Denver Fury: An Urban Fantasy Harem Adventure (American Dragons Book 1)

by Aaron Crash

  Steven threw his battle-torn clothes into the dumpster. He was leaving his old life behind. What would his new life bring?

  Back in the Mercedes, they drove off. Steven peeled the banana and ate, but it was like trying to stop a forest fire with a cup of water. The hunger was terrible. Almost like a living thing inside him.

  “Much better!” Tessa said, adjusting her hair. “I feel almost human again. Next up on my wish list, though, is a shower. And then let the adventure continue!”

  Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a Village Inn. Steven left his broadsword in the car, and Aria holstered her pistol. In a booth, an hour before dawn, Steven almost felt normal. Not that sitting in a VI with two stupidly attractive women was normal. As he waited patiently for his meal to arrive, he eyed his traveling companions.

  Tessa and Aria couldn’t have been more different. Tessa was shorter and curvier, with pale skin, and her hair was dyed dark, shaved on one side. That and her piercings and tattoos gave her a certain look. Aria, on the other hand, was tall and slender, with darker skin and naturally black hair. She had a classic beauty to her, while Tessa was more on the alternative side.

  He thought about how Aria’s eyes had traveled up and down Tessa’s body. Steven couldn’t help but envision both girls wrapped around him, even though he knew that a threesome was probably never going to happen. Things like that happened in porn, but in real life, people became couples and tried to avoid the drama and conflict of multiple sex partners.

  The waitress—a doleful-eyed woman of fifty with stringy blonde hair—dropped off his plate. He shook off his horniness as best he could and tackled the omelet, hash browns, pancakes, green chili, and coffee with gusto. He’d have to use his credit card, which he hated to do, but money seemed silly to think about at that point. This was their victory meal after their fight to the death with the Skinling and his cronies.

  As he ate, Tessa and Aria chatted about school, the coffee shop, and family life. Tessa’s brother had multiple sclerosis, really serious, and she helped him and their mother out a lot with the day-to-day stuff. Aria had grown up in a wealthy family in Mumbai. She referred to her Aerie, which made Steven remember his dream. An Escort, a Hoard, an Aerie. He was still wrestling to figure out all the new terminology.

  He took out his phone, got on the restaurant’s Wi-Fi, and saw news reports about the fire in south Denver. It took forever. His cell phone was prehistoric.

  There wasn’t any mention of bodies. Not a one. And there had been three. The corpse inside might’ve cooked away to nothing—though he imagined there’d be bones, at least—but the two outside should’ve attracted attention.

  Tessa knocked him with an elbow and gestured to the mound of plates, empty of the food he’d hoovered down. “Hungry much?”

  “Yeah,” Steven said seriously. “I’m starving. I’m thinking about ordering their breakfast burrito. It’s pretty good. And big.”

  “That would be your fifth breakfast,” Tessa said, smiling.

  Steven nodded and drained his fifth cup of coffee. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He touched his chest. “I’m hungry, and I have this burning in my chest. It hurt at first, but I’m getting used to it.”

  Aria frowned. “You were never shown how to handle the Animus. If you had been raised as a Dragonsoul from birth, this all would’ve been different. We just don’t know how this will work in the long run, and there are dangers. From my research, children who are not trained to handle the power die when they transition from human adolescent to Dragonsoul adult.” A look of worry flashed across her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that so bluntly. I’m sure that won’t happen to you.”

  Aria was funny. She didn’t have much of a filter for some things, like death and destruction, but for other things, she’d clam up.

  Tessa took Steven’s hand and squeezed it out of concern.

  “I’ll be fine,” Steven said, shrugging one shoulder. “Or I hope I will. Maybe whatever we find on the pendant map will help me with this process. My, uh, real parents might’ve seen this coming. I just wish I knew more about them.” That was a difficult thing to consider. His real parents. His whole life, who he was, had suddenly become such a mystery.

  “Before we seek out the first fire marker, we should rest,” Aria said. From her purse, she removed a wallet and then an American Express card. “From here on out, I will be paying for everything. Believe me, my father can afford it. And he hasn’t cut me off yet.”

  Another clue to Aria’s situation. Why would her father cut her off?

  Tessa smiled. “I was thinking I’d have to shower at a truck stop on I-25, but we’ll be staying in style somewhere, won’t we, Aria?”

  Aria smiled. “Yes, Tessa,” she said. “I believe we will.”

  The women shared a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes.

  Steven felt their mutual attraction and suddenly a world of possibilities seemed to open up for him. Maybe a threesome isn’t so farfetched after all, he thought.

  NINE

  Edgar Vale picked himself up off the back lawn of the house as it exploded in flames. Smoke stank up the air. Sparks and half-burning swirling pieces of paper settled down on him, but that little bit of fire didn’t hurt. He’d just had that foreign dragon bitch blast him full on with Dragon Flame. His clothes were nothing but soot. Every bit of his hair was gone, too. He was lucky to be alive, but he was badly burned.

  He could fix that, though. While the fire engines got to work with their hoses, he slunk away, climbed a fence, limped through another yard, and ducked behind a brick wall as a police cruiser rushed by, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

  The last thing he wanted was to get taken in by the cops. His Prime could fix it all with bribe money and promises of future favors, so that wasn’t the problem. The issue was with how his Prime saw him. Edgar had fucked up twice. He’d let that weaselly Dragonling slip through his hands twice. Mulk would already be furious with him, and if he had to dick around with the local law enforcement, he’d finish roasting Edgar himself.

  Edgar managed to make it to Broadway without being spotted. The pain was blinding. It was like someone had heated needles up over a stove and then shoved them into every inch of his skin—between his toes, into his taint, through his nipples. Edgar huffed and gasped at the pain, but he had to keep moving. He needed to fix himself before he died.

  It was early morning and all the legit businesses were closed. But growing up as the son of a hope-to-die alcoholic, Edgar knew how bars worked. For the civilians, 2 a.m. meant going home. But for those bottle-soldiers marching toward an early whiskey-soaked grave, 2 a.m. meant going underground.

  Max’s Bar, Grill, and Shithole would still be throwing around drinks to a certain low class of booze hounds.

  Edgar ran, naked, blackened, and burned, up to the door. The place looked closed. He knew better. He shoved a shoulder into the wood. Using his dragon powers, he broke the lock and staggered inside.

  The shades were drawn, and the place was dark, but it was full of people sitting at stools and congregating around circular tables, getting shitfaced. Mostly men, though there were a few glammed-up women who were riding that wrinkly borderline between young slut and old skank.

  Some big-bellied, big-bearded good ol’ boy got up to his feet to save the day. Or maybe he’d been looking for a fight all night and finally found one. There was always that kind of drunk, soused and wanting violence. If they could justify it as heroism, fine, but sadism would do just as well.

  Like a martini with vodka or a martini with gin, both would get you there.

  “Max’s is closed!” the big man said.

  Edgar didn’t have time for pleasantries. He shifted his right arm into dragon form, but he was so weak, his chest and head also transformed into his partial appearance. Mulk said his control was iffy, and that was when he wasn’t fighting to stay conscious.

  The big man’s eyes widened. “Fuc
kin’…”

  That was the last time the big man would curse. Edgar drove his claw into his chest, squeezed his heart to pulp, then ripped it out and dropped it on the floor. The light of the Animus exploded out from the ruined man’s body and filled Edgar, repairing his skin and regrowing his beard, healing the damage that foreign bitch had caused him. She thought she could get out of the deal she had with Mulk by joining the Escort of another Dragonsoul male. She was stupid, but then, most foreigners were stupid.

  Steven Whipp was a child. He’d gotten lucky. He would be dead soon and then Edgar could watch Mulk take that bitch apart. The idea got Edgar hard.

  And there were no clothes to hide his erection.

  He let the corpse collapse to the floor. The jagged tips of the big man’s ribs poked from his caved-in chest.

  Edgar turned and showed the skanks his hard-on.

  The drunks blinked stupidly at the death of their friend. Or maybe they were glad to be rid of the loudmouthed good ol’ boy. Drunks were as funny as they were antisocial.

  Edgar stretched and flexed his new skin. His muscles popped, rippled. He was back to being his old self and there was Animus to be had. But first, he needed clothes. He bent and stripped the jeans off the big guy. They’d be baggy, but the guy had a belt. Perfect. He dressed.

  The bar room was silent except for the drip, drip, drip of the corpse’s blood hitting the floor.

  Edgar went around to the cash register, broke it open, and collected up a fistful of hundreds. “Any of you fine ladies want to spend the night with a murderer?”

  Two of the skanks rose to their feet. He knew why. It was partly due to his display of strength and partly because of the money, but mostly it was his dragon powers. He wasn’t a full Dragonskin yet, and he wouldn’t get serious about starting his Escort until then, but even now women were drawn to him.

  Edgar grinned. There was a trashy motel down the way that catered to drunks, hookers, and druggies. He’d take these two there, get some more Animus, get a shower, and then bring in the big guns. Literally. There were ex-special forces mercenaries on Mulk’s payroll that Edgar had called in. He had positioned them across Colorado, in places where he knew this Dragonling would go.

  And if the cold-blooded mercs failed?

  His Prime didn’t know it, but Edgar had met some Dragonsoul Ronins—males without a Primacy of their own. He knew at least three that would love to get in Mulk’s good graces. Edgar could help with that, provided they helped him first.

  Together, they’d put down Steven Whipp, the foreign bitch, and that other slut, too stupid to know that she was with Steven not because he was a good guy, but because she didn’t have a choice.

  But first, he had to clear their minds. Mulk had taught him the Mind Wipe spell for just such occasions. It was how the Dragonsouls stayed hidden. Edgar splayed out the fingers on his left hand and said the word. His hand burned electric-blue. Every straight-up human in the joint would not remember what they’d seen.

  Edgar laughed and tucked a skank under each arm. He kissed one; she tasted like Jägermeister and puke. He kissed the other, and it was like lapping beer out of an ashtray.

  Oh well. He figured other parts of them would taste better.

  ۞۞۞

  Steven convinced Aria that just driving by his house in Thornton couldn’t hurt. And they could let the morning commuter traffic die down a bit. Like before, Aria drove, and Steven rode shotgun. Tessa, in the back seat, had fallen asleep.

  Steven’s mom still lived in the lower middle-class suburban house Steven had grown up in. The lawn was mostly weeds, the juniper bushes were overgrown, and the paint was peeling off the siding. Sections of the roof filled the gutters. It was the worst house on the block, hands down. Steven blamed himself. If only he had more time to come over and fix some of the stuff. Or if he had more money. His mom worked all the time at the airport, but that barely covered her bills.

  In fact, even though it was before 8 a.m., her beat-up Chevy, thirty years old and still ticking, was gone. The lights in the Robertsons’ house next door were on, and Dave Robertson was heading out to work in his truck.

  “Keep driving,” he told Aria.

  He dialed up Kathy Robertson and she answered with a, “Hi, Stevie.”

  Ugh, he hated when people called him Stevie. He wanted to correct her, but he always felt douchey doing that. Besides, it was the old neighbor lady who had watched him grow up. He could let her slide.

  The conversation went quick. Steven asked Mrs. Robertson about his mom. She said she was fine, and the mystery deepened. Why wasn’t his mom answering her phone if she was okay? He’d just have to try her at work later.

  Aria used GPS to thread her way through the neighborhood until she found a way back to I-25 heading north.

  “Okay,” Steven said, “we need new clothes, a place to rest up, and then we’re off to St. Vrain.”

  “There’s the Orchard Town Center,” Aria said. “Check your phone to see what time the Macy’s opens.”

  “Uh, my phone’s internet is terrible. Like so slow, it’s not even worth trying.”

  “Nine. I bet it’s nine.” Tessa rose and rubbed sleep out of her eyes. “I hate sleeping in cars. I lived in one for a couple of months. It’s terrible. I need a bed, guys. Sorry to be the weak link.”

  “Not weak at all,” Aria said, glancing over one shoulder before returning her eyes to the road. “You both survived last night. Many wouldn’t have.”

  Turned out, the Macy’s opened at ten, so they had some time to kill. Aria got coffee from a Starbucks—a full twenty dollars for three people. An utter outrage, but she just used her American Express to pay. It was like magic.

  Outside, leaning against the Mercedes, Tessa sipped her latte and frowned. “They got the grind all wrong. This is why you go to local coffee shops, so you don’t have muggles making your brew.”

  “So you’re part wizardess, part barista?” Steven asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Don’t you know it.” Tessa gently knocked him with a swing of her hip.

  Steven excused himself, called in sick to his jobs, and called a friend to take notes for him in his Western Civilization class that afternoon. He couldn’t reach his mom directly at work, so he left a message with her boss. That was a good sign at least: his mom was at work. Still, he really wanted to talk to her directly. He said it was urgent. It was a fifty-fifty proposition that the distracted supervisor would actually give it to her. How much did his mom know about him, the pendant, and his past? Those were his biggest questions.

  His biggest concern, though? Was she okay? Had anyone come around to hurt her?

  Normally, Steven thought his mom was better off without his dad. But at times like this, he wished she had someone to take care of her. To watch her back.

  They were the first ones inside the Macy’s.

  “Get whatever you want,” Aria directed them, “and don’t worry about price. We have far more money than time. As long as we’re on the move, we should be safe. Don’t forget to buy a warm coat because this is spring in Colorado. Anything can happen. And for the suitcase, don’t scrimp. A good bag can last decades.”

  Steven had never, ever shopped without worrying about cost. He went to the men’s section, and he couldn’t help but look at price tags. It all became so real. This stranger he hardly knew was going to buy him a wardrobe and a suitcase to put it in.

  It was wrong. Surrounded by the expensive clothes, in an actual Macy’s, he shook his head and remembered the crappy house he’d grown up in. Getting jeans from the local Ross had been a big deal. Mostly, he got secondhand clothes from garage sales and thrift stores. It had been fine, he hadn’t cared, and having to buy the cheap store brand of mac ’n’ cheese seemed like a bigger deal.

  Did he really need new clothes? He was fine in the used jeans, the old hoodie, and the loud sex guy’s Adidas.

  Maybe it was all just a misunderstanding. Maybe he’d gone insane. He touched the mystic to
paz pendant. That was real. He’d seen the map. This was his life now.

  Okay, he could go to the police. He could tell them about the men who wanted to kill them. He could get them to protect him and his mom.

  But why hadn’t there been any news on the dead men—the men he’d killed? Aria had said something about the Prime owning the cops.

  Steven found a pair of jeans that were really cool. He checked the price tag and nearly choked. A hundred bucks. How could he make Aria spend so much?

  Aria found him dithering. She had a bag and a pile of clothes in her arms. “Hurry, Steven, we have to figure things out before Sunday night.”

  “Why Sunday?” Steven asked.

  Aria glanced away. “I don’t know. I … we just need to hurry. We’re all tired and need to rest. If that Skinling or another of Mulk’s vassals find us compromised, we could get hurt, and people could die. Just buy them.”

  She rushed off. Yeah, Aria had totally just lied to him. She was involved in this deeper than she was letting on. What would happen on Sunday?

  Steven took the jeans off the rack. He sighed. Buying jeans shouldn’t be this hard. But it was. For the first time in his life, he was going to accept charity, he was going to get exactly what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to care about the price. He needed new clothes for the adventure he found himself on. Aria was rich. The evidence was clear. Exhibit A? Her fucking Mercedes.

  He didn’t look at another price tag. He bought clothes using the mannikins as a model for what might look cool. He grabbed a suitcase, and he met up with Aria and Tessa at the cash register. Tessa had embraced the free fashion.

  Three thousand dollars later, they were out the door and back in the Mercedes, driving off. They found a Courtyard Marriott, and Aria didn’t get them normal rooms but booked a suite. The amount of money was staggering.

  They took the elevator up to the top floor. Aria and Tessa went in first.