Page 4 of Red Dragon’s Flame

He’d never liked Vesuvius. Who named themselves after a fucking volcano?

Shadowfire: I’ve persuaded one of his disgruntled minions to meet me in the Horse’s Ass pub, hopefully so I can bribe him for info on the keep. You might want to be there.

Starthrower: Sure. What kind of presence do you need? Peasant disguise? Full armor intimidation? Fur loincloth and giant tankards of ale?

Shadowfire: You know I love the fur loincloth.

She added a couple of flame emojis for ‘hot.’ Even though Mikah knew they were for his avatar and not him, he had to admit he liked her thinking it.

Starthrower: Anything for the Lady Shadowfire.

Shadowfire: Sadly for me and my loincloth-viewing, I think this is more of a ‘lurk in the shadows’ thing. Not much lurking going on when you’re half-naked. Everybody notices.

Starthrower: You’re making me blush.

It was almost true.

Shadowfire: Doubt it. Try the old hooded cloak in the dark corner routine. I’ll get back to you with the time.

Starthrower: You got it. See you.

Shadowfire: Try not to let the asset allocation get out of control.

She left him smiling, but also with a vague feeling of melancholy. Cazbek was living happily ever after in Seattle with his mate, and Zak was having a baby.

And Mikah’s love life consisted of flirting online with someone he’d never met, having vicarious adventures instead of real ones.

Shit. He might as well be human. Maybe he should join an Ops team.

Slowly, he became aware of the insistent chiming of a communication ball in one of the other offices, getting continually louder.

“Is someone going to get that?” he roared. “Or do I have to do everything?”

There was no answer from the atrium, where the support staff had their desks. Where the hell was everyone?

The ball was still ringing, so Mikah grumpily marched outside to see whose it was. The sound was coming from Tristan’s office. He supposed he should get it; the Shifter Council sometimes called Tristan about emergency ops, and lives could be at stake.

He was inside the office, inches from grabbing the device, when the chiming stopped. Naturally. Then, just to annoy him further, he heard it again—this time in his own office.

“Fuck. Me,” he muttered, backtracking to his own desk, where his large, globe-sized communication ball was glowing and chiming.

He flung himself down in his chair and touched the ball, now completely out of sorts.

“What?” he barked.

“Well, you’re in a mood.” It was a girl’s voice, accompanied a second later by her face—pretty with blond wavy hair, her usual mischievous expression supplanted by a sullen frown.

Michelangela Connors. “I need to find Uncle Tristan,” she said. “Do you know where he is? I’m desperate.”

Chapter 3

Mikah did not panic. ‘Desperate’ was a relative term when you were dealing with a teenage girl, even one as normally cool as Michelangela.

“Really?” he asked. “Is anyone dead, arrested, or bleeding faster than their shifter healing can handle?”

“Not yet,” she said darkly. “But I might have to kill my dad.” She paused. “If he doesn’t kill me first. It’s a race to the death. Kind of like an apocalyptic movie.”

That made him laugh—Michelangela usually did. She was a born hellion, but she held a special place in his heart.