How to Love Your Dragon

by Lexxie Couper

  Connect with Lexxie online:

  Email Lexxie at: lexxie@lexxiecouper.com

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/lexxie_couper

  Visit Lexxie's website at http://www.lexxiecouper.com, where she occasionally makes a fool of herself on her blog.

  eBooks by Lexxie Couper

  Visit Lexxie’s website at

  http://www.lexxiecouper.com

  Stimulated, a Contemporary Romance series

  1. Blowing It Off

  2. Revving It Up

  3. Switching It On

  4. Plugging It In

  Heart of Fame, a Contemporary Romance series

  4.5. Compliance

  5.5. A Single Knight

  8.5. Combustible

  9. Balls Up

  10. Lust’s Rhythm

  The Boundaries, a Science Fiction Romance series

  1. Assassin

  2. Agent

  3. Animal

  Savage Australis, a Paranormal Romance series

  1. Savage Retribution

  Fire Mates, a Paranormal Romantic Suspense series

  1. Sera’s Dragon

  2. How to Love Your Dragon

  3. Crouching Tigress Horny Dragon

  4. Scorched Desire

  Dangerous Desires, an Erotic Contemporary Romance series

  1. The Bad Boy Next Door

  2. The Good Girl In My Bed

  Stand-Alone Titles

  The Stone's Soul

  Shadow Whispers

  Copping a Feel

  Kat and Mouse

  Lexxie recommends … Dakota Cassidy

  “Heya, if you loved reading this book, I know you're going to love Dakota Cassidy's wickedly hot paranormal romances as well. You won't regret it! Lexxie”

  Outlaw Alpha

  Fangs of Anarchy, Book 2

  Dakota Cassidy

  Prologue

  In the beginning…

  In the year 2004, paranormals were forced from hiding after an unfortunate public mishap involving a vampire by the name of Martin Lawler, who accidentally outed the existence of various supernatural races to the human population.

  In a word, Martin screwed every paranormal working and living peacefully among the humans without their knowledge.

  Mass hysteria ensued amongst human citizens, who raised questions about the safety of paranormals in living, social, and working environments. There were protests to rival the Vietnam marches. Humans demonstrating against the paranormal weighed down with garlic wrapped around their bodies and holy water in flasks, carrying signs that read “Down With Team Twilight!” and “Who Let The Dogs Out?”

  The human governments decided it was unconstitutional, and likely unwise, to attempt to round up the paranormal and kill them all. (Which had been the original plan, until the otherworldly revolted with the threat of a blood-sucking, entrails-eating uprising the likes of which humans had never seen.)

  Still, the widespread panic forced the governments, sires and councils of both paranormal and human persuasions to convene a summit in order to contain fear and create newer, stricter laws for all concerned.

  Some laws suckier than others…

  As a result, humans and paranormal alike were relocated to newly created territories and banned from each other in a global form of segregation. Many of the paranormal were threatened with mass extermination unless they uprooted and left their old lives behind, agreeing to resettle in new homes with small monthly supplemental funds from the government as consolation for the upheaval.

  As part of the new wave of laws, and in an effort to keep clans, packs, covens, and the like strong and pure, governing councils issued a warning to all races. While they must share living space, and in some cases, govern their newly appointed towns together without outside influence, no paranormal could engage in any form of cohabitation with another paranormal outside their race, unless already engaged in a multi-race relationship at the time of said edict.

  Meaning: No more vampire/werewolf or any other kind of mixed-species wookie-wook.

  Older, less-utilized laws were also reinstituted, such as pack mating rituals and the quest for clan purity, creating dissention and the cry for equal rights.

  Empowered paranormal women especially were none too pleased at being herded like cattle at a county fair during full-moon mate calls and essentially given no choice in mating matters. Several full-moon bloodbaths led by said empowered women occurred as a result before a major crackdown was instituted.

  Though, even after the peace treaties and summits between human and supernatural leaders, the paranormal were still at the government’s mercy just by virtue of their minority in numbers. The government used that against them, subtly, while trying to take them out by withholding vital necessities.

  Blood, on which humans had placed a sky-high tax, became a black-market item for vampires. Lower-middle-class vampires were starving, even dying painful deaths by the dozens without it, forcing some clans to seek out an illegal synthetic supplement.

  An uprising called The Opposition sprouted across the country in various forms, protesting the discrimination paranormals now face, with members living their lives in hiding for the greater good. Though considered wanted criminals, they remain steadfast to the cause.

  Think Doomsday Preppers times ten.

  In other cases, some paranormals chose to move to their new towns and become leaders in their communities, rallying for peaceful coexistence despite the hardships placed upon them.

  This is the story of one such town, and how some hot biker vampires formed a gang called Fangs of Anarchy. Made up of one-time corporate and medical professionals who aren’t afraid to open up a can of whoop-ass to protect not just the town they now call home, but the women they love…

  Chapter 1

  “If it isn’t Freya Ashe. Cranky, single werewolf,” a gravelly voice, rich with mischief and doused with sarcasm, murmured in her ear.

  “If it isn’t Liam McConnell. Traitorous, equally single vampire,” she shot back, refusing to acknowledge the shiver his silken lips so near her ear created.

  “Here to watch the mating game?” he asked, his deep tone resonating in the cold air.

  “Here because I’m forced by pack law to be here, and you damn well know it, McConnell.”

  “Right. Pack rules say all single female werewolves must attend. Males aren’t mandatory. Got it.” He made a check mark in the air with his finger then grinned at her.

  She turned to face him fully, almost angry that even under the purple gloom of the coming night sky, and as pale as he was, he was fucking magnificent to look at.

  His presence always riled her; always set her on the edge of something she didn’t understand, other than to rationalize it as raw physical attraction, so she looked away again.

  Freya burrowed her runny nose deeper into her scarf and watched her pack leader and the Road Dogs biker crew president, Courtland Dodd, strut across the wide planks of the town’s gazebo as he prepared to name his mate like some bloated black sheep from the ugly side of the peacock family. Pinky, Courtland’s right hand, scurried behind him in a ridiculous caricature of a cartoon sidekick.

  “Speaking of pack rules, shouldn’t you be home studying the werewolf laws and bylaws and stupider-than-stupid laws right now? Isn’t that what all good vampires who’ve betrayed their clans do when they jump ship and join a werewolf pack?”

  He moved to stand next to her, the bulk of his biceps just touching her shoulder, making her heart thump erratically in her ears. “Isn’t that what I’m doing as we speak? Studying a stupider-than-stupid werewolf law? What better way than to witness the stupid firsthand?”

  Point for the vampire. The gorgeous, delectable, traitorous vampire. This was a stupid law. Stupid and utterly archaic. “The mating ritual certainly falls under the stupider-than-stupid category.”

  He clucked his tongue, leaning into her, making her nose twitch with the scent of his spicy cologne. “I emphatically agree. Who, i
n their right mind, wants to mate for life?”

  “Said the traitorous vampire who plum out of nowhere wants to be a werewolf.”

  Liam rocked back on the heels of his worn boots as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The flames from the bonfire in the middle of the town square where the men gathered highlighted his chiseled features, kissing his just-below-chin-length, raven hair like a lover.

  That was Liam. Glib and smug, with a little aloof and bitter resentment on the side. “I never said I wanted to be a werewolf. You don’t see me asking anyone to bite me and turn me into one of you, do you?”

  He was taking a passive-aggressive stab at her best friend and former pack mate, Claire Montgomery, who’d done just that—had Liam’s brother Irish bite her so they could become eternal mates.

  But tonight wasn’t the night for Liam to poke at her friend. Freya despised the mating ritual. It rubbed raw every nerve in her defiantly feminist body. She didn’t need a mate, and she wasn’t especially interested in the longevity of her pack.

  “Really? Then why are you and Courtland suddenly BFFs? Because the last time I checked, you and the Fangs all hated Courtland Dodd. Yet, every day since you had that all-out brawl with your brother over Claire and he booted you from the club, I see you cozying up to Courtland at Ahab’s. Oh, wait!” She paused to sharpen her tongue. “I know what it is. You’re not a Fang anymore, so that made your dislike of Courtland evaporate like it never existed, right? Leave Claire out of this, Liam. She’s happy. That’s all I give a damn about.”

  Liam scoffed, his distaste for her best friend evident.

  Ah. There it was. Just a small piece of Liam’s bitter pie, rearing its ugly head. His fight with his brother over Claire.

  No one was more surprised than Freya when Liam and his brother Irish had engaged in a fistfight the likes of which no one in their small town of Rock Cove, Maine, had seen since their mutual races had been forced to cohabitate under the new human government laws.

  It began when her best friend Claire Montgomery, a werewolf and the local librarian, and Irish McConnell, president of the biker club Fangs of Anarchy, fell in love. A relationship Liam openly despised due to the tensions it brought between his vampire clan and Freya’s pack.

  But Claire had fixed that—by having Irish turn her into a vampire. An honest-to-God bloodsucker. He’d drained her almost dry and reanimated her just to make Claire his for eternity.

  When Liam found out what his brother and Claire had done, he’d lost it. As a result of the ensuing fight, and the disrespect Liam displayed for Claire, Irish had booted his brother not just out of the Fangs, but of the McConnell clan—in front of everyone in the town square. Leaving Liam a lone wolf. No pun intended.

  Since then, Liam had been buddying up to Courtland, her pack’s new leader by default since his brother Gannon’s death, and everyone was speculating about it.

  Freya’s eyes narrowed as she sniffed the air at his disapproval. “Save your disapproval about Claire. She’s my best friend and your brother’s new mate whether you like it or not.”

  “I damn well know who Claire is, Freya,” Liam reminded tersely.

  Freya sighed, watching the puff of condensation leave her mouth. There was mostly no talking to Liam on any other level than the one labeled “resentful” these days.

  He wasn’t shy about his dislike for the new government or his anger for having to leave his pediatric practice back in New York. He also wasn’t shy about hating werewolves.

  But that didn’t make him any less sexy—which made Freya despise herself. Liam hated her kind with arrogance and visible distaste, but she still had the unmitigated gall to lust for him.

  She shoved her hands into the pockets of her down jacket and decided to taunt him. Because she liked seeing his hard, square jaw clench, deepening the dimple in his chin, and his brilliant smoky eyes flash.

  That always helped to alleviate her aching longing to find out what it would be like to have Liam thrust deep inside her, his enormous body covering every square inch of hers.

  She’d never admit it anywhere but in the solitude of her bedroom, but Liam made her insides a puddle of goo. His scent, his thick thighs, his bulky arms, that deep dimple in his chin. All of him left her a total glop of loose limbs.

  “So where is Claire tonight, anyway? Shouldn’t she be here holding your hand?”

  Freya hated the sneer in his voice when he said Claire’s name. “I’ll remind you again, she’s your sister-in-law now. Your family. My best friend. So if you can’t speak her name without a primal grunt, don’t speak it around me.”

  Said grunt, from deep in his throat, purred along her spine, making her nipples spike hard against her bra. As if on cue, his hard jaw tightened and his eyes flashed his anger before he masked it with indifference. “Yeah. Family. If that’s what you want to call her. She’ll never be pure as far as I’m concerned.”

  Freya cocked an eyebrow at him, the condescending eyebrow she’d used a million times in court as a well-paid defense attorney. “And you won’t ever be a werewolf, no matter how many beers you watch that slug Courtland and his dicknuckle biker buddies drink at Ahab’s while you’re trying so desperately to be one of the pack. So I’m not sure what your point is here—”

  “Hey!” Claire called, waving to her as she approached, pushing her way through the crowd of people gathered for the mate.

  If Claire had been beautiful before, she was even more so as a vampire. Her pale face somehow enhanced her flame-red hair and her eyes now had a rich glow burning in them.

  She was happy with Irish, happier than Freya had ever seen her, even when they’d lived in San Francisco before the paranormal crackdown. That much was evident, and for the most part, she was happy for her best friend.

  It was only every once in a while that the green-eyed monster crept in when Freya least expected it to, but she wrestled that demon alone. In silence.

  When Claire’s eyes caught sight of Liam, they changed, morphing from light to dark, but it didn’t stop her from coming to stand next to Freya.

  Liam nodded to both women, his dark head dipping before he grumbled out, “And on that note, have a good mate call, Freya.” He sauntered off into the crowd, his tight black jeans hugging his bulging thighs, his long, black leather trench coat—the one he wore in place of the jacket he was stripped of when he was ousted from the Fangs—fanning out behind him

  “So, brrr, huh?” Claire said on a chuckle, nudging her.

  Freya’s eyebrow rose. Obviously they were going to ignore the subject of Liam. “Oh, ‘brrr’, my ass. You can’t feel the cold anymore. Don’t taunt. It’s a little gloat-y and might even earn you a throat punch if you keep it up.”

  Claire wrapped her arm around Freya’s shoulder and squeezed so hard she’d swear she heard her bones whimper in protest. “Do I hear some green-eyed monster in your tone?”

  Freya shrugged her off and scoffed, peering into Claire’s pretty face, almost glowing under the light of the full moon. “You’re damn right, you do. Only you, when faced with the idea of mating with one of these heathens, would have a vampire turn you in order to avoid spending a life of pure torture with these antiquated grease monkeys. At least the vampires in this town are good-looking. So I bow to your genius. But if you razz me once more about having to attend this fuckfest of a mate when it’s zero below out and you can’t even feel my pain, I will throat punch you.”

  Claire pouted comically, her raspberry lips pressing together. “You wouldn’t hit me, because first, I’d flatten your ass with all my newly acquired vampy skills. Second, I didn’t mean to fall in love with a vampire. It just happened during a really stressful time.”

  That stressful time being when Claire was accused of murdering their former pack leader and Courtland’s brother, Gannon Dodd—who also, at the time, happened to be Claire’s intended mate.

  Freya patted her arm then hooked her hand through it. Gannon had deserved to die—plain and simple. “You’re
right. And as compensation for your pain and suffering, you deserved to have Irish turn you into a vampire so you’ll never have to come to one of these mating rituals again. If I could avoid this ridiculous display of knuckle-dragging, I’d rather be a bloodsucker, too.”

  The grief Claire was the brunt of from her former pack mates stung her. Claire would never admit it, in fact, she’d stare it down with defiance, but she’d been called a traitor more than once since she’d been turned, and it hurt. Freya knew it hurt her because there was always an apology in her voice even when she defended her choice.

  “It was the only way Irish and I could be together now that our races have instituted these rules of separation amongst us. I did what I had to in order to be with the only man I’ve ever loved. I’d do it a hundred times over.”

  “And I wouldn’t blame you. All this mate call and clan purity almost makes me want to join The Opposition.”

  Claire made a face of disbelief at her. “You? In The Opposition? Wouldn’t your heels get in the way when you’re hiding deep in the woods, packing heat and planning your next attack on the meanie-butt humans and their absurd government laws? There’d be no time for you to do your nails if you’re hiding in some drug-infested halfway house or living in some secluded cabin in the woods,” she teased.

  It was fair to say The Opposition likely wasn’t her cuppa, due to her love of all things pretty. Though, since she’d been forced to move here, she didn’t much care what she wore. “But I’m a hella strategist. Just ask anyone from my old firm. You don’t need pretty nails to plan a course of action.”

  Just five years ago, she was a lawyer in San Francisco. Happily single, working her way up to partner at the prestigious Bittner, Bristow, and Payne. Now she resided in Rock Cove, Maine—or the Lobster Tundra, as she’d jokingly dubbed it—had no job, and lived off a meager supplemental income from the government.