The Dragon Shifter’s Babies

by T. S. Ryder

  I pour the mixture into five tiny vials and then I am all set for tomorrow. I look at the grimoire lying on my bedside table, opened randomly from the middle and contemplate whether or not to try to find out something about the dragon thing. Then I close it and turn on the TV instead. I figure, if I am going to go through the grimoire, I might as well start from the beginning and study every page carefully.

  On Saturday evening, I stand in front of the mirror, dressed and ready to go. I am wearing a tight black dress that falls to the floor—very witchy of me, I know—and puts my boobs, a fantastic pair of DD’s on display, my bra pushing them closer together. I let my hair loose, as usual, letting light auburn curls fall all the way to my waist, both at the front and the back. I look at my face up close, my freckles covered in powder as translucent as my skin, my lids heavy with simple green eyeshadow and black eyeliner, made heavier still by my mascara; I can scarcely keep my eyes open, I look drunk. I put on bright, pink, glossy lipstick and smack my lips one last time before I leave.

  I meet up with the girls outside Greystone Manor. The line is very long, but we have the passes from GMA. We skip the line, people shouting at us and wave our passes in front of the guard’s face. He doesn’t stop us.

  Although all four of us go in together, we keep a fair distance between ourselves when we enter. We are all standing at least an arm’s length from each other. None of us wants to share our spotlight, in this dark bar. The music is blaring through the speakers. The dance floor is filled to the brim and slowly overflowing, as drunk girls continue throwing themselves at guys. We make our way to the bar and order our drinks. Then we sit on the barstools and sip on our cocktails, eyeing the crowd, looking for the guy that we will try to win.

  And then he enters. Maya almost coughs out her drink, choking, the instant she sees him. The guy is radiating heat even in the dark. He’s fucking radioactive! And then I realize that the girls have teamed up against me, trying to set me up for failure, not knowing what I am capable of.

  Anna, one of the girls, swivels her barstool and turns to me. “Let’s start with you, Cyrene.” Maya and the third girl, Liz, nod in approval. “That guy,” she says, her manicured hand holding her drink, a long finger pointing in his direction.

  I turn my head but keep my eyes fixed on the guy, as the girls giggle like a bunch of morons. “Two shots of vodka,” I say to the bartender and search blindly in my purse for a vial of love potion. The bartender pushes the shots toward me as I find the vial and clutch it between my fingers. Then I see the guy looking in my direction and wonder if he’s checking out the girls or me.

  But he’s hot and I need to get laid—and win the bet. So I pour the potion in his drink, mix it with a finger and walk toward him with the drinks in my hand.

  “Vodka?” I extend my arm toward him, pushing the glass towards his face. He pauses for a moment, looks at me and then smiles. His savage grin reveals rows of perfect, pearly white teeth that glow in the neon lights. As his lips part, I pour the charmed drink in his mouth.

  “Dance?” He grabs me by the waist and leads me to the dance floor without waiting for my answer. I take my shot, turn around to see the girls gawking, quickly turning their eyes away from me. “I win,” I say to myself under my breath.

  “Sorry, what?” he whispers in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. “Nothing,” I say and walk to the dance floor.

  “You are stiff,” I say to him, trying to raise my voice high enough that he can hear me. He can’t. So I grab his hand and take him to the bar. We get a bottle of vodka and then walk out of the bar.

  “Want a drink,” I say, offering the bottle to him. He declines. “More for me,” I wink.

  “You are cute,” he says.

  I laugh and take a swig from the bottle. We walk away from crowds, my heels clacking on the pavement. I know the potion has taken effect, I can see it in his eyes that he is smitten by me. I want to take him home, I want to take him, but I am tipsy and enjoying walking out on the streets of Los Angeles with him on my side.

  I take off my heels and hook my arm with his.

  “Want me to carry you?” He asks, smiling a brilliant boyish smile. It’s uncanny, really, how easy scoring him was. I wonder if he’s that easy in real life.

  “No, I’ll walk.”

  The moon is nowhere to be seen and the cars disappear like stars behind clouds as we turn another street into a residential area, not knowing where we are going.

  “Let’s sit there,” he says, pointing toward a bench outside someone’s garden. I take another swig of vodka and sit next to him.

  “Have a sip,” I say, “it will help you loosen up.” He shakes his head, but I get up and pour directly into his mouth from the bottle. He drinks, and then pulls me onto his lap. As I take another swig, he takes the bottle from my hand.

  “That’s enough,” he says.

  “I am hardly tipsy,” I protest, but he empties the bottle into the garden. Suddenly, a clearing between the clouds in the sky reveals the moonlit sprays us with moon dust and as I look into his eyes, I see him looking into mine. His eyes are blue, like sapphires, shining brilliantly. He pushes a stray strand of hair away from my eyes and cups my face in his hand, rubbing my cheeks gently with his thumb, wiping away the foundation.

  “You are so beautiful, why do you hide it with this powder?”

  I shrug, leaning my head back, letting my hair fall back. He pulls me closer, caressing my back, his hands soft as the wind.

  “I am Dell, by the way.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say, “you won’t remember any of this by morning.”

  “Of course I will,” he says.

  I lean in to kiss him. He keeps his mouth closed but doesn’t push me back. “Not now,” he says, “you are too drunk.”

  For a moment there I am dumbstruck. He notices the change in my expression and begins to explain, “I just want you to be yourself when you kiss me.”

  I force a smile. The potion didn’t work. How is that even possible?

  “What’s your name?” Dell asks.

  “Cyrene,” I say. “Cyrene Redwood.”

  I try to wrap my head around it. The ingredients were the same as always. I gave him the spiked drink, poured it down his throat myself, so how can it be? How can the potion not work on a human?

  Then it hits me.

  I am not with a human. Dell is not human.

  I am with a dragon, a Dragon Shifter.

  Chapter Four - The Odd One Out

  Dell

  The crowd is a blur as I enter the Greystone Manor. There are tens of black shadows drinking, dancing and huddled over tables whispering in groups. Among all the silhouettes, there is just one that stands out, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. She doesn’t just standout, she’s outstanding. Her pale skin luminous in the neon lights, her gaze fixed on me. She orders two shots and pours something in one, which she later makes me drink. I know instantly that she’s a witch, but she has no idea what I am.

  She is in possession of ethereal beauty and it seems fitting. No human can look this good. I lead her to the down floor, her hands soft in mine. I look into her eyes, green as spring leaves, sprinkled with turquoise. She dances in front of me, drunk, swaying to the beats. I can’t stop looking at her. I am smitten, I know and it’s not because of the potion she mixed in my drink. Those don’t work on my kind.

  “You are stiff,” she says. I try to dance, I can dance well, but I am mesmerized by her gorgeous face and can’t stop looking. She takes me by the hand, gets a bottle of vodka from the bar and takes me out. I walk with her, just enjoying the view of this serene creature as she saunters beside me. She is lost in a world of her own, taking me for granted, just going with the flow. Or, perhaps, she thinks her potion has worked and she won’t have to try.

  She keeps offering me the drink, but I am already drunk from her touch. Every time I try to talk, she beats about the bush, refusing to answer. We end up sitting on a bench in a quiet stree
t in LA, and as she pours vodka down my throat, I pull her onto my lap. She wraps a long strand of curly hair around her finger, looking at me in the eyes. Then, out of nowhere, she leans in to kiss me. I don’t stop her, but I don’t kiss her back. Not like this, that’s not how I want to do it. When I kiss her, when she kisses me, I want both of us to remember.

  She looks offended. Her beautiful expression is suddenly serious. It seems that she’s not good with getting rejected, although I didn’t reject her. I only told her she was too drunk.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Cyrene,” she says. “Cyrene Redwood.”

  She remains silent for a moment, her head turning to look around the empty street. Then she looks back into my eyes.

  “You could really use a haircut,” she says.

  “No, I am fine,” I say, holding her gaze.

  “I am serious,” she tells me, reaching for my hair.

  I push her hand away gently. “Don’t touch my hair. I am touchy about them. I go for what I want.”

  She puts a finger and thumb in her mouth and whistles loudly.

  “Shhh, you are ruining the moment,” I breathe into her ear. Things suddenly get hot, the air becoming charged. Our chemistry is sending fireworks into the sky.

  Then she gets up, runs her hand through my hair slowly, curling a few strands around her finger. I begin stroking her back but she pushes my hand away, pulls hard at my hairs curled around her finger and begins running to the end of the street.

  “Stop, where are you going,” I say, getting up, shouting after her. “Hey, wait!”

  “Why, what’s the point?” She shouts back from the end of the street.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are about to find out.”

  “If you don’t want to hang out, just say it. I am not the stalker kind,” I say, stepping up my pace to catch up with her.

  It looks like she is about to say something, but then she laughs instead, gives me a look and suddenly a broom flies in. She hops on and takes off.

  “Bitch!”

  I look around quickly. There is still no one in sight. I start running behind her, my eyes fixed on her figure as it takes to the skies and then I shift.

  Chapter Five - How To Escape A Dragon

  Cyrene

  “Holy fucking shit,” I scream in the air. I have made the gravest of mistakes that is going to cost me my life. I kick my broom to speed it up as my date suddenly transforms into a giant dragon the size of a house and chases me. I shoot for the clouds as he spreads his wings and flaps hard to catch up.

  “Fuck off,” I shout at him, flipping him the bird.

  “Wait,” he roars from behind. I know I am doomed, I can’t outrun this giant, but I won’t go down without a fight. I begin chanting to conjure strong winds when he catches up.

  “Can we talk?” He asks, slowing down to match my pace. I clench my fist, mutter a “cloud of dust” spell into it and blow into his face. blinding spell wouldn’t have worked, so my options are limited. He spins around, temporarily blinded and his tail suddenly appears out of the cloud like a lasso and it hits merit knocks the air out of my lungs and pushes me off my broom.

  I close my eyes as I fall back to earth like a shooting star, ready to die. But my fall is cushioned as I land firmly, not hitting the ground. I open my eyes and see the blue sapphires of Dell’s eyes looking at me. I gasp, my heart hammering in my chest and I faint in his arms.

  ***

  I wake up with a start, drawing in a long breath, my body suddenly tensing up as my head pulsates with ache. I know I am fucked. I pretend to be asleep as I try to gauge the surroundings with my eyes closed, planning my escape. I open my left eye slightly, just enough to see where I am. There’s a mirror in front of me in which I see a shirtless Dell, sitting by the window, reading.

  “You can stop pretending,” he says. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

  I drop the act and get up, propping a pillow behind my back. I study him for half a minute but he doesn’t look up from his book.

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  “What was I supposed to do,” he says in a matter-of-fact way, “leave you on the street?”

  “Is this your bedroom?”

  “Yes,” he says, finally looking at me. I realize I am naked, my dress crumpled on the floor.

  “Did you fuck me?” I look him straight in the eyes, anger rising in my voice.

  “I am not a necrophiliac,” he says, looking disgusted.

  “Then why’d you take my clothes off?”

  “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

  I ignore his question.

  He gets up, closes the book and puts it on the floor. “You passed out. Woke up. Puked on me and on yourself, then passed out again. I cleaned you up, didn't have any clothes for you so I just covered you with a bed sheet.”

  “You are an asshole, you know that?”

  “What, for not raping you?”

  “For knocking me off my broom. I could have died.”

  “You blinded me with a cloud of dust, I couldn’t see,” he says. “Besides, you were being a bitch to me. Who pulls off someone’s hair and runs away?”

  “You won’t understand,” I say. I wrap the bed sheet around myself and get up to leave.

  “Where are you going?” He asks.

  “Back home,” I say, picking my dress up from the floor.

  He starts walking toward me. I drop the sheet and clothes and make for the door, whistling for my broom. He catches my wrist and pulls me back, pushing me against the wall as he grabs my other hand.

  “What’s wrong with you?” He asks, studying my face. I am aware of my nakedness against him. I glower at him and then look away. He is incredibly hot. His arms are toned, biceps strong, sparsely haired body and he has a thin line of hair receding into his groin from his six-pack. But I also know he is dangerous. Dragons can easily kill witches—they can’t do spells, but their blood has strong magic in it.

  He shakes his head, letting me go. I pick up the bed sheet again, covering myself, gather my dress and heels and begin to walk toward the door. Then I remember I still need dragon hair. I turn around and see him walking to the balcony, arms on the railings, basking in the sun. I want him suddenly and it is confusing.

  “Dell,” I call out.

  “What?” He doesn’t turn around.

  “I am sorry,” I say. He turns around, frowning sarcastically—or maybe he is confused as well. “I still need dragon hair.”

  He plucks a few strands from his head and puts them in my hand. “Here, now you can leave.”

  “All right,” I say.

  “You could have just asked last night. Not everyone is out to kill or rape you. People can be nice, but your cynicism doesn’t help.”

  “I didn’t know you were a Dragon Shifter,” I say, still hungover, unable to properly keep up with this broken conversation.“Why are you being so nice to me?”

  He breaks into a tentative smile, “Because I think you are cute.”

  “I guess I have already screwed this up,” I shrug as I turn to leave. His face remains expressionless. A part of me wants him to stop me. I know it is nothing more than physical attraction, that I am drawn to this bronze-skinned hunk standing in front of me in gray sweats, his chocolate brown hair, matted and swept back. His face is loosely V-shaped, softer around the chin, his jaw chiseled, his lips pink—two thin lines, his nose erect, slightly turned up. His eyes have a supernatural glow. I now realize that it is the glow of dragon’s eyes.

  Every part of me wants him to stop me. As I walk out the door, ready to turn around and run to him as soon as he calls my name, my heart sinks deeper with every step I take—from his bedroom, back to my apartment.

  Chapter Six - The Crushed Butterflies

  Dell

  I can see it now, the way she acted was a reflection of her inner turmoil. I know why I have taken a liking to her. She reminds me of how I was a few ce
nturies ago. Back in my own youth, when I was trying to find my place, my identity. It is a silent, rambunctious rebellion that almost everyone goes through: humans, witches, dragons, etc.

  In the 732 years of my life, there are only a few things I have done that I would label as “difficult.” Not looking at her as she sat in my bed was one of them. As she stood at my door, ready to leave, I looked away. I didn’t call her back. I know she would have stopped if I did, but it would be a passing fancy for a girl of her temperament. If I gave her what she wanted, it would make it easier for her to leave me, to go away and never turn back. I remembered what my grandfather had said to me:

  “If you really love someone or something, let it go. If it returns, it is yours to keep - if it doesn’t, it was never yours in the first place.”

  I knew what I had to do. I let her go. I had to let her go and not think about it, like setting a bird free. There is no point in hoping it will come back, but if it does…. I wish she comes back.

  I had better control myself. Everything seems too cliché, this sudden love, this aching for her. It’s like a romance from a third-class novel. But it only takes that one person to shake your foundation to the core. I know now that she would either make my life heaven or destroy it.

  “Control, Delindor,” I tell myself. “Control.”

  At nights, I smell her in my bed. Her outline on the bed fades, but her scent remains. In my sleep, I reach for her, only to find I am reaching for a phantom. I see her standing in the door, laughing smugly as she points a finger at me. One moment she is there, the next she is gone.

  Then I remember that she forgot her broom. I start waiting for her to show up, to ask for her broom. All I want is to see her just one more time, take in her serene beauty. Cyrene—how can a person with such a calm name harbor such storms inside. I block her out of my head, but my heart never stops aching for her. I sneak into Greystone Manor everyday to find her, to get her to pour the love potion down my throat and take me out of the club and run along the streets. But she is nowhere to be found. I wonder if her love potion has actually worked, if dragons are not as immune as they believe they are. Is it love, lust or infatuation? Only she holds the answer.