by Aaron Crash
Contents
Summary
Aaron Crash's Mailing List
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
Books, Mailing List, and Reviews
Other Works by Aaron Crash
Books from Shadow Alley Press
About the Author
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Copyright
Summary
Winning an empire was the easy part. Keeping it will be harder.
After killing Rahaab, the most powerful dragon on Earth, Steven Drokharis knew he’d have to fight to keep what he’d won, but the cabal that killed his father was just the tip of the iceberg. He’ll have to fend off a cult of shapeshifters, magical constructs, and two devious, busty, machine-gun-toting twins, all while keeping his Escort of human and dragon women satisfied. Meanwhile, the eyes of ancient demons are ever searching for signs of dragons, and the deadliest threat may be close to home.
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ONE
Steven adjusted his bow tie in the elevator mirror as it carried him up to the secret forty-third floor of the InterContinental Hotel in Chicago. He was on his way to the Aerie of one of the most powerful Dragonlord Primes on the North American continent.
He felt calm about it, strangely comfortable in his custom-tailored tuxedo. It was the first time he’d ever worn one, and he would have been far more comfortable in jeans and a hoodie, but there was no denying the tux was well made. He almost didn’t recognize himself. It was the day after Thanksgiving, nearly six months since he’d killed Rahaab. He’d only been a Dragonsoul about nine months, and yet everything in his life had changed. Last year, he’d worked extra shifts to afford Christmas presents for his mom. Now? He’d bought her a house in an exclusive gated community in Cherry Creek… so exclusive it only had three houses: one for Tessa Ross’s family, one for Steven’s mom, and a mansion that housed Uchiko and the Onari Guard.
But however nice his clothes, or how much money he spent, he was still the same person on the inside.
Same old Steven, same old problems. Getting his mom to move had been a Herculean task. In the end, she’d agreed because she liked helping take care of Jared Ross, Tessa’s little brother. He had childhood MS and needed constant care. That worked out well for Florence Whipp as well as Uchiko. She and her ninjas had grown accustomed to guard duty. Not that the failed Dragonskins revealed themselves to the humans. But they were close by and ready to give their lives for the people they protected.
They’d had a huge Thanksgiving feast in the Ross’s house. Tessa and her sister, Abigail, cooked for days on end, though Steven suggested they could get a caterer. Mouse had rolled her eyes. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Cooking was the whole point, and Tessa had gone all out ordering the most expensive of everything since money was no longer an issue and wouldn’t ever be again. Steven possessed Aeries in a ton of countries across the world. Killing the last of the Alpheros had been stupidly profitable.
And it also put the name Steven Drokharis on the lips of every dragon, Prime and Ronin alike.
That thought rang through Steven Drokharis’s mind as the elevator doors opened behind him. He turned and walked into the heart of Morty Flint’s Chicago Aerie, at the very top of the InterContinental Hotel on the Magnificent Mile. Two extra levels, invisible to humans, had been added, and every inch of them was opulent: hardwood floors, leather furniture, long tables inlaid with gold, windows that showed the twinkling lights of other skyscrapers and the city below. Lake Michigan was a dark stain that stretched though the night and into the horizon.
Steven felt the Primes glancing at him as he crossed the room to the bar, ordered a water, and then moved to a window so he could appreciate the view. He wasn’t there to drink. And he wasn’t there to socialize.
The Dragonlords were politely chatting with each other, but the tension in the room was palpable. In the end, the life of a Dragonsoul was constant battle, protecting their Primacies from power-hungry conquerors and upstart Ronins.
Gather an Escort, acquire a Hoard, and build Aeries—those were the unending imperatives that drove Dragonsouls to get more women, become richer, and establish ever-expanding houses. When would it stop? Only when one Dragonsoul ruled all, and even then, such expansive states were too unwieldy. Empires crumbled when they grew too big.
Morty had been powerful enough to draw a crowd to the Conclave he’d called. His Aerie was packed with Dragonsoul Primes from every part of the North American continent. From the Yucatan Primacy, which included a good portion of Mexico and the Caribbean islands, all the way up to the Yukon Primacy. The two Dragonlords from those Primacies were talking amiably. Their territories weren’t close to each other, so they probably wouldn’t be at each other’s throats anytime soon.
Steven wasn’t too worried about the Mexican or the Canadian Primacies. He had his sights set on the United States. He’d consolidate his power there first. However, the Primacies didn’t follow the maps of humans but drew their own borders. For example, Morty Flint’s Great Lakes Primacy included the states around the four lakes as well as Ontario and parts of Quebec. The New England Primacy stretched from the southern counties of New York state and extended up into Nova Scotia.
But Steven didn’t think he had anything to fear from those eastern Primacies. At least not that night. That was why Morty had called a Conclave for the Dragonsouls: to welcome Steven Drokharis and to feel him out. Was this new Dragonsoul bent on world domination? What were his motivations?
Morty had promised that Steven wouldn’t be messed with. He’d given Steven his word, which didn’t mean much until the Great Lakes’ Prime said he’d murder any Prime who broke the peace.
Morty could threaten them all he wanted, but he’d only get to follow through on that threat if Steven didn’t get to them first.
When they’d gotten the invitation, Aria had been suspicious. She’d suggested that it might be a trap. No vassals were allowed into the Conclave, except for one glaring exception that troubled Steven. Clete Sariah lorded over the Deseret Primacy, which was basically Utah and Idaho, Steven’s immediate neighbor to the west. His head wife, Eve Downfyre, showed up in his place.
Eve looked to be around forty, though she might’ve been ten times that old. She was a sharp-faced brunette with inky hair and muscled arms. This was a black-tie affair, and she wore an elegant black dress offset by a million dollars’ worth of diamond jewelry.
Where was Clete Sariah? Was he planning something? Steven didn’t know, but he made a point to keep his eyes on Eve. She seemed to handle herself well, a doe among stags, but with a quiet power she exuded without being showy. Interesting.
At the center of it all was Morty Flint, slapping
shoulders and making sure everyone had a full drink. He was a heavy-jowled man. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, but Steven knew he was far older. He had a big belly and a massive ring on his left pinky finger. He looked like a used-car salesman, but his dark eyes were too intense for that. He had the eyes of a killer, as did most of the men in the room. And it was all men, except for Eve Downfyre, but even she looked like someone who would shank you if given the chance.
Steven finished his water and glanced down at Lake Michigan. The dark water below made him think of what Rahaab had said… shadows of teeth and talon. The Zothoric. He frowned. He shouldn’t have come. This was a waste of time. Nothing would get done when everyone was so on edge. Their wives and vassals were having a party of their own, across town at the Waldorf-Astoria. That was where Aria, Tessa, Mouse, and Sabina were. Steven hadn’t wanted them all to congregate at the same place, so he’d told Liam Strider to wait at the top of the Sears Tower, ready to swoop in if needed.
Morty Flint caught Steven’s eye, nodded, then strutted forward and climbed halfway up the spiral stairs to the second level. No one took the hint, so Morty banged his ring on the railing of the staircase to silence the murmuring. Everyone had drinks in their hands except for Steven. He stood with his arms crossed, no expression on his face. He wouldn’t give these bastards anything.
The room quieted. Morty cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, we don’t do this a lot, since it doesn’t make murdering each other any easier.”
Chuckles spread across the group. A few of the men gave each other dark looks.
“You’ve all been on your best behavior,” Morty continued. “There hasn’t been a single spell cast, no one has opened a throat, and we haven’t had to concoct some fucking scenario to keep ourselves secret from the humans because two of you decided to kill each other at this Conclave.”
“I’ve thought about taking down Javier over there,” Carlo Bart Baxter boomed out. A massive man, he was nearly seven feet tall, muscled to at least three hundred pounds, with a 1950s’ football coach’s crew cut and blue eyes that could cut glass. He was the Dragonlord Prime of the Texarkana Primacy, which stretched up from the Mexican desert across the border, to encompass Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas. Carlo Bart was Steven’s neighbor to the south. The big Texan was known to be power-hungry; he’d slain two other Primes to extend his territory up to the Appalachian Primacy.
Roy Right, of the Sin Cities Primacy, let out a bellowing laugh. He was a slimy fucker in a silver suit, wearing douchebag sunglasses at night. “Yeah, Carlo, you go after Javier. And I’ll be there to wipe out the survivors, add another sinful city to my collection.” Roy ruled Las Vegas, Reno, and the wastelands between the two towns.
“You do that, and I’ll make boots out of your hide,” Carlo Bart shot back.
Javier Jones, a tall Hispanic man in an understated gray suit, stayed quiet. His dark eyes took in the two blowhards. Steven knew a little about Javier Jones. The solid Latin man had been given the Sonoran Desert Primacy by Rahaab after Rhaegen Mulk had made a play for it. Sabina had been caught in the drama. She’d said Javier had been brutal in his conquest, but he was more reasonable than most, and that just made him more dangerous. He didn’t need to shoot off his mouth; power emanated off him. Javier had three Primacies under his control—Baja, Jalisco, and the Sonoran Desert. He hadn’t officially given them a new name, and no one really understood why. Most took it as a bad sign. No use renaming your territory if you planned to get more.
The bad air in the room turned worse. It seemed like a brawl could break out at any minute. What had started off as a joke turned deadly serious.
If a brawl broke out, Steven would hold his ground. After facing down ancient dragons from distant worlds, he wasn’t afraid of these jokers.
Morty raised his hands and patted the air. “Easy, gentlemen. We aren’t here to fight each other. No, we’re here to hear from Steven Drokharis—to welcome him.”
“And to warn him,” Louis Laloux hissed. He was the Dragonlord Prime of the French Swamplands Primacy down south. He owned a small section of coast. His rise to power had been a bloodbath, and though his Primacy was small, he’d held it for two hundred years.
Morty eyed the short man with the pencil-thin moustache. “Well, maybe this new Dragonlord should warn us about his intentions. No one else has done what he’s done. Steven, would you mind saying a few words?”
Steven was prepared. It was the only reason he’d risk his life to come to the Conclave. He wanted all those Dragonlord Primes to see him and to understand that he was going to be setting the agenda. He wasn’t nervous, not a bit scared. He’d discussed his speech with his Escort and his vassals, and they all agreed he would come in strong and assertive. He could relax once he gained their respect, but above all, they had to know he wasn’t someone they could fuck with.
He marched forward, not intimidated by the wealth, power, and threat of violence that filled the room. Morty descended the stairs. He stopped to shake Steven’s hand.
“What you say is important,” the Great Lakes Prime said in a quiet voice. “All I ask is that if you are planning on fighting us all, you don’t do it here. Can you keep it civil?”
“No, I can’t.” Steven pushed past Morty and climbed halfway up. Steven’s eyes swept across the room. He saw Tiano Helge of the Dakota Primacy standing next to Lawrence Candler of the Farmlands Primacy. Both were his eastern neighbors. And they looked chummy. That could prove problematic.
But Steven could worry about that later.
The room was hushed. All eyes were on him.
“Thank you, Morty, for hosting us.” Steven started clapping and most of the Dragonlords followed, except for Carlo Bart Baxter, Roy Right, and Javier Jones.
The applause died out. Steven took over. “First off, I’m renaming my territories. The Rocky Mountain Primacy and the Great Plains Primacy will be called the Colorado Primacy.” This was a diplomatic maneuver. If he changed the names of his kingdoms, it would relax the Dragonlords around him. They might think he was done conquering. He wasn’t.
“What’s second?” Carlo Bart shouted the question.
“I have the floor,” Steven snapped. “You don’t. So shut the fuck up.”
“Oh, big man,” the Texas Prime laughed. “You want to take it outside?”
“No,” Steven answered, “because I’m not done. I want to make myself perfectly clear. You all have been playing this game a lot longer than I’ve been alive. I understand that. But if you come at me, if you try to hurt my people, I will visit hell upon you. If I can kill Rahaab, I can kill you. So if you want to fight me, come at me directly.” Steven grinned. “And I might show you some measure of mercy.”
Those bemused smiles were gone. Even Carlo Bart seemed taken aback.
Steven soldiered on. “I grew up as a human. I’ve only been a dragon about nine months, give or take. In that time, I’ve acquired three Primacies and murdered the Primes who butchered the Drokharis family. You might think to take me out while I’m young. You’re too late. I’m no longer weak. I want you all to know that I don’t blame anyone in this room for killing my family. The Conclave met in Japan twenty years ago, but it was the secret cabal that put the hit out on my father. I get that. But I also want you to understand that I believe in my father’s work. And I plan on continuing it.”
Some of the mouths in the room dropped open. Another wave of shocked silence permeated the crowd.
Steven had to laugh. “Yeah, probably not what you expected to hear. Surprise, surprise. I’m still studying my father’s spell books, and I don’t have the full power yet, but I see a day where we no longer have to fight for territory, women, and gold. I have a vision of the future where we come together to inherit this world and to live, out in the open, not hiding behind Magica Defensio spells.”
Surprisingly, Javier Jones nodded. Or was that just to throw Steven off his game? That wasn’t going to happen.
Steven
gripped the railing. “But I give you my word that I won’t open portals to other realms, or go through the doors my father created, because I believe the Zothoric threat is real. Before we can fully come into our own and reveal ourselves to the humans, a lot has to happen, and I still have a lot to learn.”
He paused. Tessa had wanted him to talk about their desire to push for greater freedom for female Dragonsouls, but Aria and Liam said it wasn’t the time. No, the bombshells he was dropping were enough to endanger all their lives.
Steven met the eyes of every Prime in the room. “I know you’ll come for me eventually, like the cabal came for my father. He was caught unaware. I’ve learned from his mistakes. Not every one of you needs to die to make room for my vision, but if the only way we can move forward is swimming through your blood and walking over your corpses, then so be it.”
“You uppity son of a bitch!” Carlo Bart shouted. He went to storm his way through the crowd, but Morty Flint, along with the Dragonlords from the New England and the Carolina Primacies, stopped him.
Steven shot a finger gun at the Texarkana Prime. “Be seeing you, Carlo Bart, and you better fucking bring your A game, or I will be supremely disappointed.”
Steven left the room. Every single Dragonlord moved to let him pass.
TWO
In the elevator of the InterContinental Hotel, Chastity Wayne turned off her phone. “That waiter we kissed says Steven is comin’ down. So we’ll be goin’ up. Real sweet of waiter boy to keep his phone on so we could hear his speech.”
Her sister Prudence gave her a nervous smile. “Well, we both know how to kiss to get what we want. But, sis, this is certainly a risk.”
Both wore red dresses that hugged their considerable curves. Twins, Chazzie and Pru shared everything: men, guns, money, and prey. As well as every strand of DNA. They had strawberry blonde hair, freckles cute enough to eat, and eyes the color of cedar—such a light brown that they could trick you into thinking they were green. Both had pink lips like bows on a birthday present. Both were wearing perfume, but their natural dragon scent was sweet, like bubble gum, and when they turned scaly, they were a bright pink.
