River dragon, p.3
River Dragon, page 3
“I know. I’m fine, really. Anyway, thank you for this. A night out will be fun,” I said, even though I really didn’t want to go.
“Heck yeah! It will be awesome. The guys won’t be there till after ten, so it will be girl time for a while and we can shoot some slippery panties and dance,” Nova said, doing her best impression of the running man.
“Oh my gods. Nova, do not dance. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.”
“Shaddyap,” she growled, swatting me with a pillow and exaggerating her Jersey accent.
“Don’t get dye on my pillow! Wait. What the hell is a slippery panty?” I mumbled, shaking my head.
“First, if you haven’t had slippery panties in a while, you been single too long,” Nova said and snorted. “Second, I dance good.”
“No, sister, I am afraid you really don’t dance well at all,” Martina clarified, and I nodded my head in agreement.
Nova looked hurt for a second before collapsing into a fit of giggles. She was beautiful and a genius, but she really had no skills on the dance floor. Like none whatsoever. Not that she shouldn’t shake her ass and have fun anyway, but it helped to remind me she wasn’t as perfect as she looked when she tried and failed to find the beat in the song that was playing through my wireless speakers.
“How is it she still can’t recognize a bass?” Martina asked me and I just shrugged.
“Anyway, a slipper panty is a shot made with vanilla vodka, butterscotch schnapps, and hazelnut liqueur. It’s so fucking good,” Nova said, practically moaning.
“It does sound good,” I had to agree.
“And since the guys are coming by later, we can scope out someone who can give you another kind of slippery panty, eh?” Nova added, wagging her perfectly sculpted eyebrows.
“No, no, I do not need you two trying to set me up,” I replied, knowing that sort of thing had never worked out before.
I mean, why would it? Anytime Nova or Martina approached a man with the intention of setting me up all I had to do was watch his face go from interested to shocked when he realized they were not talking to him for themselves, but rather, for their pudgy little sister. And really, who wanted to deal with that mess? Not me.
“Um, actually, about the guys not being there early, Tim might beat us there,” Martina said.
“Cool. Is he bringing Pete?” Nova asked.
Marti nodded, and I made a humming sound of approval. I liked their company, they were fun as fuck. Tim Truman was Mitchell’s brother, but he was also Martina’s schoolgirl crush. They had a good laugh over that when she reconnected with them. The man was also a hella good time. He was married to a local barber named Pete, who adored his husband like crazy. Tim was simply the most honest, fun loving, liveliest partier of anyone I knew.
This was starting to sound like a real party. I smiled at my sisters. Maybe they were right, and tonight would be exactly what I needed.
“You guys, this sounds awesome. Thank you both so much,” I said, standing just as the timer went off.
It was time to rinse my hair and meet the next brand new me. I was seventeen when I started coloring my hair, ditching my mousy brown locks for something new and exciting, and I never looked back again.
After rinsing and conditioning my hair, I wrapped my head in a towel and got dressed. I chose tight black pants with a cropped shirt that showed more of my soft belly than I liked, but it had a low neckline and the bra I was wearing made my boobs look bigger than they were. The outfit definitely made me feel sexy, so I was willing to give it a try.
I applied extra makeup to my face, paying more attention to my eyes since I knew I’d be drinking, and lipstick was sort of a waste. Last, I unwrapped the towel and shook out my long aqua locks. I combed through the tangles, applied some hair product, and dried it with low heat. By the time I was done, my hair hung down my back in soft, shiny waves of aquamarine, looking like a waterfall. I smiled at my reflection.
“Holy shit,” Nova stated, eyes wide as she looked me over.
“Wowza! Lookin’ good, sister,” Martina said, a Wolfish grin spread across her face.
“Thanks. You know, this might be my favorite color yet,” I said.
And I meant it, too. My Dragon purred, and I felt my magic pulse deep within me. My Witchy powers were always the most settled when I felt confident, and nothing boosted my esteem like freshly dyed locks.
I grabbed my tiny wristlet that held my ID, my credit card, and my phone, and I repeated those four words I always said to myself whenever I dyed my hair, wondering if the me I found this time was the one I would keep. The one worth something. The one no one found lacking.
Yeah, maybe if I was lucky, I’d find someone else who thought I was worth keeping, too. My poor lonely heart squeezed inside my chest and my Dragon rumbled, echoing the statement. Loneliness was portable, and I didn’t want to take it with me while I went to hang out with my sisters, so I forced myself to leave those negative thoughts behind.
New hair. New attitude.
CHAPTER THREE PERCY
The bar smelled of alcohol and perfumed bodies, all primped and posed for a night on the town. It looked like a typical upscale Jersey Shore bar with music blasting, dim lighting, dance floor, standing tables, and booths, and two main bars from what I could tell. There were a bunch of huge TVs and monitors where gaming systems were set up, and people playing and hanging out.
Drinks were being poured, food served. The staff seemed competent and moved about efficiently working the crowd. The throng of people made it damn near impossible to move. But there was one thing that made the place unique.
The Thirsty Dog was owned by a motherfucking Wolf Shifter. Had been for years. In fact, it was located smack dab in one of North America’s most heavily populate Shifter towns, Maccon City. The bar was crawling with supernaturals. Though I’d picked up on the odd normal here and there.
How humans could stand being near so many powerful and predatory creatures was beyond me. Maybe their dull senses couldn’t tell the difference between excitement and danger. I didn’t really give a fuck either way.
“Pardon me, pal,” some huge bastard muttered, hitting my shoulder with his big, beefy arm as he walked past.
Give me a fucking break already.
I tried not to react beyond a rough exhale that could only be described as a grunt as one after the other, a dozen massive fuckers bumped into my shoulder or chair, jostling me as they passed. It wasn’t like the aisle was too small or I was too big. Sure, I had the stool pushed back, leaving a few inches of space between my knees and the bar, but no more so than the guy sitting next to me.
A man had the right to get comfortable, didn’t he? But I understood. I was a stranger in these parts. A newcomer. My scent likely confused them and knowing Shifters the way I did, they didn’t trust people they couldn’t place.
But I wasn’t there to start some shit with a couple of meatheads. I knew they could tell I was different. Like them, but not. They didn’t know what I was, and that gave me an edge. Just knowing I was an enigma to the burly bastards who kept throwing glowing glances in my direction gave me a sense of calm.
No, I wasn’t there to fuck around or start fights. But I was no fucking pushover. Still, I bit my lip and kept my mouth shut. Ignoring them as one by one, those big fuckers knocked into me, trying to get a rise out of me.
Goddamn Shifters.
I stopped the snarl in my throat, but my annoyance must have showed. The fella next to me got up and moved away. Good. He was something smaller. Not a Wolf or Bear like many of the Shifters inside The Thirsty Dog. He seemed to understand he was lower on the totem pole of species, and I appreciated that.
The place was fucking full of goddamn Shifters, and my hackles were up. My natural instincts to fight or flee were riding me hard. But this was not the time or place for such things. My people were counting on me, but I could not afford to dwell on thoughts of my Coven. Not while so many enemies surrounded me.
My gums ached with the desire to bare my fangs, and I knew I should have sated my thirst before I left home. But our blood supplies were so low, and I would never take the vein from an unwilling donor. None of us would. It was what separated us from Vampires.
I needed blood to survive, provided by a live source, of course. Animals did not make the cut. They were okay in a pinch, but they did not sate my hunger for very long. And hunger was the only thing I really knew. It had been my constant companion since birth.
Modern technology was a marvel, enabling my people to set up numerous fake corporations over the past eighty years or so, allowing us to order from human blood banks. But nothing satisfied the hunger of a Dhampire like drinking from the source. And that was something we simply could not do.
Shame and fury warred within me whenever I thought about it. The curse on my people. The pain and torment of living with a thirst so strong, it ruled our every waking moment.
We were so far from what we once were. The Calloway Coven used to mean something. We used to be strong, powerful, and plentiful. But that was back before we’d been cursed. Now, with so few of us left we were hardly a blip on any radar. Those who were not bound to my line left decades ago, and those that remained had no choice.
As the last son of my line, it was my duty to make it right. My father, the former leader of our Coven, had been laid to rest after withering away to practically nothing under the ancient curse that had haunted us for so long.
Do you know how long it takes for a Dhampir, a half-Vampire, to die from something other than murder? A very long fucking time.
I was nearing my hundredth year myself, and this was the first time I’d ventured so far from my home deep in the woods of October Mountain, up in Massachusetts.
New Jersey wasn’t much different climate wise, but Maccon City was part of that newly established clusterfuck called the Jersey Shore, made popular by awful reality TV and TikTok influencers.
For fuck’s sake, I’d rather be anywhere but there, but my people needed me. When rumors of a Dragon living in this hellhole of a summer town reached us, I had no choice. It was my sacred duty to bring back the blood of the Dragon, to restore our line, break the curse, and return our power.
My stomach turned with thoughts of what it was I had to do. But then I heard my grandmother’s voice in my head, and I knew it was the only way.
“Your father is gone, Perseus. It is you who must avenge us.”
She was right. As much as I cringed at the memory of her sharp features, the coldness in her pale blue eyes, Grandmother Calloway had a point. It was time for this to end. I had only one question for anyone who might frown upon what I was there to do.
Have you ever been hungry?
I didn’t mean the kind of hunger you felt when you had a craving for popcorn or ice cream. I meant the kind that could break the will of even the strongest being. A soul crunching, marrow deep, heart wrenching, gut twisting hunger. The kind you knew would be your end.
That was what I was dealing with. It was what I had been tasked to fulfill. My name was Perseus Calloway, and I was the last hope for my people. I was at The Thirsty Dog, hunting for the one being who could end our curse and bring atonement to my people.
How many had been put down over the years since the curse had taken hold? Too many to count. And that was why I was there now. To put an end to the madness and the misery.
Regret had no place inside my cold, withered heart. I gritted my teeth and tossed back the shot I had ordered, frowning as I felt the burn of locally distilled whiskey heating my throat.
“Another?” the bartender asked, and I shook my head.
I needed a minute. He seemed to understand and nodded before moving on to the next customer. There were plenty to choose from, and I slid a hundred dollar bill out of my wallet and dropped it in his tip jar. I appreciated the fact he didn’t ask me to leave my seat in favor of someone actively drinking.
I would order something else, eventually. I just needed a minute. Wrapping my head around my mission was essential to its success. Should have been easy, right?
Find the Dragon. Break the curse.
But things were never simple as that. It would have helped if I knew the details. If only someone knew what caused the last Dragon the Calloway Coven had gotten involved with to curse us, but no one could remember the reason. I only knew that somewhere in my ancestry, one of ours had crossed paths with a Dragon Shifter and it didn’t end well. The magical beast cursed my line, and ever since we’d struggled to survive.
Oh, we still trained in the ways of our kind, skilled in combat and warfare. We still followed the path of our kind, chasing Hunter Vamps and protecting humanity. After all, Dhampirs were needed to rein in Vampire populations and to go after those bloodthirsty rogues. The problem was, the Calloway Coven could not be trusted not to give in to our own hunger.
Our half-Vampire nature meant we needed to drink blood from a living source to provide the necessary nourishment to our bodies. But my people needed more than that. You see, the curse meant our thirst was never truly sated. So, we earned a reputation.
I wasn’t saying we didn’t earn it, but it sucked. Soon, no one would work with us. It became known that joining with a Calloway Dhampir was dangerous. Nowadays, we were only tasked with what were essentially suicide missions. We were charged with chasing the Hunter Vamps no one else wanted to track to the ends of the earth.
Other Dhampir Clans and Covens steered clear of us. They did not want to put themselves in danger. Dhampirs normally fed off each other. Being half-Vamp meant we were also half-human, and technically our blood could sustain us. Managing our thirst was easiest when we did it among ourselves. But the nature of the curse meant we did not know when to stop.
Feeding was dangerous, and as such, we took more risks than most whenever we engaged with others of our ilk. Especially when side by side in battle where blood would most assuredly be spilled.
The curse the Dragon placed upon us caused our bloodlust to rival that of the most lethal Vampires. We’d done everything we could to keep normals, Dhampirs, and other supes safe from us, moving away from civilization and isolating ourselves. Feeding on animals and getting supplies from human blood banks, but things were getting harder.
Our power was dwindling, and we were so very low in numbers. Then suddenly, rumors reached us of real, live Dragons in Maccon City. It had been decades since there’d even been a sighting.
So, there I was, being a good little hunter, stalking my prey. It wasn’t like I could just ask around and expect someone to point me in the direction of a Dragon.
Most supes were easily identifiable by scent or some other calling card, but not those beasts. They were too rare. Like me. Few knew what a Dhampir was, never mind how to deal with one. Which made killing us a little bit harder.
Thank fuck.
“Have you decided what you want?” the bartender asked.
“Can I see your selection of wine?”
“We got red or white, pal,” he replied, one eyebrow quirked.
Fucker could only be a Wolf. I sighed and asked for red, trying to hold on to my temper. He poured my glass, and I had to admit the bouquet was actually very nice.
“Mm, what is this?” I asked.
“It’s from a local winery, Devil’s Blood,” he replied with a wink, and I caught the glow of his inner beast behind that gesture.
Nodding, I dropped a twenty to pay for the wine and another to add to the tip I’d already given him on the bar. I continued to sip my wine, pretending for just a moment it was the other deep red liquid I craved.
It was a pity it wasn’t really blood, but I’d trained myself to ignore that constant hunger. Just as I learned to compensate for my dull senses and magic as a result of the curse. They were only dull compared to other Dhampirs. Which meant they were still better than the average normal, and even some supes.
I took another sip, enjoying the way the fragrant liquid warmed my insides as it slid down my throat. I could feel the effects already and decided to slow my pace. Unfortunately, I was not immune to the effects of alcohol like most other supes were.
It would not do for me to drop my guard. I was in a strange place with strange people. Even if finding the Dragon proved easier than I thought, I wasn’t foolish enough to think I would end the curse in one night.
But I was so close. For the first time in two hundred years, the Calloway Coven had a real shot at ending this goddamned curse and coming back to our full power. I sipped more slowly, ignoring the noise of the crowded bar, and reassessed the advantages I had over my quarry.
The Dragon had no idea he’d been outed and was currently being hunted.
I knew what to look for and what to expect from my prey. Someone of impeccable size, with brutish strength, a dim wit, and a propensity for charred food.
I was a trained professional. I knew how to wrestle with beasts and had been taught to slay monsters before I had my license to drive.
Last, there was the fact I wore beneath my shirt a medallion charmed to warm against my skin when in the presence of a Dragon.
So yeah, this shouldn’t be hard at all.
Being cocky had caused my ancestor to bring this curse upon our heads to begin with. So, you would have thought I’d have known better. And yet, I didn’t, which was why my jaw hit the fucking bar when she sat next to me.
“Hi! Can I have three lemon drop shots, please?” a strange female with turquoise colored hair and bright eyes asked the bartender.
The male leaned forward and gave her a slow look from head to toe, causing my entire being to vibrate with anger.
What the fuck?
“You can have anything you want, Sweet Sybil. Damn girl. You are looking fiiiiiine tonight,” the bartender added, winking as he started mixing her drink order.
I wondered how much trouble I’d get into if I loosed one of the smaller blades I had tucked into my belt and took out his fucking eye.
