ONE
MAC
Shit,shit, shit, shit, shit.
The chalice I justhadto have clangs noisily in my bag, and someone shouts what I’m sure is Arabic for “Stop, thief!”from somewhere behind me. I dart around the corner onto a busier street, hoping to lose the guards who have been chasing me for the past few blocks. They have incredible stamina for humans; I’ll give them that.
My dragon purrs unapologetically, the sound rumbling deep in my chest. He wanted the chalice, but I’m the one who’s going to end up having to talk our way out of human jail. Do they still cut off hands for thievery around here? Shit, I hope not. My hand would grow back, but fuck is it a pain in the ass.
My dragon and I might technically be one and the same, but sometimes it feels like he’s the little devil on my shoulder or my impulsive, dumbass alter ego, constantly giving me terrible ideas that I just can’t resist going along with. This is why my brothers think I’m such a fuckup. Maybe if I just dropped the chalice, they’d stop chasing me and call it even.
I reach into my bag without breaking my stride, but as soon as my fingers brush the smooth gold, I know I’m not going to just throw it away. It’s too pretty. It’s too shiny. I purr a little louderand a puff of smoke singes my nostrils on my next exhale. Okay, so that plan is out the window. Thundering footsteps reach my ears again. These guys take their jobs extremely fucking seriously apparently.
I duck around the hordes of people in the street and scan the nearby buildings for somewhere to hide. There are shops and restaurants lining both sides of the street, but my eyes fall on a strange looking bar. It’s out of place next to the other buildings, but I can’t put my finger on exactly why. It’s the same stone style, similar architecture, but it doesn’t quitefit, like it was an afterthought, built awkwardly into the space between two other buildings. It almost looks like it’s shimmering in the desert sunlight, like a mirage. Without conscious thought, my feet carry me to it like a puppet on a string, in spite of whatever strangeness is raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
I push through the door, glancing behind me quickly to make sure the guards aren’t following, then throw it closed. It’s oppressively hot inside, the air stale, the scent of sulfur heavy in every breath I take. My stomach roils with the memory of the short, unpleasant time I spent in the underworld a couple of years ago, when a demon I stole from captured me and my brother’s mate.
“Get you a drink?” The voice seems to echo in the empty bar as I turn away from the door.
“Sorry, I thought…” I look around at all the unoccupied tables and barstools. Not a single other soul in sight. I swear there’s another shimmering ripple in my peripheral vision, giving everything a dreamlike quality.
Wait,amI dreaming? It would explain the sudden sense of calm I’m feeling, and the weightlessness in my limbs. My feet start to move without conscious thought again and I find myself approaching the bar.
I take in the man who spoke for the first time. He looks even more out of place than the building itself did. He’s tall, close to seven feet, with silky black hair that flows to his midback and moves as if there’s a breeze in the room. His eyes are a glittering aquamarine, and his skin is pale, with an iridescent quality that reminds me of the strange shimmering I keep seeing out of the corner of my eye. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt—open halfway down to show off the intricate tattoos covering his chest—and black leather pants that have no place in the desert. He’s objectively gorgeous, but the feeling that stirs in my gut isn’t lust, it’s wariness. He’s not human. I don’t know what he is for sure, but I’m positive about that.
“You thought what, dragon?” His lips twist into a grin, flashing a set of sharp teeth.
My scales ripple over my soft, human flesh protectively. I look back over my shoulder, considering whether I’d be better off going back out there and facing the human authorities rather than whoever this is.
“Sit.” His voice is deep and commanding. The nearest barstool screeches across the floor towards me, seemingly at his command. “Let me get you a drink.”
Could he be a faerie? Just to be safe, I shake my head, but I take a seat on the stool anyway. “No, thanks.”
He shrugs. “Have it your way, dragon.” He folds his arms on the bar top and leans over casually. “So, what’d you take?”
I bristle and clutch my bag tighter. “Nothing,”
He laughs, and the sound is almost like feedback from a microphone, making me flinch. I can feel my dragon pacing anxiously just under the surface, but for some reason, I don’t stand up and leave. Could he be casting some kind of spell over me?
He laughs a second time, a little louder. “Just a glamour. Other than that, you’re free to leave. I’m not doing anything to keep you here.”
“You… you can read my thoughts?” I blanch.
His only answer is another amused twist of his lips.
“You manage to get yourself in a lot of trouble, don’t you, dragon?” He pulls a bottle off of the shelf and sets two shot glasses down on the bar top. He fills both and I start to shake my head again to decline the offer, but he picks them both up and downs them one after another, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth when he’s done.
“No more than other dragons,” I mutter defensively. “It’s just our nature.”
He nods in understanding. “I’m Auri, by the way,” he says, pouring two more drinks.
It can’t be too risky if he just drank it himself, right? This time I reach out and take one of the glasses, bringing it to my lips and swallowing it down. The burn of alcohol flowing down my throat is nowhere near as pleasant as the burn of my own flames coming out, but I’ve never minded it. Auri drinks the other.
I offer my name. “Mac.”
“It’s unfair,” Auri says thoughtfully, running his index finger slowly around the rim of his empty shot glass. “No one should be persecuted for the things they can’t control. It’s like you said—it’s just your nature as a dragon to see something pretty and have to take it for yourself.”
“Exactly.” I scoot forward until I’m teetering on the edge of my stool. “Why doesn’t anyone ever get that?”
