by Ally Miller
Griffin is quick to respond, “Though she was a stranger to us, she is not an outsider. All of this world is a part of our kingdom. Draconia itself is just the capital of the kingdom. We are all one people. King Asher happily welcomed all strangers into our lives. Added to that, Dahlia is to be my mate.”
Murmurings continue until Dahlia herself speaks out, “I am more than I seem. Rowan and Griffin can confirm that I tell the truth. It is one of their powers, as you well know. I am one of the rare female dragon shifters. I was given a vision, showing me to be a direct descendent of the first female dragon shifter. King Asher confirmed my interpretation of the vision. I can rule you fairly and with honor. My coming of age is in two weeks. You will see for yourselves that I speak the truth. My visions will serve you in the same way as King Asher’s did. I, too, will use them to protect this kingdom. Our fate is in your hands. Let your hearts find peace and your minds be clear.”
Rowan calls for a vote and the people declare their acceptance of a ruling counsel by a resounding chorus of yesses. Griffin and Dahlia ask the gathering to stay and witness their hand fasting as they become mated. More roars of approval ring out. The ceremony begins.
Rowan once again sits atop the highest mountain peak, surveying his kingdom. Though much is different since he last sat here, he still desires a mate. He needs one with powers comparable to Griffin’s, Dahlia’s and his own. Yet he wants the kind of love he sees Griffin and Dahlia share. Far below, in a sheltered spot hidden from prying eyes, Rowan spies movement. He watches closely as an unknowing Athena finally removes her cloak. The setting sun hits her skin and a bright golden blaze pierces Rowan’s eyes. Athena’s skin is golden. Rowan gasps as she transforms into a beautiful golden dragon. The prophecy is coming true before his prying eyes. Their savior is here and she is glorious. As she takes flight into the darkening sky, Rowan follows. His heart tells him that she is his mate. All will be well.
THE END
Bonus 17 of 30
Love in Troubled Times
Description
Samantha Biscune can't go on living like this much longer. The loneliness and sadness continues to eat at her. She finds herself working as an assistant reporter even though she has her degrees in journalism. She wants to escape the rut that she finds herself in and what better way but to fall in love. Unfortunately, she feels that luck in both her professional and romantic lives are out of reach for her.
Her big break comes when her boss tells her to report on the breaking news of an alien race living among humans. She goes to the home of Colin Rafferty, a big-wig in real estate in the San Francisco Bay area and the purported leader of an ancient alien race. She's been waiting for the biggest story of her career. And this just might be it.
Colin Rafferty is the member of an ancient alien race. For hundreds of years, they have lived in harmony with human beings. Yet tensions have always simmered beneath the surface. And lately this land seems more and more inhospitable to his people.
He spent most of his days rolling around in bed, closing six and seven figure dollar deals by the bay. San Francisco. Yep, some of the most expensive real estate in the world. It's a playground to him. And he most enjoys playing with women.
But all that is about to change when he locks eyes with Samantha. Will he allow her into his world?
As for Samantha, will getting the story on Colin open a new career path her? Will she lose herself as her heart begins to melt under Colin’s erotic flame? Or Will she retreat from love, choosing solitude and security over love and the possible pain of loss?
Only Samantha and Colin know the answers to these questions as they struggle with outside forces wanting to do them harm and their own inner struggles of love and desire.
Chapter 1
Colin
He sprung from the bed and stretched his arms in the air. Nearly six hours of sleep. It was more than he had enjoyed in weeks. He felt refreshed.
After preparing his first cup of espresso, he sauntered out onto the deck. The crisp, morning air coming off the bay sparked his mind. For six years, he’d been waking up to this stunning view. And never, not once, has it ceased to amaze him. No matter how much wealth and luxury hung thick in the air, what most impressed him about the San Francisco was its natural beauty.
Damn morning wood! He reached down and squeezed the tingling rod. All work and no play keeps the soldier hard all day. He shook his head and laughed. He’d neglected his virile member choosing instead to direct that energy toward closing more seven-figure condo deals by the waterfront. He usually abstained from sexual play while working on big deals—and that’s all he was doing these days. With women around it was so damn easy to get distracted and forget about what’s important. Winning. Winning. Winning. There was nothing like it. It was the only reason to be alive. Whenever he competed against human beings, he always felt like he would come out on top. That's how Colin had been raised. In the old-style. The proud style. When life was more demanding. Before his race had begun to really gain a foothold in society. These days Colin and others like him were only supposed to think about how they could work together with humans, how they could completely integrate into human society.
After dressing, he headed downstairs. He nodded at the two pimply faced college kids behind the condo desk.
“Hi, Mr. Swartz. Have a great day Mr. Swartz.”
The building owner’s sons. They were his eyes and ears. What they saw was just as important as what they didn't see, or at least what they pretended not to see. They were often good sources of intel, for those occasions when a stranger was snooping around in the lobby asking the wrong questions. And they also knew how to clam up quick, if some woman from his past or present, started poking around.
Every few weeks, he made sure to slide them a white envelope or two. Keep the gears greased. And the oil right. No sense waiting for something bad to happen before you started shelling out cash. It was that little bit of extra help that a man in his sometimes delicate positions needs. There would never be enough allies. And the enemies would continue to spawn daily.
As he stepped out into the sunlight, he lowered his shades. Another scorcher. He could already feel the sun tickling his skin.
Tires skidded. A door swung open. his badass ride shined and purred. This bitch was ready to take on the world with him. She didn’t care how rough he rode her, how far he pushed her past her supposed limits. She never flinched when he threw her headlong into danger. He slid into the cockpit. The door slammed shut and the lights flared. He reached out and gripped the steering wheel. He revved the engine several times and then zoomed off into traffic.
Fifteen minutes later, as he pulled off the A-10, he noticed swirling lights and sirens shooting in his direction. He pulled over to the side of the road, expecting them the past. Much to his surprise, they began slowing down and directing themselves towards him. Within seconds they surrounded him. Directly above him, helicopters—at least two of them—swirled.
He swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel.
Chapter 2
Samantha
It was one of those days when she was forced to wonder if the world was spinning completely out of control. But she was most concerned with how things were progressing, maybe regressing was the right word, in her own country. Her whole life she had been taught to fight for the underdog. But the fight seemed impossible. Every year it became more difficult for people to survive.
During the long, brutal and relatively shocking presidential campaign, no one had believed that the loud talking, arrogant, narcissistic bigot running for the highest office was anything but a complete clown. Insane Clown Candidate, they called him. But she glimpsed something different. No matter how often she was told not to take his word seriously or literally, she stayed quiet, biting her tongue as words of rebellion roiled inside of her. He wouldn’t actually do that, they told her. And besides, he's not going to win. He doesn't have a chance.
Now that he had won, now that he
had defied all of his critics and vanquished his enemies, there was no longer anything to laugh about. He was a con man, liar and crook, who skillfully manipulated the anger of average people to finally attain the one position of power that had eluded him.
Bastard! There was no telling where he would take the country. No telling how many laws would be destroyed for the enrichment of his family and cronies.
As if she didn't have enough contempt for him, the president spent nearly every day attacking the people in her profession. As a young journalist, she could clearly see the major problems in her industry. It's not quite the heroic profession that it used to be so many years ago. These days it seemed like most people who called themselves journalists spent their time trying to be friends with powerful people, instead of holding them accountable. Most up-and-coming journalists seem desperate to land the next celebrity puff piece. She hated all that stuff. It made her sick. No matter how much she struggled to make a living writing articles, she refused to ever give up her dream of doing serious work—the kind of work that changes people's lives. That kind of work that was remembered years, decades later. Every week Samantha made sure to dust off the awards, she won as an undergraduate and graduate journalism student. What had been the point? At this rate, she would never manage to pay back any of her loans.
And for some reason, she could never stop believing in the country and in human beings. She greatly enjoyed living around them. Living among them was all that She had ever known. Sure, there were times, far too many lately, when she felt like the last thing that she possibly wanted was to see another human being.
She stared out the window, watching the smoke stack spit into the air. Pretty soon she wouldn’t be able to even afford living in this area. Sex and cash. She had heard about this theory. It was all the rage among young artist, the millennial creative types. This theory basically advised you not to get so damn attracted and rooted to how you think that you’re wonderful, compromise free artistic career is supposed to turn. Certain jobs “cash” you worked in order to pay the bills, eat and generally handled the basic shit that kept you from you getting kicked out onto the street. She guessed for someone coming up in her line of work this would have meant chasing down those very celebrity puff pieces that she so despised.
So many writers wasted their energy and enthusiasm chasing just those kinds of stories. And even if you did write something that happened to go viral, then what? It wasn’t your voice that people had paid for. Your purpose was to celebrate the rich and famous, fawn, worship and grovel at their feet as if you were some worthless serf.
They were the winners. You were a mere loser. Follow them. Favorite them. Like them. Retweet them. Buy the products they buy.
As you might be able to tell, I’ve never cared much for the rich and famous, the prissy and the privileged. That disdain probably came from her father—a gruff whiskey drinking, cigar smoking, Union man. She used to listen to angry but insightful ranting, sitting at his feet, staring up into his whiskey reddened face with nothing but complete admiration and love.
When she came home from Berkeley after freshman year and declared that she wanted to be a muckraking journalist, she expected him to be thrilled. Instead, he seemed rather disappointed and confused. His living room political diatribes had been her inspiration. He had taught her to mistrust the corporations that sought to wreak such havoc on ordinary people.
She was determined to make him proud no matter what she had to do. She would have a wonderful successful husband, the kind you see in television commercials, who does everything that she wanted, enjoyed eating her out and had a larger than average penis that he wielded like a French fencing master. She found the man—a successful lawyer with a civil rights background. He was handsome, attentive in bed and made well into six figures. Perfect! This was just how things were supposed to turn out! They were going to build the ideal, affluent yuppie family!
She never would have suspected that her husband, who fought relentlessly for truth and justice in court, was deceiving her for months with another woman.
Chapter 3
Colin
Helicopters swirled overhead. Sirens blared. Lights flashed. He looked through the side mirror. A large pair of black leather boots slowly approached. He had the sudden urge to jump out of the car, stand toe to toe with these assholes and let them know what he really thought. No more being nice. And trying not ruffle any of their delicate human feathers.
He closed his eyes and sighed, trying the quell the rebellion rising in his spirit. Things couldn’t keep going on like this for much longer. Anger simmered in his chest.
A fist banged against the window. Twice. Asshole!
He rolled it down, flashed his pearly whites.
“How are you, officer? What can I do for you?”
“Everything is just fine, Mr. Swartz. The chief just wanted us to check on you that's all.”
“That's excellent, officer. Have you gentlemen spoken with the mayor lately? He assured her that whatever issues we may have had in the past, all of that is behind us now. Isn’t that, right?”
The crude, burly cop started laughing. His double chin quivered. He half expected crumbs and critters to come spilling out the folds in the flesh. A few of his buddies got off their bikes and walked towards him. Within moments all three of them were laughing.
Well at least somebody was having fun. Assholes. He didn’t know why he’d ever thought that a career in law enforcement would have suited her.
If they didn’t have her completely surrounded – – two helicopters still buzzing above – – he would've fired up the engine and taken off. That would've sent them scrambling to save their overstuffed asses. The long black boots stomped in his direction.
“Thank you for the laugh, Mr. Swartz. I guess a busy man like yourself doesn’t always get a chance to keep up with the latest news.
“Officer, what exactly is so funny? I happen to consider the mayor a great friend of his.”
“I guess you haven't heard…”
“What?”
“Your great friend, Mr. Mayor, got caught in a slightly compromising situation last night. He'll be stepping down.”
“What?”
“Effective immediately.”
“This can’t be true. This must be fake news.”
“No, sir. I would never go around spreading fake news. And do you know what this means?” He snarled and pointed a finger in Colin’s face.
Colin’s first instinct was to grab the finger, separate bone from socket, leaving him howling in primal pain. Thankfully, he was able to restrain his baser instincts.
“No, officer. What does that mean?”
A sadistic smile spread across his face. He waved the patrol cars stationed in front of her away. Their siren shouted, then both vehicles spun and shot away from the scene. The two helicopters pulled 180s as well, disappearing from view within seconds.
“Be careful, Mr. Swartz. There are aliens among us.”
Chapter 4
Samantha
She clicked on several headlines, mouth gaping open as she stared at the picture of the mayor and handcuffs. He’d been busted making a huge heroin and meth deal while wearing expensive women's clothing—Nordstrom’s. The story was an international sensation. How could anyone so visible get themselves caught up in such an absurd situation? She looked at the byline. She didn't recognize the writer. That didn’t stop me from being a little bit jealous.
But why? This wasn't the sort of crap that she wanted to report on. This was precisely the kind of shit that she hated. Yet, she couldn't turn away from the story.
As it turned out, there was actually more to the article than sensationalism. The mayor’s arrest could have serious repercussions. Everything centered around a list of people of a supposed alien race who were living among human beings. This list, which had been allegedly compiled by federal agencies, had been submitted to mayors of the large US cities. The mayors had the power to use the list as the
y saw fit. The mayor of San Francisco had so far refused to target anybody on the list. But that could all change if a new mayor was brought in.
“Samantha? What have you been up to?”
She smiled and opened her arms wide. Jacqueline was the perfect person to see in a moment like this. They met while in graduate school. Samantha was at NYU getting her degree in Journalism and Jaqueline was studying Design at Parsons. They both enjoyed tequila shots and ranting about the sad state of the world, while they laughed, giggled and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
“I’m great,” Samantha said. “I’ll never get tired of coming back down here.”
Jacqueline rolled her eyes and sat down. “This neighborhood might end up being one of the last true bastions of freedom.” They stared at each other in silence. Then they burst out laughing.
That was usually the kind of thing that Jacqueline would say.
She didn’t expect that talking with Jacqueline would bring back so many of her good memories of graduate school back on the East Coast and end of making her feel even worse about how her life had progressed over the last couple of years out on the West Coast. She'd come here so full of hope and ambition. San Francisco was the place to be. That’s where the real action was going down. New York was overrated. All hip, super creative and soon to be super rich, were getting the hell out.
Those days, when her parents still helped out with her expenses and before she had to start paying back college loans, seemed blissful and carefree when contrasted with her current struggles. In those days, she still had the luxury of thinking about things like trust and justice and making the world a better place. Samantha didn’t have to worry about whether or not she would have to sacrifice her principles in order to quell the rumbling in her stomach.