Baby for the Dragon (No Such Thing as Dragons Book 5)

by Lauren Lively

  “Yes, m'lord,” I reply and then turn to Lenja. “Find a sparring partner. Continue practicing your forms. I will return soon.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  I turn and fall into step beside Thysel, wondering what this important matter is that needs to be discussed. It could be anything from a rescue, to artifact retrieval, to assassination. Once in a while, one of the Shadowlords will worm themselves into a position of power somewhere in the world. Give themselves a foothold as they begin to initiate some larger plan aimed at conquering the world of man. And over the centuries, I've had to eliminate more than a few of them.

  The Guardians are many things – training the young is just one of our responsibilities. Guardians are the warriors of the Rezakul and keepers of the artifacts. More specifically, we are tasked with retrieving artifacts once they are discovered. But a genuine artifact has not been discovered in more than a century. Some doubted they would ever be recovered.

  The artifacts of our people are many. And each is imbued with a special, mystical power. And in the wrong hands – namely, that of the Shadowlords – that power can be exploited to catastrophic consequences. Which is why we stop at nothing to retrieve the artifacts and keep them safely hidden away. It is our duty and obligation to this world to keep it safe.

  Our ancestors, many millennia ago, waged a war against the Shadowlords. It was vicious and it was brutal. They laid waste to much of the world in their quest to destroy the Ezakoril once and for all. They didn't succeed as total annihilation was not achieved. It was close, but not complete.

  Our ancestors though, were able to harness the destructive energies the Shadowlords were using and created the artifacts as a way of containing them. With the artifacts created, they then scattered them around the world, hiding them deep with the hope of keeping them from ever being found. Records were destroyed and over the centuries and millennia, knowledge of them was lost.

  Every now and then though, one of them pops up when somebody is unfortunate enough to find one. And it's my job – and the job of the other Guardians, of course – to retrieve and keep it from falling into the hands of the Shadowlords.

  We walk into his office and he motions for me to sit. I take the chair in front of his desk as he drops down into the seat behind it. Thysel is old – seven hundred years old at least. And he's been in charge of this garrison for centuries. He's too old for working in the field anymore, but he's still a very effective leader.

  I don't know how much longer he has in the world, but I hope he's with us for many more centuries to come. I value Thysel's wisdom, as well as his experience, and have found myself leaning on it quite often.

  A moment later, the door to Thysel's office opens and a young girl bearing a tray loaded with refreshments enters. She sets the tray down on Thysel's desk, pours us each a cup of tea, and gives me a smile.

  “Will there be anything else, my lord?” she asks Thysel.

  The old man shakes his head. “No, my dear,” he replies. “Thank you. I'll call if I need you, but please feel free to return to your studies.”

  She bows her head and departs without another word. I hand the Commander a cup of tea before taking my own, sitting back down and savoring the rich aroma wafting from the cup.

  “Dragon leaf tea. We don't get much of this anymore,” I say, a small smile playing upon my lips. “Must either be a special occasion or you're going to ask me for a very large favor.”

  The old man chuckles. “Am I that transparent?”

  “After all these centuries together, I think I've learned your tricks, old man.”

  He laughs and nods his head. “I've never been able to get anything past you, Juran,” he says. “Always too smart for me.”

  I take another sip of the tea, savoring the flavor of it. Dragon leaf tea is rare. As the human world has grown and blossomed, the land we used to grow it on has vanished. As a result, it's grown in very few places anymore and our stores of it have dwindled.

  Thysel looks at me

  “So, don't keep me in suspense,” I say. “What is my mission?”

  “Artifact retrieval,” he says.

  I nod slowly. “So, another has been found,” I say. “After all this time. Do we know which one?”

  Thysel grimaces. “It's the Heart of Ethagor.”

  I set my tea cup down and run a hand through my hair. Ethagor was one of the ancient Shadowlords who had very nearly conquered the world many millennia ago. Today, he is a ghost story told to the young. A bogeyman. I remember hearing his name whispered as a cautionary tale when I was young. It was only later, after I grew up and became a Guardian, that I learned he was all too real.

  Ethagor was powerful. One of the most powerful Shadowlords who ever existed. Making the matter worse was that he was evil, through and through.

  If the Shadowlords got hold of the Heart and were able to release his essence back into the world – it would be incredibly bad for all of us.

  “Do we know where?”

  “The Mystic has a name,” Thysel replied.

  I nod, my mood suddenly turning somber and serious. “I can do my own research and find the information I need,” I say. “Do we know if the Shadowlords know of its discovery?”

  “I think it best to operate under the assumption they do,” he replies.

  “Then I should leave immediately,” I say. “We cannot afford to let them get to it first.”

  Thysel nods. “I agree,” he says. “But please, finish your tea first. As you said, it is a rare treat.”

  I smile and sit back in my seat, relishing the taste of the tea. All the while though, my mind is consumed with thoughts of the Heart, fearing the ramifications for this world – for all of us – if the Shadowlords get to it first.

  Chapter Four

  Monica

  “Excellent work today, class,” I say. “Very well done.”

  I bow to them and they bow to me in return. After that, they grab their bags and filter out into the dying light of the afternoon, heading home for the day. As much as I love working in the crypto community and doing what I do, teaching martial arts and self-defence is not only something I enjoy, it pays the bills. I mean, let's face it, I'm not exactly making a killing trying to track down Bigfoot and the Chupacabra.

  “Hey, Moni,” says Peter, one of my instructors. “Mind if I knock off for the day?”

  “Of course, I'll clean up here,” I say. “Go. Enjoy your anniversary.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  Peter departs, leaving me alone in the studio. I go about the task of picking things up and putting them away. It's menial and tedious, but it allows me to cool down and more importantly, keeps me from obsessing about the egg still hidden beneath the floorboards of my apartment.

  I put some feelers out into the crypto community – asking several people I trust about it. It's been a few days and I haven't heard anything back yet. I'm starting to get a little bit nervous. The more time I spend with that thing in my possession, the darker and more ominous it feels. It's like the egg is vibrating with an energy that's just – off. And it seems to be getting stronger.

  Carrying a few things into the back room, I hear the electronic chimes on the front door sound. I forgot to lock it after Peter left. I quickly put the pads I'm carrying away and walk back out into the front of the studio.

  “I'm sorry,” I say. “We're actually close –”

  My voice dies in my throat when I see two large men in dark suits standing there. They look like identical twins -- like they were cut from the same, dark stone. Beneath their well-tailored suits, it's obvious that they're muscular and strong. They both have olive colored skin and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail that falls to the middle of their backs. They look at me with eyes that are as dark as midnight and I have to physically suppress a shudder.

  There is just something creepy about them. Something that sets me on edge. It's almost like they're giving off the same ominous, dark energy as the egg.

 
; “Monica Tatum?” asks the man on the left.

  “Yes?” I say. “And you are?”

  They both reach into their pockets and hold out FBI credentials. “Agents Stabler and Blanda,” he says, his voice monotone.

  “FBI?” I ask. “The Bureau looking for somebody to teach Tae Kwan Do to the new recruits?”

  Neither of them so much as cracks a smile – which is pretty typical of the Feds, apparently. Having the sense of humor beat out of them is apparently part of the training regimen.

  “No, ma'am,” says the other agent – Stabler. “We believe you are in possession of a very dangerous object that we've been searching for.”

  My stomach feels like the bottom just dropped out of it and a surge of adrenaline rushes through me. My first thought is that one of the people I reached out to in the crypto community – somebody I trusted with my secret – had turned me in to the Feds. I am beyond furious and already plotting all the ways I'll make them suffer.

  But then rational thought takes hold – nobody in the crypto community would turned me into the Feds. They're as paranoid about the government as some of the gun nuts out there. And who can blame them? After decades of being laughed at, mocked, and marginalized, the crypto community circled the wagons and has become rather insular – and entirely distrustful of outsiders. Especially if those outsiders are employed by the government.

  No, nobody I reached out to had brought the Feds to my doorstep. Which begs the question – who are these guys? And why are they here asking about the egg?

  “Come again?” I ask. “Dangerous object?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” says the man on the left – Blanda.

  I look around my studio and then turn back to them, smiling. “Unless the Feds now consider wooden practice swords to be dangerous, I'm not sure what you're talking about.”

  “Ms. Tatum,” says Stabler. “Please do not take us for fools. We know what you do.”

  “What I do?”

  “We know you're big in the cryptozoology community,” Blanda says. “We know you're out there searching for proof that monsters exist.”

  “And for artifacts of their existence,” Stabler finishes.

  I look at them, feeling my body tense as the surge of adrenaline within me grows stronger. Something isn't right here. In fact, something is very, very wrong. But I try to dial it down. Now is not the time to go all Dirty Harry. No, right now I need to be as calm as possible.

  “I don't believe that what I do in my free time is any of the FBI's business,” I say. “I run a clean business here. I pay my taxes. My hobbies are of no concern to you.”

  “Except when those hobbies bring you in contact with objects used by terrorists,” Stabler says.

  “As you can imagine, we take terrorism very seriously these days,” Blanda adds.

  I'm beginning to see why the people in the crypto community are so paranoid. These two are trying to intimidate me – plain and simple. They're bigger than I am – they're carrying guns, which they make no move to hide – and they're looming over me. They obviously think that because I'm a woman, I'll cower in their presence, or break down into a puddle of tears, telling them anything and everything they want to know.

  It's a tactic that might work on some women. But I'm not most women and their tough guy, intimidation act is not going to work on me.

  “Look,” I say. “I'm not an idiot. I know my rights. So, unless you have a warrant, I want you to get the hell out of my studio right now.”

  Stabler takes another step forward, his large frame towering over me. I hold my ground, balling my fists at my side as I look him in the eye.

  “Cooperate with us, Ms. Tatum,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “Tell us where the object is and we'll let you get on with your life.”

  “Because if you don't,” Blanda adds. “We'll turn your entire world upside down. Terror suspects are being sent to Guantanamo Bay still, you know. And from what I hear, conditions down there are – rough. We certainly couldn't guarantee your safety.”

  I look at them both in the eye, an anger that's dark and abiding welling up within me. “Am I being charged with a crime?”

  The two men look at each other, as if they are silently communicating. Stabler turns and looks back at me and I can see the frustration and rage on his face.

  “That's what I though,” I hiss. “Get out of my studio and if you have any other questions for me, you can contact my lawyer.”

  “Where is the object,” Blanda asks again.

  “I said get the hell out or I'm calling the police.”

  The two men look at one another again before giving each other a small nod. Stabler looks me in the eye and I can tell that he wants nothing more in that moment than to tear my head from my body. A sliver of ice pierces my heart, but I simply stare back at him, not letting him know he's rattled me.

  Silently, they turn in unison and leave the studio. I rush over quickly and lock the doors behind them. Not wanting to be observed, I turn and walk back to my office where I drop down into the chair and let out a long breath. My body trembles and I suddenly feel lightheaded as the fear-fueled adrenaline begins to subside.

  “What in the hell was that?” I ask myself.

  Chapter Five

  Juran

  Sitting in the car outside the woman's martial arts studio, I watched the two men leave. Though I don't know them by name, I know exactly who – or rather, what – they are. Shadowlords. There is no question about it. I can pick them out of a crowd of people. There's just something about them – an energy, hell, maybe a smell – that always tips me off.

  And they'd beaten me to the woman. She was attractive. Relatively tall with red hair, blue eyes, skin the color of creme, and an hourglass figure – she is fit, athletic, and beautiful. It surprises me somewhat to know that she spends her days either fighting or scrambling through caves, searching for proof of paranormal beings.

  The more I learn about humans though, the more they surprise me.

  I watch the two Shadowlords go, and the fact that they are leaving empty handed is encouraging. It means she doesn't have what they're looking for – at least, not on her. I have no doubt though, that they're going to be keeping close tabs on her.

  Which means that I need to get to her first. Need to get the Heart away from her – because I seriously doubt she knows what she's gotten herself into. How could she? What we are – what she has – it's beyond the comprehension of human understanding.

  A little while later, the woman comes out of her shop and walks down the street. She's tense and nervous, constantly looking around. She's obviously on guard, which is going to make following her a little tough.

  But, I can't lose her, so I climb out of the car and shadow her from the other side of the street. With the crowd thickening, I lose sight of her and quickly cross to her side of the street. I catch sight of her just as she's turning down what looks like an alleyway.

  Walking quickly, I make the turn and pause – the alley is empty.

  “Dammit,” I mutter to myself.

  Even running, she can't have gotten too far. I get moving and am halfway down the alley when the familiar sound of a gun being cocked catches my attention. Turning, I see the woman stepping out from behind a dumpster, a large gun pointed straight at my face.

  In human form – although we Dragons have tremendous healing powers – I can still be killed. And a bullet to the head will do that quite nicely. In Dragon form, her bullet won't even tickle me. But I need her help and the last thing I'm going to do is scare her by shifting – especially since we have an unwritten rule about shifting in view of the humans.

  Holding my hands out to my sides, palms up, I show her that I'm not a threat. “Let's just take it easy,” I say.

  “Who in the hell are you guys?” she snaps.

  “I'm not with the two guys who were in your studio earlier,” I say.

  “If you're not with them, how do you know about them?”

  “I wa
s watching you,” I admit. “I saw them go in.”

  The look on her face is one of pure rage mixed with genuine terror. “Then who are they?” she spits. “And why in the hell are you watching me?”

  “Look,” I say, “why don't you put the gun away? We can go grab a cup of coffee and talk about this.”

  “I'm not going anywhere with you,” she says. “Why are you following me?”

  I sigh. “I can explain everything to you, but you're not going to understand it all.”

  “Try me,” she hisses. “I'm not a moron.”

  “I never said you were,” I reply. “But you are dealing with forces that are –”

  “I know what you're after,” she cuts me off. “I know you want what I found.”

  “It's more dangerous than you can possibly know,” I say calmly. “Do you even know what it is that you found?”

  She looks at me and her gaze falters. She has no idea.

  “I didn't think so,” I say. “The object you possess has the ability to destroy the entire world as you know it.”

  She scoffs at my words and shakes her head. “Scare tactics don't work on me anymore than the intimidation tactics your buddies tried on me earlier.”

  “This is not a scare tactic, Ms. Tatum,” I say. “The object you're holding is called the Heart of Ethagor. It contains the essence of one of the most evil, destructive beings you can imagine. If you let it fall into the hands of those two men who visited you earlier, they will release Ethagor. His essence will find a new host and the world as you know it, will cease to be. Humanity will be destroyed. Those who survive the initial purge will be enslaved. This is not a scare tactic, Ms. Tatum. This is simply the reality of the situation.”

  “And what, you expect me to just hand it over to you?”

  “Yes,” I reply. “You're in danger so long as it's in your possession.”

  “From those two men?”

  I nod. “And others like them, yes,” I say. “They're – dangerous. To say the least. And once they know where you've hidden the Heart, they'll have no further use for you and kill you.”