by Aja James
Leti slid him a snide look, which Rhys returned with a glare.
Ariel smirked but wisely refrained from the fray this go around.
“Listen up, warriors,” Leti said in all seriousness, her tone commanding. “This day begins your training. You will be taught to harness your animal instincts and fight the three deadliest predators of our Kind—eagle, feline and snake—”
“Dragons are the deadliest,” Rhys muttered beneath his breath.
Leti gave him a look of exasperation, as if they’d had this discussion many times.
“Dragons aren’t real, Rhys,” she said firmly.
“They are,” he insisted. “Why do you think every culture has stories of them? Dragons are the kings of all three domains, earth, sky and sea.”
“Those are just myths,” Leti argued, “and you’re distracting us from our purpose here.”
“I’m just making sure we give these newbies all the facts,” he batted back. “We might teach them everything we know, but they’ll never be able to win against a dragon.”
“A nonexistent dragon.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Precisely!”
Ariel cleared her throat.
“Ah…not to interrupt. But are we beginning our training or what?”
Rhys cocked a devious smile at her.
“I was trying to delay the carnage, human. You’ll eat those words before the day is out.”
*** *** *** ***
Maximus fell on his back with a heavy thud and a barely suppressed groan.
He didn’t know about Ariel, but he sure was eating her words.
She should have let Rhys and Leti keep at their bickering. Even a five minute delay to the start of the massacre that was disguised as a training would have been much appreciated.
“Get up,” one of his three tormentors said, the Amazon of an eagle-woman named Apolla.
“Falling on your back is a death sentence. You expose your soft belly to your enemies. You should have twisted midair before landing. Even falling on your head would have been preferable.”
Well, he’d done plenty of the latter as well. In addition to landing on his shoulder, his face, his ass.
He might have landed on his feet just as often, but it didn’t feel that way. Not after a day of being batted across the plateau by massive feline paws, thrown from the sky by talons, and whipped off his feet by a giant rattle snake.
His vampire senses and ability to anticipate his opponents’ moves were no help against giant predators who shook him around like a rag doll just for shits and giggles. When they really got serious “training” him, he felt more like a cockroach that got squashed, skewered, and sprayed by exterminators.
He rolled unsteadily to his feet and slid his eyes to Ariel.
Yep, she was also eating her words from earlier this morning, though he suspected her trainers were going easier on her because she was human, not vampire. She was more easily broken, weaker, slower. But that didn’t stop her from trying to give as good as she got. Maximus was more than impressed with her fighting skills.
The military and government agencies she worked for had taught her well.
Maximus only had a split second to brace himself when Apolla, in Martial eagle form, swooped down at him from above.
He feinted to the side and dove into a fast roll just as her talons closed a hair’s breadth behind him, scraping through the back of his cotton shirt.
He winced at the deep, bloody cut that set his back on fire, wishing he hadn’t removed his jacket earlier to facilitate movement and release some heat. Despite the frigid night air, he was a raging inferno from the grueling, relentless training.
The eagle screeched in chastisement at his too-slow reaction, and he almost couldn’t prevent himself from flipping her the bird.
He got wearily to his feet again and awaited the next charge.
That was when Rhys declared, “Let’s end here. You two weaklings aren’t going to absorb more than bruises tonight. Forget technique and finesse.”
Maximus overheard Ariel mutter some blasphemous prayers in colorful military lingo under her breath. Something along the lines of “thank the fuck” and “broke-dick piece of shit drill.”
But his favorites were the curses she snarled in Spanish, in which he’d also acquired fluency through his travels and migrations: “que te folle un pez, lamecharcos” (I hope you get fucked by a fish, puddle licker) directed at the snake-man; “me cago en la leche que te han dado, hija de una hyena” (I shit in the milk they gave you, daughter of a hyena) for the cheetah; and the coup de grâce “que de la pique un pollo” (I hope a chicken pecks at your dick) for Rhys, her lead trainer.
Rhys looked at her with a strange sparkle in his eagle eyes, as if he knew exactly what she said. And if he didn’t understand word for word, then at least he got the intent loud and clear.
But instead of taking offense, he did what Maximus was doing—chew the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
Maximus met Ariel’s gaze and held it with humor and exhilaration.
He was sore and bruised and cut up, but he’d never felt this strong before. This alive and energized. His body was humming with tension, and it wasn’t just adrenaline that had him fired up.
“I can help you release the beast, warrior.”
Maximus hadn’t even noticed that the cheetah had sidled up next to him, a gorgeous, leanly muscular female with tawny blonde hair and flawless bronzed complexion.
He looked down at her, trying to come up with the least insulting reply, as she boldly rubbed the hardened tips of her breasts against his bicep in invitation.
Which was when a bullet named Ariel shot across the distance between them and pounced on top of Cassandra, knocking her to the ground.
Cassandra shifted mid fall into giant cheetah form and twisted around so that she came down on top of Ariel, her massive paws on the human’s chest, a move that had worked on Ariel all day long.
But not this time.
Ariel tucked in her limbs close to her torso, making herself a smaller target, and used the momentum as she uncurled to shoot her legs out when the barest contact was made, straight into the cheetah’s vulnerable belly, flipping the massive feline over her head.
Cassandra landed easily on her paws as Ariel back-flipped to her feet, rounding on the cheetah.
“Mine.”
Ariel’s voice was barely human. The word was growled low and resounding, less of a sound and more of a threatening vibration.
“Maximus is mine. Don’t touch him again.”
The cheetah tensed her shoulders and coiled back, baring her fangs in an aggressive snarl.
“Cassandra,” Rhys warned. “Enough. You can always break out the claws tomorrow in training. Unless you want to Challenge her for the male now, and live with a spoiled victory given the unfair advantage to you.”
Cassandra hissed one last time before changing back into human form in front of everyone, uncaring that she was stark naked.
Or perhaps she did it on purpose, because she sauntered past Maximus in all her womanly glory, boobs and ass bouncing firmly with each step.
All the males (no exception) stared after her as if mesmerized. Roark even licked his lips hungrily.
Ariel growled ominously, and Maximus was the first to look away, meeting her furious gaze with amusement in his eyes.
There she was.
His partner and his keeper.
The female who had always guarded him so jealously.
But the smile that was in the progress of tilting his lips slowly gave way to solemnity the longer they looked at each other.
This time was different. Her claiming of him was different.
She’d been defending her right to lie with him. She’d made it clear to all present that she wanted to fuck him and be fucked by him.
And that she was willing to fight to the death to claim that right.
Chapter Nine
Her warrior
was in a strange mood, Ariel noticed.
He’d lost the rare playfulness she witnessed during their flight to the training grounds and after the training ended.
Before she attacked Cassandra for touching him.
He was guarded again, his expression unreadable.
He’d never been guarded with Simca. He didn’t even sit next to her after they’d all washed the grime and blood from their bodies and gathered for supper around the fire pit.
Ariel tried to use their mind link to gage what he was thinking, but even there, he was closed off to her.
For the first time in her life, as either Agent Kyles or Simca, she felt bereft and uncertain.
She tried to distract herself by paying more attention to Rhys and Leti’s bickering. They were talking of dragons again.
“But how do you explain the different descriptions? There is no consistency in what a dragon looks like,” Leti pointed out.
“Come now, that is a weak argument, you must admit,” Rhys drawled. “How many descriptions do humans have of vampires and elves? Of animal spirits like us? Also, there could very well be many different types of dragons, just like there are different feline shifters.”
“What types of dragons do you think exist, Rhys?” Ariel joined in the debate, truly curious now.
He took a deep breath to begin what promised to be a long speech while Leti rolled her eyes.
“I estimate at least three types of dragons. Eastern dragons are well documented. They typically have a serpent body with dinosaur-like scales on top, four legs with claws and a large head with fangs. Some breathe fire, some don’t. They don’t have wings but they can fly in the sky and live beneath the sea.”
“These are good dragons, right?” Ariel asked. “Don’t they grant wishes or are symbols of fortune and power and protection?”
She didn’t know where she got this from. Agent Kyles didn’t read much beyond instruction manuals and top secret reports. Didn’t watch TV or surf the Net, not unless she was working a case.
She must have picked it up during her high school or college education, since she remembered almost everything she studied. That’s the way she’d been wired.
“For the most part, yes,” Rhys answered gravely as if he had several PhDs on this topic. “Asian dragons—Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Korean, Indonesian—all have benevolent characteristics and are very wise. The nature of the Pilipino and Vietnamese dragons are less certain.”
“Oh, for Goddess’s sake,” Leti muttered beneath her breath.
“Then there are the Western dragons,” Rhys continued as if he hadn’t heard. “These also have the body of a serpent, but with two or no legs, like the Scandinavian and Germanic wyvern and lindworm. And they have wings with which to fly. Usually giant bat-like wings.”
His own wings shifted and stretched behind his back, the glossy feathers catching sparks of light from the dancing fire.
“The Welsh dragon has four large legs with claws, a spear-like tail, wings, and a monstrous head that breathes fire. These dragons are mostly characterized as aggressive and dangerous, though not necessarily evil.”
“And the last type?” Ariel encouraged, raising her voice a bit to be heard over Leti’s exaggerated sighs of annoyance.
“A mix of various cultures, not geographically bound,” Rhys began. “The commonality is that this dragon has multiple heads. Like the Indian Naga, the Khmer Neak, the Hungarian Sárkány, Slavic dragons, the Romanian Balaur, and the Greek Hydra. They are even more snake-like and are typically poisonous. Some of them fight demons to protect civilization; some of them destroy it.”
“Dragons don’t exist,” Leti said sotto voce to Ariel, though her whisper was so loud everyone else heard as well.
Ignoring her again, Rhys went on, “Of course, there might only be one kind of dragon. Maybe it’s a mixture of all of these descriptions. The one shared trait across all of them is the serpent-like body. But they are not overgrown snakes, as much as Leti would like to mislead you.”
Pffttt, Leti huffed.
“The scales of dragons are hard and thick, like a protective armor, even harder than the scales of giant spirit snakes, tougher and more resilient than the strongest metal. Having burning or poisonous breath or the ability to breathe fire is another commonality. With or without wings, many dragons can fly and live under water. And finally, when they have claws, the claws are like eagle talons; they are not the claws of land or sea creatures.”
“Are dragons created like we are?” one of the other animal spirits joined in. It was a female jaguar whose name Ariel did not know.
Rhys paused a few moments to gather his thoughts. Even Leti was silent with anticipation of his reply, though she’d probably never admit it even under pain of death.
Finally he said, “Based on all the research I have done…”
“I wonder how much that can be, since we’re on a mountaintop in Siberia with no modern conveniences,” Leti couldn’t help but mutter.
“Recall that I’ve lived centuries in normal civilization before coming here,” Rhys deigned to address her directly.
She gestured for him to continue.
“All the research points to the fact that whether or not dragons were created by the Goddess or evolved by themselves, they have something from all the Kinds on earth. Pure, Dark, animal, human…and whatever else is out there. And they will only reveal themselves when the time is right. Never before.”
Thoughtful silence descended upon the group.
Everyone watched the fire dance and crackle, like the body of a dragon twisting and undulating, illuminating the darkness with its own brand of magic.
“You’re a great story-teller, Rhys,” Ariel complimented in a hushed voice, like a little girl at her first campfire. She’d been riveted.
“It’s true,” he insisted. “It’s not just a story. One day, I will find one, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“What will you do if you ever find one?” Leti asked, serious this time, without her usual barbs.
Rhys smiled wide.
“Make him my best friend,” he said with optimistic cheer.
“It’s always a good thing to have a dragon on your side.”
*** *** *** ***
As night descended upon the remote mountains of Siberia, a sunny new day was in full swing for Benji in New York City.
He was on his way to his first private art lesson in a home-studio owned by a woman named Clara Scott.
Unfortunately, he was not allowed to make the journey from the Shield, the Pure Ones’ base where he lived with Mommy and Daddy and all their friends, in Uptown Manhattan to Hell’s Kitchen by himself, even though he was eight-years-old!
Fortunately, Mommy got him a super-cool new escort today, since the man (or rather vampire) was headed to the studio anyway.
It was very rare for a vampire to be able to stay awake during the day. Only the oldest and strongest vampires could.
This one could. He must have extra super powers.
Benji gazed worshipfully up at his new friend, who looked like he just stepped off of a revamped version of the Matrix movie set.
Distinctive Asian features, except for his double-lidded, exotic black eyes and wavy hair. Impeccably dressed in tailored “casual” summer attire—open-collar button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, pressed light-weight slacks, leather shoes and completely blacked-out aviator sunglasses.
Even Benji noticed how people ogled his escort.
There was an indefinable appeal about him. The way he moved alone drew attention from everyone they walked passed. He possessed a grace and subtle swagger that Benji tried to emulate like any boy would do when they saw a truly masculine male.
And this male was exceptionally masculine, despite the leanness of his build.
Ryu Takamura was his name, Benji recalled with crystal clarity. He never forgot a name or a face or anything he saw or read.
And he thought it was extra cool that Ryu me
ant “dragon” in Japanese.
“Benjamin”, alas, didn’t mean anything anywhere near that cool. In Hebrew, it meant “son of my right hand.” Whoopdeedoo.
His middle name Larkin was slightly better, meaning “silent,” “fierce,” and “brave warrior.” Combined with his last name, D’Angelo, Benji supposed he hadn’t totally lost out on the naming game. It wouldn’t be something he’d ever grow up resenting his parents for, in any case.
Ryu was one of the Chosen, the personal guard of the new Dark King, Alend Ramses, and therefore, Mommy’s ex-comrade in arms. His moniker among his Kind was Assassin.
As in, shadow ninja assassin!
Benji skipped a little as he walked beside the ninja. Both to keep up with the male’s smooth, long-legged strides and because he was just so excited to be escorted by someone so awesome!
Ryu didn’t look down at him or otherwise acknowledge the little dance Benji just did, but a corner of his mouth quirked up.
Normally, Benji was a font of nonstop conversation, roving from topic to topic like a disoriented bee, though his own logic was perfectly clear to himself. But he was too in awe today to ramble, and his escort seemed to prefer silence. The shadow assassin hadn’t said much beyond initial greetings. In a deep, resonant voice that was unlike any Benji had ever heard before.
It just made him all the more mysterious and cool in Benji’s eight-year-old mind.
After taking the subway and walking the rest of the way, they soon arrived at Clara Scott’s studio, a small two-level apartment that the artist shared with her husband Eli and their daughter Annie.
Benji noticed a new tension in the ninja’s shoulders as they climbed up the few steps to the front door.
The tension eased slightly when Clara opened it, the little girl Annie, who was a couple of years younger than Benji, by her side.
“Welcome, Ryu,” Clara greeted brightly. “I’m so glad you came!”
She looked down at Benji and gave him a huge smile.
“How do you do, Benjamin. Are you ready for your lesson? I’m excited to see your talent.”