The Dragon's Ambivalent Sacrifice: a Dragon Shifter Romance (The Last Dragons Book 2)

by Ines Johnson

  The only option was to stuff the pants up her sundress. That was one place Bruce wouldn’t look. He might spread her thighs in the middle of the day if he hadn’t gotten any from one of his tricks during the night, but he would never look at her while he was doing it.

  “Did you hear me, you ugly bitch?” Bruce said, rounding the corner out of the bedroom which doubled as a living room. He was in dingy, tight briefs with his beer belly spilling over. His hairy chest was bare. There was a hole in the toe of his blue socks. But it was his dress socks. Clearly, he had somewhere important to be, and he needed those jeans, his best outfit.

  Double shit.

  “Did you check the laundry basket?” Poppy asked innocently. She patted her stomach, trying to look natural and not like she was carrying a baby. One thing she did not skimp on in her impoverished state was birth control. She was at the neighborhood clinic every month like clockwork for her pills. She did not want to bring a baby into this miserable life that she wanted to get out of herself.

  “You were supposed to be doing the laundry.” Bruce stormed up to her. His footfalls shook the trailer on its foundation. “I can’t put your ugly ass on the street to earn. You’re allergic to the fucking chemicals that make my product. What the fuck use are you if you can’t keep my house, bitch?”

  He shoved her, but there wasn’t really any place for her to go in the cramped space. Her back hit the stove, and she slid down its surface. The pants slipped out of her dress.

  “What the fuck?” He snatched his pants before she could hide them again. Before she could offer an apology or get out of his way, the back of his hand met the side of her face. “Fucking useless cunt. These are real Gucci knockoffs. I paid fifty bucks for these.”

  A couple of months ago, she’d burned the steak he’d stolen from a restaurant kitchen. That had been twenty-five dollars-worth of meat. He’d struck her once for that. Fifty bucks was a fortune. Poppy raised her arms, waiting for a second strike.

  “Cover yourself up,” Bruce barked.

  He tugged down her dress, but the worn fabric didn’t stretch far enough to cover the ugliness on her legs. He turned away from her. The spots on her limbs were one of the reasons he didn’t look at her when he did her in the middle of the day.

  “You know what I should do?” he said, still crouched over her. “I should put your ass in a glory hole. No one would have to see your ugly ass then.”

  His breath was heavy with the stench of another woman’s cunt. His nails were dark with the grime of his nighttime job as the local pimp of the trailer park. The veins in his biceps were scarred from the abuse of his product.

  Poppy pulled her knees up to cover the tender spots on her legs. The discoloration made her bare skin look like a leper’s. That’s what they used to call her in grade school when the spots had started to appear. The doctors all said she didn’t have the disease. They were at a loss as to what was wrong with her.

  Her mother had had the same skin condition. It hadn’t stopped her from working the streets. That was one of the only job choices here in the backwoods of Knudsen. Either work on your knees cleaning or work on your back tricking.

  Kellyanne had been determined that her little girl would never be on her back. But Poppy had ended up on both ends of the short stick. She began her days on her knees, cleaning Bruce’s pigsty and doing laundry for his tricks who worked the streets. Then she lay on her side at night hoping he wouldn’t come home and turn her on her back.

  It wasn’t a bad life. Other girls had it far worse. She got to spend most of her days alone as the other women gathered at the edge of the trailer park waiting for drivebys. She’d salvaged the TV which got public television, including travel shows like Globe Trekker where she got to see the world. And there was even a channel that ran old dramas like Knight Rider, The Incredible Hulk, and Beauty and the Beast but in Spanish.

  No, it wasn’t a bad life at all. Sure, she got hit from time to time. Sometimes she even deserved it. Like now. She had been careless and ruined Bruce’s best pair of pants.

  “I think I can fix this,” she said through the sting in her jaw. “I just need a little vinegar. Let me try.”

  He scowled at her for another full minute before backing up. He didn’t offer her a hand. She scrambled to her feet, making sure to keep her spots hidden from his sight so as not to antagonize him any further.

  Poppy scavenged through the cabinets looking for the vinegar. She found the bottle just as the next load of laundry dinged. She tended to Bruce’s pants first, dabbing the acid into the burn mark. Thank goodness, it looked as though it was coming out. Maybe she wouldn’t get that second slap after all. The day was already looking up.

  She sat the pants aside to dry and went to tend to the laundry. Poppy pulled out a mix of thongs and short skirts that could double as bandanas. Her hand froze on one set of undergarments.

  The garment wasn’t a woman’s size. The tag indicated size by ages. It was a child’s. Ages six to twelve. The white cotton displayed hugging teddy bears. In the crotch were muted streaks of blood.

  Poppy’s dress strap slipped off her shoulder as she rose. She didn’t pull the strap back up to cover the spots on her arms. More than anything, she wanted to rip the dress off her body. The thin cotton suddenly felt like sandpaper on her tender, disease-riddled skin.

  “What’s taking you so long? I gotta get out there. Are you as stupid as you are ugly?”

  She wasn’t sure how the butcher knife came to be in her palm. When Bruce’s hand came down to clasp her shoulder, she turned and slashed out at him.

  Bruce’s gaze went wide with shock. His hand clutched at his cheek. Blood dripped between his fingers.

  “You said you’d never touch a child.” Poppy’s voice was small as it fought its way out of her chest. She held the knife in one hand and the child’s underwear in the other.

  Bruce’s eyes cleared and filled with rage. “That little whore begged me for work. She wanted it. And now you’re going to get it.”

  He advanced on her. Poppy slashed the knife again. But Bruce was far more practiced in giving violence than her. He got hold of her hand, stripping the knife from her. All she was left with for armor was the ruined panties of someone’s baby girl.

  It was only the second time in her life that she’d considered fighting back. The first time, she’d been wearing size-age-eight panties with unicorns and rainbows. They’d been ripped from her small body, but before any blood could be let, her guardian angel had come to her rescue.

  Poppy teared up like she always did when she thought of her mom. Kellyanne was long dead now. There was no one coming to rescue her. Not from this life. Death couldn’t be worse. At least she’d get out of this trailer park and see something else outside her window.

  She turned her head toward the window, preparing to take Bruce’s fist. Wait? Had he already struck her? Or was there something in the window?

  It was not only a new view, but it was also a new person. The woman sitting on the ledge had on far too many clothes to be considered a prostitute. The corset she wore would be a prized garment for a streetwalker. The boots too. But no one in this trailer park could afford or would bother with tight-fitting leather pants that would take precious minutes to get on before a John could get off. And they’d have to be dry-cleaned. No, whoever this woman was, she was not here for tricks.

  The well-dressed woman cleared her throat just as Bruce raised the knife for his strike. From the corner of her eye, Poppy saw Bruce turn to the window. His mouth gaped when he saw what was there.

  “I would say pick on someone your own size …” The woman’s eyes dipped to Bruce’s manhood in his tighty-whiteys and held. “But that would be unfair of me.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Bruce pointed the knife at her, no longer concerned with Poppy’s imminent demise. Why would he be? She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  “I …” The woman hopped down from the window, the impact of her boots shook the
trailer more than Bruce’s steps. “… am your ride.”

  An uncertain smirk began at the corner of Bruce’s lips. “Oh, yeah? Where we going, baby?”

  The woman pulled a long glistening sword from her back. The blade was more than five times as long as the knife in Bruce’s hand. “Straight past Hell to somewhere far, far worse. And lucky you, it looks like you’re dressed perfectly for the occasion.”

  Bruce opened his mouth for a retort. A gurgling sound came out of his throat because she had sliced a gaping hole across his neck. Blood poured out where words were meant to go. Bruce’s body fell to the ground with a sickening thunk.

  Poppy stood frozen. Her body was too afraid to even shake with fear. When she looked over, the woman was eying her. Not her face, her hand.

  The woman lifted her hand, the one without the sword, and made a come hither motion to Poppy. Her fear of violence had trained her well. Without hesitation, Poppy did as she was told. Her steps were slow and stiff, but she crossed the short distance to stand in front of the woman.

  The woman reached out and took the child’s panties from Poppy’s hand. “This one’s been on my radar for a minute, but this latest act was his death knell.”

  She used the panties to wipe Bruce’s blood from her blade, covering the hugging teddy bears with the essence of his expired life. It seemed fitting. His death for innocence lost.

  “Looks like it was your last straw, too.” The woman’s eyes glowed bright, like stars, as they swung from the discarded butcher knife and back to Poppy.

  The only answer Poppy could give was to gulp. She’d had a counselor stop by the trailer once, dressed in a buttoned-up dress and shiny shoes. Bruce had knocked Poppy a good one the night before. The counselor’s gaze stayed trained on that spot. When Poppy refused to leave with the counselor, she asked why she stayed. Poppy let the creaking screen door slam in the woman’s face.

  She’d seen a few of the movie dramatizations of wives escaping husbands in the dead of night with flawless eye makeup and glossed lips. She’d even seen enough daytime talk shows about domestic abuse where the well-meaning host offered up cash services and a back door to escape. None of that was the real world.

  Seeing Bruce lying dead on the floor, Poppy didn’t feel any remorse for him. But she did begin to worry about herself. She had no schooling, no skills. She didn’t even have a pretty face. How was she going to support herself now?

  Poppy ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers were shaking as she did so. The woman’s gaze narrowed as they followed her movements. Lightning fast, she reached out and tugged down the top of Poppy’s dress.

  Poppy gasped. Reflex told her to cover herself. Self-preservation balled her grasping fingers into still fists.

  “Red hair and scales? Is it my lucky day or what?”

  Poppy squirmed to get out of her hold. A wicked grin had spread over the woman’s face. Poppy knew that look. It was the look of a predator.

  “You’re going to fetch me a pretty gem.”

  Poppy turned to run. But she felt a thud at the back of her neck. And then everything went black.

  Chapter Three

  The clanging of metal meeting metal resounded through the underground cave. Beryl had heard that human men had man caves inside their houses; a small room where they could retreat away from women. He didn't understand why a man would want to retreat from his woman. If he had a woman, he would let her inside his cave any time she wanted. He would build her one of her own and sit inside the doorway hoping he’d be welcomed into her inner sanctuary.

  He had an actual cave inside the castle he shared with his brothers. Many of the rooms were caves outside of the actual caves where the brothers each mined their gems and hoarded their treasure.

  Except for Corun who had given his treasure away for his female sacrifice. Beryl would’ve done the same. His new sister was worth every gem, and soon Chryssie would add to their family. Two whelps were growing strong inside her belly.

  There was a downside to Corun and Chryssie’s coupling. The two were one of the reasons Beryl was currently in his mancave. They were going at it like rabbits on a constant basis.

  “If you can go through this pain period, you may get to be a champion,” said a thickly accented male voice. “If you can’t go through it, forget it.”

  Beryl turned down the volume of the film on the television. It was the only thing he agreed with that came out of the Austrian’s mouth. He fast-forwarded the VHS tape past the parts with Arnold Schwarzenegger to see his hero Lou Ferrigno. Ferrigno was robbed of the Mr. Olympia title in the film. He was so much better, so much bigger than the Austrian.

  Aside from fighting, pumping iron was the only other thing that soothed Beryl’s beast. Once Beryl could content himself with boinking fairies. But the wilty women held no interest for him any longer. He wanted a flesh and blood woman. One he could call his own. One his dragon could sink its teeth into and claim.

  It had been weeks since Morrigan had agreed to find him a sacrifice. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on.

  "Did you take my Terminator speedos?”

  The weights clanked again as Beryl let them fall to the floor. Over him stood a male with glowing, dark eyes. As always, the runt of their litter was ready to pick a fight to assert his dominance.

  “Why would I touch your underwear, Ilia?” Beryl shrugged, grabbing a Classic Coke from the refrigeration unit that Morrigan had brought back some time ago. “They would never fit what I’m carrying.”

  Ilia scoffed. “You may have got the height amongst the three of us, but I most certainly got the girth.”

  Beryl knew he shouldn’t give in to the petty argument. Like him, Ilia was just itching for a reason to throw his fists. Neither dragon had anything better to do.

  Beryl had already benched a thousand pounds. His blood was still pumping and overworked after his fight yesterday. It might soothe him to pound his brother in the face for a few minutes. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure he had his beast wrangled enough to not actually kill Ilia.

  "You're just mad Arnold won the title,” Ilia sing-songed. “You know the Terminator would beat the Hulk any day."

  And there snapped his control. Beryl rose. It didn't take much for the dragons to fight. Those were serious fighting words. Everyone knew the Hulk was stronger than that hunk of mealy-mouthed metal.

  Beryl nearly shifted as he faced off with his brother, but he held himself back. He was wearing a Gold’s Gym T-shirt. The Valkyrie said that particular garment was getting harder and harder to find beyond the Veil. He didn’t want to ruin this one. It was his favorite.

  "Whatever," said Beryl. "If you want to root for the bad guy who travels back in time to destroy all of humanity, then go have at it. The Hulk fights for the underdog.”

  “Does not,” was Ilia’s retort. “Bannon can’t control the beast inside of him. But the Terminator is all control.”

  “Oh, yeah? If the Terminator is such a hero, then why does he die in a burning vat of fire never to return?”

  Ilia had no retort for that. The Hulk might be out of control, but he was always on the side of good. And the Terminator only got one film, and he died at the end. Bannon kept working to keep the beast under control. They hadn’t seen the end of the series, but Beryl was certain the green man and the human had to come to harmony one day. They were heroes. That’s what heroes did.

  Beryl stormed passed his brother. But his beast continued to pace inside his gut. Maybe he should go find a fairy to relieve some of this pressure in his lions. Who knew when Morrigan would return with his sacrifice. And even if she did, he'd likely have to fight his other brothers for her.

  Well, only Ilia. Elek had no desire for a mate. Rhoyl couldn’t do anything with a mate if he tried, being that he’d been stuck in dragon form for years.

  So, it would just be him and Ilia. Ilia looked for any reason to fight. The runt of their litter was always aiming to prove himself in the family of bigger mal
es.

  Beryl caught sight of Elek as the silent man walked in and out of the shadows of the castle. He was likely headed to visit his mother. Miyaoaxochitl had been nonresponsive since she'd delivered Elek and lost his brother.

  Corun and Chryssie were in their rooms above. Kimber was in the mines. His mate Cardi, who wasn’t yet of age to claim, was likely in the game room playing a videogame; one of the fighting ones where she got to use a weapon to explode men’s heads off their bodies.

  Beryl thought he saw Rhoyl flying out the window. But, no, it wasn’t his brother’s blue scales. This dragon had brown scales. Only purebreds had brown scales.

  Beryl recognized the dragon. It belonged to the Valkyrie, Morrigan. She was here.

  With Ilia down in the man cave, Beryl could get to the sacrifice first. He could mark her, and she would be his without a fight. He raced to the back door just in time for the Valkyrie to land.

  "Where is she?" Beryl demanded.

  "Slow your roll, scaly boy.” Morrigan hopped from the dragon’s back. “I’ve got a lot of things to unload."

  "You have her? You have my sacrifice?"

  "I have Cardi's John Hughes collection of angsty redheaded girls who chase after boys. Or wait? Is it just one girl? The same one every time? I can’t tell. All humans look alike. I have Corun’s ultrasound machine so he can spy on his whelps, which tells you what kind of parent he will be. And you were looking for the newest Donkey Kong—”

  "Enough," Beryl growled.

  The Valkyrie's eyes glowed dangerously bright.

  Beryl dipped his head. Dragons might be at the top of the food chain in the Veil. He could roar at his brothers. He could choke out a lion. But he wouldn't survive a Valkyrie's wrath or sword. The daughters of the Goddess were beyond the food chain.

  Up above, Beryl saw Rhoyl’s blue scales shimmer in the moonlight. His brother hovered, watching them. From a window, he saw Elek looking down, amber eyes glowing in the night. Rhoyl and Elek would join the fight if it were necessary. And they’d both perish.