs for any breakage or wounds. It seemed intact, and despite my lack of knowledge about lizard genitalia, most likely female.

Given her location by the shore, I concluded she must have fallen in the water and almost drowned. While she did seem to be breathing, I held her chest to my ear to see if I heard any gurgling in her lungs. Seemed okay, but just in case, I draped her over my shoulder, head hanging down so that gravity could pull out any moisture that might be trapped in her lungs. Right thing to do? No idea, but at least it felt logical.

I rubbed the lizard’s back much like you would a baby to get them to burp. In my case, it puked. Right down my bare spine. I grimaced. Good thing I hadn’t bathed or dressed yet. I strode with my little rescue back to the water and sank down to my haunches to submerge my lower half. I kept a hand on my rescue while the other scooped water and splashed the mess on my flesh. A few drops landed on the lizard, and she stirred, making a grunting noise.

Not wanting to be shredded by a waking and panicked wild reptile, I quickly waded to shore and gently placed her on the ground. I remained crouched and watched as she twitched and opened her eyes.

Two big, jewel-like orbs stared at me. Hunh. I’d never realized lizard eyes could be so pretty.

Since she kept looking at me, I smiled and softly said in Spanish, my native tongue, “Hello, pollita.” A word that meant little chickie.

She blinked.

“I hope you’re feeling better. You weren’t looking so good when I found you.”

The lizard sat up, obviously weak given how she wavered, the size of her barely more than my palm. She chattered in my direction, a surprise since I’d assumed lizards only ever hissed or flicked their tongues.

“I see you have much to say.” The corners of my eyes crinkled as I smiled. “Are you hungry?” I left her to dig into my pack, pulling forth a ripe lucuma. When I turned, I found the lizard only a pace behind me.

“Hold on while I cut it open.” I used my pocketknife to slice it in half before I crouched and held out the fruit. “Here.” I had no idea whether she’d even realized it could be eaten. I had little experience with lizards. Mama couldn’t abide reptiles or mice and had been known to chase them from the house with a broom while cursing them.

The dainty lizard grabbed the fruit and eyed it, then me.

I bit into the soft flesh. “Mmm. Good.”

Apparently, my action satisfied, for she stuck her face into it and took a bite. A bite that turned into a frenzy that left me open-mouthed as she finished it in seconds and held out her paws for the other half.

I handed it over, wondering how she could possibly eat any more given her size. Apparently, she must have been hungry, for the other half disappeared just as quickly. The lizard then stared at me and made a noise. A fanciful person would have imagined she asked for more.

“Let me see what else I have.” I dug into my bag and pulled out a bag of coconut chips. I sprinkled a bit on the ground and Pollita took one and sniffed it. Once more, I showed her it was edible by tossing a few in my mouth and crunching. That seemed to satisfy her, and the pile I’d given disappeared. Wouldn’t you know, she held out her paws, flexing the clawed fingers demandingly.

“Hungry girl,” I said with a laugh but I shook my head. “I think you’ve eaten enough for now. You don’t want to make yourself sick.” I tucked the snack away in my sack. “Let me get changed out of my wet bottoms and we’ll watch the sunset.”

The lizard crossed her arms and I’d swear she sulked. It made me curious as to what type of reptile she was. Tío Juan, my mother’s brother, who loved the outdoors, would have probably known.

I changed into dry shorts and then took my bottoms and shirt to the river to rinse them before hanging them on a bush to hopefully dry overnight. The lizard remained in my mini campsite, watching me. I’ll admit to being surprised she hadn’t run off. Could she be someone’s pet? It would explain why she had no fear of a human.

Given I didn’t want to scare her, I forwent lighting the fire and instead sat on my sleeping bag—after giving it a vigorous shake—in time for the sky’s change of color. The beauty of the sunset never failed to awe me. And this time I had someone watching it with me. To my surprise, the lizard crawled onto my legs and chose my lap to settle in. My hand lightly rested on her back, gently rubbing, noting a pair of strange lumps along her spine. She especially liked it when I rubbed the top of her head. The little pollita craned her head, uttering a sound that reminded me a of a purring cat.

When I slid into my sleeping bag, she crawled in with me, a warm bundle draped over my neck.

I woke at dawn, not because of the rising sun, but because of a lizard tapping my cheeks, chittering and shaking the empty bag of coconut chips.

Apparently, my little pollita was hungry again.

And she didn’t share.

COLLAPSE
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If you like Serving My Dragon, you might be interested in:
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Book Cover: New Pack Order

New Pack Order

Training My Human

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Book Cover: Training My Human
Find a StoreApple BooksGooglePlayKoboAmazon/KindleBarnes and Noble
Part of the The Dragocracy Chronicles series:
  • Training My Human
  • Serving My Dragon
  • Taming My Human

So it turns out dragons are real.

I never suspected the lava rock I threw into the firepit was actually an egg. I’m blown away when it hatches to reveal a reptile with a voracious appetite. Cute little bugger, until it learns to talk.

The bossy critter thinks he can order me around. Claims he’s a dragon. Says when he grows strong enough, he wants to rule the world. I say go ahead. He can’t do any worse than our current politicians.

However, his plans for planetary domination have hit a slight snag. Seems my little fella—who grumbles that I’m not honoring him properly—is wanted by the government. Or so the goons that show up on my property claim. I have my doubts as to their identities. Even if they’re telling the truth, I’m not about to hand over my new pet, but how’s a woman who inks tattoos for a living supposed to keep a dragon safe? The local pet shop owner—hunky, plaid-wearing Maddox—has a few ideas, but my little dragon isn’t keen on running.

Can I keep my dragon out of the clutches of those who’d steal him for personal gain? And if we do have to flee, will Maddox come too? I need all the help I can get with figuring out life with the lizard.

*

Humans. Bah. They’ve gotten uppity since my maternal progenitor conceived my egg. It will take much training before the female I’ve commandeered is suitable for service.

So much for her to learn, starting with proper meals. She tried to feed me bugs as if I were a simple lizard! Then she dared to abandon me so she could work—incentive for me to build my hoard so she can devote her time fully to me. I’ve allowed her distraction with the male, but only because he will serve me too, and sooner than he thinks, since my enemies are already closing in.

But they’ll learn a dragon, even one newly hatched, is a force to be reckoned with, and if you mess with those I’ve claimed, you will face my wrath!

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Published: 2025-05-15
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
Action and Adventure, dragon romance, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy, Urban Fantasy
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Chapter 1

A rumble shook the building and wobbled my seat just as I began delicately shading a tattoo. The jostling dragged the ink-filled tip across the flesh in a dark, unsightly line, making me silently curse.

How the fuck was I supposed to fix an error of that extent? The dark mark couldn’t be camouflaged, since it stretched across the cheek of the portrait being tattooed on Bruno’s arm.

I should probably worry about that later since the building was still shaking, leading Leo, my boss, to holler, “Everyone outside.”

Probably a good idea. Our old, retrofitted shop hadn’t been built to withstand tremors of that magnitude.

“Earthquake or gas explosion?” I questioned as everyone in the shop suddenly booked it for the door.

READ MORE

A valid question. The last time the Earth moved under me wasn’t because the guy I was banging at the time was any good but because some idiot without a license to operate heavy machinery struck a utility pipe while doing construction.

Leo pursed his lips as he waited for our clients to stop fighting over who would exit first. “You forgot the third possibility.”

I hadn’t. I had purposely chosen to not mention giant tunnelling worms. That was my boss’s obsession, not mine.

My client, Bruno, won the battle at the door and skedaddled first, followed by Marie—another regular—who didn’t seem to notice or care she’d emerged topless. Then again, someone who wanted tattoos on her breasts intended to show them off.

Outside the shop, people filled the streets as they evacuated businesses and homes before any collapsed. Many faces wore looks of fear, but some held curiosity. A cacophony filled the air comprised of the rattling structures, rocking cars, and heavily vibrating signs. Underlying that was another sound that kind of reminded me of a train roaring by. It caused the same booming effect, only we had no rails nearby.

The purple-haired Kalypso, who answered our phones and acted as our receptionist, held out her arms and slightly bent her knees, squealing, “Ride the wave! Whoo!”

An avid surfer, I never understood why she chose to settle in Terrace, British Columbia where the closest place to toss down a board required a more than twenty-hour drive to Tofino.

“Those idiots in parliament finally started a war. We’ve been bombed!” someone yelled a few paces from me while pointing across the way.

A glance in the indicated direction showed a billowing cloud of black smoke in the distance.

Leo leaned close to murmur, “That’s not a bomb. The Tseax Cone erupted.”

My brow furrowed. “Can’t be. They’ve been saying for ages that volcano was dead.”

“Guess they were wrong.”

My boss might have figured it out first, but it didn’t take long before others realized what happened and panic ignited.

It started with one person screaming, “We’re going to die. Run for your lives.”

Then another yodeled, “The end is nigh.”

In seconds, the stampede commenced.

Having never been one to sheepishly follow the herd, I shifted so my back pressed against the tattoo shop. It seemed safer than getting tangled in the mob moving in a dense wave on the street. I’d been to concerts where that kind of thing ended up badly—a.k.a. trampled. I preferred to not get trod upon. At least the ground had stopped shaking. However, the ominous dark cloud in the distance grew and spread.

A nicotine addict, Leo pulled out a cigarette—the home-rolled kind with a little something green added to the tobacco—and took a long pull before drawling, “Damn. Never thought I’d see Tseax erupt.”

“Me either.” I frowned. “I thought it was supposed to be dormant.” I’d lived in the area my whole life and while the local Nisga’a tribes told stories about the last time Tseax erupted a few hundred years ago, it had been considered a rare thing unlikely to happen again.

“Mother nature loves to fuck with know-it-all scientists,” Leo stated, puffing away.

The lack of shaking didn’t improve the hysteria level infesting people. Cars revved and tires screeched as they tried to speed away only to have to scream to a stop because people were jaywalking on the road. The chaotic desperation caused instant gridlock.

“Doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere soon,” I stated while glancing at Leo.

“Nope.” He offered me a drag from his medicinal cigarette.

Why not? I took a long pull and exhaled before saying, “Think we need to worry?”

“Depends on how bad the eruption is and how far it spreads. Given we’re sixty clicks away, ash clouds are probably of more concern than a lava flow.”

“I thought magma could roll at, like, speeds of up to thirty kilometers an hour?”

“In the right conditions and usually because the volcano is steep. Tseax ain’t that tall.”

“But still managed to wipe out a few Nisga’a tribes that last time,” I reminded.

“Yeah, the lava reached the river where they had their villages, but it took a few days. They say the high death toll most likely came from the fumes poisoning the air.” Leo pursed his lips as he took another drag. “Chances are anyone within fifty or more clicks will have to vacate their homes until the lava specialists figure out what’s going on.”

My lips pinched as I watched the dark smudge in the sky spreading. “Fuck me. I guess I’m not going home tonight.” I lived about thirty kilometers outside Terrace, in a trailer inherited from my grandmother. Nothing fancy, and I rather liked my remote spot and lack of neighbors. But that plot of land would likely be within the quarantined radius.

“You can bunk at my place if you need to. You know I got the space,” Leo offered. He lived in the opposite direction, about twenty or so minutes outside of the city. My head-to-toe inked boss might look like he should be living in a cramped shithole apartment in the bad part of town, but Leo came from money. His inherited home was a ranch situated on a few hundred acres. Not that he personally farmed. He paid people to harvest his fruit trees and rented out his barns and land for grazing. But the best part? My paranoid boss had the most insane security system in place to keep his shit secure.

“Might be we’re worrying for nothing.”

Saying it aloud jinxed it. My phone began blaring along with everyone else’s in the vicinity. The emergency alert launched quicker than expected and advised anyone receiving the message to evacuate. It went on to list all the places that might be in the path of the coming ash cloud—and yeah, my home was smack dab in there. The warning text also had words like calm, orderly, don’t panic. Might as well have been fuel, given what ignited in its aftermath.

If I thought people were frenzied before, they doubled, tripled, quadrupled down. People randomly began wailing. A few hit their knees and prayed. Those caught in unmoving cars honked and when that didn’t move traffic thought getting out to yell, pound hoods, and shake fists would work. We also heard glass smashing and a glance showed the window of the jewelry shop broken and someone slipping inside. Why was it calamities immediately brought out the looters?

Needless to say, despite the alert advising us to leave, Leo and I took our time while the rabidly worried sorted themselves out. Along with Kalypso, we went inside the shop and shut down all the machines before grabbing everything that would fit into the back of Leo’s Suburban, which ended up being a shit ton, given the massive space. Kalypso rescued our collection of cacti, loading them into her Volkswagen beetle. Whereas my vintage Yamaha Virago 750, with its saddlebags, carried our albums of designs and past artwork.

When the streets unclogged, and with the cloud creeping closer, we vacated the shop and the city of Terrace, driving in a line behind Leo, who had to maneuver in a few spots as people who ran out of gas or encountered engine trouble abandoned their cars. Despite feeling like a bit of an ass, we ignored those trying to wave us down. I’d seen apocalypse movies. I knew what might happen. A good Samaritan would stop, offer some aid, and find themselves stranded when their vehicle got stolen.

Luckily, the evacuation zone remained just short of Leo’s ranch. With more than ten bedrooms, it had more than enough space for me, Kalypso, and a few of Leo’s friends.

While the Tseax Cone stopped spewing after one day, it took a bit longer before Terrace and the environs were considered safe for return.

I’m not ashamed to admit I spent that week mostly drunk and high. Being a bit of an end-of-times nut, Leo actually kept a ridiculously large stash of booze and dope along with food. Quality shit, I might add. Good times were had, but the fun eventually ended and I couldn’t help a bit of dread as I wondered at the state of my home.

Upon seeing it, my first thought was it could have been worse. White and gray powder did cover some parts of the property, the wind having blown it into drifts, and it kicked up in puffs when I tracked through. I wore a bandanna over my mouth and nose to avoid breathing any of the dust. Sure, the news claimed those with healthy respiratory systems would likely suffer no ill effect, but I took no chances. My lungs might be tainted by nicotine and Mary Jane, but even I had a line with my health that I didn’t cross. Call me weird. I was okay with it.

No lava reached my place. However, a surprising number of lava rocks had bombed the property. The worst damage appeared to be on the roof of my trailer, where the biggest volcanic missile landed. It left a huge dent, but luckily did not pierce it. Inside my trailer, only a fine layer of dust had penetrated and I got to work scrubbing everything down and bagging the clothing and bedding that I’d have to wash. At least I didn’t need to rely on a laundromat. My lean-to held an ancient, gold-colored washer and dryer which made a god-awful racket when run, but unlike today’s newer models, they could take a beating and keep on working. I ran a rinse cycle on it first to make sure it was actually clean before I started a load.

The outside didn’t require me to do much because an hour after I arrived, the rain came. It drenched the area for the next two days and cleansed the land. Or as my grandma would have said, That fucker God is having a piss. She didn’t hold religion in high esteem and called it a bunch of kooky nonsense.

Me? I identified as agnostic. I remained open to belief but wanted proof. Old books written a zillion years ago and old men in fancy robes didn’t convince me.

After the week of partying, I enjoyed the time alone, although I did also itch to get back to work. While Terrace had been cleared for people to return, the tattoo shop hadn’t yet reopened. Leo hired some cleaners to come in and thoroughly sterilize the place. Last thing he wanted was a lawsuit because someone claimed they got an infection. We’d be busy when we reopened though. Our website had been bombarded with requests for new ink, many of them volcano themed. I’d be using this time off to create some designs for clients to choose from. The drone footage of Tseax proved inspiring. The cone showed rivulets of magma flowing erratically in a patchwork down its sides.

When the rain finally relented, I exited my spotless trailer and began tidying my yard. And by tidy, I meant gathering all the rocks that landed in it, from pebble-sized to fist. I tossed them all into my firepit. I saved the one on the roof for last since I had to climb and I really didn’t like heights. Hated them so much I debated leaving it there, but I knew that lava stones tended to be porous and with all the rain soaking it, might get heavy enough to actually crack the top of my trailer. Last thing I needed was a leak.

So I put on my big girl panties—thongs for the curious, or as granny called them, ass flossers—and clutched that ladder tight as I climbed. I didn’t look anywhere but at my hands as I crawled to the massive dent that held the largest stone of all. Unlike the other jagged chunks, this one, while rough on the outside, was oval-shaped and too big to easily carry down so I tossed it.

To my surprise, it didn’t crack. I placed it in the firepit with the others and then grimaced. It stood out due to its size. To break it up, I grabbed my hatchet and used the blunt end to hammer at it. A few pieces of stone flaked off, but the thing remained whole for the most part. Maybe a few fires would soften it up enough it would split apart.

Over the next few weeks, I worked my ass off and came home exhausted. Meaning I did little but slump into a chair with a cold brew. Given the nice summer evenings, I spent my wind down time outside by the firepit, which I used to make dinner instead of my stove because the air conditioner worked like shit and I wasn’t about to make the trailer any hotter. I kept my meals simple. Weenies on a skewer. Burgers on a grill. Steak. Steak. And more steak. I did so love my meat.

And so did the creature that stole food off my plate!

Chapter 2

Let me back up a second.

There I sat, comfortably ensconced in an Adirondack—which for the unknowing is the most comfortable outdoor chair you can have—with a big, toasty fire going, hot enough the big lava rock that sat in the middle of the pit glowed a bright orange.

I’d treated myself to a nice fatty ribeye, which I’d seasoned and threaded onto a skewer and held in the crackling flames. I like my meat singed on the outside, the outer fat crispy but the inside red and juicy. When I had it just the way I liked it, I stood and slapped it on a plate just as something in the fire went crack and loud hissing ensued.

I whirled with my plate still in hand, and sure enough, the big rock had finally split into chunks. It must have had moisture trapped inside given the steam that erupted.

Cool.

I plopped back in my chair, plate balanced on my knees, and grabbed my can of Coors from the cupholder. As I swigged, the thief struck. A clawed paw reached out and snagged my steak.

I blinked. Steak was still gone. Not cool. I’d been looking forward to eating it.

My annoyance vanished as I saw what stole it. A lizard the size of a kitten sat on the edge of the fire pit, which made its theft of the steak—bigger than it was—even more comical.

Until it scarfed down that entire hunk of meat.

I mean, like how? The steak had to weigh as much, if not more, than the little reptile. Yet its jaw essentially unhinged and nom, nom, bye-bye dinner.

It belched more loudly than expected, given its diminutive size. I almost laughed at its suddenly very rounded belly.

The lizard then proceeded to speak, or so my beer-addled brain insisted, chattering in a steady stream that made no sense, but almost resembled a language.

“Slow down, little fella,” I crooned, kind of fascinated. British Columbia had its share of reptilian wildlife, but despite being born and raised in this area, I’d never seen a creature like this who seemed unafraid of fire. I worried about its perch so close to the flames. Despite it stealing my dinner, I’d hate to see the little fella barbequed.

It continued to harangue me in its chirping lizard voice while waving its paws. Or was it claws? I couldn’t tell you the proper term, but it was cute.

It patted its belly and my eyes widened. That I understood. “Sorry, that was my entire dinner. There’s no more.” I pointed to my plate and shook my head. Again, I blamed the booze for thinking I was conversing with the lizard. Or maybe I’d accidentally tossed something on the fire and was currently tripping, as in gone on a spiritual, hallucinogenic journey. Granny used to indulge in those. Usually naked. Good thing we didn’t have neighbors.

“Speaking of dinner, some of us are still hungry. Guess I’ll have to see what’s in the fridge.”

Not much. The grocery stores had been double tapped, first with having to toss a bunch of stuff in case of contamination, and then again when their stock got wiped out by people panic buying. It reminded me of the toilet paper shortage during the Covid lockdowns.

I’d lucked out on the steak only because I knew a farmer. In exchange for meat and eggs, I kept a running credit for Bart so he could get his dream tattoo. Currently, he had his left arm inked to look like a Nisga’a totem. We’d be doing his right arm next, which meant lots more steaks for me.

As I rose from my seat, I chugged my beer and crushed the can before tossing it in the recycling bin I kept by the trailer door. I entered my cramped home and sighed. I already knew my fridge only held a hunk of molding cheese and a potato growing eyes. At least the freezer had ice cream. Wouldn’t be the first time I did dessert for dinner—or breakfast.

I snared the half-eaten quart along with a spoon and collapsed on the plaid-covered bench that some would generously call a couch. I wasn’t one of those people. I could have retrofitted the trailer like some folks did, tearing out the built-in furniture to replace it with the real thing, but I’d been saving my money and effort because I wanted to build myself a real home. A place without wheels that didn’t rock in strong winds, made of something other than aluminum and vinyl. Granny used to scoff at my dream, saying she preferred the freedom to live wherever she wanted, never realizing the irony in having spent her entire life in one spot.

Scratch.

I glanced at the door with a frown.

Scri-t-t-ch.

The odd noise came again and my curious ass, which obviously never learned any lessons from horror movies, went to check it out. I opened to find Mr. Lizard on the threshold. It hopped right on in and scouted the place as if it belonged.

“Well, hello again. Making yourself at home, are we?”

The reptile waddled about, sniffing and craning, peering at everything. I could have shooed it out, but with my mellow buzz, it seemed like a bunch of effort for a harmless creature. Besides, it was kind of entertaining.

As I sucked ice cream off my spoon, I studied it. The grayish leathery skin and its sinuous tail that swished. It had two nubs along its back and when it bent over to sniff under my stove, dangly bits that marked it a boy. And before anyone comments, I thought reptiles kept their dicks and balls tucked. Maybe this little fella preferred airing his out.

I finished my ice cream and rose to put the empty container in the garbage when the little critter whipped around and cocked its head. A forked tongue flicked, and it jabbered.

“I don’t understand,” I stated with a shrug.

I swear to fuck, it looked annoyed. It pointed at me. No wait, the ice cream carton.

“You wanna taste, little fella?” If it wanted to lick it clean, go ahead. I just hoped it wasn’t lactose intolerant. Cleaning up lizard diarrhea didn’t exactly scream fun.

The lizard cautiously stuck its head in the carton and must have liked what he tasted because next thing I knew his whole body disappeared, and the carton rolled around on the floor as the little fella went to town.

Entertaining but not enough to keep me awake. A yawn cracked my jaw and I stretched. “Bedtime for me. I’ve got a full back tattoo to do tomorrow.” In other words, a full freaking day hunched over with intense focus. I needed my rest. My pillow called and I answered, falling asleep quickly, waking only when my alarm went off.

However, rather than roll out of bed, I lay still, for my new friend lay snuggled against me, his tail wrapped around his body. And was it me, or did he seem bigger? Probably needed to shit out that massive steak.

Little fella protested when I shifted him to get out of bed, making a growling, protesting noise.

“Calm down. You can stay there if you want, but some of us need to work and pay the bills,” I grumbled.

My dumb ass then proceeded to tuck my blanket around it. Dumb because who left a wild animal in their home while they went to work? I’d probably return to everything chewed to shit and lizard poop and pee stinking up the place, but call me a softie, I didn’t have the heart to toss him outside.

I made myself coffee and slathered butter on an everything bagel—stale since I’d forgotten I had it in the breadbox. Since I had two, I also toasted an extra for the little fella and left it on a plate on the floor because I just knew he’d be hungry when he got up. I also put down some paper towels by the door. Could you piddle pad train a lizard? Guess we’d see.

With my goggles over my eyes and wearing my leather pants, jacket, and shit kickers, I headed into work on my motorcycle, my platinum hair streaming. No, I didn’t wear a helmet. Yes, that was against the law. Did I care? Not really. I had a friend who survived a motorcycle accident because he wore a lid. Ended up a quadriplegic. I admired his resiliency in dealing with his disability even as I knew I’d lack the same fortitude. Hence why I took chances.

The road had more traffic than usual heading away from the city. Despite the evacuation and trauma of the nearby exploding volcano, Terrace had never been busier. Crazy ass folks came in from all over, wanting to see the lava rivulets up close. It led to more walk-ins at our shop than normal, which ended up being good for me since my appointment had to cancel, changing his mind about wanting his girlfriend’s face on his back since he caught her cheating with his sister. Sounded like a Jerry Springer special to me.

When I got a break in people wanting on-the-spot mini tattoos memorializing their visit—most opting for volcanoes, with one client having me make the spewing rocks into hearts—I popped out to run an errand. If Little Fella was going to be sticking around, I should probably invest in some lizard-appropriate food. Didn’t they eat like insects and stuff? Sure, it scarfed down a steak and loved ice cream, but that likely was not healthy. Not to mention, I couldn’t afford to feed it thirty dollar steaks every day. Given its carnivorous proclivity, I wondered what kind of lizard I’d found. An internet search of local wildlife didn’t show anything resembling my little fella.

Luckily for me, the pet store up the street, Leaping Lizards, specialized in reptiles. I walked in and wrinkled my nose. The place stank of animal, most likely because of the many glass aquariums featuring a variety of scaly critters. I browsed the many available species: geckos, bearded dragons, snakes. None looked like my friend at home.

“Can I help you?”

The deep voice had me whirling and looking up. Way up. A barrel-chested giant with arms possibly as wide as my waist stood behind me, wearing plaid and jeans. A bearded lumberjack with a nametag that said Maddox.

“Hey, there. So weird thing, I found a lizard at my place and was looking for something to feed him.”

He arched a brow. “Chances are it can feed itself. The lizards in these parts aren’t domesticable.”

“Yeah, well tell that to the little fella that insisted on coming inside my trailer and snuggled me all night long.”

That claim brought a frown to the ruggedly handsome face. It should be noted I had a thing for big, burly dudes, not that I’d dated any in a while. My last boyfriend, a biker I’d met while tattooing him, turned out to be a dick who stole all the cash from my cookie jar and fled town when the cops came looking for him about some stolen catalytic converters. What could I say, I knew how to pick them.

“Do you know what species you found?”

I shook my head. “Nah, and Google’s not being too helpful in that regard either. And before you ask, I forgot to take a pic, but he’s about this big,” I held out my hands. “Grayish skin. Lumpy back, talkative and bossy.”

“Lizards don’t talk.”

“Not in words,” I scoffed. “But definitely making noise at me. Anyhow, I’m here because I need some food and shit.”

“Kind of hard to figure out its diet without knowing the species.” Maddox pursed his lips. “But I can probably set you up with some generic stuff. Given the description, it’s most likely a Northern Alligator Lizard. They tend to like insects and stuff. Do you have a terrarium?”

I snorted. “No, and I’d rather not cage it.”

“Then you run the risk of it escaping.”

The reply had me shrugging. “Which would be its choice. I’m not even sure it will be there when I get back.”

He gave me an odd look. “Exactly where do you live that lizards can come and go?”

“I’ve got a trailer outside of town. Used to belong to my granny. While it’s fairly cozy, I know for a fact it’s got holes because the mice somehow keep finding a way in.” And this despite the many traps I’d set over the years.

“In that case, there’s a strong chance it will be gone by the time you get home. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone domesticating a NAL.” He shortened the name.

“Assuming it is, what do you suggest I feed it?” I left out any mention of the steak and ice cream Little Fella scarfed down. Maddox already seemed appalled enough as it was. No need for him to lose his eyebrows completely in disbelief.

“Let me get you a few things.” The big man moved confidently around the store, and I leaned against a display watching because I just couldn’t make it fit. He looked like he should be chopping wood or fixing cars, not working in a pet store. Heck, with that ass and the biceps bulging his shirt, he would have looked good as a fireman or a stripper.

Maddox dumped an armful of shit on the counter by the register. He pointed and named each item. “Dried crickets, although I do have live ones if you find your lizard not happy about them being dead. Canned worms. They’re a little juicier so you might want to feed them to it on a towel or something washable. We’ve got some powdered vitamin to make sure it doesn’t get mineral deficient. You’ll want to make sure it’s got access to water as well. Do you need a dish?”

My lips curved as I said, “Pretty sure I’ve got enough empty margarine containers to figure something out.” Grandma didn’t believe in buying plastic receptacles but rather reused the ones she got with things like sour cream, yoghurt, and other dairy products. When one cracked or melted in the microwave, she recycled it and pulled out the next. By the time she died, she’d collected so many I had to purge but kept up the practice. After all, I’d already paid for the container, why not use it?

“This should get you started. If the lizard sticks around, pop back with a picture and we’ll confirm its species. Maybe talk you into some live insects,” he said with a naughty grin.

“Like fuck. I am not having some grasshoppers and stuff loose in my trailer. Bad enough I’ve got ants each summer.”

As Maddox rang up my purchases, he glanced at me. “I’ve seen you around. You work nearby?”

“Yeah, down the street. I am an artist at Holy Inkredible.”

“The tattoo place. Neat name. I hear you do good work.”

“Only the best,” I boasted. “You got any ink?”

He shook his head. “Nah. You?”

Guess he couldn’t tell given I wore long sleeves and pants. “A few.” I downplayed the number. Some dudes got weird about girls being tatted up.

“You do them yourself?”

“No. It’s not easy to work on your own skin. Leo does mine. And I do his.”

“Leo is…”

“My boss.” Although, I had to wonder why he asked. Fishing to see if I was single, perhaps? Hell, yeah. I wouldn’t mind taking Maddox for a ride.

“That will be forty-three seventy-nine. Cash or credit?”

“Cash.” I handed over two twenties and a ten and shoved the change in my pocket.

He paper-bagged my purchase and handed it to me. “Here you go. I’m Maddox, by the way. Or Mad, as my friends call me.”

“Are you an angry man?” I teased.

His grin flashed bright and panty-wetting. “Only if you abuse an animal or steal food from my plate.”

“I’m with you on both. I’m Pip.” I didn’t mention the fact it was short for Philippa—which I hated with a fucking passion. Mom named me after my deadbeat dad, a man who left before I was born but eventually returned, not to become a father. Oh no. He convinced my mom to abandon me at the age of three and run away with him. She didn’t even hesitate. Granny raised me and I thanked fuck for that fact. Last I heard, my parents were down in South America grifting. I only knew because my mother called to beg for some dough. No hello how are you, just straight up I’m broke, can you send me some cash? I doubted I’d hear from her again since I told her she could take her demand and shove it up her twat. She called me ungrateful. I told her she could kiss my ass after I took a dump. Needless to say, that conversation ended abruptly.

“Nice to meet you, Pip. Good luck with your lizard.”

It would have been funny, only he meant it quite seriously. “Thanks, Mad.” Yeah, I used the nickname because it was cute.

I spent another two hours working, mostly doing up sketches and setting up appointments before heading home. When I entered the trailer, I half expected Little Fella to be gone, but the moment I opened the door, he stood on the couch and chirped at me.

“Yeah, yeah. I know you’re probably hungry. Look. I got you some yummies.” I grimaced at the smell and sight of the bugs as I put them on a plate on the floor.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one less than impressed. Little Fella took one sniff and gagged. Wait, could lizards gag?

“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t eat it either. I brought home some sausage to cook up on the firepit. Wanna try some of that?”

Little Fella did. He scarfed down a whole fat wiener and then eyed the other half of mine. Where the fuck was he putting it? He also greatly enjoyed the marshmallows I roasted. I ate three. He, well, he ate the rest when I wasn’t looking. Apparently, I didn’t cook them fast enough so he got into the bag and next thing I knew—gone.

When we went inside, I stepped over the clean paper towel—which made me wonder if Little Fella had left me a surprise somewhere—and flipped on the television in the bedroom. My one of only three free channels had Jurassic Park playing, which Little Fella seemed to greatly enjoy. He sat on my lap and didn’t turn his gaze once from the screen.

Once more, we slept together, and when I rose the next day, he remained in my bed. Since he’d enjoyed the bagel I’d left the day before, I made him another—from a fresh pack I’d bought—and refilled his water dish—a.k.a. repurposed margarine tub. I also turned on the TV in my living area and left it running since it had fascinated him so much.

I went to work, debated popping by to see Maddox, realized I had no reason since I’d forgotten to take a pic, and with no plausible excuse to swing by—because I wasn’t buying more bugs—ended up just going home.

Being low on supplies, I hit the grocery store for more stuff and bought enough my saddlebags bulged. Little Fella would be eating like a prince tonight as I’d grabbed us a rotisserie chicken and some cupcakes—that would likely have most of their icing plastered to the container. Wanna bet my little lizard would love licking it off?

With my arms laden with my purchases, I struggled to open the door. It swung open and I smiled at Little Fella perched on the couch, watching television. He craned his head to eye me and rather than the nonsensical chirping of before said quite distinctly if with an accent, “Woman, I’m hungry. Feed me.”

COLLAPSE
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Dragon’s Belle

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Book Cover: Dragon's Belle
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Part of the Magic, Fur and Claws series:
  • Broomstick Breakdown
  • Dragon’s Belle

Dragons and witches aren’t supposed to mix, but love doesn’t care.


Clarabelle’s been tasked by her coven to look into the disappearance of some witches. During the course of her investigation, she saves a man.

Not just any man, a dragon.

Dracin can’t believe that, in his most embarrassing moment, he is rescued by a woman his beast insists is their mate. A tiny but fiery witch who makes him want more than his lonely existence.
Love should be simple, but between a coven that strongly disapproves and vampires determined to harm them, they’ll have to fight for their happily ever after.
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Published: 2024-02-01
Cover Artists:
Atra Luna's Book Cover and Logo Art
Genres:
dragon romance, fated mates, Paranormal Romance, Shapeshifter Romance, Witch Romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Chapter One

“On to the next order of business. Changing our broom supplier.”

A very bored Clarabelle wanted to scream. The quarterly Colony Coven meeting was tedious, as usual. At times, Clarabelle wondered if she’d gotten stuck in a witchy version of Groundhog Day. Without even trying, she could have predicted the subjects they would cover, because they never seemed to change much.

First on the agenda, dwindling recruitment numbers. Today’s witches lacked interest in joining a coven with restrictive rules, even though those laws were in place for their protection. Not even the temptation of real power could draw them in. Gone were the days when most witches worshipped the Lord of Hades. Now, new wave, crystal-loving wannabe witches fell in with the Wiccans, who had been making a comeback.

READ MORE

Item two on the quarterly docket, the All Hallows’ Eve committee needed volunteers to ensure the yearly bonfire and ensuing orgy with Satan went smoothly. The Dark Lord did so hate it when he didn’t get at least one virgin to deflower. Never mind the fact that, in these modern times, virgins who made it to adulthood were a rarity.

Three, the coven coffers could use some replenishing. Bribing officials to look the other way when they almost burned down the forest didn’t come cheap. It didn’t matter the bonfire happened on private land. Eco warriors had been trying to get their old and sacred forest declared a historical site, complete with a permanent fire ban put in place.

Which led to number four, should they be hexing those annoying climate change twats? Bonfires weren’t their only target. They had a long list of causes they fought for that would affect the coven’s way of life. No witch wanted to see their gas stove banned. Cauldron cooking on an electric range just didn’t work the same.

Five—

“Are we boring you, Clarabelle?” The rebuke from Marjorie, current Coven Witch Superior dragged her attention back to the meeting at hand.

“Uh, sorry. Just thinking of the ride home. Forecast says rain.” She’d not checked before leaving on her broom.

“Afraid you’ll melt like your great-aunt?” mocked Jezebel. Then mimicked the famous line from the movie in a high-pitched voice, “I’m melting!”

“You know it was a badly cast rain-repelling spell that caused my aunt to die most horribly,” Clarabelle stated primly. “And you shouldn’t talk. With the amount of makeup you’re wearing, once you get wet, you’ll be lucky if you’re not mistaken for a ghoul.”

“Why you—”

“Daughters, that’s quite enough.” Marjorie’s firm tone quieted them both.

Clarabelle could have kicked herself for rising to Jezebel’s bait. “Sorry, Witch Superior,” she mumbled, even as she plotted revenge on Jezebel. The kind that couldn’t be traced to her. Their rivalry began in college and never stopped. Perhaps a hex on Jezebel’s favorite mascara? She’d read about one that turned eyelashes into wiggling spider legs.

“Seeing as how these meetings bore you, I have a task you can concentrate on. Two actually. Jezebel, you’ll be travelling to New York for Comicon with the aim of recruiting prospects.”

“Me? Why not her?” Jezebel jabbed a finger at Clarabelle.

“Because she is going to be investigating the suspicious disappearances of some witches in Ottawa, Canada.”

“Canada, as in the frozen wasteland north of us?” Jezebel snickered, whereas Clarabelle held in a sigh. She wasn’t about to point out that Ottawa pretty much had the same weather as New York because she didn’t want to piss off Marjorie, given the task sounded interesting. She’d not done anything of any note in months unless a pregnant hippo—by a drunk ogre—counted. He’d claimed he thought it was his wife. Said wife got offended seeing as how her girth was at least double that of the pregnant zoo animal.

Marjorie didn’t let Jezebel’s taunting pass. “Maybe you’re not the best person to send given your ignorance of simple geography. Do better or the next time you open your mouth to bray something stupid, I’ll turn you into a donkey.”

Ouch.

With that rebuke, the meeting ended, but Marjorie signaled for Clarabelle to remain behind.

She slid a folder over to Clarabelle, saying, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the rest of the coven, but you should know there might be danger.”

“You think the disappearances are linked to foul play?”

“It seems most likely, seeing as how it’s not just witches reported missing. We also have received reports of numerous werewolves losing touch with the local pack, as well as a half-elf, and a gargoyle. And those are just the ones we know of.”

“We’re sure they didn’t relocate?” Clarabelle questioned.

“Without taking a single thing with them?”

“Any clues as to why anyone would want to harm or take them?”

Marjorie shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I mean, if this were the Dark Ages, I’d suspect witch hunters, but with the wolves and others… It could be anything.”

“You don’t think it’s the government, do you?” A fear held by non-humans everywhere. It didn’t help that Hollywood movies and shows like Stranger Things and blockbuster books like Firestarter, always had those with special powers being studied and dissected in the name of science and national security.

“My sources inside the various agencies haven’t heard anything, but it’s a possibility. Think you can handle it?”

“No worries. I’ll figure it out.”

A cocky claim that proved harder to achieve than expected. For one, Ottawa sprawled over quite a distance. Two, the local pack refused to meet with her, citing they didn’t like to deal with outsiders. At least the Ottawa Coven agreed to talk with her. Not exactly surprising since they were the ones to notify Colony Coven—the main coven that ruled over the rest in North America—of the disappearances of their members.

Clarabelle met them in a Starbucks of all places, the witches each sipping a different foamy brew. Five women in total, ranging in age with one thing in common; a weak affinity for magic. They eyed Clarabelle with curiosity.

The oldest of them greeted her first. “Hi, I’m Jewel, and these are my sisters, Kandy, Gertrude, Nelly, and Fiona.”

Seeing as how Jewel hadn’t done anything to protect their conversation, Clarabelle flicked her hands quickly to settle a dome of privacy over them, which widened some eyes. “Hello, I’m Clarabelle Montgomery, Colony Coven attaché. Sorry to meet you under such circumstances.”

“Thanks for coming. We didn’t know what else to do,” Jewel apologized.

“You did the right thing. Can anyone tell me anything about the missing witches?” Clarabelle asked.

The youngest of the group, Kandy, with enough piercings to make Clarabelle leery of her spell-casting, given metal distorted, had a theory. “Maybe Felicia and Molly ran off together because they’re in love.”

“With none of their things?” scoffed Fiona, whose fiery red hair didn’t come naturally.

Kandy didn’t seem daunted by her retort. “Minimalist living is a growing trend.”

Before Fiona could mock the girl, Gertrude, with her gray hair pinned in a chignon, snorted. “Don’t be an idiot and stop sniffing so much toad juice. They disappeared a month apart, and you know damned well Felicia was engaged to that lawyer in the Glebe.”

“Only the two gone?” Clarabelle clarified.

“We thought there was a third, but Gloria, unlike the others, cleared out her apartment. Most likely she joined another group. Not a big loss. She lacked a willingness to follow the rules,” explained Jewel.

“Did they mention anything suspicious? Maybe someone following them? Emails? Texts?”

The women shook their heads.

The shyest member, Nelly, from behind her long bangs, whispered, “Do you think we’re in danger?”

Much as she wanted to reassure, Clarabelle remained honest. “Until we know what’s going on, you might want to take precautions. Don’t go anywhere by yourself. Report anything that seems odd. Put protection spells on your doors and windows. Check-in with each other often.”

Not the news they wanted to hear. The meeting broke up not long after, and Clarabelle found herself musing on what she’d learned. Not much other than it felt like foul play. Women, even witches, didn’t disappear without packing at least a bag. As she walked back to her hotel, while deep in thought, she still paid attention to her surroundings and immediately felt it when someone started to stare.

Rather than turn around to peek, she cast a spell of surveillance on the clip holding her hair back. It recorded what it saw and she watched it once she returned to her hotel, which turned out to not be as interesting as expected. The replay showed some big blond dude staring after her before heading into a bar.

Just in case, she stored his image. After all, if witches were being targeted then she could be next.

Chapter Two

With his head pounding painfully, Dracin woke inside a cage.

A fucking cage!

He had no one to blame but himself. Dracin had come into the city to pick up a part for his truck. He’d been heading back to said vehicle when his attention got distracted by an interesting scent. The intriguing odor had him staring at a woman, trim and petite, her hair drawn back with a barrette. She strode with brisk confidence, not once turning to look, despite his rude interest.

Run after her, his inner beast demanded, but instead of stalking a stranger, he chose to distract himself by getting a drink. Dracin didn’t have that many, just a few shots of burning whiskey that should have barely given him a buzz, yet he’d staggered out of that bar into the night, wavering on his feet, seeing double.

Had someone roofied him? Possible, given he’d been elbow to elbow with strangers. And he had turned from his drink at one point to look over at the commotion caused by two guys arguing loudly. Had something been slipped in at that point?

Didn’t matter. He’d planned to sleep it off in his truck. A plan that failed, seeing as how some assholes jumped him as he was passing out in an alley on his way to the parking lot.

Four of them. It should have been a cakewalk to beat their asses, only Dracin’s reflexes were slow. His vision blurry. He’d swiped and missed. Bad luck seeing as one of his assailants got him in the face with a water balloon that exploded. Dracin roared in rage, ready to beat some ass, only his beast couldn’t emerge.

The balloon held some kind of sleeping drug. The bastards came prepared.

Dracin passed out, and the result? He woke up in a fucking cage.

Not for long.

A grab of the bars sent him reeling and hissing; the skin on his fingers blistering right away. The electricity coursing through the enclosure holding him made it clear someone didn’t want him to break out.

Joke was on them. Dracin just had to shift, and he’d be out of here. He might be fragile in this, his human form, but his beast? A lot tougher.

Wake up. He tried rousing his inner animal, to no avail. Whatever they’d drugged him with lingered in his system.

Goddammit!

Once he escaped, someone would pay. I am going to eat whoever is responsible.

If he escaped…

He had no choice. He’d not lived this long to die so ignobly.

Maybe he could shock his beast out of its sleep. He threw himself at the bars and held on tight, the current jolting his body hard enough he blacked out. He regained consciousness to find himself drooling on the floor. Of course at his most humiliated moment would be when his captor showed up to be annoying.

“Rise and shine, buttercup. Let’s get a closer look at what my lackeys dragged in.” The fellow who spoke wore a suit and had slicked-back hair. Young, but with the attitude of someone much older.

Finally, someone to direct his anger at. Dracin rose, seething at the sight of the man before him. Not just a man. A sniff had him frowning. “What are you?” Because he’d never smelled anything like the guy before.

“I’m insulted you don’t know.” The man flashed some fangs. “Does this help?

A fucking vampire? “Is that supposed to impress me? Mine are bigger, and if you don’t want your first and last sight of them to be when I bite you in half, then you’ll release me at once, bloodsucker.”

“Is that any way to talk to the guy in charge of your fresh meat?”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he stated, not that he planned to let the fucker off easy. Hell no. He’d make him regret ever daring to think he could cage Dracin.

“Whine all you like. I’m not letting you go. I’ve got plans for you.”

“Fuck your plans.”

The vampire shook his head. “Terrible manners. But those can be beaten into you. And speaking of manners, where are mine? I’m Theodore, and you are?”

“Going to make you regret your life choices.”

“So fiery. What fun I’ll have breaking you, Dracin Smith. Interesting first name, by the way. Unique. Yet, oddly, there is little known about you. A good thing we have your wallet, or we might have never even gotten that much.”

“What do you want?”

“What does anyone want in this world? Money. Lots of it.”

“Well, you kidnapped the wrong guy then.”

The vamp chuckled. “Oh, you’re hilarious. Who knew dragons could be so entertaining?”

The fucker knew Dracin’s shifter side. That didn’t bode well. People often assumed the stories of dragons having invaluable hoards were true. Dracin wished. His single mom had done her best to raise him, but they’d gone without quite often. Even now, he didn’t have much. He worked and made only enough to pay his bills.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dracin lied.

“Don’t be shy. I have to admit to being delighted my lackeys found you. When they told me they found a strange-smelling shifter, I thought you just needed a bath. But the moment I got a whiff, I knew. You’re not the first one I’ve ever met. Alas, your predecessor escaped. My fault. I wasn’t as prepared the last time. I’ve improved my methods since.” Spoken with a smile that would have done a shark proud.

“You’re wasting your time. I’m not rich.”

“Oh. I’m aware you’re not. Living in a shack outside of the city. Driving a beat-up truck. You really make dragons look bad.”

“Listen. you pompous asshole—”

“No, you listen,” Theodore hissed, drawing close. “Here is what’s going to happen. You’re going to get cleaned up because I’ve got buyers coming. People interested in owning their very own dragon. AKA you.”

“You would enslave me?” He couldn’t help the shocked reply.

“That depends on your new owner,” Theodore declared with a shrug. “Once they buy you, it’s up to them what they do. Chain you up, set you free, fuck you, hunt you, that’s really up to them to decide once they pay.”

His beast chose that moment to drowsily awake and growl, a low, inhuman sound.

The vamp grinned. “Seems like the drugs are wearing off. Good. The buyers will want to see what they’re bidding on.”

“I’m going to eat you.” He would, even though he could tell by the smell that vampire meat would taste bad.

“So bloodthirsty. I like it. I totally understand. I want to eat everyone who annoys me too. A good thing I don’t, or I’d have no one left to work for me.” Theodore offered a toothy grin.

Dracin had heard enough. With his beast awake, time to blow this joint. “Last chance to run, asshole.” He called on his dragon. Only nothing happened.

“Uh-oh, is someone having a problem shifting? This is probably a good time to mention the device we implanted. It’s the newest technology in controlling pets. With the press of a button inside this handy app, I can… You know what, how about I show you?” The vamp held out his phone and tapped the screen.

Instant agony hit and dropped Dracin to his knees. Holy fucking pain.

“Oops. Does that hurt? Good. That’s the punishment setting. It has different levels, and even better, the app can be programmed to accept voice commands from your owner so as to prevent accidents. We implemented it after the incident where a pet knocked the phone out of its owner’s hands and before he could recover it, well… Let’s just say he didn’t survive. I’m proud to reveal we’ve improved on it since then.” Theodore sounded so pleased.

Dracin’s stomach plummeted. “You fucker…”

“Is that an invitation? Alas, I have to refuse. I learned the last time I had a dragon in my grips that your blood is quite foul. Really disgusting.” Theodore made a moue. “Pity. I’ll bet you’d have made an excellent blood slave. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve much to do to get ready for the auction. Already there is much interest, and I am expecting a rather large crowd. I can’t wait to see the bidding. Just so you know, potential buyers will be popping by for a peek. Try being nice to the ones that appeal. Or stay feisty. Up to you. I know a few that prefer a savage to make things interesting whether it be for fighting or sex.”

Dracin growled, but the unimpressed vamp waggled his fingers and left.

Fucking dick. When he got out…

More like if.

Dracin took stock of the situation. Outside his cage he noticed two more, smaller and empty. Only his had a thick wire running across the floor. A glance overhead showed his enclosure stood ten feet tall, big enough for him to shift if that fucker hadn’t done something to prevent it.

The damp concrete floor hinted of mildew but, more annoying, the pungent aroma and noticeable lumps of rat scat. It reminded him of the shitholes he grew up in, the things he’d done to survive. He’d promised himself he’d never eat rat again. He really hoped he didn’t have to break that promise.

The basement had no windows but did have a few pillars and the remnants of faint lines on the floor. An abandoned parking garage, making it unlikely anyone would hear or find him. A human-sized door marked the exit on one side, and on the other, a ramp that angled upward and around a corner finished off the space. Nothing useful.

Next, he did a check of his belongings and body. He wore his clothes but lacked his phone and wallet. Though he appeared uninjured, the implant concerned him. He ran his hands over his flesh, seeing if he could find the entrance wound, but there was none. His shifter healing patched him up too damned fast.

He had to find the device being used to control him. Only how? He palpated his flesh to no avail.

Hungry. His dragon didn’t seem to care they were in a cage with no food. It eyed the rat that boldly crept into view.

No, Dracin replied.

Hungry. A plaintive demand.

“I said fucking no,” Dracin snapped, which led to his big bad beast sulking, which didn’t help his pounding head.

An urge to piss left him eyeing the bucket left for him and gave him an idea. While he really wanted to whizz on the bars, he remembered a Darwin award given to a dude who’d gotten drunk, climbed some kind of electrical pole, and let loose on the wire. He died because electricity and urine didn’t play well together.

He could still use that knowledge, but, being a smart guy, Dracin filled the bucket instead. The pungent smell made him grimace. This had better work. Being careful to hold only the plastic parts of his bucket, he poured his piss on the bars then stood back while it sizzled and popped. The lights flickered. He knew his plan worked when the humming stopped.

Next problem, the bars.

He grabbed hold and pulled. They didn’t budge. He’d kind of expected that.

“All right, big guy, your turn to try.”

The sulking dragon within instantly perked up. Surely the device couldn’t control the shift as the vampire boasted. Most likely the drugs still affected him, but if he tried hard enough, his beast could break through. It had to.

Dracin closed his eyes as his beast began to surge and—

He woke on the floor, head pounding worse than before, not improved by his whimpering dragon.

It was true. The fucking implant and not lingering drugs impeded his ability to shift.

“Corpse fucker! Argh!” Dracin yelled, unable to quell his frustration.

If he couldn’t escape, he was well and truly screwed. No one would come to the rescue. Dracin took living a solitary life quite seriously. Hardly any friends. No family since Mom died ages ago. Just him. And now that he found himself truly alone, he kind of regretted that choice. Then again, friendships weren’t exactly easy to make for a guy like him. The werewolves had their packs and tended to not socialize outside them. Other non-humans, while rare, tended to steer clear of him. He blamed Hollywood for making them think dragons ate everyone who got close—as if they could compare to a tender hunk of beef. Of course, when it came to humans, he’d yet to meet one he didn’t want to eat after a while. Hmm, maybe Hollywood wasn’t entirely far off.

Forget a girlfriend. Dracin fucked only when he really got tired of his hand. It wasn’t that he didn’t like women, just that, after sex, he tended to eye them and think, not the one. As if there was someone for an ornery bastard like him.

The melancholy roused his annoyance, and Dracin yanked once more on the bars, only to bellow as they sizzled his flesh again. They’d reset the breaker while he was passed out.

“You fucking bastard. I am going to hunt your scrawny ass. I will pluck out your eyes like grapes. Remove your head and shove it up your ass. Come here and face me, you coward.” At least give him a chance to fight.

No one replied to his challenge.

For the first time since he’d escaped the poverty that plagued his childhood, Dracin felt despair. The digging fingers of dread gripped him tight, urging him to give up hope.

But he refused to yield.

He’d not given up when lying on the ground, cold and hungry.

He’d not given up when, as a small and ill-dressed boy, he gotten beaten up.

He’d not given up when his mother, the only person he’d ever loved, died in a hit-and-run.

No. He’d clawed his way out of poverty. He’d gotten his revenge on those who hurt him. Found the fucker who murdered his mom and had him arrested.

He’d find a way out of this clusterfuck too.

In the meantime, he had to survive. But forget playing nice.

When Theodore returned later that day, bringing the first of the clients, Dracin ignored them. Chose pain over doing tricks.

No, he would not shift.

No, he wouldn’t play their game.

And so he suffered.

And waited.

Waited for his chance to escape.

COLLAPSE
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Part of the The Misfits series:
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Someone pulled a Jurassic with my genes.

I am the result of an experiment—human spliced with dinosaur—or so I assumed growing up. 
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Like a kingdom ruled by an ex-stripper…

Published: 2021-06-22
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Nothing sucks more than losing your humanity in a government experiment. Now I’m something different, something special. And everyone wants a piece of me. Go ahead, give it a try, but don’t be shocked when I turn the tables and try to steal your soul because I am so very, very hungry…

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Do you have what it takes to win?

All I said was I needed a minion. The next thing I know, I'm embroiled in the reality show from Hell with cameras following me everywhere. But who needs a contest when I’m ready to declare a winner—and get freaky—the moment I meet Drake.

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Everyone knows love is for weaklings, and no matter how much he teases me, I will not give in without a fight—good thing he brought some cuffs.

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Published: 2015-12-09
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What they didn't count on? A meddling Kitty and love.

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Published: 2022-07-05
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Even a powerful Jinn can’t fix Maalik’s broken heart. Or can they? He’s got three wishes to find out.
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He's returned to save the world.

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