LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Steamy
Date Published: February 21, 2025
When werewolf and dragon meet, will their need for each other defeat all
their well-intentioned plans?
Tom, a land dragon, is so large he’s earned the nickname
“Earth.” His dragon herd takes advantage of him until he’s
sold to a pair of basilisks. Unfortunately for them, Tom’s mating
plans don’t include repopulating the basilisk species. Time to make
his escape…
Kailee, psychic disaster and frightened “rehabilitated”
werewolf, is new to adulting, but she’s been through enough to make
her a force to be reckoned with. Transgender, she is burdened with not one,
but three psychic abilities. The overabundance of power tends to make her a
little off-balance…
Will Kailee be able to protect Tom from those hunting him? Can Tom learn to
trust? Or will their need for each other defeat all their well-intentioned
plans?
EXCERPT
Tom fled through the forest, staying low to the ground, or as low as a
person who stood over six feet could manage without crawling. He needed to
keep his feet because —
He flashed back to when the matriarch had cut off his left foot to keep him
from escaping again. It had grown back, of course. He was a dragon. Still,
it had hurt, and he sometimes woke in the middle of the night with phantom
pain reminding him how he’d suffered.
He didn’t have a very good sense of direction, but it was a sunny
day, early in the morning, and the sun came up in the east. So, just as long
as he kept the sun on his left, he’d assumed he’d be generally
heading south. Out of Canada. He’d grown up here but all he knew about
the country where he’d been imprisoned was that it was north of the
United States.
He was grateful his shedding was over for another six months. His escape
would have been impossible while he was struggling through the twice-a-year
loss of his scales.
He heard other dragons flying above him and huddled against a tree, hoping
the darkness of his skin would blend with the shadows. He wasn’t
exactly dressed for a late December winter when the temperatures around Nova
Scotia lingered just above freezing most days. He wouldn’t freeze to
death… probably. As long as he kept moving, he’d be all right.
Just now, though, stillness was required. He shut his eyes, fearing that his
anxiety had turned his irises yellow-green. They might be spotted by someone
with a searchlight.
He wondered briefly if the female dragons had employed some of their males
to help. Most of the males were treated better than he was, although not
equal to the females. The large majority would do as they were told because
they weren’t required to stand stud all year, just when the females
wanted them.
Probably most of the other male dragons were grateful for his existence. He
was an anomaly, but one that the females liked. Bigger and stronger than any
other dragon he’d ever met, he’d been conditioned since birth.
He’d been born larger and the hopes for his future progeny had been
high. Hell, they were still high even though only about one third of the
dragons he sired were of greater size when they were born. He’d only
been at this enslavement stud service for a year and a half, so none of his
children were more than a year old.
It was as if, when the dragons and werewolves had split off from their
basilisk parentage, they’d been cursed to all stand at the exact same
height in either human guise or scaly form. Five feet, ten inches was the
height of almost every other dragon he’d heard of when they walked on
two feet. With their talons and tails, they stood eight feet tall.
Tom was six-two sometimes, and others, he was ten feet tall. Being larger
than most dragons should have been an advantage. Having increased strength
could have helped if there weren’t so many damn males and females
alike ready to take him down.
The sounds overhead faded and he hesitated, not wanting to leave his hiding
place. Yet, what good would it do him to stay here? They’d send out
hunters on foot if necessary.
So, biting his lips almost hard enough to draw blood, he crept away from
the tree and started running again. He skirted around a meadow and kept
going, adrenaline making him thirsty even as it lent his muscles
endurance.
The sun had been up for an hour before he judged it safe to stop and drink.
He’d been hearing a river nearby for about the last ten minutes and
that burbling, overly cheery sound made him long for water.
He broke from the game trail he’d been following and found an
offshoot that led in the correct direction. When he came upon the river, he
was relieved to see a rocky bank where he could get right down close to the
water and drink his fill.
He crawled to the edge of the river, listening hard. He heard nothing
except the twittering of birds and the chittering of squirrels. Well, and
the rushing of the water, of course. It was a deep stream, not quite the
river he’d been envisioning based on the amount of noise it was
making. He slipped his hands into the icy cold water.
Hands seized him roughly by his hair.
Without thought, he shifted to his scaly form to lose that grip. His
clothes, rags now, fell away as he tried for the sky.
Three dragons, brown and orange, like him, male, like him, each two feet
smaller, crashed into him. From below came a howl of triumph and something
sharp sliced through his wing’s membrane.
He screamed as he fell.
About the Author
Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender
women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she
created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its
problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a
host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the
contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,”
Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a
passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central
or on her website.
Contact Links
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress
