His Elder Dragon

by Jill Haven

  “Indeed, but then I saw him.”

  “Who?” My frustration turned the word accusatory, and Mason laughed again, a bright cheerful sound.

  “He’s… well, he’s fairly young, actually. He works at a diner here. I went in to get breakfast and imagine my shock when I’m delivered water by a beautiful creature who smells like brimstone and smoke.”

  My frustration transformed into true annoyance. Was he playing a joke on me? “You knew there were dragons in the area. So, have they been shifting regularly?”

  “But wait, there’s more.”

  “Don’t drag this out, Mason.”

  He let out a snicker and I wished he was here so I could give him a smack. “As I sat there, I thought the same thing—we knew there might be dragons around—because the smell of dragon was so strong in the room that I almost didn’t realize, but as he lingered near me to take my order, I smelled human—”

  “There were humans in the room.”

  “Kindly stop insulting my nose. Human and a faint whiff of roses and vanilla.”

  My heart stuttered and picked up at a fast march. “Baby powder.”

  “If you insist on being so mundane about the bouquet, fine, though I’ve never thought an omega smells quite that way.”

  “We can argue later.” I smiled in spite of myself. “You’re certain? You’re not having me on?”

  He laughed, but it wasn’t the type of malicious tone I remembered from our younger years when he still thought pranks were fashionable. “He smelled more like human than anything else when he got close to me, but yes—dragon and omega as well. What else could he be? If he’s not—”

  “Don’t say it out loud, you’ll jinx us. Stay there.”

  “I was planning to.”

  “I mean it. Watch him. Protect him. He can’t be that.”

  “Again, I shall stay, and I’m sure he must be.” Mason sounded far more amused than I thought he should, but then again, I was the one at a funeral, not him.

  Knocking my head against the marble at my back, I stared at the sky. This wasn’t on my agenda for the week, year, or the foreseeable future, but how could I resist seeing this being with my own eyes? Warmth simmered deep in my belly. I hadn’t met anyone I wanted to be with, in any way, for so long. New opportunities seemed to be on the wind for all of us dragons lacking a mate. Why had it taken a tragedy for us to go searching for new blood? “I’ll be along shortly.”

  “Take your time. The young man works here. He’s likely not going anywhere.”

  “Stay alert. Be safe.”

  “Always, my friend. You as well.”

  Ending the call, I turned and made my way carefully back to the funeral, slipping my phone into my pocket as I went. At the graveside, I caught Donovan’s eye. He frowned at me and I smiled back. We both paid attention as the casket smacked to the bottom of the machine-dug shaft.

  The officiant was an elderly woman who did all dragon burials, and every eye turned to her at the head of the grave. She was an elder from the Northwestern clans, from the Fire Bloodline. She was so old, she was rumored to have rung in the millennia before last, though that was all conjecture. Shrunken, a tiny husk of a person, with eyes that barely opened, she didn’t bother herself with politics, but said prayers to gods that I didn’t know the names of. When her voice finished warbling—the language completely incomprehensible to me—she tossed flower petals and herbs in after the casket. Her snow-white dress flowed with her movements, the color a sharp contrast with the black worn by everyone else here, and she smiled out at us all.

  When she was done, she simply turned and left, a member of her clan giving her an arm to lean on, and the rest of us local dragons present looked awkwardly around at one another. Eventually, Donovan grabbed Thomas by the elbow and urged the shivering hulk of dragon toward a long black limo parked beyond the obelisk.

  We all retired to the McGuire home for the reception, and about twenty of us attended, with a few stragglers arriving late. There was an elaborate meal, as was dragon custom, put together by the other families in the area. I’d donated wine and it flowed freely. About halfway through a story about Thomas’s wedding day told by his sister, he disappeared upstairs, and the rest of the gathered mourners glanced around at me, looking for direction.

  “Well, I’m glad most of the elders are here. Can you come with me into the kitchen? Everyone else go ahead.” The drinking and conversation began again as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “Oh, yes,” my stout cousin Mabel said with a sad grin. “My coffee could use freshening up.” She stood, and unlike most of the ladies present, she hadn’t dressed for the event. She was still wearing scrubs from her shift last night at the hospital where she was a doctor.

  “What’s happening, Carlisle? What could be more important than this?” Agatha Montgomery, who was next in line after me age-wise, and who, to this day, resented the fact that I’d been born ten days ahead of her, stood also. In spite of her obstinate words, she smiled, tossing her long black curls over one shoulder. Her long, lacy black dress seemed to make her peaches and cream skin more vibrant.

  “I wondered if you’d taken action yet. I get left out of the loop so often.” Larkin sighed and pushed back his chair as well, grabbing his china mug from the table to take with him.

  “That’s your own fault. Come up for air once in a while,” Agatha chastised. We all made our way into the kitchen.

  “Well, what is it?” Donovan said as he shut the kitchen door behind us. Mabel helped herself to a few olives from a relish tray sitting on the counter. The clean kitchen still sparkled with the evidence of touches from the lady of the house, the windows crystal clear, the scent of polish hanging in the air from care shown to the wooden cabinets and furniture. I fought down a wave of pity for Thomas.

  “Yes, this has to stop,” Agatha said, her teeth bared. “Donovan and I have been talking about the birth rate for a while now, and you choose a funeral to have a meeting? Our women are withering away. Our omegas… you realize, they’re doing no better? If you’ve been ignoring the issue of us not having enough shifting time to stay healthy because you think it won’t affect you, an alpha who craves men—”

  “When have I been that selfish?” True anger blazed to life in me. Her chin shot higher. “I create wealth for the entire clan. I make sure we’re taken care of financially.”

  “What good will money be for a dead clan?” she hissed.

  Mabel glanced away and Larkin seemed appalled at the entire conversation.

  “Mitzy McGuire isn’t the first woman to die in childbirth in the last decade. Our clan hasn’t had any children for almost thirty years. Why has no one been paying attention?” Agatha shook her hands my direction, like she’d happily wring my neck.

  “Well, we’re focused now, so calm down,” Mabel said with an eye roll. “Anyway, I refuse to believe this cannot be overcome. I’m assuming you had something to say, Carlisle.”

  “Yes, go on.” Donovan gave me an encouraging nod. His red hair contrasted horribly with the dark purple suit he wore. “I’m assuming you’ve had some word from Mason, or one of the other groups?”

  I could have hugged him. “Yes. Indeed. Mason’s in a small town called Muscogee. We’re thinking there may be—” I hesitated, not sure I wanted to truly share what I was looking into yet. They would think this was a waste of time, perhaps, or that I’d finally lost my marbles. “There may be dragons there who have been shifting more regularly,” I hedged, “and Mason has scented at least one dragon in the area, seen him with his own eyes. He says an omega. We think there could be others.”

  “Thank goodness.” Donovan’s shoulders released from up around his ears and he grinned.

  Agatha didn’t look much impressed. Her sharp chin grew even pointier and she narrowed her eyes. “What incentives will you offer to lure them here?”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, my dear. For now, I’m planning to head t
here, and I would like to leave the clan in your hands—all of you—until I return.”

  Agatha beamed and flung her arms around my neck, surprising me with a hug. “Oh, yes. I’ve been dying to get into the business.”

  “My vice president is capable.”

  “Yes, even so.”

  Larkin looked like I’d bulldozed him, resting a hand on his lapel. Mabel continued munching olives without a care in the world, and Donovan simply nodded because he’d been handling community issues for me for years.

  “Larkin, help Donovan.”

  “Okay.” His blond hair glinted as he turned his back on us and made his way to the window over the sink to stare outside.

  “You know,” Mabel said around an olive, and then swallowed her food. Her bright blue eyes were mirrors of my own, and they seemed worried. “You should be careful as well.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Dragons without a clan are sometimes clanless for a reason, don’t you think?”

  Nodding, I met their eyes by turn. “I’ll return. Don’t worry.”

  “I’ve seen my share of death,” Mabel said, carelessly wiping a hand on her scrubs. “But I don’t want to see any more dragons go in the ground. We’re better than that.”

  “Offer the dragons you find whatever they want,” Larkin said from his spot by the window. “Anything at all.” His shoulders rounded. “You know that’s why my—why Tristan went back to his clan. I couldn’t… thankfully, I didn’t die. Don’t look to the omegas here to replenish our population.” He heaved in a deep breath and I felt bad for him. “You probably didn’t realize it, but I lost an egg about twenty years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” I hadn’t realized. Everyone else gave him a sad glance, though. “I’m leaving from here,” I murmured. The group turned to me. One by one, I was hugged—even by Agatha who I think would push me off a cliff—and Mabel got ahold of me last.

  “Cousin,” she murmured in my ear. “Take care. If this comes to nothing, we’ll work to find another solution. It may be that simply shifting more can solve this problem. Perhaps we can begin to make arrangements for more than a yearly trip? Maybe every few months?” Her eyes were steady as she leaned back to pin me in place with her gaze. She pursed her lips.

  “Everyone has lives. That’s why the shifting slowed down until it was once a year, but you may be onto something.”

  She sighed and nodded before she followed the others out to the dining room to leave me alone in the kitchen with my plans.

  4

  Haiden

  Shivering, I shook out my shoulders and a creeping sense of coldness settled over my body. No, this shouldn’t be happening to me at work. I turned toward the propped open back door, my hair fluttering and tickling my forehead, but the only thing outside the kitchen was a view of the dumpster and the parking lot that wrapped around back of the building. No one was even parked out there because most people preferred the front.

  Why can’t I shake this feeling of being watched? I’m boring—not even interesting to people I happen to like, except Jade. No one is watching you. Still, I shivered again, and the hair prickled on my arms. The nape of my neck felt exposed, and that was a weird thing to fixate on, too. In the back of my mind, the echo of footsteps on the road, which I’d been certain I heard last night on my way home from work, attacked my common sense.

  Step, step, pause. Then, I had heard someone else stop, almost like they were waiting for me to start up again. When I’d spun around, no one was there.

  I dragged in fast breaths that didn’t quite seem to give me enough oxygen.

  My anxiety ate this crap up, and it didn’t matter how many times I told myself to stop being paranoid, here I was freaking out for no reason in the brightly lit kitchen at work—during the day.

  Every move I made felt slow and underwater. The metal spatula in my hand seemed like it weighed a ton. I had food going on the flattop. The pancakes were somehow black already on the bottom when I flipped them, and the acrid tang of burnt butter and grease filled the air.

  “Heck.” I sighed and wiped the back of my hand over my forehead. The vent fans over the flattop were unbelievably loud, all of the sudden. I reached for the quart pitcher of pancake batter beside me on the stainless-steel counter, but I moved too fast, and I wasn’t feeling right today—hadn’t been for almost a week. I ended up smacking the handle of the plastic container instead of grabbing it.

  My stomach dove along with the pitcher as it careened, almost in slow motion, to the floor and splattered everywhere. I blinked at the oozing beige mess and struggled to breathe. My throat seemed like it was closing off, even though I knew the feeling wasn’t for real, and it was all in my head, and I couldn’t die from stress.

  “Haiden, you okay, buddy?”

  Eric bustled over to see what the commotion was. He didn’t have a hairnet on his beard because he’d been bouncing between serving and doing dishes instead of cooking. His green T-shirt was soaked with sweat.

  I tried to answer him but couldn’t.

  “Haiden?” Eric’s wide, friendly face scrunched up when he took in the newest problem I’d caused today. He grabbed my spatula, neatly stacked up the ruined pancakes, and then flipped them with a friendly wink into a nearby garbage can.

  “This order is the last of the lunch rush. No one out there is in a hurry. Why don’t you head for home? You look like you’ve been eating ghost peppers. You’re hiding them from me, aren’t you?” Eric kept his voice kind, and he was trying so hard to be nice to me that humiliation squirmed in my gut.

  “I—I need the money.” Swallowing hard, I thought about my savings, the few hundred dollars I’d been able to set aside to one day move to a city so I could finally do something about this horrible mess my brain was. I hated being a problem to Eric, who’d always been so nice.

  “Yeah, well… I get that, but I also have a bottom line.” He stared down at the floor, and so did I. The pancake batter splatter almost looked like a dolphin if I squinted my eyes.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” Eric rested a hand on my shoulder, and I flinched. I couldn’t stop myself, and I hated that, too. Surprise, and I think hurt, tightened his eyes, but his smile didn’t dim, and he quickly pulled his hand away. “It’s fine, truly, but I don’t want any more catastrophes today. I think this much-wasted batter, a six-dozen stack of eggs, and one tray full of glasses happens to be Go Wild’s destruction limit for one day.” His cheeks flushed pink and his beard trembled with the laughter he was clearly holding in.

  “Ha ha.” I tried to joke, but that damned coldness still had a hold on me, and I still couldn’t take a deep breath.

  “Shoo.” Eric knocked his hip lightly against my side, chasing me out of the space in front of the flattop. “Go home and rest. Figure out whatever’s eating you, all right?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I slunk out the back door of the kitchen into the parking lot so I wouldn’t get stopped by anyone in the dining room asking about their food. The long rays of afternoon sunshine were warm and pleasant, and there was a chill in the air now that we were into October, which should have been bearable, but since I was already fighting with my body, all I could do was shudder my way back to the apartment as fast as possible.

  This sucks.

  Anxiety killed my work performance, that wasn’t new, and I thought about the little white pills waiting at home in a kitchen drawer. I’d stowed them there when I got back from the hospital after a severe panic attack last month. Jade had driven me from work. The ER doctor had told me to see a psychiatrist, but there wasn’t one around here, and I didn’t have a good way to see someone in the city. I hated how the pills made me feel—slow and spacey—but right now they might be what I needed. It would be another trip to the ER when they were gone, and I wasn’t sure how many times that would work.

  The walk to my apartment along the two-lane main drag through town and then along a small footpath wasn’t far, but today it
seemed to be miles with every car driving by me becoming sinister, and every blue jay hidden in branches screeching at a squirrel a thousand times louder than usual. When I reached my front door, I fumbled my keys out of my pocket onto the ground.

  “Dang it,” I muttered, scooping them up. The metal scraping metal in the lock was almost unbearable. I always locked up because Dad might get drunk and decide to come raise hell at my place, but I wished I could just leave the damned door unlocked like most people around town did. Finally, I got inside and went up the steep staircase to the inside door of my apartment. I dealt with that lock too and went inside.

  Nothing seemed out of place in the room. My blankets were still rumpled on the futon and the blinds were half raised where I’d left them this morning. A dirty plate sat on the floor next to the dresser. But the smell of smoke smashed into my face, and not just any smoke, an acrid, rotten eggs stench.

  “What now?” I raced to the kitchenette and checked the stove, but I was already touching the burner dials to make sure they were off when I realized there was no heat or smoke coloring the air.

  Confused, I checked around the apartment and inspected outlets, but it wasn’t an electrical stench, and I even stopped to pick up the one candle I owned on the end table next to my futon, a soft vanilla scent that I would sometimes light on cold nights. It had been a long time since I’d used the candle, though. There was a thin layer of dust on the white wax. It didn’t smell like burning.

  “Hmm.” I glanced around again, but nothing seemed out of place. Maybe the smell was coming from the apartment below mine? Shivering, I went to my dresser and dragged a soft black sweater out of the bottom drawer, even though I knew that the cold splashing around inside me was mostly in my head. Once I had the fabric tugged down comfortably over my T-shirt, I went to the window and raised it.

  “Hey!”

  Jolting, I leaned closer to the window and pressed my forehead into the screen. Jade was down there, her long, shiny black hair loose around her shoulders. She waved up at me with a grin. “Come eat dinner with me! My treat.”