by Juniper Hart
Chosen Mate
Hollow Earth Dragons
Juniper Hart
Chosen Mate
Text Copyright © 2018 by Juniper Hart
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2017
Publisher
Secret Woods Books
[email protected]
www.SecretWoodsBooks.com
Contents
Legend of the Hollow Earth Dragons
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
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Preview: Fated Mate
Other Books You Will Love
Secret Woods Books
Thank You
About the Author
Legend of the Hollow Earth Dragons
Long before there was a distinction between man and beast, all lived together in the belly of the earth, united in harmony. It mattered not who had the sharpest claws nor the most gnashing teeth, for the utopia they had found was unhindered by war or famine, each creature caring for the other in a vast village of compassion.
Magic had a home there, spawned by fairies and valkyries who cast their impish pleasures over the ogres and giants, the wizards and sorceresses, even the bloodthirsty vampires and lycans, who learned to curb their sanguine lust. Even the most dangerous beings recognized the entrancing beauty of their lives and inherently wished to protect it, but against what, they could not say.
Somewhere, in the depth of every form—no matter their shape, no matter their proclivities—a knowledge that danger lurked beyond the sanctuary of their underground lair hung above them like a pendulum ax, ready to decapitate their fragile existence without warning.
The bewitching Eden they knew as home was untouched for thousands of years, a legend among the rising population that grew over their heads, but their world was nothing like the one below.
Above the hollows, an evil was birthing, one even the humans could not see.
It started innocuously, a slow drip that spread like poison, infecting the innocent with its stain, the rot suctioning the good from the unsuspecting souls until the world on the outside was corrupted by the devastation the undergrounders had managed to escape for eons.
While the realm closest to the sun burned fraught with perils and anguish, greed and destruction, the insular society retreated further into itself, hearing their cries of torment but unable to help without endangering themselves. Inevitably, the toxin scorched the earth, and whiffs of the sin beyond wafted into the pure lungs of the untouched, who began to feel the unrest among them.
Almost overnight, the magical touches of the fairies transformed into something more sinister, and where there was once only play, a subculture of darkness fell.
The blood-lusting immortals suddenly craved the flesh they had learned to forsake, and the wizards cast spells to ward them away, knowing that they could no longer be trusted. Slowly, the immortals ventured out of the caves to feed their desire for flesh, opening a sealed door which should never have been touched.
Into the world they went, dazzled by the glow of the sun, an object they had never known. Their conditioning, however, kept them lurking in the night shadows, and both the vampires and the lycans developed an unhealthy obsession with overtaking the other. Only one species could return to the hollows, and neither would stop until their nemesis was eliminated for good.
When the war began between them, it waged for a thousand years, the fighting weakening the senses they had honed so well in the caverns of Eden.
And so, like the mortals before them, they failed to realize that there was a danger far greater than the one they had brought to the surface, puppeteering their moves with golden eyes and an ability far greater than anything either realm had ever seen.
They were dragon princes, five in total and hellbent on reigning all, unaware of what lay below. Cursed by a prophet in the time of the Pharaohs, they had wandered the earth: insatiable, longing, yearning, but never knowing what it was they craved so desperately.
The immortals from the underworld learned of the new enemy too late; they fled back for the portal to the caverns, but it was far too late. The dragons had been watching, biding their time as the vampires and lycans fought, waiting for a chance to retreat into the caves in the core of the world.
The dragons crashed through to the world below the surface, breathing fire and killing all who disobeyed them. They were there to reign, and no one could stop them from claiming the society of sorcery and magic.
Granted free monarchy, the creatures grew tenebrous, morose, and evil under the dragons’ rule. There was no more lightness or play—only melancholy and gloom.
For another thousand years, the heaviness weighed upon the inhabitants of Eden, until one day, the last of the fairies came to the high court to tell the dragons something they had never known.
“You have been roaming the high world, searching for something to sate your unquenchable thirst,” Lucia breathed, her wings flittering nervously as she surely anticipated being turned to ash.
But she had the princes’ attention, and she boldly continued.
“You have come here, hoping to find answers,” she said, her words rushing from her sparkling crimson lips, bright eyes dancing from one stoic face to the next. She paused, waiting for affirmation.
“Go on.” The voice belonged to no one in particular, yet it seemed to come from all angles at once. Lucia sighed quickly.
“Your desire is not within the power of your hands. The appetence will not subside as you claim more land or fortune. It will not dissipate with blood on your fangs, nor with beasts cowering in fear.”
“No?”
She inhaled deeply. “No. You each hold the end of your incessant agony in the depth of your hearts.”
A low, dangerous rumble filled the high court, but she remained in place.
“You best elaborate.”
Lucia closed her eyes and nodded, knowing her next words would be among her last.
“You must find love.”
The rumble grew louder, and Lucia suddenly realized that the princes were laughing, a sonorous, terrifying noise that filled her with fear.
“Love?”
“Yes, my lords. Love will—”
She did not have an opportunity to finish her sentence; a bolt of flames shot out toward her, engulfing her in a lick of fire.
The dragons looked among themselves, unspeaking, unmoving. The consensus was clear, even without a word uttered between them.
It was not that the princes did not believe the pixie who had come to ease them of their everlasting pain. The prophet had told them something very similar upon placing the hex upon their heads, creating ungodly creatures who possessed no restraint or control, animals who were plagued with tireless suffering.
No, it was not a question of disbelief.
The brothers simply could not foresee a world where anyone could love a beast.
; And for another five hundred years, the dragons stayed in the ruined haven of the underworld, plotting their next move.
The legend of Hollow Earth grew to be nothing more than a fairy tale, folklore to be easily dismissed and never again spoken of, but the princes knew better.
It was their kingdom, a deep, dark hell no woman could ever love.
1
The trees of the park whizzed by, her feet pounding firmly but quickly against the pavement as she moved. Her chest was tight as she focussed on her breathing and on the music piping through her headphones.
Bryn pushed through the excruciating heat, although sweat pooled down her back and against the white of her tank top. The airflow material was intended to give her some reprieve, but on a day like this, when the sun—typically shielded by the San Francisco fog—pierced mercilessly into her, it was not doing its job.
Two more blocks, she promised herself, though she was beginning to think she wasn’t going to make it. Black curls of hair clung to her heart-shaped face, falling just above the base of her neck, and Bryn felt tears of protest stinging her eyes. She still forged through.
She was on a mission, and no desperate need to stop, if only to get a sip of water, would stand in her way.
The Fitbit screamed at her from her wrist, alarmed that she was overdoing it, and Bryn plucked the headphones out of her ears. Perhaps she should consider stopping, even if it was for a second. The machine might be right about pushing herself too hard.
“Lady, you’re going to faint.”
Bryn whipped her head to the side, her crystalline blue eyes widening in surprise at the man who had joined her. She wondered how long he’d been there without her noticing, and it put her on guard. Usually, Bryn was much more cautious about things like that, particularly in a neighborhood where she never jogged.
“Doubtful,” she panted, eyeing the stranger through her peripheral vision. Then, to prove her point, she sprung forward with a rush of adrenaline, leaving the man behind her. Feeling relatively smug, she finally allowed herself to pause at the mouth of Glen Canyon Park and leaned forward, her breaths escaping in short, uneven gasps.
That’s enough for one day. It’s going to be a scorcher today, she realized, cocking her head to stare up into the sky. It was still early morning, but the smog was making breathing a luxury. As she moved her head to squint at the sun above her, she saw the same man again, leaning casually against a cork oak. He was examining his nails as if he had been standing there for an hour, waiting for someone.
Bryn smirked, knowing he was putting on a show for her.
“Are you following me?” she asked, straightening herself to her full height of five-foot-nine. Even so, she was barely a shadow against his towering form. She guessed him to be at least six-foot-five, maybe even taller.
“Following you?” the man scoffed. “I’ve been standing here for hours!”
Bryn had to giggle at the theatrics, but she didn’t want to encourage him too much. She knew who he was, after all. Charming or not, he was not someone she wanted to tangle with, especially when the mere sight of him made her blood boil.
Don’t get drawn in by those cobalt eyes and mop of California brown hair, she told herself. He might look like a happy-go-lucky surfer, but he’s just like the rest of them.
Bryn casually wiped the beads of sweat from her hairline, her breathing evening as she did.
“I’ve seen you before,” the man said. “You from around here?”
“Have you?” Bryn purred, slowly stretching her long legs as she skilfully ignored his question. “How lucky for you.”
He howled at her response, his brilliant white teeth flashing against the bark of the tree in a bizarre contrast, but he remained against it, as if the trunk was supporting his lumbering yet agile frame. “What’s your name?”
“My name?” she echoed, a look of confusion crossing her face. “What makes you think I have one?”
If possible, the man’s smile grew even wider, and he nodded appreciatively at her, his eyes traveling conspicuously over her frame.
“Were your parents so cruel?”
The mention of her parents from this man’s mouth was insulting, and Bryn tensed more, willing herself to be calm. This is not the time nor the place, she told herself firmly. Keep it together, Bryn.
When she didn’t bite at his banter, the man held out his hand. “I’m Keppler.”
“Interesting.”
It was becoming difficult for Bryn to remain aloof, despite her best intentions. How could she? It was the first time she had ever been so close to one of the dragon princes, and this one was paying her closer attention than she would have liked. The heat of the sun seemed to magnify the intensity of his dark blue eyes as they burned into her. It was strange that his gaze was so fierce while the rest of him exuded nonchalance.
“Oh, come on,” Keppler teased in a light tone. There was no underlying annoyance in his voice, as some men might show when being toyed with. He seemed genuinely amused by their back-and-forth. Bryn was less so. Of course, he was no regular man, and Bryn knew she had to get as far away from him as soon as she possibly could.
“Come on, what?” she replied, her light eyes darting around for an escape by means of someone she recognized. To her bad luck, there was no one else in the almost abandoned morning park. She found herself wondering what Keppler was doing there and if he had been indeed following her.
The idea filled her with terror, but she chided herself not to be ridiculous. If he had any inkling about who she was, he wouldn’t be standing there, attempting to charm her with his too-white smile.
“Give me a hint,” he insisted. “A first letter.”
If it had been just an average Joe hitting on her so blatantly, Bryn would have had no issue telling him precisely where to go. But Keppler was not. And truthfully, Bryn was enjoying their exchange more than she wanted to admit. It filled her with shame.
What would Jace say if he saw this?
“Nope,” she said, knowing that if he wanted to know her name with any great urgency, it would be nothing for him to learn it. Was he the playboy? It was hard to keep them straight, even after eons. In all fairness, Bryn spent little time on that side of the Hollows and even less keeping up with the gossip rags.
“You’re going to make me work for it, huh?”
“I wouldn’t make you work for anything,” Bryn quipped lightly. “That’s not what your family does, is it?”
A shadow crossed over Keppler’s face for the first time, and Bryn realized she’d just pushed a button. He stared at her more closely, as if recognizing she was more than some mortal jogger with a cute rear-end. Could he sense who she was now that she had unwittingly given him a clue?
“Have I offended you in some way?” Keppler asked slowly, finally shoving his muscled form away from the tree, but he didn’t advance. His eyes seemed to have iced over, and Bryn grinned at him.
“How could you have?” she replied. “I don’t know you, remember?”
The enigmatic response seemed to trouble him, but to his credit, Keppler didn’t press the issue.
“Have a nice day,” he managed, turning to leave her. He was gone before Bryn could offer him a sarcastic response.
As he vanished into the treeline, Bryn exhaled. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath, but her lungs expanded, apparently grateful, and she spun to bolt from the park. She knew she would have to lay low from the Hollows for a while, just in case the dragon prince came looking for her.
Not that he would ever find me, she thought smugly. I’m just that good at hiding. She looped up on Diamond Heights Boulevard toward Portola Drive before slowing again, pausing before a condo.
Out of habit, Bryn glanced around to ensure that no one was watching before sprinting across the street to rap on the garage door. One short knock, two long ones, and a pause. One more tap. It was Damon’s special code, and while Bryn thought it was silly when the garage door was so blatantl
y out in the open, she didn’t want to antagonize the man. He was quirky, but he was useful. In all honesty, Bryn found him endearing, even though that was not something she advertised. Showing her emotions was not something Bryn Castillo did well.
The door lifted a moment later, and she ducked in before it had the chance to rise fully, relishing the coolness of the dim room on her burning face.
“You’re late.”
Bryn barely cast Damon a look, watching as he paranoidly shut the door again, his beady dark eyes scanning the sun-splashed streets beyond.
“I got interrupted,” she said nonchalantly, plopping down onto the worn corduroy loveseat near the beer fridge, which was never filled with anything alcoholic. The others sometimes joked that Damon kept body parts in there when he knew they weren’t coming over for a meeting. Bryn theorized it was possible; not so much because she thought Damon was psychotic, but because she knew he was eccentric.
Alma and Chester nodded at her, Chester’s eyes wracking over her body like he had never seen a woman in yoga pants before.
“By whom? Was it the cops?” Damon demanded, his face flushing with worry. “What did they say? Do they suspect anything?”
Bryn grunted in exasperation, unable to shake the experience with Keppler from her mind. Normally, she would not have been so short with Damon, but now she couldn’t help herself.
“Really?” she snapped. “You think I got stopped by the cops, Damon? Come on!”
It was a pain in the ass working with Damon Lindstead, his schizophrenia oftentimes overruling his sense of reason. He was medicated, though sometimes Bryn wondered if he skipped days. She tried to ensure he did not, but she couldn’t be everywhere at once.
