Exclusive – The Dragon’s Treasure (Never Published)

Chapter One

Monica

The thing about being a cryptozoologist is that you have to have thick skin. People laugh, ridicule, and look down their snooty little noses you when you tell them what you do. They call it a pseudoscience, a hoax, maybe even a joke. And that's only if they're being nice.

Of course, it's not all that surprising. Most people don't think outside their little boxes. Their comfort zones. They see the world one way and one way only. So, when you tell them that you're studying Bigfoot, the Chupacabra, or any other number of cryptids, that challenges their notion of the world, it pulls them out of their comfort zones. Which, of course, makes them think you're a loon or a crackpot.

Yeah, to be a cryptozoologist, it has to be a passion for you. Something that fires you up inside. And you can't worry about what other people think. You have to do it for you.

It took me a while to learn those lessons. I endured a lot of angst and frustration with people and their attitudes about what I did. Even lost a few friends over it along the way. Eventually though, I stopped trying to share my enthusiasm for the subject with others. I learned to reserve it for meeting with other people who understood me and shared that same passion.

We cryptozoologists are like our own little club. A secret society. Or maybe, judging by the reactions of others, just a colony of lepers. But I don't worry about pleasing others. Or worry about what they might think about me or my pursuits. Not anymore, anyway.

For me, it's exciting. Thrilling. And endlessly fascinating. I don't see the world in strict shades of black and white. I know there are endless shades of gray and there is more to this world than we can see or possibly comprehend. To me, it's the height of arrogance to think we know it all and that there is nothing out there capable of surprising us anymore.

“Are you in?”, comes the voice of Spoon – my best friend – over my Bluetooth headset.

I scramble up the pile of rocks that are clogging up the cave and squeeze through a narrow opening at the top. It takes a little doing – and a scrape on the elbow – but eventually, I get through and scramble down the other side.

It's darker than pitch, so I pull out my headlamp, put it around my head, and turn it on. The beam of light slices through the shadows, but much of the passageway remains in inky darkness.

“Yeah,” I say. “It's a tight fit, but I'm in.”

“What do you see?”

“Not a lot,” I reply. “It's darker than hell in here.”

“That's why flashlights were invented, you know.”

“Smartass.”

Bernard Witherspoon – otherwise known as Spoon – has been my best friend since high school. While he's not as into cryptozoology as I am – truthfully, he's not really into it at all – he never discourages me from pursuing it. Never laughs at me or calls me ridiculous. He encourages me to do those things that make me happy – no matter how ridiculous others might think they are. Sometimes – like today – he even tags along.

He's always telling me that we've got one go 'round in this life, so we need to do the things that bring us the most joy. It took some time – and more years than I care to remember – being bored stiff with life as a CPA before that advice finally took.

I haven't been wholly impractical about things though. I used the money I'd saved from my job as well as a moderate inheritance I received after my parents passed to open a Tae Kwan Do and self-defence studio. Being a black belt myself and believing that everybody should be able to defend themselves, it just made sense for me.

My studio does pretty well – well enough that I can have several full-time instructors. That allows me the freedom to do what I love – chasing monsters.

I fish a flashlight out of my bag and flip it on, sweeping it around the darkened cavern. I'm standing in a long passageway and the beam of light doesn't go far enough to show me just how far it goes. But hey, in for a penny, in for a pound. There's no way I'm going back out there before I see where this tunnel goes – and see if what I'm searching for is actually down there.

“So, what is it we're doing here again?” Spoon asks.

“Well, you,” I say, “are making sure somebody knows where I am just in case this cave collapses on me.”

“Right,” he replies. “I'm here to tell the coroner where to find your body.”

“Exactly,” I say.

“Seriously, Indy,” he said. “What's in that cave that has you so fired up? You've been talking about coming out here for weeks.”

I pick my way carefully along the rocky path in the tunnel – the last thing I want to do is turn an ankle or hurt myself. Spoon won't be able to get me out of there – and judging by the wall of rocks I climbed over, I have doubts that emergency crews will be able to either. It's a theory I have no intention of testing.

“If I find it, you'll be the first to know,” I reply. “Well, second, actually.”

“Okay fine,” he says. “But if this thing turns out to be like The Descent and you have all kinds of demony things chasing you, you're on your own, baby.”

“Noted,” I say and laugh.

Spoon and I are big movie buffs and sometimes enjoy all day movie marathons. Although, those have become a little less frequent since he got together with Tommy. But he's happy, so I'm happy. We get together when we can and still enjoy ourselves – which usually includes a lot of movie references and bits of dialogue. It's just our thing.

Hence, him calling me Indy – as in Indiana Jones. He said the name is apt given how much time I spend crawling through caves, looking for mysterious objects and all. I tried to correct him at first – my name is Monica – but eventually, I just gave up and it stuck.

“Not even a little hint?” Spoon asks.

“If I told you, you wouldn't even understand,” I reply. “It's more of a visual thing.”

“Let me guess,” he says. “You're looking for Bigfoot's family photo album?”

I laugh. “Such a smartass,” I say. “No, what I'm looking for is older than Bigfoot. Much older.”

“Intriguing,” he replies. “I didn't know we were going antiquing today. I would have worn more comfortable shoes.”

Spoon has always been able to make me laugh. No matter how down I'm feeling, he can just help put my mind and heart at ease. He never fails to help take my mind off of things until I get to feeling better. He's a great guy. One of the best I've ever known. And if he was straight, maybe my personal life wouldn't be the hot mess it currently is.

The tunnel ends in a cavern. Shining my light around, it's roughly circular in shape and has walls that are oddly smooth. And as I shine my light around, I can see it's not accidental. This chamber had been carved and smoothed out at some point in history by somebody – or something. On the walls, there are paintings and some markings that look sort of like old hieroglyphics or something.

My pulse quickens and my heart begins to race as I realize – this is it. This is what I've been looking for. And it's in that moment I realize that part of me honestly didn't think I'd ever actually find it. That didn't think it was actually real.

It's a shocking realization to make to myself. All this time I've been out here hunting for it, not to mention the countless hours of research I'd put in – and in that moment, I realized I'd been lying to myself all along. Or at least, infusing myself with more optimism than was probably real or practical.

But none of that matters now. I'm here. I found it.

“You're awfully quiet in there, Indy,” Spoon says. “You still alive?”

“Yeah,” I reply, almost breathless. “I – I'm fine.”

“Really?” he asks. “Because you don't sound fine. You're all out of breath. What's up?”

I don't know how to explain it to him – this feeling I have. Finding the chamber is a huge deal for me. Of course, it means nothing if the object I think is here actually isn't. If it's not, this is just an empty room.

“Stand by,” I say.

I move to what looks like a stone altar in the center of the room. I marvel as I run my hands over the glyphs carved into the smooth, polished, dark rock. I test the top of the altar and find that it's solid. Unmoving. But I have to believe that what I'm looking for is there.

Putting my hands against the edge of the top, I lean into it. Pushing as hard as I can, driving with my legs, I feel it give. It's slight, but it moved. I felt it move. A surge of adrenaline accompanies the rush of excitement flowing through me. I put my back into it and drive forward as hard as I can – and the stone lid of the altar slides off, crashing to the floor.

The sound of stone collapsing and breaking is loud, echoing around the chamber, and kicking up a cloud of dust that sends me into a coughing fit.

“Monica,” Spoon's voice, full of concern, comes through the headset. “Are you okay? What was that noise?”

I take a minute to catch my breath and stop coughing. “Fine,” I say. “I'm good, Spoon.”

“What was that noise?”

I fall silent and feel my eyes grow wide as I look inside the altar. Excitement doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling in that moment. Stunned. Shock, maybe. As I look at the object nestled inside the stone altar, I feel tears well in my eyes.

I found it. It's real and I actually found it.

Chapter Two

“So, that's beautiful,” Spoon says.

I nod, still unable to speak as I admire the object sitting between us on my kitchen table. It's silver, studded with dark stones, and is about the shape of an egg – though a bit larger. And it is covered in those same intricate runes or glyphs that covered the walls inside the chamber.

“What is it exactly?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I honestly don't know.”

Spoon looks at me and shakes his head. “Then how did you know it was there?”

I give him a small smile. “Research.”

He nods. “Okay, so is it like Mayan or Aztec, maybe?” he asks. “I mean, those carvings look kinda Mayan or Aztec.”

I shake my head. “No, they're not Mayan or Aztec.”

He arches an eyebrow at me. “You're not really going to tell me this is like a Bigfoot thing, are you?”

“No, it's not a Bigfoot thing,” I say, my voice still tinged with awe.

“Then – what is it?”

I look up at Spoon, giving him a small smile. “If I explain it to you, you'll think I'm crazy.”

He shrugs. “I already think you're crazy,” he replies with a grin. “It's part of your charm.”

I sigh, unable to take my eyes off of the thing. “A couple of years ago, I found some old texts on an ancient race of beings – dragon-people.”

“Dragon-people?”

Even though he's been my biggest supporter, not even Spoon can keep the skepticism out of his voice. Not that I blame him, really. Trust me, I know how crazy it sounds. But, I nod.

“Dragon-people,” I reply. “More specifically, people who can somehow transform themselves into dragons.”

Spoon runs a hand through his hair and I watch his eyes shift from me to the object on the table. I can tell he's trying to wrap his head around this reality and the reality of the silver egg-shaped object on the table before us.

“I was intrigued, of course,” I say. “And I researched everything I could find. Information is hard to find – there's just not a whole lot of lore on the subject. But references to these things show up in ancient Egypt – earlier.”

“Okay,” Spoon says, pointing at the egg. “Then what's this?”

“Honestly, I don't know,” I reply. “Some of the texts I read though, talk about artifacts of these dragon-people. Objects that hold some great magical power. This is one of them.”

Spoon runs his hand over the smooth surface of the egg, looking at it with both awe and like it's a coiled snake, ready to strike.

“So, what does this thing do?” he asks.

I shrug. “I don't know,” I admit. “To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure it even existed. There was a big piece of me that thought I was just on another wild goose chase.”

A long moment of silence stretched out between us, both of us simply sitting there, staring at the silver and dark stone encrusted egg.

“What are you gonna do with it, Indy?”

I shake my head. “Not sure yet,” I reply. “Maybe talk to people in the crypto community better versed in the dragon-people than I am. See if they can figure out what this is and what it does?”

“You don't think it has one of these dragon-people inside, just waiting to pop out like some jack-in-the-box from hell, do you?”

I laugh. “Probably not,” I say. “Hopefully.”

Spoon looks at his watch. “I should probably go,” he says. “Tommy's taking me out tonight.”

I nod. “Thanks for having my back today.”

He gives me a grin and reaches across the table, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I've always got your back,” he says. “You know that, right?”

“I do,” I say. “And that's one of the many reasons I love you.”

He stands up. “Be careful with that thing, Indy,” he says. “I don't know what it is, but something about just feels – off.”

Snapping him a quick salute, I grin. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

I hear the front door close behind Spoon, leaving me alone with my prize. I stare at it, not sure what I'm feeling in that moment. Part of me knows I should be celebrating. This egg validates all of my hard work, my belief, and more importantly, it validates everything we in the crypto community are doing. This is solid, tangible proof that the world is indeed, much bigger and the creatures in it, much stranger than anybody can even begin to imagine.

This is actual proof that we're not just a bunch of crackpots and loons out chasing shadows and imaginary monsters.

But something in the back of my mind is stunting my enthusiasm. I can't stop the ominous feeling that's settled down over me. It's heavy and oppressive. The egg seems to be vibrating with this – dark energy.

I can't explain it. Don't understand it. But even Spoon picked up on it, so I know it's not just all in my head. There is a darkness that seems to be saturating the very air in the room around me. Tainting it. It's irrational, but I feel completely on edge and I can't shake the feeling that something bad is coming. Something really, really bad.

I wrap the egg up in cloth and set it in the steel strongbox. Closing the lid, I lock it up and put it in its hiding place – beneath one of the floorboards in the living room. Yeah, maybe it's a little paranoid of me, but I'll sleep better knowing exactly where it is at all times.

That is, if this persistent and increasing ominous feeling allows me to get any sleep at all.

Chapter Three

Juran

Our blades ring as they connect when I parry a thrust aimed at my chest, pushing the blade to the side. I spin to the left, producing a long, curved dagger as I move. She's ready for it though, and uses her own dagger to deflect my slashing blade.

She brings her sword back to bear, taking a big cut at my neck – and that's her fatal mistake. I deftly knock her blade to the side, her momentum carrying her forward. Spinning behind her, I pull her against my body and lay the blade of my dagger against her throat.

“It's just not your day, is it, love?” I whisper in her ear.

I laugh and am rewarded with a hard elbow to the stomach that drives the air straight out of my lungs. I double over, clutching my gut, when I feel the steel of her blade beneath my chin. She raises my head so that I'm looking her in the eye and can see the wicked little smile on her face.

“I guess it's not your day,” she says. “Is it, love?”

I take a moment to catch my breath before I stand up laughing and shake my head. I lift my sword and give her a salute. She smiles wide and bows.

“Well done, Lenja,” I say. “You're learning to improvise. Take advantage of your opponent's weaknesses.”

“Good thing for me that you're an arrogant ass,” she laughs.

“Indeed.”

Lenja is one of my students – one of the more promising in my group of recruits. It's my job to train our young warriors – the next group of potential Guardians. Get them ready to battle the Ezakoril – the dark Dragons we refer to as the Shadowlords. Their only goal is to dominate this world and enslave the people. They believe that humanity is a plague upon the world and their only real use is to serve the Ezakoril. Or be killed.

My people, the Rezakul, believe in the opposite. For the most part, we enjoy humanity. We fight to defend them from threats like the Shadowlords. Although we could exterminate humanity if we wanted to, the Rezakul believe that this world is theirs as much as ours – and we are content to share it.

“Juran.”

I turn to find Thysel, the commander of the Guardians, standing there. I bow my head and when I notice my young charge not following suit, elbow her in the ribs. She gives me an annoyed look and then seems to remember herself, bowing her head in deference to Commander Thysel. He chuckles softly and shakes his head.

“I hate to take you away from your lessons,” Thysel says. “But we have an important matter to discuss. Please, walk with me.”

“Yes, m'lord,” I reply and then turn to Lenja. “Find a sparring partner. Continue practicing your forms. I will return soon.”

“Yes, Captain.”

I turn and fall into step beside Thysel, wondering what this important matter is that needs to be discussed. It could be anything from a rescue, to artifact retrieval, to assassination. Once in a while, one of the Shadowlords will worm themselves into a position of power somewhere in the world. Give themselves a foothold as they begin to initiate some larger plan aimed at conquering the world of man. And over the centuries, I've had to eliminate more than a few of them.

The Guardians are many things – training the young is just one of our responsibilities. Guardians are the warriors of the Rezakul and keepers of the artifacts. More specifically, we are tasked with retrieving artifacts once they are discovered. But a genuine artifact has not been discovered in more than a century. Some doubted they would ever be recovered.

The artifacts of our people are many. And each is imbued with a special, mystical power. And in the wrong hands – namely, that of the Shadowlords – that power can be exploited to catastrophic consequences. Which is why we stop at nothing to retrieve the artifacts and keep them safely hidden away. It is our duty and obligation to this world to keep it safe.

Our ancestors, many millennia ago, waged a war against the Shadowlords. It was vicious and it was brutal. They laid waste to much of the world in their quest to destroy the Ezakoril once and for all. They didn't succeed as total annihilation was not achieved. It was close, but not complete.

Our ancestors though, were able to harness the destructive energies the Shadowlords were using and created the artifacts as a way of containing them. With the artifacts created, they then scattered them around the world, hiding them deep with the hope of keeping them from ever being found. Records were destroyed and over the centuries and millennia, knowledge of them was lost.

Every now and then though, one of them pops up when somebody is unfortunate enough to find one. And it's my job – and the job of the other Guardians, of course – to retrieve and keep it from falling into the hands of the Shadowlords.

We walk into his office and he motions for me to sit. I take the chair in front of his desk as he drops down into the seat behind it. Thysel is old – seven hundred years old at least. And he's been in charge of this garrison for centuries. He's too old for working in the field anymore, but he's still a very effective leader.

I don't know how much longer he has in the world, but I hope he's with us for many more centuries to come. I value Thysel's wisdom, as well as his experience, and have found myself leaning on it quite often.

A moment later, the door to Thysel's office opens and a young girl bearing a tray loaded with refreshments enters. She sets the tray down on Thysel's desk, pours us each a cup of tea, and gives me a smile.

“Will there be anything else, my lord?” she asks Thysel.

The old man shakes his head. “No, my dear,” he replies. “Thank you. I'll call if I need you, but please feel free to return to your studies.”

She bows her head and departs without another word. I hand the Commander a cup of tea before taking my own, sitting back down and savoring the rich aroma wafting from the cup.

“Dragon leaf tea. We don't get much of this anymore,” I say, a small smile playing upon my lips. “Must either be a special occasion or you're going to ask me for a very large favor.”

The old man chuckles. “Am I that transparent?”

“After all these centuries together, I think I've learned your tricks, old man.”

He laughs and nods his head. “I've never been able to get anything past you, Juran,” he says. “Always too smart for me.”

I take another sip of the tea, savoring the flavor of it. Dragon leaf tea is rare. As the human world has grown and blossomed, the land we used to grow it on has vanished. As a result, it's grown in very few places anymore and our stores of it have dwindled.

Thysel looks at me

“So, don't keep me in suspense,” I say. “What is my mission?”

“Artifact retrieval,” he says.

I nod slowly. “So, another has been found,” I say. “After all this time. Do we know which one?”

Thysel grimaces. “It's the Heart of Ethagor.”

I set my tea cup down and run a hand through my hair. Ethagor was one of the ancient Shadowlords who had very nearly conquered the world many millennia ago. Today, he is a ghost story told to the young. A bogeyman. I remember hearing his name whispered as a cautionary tale when I was young. It was only later, after I grew up and became a Guardian, that I learned he was all too real.

Ethagor was powerful. One of the most powerful Shadowlords who ever existed. Making the matter worse was that he was evil, through and through.

If the Shadowlords got hold of the Heart and were able to release his essence back into the world – it would be incredibly bad for all of us.

“Do we know where?”

“The Mystic has a name,” Thysel replied.

I nod, my mood suddenly turning somber and serious. “I can do my own research and find the information I need,” I say. “Do we know if the Shadowlords know of its discovery?”

“I think it best to operate under the assumption they do,” he replies.

“Then I should leave immediately,” I say. “We cannot afford to let them get to it first.”

Thysel nods. “I agree,” he says. “But please, finish your tea first. As you said, it is a rare treat.”

I smile and sit back in my seat, relishing the taste of the tea. All the while though, my mind is consumed with thoughts of the Heart, fearing the ramifications for this world – for all of us – if the Shadowlords get to it first.

Chapter Four

Monica

“Excellent work today, class,” I say. “Very well done.”

I bow to them and they bow to me in return. After that, they grab their bags and filter out into the dying light of the afternoon, heading home for the day. As much as I love working in the crypto community and doing what I do, teaching martial arts and self-defence is not only something I enjoy, it pays the bills. I mean, let's face it, I'm not exactly making a killing trying to track down Bigfoot and the Chupacabra.

“Hey, Moni,” says Peter, one of my instructors. “Mind if I knock off for the day?”

“Of course, I'll clean up here,” I say. “Go. Enjoy your anniversary.”

“Thanks, boss.”

Peter departs, leaving me alone in the studio. I go about the task of picking things up and putting them away. It's menial and tedious, but it allows me to cool down and more importantly, keeps me from obsessing about the egg still hidden beneath the floorboards of my apartment.

I put some feelers out into the crypto community – asking several people I trust about it. It's been a few days and I haven't heard anything back yet. I'm starting to get a little bit nervous. The more time I spend with that thing in my possession, the darker and more ominous it feels. It's like the egg is vibrating with an energy that's just – off. And it seems to be getting stronger.

Carrying a few things into the back room, I hear the electronic chimes on the front door sound. I forgot to lock it after Peter left. I quickly put the pads I'm carrying away and walk back out into the front of the studio.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “We're actually close –”

My voice dies in my throat when I see two large men in dark suits standing there. They look like identical twins -- like they were cut from the same, dark stone. Beneath their well-tailored suits, it's obvious that they're muscular and strong. They both have olive colored skin and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail that falls to the middle of their backs. They look at me with eyes that are as dark as midnight and I have to physically suppress a shudder.

There is just something creepy about them. Something that sets me on edge. It's almost like they're giving off the same ominous, dark energy as the egg.

“Monica Tatum?” asks the man on the left.

“Yes?” I say. “And you are?”

They both reach into their pockets and hold out FBI credentials. “Agents Stabler and Blanda,” he says, his voice monotone.

“FBI?” I ask. “The Bureau looking for somebody to teach Tae Kwan Do to the new recruits?”

Neither of them so much as cracks a smile – which is pretty typical of the Feds, apparently. Having the sense of humor beat out of them is apparently part of the training regimen.

“No, ma'am,” says the other agent – Stabler. “We believe you are in possession of a very dangerous object that we've been searching for.”

My stomach feels like the bottom just dropped out of it and a surge of adrenaline rushes through me. My first thought is that one of the people I reached out to in the crypto community – somebody I trusted with my secret – had turned me in to the Feds. I am beyond furious and already plotting all the ways I'll make them suffer.

But then rational thought takes hold – nobody in the crypto community would turned me into the Feds. They're as paranoid about the government as some of the gun nuts out there. And who can blame them? After decades of being laughed at, mocked, and marginalized, the crypto community circled the wagons and has become rather insular – and entirely distrustful of outsiders. Especially if those outsiders are employed by the government.

No, nobody I reached out to had brought the Feds to my doorstep. Which begs the question – who are these guys? And why are they here asking about the egg?

“Come again?” I ask. “Dangerous object?”

“Yes, ma'am,” says the man on the left – Blanda.

I look around my studio and then turn back to them, smiling. “Unless the Feds now consider wooden practice swords to be dangerous, I'm not sure what you're talking about.”

“Ms. Tatum,” says Stabler. “Please do not take us for fools. We know what you do.”

“What I do?”

“We know you're big in the cryptozoology community,” Blanda says. “We know you're out there searching for proof that monsters exist.”

“And for artifacts of their existence,” Stabler finishes.

I look at them, feeling my body tense as the surge of adrenaline within me grows stronger. Something isn't right here. In fact, something is very, very wrong. But I try to dial it down. Now is not the time to go all Dirty Harry. No, right now I need to be as calm as possible.

“I don't believe that what I do in my free time is any of the FBI's business,” I say. “I run a clean business here. I pay my taxes. My hobbies are of no concern to you.”

“Except when those hobbies bring you in contact with objects used by terrorists,” Stabler says.

“As you can imagine, we take terrorism very seriously these days,” Blanda adds.

I'm beginning to see why the people in the crypto community are so paranoid. These two are trying to intimidate me – plain and simple. They're bigger than I am – they're carrying guns, which they make no move to hide – and they're looming over me. They obviously think that because I'm a woman, I'll cower in their presence, or break down into a puddle of tears, telling them anything and everything they want to know.

It's a tactic that might work on some women. But I'm not most women and their tough guy, intimidation act is not going to work on me.

“Look,” I say. “I'm not an idiot. I know my rights. So, unless you have a warrant, I want you to get the hell out of my studio right now.”

Stabler takes another step forward, his large frame towering over me. I hold my ground, balling my fists at my side as I look him in the eye.

“Cooperate with us, Ms. Tatum,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “Tell us where the object is and we'll let you get on with your life.”

“Because if you don't,” Blanda adds. “We'll turn your entire world upside down. Terror suspects are being sent to Guantanamo Bay still, you know. And from what I hear, conditions down there are – rough. We certainly couldn't guarantee your safety.”

I look at them both in the eye, an anger that's dark and abiding welling up within me. “Am I being charged with a crime?”

The two men look at each other, as if they are silently communicating. Stabler turns and looks back at me and I can see the frustration and rage on his face.

“That's what I though,” I hiss. “Get out of my studio and if you have any other questions for me, you can contact my lawyer.”

“Where is the object,” Blanda asks again.

“I said get the hell out or I'm calling the police.”

The two men look at one another again before giving each other a small nod. Stabler looks me in the eye and I can tell that he wants nothing more in that moment than to tear my head from my body. A sliver of ice pierces my heart, but I simply stare back at him, not letting him know he's rattled me.

Silently, they turn in unison and leave the studio. I rush over quickly and lock the doors behind them. Not wanting to be observed, I turn and walk back to my office where I drop down into the chair and let out a long breath. My body trembles and I suddenly feel lightheaded as the fear-fueled adrenaline begins to subside.

“What in the hell was that?” I ask myself.

Chapter Five

Juran

Sitting in the car outside the woman's martial arts studio, I watched the two men leave. Though I don't know them by name, I know exactly who – or rather, what – they are. Shadowlords. There is no question about it. I can pick them out of a crowd of people. There's just something about them – an energy, hell, maybe a smell – that always tips me off.

And they'd beaten me to the woman. She was attractive. Relatively tall with red hair, blue eyes, skin the color of creme, and an hourglass figure – she is fit, athletic, and beautiful. It surprises me somewhat to know that she spends her days either fighting or scrambling through caves, searching for proof of paranormal beings.

The more I learn about humans though, the more they surprise me.

I watch the two Shadowlords go, and the fact that they are leaving empty handed is encouraging. It means she doesn't have what they're looking for – at least, not on her. I have no doubt though, that they're going to be keeping close tabs on her.

Which means that I need to get to her first. Need to get the Heart away from her – because I seriously doubt she knows what she's gotten herself into. How could she? What we are – what she has – it's beyond the comprehension of human understanding.

A little while later, the woman comes out of her shop and walks down the street. She's tense and nervous, constantly looking around. She's obviously on guard, which is going to make following her a little tough.

But, I can't lose her, so I climb out of the car and shadow her from the other side of the street. With the crowd thickening, I lose sight of her and quickly cross to her side of the street. I catch sight of her just as she's turning down what looks like an alleyway.

Walking quickly, I make the turn and pause – the alley is empty.

“Dammit,” I mutter to myself.

Even running, she can't have gotten too far. I get moving and am halfway down the alley when the familiar sound of a gun being cocked catches my attention. Turning, I see the woman stepping out from behind a dumpster, a large gun pointed straight at my face.

In human form – although we Dragons have tremendous healing powers – I can still be killed. And a bullet to the head will do that quite nicely. In Dragon form, her bullet won't even tickle me. But I need her help and the last thing I'm going to do is scare her by shifting – especially since we have an unwritten rule about shifting in view of the humans.

Holding my hands out to my sides, palms up, I show her that I'm not a threat. “Let's just take it easy,” I say.

“Who in the hell are you guys?” she snaps.

“I'm not with the two guys who were in your studio earlier,” I say.

“If you're not with them, how do you know about them?”

“I was watching you,” I admit. “I saw them go in.”

The look on her face is one of pure rage mixed with genuine terror. “Then who are they?” she spits. “And why in the hell are you watching me?”

“Look,” I say, “why don't you put the gun away? We can go grab a cup of coffee and talk about this.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you,” she says. “Why are you following me?”

I sigh. “I can explain everything to you, but you're not going to understand it all.”

“Try me,” she hisses. “I'm not a moron.”

“I never said you were,” I reply. “But you are dealing with forces that are –”

“I know what you're after,” she cuts me off. “I know you want what I found.”

“It's more dangerous than you can possibly know,” I say calmly. “Do you even know what it is that you found?”

She looks at me and her gaze falters. She has no idea.

“I didn't think so,” I say. “The object you possess has the ability to destroy the entire world as you know it.”

She scoffs at my words and shakes her head. “Scare tactics don't work on me anymore than the intimidation tactics your buddies tried on me earlier.”

“This is not a scare tactic, Ms. Tatum,” I say. “The object you're holding is called the Heart of Ethagor. It contains the essence of one of the most evil, destructive beings you can imagine. If you let it fall into the hands of those two men who visited you earlier, they will release Ethagor. His essence will find a new host and the world as you know it, will cease to be. Humanity will be destroyed. Those who survive the initial purge will be enslaved. This is not a scare tactic, Ms. Tatum. This is simply the reality of the situation.”

“And what, you expect me to just hand it over to you?”

“Yes,” I reply. “You're in danger so long as it's in your possession.”

“From those two men?”

I nod. “And others like them, yes,” I say. “They're – dangerous. To say the least. And once they know where you've hidden the Heart, they'll have no further use for you and kill you.”

I see a visible shudder pass through her. She's scared. Which is good. She needs to be. This situation is as serious as it gets. But as we stand there, I see a veil come down across her face. Her jaw sets and her eyes tighten. I recognize stubbornness when I see it and I can see Monica Tatum begin to dig her feet in.

“Maybe I'll just take it and run,” she says. “I found it. It's mine.”

“There is nowhere you can run they can't find you,” I say. “Please, believe me. These – men – will not stop pursuing you until you're dead and they have the Heart.”

“And you?” she asks. “What are you going to do with the – Heart?”

“Lock it away,” I say. “Keep it from falling into the hands of the Shadowlords and keep it safe.”

She shakes her head and despite the fact that she still has a gun pointed at my face, I remain calm. Getting worked up is only going to scare her more – which could have terrible consequences.

“If it helps,” I say. “We are prepared to make you a very wealthy woman.”

She looks at me a long moment. “How wealthy?”

“Wealthier than you can even possibly imagine.”

She gives me a slight grin. “I can imagine a lot.”

He shrugs. “Money is of little consequence to us,” I say. “We have – plenty. What we are more concerned with is protecting this world. Keeping people like you safe. And to do that, we really need to take pieces like the Heart of Ethagor off the board. Permanently.”

She looks at me for a long moment. “You keep saying we,” she says. “Who is this we?”

“It's irrelevant –”

“Not to me,” she says.

I sigh and look around, half-afraid the Shadowlords returning to find us in the alley.

“Look, Ms. Tatum,” I say. “We're a little exposed out here. Let's go somewhere and talk this out. I can answer your questions.”

She shakes her head. “Uh, uh,” she says. “I told you. I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm walking away now. If you follow me, I'm going to shoot you in the face.”

Monica backs away, keeping her weapon trained on me. She turns quickly and runs, melting into the crowd at the far end of the alley. The odds are that the Shadowlords are going to find out where she lives – which, not knowing what she was actually dealing with, is probably where she'd stashed the Heart.

Which means that I need to get there first.

Chapter Six

Monica

I sit at the kitchen table staring at the egg again. The Heart of Ethagor, is what that guy called it. He said that it contained the essence – which I take to mean the spirit or soul – of a horribly evil creature. Which might explain the dark, oppressive energy that radiates from it.

But do I believe him?

He is a very attractive man. Tall – easily six-foot-three – with dusky colored skin, black hair that fell to his shoulders and has a blue sheen to it, and eyes that are the blue-green color of the Caribbean Sea. He's lean, but seems to be toned and fit, his jawline looking like it had been carved from marble. He's a beautiful man, no question. But that doesn't mean he's a good guy.

Although, if I'm being honest, he seems different than the first two who came into my studio. He didn't threaten or try to intimidate me. Didn't try to overpower me. He laid out the facts as he believes them to be. But that doesn't mean he isn't one of those other guys either. He could just be trying another tactic with me. Although, my gut tells me that he isn't one of them. That he's different.

But how did they know I had it in the first place? How could they possibly know?

A million different thoughts and feelings are swirling in my mind. Part of me thinks I should just take the money he offered and give it over to the guy in the alley. Let him deal with it. But the other part of me thinks that this is my biggest win so far. It's a huge win for the crypto community in that it validates so much of our work. If I turn it over, it is going to disappear and we go back to being thought of as nothing more than crazy Bigfoot hunters.

With this thing, this Heart of Ethagor, the crypto community can give a huge, collective middle finger to all of the skeptics who mock us.

As I sit there pondering all of my options, a knock sounds on the door. It sets my heart racing and sends a jolt of adrenaline surging through me – because I'm not expecting anybody.

Getting up slowly, I retrieve the gun from my bag and chamber a round. Walking as quietly as I can to the door, I stand to the side of it and listen for another moment. The knock sounds again, more insistent this time.

“Who's there?” I call.

“Ms. Tatum,” comes the familiar voice. “My name is Juran. We spoke in the alley by your studio this afternoon.”

A small, inexplicable ripple of relief washes through me. I don't know this guy and for all I really know, he could be connected to the other two. But my instinct says he's not and I've always trusted my instinct. Still, given the really odd things that have happened since I found the damn egg, I'm not taking any chances.

“What do you want?” I call.

“Please,” he says. “I need to speak with you. It's a matter of some urgency.”

I look at the locks on the door for a moment, considering. “I'm armed,” I say. “I've got a gun. The same gun you saw earlier.”

“Fine,” he replies. “If it makes you feel better, keep it pointed at me. But I swear on my honor that I'm not here to hurt you.”

Yeah great. His honor and five bucks will get me a coffee drink down at Starbucks. I slowly reach out and unlock the door. Opening it a crack, I take a step back and raise my gun. The man – Juran – steps through the doorway with his hands open and raised chest-high. He's unarmed – as far as I can see, anyway.

“Please, I know this sounds crazy,” he says, “but come with me if you want to live.”

I stare at him slack-jawed, suppressing the laugh that's bubbling up in my throat. “Did you seriously just quote The Terminator to me?”

He cocks his head, a puzzled expression on his face. “I don't understand.”

“Terminator? The movie?” I say. “That's a line from the movie.”

“I – I don't see movies,” he replies. “But we are out of time. They're coming, Ms. Tatum. They're coming for you and the Heart. We must get you out of here if you're going to survive this.”

“What are you talking –”

He steps in and closes the door behind him. “I'm sorry to be so abrupt, but we don't have time,” he says. “Pack a small bag, pack up the Heart, and I need to get you out of here.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you.”

He looks at me, frustration crossing his chiseled features. “If you do not, you will die,” he says. “And the Shadowlords will take the Heart and end this world.”

Heavy footsteps sound in the hallway and I see Juran's face fall. A moment later, there is a loud pounding on the door.

“It's too late,” he says. “They're here. Go. Pack up the Heart and I'll hold them off.”

I stand rooted to my spot, fear rampaging through me. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. The pounding on the door sounds again and Juran turns to me.

“Pack up the Heart,” he snaps. “Go. Do it now!”

His voice finally shakes me out of my paralysis and I run to the kitchen. Throwing the Heart back into the strongbox, I look out to the living room in time to see the door blow inward, a hail of wood shards and splinters spraying across the room. The two men from earlier – Stabler and Blanda – step in through the debris and stop when they see Juran standing there, with a long, curved dagger in each of his hands.

“Get the girl,” Blanda says, unsheathing his own blades. “I'll deal with this one.”

Stabler heads for me in the kitchen, but Juran moves faster than I've ever seen somebody move in my life. He slashes Stabler across the chest, drawing a pained grunt from the man. Juran follows that with a kick to the gut that sends the man stumbling backward, dropping him on his ass.

“Look out!” I call.

Blanda closed the distance between them, his blades whirling in a frenzied arc. Juran parried every thrust and cut, a small smile playing upon his lips. It's as if he's toying with the other man. The sound of steel ringing on steel echoes around my apartment and I stand there like an idiot, not sure what to do.

And then I see something that I can't believe I'm seeing. Something I know will change my world forever.

Stabler gets up off his ass and – changes. He sprouts a segmented tail, black and tipped with an evil looking stinger that reminds me of a scorpion. Stabler advances on Juran, who has his back to him, his face a mask of rage.

I watch in horror as Juran slashes the throat of the man before him, cutting deep and sending a spray of black blood into the air. Blanda drops to his knees, eyes wide, clutching the wound in his throat, his breathing coming in wet, strangled gasps.

“Juran!” I scream. “Behind you!”

But it's too late. Stabler's tail lances out, the stinger burying itself into the flesh of Juran's shoulder. He spins around, slashing with his daggers. Stabler screams out in pain as the end of his tail falls to the floor, spilling a dark, black blood. Juran stumbles but with Stabler advancing on him again, blades in hand, his eyes flash red. He opens his mouth and spits a thick column of fire – heat so intense I can feel it from where I am.

Stabler is engulfed in flame immediately, thrashing around and screaming as the flames consume him. Juran looks to me.

“We have to go,” he says. “Now.”

Without thought or hesitation, I grab the strongbox and follow him out the door. We get to a black SUV and he throws me the keys.

“You must drive,” he says, his breathing a little ragged and labored.

Watching the building that houses my apartment erupt into flames, I can't help but feel a touch of sadness. And anger. And a million other things.

“Monica,” he gasps. “We must go. There are more coming.”

Throwing the strongbox in the backseat, I climb in behind the wheel as Juran slides into the passenger seat. He programs something into the vehicle's GPS unit and looks over at me.

“Follow these directions,” he says. “Get us there as quickly as possible. Do not stop. No matter what happens. Just keep driving.”

I nod, feeling numb, and quickly pull away from the curb, driving into the darkness of the night. Juran looks over at me, his eyes growing glassy.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I did not want this for you.”

Fear slices through me when I look over and see that his eyes are closed. In that moment, I don't know if he's dead or just passed out. I look closer and let out a sigh of relief, seeing his chest rising and falling with his breath.

Not knowing what else to do, I simply keep driving. Tears roll down my cheeks as I realize that my life will never be the same again.

Chapter Seven

Juran

The next few weeks are spotty at best. There are times I recall with perfect clarity. And other times, all I can remember is my vision being blurred and pain so bad, I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside out.

The Shadowlord had tagged me with his poison-tipped stinger. He'd tagged me good, injecting me with a healthy dose of his venom. Thankfully, I'm strong, healthy, and relatively young, which means that my body is able to fight off the poison. If somebody Thysel’s age had been hit with that type and amount of poison, they'd likely be dead right now.

Once Monica got us to the safehouse, I quickly used my own magic to ward it – protecting us from being tracked by magical means. I needed time to recover. Get my strength back. And the only way I could do that was with rest.

I was in and out of consciousness for the next few weeks. Monica did what she could – which honestly, wasn't much. But she sat with me and I could tell she was genuinely worried about me. She often held my hand or wiped my brow with a wet, cool cloth.

During periods of lucidity, we spent time talking. Getting to know one another. And I learned a lot about her – almost everything, I think. Not that I am complaining – she's a fascinating woman. And she somehow got me to share more of my own story than I'd ever shared with anybody before.

I have to admit, it felt nice. I'm not the kind of man who opens up to people, but something about Monica makes it – easy to do. And the more I learn about her, the more I want to share about myself.

It's strange and unlike anything I've ever experienced before. But, there's something – special – about Monica. Something that puts me at ease with her. Makes it feel normal – even natural – to open up to her.

Over the weeks I've been healing, it feels like some sort of bond or connection has developed between us. I think she feels it too, but it's sort of like the proverbial elephant in the room – it's there and it's large, but neither of us will address it.

“I never did say thank you,” she says.

We're sitting side by side on the back deck of the safe house, sipping wine, and watching the sun slip below the horizon as large waves crash against the shore. I inhale deeply, savoring the salty scent of the ocean air. The ocean never fails to rejuvenate me.

“For what?” I ask.

“You saved my life,” she replies as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.

I smile. “And you saved mine,” I say. “So, I suppose that makes us even. Thank you for caring for me while I healed.”

A small smile touches her lips and her cheeks flare with color. The fading sunlight makes her skin glow, making her even more beautiful and I find that I can't take my eyes off of her. She looks over at me and her smile grows wider and I feel my heart skip a beat.

“This has undoubtedly been the strangest few weeks of my life,” she says.

“This hasn't exactly been normal for me either,” I reply. “Do your friends know you are safe?”

She nods. “They do,” I reply. “I told them all I just needed to blow town to clear my head for a little while.”

“I'm sorry you got pulled into this,” I say. “I never wanted this for you.”

“I know,” she says. “It's not your fault. You tried to warn me.”

We share a moment of silence, just staring into one another's eyes. Then, without giving myself time to think, I lean forward and kiss her. Monica tenses up at first, seeming to be taken aback by my boldness. But then, she leans into the kiss. I feel her hand in my hair, her fingers sliding through it, pulling on it gently as our kiss deepens and intensifies.

I feel a fire ignite within me – something I haven't felt in a very long time. I dedicate and devote myself to my job as a Guardian all day, every day. I have no personal life – no love life. It's been so long since I've felt the touch of a woman, that feeling Monica's lips pressed to mine, her tongue dancing with mine – it sends wave after wave of sensation crashing through me.

I run my hands through her hair, feeling my fingers tangle in her curls. Planting a row of soft kisses down her neck – all the way down to her collarbone – I feel her breath catch in her throat. Our eyes meet as I reach behind her and pull the string of her bikini top. It comes undone and Monica slides it off, tossing it to the side of the deck. Leaning forward, I cup and knead her breast in my hand, teasing her pert nipple with the tip of my tongue.

I lick and suck on her breasts, relishing the feel of them in my hands and mouth. She moans softly, running her hands through my hair. Pulling my face up, she kisses me hard and passionately. Her skin feels warm and she grabs my hand, thrusting it between her thighs. Pushing her bikini bottom to the side, I slip two fingers inside of her, feeling how hot and wet she is. Monica moans as I work my fingers in and out of her.

She reaches over and strokes my hard cock through my pants, grabbing and squeezing it. Feeling her hand on me makes my body explode in sensation. I bury my fingers deep inside of her, making her cry out. There is a look of pure hunger in her eyes as she grinds herself down on my hand.

“I want you, Juran,” she gasps. “I need you inside of me.”

Pulling my fingers out, I keep my eyes locked onto hers as I slip my fingers into my mouth, tasting her. She moans as she watches me. The taste of her was sweeter than anything I'd ever tasted before. Standing up, I slip my pants down kicking them off my feet. Monica pulls her bikini bottoms off and throws them aside before she pushes me back down on my chair.

Stepping forward, she straddles my lap. Looking into my eyes, she reaches down and takes my cock in her hand, stroking it as she kisses me. Monica lowers herself onto me, slipping the head of my cock inside of her. We both gasp as the sensations course through us.

Putting my hands on her hips, I help lower her onto me. I throw my head back, moaning, as I slide into her inch by inch. Monica calls my name softly as she sheaths all of me inside of her. She's incredibly tight and I fill her up completely.

Kissing her neck, I cup her ass, squeezing it as she begins to move her hips, rocking herself up and down on me. I dig my fingers into her flesh as she moves up and down on me, our moans and cries blending with the sound of the waves crashing, making an erotic symphony.

Monica gasps as I move my hips up to meet her, driving myself even deeper inside of her. Her hands are on my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin as she moves herself up and down on me harder and faster. She kisses me hard, her movements becoming even more frantic.

Her breathing grows ragged and her cheeks begin to flush – I know she's close. Grabbing her hips, I push her down onto my cock hard at the same time I drive upward with my hips. I'm as deep inside of her as I can go and I feel her body stiffen. She cries out, calling my name, and begins to tremble. Her orgasm tears through her with the force of a hurricane, making her shudder and shake.

Monica clings to me as she rides out the waves of pleasure crashing down inside of her. And when her orgasm finally subsides, she gives me a sultry little look and starts moving herself up and down on me again.

“It's your turn,” she says, her voice husky.

She bounces up and down on me, hard and fast, and I relish the feeling of moving inside of her. I feel the pressure building up within me as my groin tightens. As if sensing that I'm close, Monica moves faster, harder, driving herself up and down on me with glee.

I throw my head back and cry out as the dam inside of me breaks. I feel my cock pulse and throb as I fill her up with my warm, wet seed. Monica moans, slowing her pace, clinging to me and kissing my neck softly.

I kiss her softly on the top of the head as I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close to me. She leans into my embrace, and as we listen to the sounds of the sea together – our bodies still intertwined – we enjoy the last of the sunset.

Chapter Eight

“I want you to stay as far away from the fighting as possible,” I say. “Understand?”

“I can take care of myself, Juran,” she replies. “I'm a big girl.”

I shake my head. Even now, after all she's seen, she still doesn't quite grasp it all yet. These aren't human muggers she can fight off. These are Dragons. Warriors. They are trained to fight. Trained to kill. And in dragon form, they can make short work of her – something I cannot allow. Won't allow. My feelings for her are complex, but in the few weeks we'd been in hiding together, I've come to feel something for her – something deep. Something abiding.

And something I want the opportunity to explore further. But that's not an opportunity I'm going to get if she gets herself killed.

“I do not question your toughness, Monica,” I say. “I know you're tough. But we're not engaged in an ordinary fight. The Shadowlords do not take prisoners. They are ruthless. And I don't want to see you hurt.”

She gives me a small smile. “And I don't want to see you hurt either.”

“Trust me,” I say, giving her a roguish little grin. “I have a plan.”

“Famous last words,” she says and rolls her eyes.

I press down on the accelerator as we rocket out into the desert. I wanted to be as far away from human civilization as possible when this fight came. And I knew the moment I dropped the magical warding that the fight would be coming soon.

Once I dropped the warding, the vibration of the Heart was going to picked up by the Shadowlords' Seers. It wasn't going to take them long to zero in on the location. So, I got us as ready as possible and headed for open land in the desert, well outside of Los Angeles.

With as many Shadowlord agents as Thysel told me were active and in the area, I didn't think I'd make it back to our stronghold before they ran me down. So, instead of leading the Shadowlords to our doorstep, I chose our battlefield.

The engine roars as we race across the vast swaths of nothingness inherent to the Mojave Desert. It's a harsh and stark environment, but it's beautiful in its own way. I had no real destination in mind. I was simply driving until the Shadowlords caught up with us.

And when the shadows darken the road in front of us, I knew the time had come.

I slam on the brakes and bring the SUV to a halt. I turn to Monica and she hands me the bag containing the Heart. She looks at it longingly, like she's reluctant to part with it. And after what she's told me about what she does, I don't really blame her. But this isn't what she thinks it is. The only thing the Heart is going to bring her is misery, despair, and ultimately death.

I can't have that. And I won't let the Shadowlords have the Heart.

“Trust me, Monica,” I say. “This is for the greater good. It's for the good of all humanity.”

She sighs and nods. “Yeah, I'm a regular superhero.”

“Exactly right,” I say. “You're just like the Terminator.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “We're going to need to work on your pop culture references.”

“I'll look forward to it.”

Opening the door, I jump out of the SUV and jog out into the desert, leaving the car behind. My hope is to draw the attention of the Shadowlords away from the car – and Monica. I have a plan and if it all goes right, we're going to come out of this okay.

Chapter Nine

Monica

I appreciate the chivalrous attitude, but Juran needs to know that I'm not some delicate little flower who needs to be protected. I watch him run out into the desert and see the shadows on the ground swarming around. I look up, but the sun is so bright, I can't see much. All I know is that it can't be good news.

I grab my bag and head after Juran. There's no way in hell I'm going to let him face this down on his own. Moving between scrub bushes and piles of rocks, I carefully pick my way toward Juran, keeping a wary eye on the sky overhead. The shadows are circling him like a pack of sharks and I feel a knot in my stomach tighten painfully.

Slipping my gun out of my bag, I check the safety and make sure there is a round chambered. There is a powerful wind that sends dust and debris flying. I lower my head and shield my eyes, needing to make sure my vision isn't obscured.

The wind dies and I peek over the pile of rocks I'm hiding behind. And when I do, I feel the bottom of my stomach drop out and a bolt of fear unlike anything I've ever felt before shoot through me. I can't believe what I'm seeing.

“This has got to be a dream,” I whisper to myself. “This cannot be real.”

Juran is still standing there, but surrounding him are six black – dragons. Wide wing spans, black scaled armor, long snouts with a mouth full of long, vicious looking teeth, and segmented tails that end in wicked looking stingers.

But then, things get even stranger.

The dragons begin to – change. Their bodies grow smaller, the wings disappear along with their tails and a moment later, Juran is surrounded by six large, muscular – completely naked – men. I shake my head and rub my eyes, making sure that my eyes are not playing tricks on me, but when I look up again, they're all still there.

I know what I'm seeing, but I still can't believe it. My fight or flight instinct kicks in and I have to fight off the urge to run back to the SUV and take off, putting these nightmare creatures behind me. It's unbelievable. Really unbelievable. I keep waiting to wake up and find that this is all just some horrible, horrible dream.

I've spent half my life searching for creatures like these – the dragon-people I'd spent so much time researching and learning about – and now that they're standing in front of me, I'm overwhelmed with fear and the desire to run. I fight it and stay rooted to my hiding spot.

“Juran needs me,” I whisper. “I can't abandon him.”

Over the days and weeks I spent with him as he healed, I got to know him on a deep, intimate level. He is an extraordinary man and over that time together, he and I forged some kind of bond. Maybe it's being on the run or the chaotic circumstances of our meeting, but I find myself really feeling something powerful and overwhelming for him.

I am compelled by Juran. Drawn to him. And just as he desires to protect me, I desire to protect him. I won't abandon him to this fate – as terrifying as it is.

“Where do you imagine you're running to, Juran,” a man with long, blonde hair says as he steps forward. “There's nowhere for you to go out here. Hand over the Heart and we will let you live.”

Juran laughs and shakes his head. “Does anybody actually believe it when you say that, Merqua?”

The blonde man – Merqua, apparently – shrugs. “Some do,” he says. “Some don't. It doesn't matter though. Give me the bag.”

“Come take it,” Juran says.

I stare at him in stunned disbelief. I can't believe he's egging these men on. He knows what they are. Knows what they can do. Hell, one of them almost killed him. But now, there are six of them staring him in the face.

“You're outnumbered, Juran. You cannot win this fight,” Merqua says. “I have no desire to kill you, brother. In fact, I want you to join us.”

“Why would I do that?” Juran asks.

“Why would you not?” Merqua replies. “This world is ours. We were here long before the humans. We are simply trying to reclaim that which belongs to us.”

“Yes, it belongs to us,” Juran says. “But it belongs to the humans as well.”

Even from where I am, I can see Merqua's face darken with anger. “We are the rightful rulers of this world,” he hisses. “Not them. They are fit only to be our servants.”

Juran shrugs. “I disagree,” he says. “Humanity is capable of amazing things. Look what we've seen in our time in this world. All of the innovations. All of the miracles they've performed.”

“Look at all of the wars,” Merqua counters. “All of the chaos, death, and destruction. These people are more concerned with killing each other than protecting the world they call home. They're a plague that destroys everything they touch.”

“And what are you, Shadowlord?” Juran spits.

“We are the balance,” Merqua says. “We restore order. Bring calm to the chaos.”

“You bring enslavement and death,” Juran says. “Nothing more.”

Merqua shrugs. “You can either join us or die,” he says. “Either way, I'm going to have that bag at your feet.”

“If you want it,” Juran says. “You'll have to kill me.”

Merqua looks at him for a long moment and sighs. “So be it.”

Knowing I have moments to act, I stand up from behind the rock pile and take aim at the man closest to me. I squeeze off a shot and watch as his head snaps forward, a red mist drifting through the air. He falls to the ground – dead – before the echo of the shot even fades. I take aim and fire off another shot, catching the second man in the torso. He falls to the ground, howling in pain as blood flows from the gaping wound.

“To battle!” Merqua calls.

I watch in stunned disbelief as Juran – changes. His body transforms, blue wings sprouting from his back, his neck elongating, his head becoming the snout of a beast. In the span of a heartbeat, the beautiful man I'd gotten to know is gone, replaced by a blue armored monstrosity – a dragon. My breath catches in my throat and all I can do is stand and stare at him. His eyes, yellow and reptilian, fall on me and though they look so foreign, they also look strangely familiar.

The rumbling sound of his roar breaks the paralysis that gripped me and I'm suddenly aware of the chaos surrounding me. Gone are the men who'd surrounded him – minus the two I'd dropped with my pistol. In their place are the black dragons that had surrounded Juran before – and all eyes were turned to me.

The combined roar of the beasts is deafening and threatens to turn my insides to jelly. Juran though, steps forward, opens his giant maw, and lets out a blast of flame. It ignites the dragon that had taken a step toward me.

The beast howls in agony as its skin begins to crack, the flames consuming it entirely. The dragon falls to the ground, suddenly shifting back into its human form. It's horrifying to watch as the man screams in agony while his body burns. It's not long though, before his screams fade and he is still.

Juran's howls draw my attention and I see that one of the black dragons has latched onto his arm with its jaws. Juran tries to shake it off, but the beast holds fast. I raise my gun and fire. I know the bullet found its mark, but it has zero effect.

My heart feels like it's about to explode when the other three dragons turn to me, their snarls low and menacing. But then a sound overhead draws my attention. It sounds like the beating of massive wings. And when I look up, I see a dozen dragons – red, green, blue, and white ones – overhead.

My blood runs cold as their roars shake the very floor of the desert. I have no idea what's happening – whose side they're on. The black dragons howl in challenge to them, their wings beating furiously as they take flight.

The black dragons meet the newcomers in the air, their furious roars reverberating through me. The smell of fire and blood saturates the air around me and the battle is over before it even begins. The newly arrived dragons tear the others apart. It's not even a fight.

The torn, battered bodies of the men Juran called the Shadowlords fall back to the earth, hitting with a wet, meaty thud. I have to turn away, unable to believe I'm witnessing such a horrific spectacle. I was so caught up in the battle in the sky that I forgot there was another one on land not far from me. I quickly turn and find that Juran has his fight well in hand.

His jaws are clamped around the Merqua's neck. The black dragon roars in both agony and frustration – he can't break free from Juran's grip. The other dragons, having claimed victory, land and shift back into their human form.

“It's over, Merqua,” says a tall, broad shouldered man. “Shift into your human form and we will spare your life.”

The black dragon looks at him balefully, his eyes narrowed. The dragon stops fighting and lowers his head. Juran opens his jaws and Merqua shifts back into his human form, kneeling before the twelve newcomers.

Juran shifts back into his human form and rushes over to me, pulling me into a tight embrace.

“You stubborn, foolish woman,” he says. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“You could have too,” I say, burying my face into his shoulder. “And I couldn't let that happen.”

We stand there for a few moments, taking comfort in the fact that we're alive. We survived. Taking comfort in each other. It's then I notice that he's bleeding. I touch my fingertips and look at the blood.

“You're hurt,” I say softly.

“It'll heal.”

The rest of Juran's men walk over to us, pushing Merqua along in front of them. He's wearing shiny silver shackles on his wrists and ankles.

“Silver,” Juran says, answering my unspoken question. “In our human form, binding us with silver prevents us from shifting.”

I nod as if I understand – which I don't. Not really. I don't understand anything about this world. It's nothing like what I uncovered in my research. This world of the dragon-people is harsh. Brutal. And it's far more complex than anything I'd read. These aren't just mindless beasts bent on destruction – I'm finding that they're far, far, far more than that.

“You're late,” Juran said.

The tall man who'd ordered Merqua to shift into his human form shrugs and smiles. “Think of it as making a grand entrance, that's all.”

Juran shakes his hand and the two men share a quick embrace. Having gone through what I just went through, I realize the fact that I'm standing there, surrounded by a group of men gorgeous enough to be exotic dancers – naked, at that – is about the least strange thing on my list. In fact, I'm still so shocked by everything that happened, I'm not even fazed by their nudity. And clearly, they're not, either.

“We carried the day,” Juran says. “Well done, everybody.”

The man hands the bag containing the Heart to Juran. “For safe keeping.”

Juran nods. “We'll get it back to the Citadel and lock it away. Forever.”

Four large, black SUV's arrive, pulling in behind Juran's. I watch as the drivers all get out and stand next to their open doors, waiting.

“Looks like our ride is here,” the man says and slaps Merqua upside the head. “We're taking this one back for some interrogation. Should be fun. Want to join us, Juran?”

He shakes his head and looks at me. “Not this time,” he says. “I think I'm going to go enjoy a little downtime for a change.”

The man looks from Juran to me and back again, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well then, enjoy your – downtime.”

We watch them walk over to the waiting SUVs and dress in clothes the drivers provide. They climb in and the cars pull away, leaving us alone. Juran looks down at me, smiling.

“Shall we go home?”

“I'd like that,” I say.

Chapter Ten

It's been a week since the battle in the desert and I've barely left Juran's side. We spend just about every waking moment together, enjoying each other, getting to know one another on an even deeper level. It's been amazing.

Given that my place burned down, I've been staying with Juran in his Laguna Beach condo. We fall asleep and wake up to the sound of the ocean – and it's glorious. I've never lived so close to the ocean before, so I never knew what I was missing. Now that I've been exposed to it, I never want to leave.

I'm up as dawn breaks, casting the sky in soft hues of orange and red. The morning sunlight sparkles off the surface of the ocean, making it shine like liquid gold. I stand at the large sliding glass doors in the bedroom, looking at the water, listening to the sound of the crashing waves, and inhaling the salty scent of the sea.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Juran says from the bed behind me.

“I can see why you're so fond of the ocean.”

“Come back to bed,” he says.

I turn and find him laying on his side, propped up on his elbow, staring at me with his gorgeous eyes. As the sunlight begins to filter into the room, it makes his skin glow with an ethereal light. I can't believe a man this beautiful would be interested in somebody like me.

I walk back across the room and slip into bed – the coolness of his sheets feels amazing on my naked body. Juran rolls over so his chest is laying flat against mine. He looks into my eyes and smiles before leaning forward and kissing me. His lips are soft, his kiss gentle – but passionate enough to light a fire inside of me. As our tongues swirl together, I feel the heat blossom between my thighs.

Our kissing grows more urgent, insistent, passionate. Juran kneads my breasts, teasing my hard nipples with the tip of his tongue. I'm growing wetter and hotter by the moment and when he slips down my body, parting my thighs with his big, strong hands, and burying his tongue inside of me, I scream. He licks and sucks on me, slipping his finger inside of me and moving it in and out.

I arch my back and grind myself down on his fingers and mouth, the sensation of him going down on me makes me feel like I'm about to explode. He keeps his tongue and fingers working in a smooth, steady rhythm, and it isn't long before he builds me to a climax I can't control.

My body stiffens and then begins to shake as the dam inside of me breaks. I cry out, calling his name as my orgasm tears through my body. My heart is racing and my breathing is ragged as I come hard.

I reach down and grab his hair, pulling him up and mashing my mouth against his, kissing him with all of the passion I can muster. I wrap my thighs around his waist and grind myself against him. Taking his hard cock in my hand, I squeeze and stroke him as I guide him to my warm, wet opening.

Juran smiles as he gives me a good, hard thrust, fully sheathing himself inside of me. I've never been with a man who's filled me up so completely, who's felt so good moving inside of me. Juran kisses me as he starts to move his hips, sliding himself in and out of my opening, slick with my juices.

“You feel so good, baby,” I whisper, my voice husky with desire.

Juran smiles at me. “I love being inside of you.”

He thrusts himself deep inside of me, sliding his cock in and out harder and faster. I bite my lip and moan, digging my nails into his shoulders. The sensations I feel as he moves inside of me are intense. Overwhelming. Overpowering. I lose myself in the feeling of having him so deep within me.

Throwing my head back against the pillows I moan louder as he pumps himself in and out, harder and faster. Like a wave out on the ocean that's rapidly approaching the shore, I can feel another orgasm – a powerful one – building within me. Juran is pumping his cock in a hard, steady rhythm that is driving me absolutely crazy.

I've never been with a man who makes me feel the connection and bond I have with Juran. Our bodies fit together so perfectly, it's like they were made for one another. I feel his body tensing as he moves within me and his breathing is growing a little more ragged. I know he's close.

I squeeze him with my internal muscles, making myself feel even tighter for him. Juran growls low in his throat and his face is filled with pure desire. Lust. Even love. He's remarkable in so many ways – beginning with how he makes me feel both physically and emotionally. I've never felt the way I feel when I'm with him.

“Monica, I –”

Juran's voice is hoarse and his body grows stiff with tension. A moment later, he shudders and cries out. I feel him pulsing within me, feel the spurting of his hot seed filling me up – and it's like a bomb goes off inside of me. Feeling him coming inside of me makes the orgasm that had been building within me come crashing down hard.

My body trembles and shakes and I scream his name as the sensations overcome me. My nails are digging into his shoulders, drawing a pained hiss from him, but I can't stop squirming beneath him. He's so deep inside of me – and is filling me up completely – that I seem to lose all control of my body. I can't stop grinding myself against him, trying to take him even deeper into me.

As the sensation of our orgasms begins to ebb, Juran collapses on top of me. He looks deeply into my eyes and plants a soft, chaste kiss upon my lips. I run my hands through his hair, feeling like I could just stare into his eyes, and get lost in them forever.

Juran rolls over and I lay my head on his chest, tracing soft circles on his skin with the tip of my finger. Until that moment, I never knew that I'd been lacking in my life. I was so intent on running my business – as well as enjoying my outside hobbies – that I believed I was content with my life. Satisfied.

But these last few weeks with Juran showed me different. I was suddenly very keenly aware that I felt a sense of contentedness and satisfaction I never knew before. Never knew I was missing before. But laying there with him, I knew – for the first time in my life – what pure happiness and love felt like.

We lay in silence for a few moments as he strokes my hair. I can tell that there's something on his mind and had been waiting for him to bring it up. But he didn't – which made me curious.

“What is it?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell you're thinking,” I say. “I can tell there's something weighing heavy on your mind.”

“It's not so much that it's heavy on my mind,” he says. “I'm just – curious.”

“Curious about what?”

“I was just wondering if, given everything you've seen and now know,” he says. “if you're going to go back to doing what you were doing before.”

“You mean studying cryptozoology?” I ask. “Trying to prove that there are creatures beyond our imaginations out there?”

He laughs a little. “Yes, that.”

“Of course, I am,” I say. “It's in my blood. It's a passion of mine and I don't think I can just turn it off.”

He nods. “And about my people?” he asks. “And the artifacts?”

I shrug. “That's a line of inquiry I won't be touching anymore,” I say, a nervous chuckle escaping my lips. “I think I'll move on to other things. Things that aren't as likely to eat me alive.”

“Nobody is going to eat you alive while I draw breath,” he says. “But I do think not pursuing my kind is probably a good idea.”

I am now a keeper of a secret. A secret that would turn the entire world upside down. It would challenge people's notions of the world and how they related to it. Maybe it would even challenge their notions of God Himself.

But I know that if I exposed the Dragons to humanity, that they would never know peace. I know people well enough to know that they would hound the Dragons. Hunt them. Capture them and perform who knows what kind of terrible experiments on them. And there is no reason for that.

No, for all intents and purposes, that line of cryptozoological inquiry is dead for me. I am going to go back to chasing tamer things – like hunting Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the day?” he asks.

I shrug. “I figure we can order in,” I say. “And start your pop culture education.”

Juran laughs and shakes his head. “And what will the first lesson in this education be?”

“Film 101,” I say. “And we'll start it off by watching that beloved classic, The Terminator.”

“It sounds like a wonderful way to spend a day,” he says.

We talk for a little while longer, reveling in the sensation of each other, taking comfort in it. Eventually, we drift off again, but before the darkness of sleep pulls me under, I look up at Juran.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too,” he whispers back, making my heart soar amongst the clouds.

THE END