BROGAN_A Steamy WereDragon Romance

by Bonnie Burrows

  As one, they rose up naked on the bed, the instincts of duty taking over from the instincts of desire. “That’s yours and mine,” Gabrielle said.

  “We’re back on duty,” Brogan replied. “Want me to get that?”

  “No, allow me,” answered Gabrielle, and together they climbed out of bed and quickly started to collect their cast-off clothing. Gabrielle went to where she had shed what she was wearing and quickly slipped back into her woven top, covering herself up just that much to make herself presentable to someone other than a sex partner, and touched the sleeve. Across the room, Brogan, pulling on the bottom of his skin suit, watched a hologram of Burl Holman blossom into the air in front of Gabrielle.

  “Morning, Darice,” said Holman, addressing her by her assumed name.

  “Good morning, Burl,” Gabrielle acknowledged.

  “Are you there alone?”

  “No,” she said, glancing over at Brogan, who had now covered up the thing with which he had given her so much torrid delight since last night. She could not suppress the twitch of a corner of her mouth into an ever-so-tiny smile at the way it still bulged under the bottom of his skin suit. He was still naked from the waist up. She wished he were still completely naked, but she quickly dismissed that thought. Playtime was over; this was duty. Carefully remembering to refer to Brogan by his assigned alias, she told Holman, “Carnes is here with me. He’s listening.”

  Holman did not let on whether he guessed what Gabrielle and Brogan had been doing to each other all night and into this morning, and there was no reason why he should care. He got right to business. “I’ve got your orders,” he said. “Have Carnes step over with you; I’ll tell you together.”

  Gabrielle gestured for Brogan to come over with her. Brogan did not bother putting on his top. He was a Lacertan and everyone knew that a Lacertan male most loved to spend his nights screwing. It should make no difference to this gangster that he had obviously been between Gabrielle’s thighs. Reaching her side, Brogan said, “I’m here, Holman. What have you got for us?”

  “Good morning to you too,” said the gangster. “Here’s what it is. The two of you are joining us in a special operation at the Orochi Cascade. You know the place?”

  Gabrielle nodded at him and let Brogan answer. “Sure. We know it. It’s an out-of-the-way spot. No roads, not a lot of hover traffic.”

  “And,” Holman added, “it feeds from the Draconem Mountains into Lake Shimmershine. That’s why Mr. Skinner’s interested in the place. He wants what’s in Lake Shimmershine. His new venture depends on it. And a large amount of what’s in the lake is fed in from the Orochi River.”

  “The Draconite in the water,” said Brogan, obviously.

  “That’s right,” said Holman. “We’re to get him a supply of Lacertan water with a high concentration of Draconite. We’re going to load up with it and get it off-planet to where Mr. Skinner needs it.”

  “Where is that?” asked Gabrielle.

  “That’s not for you to know now,” Holman said sharply. “Our job is to work the steps of Mr. Skinner’s plan the way he’s laid them out. Everyone will know what they’re required to do, when they need to know it. For now, you’re going to be helping us collect a supply of water for Mr. Skinner.

  You’ll know where it’s going—and where you’re going—when it’s time for the next step. You’re to meet us at the Orochi Cascade at O-nine-hundred sharp. When you’re within ten kilometers, message us at the comm link I’m using now and we’ll give you the landing coordinates. You’ll get your instructions when you get here. Understand?”

  “We understand,” said Gabrielle.

  “Got it,” said Brogan.

  “We’ll be expecting you in a few hours, then,” said Holman. “And the two of you: remember something.”

  “What’s that?” Brogan asked.

  “The scope of this operation is major—beyond major. Beyond anything that any underworld figure has ever taken on. Mr. Skinner expects success and doesn’t tolerate failure. From anyone. Especially in this. When we succeed in getting him what he needs—and we will succeed—we’re going to be a part of something that will change the face of the quadrant; something that will change the history of known space.

  Mr. Skinner has people he’ll be using in all kinds of places on planets all over the Commonwealth and outside. They’re all going to be receiving their share of what we’re bringing Mr. Skinner today. And you, Darice—you’re going to be more than you ever thought you could be. You and your lover boy here are going to have a lot more in common when Mr. Skinner’s plan goes forward. So you both need to be ready to make this happen.”

  “We will be,” Gabrielle said.

  “Good,” Holman said. O-nine-hundred. Don’t be late.” And with that, he broke the comm and the hologram of him disappeared like smoke.

  Giving her a wry smile, Brogan said to Gabrielle, “See that? Wait long enough and sooner or later what you want comes to you. You’ll be eligible for Transition after all, and without all the mess and the complications of the program.”

  Gabrielle gave him back a look of pretended indignation. She shoved his chest—his hard, hairy chest that had pressed against her all the times he was on top of her, banging her with a dragon’s passion—and sent him back a step. “Stop it,” she mock-scowled at him.

  Brogan would not give her a break. “Oh, now, admit it. This is the perk of being a crook, walking on the other side. If there’s an inconvenient rule in your way, you just shove it off. Standards and practices and procedures and protocols to block humans from becoming dragons? Not for you. One good belt of our water and you’ve got your scales and wings.”

  She shook her head at him. “Just stop,” she said. “Being a dragon was something I wanted when I was a little girl. I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t need to be a dragon.” She paused and regarded him with a set of her jaw. “It’s enough to sleep with them.”

  Brogan’s smile softened. “With you, it’s more than enough. I couldn’t have asked for a better time in bed last night, and just now. Or anyone better to be with. If we hadn’t had to go through that ‘initiation’ and we could have gotten into bed a little earlier—and if we didn’t have this mission—I would have been on top of you all night and I’d be at it again right now. I’ve had a lot of damn good sex, but you and me… I don’t think I’ve ever connected with anyone like this before. You think you might have felt something like that yourself?”

  Taking a deep breath, reliving in a moment everything that had happened from the time she showed him her favorite toy from her collection to the time just before the comm from Holman came in, Gabrielle answered truthfully, “Something like that…yes.”

  In a heartbeat, Brogan stepped back to her and had her in his arms and in a molten kiss, which she returned. The kiss burned long before they drew apart, but Brogan still kept his arms around her. “I don’t feel anywhere near finished with you,” he said.

  “We’ll have to remember this is where we left off,” she replied.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “It’s going on O-seven-hundred right now and we’re due at the Orochi Cascade at O-nine-hundred.” He slipped his hands under the hem of her top. One hand clasped her buns and the other sought her moistening flower. “I think we could just have time for one more…”

  She tried, rather half-heartedly, to pull out of his embrace. His hands on her bottom and at her petals, and his stubbly-handsome and kissable face hovering so near her, made her not really want to resist. “Shh,” he said. “One more time. Take this fucking thing off.” He pulled the garment up over her breasts to expose them. Gabrielle did the rest while he pulled down the bottom of his suit and released the dragon again.

  Kicking off what he was wearing, Brogan tossed aside her top and walked her back to the foot of the bed. Kissing her with a wet urgency, Brogan draped her backward onto the sheets, hitched her thighs around his hips, and slipped his prong back into her slit. She grabbed hold of him and
let him come down on top of her, pumping as hard as he’d done so many times already—and as she wanted him to do so many times more.

  _______________

  A mighty Knight of Lacerta strode out into a grassy plain that extended infinitely in every direction as if it were the only place in the world. In his bipedal dragon form, he was the most formidable-looking paladin that the weredragon Knighthood had ever seen. From the bluntness of his snout to the tip of his tail, he was massive. He was a huge, hulking figure, standing two and a half meters tall. His shoulders, arms, chest, and legs bulged enormously in his armor skin.

  His wings had evil-looking hooks at their joints. His tail was twice as thick as that of any other male Knight, and ridged like the tail of a crocodile. His spines were not soft, but sharp and bony. His scales were all in shades of dark, dark green. He seemed to be almost more a monster than a defender or a guardian, like a terrifying dragon out of myths that humanity had brought with it from Earth into space. The knight drew his powerblade and activated the energy sword. The blade of energy glowed a screaming, livid, fiery red.

  Lifting his head to the sky, the monster Knight cried in a voice deep and resonant, “Sir Tartag is ready! Come to battle now!”

  The blue sky overhead was strewn with billowy tufts of white clouds. The large cloud directly above Sir Tartag changed at the sound of his call. It turned dark and began to swirl upon itself, as if it would unleash a tornado right onto the spot where the Knight stood. At the center of its vortex, the darkest place lit up with a crackling redness, and a shape appeared.

  The shape descended quickly from the heart of the transformed cloud, dropping to the ground with a sound almost like an angry dragon’s roar. It came down fast and hit hard, thundering onto the plain perhaps ten meters from where Tartag stood. The sound of its touchdown reverberated in the air; the tremor shook the ground. But the mighty Tartag stood unmoving, watching.

  The shape from the clouds rose up from the grass where it struck. It was another two-legged figure, even more massive than Sir Tartag and standing half a meter taller. The armor on its shoulders, chest, and legs was actually metal, and its skin had the texture of the hide of some formidable beast, like a rhinoceros on two legs.

  From its forehead protruded a single horn, thick and conical, tapering to a blunt tip; a living weapon not for piercing or impaling, but for smashing. It glared at Tartag with dark, pupil-less eyes, and raised a weapon of its own, a spear of crackling fire. The monster started to walk forward, big steps closing the distance between itself and the waiting, unmoving Knight.

  Sir Tartag’s jaws parted on either side, showing ivory fangs in his mouth—the dragon equivalent of a wicked and lustful smile.

  Brandishing his powerblade, the dragon Knight strode ahead to meet the challenge that he had called. He hissed and growled, holding his gleaming weapon up high, and the battle was joined.

  The weapons were the first things to meet. The blade and the spear swung for each other and connected with a shocking, searing shower of sparks. The two combatants feinted back, then lunged and swung again, and again the glowing business ends of their weapons collided with a fiery upheaval. Their lunging, swinging, and parrying turned to a dance of scales and stone and clashing fire.

  They wheeled about on the grass, Tartag’s tail thrashing and his wings flexing as he went, and the two of them continued to thrust and block for an opening, throwing sparks out onto the turf and making columns of smoke rise around them. Tartag leapt up, beat his wings, and took to the air, and the rhino-skinned creature snorted hatefully as his spear plunged through the air where Tartag had been.

  It reared upward, watching Tartag move up in an arc overhead, then he swung menacingly around to see the dragon man touch down on the ground behind him. The rhino man charged, holding his spear forward, meaning to impale Tartag on that dread spike of fire. Tartag met his charge with a swing of his powerblade, connecting with the spear and batting it to one side. The sparks flew lividly again. The rhino man drew back, then charged once more. The Knight feinted to one side, letting the spear again go through the air where he had been, and bringing his opponent into range for Tartag to employ his tail. The tail moved with a speed belying its mass and a suppleness belying its girth, wrapping itself around the rhino’s wrist. The rhino ,man mixed his snort with a roar now, lurching and wrenching his arm in the grasp of Tartag’s tail.

  Furious, the metal-clad alien could not extricate itself from the reptile coil around him. Letting out a bellow of rage, he lowered its head and brought the blunt and brutal horn on his brow into play. The creature charged forward faster than Tartag could react, the cone of his horn connecting viciously with Tartag’s chest plates. The dragon man toppled backward onto the grass, pulling his enemy with him. Tartag shrieked at the creature now pinning him to the turf. He slashed his powerblade up and across the alien’s chest, making him issue the most blood-curdling roar in a hundred worlds.

  The creature lurched back, wrists slipping from Tartag’s now loosened tail, and crashed onto the grass with a smoking slash in his armor, then came back up on one knee to meet the dragon Knight’s charge. Tartag reared back from the deadly fire spear searing through the space in front of him, then used his tail again, wrapping it around not the rhino’s wrist but the handle of the spear.

  The armored man-beast wrenched his weapon in the grasp of Tartag’s tail as he had done his wrist. When Tartag moved in with his powerblade, meaning to plunge it into the rhino’s exposed arm, the blunt-horned being surprised him. Moving with a shocking speed, he avoided Tartag’s thrust and seized the dragon man’s wrist in fingers with the grip of a vise.

  Now both opponents were locked in each other’s grasp, and Tartag shrieked at the ever-tightening grip of the alien. It felt very possible that the clenching fingers could start to crack and snap the bones of the Knight’s wrist. As much in rage as in pain, Tartag struck out with his serpentine neck, snapping his fanged dragon jaws in his enemy’s leering face. The alien pulled back his face and pulled it back again, keeping it out of the reach of those snapping fangs, and kept up the pressure on the reptile man’s wrist until, with a spasm of his dragon fingers, Tartag dropped his powerblade to the grass.

  Even without his weapon, Tartag was still a Knight of Lacerta and still a dragon. He would not submit to defeat. He still had his tail around the rhino creature’s wrist—and he still had his wings. Spreading them out and beating them with all his strength, Tartag lifted himself from the ground and pulled the coarse-skinned alien up with him. In seconds, the two of them were suspended in the air over the plain, Tartag beating his wings to make them hover while the rhino creature thrashed and flailed in his grip.

  Screeching out his contempt for this creature, the Knight began to fly in an arc, pulling his opponent through the air. Soon Tartag had the rhino spiraling around high above the grass, pulling into a tightening circle and making the world spin before the creature’s eyes. Finally Tartag returned to a hover but let this opponent keep spinning around in the grip of his tail, until with a hard slash he released his foe and sent him twisting downward to a crash and a thud.

  The rhino hit the ground, still holding up his fire spear, but now rendered dizzy by the spiraling flight on which the dragon man had taken him. Tartag seized his opening and swooped down. Again he slashed out with his tail, connecting with the alien’s wrist and cruelly swatting at it—making the rhino man drop his weapon. Once the fire blade lay in the grass, setting it aflame and bringing up a plume of smoke, Tartag swooped down again with talons at the ready, and dropped onto his adversary. Now they would wage their combat with alien hands and dragon claws.

  They were united in fury, this Knight and this alien. They rolled and thrashed in the grass, arms thrusting, fists pounding. Tartag’s claws raked the rhino man’s hard, coarse grey flesh. The alien’s head lurched forward, or up, or down, whatever direction at a given moment would send his brutal horn crashing into Tartag’s neck or snout. The dragon man�
��s colossal wings spread lividly when he was on top; his tail whipped and lashed when he was down. The roars and shrieks and bellows of the two of them rippled out across the plain like the sounds of prehistoric beasts clashing…

  And suddenly, everything was still again. Even the smoke of the little fires in the grass dissipated as if in respect to the passing of a moment, the inevitable end of a battle. All was still and quiet.

  Then, one figure rose from the grass. He lifted his scaly arms to the sky and shook his reptilian fists at the clouds. He reared back his mighty, snake-like neck and opened wide his scaly jaws, bearing his fangs at the heavens. He screeched and roared, unfolding his wings to their full spread, curling and waving his tail and thumping it on the turf.

  At his feet lay the rhino alien, unmoving, his arms bearing deep red gashes, his armor gouged with claw marks, dark spots on his face from blows struck by a conquering Knight. Tartag’s cries rang out to the horizons. They carried on until a voice, barely audible in the din of Tartag’s war cry, sounded from his badge: “Sir, this is the Bridge. We’ve just entered the outer rim of the Catalan system.”

  Growing calm again, Tartag folded his wings and stilled his tail. He called out again into the air, more calmly, more quietly, “Discontinue simulation.”

  At once, everything including Sir Tartag himself faded and changed. The plain and the sky and the fallen rhinoceros alien disappeared like a morning fog in the sunlight. The figure of the huge and victorious dragon Knight turned transparent and vanished. Where Sir Tartag had stood was now a tall, bearded, husky, forty-to-fiftyish human with white-streaked black hair, wearing an artificial dragon-wings-and-tail harness. The room became a large, empty space in which a Lacertan Knight’s powerblade lay on the floor where its user had dropped it in what had been the grass.