Wyoming Dynasty (American Dragons Book 10)

by Aaron Crash

  If she refuses, I will lick you, Heridan, Nefri’s voice burst in.

  So is this Morta Clique business over? Steven asked them both.

  Very over, Nefri sent. I like the queen now. She is not the arrogant cunt I thought she was.

  The Prosha was in full agreement. Yes, I think we’re going to have a great time with this elf chick. It’s clear she’ll do anything... anything at all. I can work with that.

  We both can. Nefri stood and grabbed Quinn’s hair. The Lyran queen kept licking her. It was clear that Quinnestri was in heaven.

  Uchiko clambered onto the bed and positioned herself over Heridan. And yes, the ninja was very willing to help Heridan come again. As for the Prosha, she watched as Steven eased himself into Uchiko’s tight tunnel.

  Nefri got on the bed next to her friends. Quinnestri came around and got on top of her. Steven had a great view of the elf queen’s ass, and her sex getting licked by the Ohkreela archer. Steven had to stop thrusting into Uchiko, or he’d come too soon.

  Four women, sixty-nining, on the bed, and he switched from Uchiko to Quinnestri and then back. His life was good, perfect even, and he wasn’t going to let some rogue Lyran legend ruin it.

  No. He paused, and a flash of inspiration hit him, a flashback from a Magica Divinatio vision maybe. He thought he knew what the Night Lance could do to help them.

  He could think about strategies and such things later.

  Right now, he had four horny women to take care of and poker to play.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  STEVEN ADJUSTED THE collar of his suit coat in the mirror of his bathroom at the Infinity Ranch. He chose a black shirt, no tie, like what his real father wore in his first visions of him. That felt right. He remembered what Bob Wayne and said... Stefan Drokharis would’ve been so proud of his son and the work he’d accomplished.

  SD might have even restrained himself from teasing Steven about the gold circlet on his head and the silver rings on his fingers.”

  Aria came in wearing a slinky red dress that showed off her assets, every single one of them. Tessa followed, her gown splitting the difference, half crimson, half black. A series of ties crisscrossed her cleavage.

  The women weren’t going to be escorting him unarmed. Aria’s Animus Daggers were in a red leather belt that matched her dress. She slung the belt casually over a shoulder. Tessa also had her weapons hanging over her shoulder—guns, black belt, black holsters; every leather loop held a bullet. It had taken some serious enchantments to get their weapons to match their dresses.

  And lastly, in white, Hwedo came into his bedroom carrying the Night Lance. Her frizzy curls had been tamed a bit, and she wore a light layer of makeup, which accented her big dark eyes. The Malian dragon was a full head taller than Aria and Tessa. A teardrop amulet, on a silver chain, lay on her chest.

  The three women stared at him.

  He turned, smiling. “What?”

  “You look good,” Hwedo said. “But we look better.”

  For once, he didn’t disagree with her bragging. “Amen to that. So, we’re going in on high alert. Any problems, we’ll hit them hard. Sabina will be connected to us through her Divination magic. Heridan and I can communicate through Connexra. Reinforcements will be seconds away.”

  “It’s a fair plan.” Hwedo cast her eyes down. “I’m surprised you are bringing me.”

  Tessa nudged her. “You’re the best, right? Centuries old, handpicked by Rahaab himself, and you practiced the most with that spear.”

  “It was fun to practice with you.” The Malian woman’s smile, and the way she said the words, made it clear she wasn’t just talking about fighting.

  Tessa blushed a little. “Well, I needed your help with Bellicosia. You really took me over the edge.”

  “Over and over,” Hwedo snorted. He noticed she’d sometimes half-laugh, half-snort. It was adorable coming from the big alpha woman.

  Aria sighed. “Ladies, on the eve of this next battle, I would appreciate more focus.”

  Tessa and Hwedo giggled like schoolgirls. That was a change for the African woman.

  “We’re ready,” Steven said, adjusting his cuffs. He had his Baxter rings, the teardrop amulet, and his crown, gold against his dark air. If only they could miniaturize the damn thing into a ring.

  “It’s strange that Bob Stains is going to be at this poker game.” Aria scowled. “And it was odd that he was one of the prisoners on the Great Salt Flats.”

  “This entire thing is strange,” Tessa said. “To quote the admiral, ‘It’s a trap!’”

  “Which admiral?” Hwedo asked.

  “Never mind.”

  They left the master bedroom.

  The other women—the rest of his core Escort, the Three Widows, and the Three Queens—had all gathered in the great room. Cooper, Emma, and Aubrey were subdued, eyes wide. Reggie was fussy. Sabina bounced her on her arm, making shushing sounds.

  The baby, as well as the other children, could feel the tension.

  “Fuck,” Mouse cursed. “For the love of biscuits, it might be nothing. I mean, it might just be a poker game with Dad.” She glanced at the frowning twins and the Indian woman. “A poker game with dads. Plural. Are you going to be okay seeing your father and brother again, Aria?”

  She nodded. “I don’t think they’ll speak to me. And I won’t speak to them. We shall be fine.”

  Steven hugged his wives, but stopped at Quinnestri, who stood with Heridan, Nefri, and Uchiko. There was something in her eyes that troubled him.

  “You okay, Quinn?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Ask me later.” She kissed his cheek and whispered into his ear. “I have made a decision.”

  He didn’t have time to ask more. Sabina had suggested he get to the poker game early, and he’d agreed. Outside, the air was still hot from the day even as the sun dipped toward the horizon.

  Hwedo shifted into her partial form and blew fire, and Tessa circled that into a portal spell.

  The walked into a swanky lounge in the back of the Ameristar Casino in Blackhawk, Colorado. The lights had a soft orange glow, reflected off big aquariums that lined the walls. Colorful fish swam in slow motion. A bartender stood on duty at the black marble bar spanning the side. The dark hardwood floor had a wide black-and-white carpet covering the center. Most of the room was couches and TV monitors, showing various baseball games.

  Friday nights, at the end of summer, there were a lot of games to choose from.

  Tessa swallowed hard. “Fuck, aquariums, that means we’re going to have to break a lot of glass and kill fish. I mean, you know that’s probably going to happen, right?”

  “Unless this is just a poker game,” Hwedo said.

  Aria silenced them with a slash of her dark green eyes. “Stay ready. Be focused.”

  Tessa saluted. Hwedo, unsure of what to do, saluted as well.

  Bob Wayne came out of a door across the way. He was in a red cowboy shirt, his leather coat, and jeans. His eyes drank in Steven’s women. He frowned. “Figured you might bring Chastity and Prudence.” Then he smiled. “But aren’t you three lovely? And Hwedo Sata, showing up now, after all that bad business we heard about. We met, Hwedo, though you wouldn’t remember me.”

  The Malian woman tilted her head. “I am sorry, I don’t.”

  The Texan Ronin pulled at his sleeve, the fringe on his jacket swinging. “Well, I kept a low profile at conclaves, for the most part, and your ex-husband didn’t care much for any of us.”

  “I’m glad Steven is different,” Hwedo said.

  Wayne shot Aria a look out of the corner of his eye. It was clear he was a little worried about what Rhakshor Khat might do seeing his daughter again.

  Steven considered that, but he had the made decision to bring her because she had a Morta core, and it would throw off her father. While Rhakshor wasn’t their friend, so far, the Indian Dragonlord hadn’t moved against Steven. Hopefully, it stayed that way. Murdering his wife’s father would ma
ke a certain June holiday rather uncomfortable. Damn, now he was thinking like Mouse.

  “Joe is already inside the room.” Wayne motioned to the door he’d come through. “You have a little time if you want to chat with him.”

  Steven left his wives and put his hand on the knob. Again, he turned, to see Aria, Tessa, and Hwedo looking at him. He loved Thirteen and the barista, and he was surprised at how good it felt to see the Malian woman giving him an encouraging look. She knew about fathers and how difficult things could be.

  Tessa gave him a thumbs-up.

  And then he was inside the room. It had the same dark hardwood floor, a lush carpet, and a bar near the back, this one empty for now. A single lamp shined a light on a green felt table that had six leather chairs. On the felt were cards. At the table was a balding man, thin, clean-shaven, with big ears. His thin hair didn’t help with the ear problem—just as his pointed nose didn’t help with his weak chin. Joe Whipp wore a cheap brown suit with his mother-of-pearl shoestring tie.

  Those intense blue eyes, with thick lashes, took Steven in. “Well, Steve, when Bob suggested you join us, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Come and sit, we’ll talk.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?” Steven sat across from his father.

  Joe shuffled the deck like he was breathing. No, for Joe, it was easier than breathing. “For one, you don’t need the money. You aren’t just rich, you’re a king. I noticed the crown but wasn’t going to mention it. Damn. I just did.” Steven’s foster father paused to chuckle before continuing to talk. “Gambling with a man who doesn’t care about the money can be tricky. So that’s a problem. Another? You seeing me again, after all these years, can’t be easy.” Joe shook his head. “Lastly, me seeing you? I’m not a man accustomed to feeling guilty. However, when you walked in, it was guilt city, and I’m the mayor.”

  Steven put his hands on the table. It was so soft. He was surprised at how good it felt. The room smelled of polish, a bit of booze, but mostly, the stale cigar smell of his father’s suit mixed with his cologne. It brought back a million memories. “You shouldn’t have left Mom.”

  “I wanted to be a better man, Steve.” Joe had a drink sitting in a leather cup holder built into the border of the table. Without seeing it, Steven knew it was a couple fingers of bourbon on ice.

  Joe touched the glass but withdrew his hand. “Taking you in scared me. Breaking Flo’s heart was a given... I knew that would happen. Breaking your heart?” The gambler took the glass and sipped, grimacing. “You were a good boy. It hurt to leave you. I got over the hurt because I’m a bad man.”

  “Not bad.” Dangerous emotions filled Steven, and his belly felt like it was full of toads. It took some effort to stay objective. “I’ve seen bad, Joe.”

  “I guess you have, but don’t call me Dad. I lost that honor. And your real father? Stefan was good, strong.” Joe paused. “I wasn’t. Okay, maybe I’m not bad like the demons you fought, or whatever. But I’m weak. I wish I wasn’t.”

  “I wish you’d been strong enough to stay for Mom.” Steven saw the long years on the man, the booze, the tobacco, the failures, the fear, and the disappointments. Joe maybe had five years left, ten if he were lucky. Then? Death. Joe wasn’t a Dragonsoul or any kind of Dragonkind. He was simply a man.

  Joe offered a wan smile, more of a wince than a grin. “I stayed away. I could’ve come to you for money. I thought about it. But that would’ve been cheap and clichéd. No, I made my bed, and I’d lie in it. It’s okay, Steven. I’m okay. I hurt you and your mom, and I don’t want forgiveness. I am sorry, though. I wish I’d have been different.”

  “Stefan must’ve thought highly of you.”

  That struck Joe as funny. “Stefan knew I could keep a secret. And he knew I could bluff. I could hide you like I can hide pocket aces during a Texas Hold ’em tournament with a million dollars on the table.” He nodded, blinking, remembering. “I’ll never forget carrying you away from him and your biological mother. We both know Flo will always be your mom. You were so little, and in so much danger. I was never going to be man enough to be your father. But Flo? She was more than woman enough to be there for you every step of the way.”

  Joe looked at his wristwatch, a Timex, pretty cheap since he’d just mentioned a million-dollar pot, but Joe had never won that kind of money. And if he did, it was gone the next day. “The other players will be here in a minute. Anything else you want to say to me, Steve?”

  Tears came to Steven’s eyes. For Joe, this was the riskiest thing he could do. His foster father made his living playing the odds, and odds were, Steven would unload a lifetime of hell on him.

  The offer was an act of kindness and a brave, brave thing.

  Steven had to clear this throat. “No, Joe, I had to make peace with who you are. Mom did it faster than I did, but she’s tougher than both of us. I would like to say thank you.”

  That surprised the gambler. “Thank you? For what?”

  “You saved my life. Mulk would’ve killed me.” Steven kept his tears back by force of will. “You know, in some ways, you saved the entire fucking universe by taking a baby from a man you barely knew. At that moment, you weren’t just strong, you weren’t just good, you were a hero, man. You were a fucking hero.”

  Joe’s eyes went red, and another man might’ve cried, but not him. He took his glass and raised it. He did have to clear his own throat. “To heroes, Steve. To fucking heroes.”

  Steven didn’t have a glass, but he pretended he had one. And he toasted his foster father.

  He didn’t ask Joe about Collidium because Steven knew, deep down, that this entire poker game was a critical component in the lost king’s game. He’d simply play the cards he was dealt and wait for the villain to show his hand.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  ROBERT STAINS WALKED through the Colorado casino, and it was far quieter now that the old slot machines had been replaced by fucking computers. Back in his day, in Atlantic City, you heard the pull of the lever, the whirring, and then the victory of the waterfall of chinking change. Now, it was all just computer chips buzzing. Probably run by those new IEGs. Well, the horny trash banging in the bathrooms would keep the lights on.

  IEGs. IPCs. WTFs. It was election season in Washington, DC, and every ass-licking politician was dragon this and dragon that. It was exhausting, and they had several months to go until November 3. He wasn’t sure he was going to make it.

  Walking through this newfangled casino, Robert didn’t like the quiet. There were no distractions, so you could focus more on the mindless people, old, sick, poor, sitting in front of the spinning lies of free money. Robert wondered if he wasn’t exactly like them. He was gambling, with this Collidium, and he knew the house always wins. Collidium was the house. The shit he pulled in the Great Salt Flats? How could you put howitzers on other worlds? And then to have them fire randomly based on dice rolls? That was power, more power than Robert could understand. He thought about running, but he’d made a deal with the fucking guy, and he wasn’t about to cross something like Collidium.

  He’d got the cannons for the psycho, he’d been bait, and the last part of the agreement was the poker game. Supposedly he was Rhakshor Khat’s guest. Bob Wayne sure had been surprised when Robert told him he was going to the same game.

  Wayne should’ve cancelled, given what had happened the day before, but the Texan Ronin cheerfully soldiered on. It was strange, too strange to ignore. Was the Texan Ronin working with Collidium? No, Robert knew, the god-thing was manipulating events and memories, forcing everyone to dance to the tune he was playing with reality itself.

  Robert didn’t have a choice but to fall in line. This was his only chance at a return to power. Bob Wayne didn’t have a choice either, though he probably didn’t know it.

  Wayne had never been very important in the grand scheme of things. His daughters? Every single Dragonsoul Robert had ever met warned him about Chazzie and Pru. They were beautiful, pink, and l
ethal. If they didn’t shoot you, they’d scheme you into shooting yourself. They wanted it all, and they wanted it right now.

  Collidium had called Robert after the Great Salt Flats affair. The mystery man had apologized for putting Robert in danger, though it was clear that Collidium didn’t care. He was more disappointed that no one had died. However, in the end, the mystery man was simply testing his prey, like when you toyed with a bass on the end of your line. If you had them hooked well, the more they fought, the deeper the hook went in.

  Robert was hooked all right. As was Rhakshor. They couldn’t do a thing to Steven, but they hoped this Collidium could.

  Casino security escorted Robert to the back. He walked into a backroom lounge with fish tanks on the walls. Rhakshor Khat stood with his son, Godha, both in tuxedos. All the wives of the Prime wore saris of different colors. Many of the women gripped AK-47s, though others had curved swords, and a few had spears.

  Rhakshor and his retinue were actively ignoring Aria Khat, who was across the room, chatting with Steven’s goth emo girl and a newcomer, a tall African woman who held an ornate spear tipped by a long, sharp blade.

  The other player, someone named Frank Sport, stood at the bar. He hadn’t dressed for the occasion. No, he must’ve raided a nearby Jiffy Lube for his outfit—cowboy boots, faded jeans that hung from his skinny ass, and what looked like a garage attendant’s greasy shirt, light blue and white strips, with the sleeves rolled up. The name “Lucky” was stitched on his chest. He had iron-gray hair, thick and lush, and somehow a bit too perfect. A scruffy beard covered his cheeks and chin. He was smoking a cigarette and drinking scotch out of a tumbler.

  A drink seemed like a very good idea.

  This Frank Sport seemed familiar, but Robert couldn’t put his finger on it. He kept thinking of angels, of a bright light, and he was taken back to his church days, growing up Episcopalian in Northern Virginia.