Eddy

by Milana Jacks

  Eddy

  Ice Age Dragon Brotherhood, #2.5

  Milana Jacks

  Eddy © 2018, Milana Jacks

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Unless you’ve seen dragons (you must tell me!), any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Storm for Her

  About the Author

  1

  Eddy

  Riding my Harley through a quiet neighborhood of Audubon, New Orleans gives me perverse pleasure.

  Once upon another age, I lived here with the other rich folk. Last month, after I sorted out some turf issues with my buddy Jonatan—Nentres, the dragon lord—I started moving some things into my old home. I’ll settle down here with a woman. Not that I got a woman, but the moment I find one that suits me, I’m gonna put a ring on her finger. I’m ready.

  I park on the side of my old home and grin ear to ear. I get to live here without paying any mortgage. Nice. When I was in my early teens, Dad divorced my mom and left us. She worked two jobs to pay for this house and a private school for me, but it wasn’t enough. The bank foreclosed, and we moved into the slums. I learned how to survive on the streets, enlisted in the Navy, and fuck if I didn’t feel well prepared for the apocalypse. Street life and military will teach a person more about survival than a fancy private school.

  From the back of the bike, I get my backpack, then head up my driveway, making sure I walk all the way to the left. The steep driveway is frozen. You could ice-skate on it. I don’t mind the ice, for it serves a purpose. Anyone trying to get into my house will land on their asses at least a few times before making it to the front door. Since I don’t want visitors, I keep the ice and pour some water over it from time to time.

  I unlock the front door and walk inside. The nice vanilla scent from the candle above the fireplace makes me feel at home right away. My mother made candles and dreamed of opening a shop. It wasn’t in the cards for her. She worked as a dishwasher in a restaurant by night, and as a housekeeper for the Helsons—a few blocks away—by day.

  I shoulder off my backpack and drop it near my recliner, by the fireplace. There will be fire tonight if I fix it the way the fire-breathing dragon said I should. He’s got some magic fire, and apparently, I can use it while staying next door to his mansion. Two pieces of wood lie next to the fireplace. I throw them inside then add in a small white ball. It ignites and starts a fire.

  Magic is fantastic. Wish I could’ve used this during all the winters I huddled downtown, praying I’d make it through. Nentres said this fire would burn until I separated the pieces of wood from one another or until the white ball depletes. I check my watch. Gonna be warm until about midnight. I wipe my hands on my worn leathers and walk into the kitchen to drop off Mary’s gumbo and turkey leftovers.

  “Fuck.” I jump back and pull out my gun.

  A gray dog, maybe a Husky or something, with clear blue eyes as wide as cyborg pods is standing on my kitchen counter. We lock gazes in a stare-down, neither of us moving. Nowadays, most dogs live on the streets, in packs. They’re wild and unfriendly, some even infected with rabies. I’m pretty sure this one doesn’t have rabies, but I keep my 9mm aimed at it anyway.

  This dog sports a deer-in-the-headlights look and cookie crumbs all over its muzzle. I take a step closer. The dog tries to bail, but the marble on the counter is slippery, and the poor thing lands on the floor, front legs folded under its belly.

  I wince. That must’ve hurt, but dogs are tough motherfuckers. It gets right up and tries running. Again, polished hardwood floors. Its legs are doing everything but running away. I block the kitchen door and laugh, putting away my gun in the holster behind my back. The dog stops dancing on the spot and makes it to the other corner of the kitchen. Its heart is beating against its ribcage, and the poor thing is panting.

  Now that the initial surprise wore off, I can take a better look. Hm. I crouch and tilt my head. “Are you a wolf?”

  Its wide eyes are wary.

  “I think you are.” I glance between its legs. “A girl. Aww. Come here.” I make kissing sounds and tap my knee. “Come here, girl. Daddy Eddy not gonna hurt you. Are you hungry?”

  Its ears twitch.

  “Yeah, I think you are. I got a mighty fine gumbo, which I don’t share, but I also got a turkey leg.”

  I open the leftovers and fish out a greasy-ass turkey leg. “Mmm… Yummy for the tummy.” I lick my lips then place the leg slowly on the floor. I sniff. “Smells good.”

  Nothing.

  The wolf isn’t moving.

  I take my bag of food and leave for the living room, so it’s not too scared to eat the leg.

  See, I’m nice to animals. People? It depends.

  Holly

  I’m so hungry, I wanna eat the big guy who walked in on me eating his cookies. Though the house looked abandoned when I squeezed in through the hole in the boarded up back window, apparently I left my common sense outside. The interior of the house is clean, and I ate fresh cookies—both clear indications someone actually lives here or visits.

  When Mother Nature found me dying from gunshot wounds on an empty street in Nashville, Tennessee, she took mercy on me and gifted me with a wolf creature. My wounds healed, and I lived though I swore I’d walked into the light. At first, I loved the experience of running on all fours, smelling food from a mile away, and having fur to keep me warmer then my skin and clothes did, but before I knew it, I found myself in New Orleans, without remembering the journey. How the hell did I cross the states? Hell, I don’t know what day it is anymore. I’ve been an animal far too long.

  This morning, I spotted a large mansion, where people seemed to have everything. Food, water, and fire for warmth. I needed to scoop it out and decide how I’d go inside—as an animal or a human. Probably an animal. So I parked inside this house next door. A mistake.

  The piece of turkey on the floor calls me like a Siren. I sniff. Ooh. There’s some gravy on it, and it reminds me of Thanksgiving at the shelter, up in Nashville. My claws click the floor, as I make my way to the food. I sniff again and drool. I lick off the gravy, keeping my gaze on the kitchen entrance and praying Big Man doesn’t lock something around my neck and drag me into a cage.

  A door creaks open. Cold wind blows up my legs.

  I whine, protesting both the cold and the need to fill my belly. I wolf down the turkey, nearly chocking on the meat, then peek around the corner. The front door stands open. Big Man’s lounging on the recliner near the fireplace, with his boots off and his feet up on the ottoman. “Go on. Get out of here,” he says.

  I glance at the heat near his feet and hesitate. Big Man is over six feet of muscle, with a shaved head, a beard and tribal tattoos on the left side of his face and scull. He’s a scary dude, but I’m an animal now, so the rules are different. Humans treat animals way better than they treat other people. Karina, the girl who shot me in the back, fed stray cats but wouldn't spare food for me. I’d begged for days, then tried to steal from her and ran off when she caught me. She shot me three times and left me to die.

  Big Man doesn’t seem to want to shoot me in my wolf form. He may even give me water and warmth. Outside’s nothing but the Ice Age, and I’d freeze or starve to death, neither of which is ap
pealing. I lower my head and drop to my belly.

  Big Man raises an eyebrow but says nothing as I crawl to his feet, my right side near the fireplace. It’s warm. I wanna sleep here.

  “Okay,” he says and stands to close the front door.

  Trapped with him in the room, I whine, unable to articulate my feelings. I want to stay, but I also want to leave because he’s scary.

  He rests his hands on his hips. “You must be from next door. My buddy keeps a zoo.”

  Or I could’ve come from Nashville.

  “I’ve never had a pet before.”

  Or a woman who turns into a wolf.

  He sits back down and scratches behind my ear. Ooh, nice. I tilt my head.

  “You like that, hmm?”

  His hand travels down my fur and scratches my belly. Immediately, I roll onto my back. He keeps scratching, and my left leg kicks reflexively. Ooh, but he knows how to pet me. Just as I’m getting a great rub, Big Man grabs the skin at the back of my neck and lifts me onto his lap. I yelp and stare into his brown eyes, much darker than mine.

  The back of the chair flies back. I yelp again, but he taps his chest. “Lie down, girl. We’re gonna snuggle for the night. It’ll keep us warm.”

  Oh. Okay.

  I crawl on top of him and put my muzzle on my paws. Under my paws, his pecs flex as he reaches for a bottle of whiskey. “Wanna sip?” he asks.

  Yes.

  “Nah. Probably not.”

  More muscle flexing as he sips. Damn. This guy’s packing some serious muscle. It’s all hard under my paws, and for an outlaw, he smells good. I sniff his beard, and he chuckles. Homemade soap with a floral scent. I picture him using a pink, girly soap. Big Man isn’t girly, —not even a little bit. He’s the guy who appears not to give a shit, keeps his long beard trimmed, hair out of his way, and drives a Harley. You’d think I’d have run when that bike roared up the driveway. Eh, I thought it parked next door, at the zoo.

  We lock gazes, and he smiles. “You’re a sweet girl.” He scratches behind my ear again. “I’m gonna keep you. What should I name you? Cookie?”

  Holly.

  “Yeah. I’m gonna call you Cookie.” He extends his hand and fiddles with something I recognize. A remote control. No. A digital clock, still operating on batteries. Where in God’s name did he find one of those? Nobody even makes batteries anymore. Even before the Ice Age, the Cy aliens orbiting our planet showed us some tricks and improved out tech. Batteries were outdated. He sets the timer for two hours. “I can’t sleep with the fire on. Isn’t safe, you know.”

  We’d snuggle indeed, because after a couple of hours, this house would freeze again. I sigh. I’ll stick with Big Guy for a while, until I figure out how to join the zoo next door. At least in my wolf form, they’ll feed me, though in my experience, humans are as cold as the Ice Age.

  2

  Holly

  Big Man gets up bright and early in the morning. I follow him through the house. The new scents are assaulting my brain—mold somewhere high up in the air, detergent from the laundry room, humans who’ve passed through the house recently. My nose is working full time. I’m sniffing the floors. I have no idea where I’m going, until the door closes behind me. I jerk my head up.

  He unzips his pants and assumes man-about-to-urinate position.

  I close my eyes, but my hearing and smell are excellent. I want to die.

  Thump. Thump.

  I snap my eyes open. Boots on the floor in front of me. Clothes pile on the boots, and Big Man is naked. And hard, because… morning wood. He strokes the big thing a few times and smiles in the mirror, then reaches over and flips a switch. I hear a soft explosion, and then smell… not sure what. I recognize the smell the minute he gets in the shower and hot water assaults his body. Fake wood, burning. He’s got a water heater!

  I’m salivating over hot water and my impending shower, when I notice Big Man is stroking his hard wood. He glances at me, then closes the shower curtain. The curtain is one of those shower liners, so it’s transparent. It apparently gives him a sense of privacy. Humans are weird.

  Big Man throws his head back. He’s glorious. Like a mountain man or something, all wild and crazy looking.

  Still, I shouldn’t watch him jerk off. I whine, slump on the floor, and cover my eyes with my paws. But again, my hearing is great. Big Man’s breathing heavy, and I know he’s getting all worked up. A slap on the tile, and I imagine he’s rested his palm on it, and watches how he strokes his cock. I wonder what he’s thinking about. His girlfriend or wife? Or maybe he’s got a partner.

  I chuckle. It’s been too long since I masturbated.

  “Fuuuuck,” comes from behind the curtain, and I wait a minute to open my eyes. Good. Big Man is lathering up with foam from the bottle that holds pink liquid soap and smells like roses. I laugh, and it comes out as a snort. He rinses off, dries, and steps out, then wraps a towel low around his hips. His muscles make dimples, and butterflies play in my belly. Down, girl.

  Okay. I need to refocus. I pat to the shower and stand here, dreaming of warm water hitting my human body. I haven’t bathed in days, and it’s been months since I did so with hot water.

  Big Man dresses fast and says, “Gonna see about some food for us.” He bends and turns his cheek. “Give me a kiss, Cookie.”

  I press my nose to his cheek.

  In turn, he smacks my flank.

  Ouch.

  “Good girl.”

  I follow him out, as if I wanna go with him, because that’s what domesticated animals do. He bypasses the front door and heads toward the back of the house. He opens the back door and steps aside.

  Damn, it’s cold. I look up at him, hoping my what-the-fuck expression is clear. Close the door, man, or go about your business.

  He leans his shoulder against the wall and stares at me. “Go on.” He jerks his head, indicating the yard covered in snow. “Doggies piss outside.”

  He’s taking me out for potty!

  I glare at him.

  Big Man shakes his head then reaches over, grabs the back of my neck and walks me out. “Can’t have you pissing on my floors. Gonna get you a nice collar, so we can go for walks but until then, gotta go in the back yard.”

  I think about charging back into the house and kicking the door in his face. I’ve gone from wolf to domestic dog who goes potty in the back yard. Oh and he’ll get a collar so he can walk me. I want to nip his ankle.

  Big Man steps back and blocks the house’s entrance. “If you don’t pee now, I gotta leave you out here till I come back, or take you to Nentres. He’s a dragon. Eats little wolves for breakfast. Nom nom.”

  Is he serious?

  He looks serious, and I’ve heard people speak of dragon sightings. Could they really exist? I exist.

  Fine. I dig a hole in the snow and squat, looking anywhere but at him. But he’s doing great watching me. I can feel his gaze. Gah. Humans should stop staring at us while we do our business.

  We walk back inside. I follow him to the front door, which he closes right in my face. I climb to the window and watch him round the ice-covered driveway to approach his bike, parked on the side of the house. My ears are working double time, listening to bike’s rumble. The moment I can’t hear shit, I charge back into the bathroom and change into my human shape.

  My hands are stranger’s, pale and furless, my nails the longest I’ve seen them.

  I paw at the faucet. My God—I must’ve spent a month as a wolf. I wiggle my fingers, to get the feeling back into them, and then start the hot water.

  Eddy

  My old Harley roaring down the fancy New Orleans neighborhood on this shitty, gray winter morning makes me smile. Besides my buddy Nentres, I’m the only man left standing. When my parents divorced, and my mom had to leave this neighborhood, she tried to keep me in the nearby private school. Since Dad left us with no money, it showed on my clothes. I didn’t wear the latest greatest or have my dad pick me up in a Lamborghini or some such.
Most of my friends started avoiding me, if not straight-out calling me out on my lack of wealth. It was a fucking blessing when Mom put me into public school.

  Look at them fancy fuckers now.

  Not a single one defended their house or their belongings. My ol’ neighborhood was the very first one I cleared out, after they all left. Yeah, I looted the place. Took what I wanted. Raiding had nothing to do with wanting shit I couldn't have and everything to do with the need to survive. Most of the stuff I hauled out of their homes I traded for food and ammo. What I didn’t trade, I gave away to homeless folk, wondering the streets. One by one, they started coming to me, and before I knew it, I became The Man in town. I didn’t ask for leadership; I earned their loyalty.

  Speaking of loyalty. Wolves are loyal. Seeing as Nentres keeps a pack of wolves at his house, I intent to ask him about her. I’m definitely keeping her, and he knows that everything I find I keep. Come to think of it, them wolves mix with people at his mansion just fine. A little unusual for wild animals. Hm.

  I hook a right turn, heading toward the house I use for storage, where I may have stashed a collar and a leash, as well as some dog food. In its driveway, I pat my pockets. “Fuck.” I forgot the damned keys.

  Annoyed, I drive home, park, and walk back into the house, expecting my wolf to greet me.

  Nobody paws at my leg. I guess them wild things aren’t like dogs. Dogs greet owners at the door, as if they haven’t seen them in ten years, when in fact the owners have been gone for ten minutes. It’d be nice to have someone greet me and want nothing more from me than some food and a pat on the flank.

  Wait a second.

  I tilt my head. Damn. I forgot to turn off the shower. What the fuck is wrong with me this mornin’? I march down the hall. All my gas must be gone by now. Before I get to the bathroom door, I stop dead in my tracks. Someone’s singing. A woman. Damn-fine voice. A country song. The door is slightly ajar so I peek inside.