The Moorigad Dragon: (An Urban Fantasy Series) (Age of the Hybrid Book 1) Read online

  Sebastian grabbed her arm, dragged her to a stop. He was the barely-calm before the storm, and ready to burst. “What are you doing?”

  She looked down at his grip, her emotions pinging and ponging inside of her, torn between her loyalty to Sebastian and the inexplicable need now growing. “Someone fell in. I’m going to save him.” Urgency coursed through her in a way she’d never experienced before.

  “But he’s human.” Sebastian’s voice seethed with undeniable disdain.

  She flinched, yet swore it was panic she detected in his eyes. She’d never heard such ugly inflection in his voice, not ever. Not in all their hours playing poker in his trailer, or hanging in the back lot behind Big Eli with a bottle, making up stories about the people riding the magic circle of lights—the Ferris wheel. Not even on his darker days, when she would find him wandering by the wall of fog. Those days, they would walk for hours talking about nothing greater than nonsense. If he truly felt that way, she’d have gotten a hint of it before now.

  “So what?” She peeled his hand free.

  “You’ll risk exposing us.” His voice hitched.

  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  She wasn’t a hundred percent confident in her words, but didn’t want him to see her falter. Too strong was the pride pulsing through her veins. Besides, going after the man wasn’t a choice she was free to make. She had to go. She didn’t want to accept it, but knew it was true. Something pulled at her. Like she was on the end of a fishing line being reeled in. With an abrupt turn she walked away, a piece of her breaking into bits with each stretched step put between them. She prayed their trust would survive whatever happened next.

  Kyra stepped into the brisk, wild current. It welcomed her like a child returning home after a long absence. It had been too long since she’d allowed herself to swim, and the water was glorious to the touch. Overdue pleasure spread to the corners of her cheeks, and she dove into its depths. Cold, vicious liquid wrapped around every curve of her body as she began to change, shedding unnecessary human garments in trade for her true self. Her scales returned, covering her like a form-fitted bodysuit.

  Like an untamed torpedo she shot through the water, the greatest of water beasts. The turbulent river no match for her strength. Her movements second nature. A Sea Dragon’s quick, artful angulation.

  An abnormality, that’s what she was. The blending of two dragon species, something they called Moorigad, something frowned upon. For good reason, too. The traits of both parents clashed within her, a constant storm, each fighting for control. A form of discord was the result. No elongated, beautiful water serpent or big, strong fire beast was she, but a malformed mixture of the two. And she hated it.

  What should have been the long serpentine stretch to her spine was interrupted by a bloated belly. Her tail was too long for a Fire Dragon, too short for a Water Hydra, and ended in a hard clump of nothing. Had she been a proper Fire Dragon, her tail would feature a magnificent cluster of spikes. A great weapon at her disposal. But she wasn’t. Hence, the clump. And the pathetic bones on her back supported a hide stretched too thin, riddled with an artistic display of holes. They were supposed to be wings. Instead, they were embarrassing.

  She tucked her misshapen appendages in close and closed the distance to her target in a wing’s bat.

  Thick sediment made visibility onerous. Dirt and small pebbles caught in currents clouded her path, but hazy paths never deterred any respectable sea monster. Sound pulses sent out upon entering the water returned to her from multiple directions, pinpointing her needed location. Even through the filth she saw it, a large object falling to the river floor. She quickened her pace.

  Her ear caught it first—a muffled thump. Visible was a slight churn of dark chestnut hair and loose limbs flaring out like a discarded twill doll. He donned an ugly black eye and a scrape across the nose, still it was definitely the man she’d seen fighting on the bridge. A man now sinking to the bottom of the lake.

  Fealty pulled at her again, pulled stronger. Pulled her to him. It played, danced, and fought with the competing emotions swirling in her chest—puzzlement and unease.

  As a dragon, there were many things she could do beneath the water. Help a drowning man breathe was not one of them.

  She wrapped her talons tight around his limp form, then fear clenched, closed her throat. What if he regained consciousness, saw her monstrous self? How would he react? How would she react to his reaction? Why should I care? she reasoned. Problem was, a curious nagging itched at the back of her skull, solidifying her new truth. She did care.

  Kyra sacrificed the advantages of her true full-being, yet maintained the majority of her strength and speed, by holding the scales to her body as she transformed back into something more human-like. She kept her long, webbed feet and arms, as well as her strong clump of a tail, to assist with thrust. The rest returned to the shape of a human female canvased in a brilliant, orange-scaled husk.

  She bolted straight for the surface and provided air for the man’s delicate lungs. A sputter that failed to summon consciousness was her unwelcome reward. His eyes fluttered, he choked on dirty water and failed to take a breath. Dragging him at her side, she made her way to the shore, to Sebastian. He watched, restlessly waiting, a dark fog brewing over his demeanor.

  Kyra shot Sebastian a look so hard it could leave a mark. She hauled the sodden man from the river. “Don’t just stand there. Help me.”

  Her movements were stiff. The transformation of her legs and feet from long and webbed to normal was proving difficult while walking. It was that—and guilt. Guilt slowed her forward progression. She felt like a dragonet again. A dragonet forced to pick sides in a game she’d never wanted to play. Only this wasn’t a game. It pitted Sebastian against a stranger, and she hadn’t chosen the one closest to her heart. She needed to understand why. It was as if her free will had been stripped away. Her heart squeezed, twisted into an ugly, fuzzy knot.

  Sebastian shoved his hands deep into his jeans’ front pockets and shuffled his weight. His bangs hid his face in shadow. “This is a mistake. He was supposed to die.”

  Maybe so, except something inside her wouldn’t let it be so. She was unquestionably drawn to the man, and she couldn’t explain it. Kyra hoisted the man onto the grass, laid him out, and studied his face. “How do you know that?” she asked Sebastian. “How can anybody know who is meant or isn’t meant to die? Maybe I was meant to save him.”

  Sebastian shifted. “I just know. Have a feeling, is all.”

  “Come on,” Kyra said. “Don’t be like that. I’ll take responsibility for him. That gives him a good fighting chance.” She bent down, pinched the man’s nose, and pressed her lips to his.

  The man coughed, then moaned, a stream of water spilling from his mouth shortly after. He rubbed the palm of his hand across his cheek with one long drag. His eyes flickered open, attempted to focus. A twinkle of mischief and a touch of tenderness greeted her. In the manner of a dopey drunk, a lopsided smile spread across his face and one hand looped up around her neck, pulling her closer.

  Kyra let a nervous laugh escape and pushed away. She couldn’t help but notice his wet clothing revealed a strong, sculpted physique. “Hold on there, stranger.”

  “You’re so pretty. Must be a dream.” His words slurred off his tongue, as if half the syllables were stuck to the surface, and his eyes glazed. He attempted to brush his hand along the side of her face. It skipped and bumped like a dragonling’s firsts steps. “Like fire beneath the water.” His fingers twisted through her red tendrils, pulled them straight. The weight of his eyelids proved too heavy, though, and they closed once again, returning him to a slumbering state.

  She stifled a giggle and looked up to her friend, unsure of her next move.

  Sebastian reached down, took Kyra by the arm, and helped her stand. “What the hell was that?” His voice was rough, thick, and his words pressed down on her.

  “I made sure he was breathin
g. Breath of Life and all that. You’ve seen how it’s done, haven’t you?”

  His shoulders relaxed. Face softened. “Oh, right. Looked like you were kissing him.” Sebastian released her and turned away, his face reddening. “You are beautiful, you know. Right now, your skin still shimmers the iridescent orange your scales cast. It’s magnificent.”

  “What?” Kyra looked down at her scaled bodysuit. It was fading, returning to bare flesh. Soon she’d be standing before him completely exposed. Naked. She flushed and crossed her arms. “Give me your shirt.”

  “If you wanted to get my clothes off, there are better ways to go about it.” He glanced back and arched his brows, daring her.

  A fireball of nerves dropped in her belly and she pushed away the thought his words had planted in her mind. He can’t be serious. We’re just friends. And he’s definitely not a dragon, she thought. But what if… Maybe he wants something more. Could it be?

  She shook her head and put out her hand. “Stop. Fork it over.”

  Sebastian rolled his eyes, as if to say Kyra‘s a fun-killer, then pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to her. She hastily slipped it on. He wasn’t a huge guy and his clothing barely covered all the essential areas, maintaining her decency as her skin dried and her scales vanished.

  Sebastian scratched the back of his bronzed neck and looked down at the almost-drowned man on the ground. “I still think you should toss him back in the water and forget about him. I mean, what are you going to do with him? You heard what he said. He saw you.”

  “Let me worry about that.” She fixed a look on Sebastian’s ribcage. She hadn’t meant to, just couldn’t help herself. Something new, something she hadn’t seen before, trailed his side. Black ink. It was brilliant against his brown skin. She pointed. “What’s that?”

  He glanced down at the ink scrolled upon his side like a shopping list. He turned, moving it from her sight. “It’s nothing. Just a…thing.” The pothole in his words gave Kyra pause. She watched in silence as his hand worked through his hair with a mild shake, and he looked around the perimeter.

  His actions more than his words told her the mark was supernatural. That meant it came from his family line, something Sebastian never talked about. Kyra knew she would need to tread lightly if she pressed further. “Is it from your mother’s or father’s side?”

  Sebastian’s foot dug into the ground, indicating a truth he was yet unwilling to voice.

  “Come on. You never share about yourself,” Kyra pressed.

  “Not now. I’m gonna have to fade. I’m on the clock in a tick, and I have an image to keep.” He waved his hands, indicating his present state wouldn’t do.

  Kyra needed no convincing. Sebastian seriously got into his role at the carnival. Only her gut hinted he was running away from her question.

  “What about the reason you brought me here? Are we going to talk about that? Or maybe the man on the bridge?” Kyra took a step closer, practically willing him to stay.

  Sebastian’s glance flickered back and forth between Kyra and the man at her feet, his palm scraping along his jawline. “Nah. We can do that later.”

  Kyra rocked back a step, hovered protectively over the unconscious man. She wanted to pursue Sebastian, smooth things over, but she also wanted to stay. What was wrong with her? “Okay.”

  “You gonna to be all right if I leave you here on your own?” he asked.

  Rubbing heavily at her damp skin with his black T-shirt, Kyra glanced at the bridge, now empty, then back at Sebastian. “I’m a big girl, don’t you worry.”

  His lips twisted oddly to the side.

  Straightening her spine, rolling the edge of his shirt tight within her fingers, Kyra snapped, “What? You don’t think I can?”

  “Nah. It’s not that. It’s just…you’re not as mature and Merlin-esque as you think. You still make bad calls. Like this one.” With a lazy finger, Sebastian pointed to the river-drunk man lying at her feet. “I can’t help worrying about you.”

  “Eighty-three is plenty old and wise. You needn’t worry about me. Go do your stuff. I’ll meet up with you later.” Proud by nature, born to be strong. She wanted to make sure he understood that about her. Kyra gently shoved him in the chest, nudged him in the direction of the portal.

  He pushed back, reached over, and peeled a thin layer of skin from the side of her face. “If you’re going to do stupid things, make sure you maintain the illusion afterwards.” He gingerly rubbed the shimmery orange strip of lizard-like skin between his fingers, then tossed it to the ground. They stood impossibly close, and he lingered a moment longer than necessary, studying her face. With a sigh, he turned and headed for the small land pocket beneath the bridge, glancing back one last time.

  It was a forever stare.

  He stepped through the gateway between worlds.

  Kyra yelled after him, “I’m sorry, Sebastian.”

  It was too late, his form already swirled and distorted. He was gone, returned to the carnival, their home away from home, the greatest destination for those who knew how to find it. He hadn’t heard her apology and she wanted him to know how sorry she was for messing up the afternoon. Ruining the plans he had made, botching the thing he wanted to share, spoiling their time with too many personal questions, and confusing their situation with the half-drowned man at her feet.

  She wanted to let things go, let them drift away with the wind, but she was like a dragonling with a bone. So unwilling to unclench her teeth. And something about the nondescript, suited man on the bridge screamed father. Sebastian’s father, to be precise. Sebastian had done nothing to confirm nor deny her suspicions of any relation, much less a parental one. Yet Kyra felt so damn sure. If it were true, why had Sebastian looked so forlorn?

  She stared at the empty space where Sebastian had been mere seconds before, worried her actions had caused him not only concern, but something more. Her emotions swirled, the dark before a rain.

  She sat beside the unconscious man and ran her fingers through his wet, tangled hair. His face was scruffy. He needed a shave, had suffered bruising across his cheek and nose, and probably harbored a battered ego. Despite all that, there were things about him she found attractive. Although not overly apparent, he hid strength beneath his flannel shirt, and she liked that about him. His angular jawline and muscular arms hinted to what he kept covered. His eyes had been tender when he’d looked upon her. And she thought it cute the way he now mumbled in his sleep. He muttered about magical lake princesses and heroic rescues.

  She scratched the back of her neck and let out a breath. “All right, big fella. You’re coming with me.” She lifted him by the shoulder and together they walked—he stumbled—toward the portal.

  When they stepped into the circle, the world beyond shifted, slowly shimmered, and began to distort. A hand shot through the blur. Shot straight at them. Clamped down and clenched the man’s soaked clothes in its grasp.

  There it was again. That unexplainable fealty, an unspoken devotion, a sense of duty dragging on her like a forged steel shackle clamped around her flesh. Why did this stranger have such overwhelming power over her?

  She hissed. Ripped the half-drowned man free of the grasp pushing through the portal, sending her and her wet cargo tumbling back, back, back.

  The river-drunk crashed upon her, the moisture from his garments quickly spreading to hers. “What the fu—?”

  Kyra cut him off, shoved him off.

  He rolled over like a wet lump of beef and looked like yesterday’s leftovers. Several days dead. He wasn’t, though. She could hear, see, even sense him breathing.

  They’d plummeted in at the carnival’s front entrance. Whatever had tried to grab them had missed the opportunity. The portal had successfully spun them out of reach.

  Everywhere she looked, people milled about. They stood in the ticket line, waited at the cotton candy vendor, gathered around the balloon peddler. None of them paid any attention to the new arrivals. For the carniva
l, that was the norm. Strange things were the norm. Anything, everything, all things were the norm.

  Kyra pinched her forehead. She didn’t want to deal. Not with anything so messy. She rolled her eyes, let them land on him. He wasn’t going to pick himself up. Get himself out of the space of the portal. Get himself tucked away safe in her dragon’s lair.

  Nope. She’d have to do it.

  She puckered her lips. Allowed the pout for half a second, then picked him up and hauled him through the carnival at break-wing speed.

  Kyra nodded to a carnie or two, not taking time for much acknowledgment. Her cargo stirred and she wanted him in the safety of her den—a 1970s Yellowstone Camper Trailer.

  Down the midway, through the fun zone, across the valley of carnie campers, to her own she charged. She kicked open the front door in a sliver-fold of time. Lucky, considering how the carnival worked. So unpredictable. Never the same map twice.

  She deposited the man precariously on the edge of her bed and stood in awkward silence. Watched him cradle his head in his hands, and felt utterly clueless. Clueless on what to do next. Like a pile of sodden books, his weight sunk into the mattress. Sunk into her list of woes. Now that they were safe, she questioned why she’d even brought him back to her trailer, or to the carnival. Not that she knew where else to take him. She only knew she felt some strange connection between them. Some strange need to protect him. Beyond that, she didn’t know what any of it meant.

  Scratching her head, Kyra looked away from the groggy man and wandered to the far end of the room, as if escape were possible in a trailer so tight. She glanced between the wall clock and her exposed legs. Her current attire was unacceptable in front of a total stranger, or for her performance soon to start. After pulling black pants and boots from the closet and briskly fitting them to her form, she slipped a jacket on over Sebastian’s shirt, shuffled a foot back, and turned to go.