by Aaron Crash
Table of Contents
Summary
Black Forge Books Mailing List
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Patreon
Books, Mailing List, and Reviews
Books by Black Forge
Books by Shadow Alley Press
GameLit, Harem, and Cultivation on Facebook
LitRPG on Facebook
Even More LitRPG on Facebook
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Copyright
About the Author
Summary
SOMETHING LOST HAS woken up, and now it wants to play.
Steven’s daddy was a gambler, or at least that’s what Steven thought until he discovered his true heritage. After fighting first to survive, then to conquer on every continent and several worlds, Steven has gathered his Escort, acquired a dragon hoard, and built an empire. But there are greater forces at work in the universe than dragons and demons, and it’s Steven’s bad luck that one of those elder things has come looking for him.
Backed by the indomitable Tessa, fiery Aria, the insatiable Quinnestri, and the rest of his wives, Steven has one more hand to play before it’s all over. The stakes are high. Reggie, his daughter, is starting to show her true power. Dragonkin have scattered across the galaxy and, on Earth, they are about to usher in a new age of prosperity, peace, and free love. It all rests on a card game in a place that doesn’t exist, and if Steven isn’t careful, he could take out all of reality with him.
But like Joe Whipp always said, it’s only worth playing if you’ve got skin in the game.
From the Aaron Crash, bestselling author of the LitRPG epic fantasy, War God's Mantle, comes the FINAL installment in the American Dragons Saga!
Disclaimer: Wyoming Dynasty is a shoot-em-up, action adventure, urban fantasy novel which is not intended for listeners under the age of 18 years of age. This novel contains swearing, violence, and a harem of beautiful shapeshifting women that the hero regularly sleeps with—and he does so gladly.
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Chapter One
STEVEN DROKHARIS FELT the bracelet snap onto his wrist. Then he saw the flash of orange trailing a shadowy figure. That shadow sped across the slickrock desert outside of Moab, Utah. She was carrying a spear with a tip that glowed orange—the radiance was soon lost in the blinding glare of the sun. He recognized that speedster, and his heart fell.
Steven stood in jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and his cowboy boots. It was an oven on the vast plain of stone. So much had happened in the past year. There had been so much work, so much love, and so much laughter. Steven had never been happier, none of his Escort had been, and then, on the first of June, little Regina had come storming into the world, fists balled, face red from crying, her little body vibrating with power.
Her song had taken over them all, and it got so bad, Mouse had taken to blasting some Finnish metal band into her ears. She said she loved Battle Beast as much as she loved chocolate, and the only woman she’d ever sleep with would be Noora Louhimo, the lead singer, without a doubt.
Despite all he’d done, despite his countless victories, there were still dragons who wanted an empire rather than peace.
They’d come from every continent, and Steven knew their names: Brazzos Reich from the Tasoguay Primacy in South America, Enrique Pescalarez from the Yucatan Primacy, which included the Caribbean Islands, Kumaglak Shaw from the Yellowknife Primacy up in Canada. The other Canadian Prime, Wallace Kemper from the Yukon Primacy, had died fighting the Zothoric on Gaia Beta. Kumaglak Shaw should’ve fought beside him—all those Primes should’ve struggled to free not only themselves but all of reality from the shadows of teeth and talon.
Others fought with them: Qian Shinji from the Changcheng Primacy in China. Mronki Kyeel from the Congo Primacy. Arl Eguardo Horvat from the Bulgar Primacy.
Leading the seven Primes to their death was Silas von Forcade, the Dragonlord of the Prussian Primacy, who wasn’t about to leave his homeland for another world. Nor would Silas serve Steven as a vassal. No, the Prussian Prime wanted to take all of Steven’s lands, and there would be more war and more wives stolen and more of the same fucking thing.
The sun had burned every single cloud out of the blue sky. The still air smelled like hot rock, cactus, and dust.
And, of course, the perfume of the army of Dragonsouls that surrounded him—each of the dragons had a distinctive scent. Their vassals mostly stank of scared human.
Umbra was different; she had a spicy, musky fragrance. Umbra was the fast shadow that had served Roy Right for hundreds of years. This wouldn’t be the first time they’d face her. It would be the last. She and the Dragonlords with her had no idea what they faced.
Steven had called for a special conclave to meet that afternoon outside of Moab, though he didn’t invite any of the Primes who served him. No, he’d invited all the Primes who wanted him dead. The Wayne twins provided the list. The two of them were scheming more than ever now that they had normal enemies to play with. Both Chazzie and Pru were constantly sighing with happiness. More than once, they’d mentioned that eternal demon queens were outside their wheelhouse.
Steven walked into the conclave knowing it would be an ambush. Both he and Sabina had seen that.
He’d gone in alone because help was only seconds away.
Steven hadn’t considered he’d be given a new bracelet by the ancient Incan speedster. He knew exactly what the bracelet did, and he could’ve magicked it off, but he didn’t. He wanted to try and talk these rogue dragons out of killing themselves.
The seven Dragonlords surrounded him, all in their True Forms. The plain of rock was so remote, humans were unlikely to see them. Even if they did, rumors of dragons living on Earth had spread far and wide. Steven only had this last task to accomplish before he revealed himself to humanity.
Umbra came to a halt next to Brazzos Reich, from South America, a blue-and-white dragon with bright yellow eyes. Sapphire gemstones were braided into the ivory beard hanging from his chin. He snorted fire. “You’ve done well, senora. I will repay you, Umbra, any way you like.”
Umbra thumped the spear onto the ground. That was new. Before, when they’d faced her, she’d had a staff. Something about her new weapon troubled Steven. The spear, with its long haft and long curved blade, didn’t look like it had been crafted on Earth.
The Incan woman whirled the weapon around before turning into a Homo Draconis, orange and black. She took off again, running with her spear in her claws. Then she was flying, so fast it was hard to keep track of her. Again, Steven wondered at her power... it wasn’t the traditional
SerpentGrace off the Pugna branch of the Dragonsoul skill see. It was something far more, and it had something to do with her bones.
Steven lifted a hand. “You, Brazzos, I’m going to kill. You butchered my friend’s wife.”
The South American dragon spat flames. “I tried to butcher Abner. He was a tough corrompido, but maybe not so tough after all. He didn’t come after me. American dragons are far easier to kill the farther north you go!”
A copper-and-brown dragon roared, “You can cram it up your cramhole, fucker!” That was Kumaglak Shaw—he was about as far north as you can go.
Brazzos Reich laughed.
Silas, a black, gold, and red beast, screeched, “Magica Incanto!” Steven felt the dispel magic hit him, and it was nice work. The spell would rob him of his Animus abilities. If he’d only had one core, that might’ve been a problem.
Even then, it wouldn’t have slowed Steven down much, since he’d gathered the best and most badass Escort ever assembled.
Steven shook the bracelet on his wrist. It brought back fond memories of his friend Javier Jones, dead now. It was Javier who had come up with the idea of the stasis bracelets. “So,” Steven said, “I can’t use Transformatio, which means I can’t turn into a dragon.” He touched Icharaam’s Crown, getting hot on his sweating head. “Which means I can’t use some of my more interesting Exhalants. Like RealityFire.”
None of the dragons responded to that. Around them, Warlings, Morphlings, and Magicians were gathering, guns aimed at Steven, spells ready. Wolves, boars, and bears roared and pawed at the rock. The biggest of them, a huge Kodiak, stood up on its hind legs—that thing was twelve feet tall, if not more. That wasn’t Juice Juice, no, because Juice liked being a boar, not a bear. Also, he was very dead because Zoey killed him at the Battle of Duchain Hill outside of Dodge City. The big Kodiak was probably someone like Juice, leading the remaining Sounders after their original cult leader was gutted like a carp pulled out of Chatfield Reservoir
Steven smiled and flexed his hands. The Baxter rings had been fashioned to cover him in armor if he was in his dragon form. They wouldn’t work if he was human. Steven had unraveled the magic, Spider Finger’s magic, actually, though Carlos Bart Baxter had added his own spin to the sorcery. The rings worked a little differently for every user.
“So, no rings either,” he said. “That’s okay. I’ll figure out some way to kill Brazzos and that big werebear.” Steven took a second to pull up the Morta skill tree.
HE’D SPENT MONTHS TIRELESSLY perfecting his skills and had reached level ten. This fight should put him over the edge, and once he leveled, he’d have access to a larger reservoir of Morta. The dark energy could be converted into Animus, and so it was like he had an extra tank inside him.
“Or you can leave,” Silas growled in an accented voice. On his wrist was a sheathed sword. The shape of it reminded Steven of a Lyran weapon. Was Umbra’s new spear also from the elves?
He’d have to ask Quinnestri. She had returned to Aqualyra soon after their New Year’s Eve party the year before. That was nearly nine months ago.
“You do know I’ll never leave,” Steven said to the Prussian Dragonlord.
“And yet, you would ask us to go,” Silas snarled. “You are no better than us. You got lucky, over and over. Any one of us could’ve done what you did.”
Steven shivered in the heat. He was getting thirsty. And this was silly. This whole scenario was stupid. However, Silas wasn’t trying to kill him. Steven hoped he could at least talk some of these Dragonlords into being reasonable. He’d killed enough... well, no, after he wiped out Brazzos for Abner Savedra, then he could stop the murdering.
“Silas, you must’ve heard what I can do. You do know my Escort ended the Zothoric threat? If you go up against us, you will lose. You get that, right?”
Silas laughed. “Perhaps. Or perhaps your luck has changed. Maybe you were destined to free us from that threat, but not destined to survive. You are alone. Your Escort is not here.”
“Which is why we’re talking,” Steven said. “I’m claiming Gaia Alpha as my own. There’s a lot of other Gaias in the multiverse, Silas. You could go to any one of them. You all could. So, if you leave now, I give you my word I won’t come seeking revenge. You can take your wives and vassals and go.”
A forest-green dragon with silver scales flicked his tail. Qian Shinji, from China, hissed, “You would let us keep our wives? We thought you wanted to free all of the females.”
“Rumor,” Steven said. “I’m not going to break up families. If your wives want to leave, they can, but if they are happy, well, then that’s their affair.” He wasn’t about to lie, though. “My Magician, Merlin’s descendant, did create rings to stop women from being drawn to Dragonlords. It helps them think more clearly. That is not a rumor. The rings do exist and are free to anyone who wants one.”
Tessa had been adamant about creating what she called the freedom rings. Aria didn’t think it was worth her time, but then Aria was a traditionalist, still, even with a metal heart and a Morta core.
All of Steven’s wives had worn them for a few days, realized they loved Steven despite the strong magic pulling them to him, and stopped wearing them. Except for Zoey, strangely enough.
Damn, but he loved that bear girl as much as she loved him, though she was different with the ring on without a doubt... more independent, which was good for her.
The Dragonlords whispered among each other.
A dragon with black scales shot with gold grumbled. That was Mronki Kyeel from Africa. He had a thick accent. “And if we joined you? If we decided to become your vassals? Would we rule?”
“You wouldn’t die,” Steven said. “But I already have my council of twelve. Sorry, Mronki, but Ndelgo Baenhoover already has laid claim to sub-Saharan Africa. He’s my guy there. However, if you walked away, I’m sure you both could figure things out. The point is, we don’t have to fucking slaughter each other anymore. There are options. There are vast worlds out there. Can’t you see that? Or are you too blinded by your own greed... and whatever else?”
Mronki shook his head. “Ah, Steven, you are young. This is our world. Some of us are very old, and you would have us move. Or at least give up power. I have held the Congo Primacy since Mbiti Urator was killed by Bruno Illick. It is my home. Would you remove me from my home?”
Steven didn’t like being reminded of how young he was or how often he’d been underestimated, but Mronki Kyeel had a point. “Like I said, you can stay, but the power structures are different. Is ruling that important to you?”
Silas von Forcade laughed. “We are Dragonlords. We will not submit. Ever.”
“Even if we did walk away, you would come and kill us,” Mronki said. “You wouldn’t forget our treachery.”
“What treachery?” Steven asked. “We’re just talking for now, but I’m kind of running out of patience. I’ll give you all another five minutes, and then whoever is still here will die.” He raised a hand. “I have to qualify that. You, Brazzos, are dead, but the rest of you don’t need to throw away your lives.”
Mronki’s huge green face, beard wagging, split into a fanged smile. “It is as Silas said—I won’t submit. And if I die? My wives will commit suicide like good wives should when their Prime is slain.”
Steven shook his head sorrowfully. “Really? You want your wives to commit suicide? That’s a new one on me. Okay, it’s pretty fucking clear you assholes don’t really understand what’s going on. So, let’s go back to what I was saying. So, Brazzos dies, for sure. We’ve established that. And Mronki, you die for that whole wives and suicide thing. And Silas? Fuck you for getting this little cabal together. As for the rest of you, I’d probably let you go, but the daughter of the Dragon Slayer is not going to stop until every last one of you is dead.”
The Dragonlords laughed. It was obvious they weren’t afraid of him.
Their wives and vassals weren’t so sure. The female Dragonsouls glanced at each other. The M
agicians, a whole collection of men and women, looked troubled. Doubtless, they’d researched what happened in the Zothoric Wars. Too bad their lords were too proud to listen to them.
Silas chuckled a last time before snarling, “What can you do against us? You are alone. You can’t shift. You can’t cast magic. You are at our mercy!”
“Now that’s some dumbass villainous talk right there.” Steven raised his hand dramatically and snapped his fingers.
Nothing happened.
“See? There are no dragons here to save you!” Silas roared in triumph.
A circle of fire appeared next to him.
A voice called out, “Are there dragons?” Tessa walked through her fiery portal in boots, jeans, and a blouse covered by a new black leather vest. She’d recently shaved her head, again, but was growing it back in a waterfall of cherry-red locks. She’d figured out how to alter her hair color as well as her magic, though she’d stuck with pink. Her tattoos were so very dark and her skin so very pale in the desert brilliance. Sunlight glinted off the revolvers dangling from her hands.
“Did someone say dragons?” The gunslinging barista pulled back the hammers on her Colt Peacekeepers. “I love to slay dragons.”
“I know you do, baby.” Steven grinned.
Another portal opened, and Aria flew through it in her partial form, then transformed into her true self. She used to have scales the color of cinnamon candy. Now? She was a dark red, almost black. Morta dripped from her slender form. Steven was pretty sure there had never been anything like her in the long history of the Alpheros. That only made him love her more.
Mouse came dancing through the spinning doorway, the Slayer Blade glowing green. She was in a blouse, skirt, and long brown boots that came up to her knees. Icharaam’s Cloak flowed around her, a living length of cloth that kept her safe.
She flicked back her long blonde hair and laughed at the army. “You guys are in some serious shit now!”
Other portals opened, and Steven knew he was going to hear some sort of Avengers: Endgame reference from Tessa. A lot had changed, certainly, but not everything.