The Last Dragonet

The Dragon Prophecies, Book One:

THE LAST DRAGONET

SHANNON WEST

SUSAN E SCOTT

The Last Dragonet

Copyright © 2016, Shannon West/Susan E Scott

Published by Dark Hollows Press

Smashwords Edition

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The Last Dragonet

Copyright © 2016, Shannon West, Susan E Scott

ISBN 10: 1-946379-03-4

ISBN 13: 978-1-946379-03-0

Publication Date: December 2016

Authors: Shannon West, Susan E Scott

Editor: Ashley Kain

Proof Reader: Gary Leach

Cover design by E Connors

All cover art and logo copyright © 2016 by Dark Hollows Press

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Chapter One

Luca

My best chance to keep my meeting with the Dragons off everyone’s radar was to have it in a place where nobody I knew would likely ever go—a gay leather bar. That was my thinking anyway. The only problem with that theory was the Dragons I was meeting here might not be too thrilled about it either.

Not because Dragons didn’t like gays—pure-blood Dragons were pan-sexual, as everybody knew. But pure-bloods were also touchy and easily offended and, too late, I realized that a pure-blood might even question my motives in inviting him to meet me in a place like this. Seeing as how pure-bloods had a firm beat-the-shit-out-of-you-first-and-ask-questions-later policy, I decided I might be in trouble. And the last thing I needed was to get pure-blood Dragons on my ass.

A heavyset, balding man sitting at the bar decked out in a harness, leather shorts and biker boots tapped a riding crop against his thigh and looked up with interest as I stepped through the door. Once I took a seat at the bar he sidled over beside me. It was pretty dim in there and he didn’t get a good look at me, I guess. But the soft growl I gave him, along with the little wisp of smoke that issued from my mouth as he brushed my arm made the guy turn around and suddenly get very interested in his drink. Not because he was afraid of me, you understand. I’m like five feet eight and weigh maybe a hundred forty pounds soaking wet. And though I am kind of proud of my abs, my muscles aren’t exactly intimidating. But I was Dragon Spawn. The patch of scales on my neck looked almost like a tattoo from a distance, but if you got up close, you could see it for what it really was.

And nobody wanted to get involved with a Spawn if they didn’t absolutely have to.

Spawn were the half-breed offspring of the pure-blooded Dragons, mixed with the human blood we got from our other parent. We looked mostly human as a rule, but it was a well-known fact that human and Dragon blood didn’t mix all that well and produced some strange looking—and highly dangerous—children. In most cases, they were all as crazy as a shithouse rat.

Most of us had our patches of scales in unexpected places. I had some on my chest, a rather large patch on one ass cheek, and this little patch of iridescent red and black at my throat. A few of us had hair that was wiry, straight as a stick and some shade that corresponded to our scale patches. Thank God, mine was just boring black, and not green or blue or stop-sign red like some I’d seen. Spawn were extra strong too, and as a rule had terrible dispositions. That little tendency we had to set things on fire with our breath when we got too angry was kind of a deal-breaker as well. Most humans avoided us like the plague.

It was too late now to change the meeting place, so I made a conscious effort to relax since I was here and took a look around. This bar hadn’t looked like much from the outside—or the inside either for that matter. It had none of the usual neon beer signs in the windows that I normally associated with drinking establishments. As a matter of fact, it didn’t have any windows facing the sidewalk at all, just a small door sign emblazoned with the name of the bar, Balls to the Wall, in kind of small letters, almost like an apology. I could understand why.

It was close to the store I worked in, so that was nice. I might even come back here sometime when I had a night off and some extra money. Which, come to think of it, would most likely be never. But if I did, it meant I could stay in my own neighborhood for a change and avoid all the hassle of taking a city bus. Most of the buses in this part of town were inhabited by people who were even poorer than I was, and with much lower standards of personal hygiene. I didn’t have the money to waste on a cab, so I mostly either walked where I wanted to go or kept my ass at home.

I ordered a Coke that was delivered in a none-too-clean glass. I may have been able to get away with ordering a beer—this place didn’t strike me as being a stickler for legal drinking age, and I was almost twenty-one. Well, in five or six months anyway. But I didn’t want them to kick me out in case I was wrong. I turned around on my bar stool to see if the pure-bloods had arrived yet for our meeting.

An extremely hairy individual swaggered in from a back room just then, leading a totally naked guy on a leash. The hairy guy spotted me and did a double take. He winked and I ignored him, but he was apparently made of sterner stuff than the first guy who’d approached me and soon sauntered over to try and enlist me in a three-way with him and the man on the leash. I showed him my teeth, turning all the way around to let him get a good look at me. He finally spotted the little patch of red and black scales on the side of my throat and remembered he had somewhere else he really needed to be.

My father was a Red Dragon, and I had no idea where the Black came into the mix, since I didn’t know shit about my mother. She’d died when I was born and my father wouldn’t talk about her. Like ever. I’d found a love letter once that she had written him just before I was born. She’d put it in one of her romance books that she liked to read, like a bookmark, and I found it. It was short and sweet, but all I really had of her so I cherished it. I knew my father would probably tear it up or throw it in the trash, so I just held onto it.

He was a Red, and the Reds were bad-tempered and violent. Most of them were also greedy and covetous and obsessed with increasing their hoards. Actually, all the various Dragon breeds were dangerous and cared only for treasure. As a rule, they were driven by it, motivated by it, spent their time guarding it and would literally kill to increase it. The ones I’d met up to this point in my life were devious liars too, completely devoid of any moral compass. They were, in a word, assholes—imperious, high-handed, arrogant creatures—but the Reds and the Blacks were the worst.

The Goldens, as the ruling Dragon family, considered themselves to be above such things as avarice, but I knew better. All Dragons were greedy bastards. I generally tried to steer clear of pure-bloods altogether, especially my dad, who was all of the above—in spades. His one deviation from other Dragons was that he didn’t see the point in hoarding his treasure. He spent everything he had on drugs and alcohol. I guess he had some things he wanted to forget.

I glanced down at my watch. The two Dragons I was here to meet, both Goldens, had introduced themselves to me earlier today as Dmitri and Sebastien Solokov. Even without the same last name, I would have known they were related, both being tall and muscular with lean, though powerful bodies. They both were extremely good-looking, too, as most pure-bloods were, with blond hair and green eyes, a killer combination when paired with those high cheekbones and full lips. They looked like I would imagine Vikings used to look when they pillaged and raided their way up and down the coasts of Britain in the Middle Ages. With Goldens, you got a sense of barely controlled violence just under the surface.

They had strongly implied that they were some kind of government agents, investigating Artie Samboa’s Spawn gang, though they had flashed their badges at me so fast I barely got a look at them. There had been talk for years by human officials of getting the pure-bloods to put a stop to some of the worst of the Spawn gang activity. The thinking was that these pure-bloods would be able to intimidate the Dragon Spawn and keep them in line, because they were so much stronger and smarter. It simply proved that humans didn’t know shit about Dragons. Or Spawn either, for that matter.

The good-looking agents, if that’s what they really were, were already ten minutes late. I’d texted them the name and address of the bar and told them I’d meet them there at eight o’clock. As far as I knew we were still on track for that meeting. I hadn’t heard anything different anyway.

Despite the fact I was going to require some bleach for my eyeballs later, and—if I kept sipping from this glass in front of me, I’d need to make sure my typhoid shots were up to date—the longer I sat in the little bar, the more I kind of liked the place. There was a free-spirit, anything-fucking-goes vibe. A fact that was obvious from the number of patrons wearing assless chaps. At any other time, I might have enjoyed the show, because some of the guys weren’t bad looking at all, but tonight my head wasn’t really in the game.

I sighed impatiently. The agents were late. I’d give them a few more minutes, and then I was out of there. When they had come by the store earlier that day, I didn’t have time to talk to them much. They’d wanted to question me about Artie Samboa, and I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t like I was in his gang, or even that I knew him all that well.

And one thing was for sure. Artie Samboa and his friends wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. Being a thieving, lowlife, murdering thug was apparently fine with Artie and his boys, but not being mistaken for a gay man. I’d heard some things about his activities, but that didn’t mean that I was going to tell those agents any of it. I was no fucking snitch. Besides, if Artie thought I had given out any information on him, he’d try to start some shit with me, and I didn’t need any more trouble in my life.

Mr. Alvarez, my boss, had come to the back of the store to find me when the agents first showed up, and I had gone out front to talk to them.

Mr. Wessex. It was the one named Dmitri who greeted me. I’d paid close attention when he flashed me his badge, because I’d never seen anyone so good-looking before. What can you tell us about Artie Samboa? His grass-green eyes looked me up and down with an intense gaze.

I glanced between the agents. Not a damn thing. I tried an ingratiating smile that was met with stony glares. What’s this about anyway?

It’s about Artie Samboa, and your relationship with him. We’d like to talk to you about him—have you answer a few questions, if you can?

I shook my head. I don’t have a relationship with Artie. I don’t even know him all that well. You should find somebody else to talk to about him, okay? I really couldn’t tell you much of anything.

"That’s not the information we have, Mr. Wessex. From what we understand, you and Mr. Samboa have a close, personal relationship."

I could feel my eyebrows shoot up. Me and Artie Samboa? No fucking way.

Well, that’s just not true, I said. I barely know the guy.

The two agents shared a long look. Then Dmitri, who was the prettier of the two, smiled at me, glancing over at Mr. Alvarez, who hovered nearby. We’d still like to speak to you about Samboa, Mr. Wessex, if you have a moment.

I don’t. I’m at work, as you oughta be able to see.

A look of outrage flashed in Agent Dmitri’s eyes and I got a little uneasy. I should have known better than to smart off like that to a pure-blood. Immediately I tried to look apologetic.

I’m sorry. What I meant to say was that I really don’t have time right now. If that’s okay? Sir?

Dmitri gave me a slightly mollified look that made me feel like he might decide not to eat me right away. The jury was still out. I smiled again, trying to look ingratiating, and not like a bad-tempered punk with something to hide. Well, that part was true enough, but I didn’t want this guy to know it.

Is there some other time you could speak with us then, Mr. Wessex? This is actually quite important. You could be a big help to us in our investigation. I’m sure you’d like our report to reflect that you were cooperative, wouldn’t you?

I couldn’t stop a slight eye roll, but some sense of self-preservation kicked in and at the last minute, and I put my hand up and rubbed my eyes. Like I told you before, sir, I don’t know anything about the guy, I said, my voice hopefully not registering my impatience. No way in hell was I about to say anything, but I wasn’t stupid enough to antagonize two Goldens.

Goldens were able to trace their lineage back over a thousand years, but they were still rare in North America. In fact, these two were the first ones I’d seen in a long while. Goldens had a real attitude that distinguished them from other Dragons. Along with being really good-looking, they all had a menacing, don’t-fuck-with-me demeanor that I, personally, was glad to honor.

Goldens were content to stay in their own territories as a rule. They were the most prosperous Dragons too and jealously guarded their treasures. Also, Goldens were still very much in charge in the Dragon hierarchy as the ruling family. They didn’t make things easy for the other breeds. Never had—so more of these other breeds had migrated to the more populated places in the world, the places where the humans lived.

In stark contrast to the Goldens and at the very bottom of Dragon hierarchy were the Spawn, like me and Artie. It was gangs like Artie’s that had grown increasingly violent over the last few years and were responsible for the majority of crime in the city. Everybody knew that, and it wasn’t like I had any special information. But maybe it was me who didn’t know shit, because here were two Goldens in front of me, asking questions