The Dragon's Horde

by T Shadow

  Copyright @ 2019 T Shadow.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form. This includes photocopying, recording, or through the use of other electrical or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, the only exception is in the case of brief quotations in book reviews.

  Any references to real people, real places or historical events are used for fictitious purposes. The names of the characters, places, and the characters themselves are products of the author’s imagination. Resemblance to any actual places, events, persons, alive or dead is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction of this copyrighted work without the consent of the publisher or author is considered illegal. This is considered under the Criminal copyright infringement and therefore will be investigated if copyrighting is confirmed.

  Purchasing of authorized electronic editions is preferred. Please do not participate in, or encourage the piracy of goods. Support of the authors work through legitimate means is greatly appreciated.

  This novel is categorised in the Reverse Harem, Paranormal and Romance genres, and therefore is not suited to anyone under the age of 18 years of age.

  Cover art by Rebeca of Rebecacovers

  Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Dedications

  Thank you to everyone who helped me with this book, it’s my first attempt and its been a long six months.

  to anyone who is reading, my brain is like when Buzz becomes the deranged, confusing, deluded Ms. Nesbitt.

  Enjoy.

  Godspeed,

  T. Shadow.

  I cant - I can’t do this.

  I’m moments from breaking down, and I can feel my heart thumping wildly in my chest as I grab the side of my waist. The pack is heavy against my back. It carries all of my worldly possessions, not that I have many.

  I’ve been running for ages. The sunlight has faded and risen again multiple times but I couldn’t fathom how many days it has actually been.

  Running for your life makes you forget things like minutes, hours and last of all, days.

  The amazing landscape does nothing for me anymore. The flickering shades of green that surround me during the day, the natural waterfalls, the peaceful sunsets, the void in the sky at night.

  My surroundings can’t be appreciated a moment longer, because the betrayal that sits heavy on my shoulders curses everything I touch, I think about, and everything that once meant something to me.

  I meant something to someone once, and now? Now I mean nothing. I am nothing.

  Nothing but a shadow in the night and a whisper on the wind.

  Nothing can still hurt though.

  I hurt, more than they’ll ever know.

  “Hey darling, do the curtains match the drapes?”

  Are you fucking kidding me? Really? I know my hair is ginger, but fucking hell. I groan. “The curtains matching the drapes? What do you mean?” Whilst turning around to face the offending individual, I mentally give myself a pat on the back for my quick witted thinking, so to add insult to injury, I also make sure that I smile at the limp-dick offender.

  Do the curtains match the fucking drapes? What are you, eighteen?

  My inner monologue has some issues of its own. I also have some issues of my own, but I sure as hell don’t blame my inner thoughts for that. However, I do blame my brain which has a direct connection to my mouth. I’m not entirely sure what triggers it… The guy in front of me smells like musk, and wet dog; and that explains both things. The triggers and the attitude. Bloody wolf shifter.

  Why do they always smell like wet dog?

  Maybe it’s the earth. I’m blaming the earth.

  He’s looking at me with a dumbfounded expression. Does he think I’m thick? I think he’s thick. I look down to his mouth, which is amazingly in proportion with his face on a symmetrical angle, and back up to his eyes.

  Damn, have you ever heard about that song with the seas of green?

  He’s trying to explain why the curtains may or may not match the drapes. But my ridiculous excuse for a brain is over here finishing the lyrics on a one man solo. Seas of green, red roses too..

  “S-so really, it’s just a pick up line, if I-I’m honest.”

  I see them bloom.. For me and you. Wait.. what? Snap back to reality. I’ve stopped my modern rendition of Louis’ Armstrong’s jazz song, and I’m focusing my precious attention back on this wolf-human hybrid. Shifter. Person. It doesn’t last long though, because my brains gone from jazz to rap. Now I’m white girl rapping to Eminem. I blame Mika for my introduction to modern pop music.

  “So.. are you saying you want to pick me up? I weigh 170 pounds, roughly translating to 12-ish stone. Honestly I’m not that heavy, and I don’t know you.. So that’s..” Ope there goes gravity ope there goes Rabbit hes choked, he’s so mad..

  “Weird”.

  I’m staring at him, but my mind is rapping as well. His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. My brains going from zero to a hundred, pretending we’re in a dank club battling it out. He’s choking on his vomit already, mom’s spaghetti.

  I’m currently sitting in my favourite of the three pubs in the village, drinking my sorrows away. Drinking my sorrows away sounds like a great idea right now, and I’ve chosen my friend Fosters to join me. Unfortunately, this guy is still in front of me. He hasn’t said a word. I don’t even know his name. But then again, I haven’t even asked for it and he sure as hell hasn’t suggested it and right now, he’s looking anywhere but me.

  His gaze is darting to all of the knick knacks on the wall behind the bar, to his friends at the back, and back to my Fosters. Mine. My Fosters. Jesus wept. Now I’m claiming ownership over a beer. Well technically, I did pay for it. This guys eyes are still avoiding me. I’m starting to feel bad for the poor lad when his mouth opens and he starts talking again. “Uh.. I don’t wanna pick you up.. A pick up line is like a-a chat up line?”

  Fuck me it’s only getting worse. Talk about digging yourself a hole.

  Attention guests, we are now passing the five foot mark, if you’d like to look to your left...

  “Ah right.. So we’re chatting, but you wanna chat me up… does that mean you’re gonna attempt to do a better job than you already are?” His jaw goes slack, and then he’s staring at me open-mouthed.

  Ah ha! Now you’ve cottoned on, you slimy snake.

  Hiss hiss bitch.

  His jaw snaps shut, and those like those trees of green eyes narrow in my direction. With a huff that sounds like a snort, he walks away from my chair and back towards his friends at the back, who are rowdy, drunk and have absolutely no morals.

  Thank god he’s gone. If I knew I just had to be a bitch, I would’ve done that sooner.

  My eyes have swiveled from the itty bitty wolf back to my beloved beer. Ah- thank the guy who discovered beer. The urge to chug that beer is overwhelming, but considering I’m around a couple of normies, a few shifters and I swear the barman is a sidhe elf, he’s definitely an elf; I’m not gonna. I’m already the secretive, mysterious woman that people avoid, I don’t exactly want to be the weird woman too.

  Maybe I already am…

  No one knows what, or who I am. I’d like to keep it that way, if I’m completely honest. You don’t even know what I am.

  Wink wink. As I’m lifting this beer to my mouth, my eyes focus at the knick knacks on the
back wall; the bar is covered in them. There’s license plates, taxidermy heads, animal bones, and some odd gnome like garden ornaments. I think they make the bar more unique, quirky, individual. This is one of my favourite places. I’m obsessed with hoards of items, and considering this whole bar is full of quirky trinkets; I feel at home. It’s also the cleanest and classiest of the three bars in town, so I guess that plays a major part. The St George’s is a back alley dive, and the Pot of Gold is too patriotic; a leprechaun’s funfair.

  “Hey Eldevair, chuck us another, would ya?” Before the words have left my lips, a glass sails past my head and smashes on the wall behind me. I don’t even blink anymore. The glass is raining on the floor before the sigh even leaves my lips. I’m not surprised at Eldevair’s actions anymore. I level my gaze and stare back at the damn sidhe.

  “C’mon Eldevair, please could I have another one?” His stare is like ice, his baby blue eyes staring into the depths of my soul. “C’mon Eldevair, it’s your good old friend, Remi!” Cue the famous pout and puppy eyes. With a little sniffle and those puppy eyes staring back into his baby blues, I pout my luscious lips and clutch my hands together; the desperation is evident.

  “Pwetty pwease Eldevair, you know you love me.” A moment passes before I hear a snarl. I’m pretty sure that it’s a snarl that leaves his lips, as he slides my pint over the bar top. “Class act good sir, I loooove you.” That snarl is back, and I’ve decided that either the snarl is permanent, making it a bad grimace, or he just hates me. I’m going with the former, as I’m not sober enough to want to entertain the latter. That no good, rootin’ tootin’ sidhe turns his back to me, so thankfully I get a view of a sculpted tush and some waist length black hair, french braids galore.

  Don’t look at the bloomin’ sidhe’s bloomin’ tush.

  I turn myself back to the beer. My brain is going a mile a minute and I can’t stop it.

  The freaking supernatural thinks that I’m a normie. A simple human.

  I scoff into my beer and I chug half of it by ‘accident’. My excitement at a freshly poured pint must be overwhelming, but day-umn, this isn’t a stein. Slow it down, we’re not in the medieval times. At this revelation, the scoff turns into a bloody cough, and then I’m fighting off the mysterious darkness that threatens to choke me. For a drunk, I’m pretty poetic. It’s been a long day, running the bookshop, then sorting out the endless amounts of Dorian Gray, Dracula and Frankenstein novels. I swear I have at least one copy of every publication. These thoughts are running through my mind day in and day out. Do I re-work the shop, do I change the layout… Maybe I should redecorate?

  “Hey girl, are you drinkin’ here alone?”

  Ah fuck, are you serious? Again?!

  Neglecting my beer again, momentarily, for another guy that thinks it’s okay to encroach on my drinking time. I’m becoming an alcoholic. No I’m not. Dang it. The sigh that leaves my lips is involuntary as I turn to face the second offender of the night. This time, it’s a fox shifter. The cunning kid thinks he’s got it. Though, if he’s in a pack then chaos is his middle name.

  But I’ve had it with the constant intrusions, I can’t do this again tonight. My bored stare is what greets his cunning smile. “Alone? Who said I was alone? I’m here with Eldevair and my drink. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not alone.”

  Eldevair snorts and I can hear it over the noise in this bar, whereas the fox shifter looks to Eldevair’s disdain and then back to me, his smile curling up at the edge. My eyes are rolling and hoping, praying, pleading, that this damn fox takes the hint. “Ah right, I got you. I’ll leave you with your drink and...” he looks to Eldevair and sighs. Eldevair is at the furthest edge of the bar, avoiding us as if we were carriers of the plague. “Maybe not Eldevair, but I’ll leave you to it.” He walks off, thankfully. The most understanding male of the bunch. I wish I’d caught his name, he’s got manners that you don’t find much in males, let alone foxes.

  This beer’s going to go warm soon, and therefore its going to go sour. My mood is also gone from sweet to bitter. I think it’s time I go home to Lucius. Lucius needs me, the dependable little shit. God, I need to stop drinking beer. Maybe I’ll try wine again. I lean over the bar and put my glass in the tray the other side, this earns me a small, and I mean very small smile from Eldevair; it’s almost non-existent. Waving my hand behind me, I leave my favourite night-time drinking spot, The Wyvern’s Nest, and I’m walking back down dank, dirty streets back to my cottage.

  My cottage sits on the edge of the Stonehold town center, just where I like it. It’s surrounded by woodland, and it’s devoid of modern electronics like computers and televisions. Except the light bulbs. I need lightbulbs, candles are so outdated. The dank streets are a comfort to my soul, the soft pitter-patter of the soles of my shoes on the concrete path is calming. The shadows in the tree’s walk alongside me like my personal bodyguards. My cottage is roughly a half-hour walk from the town center, maybe slightly more when inebriated, but that’s fine by me. Walking makes me calm, and I can’t wait to get back to Lucius.

  This tiny town is home to me. Even though I distance myself from everyone. Yes, I say hello to the locals, I make polite conversation. The locals don’t engage with me any more than they have to. That’s fine by me. The population of Stonehold is roughly around five thousand individuals, but there’s something special about our town. It’s a safe haven for shifter kind. As well as the other mythological beasts and species that roam the streets freely, and humans, of course.

  I’ve met more shifters living here than I have anywhere else that I’ve graced with my presence. The broad spectrum of shifters never gets old to me. There’s still many of species I haven’t come across, and if I’m quite frank, I’m unlikely to. Everyone has a distinct smell, but I still have an issue placing the right scent with the right person. Everyone assumes it happens naturally, but have you smelt a merman and a selkie in the same place? It’s hard to distinguish the overpowering smell of salt water from the wet-seal smell.

  There’s a strip where all the main shops are in the town, and then a few streets over, there’s the blocks of houses. Here, all the houses are cute; what the American’s describe as an “American dream, a house with a white picket fence.” My cottage however? Not a picket fence. More like, something that the children in the town would liken to the ‘haunted house’. Ah damnit, now I’m half-drunkenly singing the All American Rejects. Ha. Fitting. Sounds like me anyway.

  “And where’s your picket fence love?” cue the obnoxiously bad singing…

  “And where’s your shiny car?” I’m shouting now…

  “DID IT EVER GET YOU FAR?” and from this experience, I can admit my singing career is over way before it ever began…

  Thank god it’s late and no one can hear the absolute hot mess that I currently am. If one of those modern emoji thingys could describe me now, I’d be that stupid laughing-crying face. Thankfully I’m nearly home, the likelihood of someone seeing me has decreased exponentially. Time flies when you’re drunk and having fun.

  Thank the Lord.

  The cottage looms in sight, and I see the side light I left on. It makes Lucius feel safe, so I feel safe. That’s all I think about anymore.

  Keep us safe.

  I think my cottage is cute and quaint from the outside, in all its haunted house glory. but it is a complete opposite on the inside, paying homage to my hoarding tendencies. It’s full of knick knacks and whozits and whatzits galore. You want thingamabobs? I’ve got twenty! FUCK.

  I’m skipping up to my wooden decking that surrounds my small cottage, the fresh scent of the woodlands that surrounds me and fills my nose, and it reminds me of home. Home before technology. Home before I had to leave.

  My homeland is pure of heart and thrives on hard working individuals. Everyone works to help others, and despite the fact that there is a system of hierarchy, those at the bottom are not treated like slaves. Or at least it was. Stonehold has a different style of living.
Its very foundations are built on trust, respect and love. There is no hierarchy here, and every individual is on the same level. I find that many people here won’t judge you before they get to know you, and if the opportunity arises, they will help you if you need it. Many people are still wary of other shifter species, but they are aware that Stonehold is a safe, neutral place. Thankfully, they don’t know about me.

  This mindset has stopped me from slipping my key into the lock and turning it, granting myself access to my humble abode. I’m standing here, thinking about my old life and its simplicity. It was almost like living with only my necessities and not my creature comforts. Back then I wouldn’t have hoarded possessions galore. I would have lived humbly, as a part of the working community. But right now? I’m standing outside my front door with my head pressed against the glass, looking like an inexperienced stalker to anyone watching me.

  Thank god I live far away from the town for anyone to see my peeping Tom ways.

  With a sigh and some instinctual moves, its only seconds before I’m inside. Gazing around my open plan front room and kitchen, I’m looking for Lucius, the little rascal, when I see him curled up on his dog bed in front of the fire. He’s on his back with his legs in the air and his manhood to the wind. Some things never change, and thankfully, neither does Lucius.

  Lucius would be my familiar if I was a witch. But I’m not a witch, so Lucius is just my domesticated, yet still very wild pet fox. I’ve come in and that ungrateful vermin hasn’t even glanced once in my direction. I don’t know what I did in my past life to have such a sassy, snide animal as a roommate.Though I’m sure that the God’s looked down on me when I found him that fateful day. His coat was covered in mud, and the poor mite was curled up on the grass next to the front porch. Shivering, malnourished, and dehydrated, if I didn’t take him in, I’m sure he wouldn’t have survived.

  But that doesn’t mean he’s eternally grateful, he is however, an asshole. Lucius being unforgiving is not surprising. But as I swing my gaze towards the kitchen, I realise someone’s food bowl is empty, and its eleven at night. I’m in trouble; I know it, and Lucius that bastard, knows it too.