Submerge (Apalala Clan Book 3)

by Dzintra Sullivan

  “The. Whole. Kilt.” Attor nodded. “One minute, he’s holding the caber, and the next, it’s flying through the air taking the kilt with it.”

  “Leaving you…” Payton looked to Jo.

  Jo was leaning against the wall. One leg bent as his foot pressed against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He had found some more appropriate clothing before meeting his eldest brother and leader of the clan, Volos. Wearing his black warrior leathers and a nonchalant look on his face, he stood in front of V to face the music. “You act like I did it on purpose.”

  “Did you?” V’s face snapped around to glare at him.

  “No.” Jo laughed. “But if I’d known this was the reaction I would get, I certainly would’ve seriously thought about it.” He shrugged. “Kilt happens! What’s a dragon to do?”

  “Cover yourself,” Ladon offered from the side where he’d been standing silently. “You could have, at least, covered yourself.”

  Jo looked at his brother with mock shock. “My hands are only so big. I can’t be held accountable for a disproportionate hand to cock coverage ratio?”

  “Did someone say cock?” Kylee wandered into the room. She looked to Jo and raised her hand in a high-five, sauntering over until their hands met in a loud clasp above their heads. “As far as flashes go, that was definitely in my top three.”

  “Only top three?” Jo smirked. “I’m going to get that number one spot. You know I will.”

  “No doubt.” Kylee giggled as she settled against the wall next to Jo. She and Jo were like the quintessential pigeon pair. It didn’t matter the human-dragon difference, or even the male-female issue, the two of them were best friends and inseparable most of the time.

  V growled at them both, “Don’t encourage him, Kylee. What happened today was unacceptable, and further human interaction will now need to be looked at.”

  “You’re fucking with us, right?” Kylee blurted out. “It was an accident. No one was hurt.” Her eyes rolled.

  “You are here because we invited you to be part of our world, Kylee. These are our laws, our rules. If you wish to stay, I suggest you show respect and abide by them.” V’s tone was that of a leader, and her disrespect was something he wouldn’t tolerate.

  “V…” Payton placed her hand on her mate’s arm, a gentle squeeze of her loving fingers as they wrapped around him was all she needed to do.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Sorry. I just didn’t need this, this morning.” V sighed, looking at the love of his life with tired eyes.

  “None of us did,” Ladon said. “Can I go?”

  V nodded, and Ladon didn’t wait for any further comments. He turned and walked out of the room on a mission to complete a quest.

  Ladon turned the corner into his room, the last of his buttons unhooked as he slid off the shirt Payton had gotten for him. Tossing it onto the small table, he bent down and pushed the button on the computer. He had asked Wyvern to hook up his computer through the television as soon as they moved in. Ladon hated playing online with a tiny screen. Flopping heavily onto the sofa, he picked up the controller and switched on the television. Using his toes, he pried off his boots, the thud of them hitting the stone floor and bounced around the room as he waited for it to all come to life in front of him.

  The only thing Ladon loved more than winning an epic battle for the safety of the dragon clan was winning an epic battle on Warcraft. It had taken him years to perfect the skills needed to sit at the top of the Player vs Player or PvP charts. He was a human warrior with a suit made of black steel. Ladon enjoyed the irony of being a human amongst the trolls, dwarves, druids, and such instead of being the dragon amongst the humans in real life. There wasn’t any character he had come across in recent years who could beat him and his battle-ax.

  That was until he met Doug.

  Doug was a Bear Druid Totem, and Ladon had watched this character skillfully work his way up the PvP charts—until now he sat in second position. Ladon wasn’t seriously worried if Doug decided to challenge him because he hadn’t lost a battle yet. Not in real life, not on Warcraft. Let the hairy little druid bring his best, should he be stupid enough to issue a challenge.

  “Working hard again?” Jo smirked as he walked past.

  “Fuck off, Jo.” Ladon loathed the fact that his room was at the front, making all the brothers have to walk past the entrance to get to their rooms.

  “Harsh.” Jo stopped to lean on the door frame, should there have been a door frame and not just a gaping entrance hole. “What’s up, buttercup? Ladon not getting lucky lately?”

  Ladon shuffled his large frame on the sofa until he got comfortable. Letting his eyes slowly find his brother’s, he repeated, “Fuck. Off. Jo,” but in a firm tone.

  Jo guffawed. He loved nothing more than getting under Ladon’s skin. To Jo, Ladon was the most uptight brother. V, at least, had a reason to have a pole shoved up his rectum. He was the clan’s leader, and the safety of hundreds depended on his every decision. Ladon, however, he was just an uptight twat with a sense of humor so dry even the most arid desert was jealous.

  “Sounds like you need company. I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait! What?”

  Jo vanished before Ladon had a chance even to tell him to fuck off for the third time. The last thing he needed was Jo keeping him company. He had already seen far more of his brother today than he ever really needed.

  Ladon turned his attention back to the screen, walking through the fantasy landscape as he sought out anything that should happen to stand in his way. A smile crept across his face as he saw Doug’s name pop up on the live feed.

  “Is today going to be the day, Doug?” he muttered to himself.

  The sound of swishing coming up the corridor caused Ladon to turn his head, watching in a mix of shock and horror as Jo walked in with his beanbag slung over his shoulder and a packet of mixed nuts. Ladon’s jaw fell open as Jo threw the bag on the floor, flopped into it, and started to throw nuts by the handful into his mouth.

  “What’s with the big ax?” Jo asked. “Trying to compensate?” He smirked.

  “You can’t be serious, Jo? You’re going to sit in here and make childish comments while I’m trying to—”

  “Play a childish game?”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Jo. Stop talking now before I lose what little respect I have left for you.” Ladon dismissed his brother as his eyes returned to the screen seeking out the name he had been hunting.

  “Oh, I have plenty of ideas… you like to play fantasy battle games instead of being present when we venture out as a brotherhood.” Jo baited his brother as he popped more nuts into his mouth.

  Ladon looked at the screen with frustration. He could see Doug making his way closer to him, and yet with his brother sitting here making inane comments, Ladon had lost all of his concentration. Now would be a bad time to battle such a crafty opponent. In his current level of distraction, loss would be a chance, a chance he couldn’t afford to take.

  “I hate you,” Ladon said to Jo as he switched off the game and left his room.

  “Love you too, bro,” Jo yelled after him with a chuckle.

  Picking up his beanbag and bag of nuts, he made his way back to his room.

  Elyse felt a level of dissatisfaction with the day. She had gotten enough sleep, the coffee had been hot, and Quil had certainly given her enough purrs before she left, yet there was still something bugging her. She’d had him in her sights last night when he just up and left. For months, she had been fighting her way through dwarf and elf, over and over, just to get him within grabbing distance.

  “Thanks, Doug,” one of the regulars at Sykes said as Elyse slid the plate of fish and chips in front of him.

  “No problem, Adam. Enjoy.” She smiled and turned to head back inside. Her footsteps clunked heavily as she turned the corner and greeted a man at the bar. “What can I get for you?”

  “Beer,” came the reply without
any hint of manners.

  Elyse grabbed a blue plastic kid cup from under the bar, filled it with tap water, and placed it in front of him. She hadn’t seen this man before but damned if she would tolerate anything but respect in her bar. She knew it wasn’t technically her bar, but she had worked there for so long now, Bill let her think it was. Lately, he had even made a few comments about what he was going to do with it when he retired. He didn’t have a wife or children, and she was the closest thing he had to family. Elyse never thought of Bill retiring, but when he asked if she would take it on, she had nodded with an apprehensive excitement. Sure, she would love to own this bar as hers, but not at the cost of Bill giving it up. Elyse didn’t know how old Bill was, but safe to say he hadn’t seen any other color than white in his beard for as long as she could remember.

  “I said beer.”

  “I know, and?”

  “This is water.”

  “So, you’re smart enough to know the difference, but not smart enough to have basic manners?” Elyse leaned forward on the bar, her cold, steel-blue colored eyes zeroed in on him until he squirmed under the pressure. “In my bar, it’s simple. No manners, no service, no exceptions.”

  “You can’t speak to me like that,” he spat. “This isn’t your bar, you’re just a stupid bar wench.” He puffed his chest and braved her stare “Now, get me my beer.”

  Elyse looked over at Bill who happened to be standing at the door to the kitchen. He’d heard it all and simply held up his hands, a movement of surrender to her judgment call. With a small nod of her head, Elyse’s hand had lifted, fingers curled in a tight fist, and punched this man in the throat. She had held back, just as Bill had taught her, but it was enough to steal this man’s breath for a few seconds and inflict substantial pain for the next few hours. As he coughed and spluttered, she grabbed a handful of his hair and brought his head down to her ear. “Speak to me like that again, and the next punch will lay you flat on your ass.” Tilting his head so she could look him in dead in the eye, she repeated, “No manners, no service, no exceptions. Understand?”

  He nodded as he tried to breathe. “Sorry.” His voice was raspy and pitifully quiet. “Beer, please?”

  Elyse released his head with a shove, grabbed a glass, and pulled a beer for him. Placing it on the mat in front of him, she smiled with the sweetness of a freshly born angel. “No problem, sir. That will be three pounds.”

  He handed her a five-pound note and whispered, “Keep the change.”

  “Awe, you’re such a sweetheart.” The sarcasm dripped from her tone like venom off a viper’s fangs. She placed the note in the till, picked up a cloth, and wiped over the bar surface.

  “Don’t ever mess with Doug,” said the blond man who had been sitting at the end of the bar since the minute it had opened and wouldn’t leave until it closed.

  Elyse winked. “You know it, Kevin.” Walking up to where he sat, she asked, “Another one?” Kevin nodded, and she pulled him a beer and put it down in front of him.

  “Thanks, Doug.” He went to grab some money.

  Elyse held up her hand to stop him. “Manners are free, and so is your beer.” She looked back at the stranger who had been watching her like a hawk since she punched him in the throat. Elyse was only five foot five on a good day and would be considered a bantamweight should she have decided to continue with the boxing training Bill had started with her years ago. Now, she simply trained for exercise and dealing with idiots in the bar. She didn’t wear makeup—she never had a reason to use it on the streets—and she wasn’t here to impress anyone. Her pale skin was lightly kissed with freckles, and she was okay with it. The naturally elegant arch of her eyebrow matched her vibrant flame-red hair. Elyse had a long mane, full of curls, but it was normally twisted and twirled on top of her head in a messy bun. If anything, it added a few inches to her short height. Anyone who made the poor judgment of picking a fight with her always ended up on the ground and in pain.

  As the lunch rush ended, her mind drifted back to last night. She had settled to play Warcraft, ready to release some pent-up energy from the day’s workload, only to have the prey she had been hunting vanish. Sure, she had stayed for a few hours and beat up some other pitiful challengers, but it hardly sated her need to be the best. He was the superior one, being at the top of the PvP charts. He was where she wanted to be. The warrior, known only as Nodal on the screen, was a massive unit. Compared to her druid size, he should beat her without even working up a virtual sweat. The thing about Elyse was that she was, and would always be, a survivor. If she wanted something, she would find a way to make it happen. She had studied Nodal closely, watching his battles, making notes about his style, technique, and vulnerabilities. Elyse had finally worked out where his weak spot was, and last night when she saw his name on the screen, she knew it was her time.

  The crushing feeling in her soul as his name vanished from the screen was palpable. She had taken it out on a few poor characters who crossed her path. Excessive violence wasn’t normally her scene, but she wanted him.

  With only three people left in the bar, Elyse was free to do some more research on her cocktails. Trying to come up with the perfect signature cocktail was proving harder than she had anticipated. She needed one for a competition later in the year, but Bill had suggested it would be a good idea for the bar in general—one amazing drink that people had to come there to purchase. He wanted to get it trademarked and make it exclusively available at Sykes only.

  So far, she had created fifteen different cocktails, but none had made it past the first few drinks. This one felt different right from the beginning. She had taken the tall champagne flute, dipped the edges in melted white chocolate and then sugar crystals. Setting it to the side to set for a few minutes, she grabbed out the blue curacao, the vanilla vodka, the Midori, and the vanilla ice cream. Elyse tipped a nip of Midori into the bottom of the glass. The iridescent green looked amazing. Scooping some ice cream into the mixer, she placed two shots of vanilla vodka and gave it a zap, just enough to blend but still remain thick. Filling the glass carefully three quarters, the bright green of the Midori blending slightly with the thick cream center. Elyse then took the Curacao and added a shot slowly on top, letting it only blend with the top layer. She had created a drink that went from emerald green to sapphire blue with a delicious white vanilla vodka center. Add in the crystals on the rim of the glass, and it was instantly visually stunning. Elyse knew it needed one more thing. She looked around for a small glass saucer and placed it on the bar. Putting the newly created drink on the saucer, she grabbed her gloves and placed two small pieces of dry ice on the sides with a tiny sprinkling of water on them, the smoke started to dance and caress the glass with delicate white tendrils of smoke.

  “That’s fucking beautiful.”

  Elyse’s head snapped up at the words. She had been so engrossed in her creation she hadn’t seen the three people walk into the bar.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled to the tall, dark-haired woman. “It’s just a prototype.”

  “It’s one of the most beautiful drinks I’ve ever seen.” Her friend spoke next, and Elyse looked at her with confusion. It was like she had walked straight out of a nineteen-fifties diner. Her dark red hair was all pulled up on top with eyelashes that never ended and the reddest lipstick she’d ever seen.

  “Hey…” The man with her nudged her arm with a mock pout. “What about me?”

  The red-haired woman wearing the navy-blue dress covered in white polka dots turned and swooned dramatically in his arms. “You know you’re top of the list, baby.” He placed a kiss to her red lips before lifting her back into a standing position.

  Elyse looked at the man—he was the single biggest man she had ever seen in her life. The width of his chest alone seemed wider than she was tall. When her eyes met his, she saw the same blue as the drink she had just made—iridescent, endless, and like the bottom of the ocean.

  “What’s it called? Because I’d totally order
one right now.”

  “It’s too early for drinking, Kylee. We’re looking for a place to take Ladon for his birthday, remember?” the male answered gruffly.

  “When I want your opinion on my drinking habits, or their relation to the time of the day, Tor, I’ll fucking ask for it.” Her hips swayed with a dangerous attitude that Elyse immediately liked. “And yes, I know why we’re here.”

  Tor rolled his eyes. “And this is why you need a chaperone.”

  “This is why you need a fucking muzzle.” She glanced to the other female. “Taryn, control your beast.”

  Taryn simply smiled as she looped her hand through the crook of the male’s arm. He dwarfed her size, but in some weird way, looked like the perfect matched pair. “He is uncontrollable, just the way I like it.” He bent to kiss her again.

  “Ugh.” Kylee made gagging sounds. “Get a room.” She pulled out a barstool and took a seat in front of Elyse. “They never fucking stop, it’s just sickening.” Kylee extended her hand. “I’m Kylee, these two are Taryn and Tor. Nice to meet…”

  “Doug, I’m Doug. Nice to meet you, too.” Elyse shook Kylee’s hand then started to move the drink away.

  “You sure don’t look like a Doug.” Kylee grinned as her friends sat next to her. “What are you going to do with that drink?”

  Elyse shrugged. “Tip it. I’m experimenting. It doesn’t even have a name yet.”

  “Dragon’s Breath,” Tor said instantly.

  “Yasss,” Kylee and Taryn both agreed at the same time. “It looks exactly like the breath of a dragon. You should totally call it Dragon’s Breath.” Kylee leaned in and winked. “You should also let someone taste it. ‘I volunteer as tribute!’ The sacrificial lamb, so to speak.”

  Tor coughed at how Kylee had twisted the words from the Hunger Games for the poor unsuspecting bartender.

  Kylee’s head snapped to him, then back to Elyse. “And the big, dumb-looking guy at the end is paying triple the listed price.” Tor coughed again, this time with earnest. Kylee crowed loudly. “Choke on that, Tor.”