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

by Aaron Crash

  Steven opened his fanged mouth and struck like a cobra, chewing a mercenary in half. Warm blood filled his mouth, and he spat it out. A little flame came with it, but only a little. Reaching out, he wrapped his talon-capped hand around another merc, crushing the man like he would crush a Coke can. Both of the destroyed soldiers filled him with more Animus.

  Two pistol shots exploded in the tight room, ringing Steven’s ears. He felt one bullet whizz by his head while the other round struck him in the hip like a nail into a board. Somehow, that shit got through his scales. Which meant it wasn’t a normal gun, not by any stretch of the imagination.

  He shifted into his Homo Draconis shape and whirled, facing the attackers. The two mercenaries he’d whipped with his tail were back on their feet. They had old-fashioned pistols, six-shooters, long and thick. Those were Colt Peacekeepers from the nineteenth century. But acid-etched runes, blazing with wicked green light, covered their barrels. Magic if he’d ever seen it. The front door rattled, the handle shaking, the wood bowing in its frame. Thinking fast, Steven seized a destroyed sofa with his tail and hurled it against the entry—jamming the door, hoping to buy a little longer.

  But there were still the gunmen with the magic pistols to deal with. With a thought, he accessed his skill tree and located the Magica Defensio sub-option on the Veneficium side of the tree. With an effort of will, he poured his recently gathered Animus into it.

  The revolvers barked again, but the rounds smacked harmlessly into his shield, which was a dusky black color, so unlike Tessa’s pink magic. Golden sparks flashed as the bullets ricocheted away—one slamming into a leather club chair, another two smashing into a nearby wall. With a roar he shot forward, and more bullets bounced off his magic. He swept the shield spell to his left side so he could lash out with a claw to rip out the throat of the gunman on the right.

  As for the pistolero on the left, Steven kept charging forward until the magic barrier crushed the guy against the wall. He screamed as his bones gave way, and still Steven pressed in. After a few seconds, the guy’s eyes glazed over, and Animus rushed in like life-giving air.

  Their magic pistols thudded to the floor, as did their bodies.

  Steven dropped his shield as he turned, scanning the penthouse. He’d lost track of Tessa in the madness. She wasn’t by the sofa. His taking True Form had destroyed so much of the room. It was a wasteland of ruined luxury: scattered debris, crushed furniture, drywall dust, and fragmented glass.

  A cold wind blew from the windows he’d whipped out with his armored tail.

  The mercs in the hallway were still struggling to get the doors open—they were probably heavily reinforced—so it seemed Steven had the place to himself … at least, he did until a man in a purple suit sauntered in from the connecting master suite, holding the Slayer Blade lightly in one hand. The way he moved, it was like watching a panther stalking a deer. He had a close-cropped beard and stubble on his head. His eyes were a piercing blue. Of course, when he talked, he had an accent. Possibly French.

  “So, the Dragonling has become a Dragonsoul,” he said with a short nod. “Good. When I kill you, your Animus will be mine.”

  “Stay back,” Steven warned.

  “Or what?” The man in the purple suit darted forward, blurring with speed. He cut into Steven’s side, then spun the blade around and cut into Steven’s arm.

  Steven reached for him, but he was too fast. The swordsman wasn’t shapeshifting, and he didn’t smell like a Dragonsoul. No, he was human, but the way he moved, the way he fought, he obviously had enhanced abilities.

  “You’re a Warling.” Steven gasped in pain, grabbing at his blood-soaked side.

  “And you are a Dragonsoul who can cast spells. A lost art, from what I’ve heard,” the man replied. “Rhaegen Mulk severely underestimated you by sending Edgar Vale to do what is obviously a difficult job. Mulk will be very pleased with me when I accomplish the task. I’m Kai Charon. And you? You are a dead man.”

  The Warling advanced again, coming at Steven like a dancer—lithe, fast, graceful. He feinted, lunged, then twirled the blade and slashed at Steven’s chest. With one eye on the door and the men spilling in, he backpedaled, narrowly avoiding the deadly cuts. The sword crackled with power, blackening the air in front of Steven. The Warling darted left, then shot straight in, but this time Steven was ready. He ripped a metal light fixture from the ceiling and smashed it into the side of the Warling’s face.

  But the Frenchman was good—far better than Steven in a fight. Even as the Warling stumbled to the side, he lashed out, driving the glowing Slayer Blade into Steven’s side. Blood flowed freely. Steven reacted on instinct, pulling back, then driving a knee into the Warling’s chest, knocking him back and onto his ass.

  A small win. The front door groaned and shuddered a second later, wood splintering at last as it gave way. The mercenaries from the hall vaulted over the couch, their weapons held high. Some had M4s, but other wielded magic swords that looked very familiar. They were same weapons the mercs had used at the St. Vrain Aerie.

  Those weapons could kill Steven.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  And there was even more bad news …

  A tiny blonde woman appeared in the room. She wore a slinky black dress and strode across the broken glass on bare feet. She changed as she walked, first growing golden brown scales and then claws as a tail elongated out behind her. The smell of almonds washed into the room. Her Homo Draconis form was long, slender, and lethal.

  Steven gulped and wondered if this was the end of his adventures. He’d bitten off far more than he could chew, no matter how big his mouth could get.

  The last Drokharis was in real trouble.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Aria shivered in the bathtub. She lay there, naked, chained by enchanted metal. The handcuffs were linked to ankle cuffs by a silver chain engraved with runes of ancient power. The steel on her skin was as cold as the porcelain. The men outside were laughing about some guy they had beaten up, some loser who had wandered up to the top floor looking for a party. Cleary, he’d been a simple, luckless human. And yet, Mulk’s vassals had talked about murdering him as casually as talking about a bad poker hand or an unfortunate football play. Their precious Denver Broncos … Men could prattle on about them incessantly.

  There was a Warling about, Kai Charon. Mouse, the strange Dragonsoul, spoke the name and teased him relentlessly. This Mouse person was an obvious drunk. And she was mean. Yet, she smelled so good, like roasted almonds. No, candied roasted almonds. There was a definite sweet scent about her. Yes, sweet, even though she hated everything and everyone around her. Aria had never met such a caustic person. It was that very same Dragonsoul who had put her in the tub.

  “Be nice,” Mouse had hissed, hate glimmering in her gaze. “Or I’ll turn on the water. I’ll make it nice and warm at first. But then it will grow colder and colder and colder, until you are a frozen little bitch. Still, that would be better than Mulk. You can get used to the cold water. You’ll never get used to his touch. Not really, no matter how much you try and convince yourself you love him.”

  Then the Dragonsoul had simply left.

  Shivering, cold, Aria wondered if water wouldn’t be better.

  She was glad that Edgar Vale, however damaged he was, however rotten inside and out, understood the rules of Dragonsoul mating rituals. While sex, even bad sex, enhanced Animus, outright rape destroyed Animus and could kill the rapist as well as the victim. In the long history of Dragonsouls, sexual violence was rare. Aria was grateful for that. And besides, most Primes didn’t need to resort to that. No, they burned with charisma, drawing others to them. Men wanted to be them, to bow before them, and women … Well, few women could resist their natural charms and swagger.

  Still, she wanted to be saved. She didn’t want to lose her new Prime, her Steven and his other Escort, Tessa. She was surprised to think of Steven in those terms, as a Prime, and yet he was. She knew it. He would eventually kill Rha
egen Mulk and take over the Great Plains Primacy.

  She wished she had been honest with Steven and Tessa from the very start. Now, it might be too late. Yet, she felt an odd sense of pride. She hadn’t gone quietly into an awful marriage with Mulk. And while she hated him now, once she spent time around him, she would feel herself drawn to him. Eventually, she would want to have sex with him. She might never love him like she loved Steven, but she would learn to want him.

  She recalled what Mouse had said about Mulk’s touch. It was infuriating and frightening to be so ensorcelled and seduced.

  Aria had to find a way to escape. It was Sunday evening, the sun had set, and it was time to flee. Before Rhaegen Mulk came. Aria had heard talk that he would arrive around 11 p.m., an hour before his midnight wedding.

  That was how little Mulk thought of the occasion.

  Aria was wrestling against the chains when the doorbell rang out in the main room. “Pizza? Would you believe this fucking guy?” one of the mercenaries shouted in disbelief.

  Another of Mulk’s vassals piped in, “He just don’t learn. It’s the same guy as a before.”

  “He must like getting his ass kicked,” added a third.

  The voices outside dipped and rose, there was a scuffle, and Aria knew the luckless guy wouldn’t survive the night.

  And then the grand windows in the penthouse were destroyed in a teeth-rattling thunder of destruction. Automatic weapon fire followed. Aria prayed they didn’t have any magic rounds in them. Steven’s armor was thick, but it wouldn’t protect him against sorcery. Not yet.

  Pistol shots rang out, and even in the tub she could hear the deep thrum of magic. Damn. Enchanted rounds. Those would be a real problem. And Kai, he had the Slayer Blade. Edgar had made a big show of leaving it with the Warling when he left to duel Steven alone.

  But Aria had the idea Steven had not shown up for the fight. Instead, he had come to rescue her.

  All thought of the battle fled as Tessa scurried in, her clothes torn and bloodstained. She knelt and yanked on the chains. “Aria, we have to get you out of here. Now!”

  Aria felt Tessa’s desperation keenly. “You can’t break them. I certainly can’t. They are magic.”

  Tessa’s face darkened in thought. Then she brightened. “DragonStrength, the second sphere on the Pugna tree.”

  “I’ve tried that, but I don’t have the Animus,” Aria murmured. “Maybe you should go. You’re hurt. Steven can’t stand against the Warling and Mouse.”

  “The blonde chick.” Tessa nodded. “There was a time where I’d have killed to look like her—small, blonde, petite, super cute. I was able to dodge her. I’m not sure anyone else knows I’m here. We have a minute.”

  Tessa leaned over and kissed Aria. “I can give you Animus. I have a ton. Let’s try.”

  Aria had never felt less sexual in her entire life. And yet, when she smelled Tessa’s familiar scent and felt the soft lips on hers, she felt Animus pass between them. And not just a little. Something had changed at the core of the barista. Once upon a time, Aria had taken a lover, another Dragonsoul woman in India, who had that same amount of supernatural energy flowing in her. But it was rare. Incredibly so. She couldn’t help but wonder what in the world had happened in her absence.

  She leaned into Tessa, breathing in her immense power. The woman was like a supernatural battery, or maybe a well with no bottom in sight. Aria flexed her wrists, stretching the chain linking the handcuffs to the ankle cuffs. The runes on the silver links radiated a blinding white shine, fighting against her. But they couldn’t withstand her strength.

  “Keep your hands on me,” Aria growled. She needed Tessa’s touch to keep her Animus levels up. Aria sat up and pulled apart the metal linking her ankle cuffs. She still had the handcuffs on, but now, she could run. And she could do other things.

  Aria rose from the bathtub and caught Tessa before she collapsed. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Tessa nodded. “It’s just a lot. And I’m bleeding, but I don’t want to stop and look at the wounds. I’ll be okay. I can cast spells, Aria. Maybe just one at this point, but I’m going to make that motherfucker count.”

  “What happened to you?”

  Tessa grinned wearily. “Best hot tub experience ever. Make that two. Now, let’s go save Steven.”

  They ran from the bathroom into the master suite, where Aria looked ruefully at the bed. She’d avoid Mulk’s touch by any means necessary.

  “Open the doors for me,” Aria ordered.

  Tessa grabbed them and flung them open.

  Steven was in the middle of the room, tossing mercenaries into Mouse, who was in her partial form—a slender dragon woman the color of roasted almonds, with long claws and a lashing tail. The hurled bodies kept the Dragonsoul busy, but the Warling was there, hacking away at Steven. Steven whirled and whipped Kai Charon with his tail, but the Warling’s skin went dark and shiny. He was using DarkArmor to keep Steven’s tail from flaying the skin off his bones. The Warling then used SerpentGrace to speed around. He was on the brink of stabbing Steven in the back when Aria opened her mouth.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t shift her shape—the magic of the handcuffs was keeping her trapped in her current form—but she still had a few tricks up her sleeves. As a human, she exhaled a gout of flames that swept over both Steven and the Warling. Aria had caught the Warling unaware. The purple suit caught fire, and he dropped to the floor, rolling to get the flames out even as he used his DarkArmor ability to keep his skin intact. Being a Dragonsoul—and a powerful one to boot—Steven seemed unfazed by the abrupt blaze.

  Tessa raced into the room and pulled an M4 from a dead man’s hand. She shouldered the rifle and aimed the barrel at Mouse. The bullets wouldn’t kill the female Dragonsoul, but they would slow her down.

  Aria’s throat and face burned from the fire she’d breathed. But she couldn’t stop to feel the pain. She hurled herself across the room and seized the Slayer Blade before the Warling could get it.

  A terrible smell swept into the wreckage of the penthouse. A familiar smell. Rotting meat.

  Aria could almost smell the maggots. Edgar Vale had returned.

  ۞۞۞

  Steven growled when he saw the naked man stride in through the window and walk across the debris on the floor. He didn’t have preternatural tough feet of the female Dragonsoul Steven was fighting. Mouse. Her name was Mouse.

  Edgar Vale left bloody footprints, and it was clear he didn’t give a shit. His beard was wet and tangled. His hairless scalp was a patchwork of shiny pink skin and flaking scabs. His eyes were a diseased red color.

  Steven booted the Warling into the wall. Kai Charon hit the wood paneling with a spine-shattering crunch. His purple suit smoldered, and a good portion of his skin was blackened from Aria’s Exhalant attack. He might have enough Animus to get to his feet, but that Warling was in bad shape. Aria’s attack couldn’t have come at a better time.

  Mouse broke off her attack, scales pocked from Tessa’s bullets.

  All turned to face the newcomer to the battle.

  Edgar grinned. “And here I thought I might miss the fun. Good trick, Dragonling. And I thought you were too human and stupid to break your word.”

  Steven was hurt—bleeding from a series of bullet wounds and deep lacerations—and the Animus surging through him from the combat was the only thing keeping him on his feet. He was in no shape to take on his first and worst enemy. But this was the guy who had first attacked him. The assbasket who would’ve shot Tessa without caring, and he was working for the Dragonsoul who had murdered Steven’s birth parents. Edgar Vale had to be put down like the rabid dog he was.

  “Not a Dragonling,” Steven growled, still in his Homo Draconis form. “I’m a Dragonsoul, like my father before me.”

  “Well, whoopy fucking do,” Edgar snarled. “I’m a full Dragonskin. You think you’re so fucking special. Well, you aren’t. Being born into royalty isn’t as badass as grabbing the crown off the ki
ng’s head with your own fucking hands. I was born in the gutter, but I’m going to live like a fucking dragon!”

  The man transformed into his Homo Draconis form and kept right on going, surging up and out, his bulky gray-green body quickly filling the penthouse. He lunged forward, huge maw snapping closed around Steven’s thigh, wicked teeth sinking down. With a jerk of his massive head, Edgar pulled Steven from his feet, dragging him from the posh apartment and flinging him through the shattered window and into the frigid Denver air.

  The sickly Dragonskin launched himself from the penthouse, wings outstretched, eyes locked on Steven as he fell.

  The wind whistled in Steven’s ears and slapped at his face as he tumbled down, down, down. He used his waning Animus to change into his True Form—though the pain of his ruined leg made it damned hard to focus. Still, that pain was nothing compared to what he would feel if he hit the asphalt far below. He got one wing up. But then Edgar was all over him like stink on shit, claws slashing, teeth biting; it was like the rotting Dragonskin didn’t care if they plunged to their death. Then again, Edgar wasn’t wounded. He might survive. Steven wouldn’t.

  Steven got his hind talons up, and he raked them down Edgar’s chest, leaving deep gashes in scale and flesh. He used the leverage to launch himself away from the Dragonskin. Steven’s back slammed into a building, but his bony spines caught steel, stone, and concrete, slowing his fall. With a grunt and a growl, he hurled himself away from the skyscraper, extending his wings as much as he could. They caught a draft and lifted him up.

  He soared away, rising, pumping his wings for greater lift.

  Edgar wasn’t done yet, however. The Dragonskin snaked through the air, hot on Steven’s heels. Both leveled off in front of the penthouse window. Until Edgar smacked into him. Again, Steven felt the bite of the Dragonskin’s fangs. Right on his neck. Those teeth pierced his scales, and fresh blood oozed down.