by ML Guida
Madness Unleashed
Dragons of Zalara
ML Guida
Buffalo Mountain Press
About the Author
Award Winning Author M.L. Guida loves the paranormal and science fiction. She loves dark, wounded heroes and her books are filled with them.
She has a private Facebook group: ML Guida’s Supernatural Lounge for her readers. There’s contests, memes of Supernatural, and upcoming news of her books and of course, her cocker spaniel, Raven.
M.L. lives in Colorado near the Rocky Mountains and currently has written fifteen books and has five box sets.
Check out her website at www.mlguida.com
Contents
About the Author
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Blurb for Madness Unhinged
Excerpt Madness Unhinged
Also by ML Guida
Prologue
King Greum raised his arms. “My people, I have summoned you today, because there might be a way for us to survive as a race.”
Someone yelled, “How can this be? Our women and daughters are dead. No one can replace them!”
Greum lowered his hands. “Listen, please. The Fates have spoken to my lovely mate.”
Damon gritted his teeth, his throat tensing tighter and tighter. She was the object of his desire.
Gasps and mumblings filled the chapel as the queen, Cosima, approached the king.
The sunlight shone through Angarth Citadel’s stained glass window and flickered off Cosmia’s tiara, making her look like she had a halo around her. Her big green eyes shimmered as bright as the emeralds in her crown. Her silky blond hair flowed over her slender shoulders, and he ached to run his fingers through those silky strands.
But she belonged to the King. Greum was in sharp contrast to her with his black hair and brooding face. He was the most powerful dragon on Zalara, and any attempt to seduce his mate would mean a certain painful death.
“Do not despair. There is still hope for us. Listen.” Cosima motioned toward the bubbling pool. The slight motion made her white glossy gown glimmer, reminding Damon of a sparkling star. “I bring us hope. True, our beautiful women are gone, but the Fates have shown me that the Earth women are compatible. We may still survive as a race. However, the process of finding a mate is a difficult one. The Fates must choose them, because only the chosen ones can mate with us. Their destinies must align.”
She took Greum’s hand and gave him a loving glance. Damon tensed as old jealousies tightened his skin. He wanted to be the one to receive those adoring glances. He gripped the pew in front of him so hard it cracked.
His best friend, Anonghos, the chief security of the Orion, cast him a warning look. Damon immediately stuck his hands at his side, clenching his fists.
The queen led the king toward the baptismal pool, and together, they knelt in front of it. A large stained glass window of two dragons winding around each other was at the back of the altar. He wished he was the one at her side, but she was in love with the king. His only recourse was to be her personal guard, so he could look at her every day and protect her with his life.
Suddenly, the pool bubbled softly.
Cosmia kissed Greum’s hand. “A mate has been chosen.”
Damon hissed louder than a pissed off slake.
Anonghos elbowed him in the ribs. “Control yourself, or Greum will rip you to pieces.”
He was right. Greum was extremely possessive of Cosima and wouldn’t take kindly to knowing her personal guard was secretly lusting over her.
Cosmia turned to the congregation. “We will soon learn who will be the first person to save our race.”
Damon thought the queen was looking at him. Every muscle tensed inside him, his anger twisting and twisting them into threadbare cords. It better not be him. He had no intention of mating with some damn alien. His heart lay with Cosima, and no Earthling would change his devotion.
Out of the pool rose three ghostly women dressed in white robes. They were the original mothers of their race and had been the last female shape-shifters. When they’d perished, the gods had granted them sight-seeing powers. Only when there was a great need could they be called upon.
Obviously, all the women being slaughtered met that urgency.
But what good were the Fates? They’d been useless against the Kamitrinians’ deadly weapon.
“Greetings, King Greum and Queen Cosima,” Rillo, the smaller of the two, bowed slightly.
Although she was the smallest, she was the most powerful. Her dark eyes sparkled, and Damon winced at the brightness of her white robe.
The king and queen bowed. “Greetings,” they both answered.
“We have found an Earthly mate worthy of a Zalarain.” She gestured toward the voluptuous redhead. “Ythei, the Mate stone, please.”
Ythei opened her palm, and a simple, shiny, smooth white stone appeared. “I call forth Damon of the Royal Guard.”
Shock cut into his heart, sharp as a laser. Damon grimaced. No, no, no, this couldn’t be right. The Fates had to be wrong!
A loud gasp echoed around him.
Anonghos gripped his tense shoulder. “Don’t make them mad, Damon. Go.”
Damon reluctantly left the pew and slowly dragged his feet to the altar. He avoided Cosima, who looked at him with pity. She knew how he felt and had told him more than once he needed to find another. She belonged to Greum, and he was her soulmate.
Rillo smiled. “Be glad, guard. You will be the first to give hope to your people.”
Damon bit his tongue to keep from arguing. Defying a Fate warranted death. But although his heart lay with the queen, he would not betray his people. Mated didn’t equal love.
“Stretch out your hand,” Rillo said.
He forced himself to obey. Ythei dropped the smooth stone into his hand, and immediately, a surge of energy torpedoed up his arm to his wary heart. He shook uncontrollably as if a jackhammer had fallen down his pants. An image of a redheaded woman with brown eyes formed in his mind. Unlike Cosima, strands of her hair fell out of a tight bun, and she had stains on what looked like some kind of uniform. Just as suddenly as it formed, the image vanished.
He stopped shaking but was left with bitter disappointment. How could he mate with such a disheveled female when he adored the gift of perfection on the altar?
Rillo put her hand on his chest. “You will go with Captain Taog and the crew on the Orion to fetch your mate.”
Scorching heat shot through him, hotter than dragon fire. Sweat soaked his skin, and passion fever melted his stubborn heart. His dragon was aroused and demanded its mate.
When she lowered her hand, it was gone.
“It shall be done.” Greum put his firm hand on Damon’s shoulder.
He hung his head, knowing love would always be out of his grasp, and now, he would be saddled with a mate he hadn’t chosen and hadn’t wanted.
1
Hera carried a tray of drinks high over her head and rushed to the dreaded table of rowdy businessmen.
“Where are our drinks?”
“Hey, we’re getting thirsty over here.”
Unfortunately, the table was in the corner of the tavern with little room for maneuverability,
given the wooden banister on one side and the wall on the other. Her Scottish wench uniform stuck to her clammy skin, and her feet ached in her high-heeled boots. She pasted on a smile that barely hid the frustration brewing inside her. She hated being a waitress, but she didn’t have any other skills.
Or at least, she didn’t think so.
Three months ago, she’d woken up in a snowy park–hungry and freezing–with absolutely no memory. Those first few weeks had been horrible–pimps trying to force her to turn tricks and street gangs roughing her up for money. Every night, she’d been desperate to find a warm, safe place to sleep without fear of being robbed or raped.
She never wanted to live on Denver’s hostile streets again, and the happiest day of her life was when she got this job. But she was two hundred-fifty-two dollars short of her current rent and was still another hundred-fifty-dollars short from last month. Her landlady made it clear–pay everything or get out. She desperately needed tips, or tomorrow night, she’d be reliving the terror.
One of the businessmen patted his leg. “Hey, sweet thing, why don’t you rest here?”
He looked like he was barely out of college. He leered down her low-cut peasant-style blouse that threatened to let her breasts tumble out. She’d been putting up with their disgusting comments, hoping they’d leave her a nice tip. She ignored him as she lowered the tray and stuck another beer in front of him, instead of dumping it over his dark head.
Cold fingers slipped up her hiked skirt and pinched her butt hard. She squealed and jerked away. She dropped the tray of green beer, sloshing foam onto the dark wooden table.
“You’ve got a sweet ass,” he slurred.
She rubbed the back of her throbbing behind. “Great balls of fire, don’t touch me!”
“Pinched by a Leprechaun.” He chuckled. “You should have been wearing green.”
“I am, you idiot.” She motioned toward her green plaid skirt.
“How about a kiss for good luck?” He puckered his green-stained lips.
“No!”
“You say no, Red, but you know you want it. I think you’d like it fast and hard.”
She gasped, gripping the tray so hard her knuckles turned white.
His friends all whistled and clapped.
“Way to go, Desmond!”
One of them raised a half-empty beer glass. “You know she wants you!” He tossed it back and burped loudly.
She looked at all their young, stupid, drunken faces. No heroes here.
Hot anger flushed over her face.
“I bet you blush all the way down to your pretty toes.” Desmond reached to touch her arm. “Why don’t you warm my lap?”
She jerked away fast, the tips of his fingers brushing her skin, making her shudder. “If you don’t keep your claws to yourself, I’ll jerk you bald.”
Her deadly voice failed to stop him or his cheering friends.
“I’d like to see you try, Red.”
He licked his lips, which tempted her to bash the tray over his head.
She shoved the drinks in front of the other three drunken men; more green liquor spilled onto the cluttered table. She looked for Mike Hull, the hulking bouncer, but he was busy tangling with a group of rowdy bikers–no help there. Thanks to the cheapskate owner, there was only one bouncer tonight, and she was on her own. She quickly filled her tray with their garbage, trying to remain calm, but her hands shook, betraying her fury that threatened to burst.
She whirled around to go back to the bar for more drinks only to find Desmond blocking her path. He was taller than expected, and his large frame prevented her from darting around him. It was an unusually busy Saturday night, and all the other tables were filled with patrons. Unfortunately, Desmond’s table was in the corner, and she had no way to escape.
“Now, was that very nice? You spilled my friends’ drinks. I think you need to make up for this.” He edged closer, forcing her to back into the wall.
His beer breath made her gag. Her butt cheek still throbbed where he’d pinched her. “Get out of my way.”
Despite the fear pumping through her, her voice was amazingly strong.
“Kiss me, and I will.”
She was breathing hard, wishing for a miracle, but like always, she was on her own.
Suddenly out of nowhere, a man that dwarfed Desmond’s frame emerged behind him. He put his hand on Desmond’s shoulder and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back.
“The lady said no.”
“Hey!” Desmond squirmed like a frightened mouse caught by a sabertooth tiger. “Let go of me!”
The man turned his head toward Desmond’s ear. “Sit.” He shoved him into his chair so hard that the chair almost hit the floor.
Desmond’s friends’ stopped cheering, and their faces paled.
He made a move to get up.
“I wouldn’t do that,” the man said. “I really wouldn’t.” His low tone promised violence.
Desmond slowly slumped into his chair and put his hands in the air. “I don’t want any trouble.”
His friends looked nervously at each other, not making a move to help.
Hera stopped breathing, not able to take her eyes off her hero. He was literally the tallest man she’d ever seen and definitely the most handsome with his long, thick, blond hair, but it was his golden tiger eyes that held her captivate. He reminded her of a rugged Viking or a Norse God.
He stretched out his hand, and the slight gesture opened up his shirt, revealing a chiseled chest that would make men green with envy and women pant with lust. “This way, my lady.”
She exhaled, then found her voice. “Thank you.”
With his Thor size, she wasn’t sure how she could have missed such a hunk. Noisy customers were crammed around her on all sides, blocking even the slightest path for her to escape, and she was forced to squeeze past him. Her body brushed against his, sending shivers down her spine.
He gazed down at her. “Are you all right?”
His husky voice rumbled in his chest. He smelled of smoldering embers, as if he’d just come from sitting around a campfire.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She edged around him.
He gently clasped her arm, but she could sense the power hidden within him. He could break her arm if he wanted.
“They will not hurt you. I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt what is mine.” He glowered at Desmond and his minions, who all huddled whispering among themselves.
She jerked her arm free. “Yours? Fiddle-dee-dee, I belonged to no man.”
“You’re right. You don’t.” He lifted the corner of his lips into a gorgeous smile that would make even a leprechaun give up his gold.
Pretending not to notice, she lifted her chin. “If you’ll excuse me, Thor, I have work to do.”
He blinked. “Thor?”
“Sorry. Called you my boyfriend’s nick-name. And he’s watching us right now.” A total lie, but Mr. Universe wouldn’t know this. She was only step above being destitute again, and dallying with a man was out of the question.
Her rescuer scanned the bar, as if trying to figure out who his would-be rival was. As if any man in his right mind would lay claim to her with Superman declaring ownership.
She glanced over her shoulder at Thor as she hurried toward the bar. “If you don’t want a fight, you’ll keep your distance. Excuse me.”
But her little scheme of having a boyfriend failed to faze him. He followed so close behind her she could feel his warmth breath on the back of her neck. Adrenaline pumped faster through her body, as if she were going into flight or fight mode. But by the size and muscles of her rescuer, she doubted she’d get very far if she ran. Slapping him across the face would even be a worse idea, but she wasn’t going to play victim, either.
Surprisingly, there was an empty seat at the bar, and he slid into it. He ordered a beer, but he followed her with those golden eyes like a tiger waiting for the right moment to pounce on its prey.
She pretended not to no
tice, but she noted the exits in case she had to run.
When she reached the waitress station, she exhaled a sigh of relief.
“Hera, are you okay?” Cindy put more drinks on her tray, the light glittering off her green fingernails.
Fine strands of hair escaped from her ponytail and plastered to her face. Every month, Cindy changed the color of her hair, and since it was Saint Patrick’s Day, it was obviously green.
“You looked like you were in trouble. I was about to get Mike when that hot guy rescued you.”
But Mike was busy with some young-looking frat boys, who seemed to be hassling Brenda, whose Scottish outfit was two sizes too small and emphasized her curves.
“Poor Brenda,” Hera said. “Seems like every night she’s in trouble.”
“Yeah, but tonight’s been the worst.” Cindy leaned closer. “If only Bob-The-Troll would get her a new uniform…”
Bob Troy was the owner and very tight with his purse strings. He would only buy new uniforms when skirts or shirts were unraveling and permanently stained. Unfortunately for Brenda, hers was brand new.
“I know.” Hera quickly put her Guinnesses on her tray and glanced at the clock. Thirty more minutes until last call and she could get out of here.
She turned around. Desmond and his party headed for the door. He saluted her as he disappeared. She delivered her drinks to more thirsty, rowdy customers, but at least none of them had been as handsy as Desmond. Hoping for a big tip after they hogged her table all night, she hurried over, but bitter disappointment bit her in the ass. The bastards had stiffed her. She blinked back tears, wishing she’d have dumped Desmond’s beer over his thick skull.
