by Finley Aaron
I don’t even know what to say, then. I feel a happiness that’s bigger than any I’ve ever known before. Words seem insufficient. “Maybe,” I joke, “it was all the iron supplements I took.”
Ion laughs then—not so much because my joke was even funny, but more as though he feels this same happiness I feel, and it’s overflowing audibly. And unlike the slightly creepy laughter he used to laugh when I first met him, this laughter sounds like that of an innocent child, and I realize the haunted look behind his eyes is completely gone.
This guy? He’s a distinguished gentleman from a lost golden age, he’s the child from 1918, he is my Ion, all in one, none of them hiding any longer.
His expression sobers after a moment. “I know you’re planning to go back to school in the fall. I don’t wish to interfere with that in any way. I’ve been alone so many years, a little longer is nothing. But Zilpha?”
“Hmm?”
“I was hoping—seeing that your parents don’t despise me anymore—and in light of my unending affection for you…” His usual eloquence is failing him, and the injury at his side appears to be paining him, and he has given quite a long speech already, all things considered, so I fill in what I suspect he might be trying to say.
“Will you marry me?”
Ion’s eyes sparkle, and he smiles. “Yes, will you?”
“Yes!”
Somehow I get him safely to rest, and over the next couple of weeks, he recovers his strength. By then, we’ve made whatever plans we can for our reconnaissance mission. Rilla has gone back to Montana for her summer school course. And Mom stays behind in case Zhi needs her—although Zhi is doing much better these days.
So Dad, Felix, Ion and I take off for Switzerland.
And it’s a little weird. Maybe it’s because I didn’t fly last time—just rode on Rilla’s back. Or maybe it’s because it’s summer now, not just late spring, and there’s less snow, so everything looks different.
The tallest peaks are still covered in snow near where Hans Wexler’s castle was.
I say was, because we can’t find it.
I mean, it’s gone.
We can’t even find where it used to be when it was there, which it clearly no longer is.
I try to trace the route Rilla flew. I see similar sights, things I recognize, even the castle with the ski lift (how many of those can there be?). I know we’re looking in the right region, but there’s no sign of the castle anywhere, and neither Dad nor Ion nor I can even be sure which peak it was on.
Felix insists it couldn’t have all disappeared so quickly. It must be buried under the snow somewhere. He and my father dig several pilot holes in likely-looking spots, but they don’t find anything.
Anywhere.
We can’t even find it on the google maps, or anything.
It’s just gone.
So with great reluctance and vows to continue the search, whatever form that might take, we return home.
There’s one thing we all agree on: Wexler and/or Eudora must have survived. There’s no way everything could have disappeared, even if there was a huge explosion, not without leaving a debris trail all around.
We didn’t find any debris, so whatever there was must have been cleaned up, probably to hide the evidence of everything Wexler was up to, which means Wexler and/or Eudora are still out there.
Somewhere.
But we can’t do anything more than continue to be cautious and vigilant, as we’ve always been. And besides, I have plenty to distract me. I finish my studies by cramming a couple extra classes into my fall semester. And I do the dishes just as I promised Rilla.
And then we return home for holiday break for my winter wedding.
By this time, Ion is on good terms with everyone. My parents trust him. And Ion, for his part, has become less cynical and more cheerful. He smiles a lot.
Especially when I give him massages.
Speaking of, I need to order more of that sensual massage oil. We’re running low.
The End
DEAR READER,
I hope you enjoyed the story of Zilpha and Ion’s adventures! If you did, you could be my hero by leaving a review so others will know it’s worth the read. I really appreciate it.
Being the big meanie that I am, I haven’t answered every question, but I’ve left some clues in this book about what’s yet to come. Have you noticed that castle in Romania keeps coming up? And that we don’t know whatever happened to Wexler or Eudora, or Ion’s parents, or Ram’s parents? We haven’t even learned yet about the mystery Felix uncovered in Phoenix, about how to make dragon gold.
These questions have answers yet to be revealed in the coming books. In addition to the two remaining books in the Dragon Eye series, I’m also writing a new series called The Lost Dragons.
The first book in The Lost Dragons series will be called Foundlings. It’s about boy and girl twins who were found in a duffle bag when they were a week old, fifteen years ago, and who always figured they were normal humans but guess what? They’re not. They’re lost dragons, and they have to find out who they are and where they came from and why they were abandoned, and along the way they discover they have enemies who they have to outsmart, and a bunch of other things happen which I can’t tell you about because I don’t want to spoil the fun.
Just to give you a hint, though, I’ve included the opening chapters at the end of this e-book.
But first, as I’m sure you’re well aware, there are still two more books in the Dragon Eye series yet to come, and the next is called Dracul. As has been my habit, I’m also including a sneak peek of the opening chapters of Dracul.
Depending on when you read this, these books may or may not be out yet. I apologize if you have to wait a bit. Sadly, they don’t get instantly written the moment I think them up (I wish they did—that would be so much easier for everyone involved).
You’ll also note that these pre-release snippets aren’t the final form of the story, so they may contain errors that will disappear by the time the books release. Once the books release, you’ll probably want to read the full books from the start in case some of those changes involve details in the story.
For more current information about Foundlings and Dracul, you can visit my website at www.finleyaaron.com or check my amazon page at http://www.amazon.com/Finley-Aaron/e/B00Q4YBTRY/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1426774501&sr=1-1
I also post information about release dates on twitter @FinleyAaronBook
Perhaps the best way to make sure you don’t miss any of the forthcoming fun, is to sign up for my newsletter. Just go to my website (www.finleyaaron.com) and click on “contact.” That will take you to a page with a brief form to subscribe to my newsletter. Since I figure you’re probably a busy person like I am, I don’t send out the newsletter unless there’s something really important you might want to know, such as a new book released or available for pre-order, or if there’s a special sale promotion on my books.
Until then, keep reading for sneak peeks of Dracul and Foundlings.
Thank you for joining me on this exciting journey!
Finley
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This may seem crazy to think about right now, but when I first published Dragon, I didn’t know if anyone would read it. I’d already sent it to my closest reading friends for their feedback, so they didn’t have to buy it. And that left…who? Strangers?
It was a little bit scary, to be honest.
But then, to my amazement, people actually started reading it! Some of them even left very nice reviews! I’m still not entirely clear on how this happened, but I do know one thing: it could not have happened without you.
Seriously. You. The person reading this right now—you make it possible for me to write these stories and share them with the world. You make it possible for other readers to find them.
You are the reason I write. Without you, the words go unread, the stories untold. You did this—and I am so very grateful.
Th
ere are some very special readers who’ve gone above and beyond even the ranks of reading and reviewing. They pretty much blow my mind with their generosity and thoughtfulness.
To Jessica Keller, who not only read and reviewed my books, but sent me chocolate—I raise my dragon mug (which you gave me) to you.
To at least half the Munoz family, who spotted the mysterious disappearing/reappearing sweater in time for me to force that sweater to follow the rules of the space-time continuum, among other amazing feats too numerous to list. My gratitude overwhelms me and makes it difficult for me to think of words. The only ones I can think of right now are: thank you, thank you, thank you!!!
As always, a huge thanks to my family, for their unflagging support.
Finley
DRACUL
Rilla may be a dragon, but she’s not about to let that get in the way of her plans to finish her college degree. More than anything, she’s focused on writing her senior thesis about the true identity of Vlad Dracul, the mysterious Romanian count who inspired the legend of Dracula.
The only problem? Rilla needs a rare book that has gone mysteriously missing from the few libraries that once carried it.
So when a handsome stranger shows up at her door, book in hand, and offers her the text in exchange for her help, she accepts his offer, only to discover she’s not the only one who wants the book. A centuries-old villain wants the truth to remain buried…and is ready to kill for it.
PROLOGUE
First, I’m going to tell you the first thing that happened, even though I didn’t realize its significance at the time. In fact, when it happened, I wasn’t entirely aware of what was going on. I was mostly asleep.
But later, much later, I realized, and I remembered.
So, I think it should come first, because it did come first, and also because I feel you have the right to know.
I would have liked to have known.
It’s too late for that now, of course.
Okay, here goes. Deep breath.
There’s an old castle in the Romanian mountains. We’ve always assumed it was abandoned. It’s in the middle of nowhere with no roads leading up to it. Like a lot of places in Eastern Europe, it was seized by the government decades and decades ago. But unlike many of those places, which were defaced and used for ignoble things like sanitary asylums and hog barns, this castle, due mostly to its remoteness, I suppose, was left alone.
Preserved, you might say.
We only know about it because we’re dragons, and the lack of roads doesn’t stop us. If anything, it makes us feel safer. More at home.
We’ve been going there my whole life. My parents stayed there long before I was born. It’s a convenient stopping place between my home in Azerbaijan, and any travels we’ve ever cared to take in the direction of Western Europe or even the United States.
I’ve slept in the castle more times than I can count, usually surrounded by my family members.
But lately, my family members have been finding mates and starting families of their own. So while I used to travel with my mother and sisters back and forth from Azerbaijan to school in Montana, in the United States, our group of four has been whittled down, as first my sister Wren got married, and then my sister Zilpha got married, and now my mother is more interested in being with her grandbabies than traveling with me, because anyway I’m a grown-up and I’ve made this trip countless times and I can do it on my own.
So now it’s just me.
I don’t mind. Really. I like being alone. I like quiet and not being bothered. Most of the time, being alone is awesome.
It’s just in the dark of night, in a sort of strange place (I love the castle in Romania, don’t get me wrong, but it is a strange place—I’ve explored most of it, but I’ve not been in every room. Some are locked.) I feel my aloneness more acutely.
I am not lonely.
I am not scared.
I’m just…a little bit…aware of my isolation, and the fact that if anything bad happened to me, my body would probably never even be found.
Which might seem like a genuine reason to be afraid, except that I’m a dragon and therefore mighty and terrible. Hardly the defenseless young woman I appear to be. Besides being able to breathe fire while in human or dragon form, I can also fly, and I know martial arts, plus I’m quite good with swords, daggers, bows and arrows—pretty much everything except guns, because guns are worse than useless against dragons, since bullets can ricochet off dragon scales and hit whoever fired the gun.
And since it’s pretty much impossible to fire a gun while in dragon form, and since my skin, in human form, is not remotely bullet-proof, I tend to just avoid guns.
Fire and swords are so much cooler, anyway.
So I’m not scared. I’m just aware of the little noises, the unclaimed shadows, the oh-my-goodness-did-a-bat-just-swoop-through-here?
That last one happens way too often for my comfort.
So I go to bed on one of the many beds in this place that are perfectly preserved in spite of decades of being abandoned. I’m in my favorite room, which is the one with the jade-and-gold wallpaper and the big cherry wardrobe, and I’m lying flat on my back with the covers pulled up to my chin, and I close my eyes and tell myself to just go to sleep.
Go to sleep.
After all, I’m tired from flying through half a foggy day and most of the night. The sun will be up soon and it feels so good to lie flat after a long flight.
There’s another swooping swoosh like the flutter of wings. I was very nearly asleep, but now I open my eyes almost reluctantly, just to check.
And there’s another unclaimed shadow. You know the kind I mean—a shadow whose source is not immediately obvious. Yes, I’m in a four-poster bed, but this shadow is too wide for a post and besides, it’s standing at the foot of the bed in the middle, not where any of the posts has any right to be.
And it kind of looks like maybe a man.
But—and here’s the reason why I all but completely forgot about this ever happening in the first place—I’m not scared of him. I almost feel peaceful. Watched over. Like when I was little and my mom used to come into our rooms and check on us every night before she went to bed, when we’d been asleep for awhile, and sometimes the sound of her approach would wake me up just enough to see her and recognize her, and it flooded me with this warm reassurance that my mom was watching over me and there was nothing to fear.
That I was loved, even.
And then I fell asleep.
As a little girl, and at that moment, lying in that bed in the castle in Romania, I fell asleep. And that’s the last I recalled of what happened until much, much later.
Almost, you might say, until it was nearly too late.
CHAPTER ONE
I’ve never minded bats much. Granted, they’re kind of creepy with their little fanged mouths and clawed hands and veiny, almost-transparent wings.
Creepy, yes.
Scary, no.
I mean, please, bat wings? My wings are at least a hundred times more huge and awesome than those wings.
Besides, bats eat bugs. Totally useful. So they’re like my little flying buddies in the sky.
As long as they stay in the sky. Lately, they’ve been infesting the house in Montana where I live.
Now, here’s the deal with our place in Montana. When my sisters and I were fourteen, the age when girls in the United States start high school, my mom came here with us from Azerbaijan to Montana. Partly we went because she wanted us to get a solid education and experience another part of the world, and Montana is about as far from Azerbaijan as you can get, yet at the same time, it’s still remote and mountainous and therefore vaguely reminiscent of home.
Also, Mom picked Montana because when she was a girl, her dad sent her off, alone, to a boarding school in northern England, and she’d vowed she’d never send any of her kids there.
And also because, Mom showed us a picture of Montana and my sisters and I pretty much fell in
love with the place.
Knowing we were going to be living here through high school and college, my parents decided it would make good financial sense to just outright buy a house, and then sell it when we’re done with it, rather than paying rent all those years.
Their idea sounded brilliant eight years ago.
Now that I’m in my final semester of school, and we have to make the house look its best so we can sell it, the idea seems way less brilliant.
It’s not that we’re slobs or have slacked on maintenance, or any of that.
It’s the bats.
Seriously, I think the place is infested. And here’s the deal: my mom’s freaked out that people will find out about the bats and then no one will want to buy the house, so she doesn’t want me to call an exterminator.
I even offered to tell the exterminator to park maybe half a block away, but Mom’s convinced people will watch to see which house he goes to, and then rumors will start that our infestation must be particularly bad if we made him park half a block away so people wouldn’t know.
Which I guess sort of makes sense, but then, Mom’s not the one living in the house with the bat infestation. Mom’s been splitting her time between Scotland, where by sister Wren recently hatched a red-haired baby girl, and Tanzania, where my brother Ram and his wife have their hands full with a baby boy. When she’s not either of those places, Mom’s in Azerbaijan, where my dad is a dragon king of a remote mountain tribe.
I’m living here, alone.
Alone with the bats.
Generally, my policy toward any wildlife I don’t want to eat is: you leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone. At first, this seemed to work with the bats. Sure, they might swoop through the house at odd hours and land on the curtains. I wasn’t even too upset to discover that they’re clearly not housebroken.