The Scarlet Dragon Saga

by J. P. Rice

  I could handle the introduction myself. “Hi, my name is Gale. I work in the same business as Tyr.”

  “I’m Luna. You sell rare books, too?” she asked, the bridge of her nose wrinkling.

  She stepped forward and extended her arm to shake my hand. Embarrassed, I flashed a filthy hand from behind my back momentarily. I shrugged my shoulders, hoping she only saw the dirt and not the crusty blood stains. As soon as she saw my hand, she yanked her arm away and took a step back, moving closer to Tyr.

  I lied. “Sure do. And it can be a crazy business, let me tell you.” I took out my phone and pretended to read a text.

  Luna pointed at my phone and said, “You should take a pickcha of us and send it to me. I’ll give you my numbah latah. My phone is awl the way upstairs and we just look so good together. It would be a crime not to document it.” She laughed hideously as she moved in closer to Tyr, poked him playfully on the nose and tilted her head against his chest.

  Then it hit me. Her accent reminded me of Fran Drescher in The Nanny, even down to the mind numbing, obnoxious eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh machine gun-style laugh. How did Tyr put up with that?

  Was she trying to assert her territory? Or was this picture intended to torture me? Forcing me to keep a constant reminder of their relationship. I didn’t want any pictures of Tyr and this skank on my phone. I didn’t want it to remind me of the pain I had to endure with my missing husband.

  I slapped on a fake smile. “Sure.” I wasn’t great with all the apps on cell phones, but I knew how to work the camera feature. I snapped a quick pic and Luna made me promise that I would send her a copy when she gave me her phone number.

  Tyr wagged a finger at me and suggested, “Why don’t I show you to the guest room, so you can shower? While you clean up, I’ll see if Luna has anything for you to wear.”

  Tyr led me through the kitchen and down a hallway. He approached a door at the end and opened it. The scent of flower petals, cinnamon and vanilla rushed out of the room and danced playfully in my nostrils. Tyr held out his beefy arm, gesturing for me to enter. I grinned and walked through the jamb.

  Whoa. My quarters looked like a plush hotel room. The king-sized bed had nearly twenty pillows on it and mahogany nightstands flanked the head. In the corner sat a dresser as tall as me with towels and washcloths on top. Clear glass bowls of fragrant potpourri had been placed on the nightstands and dresser.

  Tyr pointed to a door near the dresser. “There is your bathroom. I’ll leave you now, June.”

  He bowed his head chivalrously, turned around and left, shutting the door gently on his way out. I had to control myself around Tyr. The more I found out, the more I liked the man. I hated using the P word, but Tyr was as close to perfect as could be.

  In the past, I had constantly compared him to my husband. Recently though, I only thought about Tyr. I hadn’t given up on reuniting with my husband, but over the past decade I’d come to peace with the fact that it might not happen. It was the hardest realization I’d ever reached. A necessary one, but earth shattering nonetheless.

  Being around Tyr had stirred up some emotions that my old ass hadn’t felt in years. He was the only one who could get my motor running, so to speak. I still wouldn’t cheat on my husband—I didn’t count Zeus’s trickery or what I had to endure when I’d gone undercover in the Red Cavern—but the former Norse God of War was making it difficult.

  As I stepped into the foggy mist of the hot shower, I tried to clear my head and think about what had happened. I’d forced my way into the heart of the battle between the vamps and wolf shifters, which now seemed like a terrible move. That evil bitch known as hindsight had reared her ugly head again.

  Either Jonathan or Octavius was lying. A strong hunch told me that it was probably both of them. I expected it from Octavius, but not Jonathan.

  I still wasn’t any closer to finding Lugh’s Spear and doubted it was around Pittsburgh. Perhaps it was best if I didn’t go on another wild goose chase. But the desire still burned. If I could just bring peace to the vamps and wolves, then return Lugh’s Spear to its rightful owner, the pantheon would have to let me in. They couldn’t deny my noble deeds or overlook me as a God anymore.

  I wasn’t exactly off to an auspicious start as peacemaker considering I’d killed a few wolves. In my defense, this is a dog eat dog business and they were trying to kill me too. Slow pokes died first, folks. We could still reach a peace accord, but it would take much more effort to make that happen now. I also had to watch my back for Octavius’ henchmen.

  Feeling refreshed, I stepped out of the shower and toweled myself off. As I dried my hair, a silver object on the counter next to the sink caught my eye, and I picked it up. It looked like a trident throwing star to the untrained eye. I knew it as the Helm of Awe, an Icelandic magical stave comprised from Norse rune symbols.

  Eight spiked trident-like arms stemmed out from a central point. The arms were Norse Z runes which symbolized protection and victory in battle. Many regarded it as a symbol of protection, while others opined that it represented prevailing over one’s enemies. I set the Helm of Awe back down and used the mouthwash to get some life back in my leathery tongue.

  I went back into the bedroom and saw that Tyr had laid out a bathrobe and a pajama top and bottom for me. I ran my fingers through my frizzy hair and felt a rush of cold air brush over my bare shoulders. I wheeled around and saw Tyr standing at the open door.

  He asked, “Is everything all right, my dear?”

  I made sure the towel was covering my lady bits and tried to slow down my racing heart. “Just fine. Thanks again.”

  Tyr walked in and shut the door behind him, causing my heart to skip a beat. I stood in place, frozen by his magnificence and fearful of my impulses.

  His soft words broke the warm silence, “I’m pretty sure those will fit you.” He pointed at the pajamas, but I couldn’t avert my gaze from his full lips.

  An awkward bout of sexual tension ensued as we stared lustfully into each other’s eyes. I turned and ran my hand through my wet hair again, trying to turn down the temperature of the moment. I asked, “So have you been back to Midgard lately?”

  Tyr walked over to the dresser and played with pieces of potpourri as he spoke, “Not in a long time, actually. Odin put a bounty on my head last time I was there. That stupid geezer. He’s absolutely insane these days, June. You wouldn’t believe it.”

  “So you don’t know what is going on anymore?”

  “No. I talk to Loki every great once in a while. As far as I know, Odin is beyond repair.”

  I asked, “So who is the heir right now? Does he still go back and forth between Loki and Thor depending on which one gets on his nerves? Not quite fair to Thor considering he’s Odin’s son.”

  Tyr sniffed a busted cinnamon stick and tossed it back in the bowl. “He apparently got pissed at Thor a while back and denounced his right to the throne, naming Loki in his stead. Well, Thor didn’t take too kindly to that and took off for Midgard. That was about two years ago, and nobody has seen him since. I assumed there would at least be a spotting or two during that time, but he seems to have up and vanished in a cloud of smoke.”

  I didn’t want to tell him about how Thor had been spotted in Pittsburgh. “So Loki is set to take over as the King of the Gods?”

  “So it should seem,” he said, leaning against the dresser. “I’ve talked to some other people from Asgard that are a bit worried about the God of Mischief becoming the supreme Norse ruler.”

  I could understand that notion considering I hated Loki. “I thought you were good friends with him. If he takes over, he could reinstall you into the pantheon again.”

  Tyr drummed the side of the dresser with two fingers as he spoke, “Tragically, that ship has sailed, June. Besides, I barely talk to Loki anymore. I doubt he would take sympathy on me. I’ve moved on and there is no going back.”

  “I understand that. I don’t know why I keep messing around with the Celtic Gods.” />
  “You and me both. The best advice I can give you is stay away from the spear. Is the bed to your liking?” asked Tyr as he cocked his head to the side.

  “I suppose. I haven’t really checked it out.” Holding the towel carefully, I shimmied up onto the bed and lay my head back on the heavenly soft pillows.

  Before I could blink, Tyr was sitting on the edge of the bed, his kissable face inches from mine, causing feelings deep, deep inside that I shouldn’t be having. He smiled, his arm falling harmlessly to his side and landing on my forearm, striking a match that had been reserved for only one man.

  He rubbed my elbow with his thumb and I arched my back in reaction. It was creepy when Lauren had done it, but Tyr’s gentle touch felt so right.

  Tyr leaned down, and I thought he was going to kiss me, but he turned at the last moment and brushed his cheek against mine. His facial hair was at that perfect length between being skin-shredding stubble and limp shag carpeting. It bristled over my ear, tossing the match onto a pile of recently gathered kindling.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Tyr whispered in my ear, his warm breath dancing seductively on my neck, driving me crazy. “If you ever decide to give up on Darabond. Mind you, I’m not suggesting that remotely. But if you do, you’ll have men lining up to be with you. And I’ll come in and kill every, single, one of those men. And there I shall stand, waiting patiently for your honor.”

  His full lips hit my neck, right below my ear and it felt like my body was about to explode. I planted my right heel in the mattress and pushed against it, pulling away from Tyr. Undeterred, he moved down and left a soft kiss on my bare shoulder. The kindling crackled under the unrelenting force of the heat, the flames licking higher with each passing moment and playfully kissing the split logs, tempting them to take part in the warm fun.

  After one more peck with his silky-smooth lips, my impulses kicked in. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair, digging my nails into his scalp. Caught up in the moment, my body throbbing with passion, I pulled his face toward mine. Our lips met, and my entire body buzzed with pure unadulterated pleasure.

  He ran his hand up my side, and even with the thick towel covering me, it sent shock waves up my spine. His hand stopped on the side of my chest, his thumb resting teasingly against the bottom of my boob. A can of gasoline fell into the fire, instantly exploding into enormous flames.

  Our tongues mingled with each other and I never wanted the moment to end. He pulled back and smiled, fanning the flames of unbridled passion. He tugged at the towel covering me and I arched my back to help him get it off.

  Out of nowhere, images of my Darabond flooded into my head, dumping a bathtub of ice water on my internal fire. Tyr leaned in for a kiss and I turned to the side. His lips mashed into my cheek.

  “We need to stop now,” I whispered and adjusted my towel.

  I expected an argument, but the gentleman popped up from the bed. “No rush.” He walked elegantly over to the door, opened it and turned to face me. “I’ll always be here.” He bowed his head, shut the door, and I was alone again.

  Forever alone.

  I took a few deep breaths, my chest still buzzing out of control with excitement. That could have gotten out of hand quickly. After two-hundred years of pent up sexual frustration, I couldn’t believe I was the one who stopped it from happening. With my skin still sizzling in anticipation that would remain unfulfilled, I used the towel to fan myself off.

  I heard a thump against the door and sat up in bed. I reached down and picked the robe up off the floor. Silently sliding out of bed, I slipped on the robe and tied it securely as I crept toward the door. “Hello? Is someone there?” I called.

  “Come in, I’d like to,” uttered a familiar voice. I recognized the gruff tone and the Yoda speech pattern.

  A nostalgic smile spread across my face. I opened the door and saw the Hound of Pittsburgh in all his glory, his obsidian coat shining under the hall lights. “Come on in, buddy.”

  The hound pushed a bowl of water into the room with his nose. I leaned down and hugged him, then scratched him on the back of the neck. He licked my face a few times and mashed his wet nose into my neck.

  As he looked up at me with his deep brown eyes, I noticed he was going gray around his mouth, which made for a dignified beard. I petted his head and ran my open hand down his floppy ear. The Hound of Pittsburgh was unique in that he didn’t track down clues like most hounds.

  As a cerebral individual, he excelled at analyzing clues. He normally gave me hints to solve a problem, but he never supplied direct answers. Hopefully, that had changed since I could use some direct information out of him. I’d had enough teasing for one night.

  I joked, “You really thirsty, or are you planning to stay a while?”

  As he moved the bowl closer, I realized it had a layer of foam on top. He said, “Sorry, I am. Sixty Minute I.P.A., this is. Love that shit, I do. So. Long time, it has been for us.”

  I sat down at the foot of the bed as the Hound lapped up some beer. “I know. I missed our talks while I was lying low for a while.”

  The hound retracted his long, spotted tongue and looked up at me. “Now back, you are?”

  That was a damn good question. “It sure looks that way. Although no one has the answers I’m looking for.”

  The Hound tilted his head to the side, steeped in thought. Squinting, he asked, “Your father, have you seen?”

  “No. I’ve been putting it off.”

  He nodded slowly as he spoke, “Father, you should see. Always the answers, he shall have. Willing to share with you, he is. Know that, you should by now.”

  I looked away, embarrassed. “I know. I just get nervous around him. He’s never said it, but I feel like he sees me as a disappointment. And he just deals with me out of the goodness of his heart.”

  The Hound raised his voice, “Nonsense, that is. Proud, he is of you. Emotions. Hard for men, they are. Embarrassment for him in raising you, you see. Love you with all his heart, he does. Words and feelings, often match, they do not with strong men.”

  I agreed, “I guess I know. You’re right, though. He always has the answers.”

  The Hound chuckled. “Little boys, you mess with. Real man, this job is suited for.”

  I asked, “So you live with Tyr now?”

  The Hound of Pittsburgh and I became friends a long time ago when I’d taken him in as a stray. He had stayed with me for about six months before chasing after a bitch who would eventually break his heart. We had remained in contact over the years and he always provided sound counsel.

  The Hound explained, “Bounce around, I do. Nice though, this place is. My favorite beer, he always has. For a hound, not so bad, it is.”

  “I should say so. Have you heard anything about my Darabond?” I asked, biting my bottom lip.

  “Waiting for you to ask, I was. News would be nothing, I have heard,” said the Hound, devoid of emotion.

  How about another long shot question? “What about the spear?”

  The Hound lapped up some more beer, wetting his dry tongue. He smacked his lips and answered, “Vicious rumors, I have heard. Waste your time with that, why do you?”

  I leaned over and lay down on my side, using my fist to prop up my head. “I don’t know. I’m trying to better myself. And I thought if I could return the spear to Lugh and bring peace to the wolves and vampires...”

  He cut me off, “Entry into the pantheon, you would get.”

  I waffled. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just crazy because everyone has changed since I lived here last.”

  The Hound looked up at the ceiling and his nostrils flared. “Trust. Difficult, it is. Extra careful, you need be. People have lied to you, I am sensing.”

  “That’s my problem. I don’t know whom to trust. Either Jonathan or Octavius is playing me for a fool. Can you help me out with that and give me a name? Or are you just going to give me more cryptic messages that will keep
me up all night?”

  He smirked and his long incisors poked out of his lips. “Liars are often the most unexpected, I have found. Gain trust, they will. Until you lower your guard, they wait. Then strike, they will. Names, I cannot give you. Decide alone, you must.”

  Oh hell, it could be Jonathan or Octavius or both. Perhaps I could boil it down to the people in Pittsburgh that I knew wouldn’t lie to me. That tiny scrap of paper would consist of Tyr, my father, Owen and my employees at the agency. I was on a mission of peace, but if I found out Jonathan or Octavius was playing me, bloody murder would soon follow.

  The Hound finished his beer and crawled up into the bed with me. I tucked him under the covers and we talked for another hour. As the Hound began to snore loudly, I was alone with my thoughts again. Who was the liar? That question danced around my head as I realized I had balled up some of the comforter and was digging my nails into it again.

  Now I was beyond frustrated in more ways than one. I needed answers about the spear, and one man normally had them. Time for a surprise visit to see my father.

  Chapter 9

  The butler led me into the expansive foyer of my father’s house. I bounced around nervously as the man went to alert my father of my presence. I still didn’t know if my father had ever told his new family that I was his daughter. They probably viewed me as someone trying to nose into their inheritance.

  Quite the contrary. I had no need for my father’s money. My dragon sense caused me to bury stashes of gold and gems all around Pittsburgh. I didn’t need an ATM. Only my map of the locations.

  I took short breaths through my mouth because the musty smell hanging heavy in the air made me want to gag. Three cockroaches skittered across the stone floor and sneaked into a crack in the wall.

  My father was the famous King Nuada, original King of Ireland, King of the Celtic Gods. He’d never revealed his actual age to me, but he had been around for over two thousand years. After tiring of dealing with all the petty problems of the Gods, he stepped away and came to Pittsburgh. He’d found a new wife who had three young daughters about twenty years ago.