“He lives. For the moment. He thinks himself clever for refusing to divulge which volcanoes he attempted to ignite. However, Pip has a hacker who’s been working on his encrypted files. Once they’re cracked, we will know everything.”
“Do you think we’re the only ones who hatched through his machinations?” she asked.
“He seems to think those other attempts failed.” But then again, Malone had also thought Pollita dead, and look how wrong he’d been about that.
“My servant, Juan, has been using his connections to get a list of all the volcanoes that erupted in the past few years. Of those documented, six were unexpected and could have been induced by your Malone.”
“If you want to send me what he’s found, I can have Leo compare those locations to see if by any chance their descriptions match our clues.”
“Excellent idea,” Pollita stated, and he almost preened at the praise. “I’ve also had some of my other servants combing the internet for any stories of mysterious flying creatures or an uptick in the loss of herds in areas of eruption.”
“Good thinking,” he complimented. Beautiful and smart.
Pollita half turned as if she heard something. “Time for me to go. They just rang the dinner bell.”
“Before you do…” He lowered his voice. “I figure another few months and I’ll be able to plot a course to visit. That is, if you would like to meet still.”
Her teeth gleamed as she replied, “I would like that very much, Abba.”
It took all his fortitude to remain stoic rather than give in to giddiness. “Like you, I must go now. Important matters to attend.”
They ended the call and he allowed himself a loud bugle of excitement.
“Someone’s happy,” Pip noted, having returned.
“Don’t know what you mean,” he fibbed even as he fairly vibrated with anticipation. “Open the doors. I need to hunt.” And feed. And grow. Because a certain female dragon waited for him.
Best he cement that alliance before she discovered he’d told a lie. Despite him asking her to send a list of activated volcanoes her servant had sniffed out, he already knew of them. One in particular happened to be a name Leo recognized. “I remember Mount Amiata. It was the first one we tried to erupt, only nothing really happened other than heightened underground seismic activity. Malone was so pissed.”
Leo and Malone had assumed that the lack of the top blown off the mountain meant their attempt to hatch a dragon failed. After all, increased magma wouldn’t matter if the egg wasn’t anywhere near a lava flow. But… what if an egg did crack and its occupant perished because it never found its way to the surface? Or worse, what if it built up its strength while remaining hidden inside the mountain?
There could be another male out there who would become competition for Pollita’s attention. The very thought had him steaming.
She’s mine. Because dragons didn’t share.
Chapter One
The curser blinked repeatedly and I wanted to punch it. I didn’t appreciate the way it kept mocking my inability to type anything of worth.
My editor expected a finished manuscript before the end of the month. In her defense, I’d had two years to write it. Two years of struggling to find the words. It didn’t help I’d spent most of them drunk. The bottle became my best friend after my wife left me for another dude, but even more traumatizing, she took my dog, Buster. I still missed that big goof even as I stalked her social media and saw him living his best life, playing fetch.
With another man.
The betrayal bit deep.
To escape it all, and with my deadline rapidly approaching, I’d recently fled the USA and temporarily relocated to a spot close to Mount Amiata in Italy. Drastic, I know, but my editor had a friend with a friend whose cousin owned a chalet that wasn’t usually rented in the winter since its remote location made it difficult to reach once the snow started falling.
The privacy—and absence of triggering memories, such as the couch where Buster and I used to snuggle—suited my needs even if I didn’t have use of the extra bedrooms it came with. Situated a fair distance up a mountain and reached by a sketchy, narrow, single-lane road, the chalet possessed a basic kitchen, which matched my cooking skill. The living room with a fireplace meant exercise in the form of splitting logs—and yeah, I’d been swinging that ax plenty since I’d kicked myself off the booze. And when I worked myself sore, there was a hot tub for soaking while enjoying the view. No neighbors equaled no distractions. As for my liver? It got a break since the nearest bar required me to drive. Even I knew better than to drink and drive, because despite my shitshow of a life, I didn’t want to die.
Should have been the perfect place to put my fingers to the typing grindstone.
Nope.
I fucking hated it. Never thought myself a social guy until I literally had no one to talk to. It should be noted that when I lived in the city, I rarely spoke to anyone, but I could have. If I’d wanted to.
And here I was, procrastinating again. I stared at the screen, fingers frozen over the keyboard, once more cursing myself for choosing to become a writer. At the time, recovering from being injured in the line of duty—with a leg that never fully healed from the shrapnel despite the surgeries and rehab—I needed something to keep my mind busy. It had been my therapist who’d suggested I begin journaling as a way to work through what I’d experienced. I thought it dumb, and yet, I tried it, writing down what I remembered but from the perspective of a third party, as if I watched what had happened from the outside. It didn’t help the nightmares, but I found myself enjoying the soothing nature of putting into words some of the things I experienced. Given the private nature of a journal, I spilled every thought and emotion into it, never expecting anyone to read it.
My now ex-wife stole what I wrote and sent it in to an editor she knew. When she told me, I was pissed. So very, very pissed, until the publishing house made me an offer with a crazy number of zeroes attached. For a guy struggling to maintain a household and his dignity on a disability check, the contract they offered felt like winning the lottery. That first book made me enough I forgave my ex and embarked on a new career.
