by Cameo Renae
My dad was a tall man, easily over six feet in height with only a slightly darker skin tone and a muscular build. His hair had a thick texture with waves, and while dark, it was nowhere near the raven black of my own hair. His eyes were blue, where mine were gray with hints of blue. His self-assurance inspired me, and I had idolized him for as long as I could remember. He was my hero. I seemed so very different from them both. I often wondered if, upon my eighteenth birthday, they’d tell me I was adopted. It wouldn’t have surprised me.
I took a seat opposite my mother and cupped the warm mug in my hands as I sipped it cautiously. Perfect. I looked up at the counter and noticed the young woman behind it smiling at me. Her name tag said Willow. Such a pretty name! I gave her a thumbs up to indicate my pleasure, and she winked at me, then turned to wipe down one of the espresso machines.
“So, what did you think of the jewelry? Anything you can’t live without?” my mom asked as I took another careful sip of my drink.
“There are a few that are amazing, but I should probably at least get my room unpacked before I start adding more to my collection.” I thought back to the various jewelry boxes in my room still waiting for my attention.
She laughed and reached across to pat my arm. Bad timing on her part, or on mine. As she moved, so did I—I scooted my mug to the side, directly in her path. Her fingers hit the cup and tipped it over, spilling the scalding hot contents all over my right hand.
I yelped in pain, and my mom jumped up to help me. Willow appeared at our side quickly, and I vaguely remembered hearing her ask how she could help. My instinct was to blow on the back of my hand, and to my amazement, impossibly cool air passed over my lips and cooled my skin. I watched in shock, and honestly some horror, as ice crystals formed over the burned area.
My mom wrapped her arms around me, shielding my hand and face from the view of those around us. A towel was thrust between our heads by a tight-smiled Willow.
“I’ve got this. Go take care of her before anyone notices.” Willow’s voice barely registered above a whisper.
She and my mom exchanged a look that I couldn’t understand, then Mom nodded and ushered me out the door.
“It’s okay, baby. Let’s get you to the hospital to have that looked at.” Mom spoke louder than necessary, and I began to think I was losing my mind—or dreaming.
The pain had disappeared, and I had a morbid eagerness to peek under the dish towel to see how bad my injury really was. I glanced back into the shop and saw Willow quickly cleaning up the mess we’d left behind.
It seemed like only seconds before I found myself sitting in the passenger seat as Mom backed out of her parking space.
I peeled the towel back from my hand, expecting to either see the worst, or see that I’d imagined the severe burn, but found nothing but a small mark. What I didn’t expect to see . . . I didn’t even know what it was. It was white, shimmery, and hard—almost like a shell.
Panic welled up in my chest. I struggled to breathe.
“Mom?” I could hear the fear in my own voice, so I knew she heard it too.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s gonna be fine.” She pulled out her cell phone and hit a button. “Call Tristan,” she said loudly.
The phone answered back, “Calling Tristan Mills.”
Mom put the phone to her ear and waited only a few seconds, then said, “Tristan, it’s happening. Meet us at home as soon as you can.”
I heard the muffled voice of my dad say, “On my way,” and then the line went dead.
“Mom?” I asked again. “What is this? What’s happening?”
She glanced at me and sighed a deep, worried-sounding breath. “It’s a long story. Dad and I will explain it all when we get home.”
We drove in silence until we reached our new house—not the hospital, by the way. My gut told me something big loomed before me. Something I was totally unprepared for.
Chapter 2
We pulled into our driveway just seconds before Dad arrived in his black Toyota RAV4. He ran to the door and unlocked it, then waved us inside as quickly as possible. I worried about the cool air and the weird burn, but I was even more concerned by the way my parents reacted.
Once inside, Mom sat me on the sofa between her and Dad. She gently grasped my wrist and flashed me a reassuring smile. “We need to show your father.”
I looked at my hand, then back up at her, and felt the previously unshed tears start to roll down my face.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let me see,” Dad said with a calm assurance he hadn’t previously displayed. He pushed up the sleeves of his red sweater and held out his hand.
I removed the towel and gingerly placed my hand in his. He frowned and closed his eyes. “Well, I guess that settles it.”
Mom nodded. “Yeah, it does.”
I grew annoyed at all the completely unhelpful answers. “Settles what? You guys are scaring me!”
Mom grasped my left hand as Dad continued to hold on to my right. He gave my fingers a tight squeeze. “We aren’t like other families.”
I rolled my eyes at that. “No duh. I’ve known that for a long time. What does that have to do with this freaky scab on my hand?”
Mom slipped her other arm behind me and around my shoulder. “No, sweetheart, you aren’t understanding your dad. Just give him a few minutes to explain.”
“We are different because we aren’t completely human. We’re called shifters. Our specific species is dragon—frost dragon to be exact.” Dad’s demeanor was as if what he’d just told me wasn’t completely bonkers. He acted like he’d just announced he’d taken a new job or something.
“Dragons?” The high pitch of my voice gave away my lack of emotional control.
“Sweetheart,” my mom said. “Stay calm.”
“Calm?” I screeched. “What the hell? How can we be dragons? We are people! Shifters, or whatever you called it, aren’t real!”
Mom frowned at my use of the word hell, but at that point, I wasn’t worried about dropping a dollar in the swear jar. Crap, I’d have been happy to dump my entire life savings in there if it would have allowed me to truly express how I felt at that moment.
“Dragons?” I repeated. “Huge, lizardish, winged creatures? That kind of dragon? How is this even possible? You’re joking, right? Please say you’re joking!”
Dad ran a finger over my weird scab. “This is a scale. It’s a method of protection for us. Like armor.” He glanced at my mom.
Mom frowned. “I accidentally knocked hot chocolate on her hand. She blew on the burn and . . . well . . .”
“Ah,” said my dad, as if that cleared this entire enigma up.
I stood and paced in front of them. “Why do I have a scale?”
Mom spoke again. “Your natural instinct was to blow on your burn, as most would do, but unlike most, your inner dragon kicked into protection mode and blew frigid air out to stop the burn. Then it formed a scale to protect the skin until it’s fully healed.” She sounded a little in awe by this process.
I held up both hands. “Wait a minute. How come I’m just now learning about this?”
“Well,” Dad said as he leaned back on the sofa, “if you possess the gene, it’s triggered around your sixteenth birthday. You’re only a few weeks away from that. Now that we know for sure you possess that gene, we can prepare you for what to expect next.”
“Next?” I gulped. That sounded ominous.
“It’s kind of like going through puberty.” Mom smiled. “You’ll notice minor changes up to your sixteenth birthday, when the gene is fully developed. What those changes will be? We can only guess. Everyone is different.”
“Fully developed? What does that mean? Will I become a huge creature or something?” I could feel myself begin to hyperventilate.
“It’s not quite like that. It’s more—” Dad was interrupted by the doorbell. “Hold that thought.” He ran to answer the door.
Mom motioned for me to join her again on the sofa.
I sat next to her and stared at the scale on my hand.
Dad re-entered the room moments later. He clutched a letter between his fingers, his face solemn.
“What is it?” Mom asked.
“It’s from my father. He’d like us to join him for dinner tonight.” Dad didn’t look pleased, which confused me. Isn’t Grandpa the reason we moved here to begin with?
Mom nodded, but also appeared disturbed by the idea.
Dad sighed and looked at me. “I’m sure you’ll learn more tonight, but I’ll give you the summary. We come from an old line of frost dragons that originated in Iceland. Your Grandpa Mills is the patriarch of our family. Grandma Mills passed away before you were born. Everyone in my family has the shifter gene.” He glanced at Mom. “Your mother is human, so there had always been the possibility that the gene would skip you.”
I looked at my hand once again. “So I’m half human and half dragon?”
“More or less.” Mom gave my shoulders a squeeze.
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. It’s crazy,” I muttered.
“It gets crazier,” replied Dad. “Your great-grandfather settled in Havenwood Falls as one of the original founders of the town. This place came to be because supernatural beings from all over needed a safe place to live.”
My eyes widened. “So there are other dragons here?”
“Other frost dragons? Outside of our family, none that I’m aware of, but there are other dragons, as well as witches, werewolves, vampires, fae, ghosts . . .” His voice trailed off when he noticed I was getting the point.
“Ho-ly crap.” I couldn’t believe what I heard. “All those things in fairy tales and horror stories are real?”
“Yes, but don’t believe everything you read. Not all supernatural creatures are bad. In fact, many just want to be left to live in peace. Again, this is why Havenwood Falls is perfect for us.” His eyes were full of emotion that bordered on pain, but something else lurked there too. Sadness? Longing? I wasn’t sure.
“So why have you never mentioned Grandpa before?” I had to know why they kept all this from me for so long, especially since there was a possibility this secret would be life-changing for me.
“Havenwood Falls is protected by a memory ward. Once you leave, it’s only a matter of time before you forget it exists. I think the memories were hidden somewhere in our minds, including your grandpa, but for the most part, we simply forgot.” His shoulders were tense, and I sensed his discomfort.
“There’s more to this story, isn’t there? With Grandpa?”
“Yes,” he stated. “But we’ll have to continue this discussion later. I have to take care of some things before dinner tonight.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up one hand to stop me. “I promise you’ll be told all the details. It’ll just have to wait a bit longer. You have the bulk of the information you need for now.”
I turned to my mom. “We live in a town full of supernatural creatures.”
She nodded.
“How do all the regular people in town deal with that?” I could imagine the terror the human townspeople must have felt upon learning something so bizarre.
“Well,” Mom sighed. “Most of the humans in town don’t know about the supernatural beings that live here. This is a secret. One you need to be very careful with.”
How am I supposed to pretend all is normal when I have this huge secret?
“Wait, what about Willow? From the coffee place?” I remembered how she jumped right in to help. She and my mom working in tandem.
“Willow is fae,” Mom stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Fae,” I repeated. “She looks so human.”
“Faerie glamour. It helps them blend in, just as you do as a shifter. No humans will ever know you’re a dragon, unless you tell them or they see you in that form.”
The memory of that first, frantic move came rushing back. “When we moved, when I was seven. What happened? Why did we act like we were escaping something?”
Mom closed her eyes. “Dragons are territorial.” She smiled at my dad a moment before turning back to me. “Understandably, human men are, too. Your father came home and found our neighbor trying to touch me. I was fighting him off, but I wasn’t winning. Dad shifted in the backyard, and the other guy peed himself before passing out. We couldn’t safely stay there after that.” She squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry we’ve had to move so much. The other moves were job-related, with a touch of restlessness. I think we missed Havenwood Falls and didn’t even realize it.”
Mom brushed the hair back from my face and kissed my temple. “Now, we’ll put a bandage over that scale so no one will see it, then you need to get some rest. You’re going to need it for tonight.”
Great, more cryptic talk that tells me nothing. “Is something bad happening tonight?” I mustered the bravery to ask.
“Not if I can help it.” Dad’s face grew stern, and I knew that asking more questions right now would only be met with silence.
* * *
I spent the better part of my afternoon online, looking for anything relating to dragons in Iceland. To my frustration, I didn’t find much, and what I did find was based on video games or something similar, so I had no confidence the information could be trusted. I also searched for dragons in general, but there were many various sources, all giving conflicting information. I was frustrated and scared. Mom and Dad seemed perfectly cool with it all, but then, they’d had decades to adjust. Or maybe more. I realized then that I didn’t know exactly how old my dad was. We had birthdays, and his age had been mentioned, but he still looked much like he did in my kindergarten days. I had always assumed that good genes were responsible. I obviously wasn’t far from the mark, except that there weren’t human genes involved.
I searched until my eyes burned, then slammed my laptop closed in frustration. I’d considered talking to Mom about it more, but I had yet to address how I felt about them keeping this from me. I acknowledged the sense of betrayal, even if they did have a good reason. I rested my head on my pillow and tried not to think about anything. It seemed a better option than losing my mind. I closed my eyes and inhaled, trying to relax.
When I opened my eyes, darkness greeted me. My vision adjusted, and my room resembled a jail cell. I rubbed my face, trying to shake off the dream I knew I was having. It didn’t work. I rolled off the small bed and walked to the bars.
“Hey! Is anybody there?” I yelled at the top of my voice.
A man walked out of the darkness and sneered at me. “Quiet!”
“Sir, please. Let me out.” I tried not to cry.
“We don’t let monsters roam free.” His caustic tone and expression of disgust terrified me as he stepped closer.
“Me?” I asked. “I’m not a monster. I’m just a girl.”
“No. You’re the worst kind of monster imaginable.” He reached through the bars and started to strangle me.
I fought back with all my might, but couldn’t break free of his grasp. A roar ripped from my lips, and in an instant, I was looking down on the man from a great height. Fear filled his eyes, and I roared again, then bent my head down and ate him with one bite.
I woke up drenched in sweat from the nightmare. It turned out I did take a short nap, and I was surprised at just how exhausted I really was. I guess finding out you’re part dragon will do that, with the obvious addition of horrific dreams.
Moments later, my mom entered my bedroom with a garment bag.
I rubbed my face and fanned myself, still feeling overheated from the dream. “What’s that?”
“Your dress for tonight. It’s almost five.” Mom walked to the end of my bed and draped it across my blanket.
“I gotta wear a dress?” I frowned. While I didn’t mind dresses, I wasn’t particularly fond of them, either. Especially in wintry weather. This was Colorado in November—not exactly tropical. I preferred my jeans and baggy hoodies.
Mom gave me a tight smile. “Yes.�
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“Because?” I asked.
“Because your grandfather is very old-fashioned, and we are trying to ease him back into our lives. He believes dinner should be a formal affair, so to appease him, we are going to follow his rules . . . for now.” She seemed just as annoyed by the idea as I did.
I huffed. “Whatever.” I rolled off the bed and grabbed the dress. “Can I wear my tennis shoes?”
Mom shook her head, and I fought back a pout. I hated dress shoes. Like really hated them.
“Are you okay? You look a little haggard.” She gazed at me with concern.
“I’m fine. I just had a bad dream.” I didn’t really want to discuss it. I shuffled into my bathroom and hung the dress on the towel rack. After unzipping the garment bag, I slid it down to land in a pile on the floor.
“Hmm.” It wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever seen. The simple, light pink dress had an elegance about it. It had a round collar, three-quarter sleeves, and a princess seamed bodice. I slipped the dress over my head. I’m a petite person at five feet two inches tall, but this dress fell just below the knee, as I suspected it should have—like it was custom made for me.
I yelled through the doorway, “Mom, I need you to zip me up!”
She stepped inside and took a moment to look at me. “Oh, honey. It’s beautiful on you.” She smiled, and I could tell by the look in her eyes that this wasn’t one of those mom-goggle moments. She meant what she’d said.
I glanced at myself in the mirror. I’d never felt particularly pretty before. My raven black hair landed just below my shoulder blades, and while it wasn’t curly, it wasn’t perfectly straight, either. My pale skin often stood out, even when I spent time in the sun. It seemed as if I was immune to tanning. I’d learned not to wear eyeliner too. When I did, it framed my blue-gray eyes in a way that made them look ominous. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d been asked if I was into gothic stuff. I always replied, “No, I just naturally look like death.”