Dragon-shifter Evair awakens to an attack and is wounded as he defends himself. He’s drawn to a beautiful but strong-willed witch who helps him control his power and shifting abilities. But he’s much more interested in finding out how to make her his. And once he gets a taste of her, he knows he’s never letting her go.

Penelope can’t believe the gorgeous dragon needs her. She’s happy to teach him about the new world and help him figure out why he was woken. Love and romance weren't in the cards. She tries to fight it, but their bond is stronger than she realized. Are they mates? Could he be right? His flaming kisses and warm caresses make her hope he is.

A group of poachers is hunting down Evair’s kind. It’s a race against time to get to them before they kill more of his people. Love blooms in the midst of their battles. Their love will either survive or die crushed in their war for survival.

Chapter 1: Evair

There was a low rumble.

Like something so ancient, so mythic, it was impossible to grasp how it could burst upon the world, but it spun like a top somewhere near the core of the Earth and gained in strength. The ground above split. Rich dark earth bursting forth as the green meadows hewed back to give way.

Then, like a beacon rising from the deepest, most secret bowels of the world, a glitter broke forth. After so many centuries buried, the dust of ages fell away, and the pinnacle glistened in the sun. A spiral of pure, untarnished gold set with a ruby broke free and surged up toward the sky.

It rose as a monolith, sending cascades of soil tumbling back and snapping the roots of grandfather trees like sinews of felled deer. When at last the whole of it broke free into the air, the rumbling stopped. An eerie calm settled in the wake of the roar, lending even more majesty to the eruption. Settled on the Earth but reaching for the sky, this jewel-studded spire towered over the countryside, a wonder to eyes that had never known its glory.

The Dragon Shrine.

It had lain in darkness for hundreds of years. So long that it had faded from fact and wrapped itself in the unsullied mantle of legend. All who had known it before were gone. Dead from age, and sickness, and war, and all the things that mortals die from. Returned to the ground to nourish it, only leaving behind the memories of tales they had spun.

And yet, in truth, not all were gone.

Among the mortals walked any number of blessed – or cursed beings – however they chose to view it, with an ageless life. Filtering among the common folk almost like sages, telling the stories to keep them alive. Living in anticipation of moments such as these. 

Perhaps they gathered. Drawn from their corners of the globe at the merest whiff in the wind that something was coming. That their way of life might rise to dominance again.

With a shudder and start, Evair awoke. Blinking into the darkness, the rich, sharp odor of gold flooded his nostrils as he heaved in his first conscious breath in ages. His crystalline dream of The Dragon Shrine rising from the depths swirled in his mind, calling to him a word that had been lost to his memory.

Rise.

The monument itself still lay entombed away from the eyes of mortal men, but the insistence of the vision called on Evair to rise. To break into the sun just as the Shrine had done and stand as a beacon on the soil.

Evair’s heart thundered in his chest, louder than the clarion quake that thrust the symbol of his kind into the center of his dream. His body shook, and the heretofore dreamless slumber that had cocooned him cracked and fell away.

The ground so far above him lay still and untouched. The meadows still rolled in their peaceful acres, blissfully unaware of the reverie this sleeping Dragon had just visited upon them. The Dragon Shrine still lay buried, covetously hidden from the world. 

Whether it had been a premonition or a mere dream was impossible for Evair to say. It was a fantasy, to be certain, but one of startling force. As if its foundations lay in a truth not yet written. 

It was so clear, he told himself. His own voice sounded strange in the porches of his brain. Perhaps half a millennium had passed, and his joints creaked with disuse, and yet it had all seemed like the flapping of a butterfly wing. Years danced by faster than a child could tear the petals off a flower and count the wishes.

Air.

He needed to see the world again. Taste the sweet fragrance of the sea, and feel the sun bake his scales and warm his blood. He shifted, smiling to himself at the mass of treasure amassed around him. Cradling him in wealth as he slumbered.

Pushing against the weight of the earth, he arched his back, working his muscles until the ridge of his spine broke through the vale of coins and jewels. At last, that cool damp of the mother from whence we all come kissed his shoulders. The chill of it was sweeter than he could have remembered.

The hearty musk of it flooded his nostrils, and he breathed deeply. Forcing one of his talons up along the line of his body, he wedged it over his head, clawing away at the covering earth. Bit by bit, it yielded, and what was at first impenetrable soon received him like a lover. 

It softened, and he began to dig. We think of digging as something we do toward the center of the Earth. Whether to plant a tree, or to bury treasure, or a loved one, each advancement is away from the air. But Evair was on a different trajectory. He burrowed toward the light like the mightiest of moles.

He was deep, but as he strove, he could feel the change. As he rose, it all became easier. Whether that was because he was becoming used to the labor or because the weight of ages was spilling away from him was hard to say. But, one thing was certain, the ground was growing warmer. And the warmth redoubled his strength.

All at once, he met that mass of roots from his dream. That meshed knot of vitality feeding the trees that stretched toward the sun. It seemed a crime to tear them, but the air was so close that he was maddened with it. That roar within his chest had become a siege, and his Dragon’s heart was not to be denied.

Then, at last, a rush of fresh breath met his nostrils. A peek of light shone through the murk, and he answered it with a herculean push. With a boundless sense of space and the deafening roar of the world, his head came into the light. 

Squeezing his eyes shut against the blinding glare, he wriggled harder. His talons came to rest on the sun-drenched grass, and he dragged the whole of himself out of darkness and back into the realm of men. With a tremendous shake, he sent up a cloud of dust and dirt on every side, at last stretching his wings to feel the heat on their taut skin.

His whole body was one immense ache, and he indulged in extending each bit of himself to fight the twinge of each muscle. It was glorious. 

Why haven’t I done this sooner?

“I told you!” The voice broke over him, excited almost to frenzy. The light still stung his eyes, but he squinted to see who was celebrating. It was an old man in a wide brimmed hat. His clothes were strange to Evair, and he was gazing at him with an intent, almost unparalleled glee.

“Shut up, Fetterson!” Blinking again but growing more accustomed to the light, Evair saw another man. His chin was tucked low, and he bent his glare directly on the reawakened Dragon. 

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Fetterson protested. “I brought you here. It’s my research…”

“Research ain’t shit. Not anymore. What matters is him.” The younger man stabbed a finger at Evair. He was dressed in dark colors, with a mane of black hair pulled back loosely from his face. His sleeveless shirt revealed well muscled arms decked with tattoos and scars. 

Even without an introduction, Evair knew his kind. 

This was a Dragon slayer. They were all the same, and no passing of time could dull the familiar bloodlust and avarice in his eyes. Evair’s hackles rose, and every fiber of him tensed in awful preparation.

“What about the agreement,” Fetterson wailed.

“You’ll be paid.” The slayer began a slow circle of his quarry, growling, “just as soon as I claim this beast’s lair.”

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Evair’s voice was full in his throat, presaging the whirlwind that lay dormant inside him. In response, the slayer merely smirked and continued his circle. The Dragon had seen that level of arrogant certainty many times in the past. And every face that wore it had fallen in battle.

All at once, The slayer leapt into action, dropping into a crouch and pulling a pair of silver blades from his boots. Springing into a charge, he made directly for Evair’s underbelly, ready to plunge the searing silver into his heart.

He’s a brave one.

Evair reared back to his full height, extending his wings and bringing them forward with a mighty snap. The wind of them forced the slayer to his knees and sent Fetterson sprawling in the grass like a child’s toy.

“Don’t be a fool, Walker,” Fetterson puffed from the ground. “You can’t do this alone.”

“I’ve prepared my whole life for this,” Walker sneered, getting back to his feet. “I’m not about to shame my family’s name by engaging in anything other than single combat.”

“Walker?” The name cut into Evair’s core just as surely as one of those blades the slayer carried. The Walkers were a storied and ancient family whose lineage reached back almost as far as Evair’s own kind. As the Dragon breathed the name, he saw a glint of terrible pride in his adversary’s eyes.

“That’s right, Dragon. Evair of the NetherVales, I’ve come for you.”

“Then come for me!” Again, spreading wide, he displayed himself to Walker’s view, daring him to chance it all. The slayer took the bait and bolted across the grass, the fury of greed burning in his eyes. Rearing back, he raised one of those deadly blades, aiming directly at the center of Evair’s chest.

With a lightning fast swipe, the Dragon lashed out a hand and scooped Walker into the air. In the shock of it, one of those knives tumbled to the ground, sticking firmly in the freshly upset soil.

“Hubris,” Evair smiled. “Just like all of your kind.”

“I could say the same.” With that, Walker plunged his remaining knife into the back of Evair’s hand. The silver immediately sent a sizzle through his blood, and the Dragon pealed out a horrible wail. His talons opened on reflex, and the slayer fell from a terrible height, crashing onto the ground with a thud.

He tried to rise, but something about him was broken. Perhaps his leg or his spine. It didn’t matter to Evair. In a moment, the daring bastard would be dead. Plucking the blade from his hand, Evair turned hateful eyes on the fallen slayer.

“Do you know what justice is?” He advanced slowly. “Justice is sinking the weapon of your family line into your own heart. So that, whenever your story is written, it will be a warning to the rest of your line.”

Something Evair had never seen before rushed up onto the green. It was a kind of chariot but enclosed and lacking the team to draw it. A door swung open from the side, and Fetterson leapt out, scrambling to collect the fallen Walker. Evair was so thunderstruck that he stood frozen in place.

“Come on,” Fetterson grumbled as he struggled to raise his companion.

“No!” Foolhardy as slayers can be, Walker seemed intent on staying. “If I’m marked to die, it’s my destiny.”

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” the older man snarled and dragged Walker bodily to this lightly rumbling chariot. Once stuffed inside, the door slammed shut, and it turned and tore off across the countryside. 

Evair’s confusion boiled over into rage. Not merely that he had lost the open opportunity for vengeance, but that he had felt compelled to return in the first place. The humans had always held a special enmity for Dragonkind, and the malice of it blistered the inside of the Dragon’s chest. 

Diving into the air like a bolt of lightning, he let his wings carry him high until he could see the whole of the world splayed out under him like a fearful virgin. The world was full of humans. And Evair made a pact with himself as he soared through the sky.

Vengeance, he swore. Every human who crosses my path shall perish.

Looking at the gash on the back of his hand, he smeared the blood as if to bind his oath.