Dragon Prince

The Dragon Prince Sierra Dafoe All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2007 Sierra Dafoe

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ISBN: 978-1-59596-773-2

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Editor: Chrissie Henderson

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

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The Dragon Prince Sierra Dafoe Something is wrong with Kevan -- he knows it. As heir to the throne, he’s expected to be dutiful, responsible, levelheaded… and to marry and continue the royal line. But not one of the females presented for his consideration rouses his interest, and on his twenty-first birthday, Kevan throws duty to the winds and runs away to Earth to try and find out why. When he meets Cal, a handsome young dancer, Kevan finds all his questions answered in one blazing night of passion. Caught up in the first flush of sexual awakening, Kevan is willing to risk everything to keep Cal by his side -- even the throne of the Dragon kingdom! But Cal has plans for his dragon prince, and is willing to do whatever it takes to continue Kevan’s erotic education…

Chapter One Even at this altitude, winter had finally released its grip, and the evening breeze wafting through the high arches of Wind Castle and into Kevan’s room carried with it the delicate scents of asthuraia, moss, and mountain pine. Unseasonably warm, the fragrant air played across his bare flesh as Kevan pulled off his shirt, shook back his thick blond hair, and reached for the formal tunic Melgara had laid out for him. Twenty-one years old, and his mother was still picking out his clothes. Kevan scowled. He looked down the line of his long, lean torso. The muscles that rippled there pleased him, at least. His body had gained more definition as it developed into manhood, and his rather scrawny adolescence had been left far behind. His shoulders were broad -- not as broad as Uncle Rand’s, but still heavier than his half-brother Darrek’s, and his arms had hard, bulging biceps that he still, on occasion, ran his hands over admiringly. Not that he would ever admit that, of course. A Southerlin prince was supposed to be above such things as vanity. His scowl deepened as his mind ran over some of the seemingly endless list of things a Southerlin was supposed to be -- like responsible, dedicated, tactful, circumspect… Although how Lara qualifies for that last one, I’ll never know, he thought grumpily. As a boy, he’d listened wide-eyed to tales of his sister’s exploits. How she’d grown up on Earth, ignorant of her station -- and oh, how Kevan, suffering through endless lessons on protocol and hereditary precedence, had envied her that! Stories of how she’d been kidnapped by the rogue Westron dragon, Zendar, who later became her husband. But his favorite story was of how she’d thrown herself recklessly into the Dragon Winds to pursue Darrek and Zendar when they’d fled Djarera.

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Of course, everything always works out perfectly for her, Kevan groused to himself. Not only had she brought Zendar and Darrek safely home, she’d returned with Dravidian, one of the lost Astraea clan, as well. It was hard to reconcile those stirring adventures with the rather stolid woman he knew as his elder sister -- why, she must be over forty, now! But the most reckless thing Lara did these days was continue to share her bed with both Zendar and Dravidian, and by now the dragon clans had pretty well accepted their peculiar arrangement. He could use a little recklessness himself, Kevan felt -- he was deeply jealous of his four wild nephews, two of them sired by Zendar and two, judging from their violet eyes and gleaming silver hair, by the tall, lean Astraean. All of them had already been off-planet at least once -- even Zavin, who was barely eleven! It wasn’t fair. It totally wasn’t fair. I’m heir to the throne of Djarera, Winds take it! And what’s the most exciting thing I get to do? Visit the dragon clans with my mother. The ostensible reason for these annual tours was to help prepare him to rule Djarera -- but Kevan, who was perfectly quick despite his groans over his studies, could hardly fail to notice how often these visits included meeting somebody’s eligible daughter or niece. And those “chance” meetings had become more and more frequent over the four years that had passed since his seventeenth birthday. And now here’s another one. He sighed, his scowl deepening, and yanked the tunic over his head, gritting his teeth at the distant murmur of voices. Even though his room was located on the outer wall of Wind Castle, he could nevertheless make out the cheerful hubbub rising from the inner courtyard where his birthday celebration was being held. The gathering, he knew, would be chock-full of eager young females, all preening and simpering and trying to catch his attention. Kevan had been conceived when Melgara was the age her daughter was now -in fact, one of his nephews was a scant three weeks younger than himself -- and although not yet past her prime, his mother was eager to have the succession secured.

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He could understand that, and his sense of duty was strong enough to make him feel it was his responsibility to provide an heir, sooner rather than later. The only problem was he simply wasn’t interested in any of the girls he’d met. He wondered sometimes if something was wrong with him. The lure of khef, the mating heat of the female dragons, was supposedly irresistible -- he’d seen its effect on the boys he’d grown up with, watching in puzzled amazement as they’d snarled and snapped around a female in heat. He himself had felt a vague, restless tension, but nothing to support the legendary stories of khef duels he’d heard. Battles to the death over some girl! Kevan snorted. Oh, it wasn’t that he never got worked up -- he did, all right, and on a regular basis. The plumbing definitely wasn’t the problem. But his fantasies as he used his hand to ease his body’s urges were always maddeningly vague, somehow. They certainly never featured any of the females that had been so lavishly paraded before him. Once, he’d caught himself thinking of Lara -- well, not of her, really, but of Zendar and Dravidian. How did they do it, the three of them? Did they take turns? Or did they all do it at the same time, the two men naked together, maybe even touching each other… He’d blushed, frankly horrified when he realized he was thinking about his sister’s husband, by the Winds! His embarrassment had ended that particular session of self-gratification in a hurry -- but the next evening at dinner, he’d found himself eyeing the tall Astraean and Zendar speculatively. Kevan sighed. More and more often over the past few years, he’d wished he had someone he could talk to about this stuff -- but Darrek and Rand hadn’t visited from Earth for over two years, and his father had passed away when he was twelve. There simply wasn’t anyone else he felt comfortable talking to. And he sure didn’t feel like talking to a bunch of giggling girls! Winds, it was his birthday -- was it too much to ask to spend it as he wanted? Kevan knew the answer to that one without even thinking. Yes. If you were a Southerlin prince, yes, it was too much to ask.

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Maybe it was the warm spring night making him feel so fractious, but Kevan found himself pacing his room, his irritability growing instead of decreasing. He was sick to the eyeteeth of being told what to do, who to talk to, when and where he was supposed to be every damn second… “Kev? Kevan?” His mother’s voice rose outside his room, right on cue. “Kevan, it’s time to come down.” He could feel his muscles flexing, thickening, his fingers wanting to curl into claws and scrape furrows in the marble floor of his room. Forcing his irritation down by main force, he yelled back, “Be right there!” He stood there, listening to the sound of his mother’s firm tread moving off, his blood roiling in frustration. He didn’t know what he wanted, damn it -- all he knew was that he wanted something. He was so tired of duty and honor and obedience… Then do something about it, Kevan, for once in your life. That small, quiet inner voice shocked him. Just go? Just leave, without a word? Why not? Did Lara ever stop to ask for permission? No, Kevan thought. She hadn’t. Then why should you? Kevan glanced up, startled. Outside, the last rays of sunset painted fiery streaks on the velvety sky. Why shouldn’t he go somewhere, just for a while? Wasn’t he entitled to one bit of adventure before he was trammeled forever into the path his mother had laid out for him? And he knew where he’d go, too. Grinning to himself, Kevan thought of his wild, tempestuous half-brother. Darrek would understand what he was going through. And Rand -- the giant, redheaded Aurorean always seemed to set Kevan at ease merely by his presence. Yes. For once in his life, he would do what he wanted to do. Sliding silently out of his room, Kevan paused, listening to the babble of voices coming from his right. Then he swung left, away from the inner courtyard, and slid as stealthily as a cat toward the

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audience hall of Wind Castle, and the high stone seat from which the heirs of Djarera could command the Winds. The hall was empty when he reached it, the guests had long since arrived. The massive outer doors still stood open, though, and a few torches still burned, casting more shadows than they dispelled. Kevan swallowed nervously as he crept across the broad marble hall, heading for the dais that seemed to loom high above him. It didn’t, of course -- only four shallow steps led from the floor to the throne of Djarera. Nevertheless, he found himself panting as he reached the top of them, looking down at the hard stone seat from which his mother had always surveyed this room. He was frightened, Kevan admitted. Oh, he’d listened in -- eavesdropped, to be exact, and Melgara would have flown into a fury if she’d ever caught him at it -- on the lessons Dravidian gave all the other young dragons (all but me, Kevan added to himself). So he understood the basic principle of riding the Winds. But this was different. Wind Castle had been designed to tap the raw, awesome power of the Dragon Winds, those sub-atomic currents of energy that flowed throughout the galaxy. Not only tap them, but direct them. He stared down at the throne, one hand resting on the cold marble armrest, hesitating. What if he couldn’t do it? What if he ended up hurtling himself into some deep, trackless reach of space, lost forever between the stars? It was a terrifying thought, and gave Kevan a new respect for Lara, who had thrown herself with as little preparation into the Winds to try and find her husband. Well, if she could do it, Kevan thought stubbornly, so can I. Turning, he gazed out over the audience hall. Stars winked in the darkness outside the massive outer doors, opening onto empty air. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, Kevan settled himself on his mother’s throne, wondering for the first time what it would really be like to rule Djarera, to be responsible for the lives and wellbeing of all the dragon clans. He wasn’t at all sure it was a responsibility he wanted.

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Closing his eyes, he reached out the way he’d heard Dravidian directing the dragonlings to do, instructing them to reach out with their minds and try to sense the eddies and tendrils of power flowing around them, through them… Energy roared through his mind, and Kevan gasped. This was no eddy -- this was a veritable tidal wave, rising through the foundation of Wind Castle. It blasted up toward him, whistling through the corridors, slamming open doors. Small and distant, Kevan could hear the shouts and cries of the guests in the courtyard as the tumult screamed past them. He barely had time to focus his thoughts on the image of his dark, lean, scarred half-brother… Then the Winds seized him. His body seemed to fray under their onslaught, his limbs lengthening, his head snapping back on its long, serpentine neck as they wrenched at his great golden wings, hurtling him from the throne, tumbling him out through the open outer doors and into the darkness beyond.

Chapter Two A dull, thudding ache brought Kevan back to consciousness. His head throbbed. His body felt as if it had been pounded flat by a giant mallet. The roaring had passed, leaving him adrift in the blackness, marooned who knew where… Something shrieked like an enraged dragon, and Kevan yanked his eyes open to see light rushing at him. He sprang up, stumbled, and threw himself sideways as some hard-shelled beast roared past, the noise of its passage seeming to fill the night. Another of the monsters swerved, emitting its high-pitched squeal. With an agility born of desperation, Kevan twisted, barely avoiding its shining flank. He lunged out of its path, tripped over something hard, and sprawled face down on a hard, gritty surface. It tore his palms as he landed, and he drew himself up to a seat, cradling his injured hands against his chest. Seemingly inches from his nose, the beast flashed by, taking no further notice of him. Drawing great, sobbing gulps of air, Kevan lifted his head, dazed by the lights around him. This world seemed full of them, bright and alarming. Then a hand seized his tunic, and he was hauled unceremoniously upright to find himself staring down into Darrek’s furious gaze. “Kevan!” I’m taller than him, Kevan thought dazedly. I’m taller than Darrek. When did that happen? He wasn’t, however, taller than the massive redhead who grabbed him, dragging him into an overwhelming bear hug. “Kevan, you whelp! What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

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“How do you think?” Darrek gritted behind them, his voice tight with anger. His white eye stared at Kevan blindly while the black one glittered with displeasure. “With his dear Uncle Rand always filling his head with Lara’s exploits…” “It was my choice to come,” Kevan said stoutly. After all, he was twenty-one now -- far too old to let Rand take the blame for his decisions. But his voice quivered and his palms still stung where they’d been scraped. “It was a damn fool thing to do. What if you’d gotten lost? What if --” “Oh, stop it, Dar.” Rand cut him short. “He’s here, isn’t he?” “Yes, and it’s a good bet Melgara doesn’t know it.” Darrek turned to Kevan sternly, his long black hair falling around his sharp-boned face. “Does she?” Kevan drew himself upright and faced his older brother squarely. It was always disconcerting when Darrek stared at him like that, with one eye black as midnight and the other milky-white and sightless. For the first time, he noted the odd clothing Darrek was wearing, the black cloth that clung like a second skin to his lean thighs, tucked into hard, shiny boots that were nothing like Kevan had ever seen before. Darrek wasn’t wearing a shirt -- instead, more of the black, supple material crisscrossed his bare chest in an intricate pattern. Rand, dressed simply in some sort of trousers and boots, was shirtless, his enormous muscles rolling easily beneath his smooth skin. They stood on a narrow strip of hard ground between the buildings and the black field where the shiny-eyed monsters prowled back and forth. Kevan eyed them warily, but none of them seemed interested in leaping at him again -- or at the other people, dressed as outlandishly as Darrek, who glanced at Kevan in passing. Some of their gazes lingered on him with an intensity he found strangely pleasant, until Darrek directed his scowl at them and they moved on. With what dignity he could muster, Kevan tossed his head back, sending his shaggy golden hair cascading over his shoulders. “As I said, it was my choice to come.” “And you’re going right back. Rand, tell Gregor I got called out of town. Or something. Kevan, you’re coming with me.”

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Kevan’s jaw tightened, and rage roiled in his belly. “You can’t force me to go back.” “Can’t I?” The thin smile on Darrek’s face was chilling. The scar running up his left cheek seemed to writhe, and the dead white eye stared at him flatly. Kevan swallowed. Darrek, however maimed, was still the most celebrated warrior of his day, whereas Kevan had never so much as raised a fist in anger. Could he do it, he wondered suddenly -- could he fight his own half-brother? As if sensing his thoughts, Rand stepped forward quickly. “Now, wait a minute, Dar. I’m not condoning his actions either, but don’t you think it’d at least be a good idea to ask him why he came?” Darrek checked, then turned back toward Kevan, one high, thin eyebrow rising expectantly. Kevan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “Well?” Under that implacable gaze, Kevan felt all his earlier frustration returning. Why did everyone think they had the right to tell him what to do? What made Darrek, who hadn’t come to visit even once in the past two years, think he could still order him about like a child? “Because I didn’t know where else to go, all right?” The words burst from him, and Kevan was horrified to feel hot, angry tears stinging his eyes. He whirled away from Darrek, staring out over the passing beasts until he got a grip on his emotions. Tersely, through clenched teeth, he said, “I needed someone to talk to. That’s all.” With a hard, angry glance over his shoulder -- a glance which, unbeknownst to Kevan, made him look remarkably like a blond version of his half-brother -- he added bitterly, “Guess I chose the wrong person to come to.” “Well, you’re here now,” Rand said, forestalling Darrek’s reply. “And we’re late. Dar, we can sort this out later…” But Darrek was watching Kevan, his eyes still hard. “Why today, Kev? Why now?”

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“Because it’s my birthday.” Kevan saw Darrek’s eyes widen in sudden comprehension. “It’s my birthday, and Mother’s got Wind Castle packed to the rafters with potential mates from all five clans.” Instinctively, he turned away from his brother to the massive Aurorean. “I couldn’t take it, Rand. Winds, I don’t know why! I just had to get out of there.” Rand’s gaze flicked past him to Darrek, and Kevan could see something, some understanding, pass between them. What, he didn’t know. He caught a tendril of thought, though, a brief interchange that made no more sense to him than the shinyeyed monsters that had attacked him so viciously and now ignored him altogether. I wonder if that’s the problem, then. Melgara sure seemed uncomfortable the last time we visited… She’s always been uncomfortable with us, Rand. That doesn’t mean… Aware that he was eavesdropping, Kevan glanced away. Catching the motion, Rand asked gently, “Kev, have you ever been with a female?” The unexpected question made Kevan blush, and he dropped his gaze to his soft leather boots, shaking his head. “Why not?” “I…” Kevan shrugged. “I don’t know. I just… Why are you asking me this?” He glanced up sharply, but Rand wasn’t even looking at him. He was gazing at Darrek challengingly. “I say we take him with us.” “What?” Darrek’s face was flushed with rage. “Rand, we can’t take him traipsing all over Provincetown!” “Why not? He’s certainly old enough. And you can’t just send him back, Dar -- if he’s that unhappy, he deserves a little space to work it out.” Then Rand grinned, looping an arm around Kevan’s shoulders. “Besides, it’s his birthday. I think he deserves a night out.” He ruffled Kevan’s hair affectionately, ignoring Darrek’s scowl. Unintentionally, Kevan caught another snippet of mind-thought.

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If I’m wrong, Dar, where’s the harm? He’ll look around, be appalled, and scurry back to Djarera all on his own. But if I’m right… Darrek’s low growl was as distinct as if he’d spoken aloud. If you’re right, Melgara is going to have both our hides. Rand laughed at that, and nodded his head up the street. “Come on, Kevan,” he said. “One way or another, this is going to be a night to remember.” It already was, Kevan thought as he followed Darrek up the street. The air was warm around him, tangy with salt, and from somewhere behind the buildings to his right he could hear the faint sounds of an ocean. Overhead, stars glittered in constellations unlike any he’d ever seen, and he fought the urge to pinch himself, just to make sure it was all real. Earth. He was on Earth. He’d actually done it! A wild sense of triumph blazed inside him, and he drew his head erect, throwing out his chest, swaggering a bit with his accomplishment. Rand strode alongside him, huge and reassuring. Darrek kept darting dissatisfied glances back at them, but Kevan barely noticed. He was too busy looking around. What a world this was! Lights gleamed everywhere like a thousand fallen stars, flashing and winking in all the colors of the rainbow. The monsters trundled by, occasionally pulling to the side and stopping. Kevan stared as people climbed out of one -- had it eaten them? “Don’t try to understand it, lad,” Rand murmured. “Are they dragons?” Kevan whispered, indicating the people. They looked like him, and yet they didn’t. They were smaller, most of them, and even the ones who weren’t appeared somehow spindlier, less sturdy. Rand shook his head. “They’re humans. They keep that shape all the time.” “But…” “Like I said, lad.” Rand chuckled. “Just enjoy it.” There were a thousand questions Kevan wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue and gazed around instead, drinking in the cobbled streets, the brick buildings, the soft rustle

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of primroses in the warm breeze. The crowd was growing thicker here -- groups of men, and occasionally women, stood about in the pools of light spilling here and there from open doorways, talking and laughing. A few blew smoke from their mouths, and Kevan stared. “I thought you said they weren’t dragons.” Rand merely waved a hand, and Kevan forgot his question a second later when he spied two men leaning against a wall in the shadows, locked together in a passionate kiss. His eyes grew round, and he felt a hot, horny thud in his groin, his cock twitching as he saw their tongues, glistening wetly, glide against each other. Darrek, looking back just then, scowled ferociously, and Kevan reluctantly dragged his gaze away. Winds! He’d never seen anything like that! His balls pulsed, growing heavier, and Kevan licked his lips, surreptitiously glancing back over his shoulder. But the two men were lost to sight. “Just wait, Kev,” Rand whispered, giving him a conspiratorial wink. Why, Kevan had no idea. Then Darrek turned toward a stairway leading down into the ground. Under his feet, Kevan could hear a strange, subterranean thud. Puzzled and intrigued, he followed Rand and Darrek down the short flight of steps, and recoiled from the blast of noise that struck him as Darrek pulled open the door. He stumbled through the entryway, half-blinded by the whirling lights that sent lances of color over the close-packed bodies crowding the space. As his eyes focused, he stopped short in shock. The room was full of men, many of them dressed much like Darrek, in hard, heavy boots and jangling chains. Others like Rand were naked to the waist, their chests glistening with sweat as they rocked on the dance floor, arms looped around another man’s waist. Past them, on a raised stage, Kevan could see a lean young man, naked except for a skimpy band of cloth covering his genitals, gyrating slowly. Kevan stared, feeling the blood rush simultaneously to his face and his groin. His cock did a lot more than twitch -- it thickened rapidly, rising inside his trousers. Blushing, he slid behind Darrek, hoping to hide his erection.

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“You’re late,” a deep voice growled. Kevan peered past his half-brother to see a man almost as tall as Rand and even burlier glaring at them from behind a long bar. His bald pate gleamed, and his eyes were like two chips of sapphires, hard and startlingly blue. “Yeah, Gregor. We got held up,” Darrek started, but the man shook his head. “Not you. Him. Hey! Hey, new boy!” Kevan glanced about, startled, as Gregor came from behind the bar, scowling at him. “I told you ten-thirty, and it’s almost eleven.” Kevan opened his mouth, but he had no idea what to say. The man was patently addressing him, but why? What had he done? He was relieved when Darrek stepped forward. “Gregor, what are you talking about?” “I’m talking to him.” Gregor jabbed a finger at Kevan, then turned his back on Darrek and planted his meaty fist on his hips. The muscles rippling beneath his open vest suggested strongly he knew how to use those fists, too. “You get here a half-hour before your set or you find someplace else to wiggle that fanny, understand? And you can tell Marco I said so.” “Marco?” Darrek’s back stiffened. “Gregor, he’s with us --” “I don’t care if he’s with the goddamned Pope, Darrek, he’s here on time or he’s out of a job. And what in hell are you doing messing with Marco’s boy toy? You know how he is…” Kevan, feeling hopelessly confused, glanced away from the two men bristling at each other. The stage had gone dark, and some of the men were trickling off the dance floor, heading for the bar. Then the stage lights came on again, and Kevan stared, feeling his jaw drop open. Standing in the wash of the stage lights was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Tall and lean, with thick, wavy blond hair, he posed before the crowd, dressed in loose-fitting trousers of some faded blue material that rode low on his hips, revealing a captivating curve of muscle, and a vest made of the same supple black material as Darrek’s harness.

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“Winds, Dar,” Rand murmured somewhere behind him. “I don’t believe it.” “Neither do I.” Gregor’s deep, gruff voice held a note of embarrassment. “Damn, Darrek, if your buddy here ever wants a job… Could you imagine how they’d react to both of them onstage? They’d tear the place apart.” Kevan heard all this -- and yet didn’t. His gaze was glued to the swell of the young man’s pecs, flexing slightly as he strutted. Slowly, his broad shoulders rolling enticingly, he peeled off the vest. He was perfect, absolutely perfect. Wolf whistles rose around the stage, loud and admiring. At least I’m not the only one who thinks he’s gorgeous, Kevan thought dazedly. He glanced around, noting the rapt faces turned toward the stage, the hungry eyes that watched every movement as the young man on the stage ran his hands over his chest, then down his hard, flat torso. As if drawn by a rope, Kevan took a step toward the stage. “Guess that answers that question,” he heard Rand murmur behind him. He didn’t look back.

Chapter Three Kevan moved in a daze, barely conscious of the writhing, gyrating bodies on the dance floor around him, muttering absently when he jostled someone. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from the man on the stage. Finally, he pushed his way through the knot of spectators surrounding the rail and tilted his head back, gazing up at the glorious shape before him. The stage was raised some four feet above the dance floor, putting Kevan’s eyes on a level with the man’s navel. He was young, Kevan realized -- close to his own age, he’d guess. A long, shallow line ran down the center of his well-defined abs, and Kevan followed it to where it disappeared beneath the soft, faded blue fabric of his pants. There was something so familiar about him, something that tugged at the back of Kevan’s mind as he stared up at the young man’s broad, oval face with its warm hazel eyes and high, heavy cheekbones. His mouth was wide, with full, soft lips, making Kevan think for a moment of the two men he’d seen outside, their mouths pressed together. What would it be like to kiss him? The room spun dizzily around him, and his pulse thundered in his ears. His cock inside his trousers was excruciatingly erect, straining against his belly. He stared, captivated, at the man’s powerful forearms, watching the tendons move beneath the skin as his broad, nimble fingers flicked open one button on his pants, then the next, revealing a soft, gleaming nest of golden curls. Kevan swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing painfully in a throat that felt dry as dust. His wasn’t the only gaze glued to those teasing fingers, he knew -- all around him he could feel a hot, intense concentration, rising around him like a sort of madness.

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It was strange, feeling himself a part of the watching crowd, as if he were one of a pack of mindless beasts staring at this delectable morsel displayed before them, their prey taunting them into frenzy. With a shock, he remembered the fixation he’d seen on his friends’ faces, the way they’d stared at a female entering khef, their eyes glazed as they watched her. What he sensed around him was precisely the same sort of fierce, almost violent anticipation, and for the first time Kevan felt it in himself, too -- the overpowering urge to claim the enticing creature before him, to fight if need be to secure his prize… Suddenly he believed every tale he’d ever heard, all the stories of legendary khef battles he’d scoffed at, only half believing them -- who, after all, would fight that hard over some silly girl? But now he could feel his body quivering with barely-suppressed energy, poised on the edge of shifting into dragon form and roaring his desire at the top of his lungs. He wanted this human, this man, this golden-haired boy, wanted him with an intensity that frightened him. Slowly, a low, rumbling growl impinged on his consciousness, and Kevan realized with a start that it was coming from his own throat. His fists flexed, wanting to curl into claws, ready to rend any challenger who dared dispute his claim. “Easy, Kev,” Rand murmured warningly in his ear -- Kevan hadn’t even heard him approach. He glanced up, his nostrils flaring, and Rand shook his head slightly. “That’s not how it works here.” “How does it work, then?” Rand grinned. “Here, you ask. And you can’t change, Kev, do you hear me? Whatever you do, do not change.” Kevan nodded, but every draconic instinct inside him rebelled against the prohibition. The fighting-lust of khef was hard-wired into his genes, and it took every ounce of self-control to force it down. Hard, bulging muscles moved beneath tawny golden skin as the young man posed before them. Then, his lean torso twisting, he ripped the pants from his body in

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one lightning-quick tug and stood before the crowd, wearing nothing but a scant span of blue, shiny fabric that hid the enticing bulge of his groin. The thick, heady excitement in the room climbed up another notch, and Kevan swallowed again as saliva flooded his mouth. The boy on the stage strode past him, flashing a hard, curved ass that Kevan’s fingers ached to reach out and squeeze. His cock throbbed with need, and his balls, hard and heavy, dragged against his groin. He watched the young man stride the length of the stage, trailing his strong, slightly spatulate fingers down his body, teasing and tormenting the men who crowded the rail. Then he turned -- and froze, his eyes going wide with sudden shock as he saw Kevan. The music pounded and blared around him, but the young man stood still as a statue, the playful smile wiped from his face. He swallowed rapidly, much as Kevan had done, and for a moment something lost and furtive flickered in his eyes. His gaze darted over the crowd as if searching for someone. Who? Kevan wondered. And why does he look so scared? Then the man seemed to shake himself, breaking his paralysis. He glanced out over the crowd one more time. Then with a strange, hard smile he walked straight toward Kevan. His focus was so intent that the other men near the stage craned their necks to see what -- or rather who -- he was staring at. Kevan flushed, feeling painfully exposed, acutely conscious of the erection straining against his trousers. He didn’t understand why the men around him were murmuring excitedly, couldn’t quite grasp that the young man was standing before him, one hand outstretched… Then other hands were lifting him, thrusting him onto the stage. He heard Rand’s shout, but the lights dazzled him, pitching everything beyond the stage into darkness. He turned, his head reeling -- and found himself face to face with the young man. Kevan swallowed, feeling suddenly light-headed as the man slid his arms around Kevan’s waist and whispered harshly in his ear. “I don’t know what game Marco thinks he’s playing, but I’m not biting.”

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“What?” Kevan could hardly breathe. “What are you? My replacement?” The man’s hazel eyes burned into his, hard and unfriendly, and he snorted even as he moved against Kevan. “Hold my waist,” he ordered. That, at least, Kevan could understand. He wrapped his hands around the young man’s waist, his cock hardening to marble at the feel of taut, warm muscle under his palms. Then he stared as the man bent backward, arching away from him until his thick blond hair brushed the floor. His hips were jammed tight against Kevan’s, his pubic bone rubbing his erection unmercifully. Kevan held on tightly, his arms quivering, gazing down at the taut, rippling muscle of the man’s lean torso, trying not to look at the point where their bodies came together. He was afraid he’d groan aloud if he did. As lithe as a dancer, the man straightened back up, his hair tumbling around his face. He grinned through the shining mass, his eyes snapping with anger. “So where did Marco find you? Boston?” “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, right. Take off your shirt.”

“What?”

“Take off your shirt. We gotta give them a show, right?” Unceremoniously, the

man grabbed the hem of Kevan’s tunic and dragged it over his head. From beyond the stage lights, Kevan heard a cacophony of yips and whistles. Moving closer, the man wrapped his arms around Kevan’s neck, his hips grinding mercilessly against Kevan’s erection, the smooth, velvety skin of his chest gliding against his own. “What’s your name?” he asked, his breath whispering against Kevan’s earlobe. “Kevan,” he managed, hardly able to breathe. “Who’s Marco?”

The man drew his head back abruptly, staring at him. “You really don’t know.”

Kevan shook his head dumbly. He could hardly believe this gorgeous creature

was in his arms, his face scant inches from his own. The young man was gazing at him intently. “Jesus, this is totally unreal.”

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“Yeah,” Kevan murmured. The whole situation felt unreal. The loud, pulsing music seemed to have blended into his heartbeat, and everything else had faded away. There was nothing in the entire world except the lithe, strong body in his arms, the gleaming hazel eyes staring into his own, the warm, full mouth so close all he’d have to do would be to bend his head forward and… Closing his eyes, Kevan did. For a moment, the man tensed, his body going rigid inside Kevan’s embrace. Then slowly, tentatively, his soft, supple lips moved against Kevan’s, parting slightly. A warm tongue slid into his mouth, and Kevan groaned as a hot, delicious agony seared through his groin. Tightening his arms around the other man’s waist, Kevan kissed him ravenously, until suddenly the man broke off, panting, and pushed him back, his hands flat on Kevan’s chest. “Stop.” He was staring at Kevan, his eyes wide and wondering. “Who the hell are you?” “I told you. I’m Kevan.” “Fuck.” The man slid back into his arms, his gaze darting nervously out toward the crowd. “Every time I think I’ve finally got my life together…” He trailed off, and Kevan tried to kiss him again, but the young man pulled back, shaking his head with a small, rueful smile. “You kiss me like that again, I’m gonna pop right out of this G-string.” Kevan didn’t understand until the man glanced downward and, following his gaze, Kevan saw the ridge of his half-hard cock standing out clearly against the thin fabric. He groaned again and the man looked up again, grinning. Giving Kevan an evil wink, he turned around and pressed his ass up against Kevan’s crotch, wiggling it. Then he bent forward, using Kevan almost as a prop as he gyrated against him. Unthinkingly, Kevan dropped his hands to the man’s hips, grinding his erection against the hard curves of his ass. He was panting, he realized, his cock already leaking inside his trousers. He froze, suddenly remembering the audience -- an audience that contained his half-brother and Rand.

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Glancing out, he saw dim, shadowy faces beyond the lights, watching them avidly. There was something oddly exciting about having their lust-clouded gazes fixed on him, on them… With a start, he realized he didn’t even know the man’s name. Whoever he was, he arched his back further, working his ass in a lazy figure eight against Kevan’s throbbing cock. Kevan gulped, his gaze drawn back to that hard, upturned ass, staring at the thin band of blue fabric that ran down between his full, round ass cheeks. Kevan’s balls clenched, sending a hot spurt of liquid through his engorged shaft, and he gripped the man’s hips desperately. If he moved even an inch, he was going to come right here, right now, no matter who was watching. He gritted his teeth, fighting for control, and sobbed with relief as the stage lights went out. The man moved away from him, and Kevan reached out blindly, feeling a panic he couldn’t explain claw at his gut. Then a hand, strong and warm, slid into his, and the man whispered, “Come on.” He led Kevan off the stage, down a corridor that seemed black as pitch to Kevan’s light-dazzled eyes, and through a door which he pulled shut behind them. In the darkness, Kevan tugged at the hand he held, drawing the young man to him. “Tell me your name,” he whispered hoarsely as the man’s lips nibbled lightly at his neck. “Cal. It’s Cal. Now kiss me again, Kevan. Kiss me like you did on the stage.” Their lips met, and saliva exploded into Kevan’s mouth as Cal’s tongue prodded between his lips, stroking his own. His heart thundered in his chest as their bodies pressed together, hip to hip, chest flat against chest. He felt Cal’s hands in his hair and raised his own, burying his fingers in the soft, fragrant thickness of Cal’s hair. Hungrily, he thrust his tongue between Cal’s parted lips, and something warm and tender bloomed in his chest as Cal moaned. In the absence of light, all his other senses seemed to be almost preternaturally sharpened. He could hear every small, hungry pant as Cal responded to his kisses. Cal’s scent was warm, slightly spicy, with a rich, musky undertone that made his head spin with longing. The pressure of Cal’s cock, now fully erect, dragging back and forth

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against his own, was the sweetest torment, rousing him even further until Kevan felt as if nothing was real but the rigid shaft jutting from his groin. It felt huge, harder than stone, pulsing against his belly as Cal rubbed his cock against it. In his mind, Kevan could see Cal once again in the glow of the stage lights, bent over before him, that delectable ass pressing against his aching erection… Groaning, he grabbed Cal even tighter, his hips thrusting forward, bruisingly hard. His breath rasped in his lungs, and he slid one hand from Cal’s hair to that full, firm ass, squeezing it as he ground his cock against the upthrust ridge of Cal’s erection. The rough weave of his trousers rubbed painfully across his hypersensitive skin -- but even the pain only heightened the lust beating in his balls. They were so full, so hard, the skin stretched taut over his swollen testicles… Breaking their kiss, Cal pulled him closer, his cheek pressed against Kevan’s as he panted in his ear, “You’re close, aren’t you? So close you could come just from this, just from humping me. Couldn’t you?” “Yes,” Kevan growled, his hips working faster. “Then do it,” Cal whispered, his own voice hoarse with need. “Come for me, Kevan. Come for me hard.” Groaning, Kevan pushed Cal back against the wall, pinning him there as he thrust against him. He could feel Cal’s erection jutting out of the G-string, gliding slickly against his belly as he worked his cock against it. Cal grabbed his ass, pulling him even tighter, and his moans rang in Kevan’s ears. “God, Kev, yes! Harder! I want you to take me. I want you to fuck me.” Kevan gasped as a first bolt of ecstasy shot through his balls. “Say it again,” he panted, his hips pistoning like a jackhammer. Harshly, Cal whispered right in his ear, “Fuck me, Kevan. Fuck me. Oh God, please fuck me.” Roaring, Kevan mashed his cock against Cal’s. His groin blazed with agonized bliss as his cock jerked and his balls clenched, sending white fire searing along his

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veins. He hung there, his hips working as his balls contracted again and again, soaking the front of his trousers with hot, heavy spurts that felt like they’d never end. “Oh, Christ, Kevan,” Cal panted. “Christ, I can feel you coming. Oh, Jesus!” He lifted his head, his mouth finding Kevan’s, his tongue diving deep between Kevan’s lips. Cal whimpered, his own hips thrusting fiercely as his orgasm took him, and Kevan groaned as Cal’s seed splattered across his belly, igniting a last flare of fire deep in his groin. Trembling, they clung to each other, leaning heavily against the cold wall. Finally, Cal lifted his head, his fingers tracing Kevan’s blindly in the darkness. “God, where did you come from? You’re amazing, you know that?” Kevan chuckled ruefully. “Not really. Let’s just say I have a lot to catch up on.” He caught a quick impression of movement as Cal drew his head back, trying to see him in the darkness. “Meaning…” “Meaning I’ve never even kissed a man before.” He leaned forward, kissing Cal gently, but Cal’s mouth hardened under his. “Don’t lie to me, Kev. You don’t need to do that.” “I’m not lying. That’s the first time I’ve ever… ever…” He broke off, embarrassed. The first time I’ve ever come in my pants, that’s for sure. But he couldn’t say that, let alone what he’d been going to say. What would Cal think if he knew he was a virgin? Bit by bit, Cal relaxed, his body slumping cozily against Kevan’s. Sighing, he draped one arm around Kevan’s neck, pillowing his head on his shoulder. “I can’t believe it. You’re too good to be true.” Then he laughed unexpectedly. “Man, I hardly know whether to call that making love, or the kinkiest form of masturbation I’ve ever heard of.” “What?” Kevan, utterly confused, nevertheless found himself chuckling at Cal’s amusement. “What are you talking about?” “C’mon.” Cal’s voice was laced with skepticism, and Kevan could easily picture him, one eyebrow cocked disbelievingly. He felt Cal slide out of his arms, and a second

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later light burst around him, far brighter than any torch he’d ever seen. He blinked against it, slitting his eyes. Slowly, he made out a small, dingy room. A metal rack against one wall held an array of garments that made what Darrek was wearing seem almost normal. The wall facing it contained a counter, its surface covered with scattered tubes and bottles. Cal turned him to face the far wall, rather brusquely. “I’m talking about that.” Kevan jumped in surprise. Two men stood on the far side of the room, one in nothing but a blue G-string, the other naked to the waist. Their broad, oval faces were flushed, their full lips parted. Their hazel eyes stared at Kevan as if equally startled. Cal reached for his hand, and Kevan watched as the man across the room -- a man, it was slowly dawning on him, who looked eerily like Cal, right down to the thick, golden hair and chiseled torso -- took the hand of the man next to him. They were exactly the same height, Kevan noticed, their blond hair tumbling down past their shoulders in identical waves. And they mimicked his and Cal’s every move to perfection. Kevan spread his free hand out to the side. The man facing him, the one in soft, baggy trousers and low suede boots, did the same. Kevan frowned in puzzlement, and the man in the trousers was suddenly frowning, too. Cal glanced at him uncertainly. “What are you, on drugs? You act like you’ve never seen a mirror before.” “What’s a mirror?” Cal stared at him, his eyes growing hard again, as they had when he’d first looked at Kevan. “Oh, give me a break.” The man in the mirror glared at his companion, and suddenly Kevan understood. There’d been a day, a cool, clear autumn day when he’d been flying in the mountains. He’d flown over a crystal-clear lake, marveling at the blazing reflection of the trees in the water, and then, startled, had seen himself as well, his golden wings

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spread wide against the sky. But he’d never seen himself in human form, had never even wondered, really, what he looked like. He walked to the wall, placing his palm against it. He was touching a flat sheet of glass, marvelously clear. On the far side, his reflection touched the glass, too. Fascinated, Kevan studied the wide, firm mouth that reminded him sharply of his mother, the broad, angular cheekbones that were so like Darrek’s -- and like his father’s, Kevan realized belatedly. Drawing back, he looked from his reflection to Cal’s, noting the fair, golden skin, the tawny eyebrows, the line of the jaw… “That’s incredible.” Cal nodded, watching him warily in the mirror. “Where the hell are you from that you’ve never seen a mirror before?” “I…” Kevan hesitated. What could he say? I’m a dragon, you see, and we don’t use mirrors… Oh yeah, that’d go over really well. “I… I can’t tell you.” Immediately, Cal’s gaze grew cold as ice. “Yeah. I should have known.” His face clenched suddenly into hard, bitter lines “Any time something seems too good to be true, it always is, isn’t it, Kev?” Startled, Kevan opened his mouth, but Cal cut him off before he could say a word. His voice was cold, sneering. “Don’t even bother. I don’t want to hear it. You got what you wanted, so just get out, okay?” His words lashed at Kevan, cutting him to the quick. The worst part was he didn’t know what he’d done wrong, he didn’t know why Cal was so angry at him. He could see tears glimmering in Cal’s eyes, and everything inside him wanted to reach out, pull Cal back into his arms, hold him as he’d done before. “Cal, please…” “Don’t touch me, you bastard!” Recoiling, Kevan let his hand drop. Cal was staring at him, his lip curled in disdain, his expression an agonizing mix of distrust and pain. “You know, you really had me going there for a while. I suppose next you were gonna tell me you’re a virgin.” I am. The words rose to Kevan’s lips, but the coldness in Cal’s eyes stopped him. What had he done to earn such terrible mistrust?

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Cal chuckled harshly. “Yeah. I thought not. Now if you’ll excuse me…” He yanked open the door, holding it for Kevan. Confused, his heart aching, Kevan walked through it and turned, desperate to reach through the hard shell of Cal’s defenses. “Cal…”

Without another glance, Cal slammed the door in his face.

Chapter Four Cal leaned against the door, biting his lip fiercely until he heard the soft tread of Kevan’s feet, moving away. Then he let himself sink to his knees, the hot, angry tears he’d held back by main force spilling down his cheeks. Jesus! Why did he always do this to himself? First Roger, who’d left him hanging for days at a time, turning back up with his flimsy excuses about how busy he’d been, how the wife wouldn’t let him out of her sight… Yeah. And you were just stupid enough to believe it, weren’t you, Cal? His jaw clenched as he sobbed, remembering how small Roger had made him feel, how worthless. But Roger had been nothing, nothing at all, next to Marco. Marco had found him working in a strip club, broken-hearted and lost. There’d been something about the way Marco’s black eyes had gazed at him, holding him spellbound, that had sent pleasant shivers down Cal’s spine. He wasn’t exactly handsome, with those dark, brooding features and heavy fighter’s build, but his very intensity had made Cal feel desirable again. And safe. After Roger’s here-again, gone-again disappearing act, Marco’s very solidity had been reassuring. He was always there watching, every night while Cal was onstage. Then had come the night when Cal had smiled too broadly at a patron who’d slid a fifty into his G-string. After closing, he’d come out the back door to find Marco beating the man into a bloody pulp in the narrow alley behind the club. When Cal had tried to stop him, Marco had backhanded him across the face so hard the bruise hadn’t faded for weeks. Then Marco had moved him here, to his beach house in Provincetown. He didn’t like having other men paw at Cal, he said.

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No one but Marco had ever cared enough to be jealous -- and no one had ever asked Cal to live with him before. For a while, it had felt like a dream, waking up in Marco’s king-sized bed, spending his days sunbathing at Race Point with the seagulls crying desultorily overhead, and the squat white shape of the lighthouse far in the distance. It felt like being taken care of, protected. Marco liked throwing parties, big, lavish affairs for his business contacts in Boston and Portsmouth -- and he’d liked showing Cal off, having him serve drinks in expensive, skimpy little outfits, his shaggy blond hair falling over his tanned, muscular shoulders. At first Cal had liked it, the men ogling him, openly flirting with him, making him laugh. But always, always, Marco’s dark gaze had followed him, watching. He never knew when Marco would snap, that was the worst of it. No matter how he tried, he was never prepared. Some nights, after a party, Marco would come into the kitchen and slide his brawny arms around Cal as he put away the glasses, nibbling the back of his neck, sometimes taking him right there, up against the counter. Cal loathed himself now when he remembered how that had turned him on, the feel of Marco thrusting him roughly forward, his huge, heavy hands hauling his shorts down, baring his ass, his fat, rigid cock forcing its way impatiently between his cheeks… Other times, though, Cal would turn toward him, smiling, and Marco’s fist would crack across his cheekbone, sending fiery lights exploding behind his eyes. He’d learned quickly not to smile too much, or talk to any one man too long. But still Marco’s temper would erupt unexpectedly, until at last Cal had had enough. Ten days ago he’d moved out, gotten a restraining order, and talked himself into a job working as a go-go boy for Gregor. And what happens? Cal thought bitterly. Your very first night on the job, what do you do but fall right back into the same old shit. He’d assumed at first this must be one of Marco’s twisted “punishments” -- more than once when he’d been angry at Cal, Marco had brought another boy home and fucked him on the couch, the noises carrying clearly to where Cal had huddled in the master bed, muffling his sobs against the pillow.

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But there’d been something about the way Kevan had looked at him, something so open and hungry and yearning… Damn it, Cal! Stop it! Angrily, he thrust to his feet, yanking off his G-string and tugging on the old, tattered jeans he’d left in the dressing room. You know better. It doesn’t matter how much they want you. No man is safe, Cal. Haven’t you learned that by now? He pulled on the fishnet T-shirt he’d worn into the club, and reached for his sneakers. A week. He just had to hang onto this job for a week, maybe two. Then he’d have enough money to go back to Boston, or farther. Maybe even New York. Get out from under Marco’s shadow once and for all, and push the memory of Kevan’s eyes, so like his own, somewhere far, far down in the depths of his mind. Yeah. Maybe I’ll do that. Straightening, he looked at himself in the mirror, and even managed a thin smile at his reflection. Or maybe it was Kevan’s ghost he was smiling at. He hadn’t given him much of a chance, after all -- but it was better that way. Better to remember how tightly Kevan had held him, how sweet his kisses had been, without finding out all the dark surprises that inevitably came after. And really, what kind of weirdo didn’t know what a mirror was? It was unfair, maybe. But it was safe. And the one thing Cal wanted most these days was safety. He turned away from the mirror and bent to tie his laces. That was when the door banged open behind him.

*** The last thing Kevan had expected was to see Rand and Darrek on the stage he’d so recently vacated, but they were. He stared as they necked furiously, tongues plunging into each other’s mouths. Then, to the roaring approval of the audience, Darrek threw his head back and shot a gout of flame toward the ceiling. “Always knew you were hot, Rand!” some drunken wag shouted. Kevan, who knew precisely how Darrek was performing that little trick, retrieved his wadded-up tunic from the edge of the stage, pulled it over his head, and slid moodily out the door.

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Why had Cal been so angry with him? Oh, sure, he understood some of it -- he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with the personal information, after all. But Cal hadn’t even given him a chance to explain. The bleak, cold rage in Cal’s eyes haunted him. He’d been hurt, obviously. Maybe by this Marco, whoever he was. But that’s not me! Kevan cried silently. That’s not me! As he paced along the street -- emptier now, as the night grew cooler -- he remembered the feel of Cal pressed against him, their cocks gliding against each other, and the sweet, hungry words Cal had whispered fiercely in his ear. Fuck me, Kevan. I want you to fuck me. Kevan groaned, his dick hardening again, longing for that incredible, overwhelming orgasm that had crashed through him in Cal’s arms. Fuck me harder. Oh, Winds. He stopped short, on the verge of retracing his footsteps and going back to the club to find Cal, to make him listen… But what would he tell him? I’m not human, Cal. I’m not even from this planet. And someday, whether I like it or not, I have to go back. Instead, he turned down a narrow alley between two buildings, feeling the hard pavement beneath his feet give way on the far side to gritty sand. Not twenty yards away, the ocean heaved against the shore, long, low breakers glimmering in the starlight as they rushed with a hoarse, hollow roar far up the sand, and then withdrew. Listening to that endless, timeless sound, Kevan leaned back against the building and closed his eyes. A tear, warm and heavy, trickled down his cheek. Not even someday, he thought with a tired, leaden anger. Ten to one, Darrek would pack him off first thing in the morning, send him back to Melgara now that he’d had his little “adventure.” Fuck me, Kevan. Oh God, please fuck me.

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Groaning, Kevan pressed the palm of his hand against the hard ridge of his cock and slid it up and down, remembering how Cal had clung to him, shuddering, his hips bucking as his orgasm exploded from him… He wished there’d been light, so that he could have watched Cal as he came, his head thrown back, his eyes half-closed in sensual delight. It didn’t matter now. Cal had made it painfully clear he didn’t ever want to see Kevan again. And maybe that was a good thing. He was heir to the throne of Djarera -he’d spent his entire life being trained for that responsibility. And he wanted it, Kevan was surprised to discover. He wanted to be the one to rule Djarera, responsible for its safety, protecting his people… It really wasn’t so very different a feeling than he’d had while holding Cal in his arms. A fierce, possessive tenderness had flared in his chest, making him want to hold Cal like that forever, cradling him close, keeping him safe. But Cal didn’t want him -- or so he’d certainly tried to make it seem. But remembering the anguished conflict in Cal’s hazel eyes, suddenly Kevan wasn’t so sure. No. He couldn’t leave. Not like this. He didn’t care if Cal yelled at him, or lashed out, or simply didn’t want to listen. Kevan had things he wanted to say -- and by the Winds, Cal was going to hear them. Resolutely, ignoring the ache in his balls, Kevan turned back toward the club -and paused, lifting his head at a faint, distant cry somewhere far down the beach. “No! Please, no! Oh God, Marco, stop!” Red-hot fury poured like lava through his veins. His nostrils flared, and Kevan felt his body shifting, expanding… You can’t change, Kev, do you hear me? There’d been a real urgency in Rand’s voice, a note of warning that even in his arousal Kevan had heeded. Now he grappled for self-control, wrenching his body back into human form. Then, lowering his head like a bull, Kevan ran.

Chapter Five Cal’s face went a deathly shade of white as Marco stalked into the dressing room, but he drew himself upright with all the self-assurance he could muster. “Marco, I’ve got a restraining order. I told you, I don’t want --” “Fuck your restraining order.” Lightning-quick, Marco thrust an arm out, closing his fist in Cal’s thick hair. Cal cried out as Marco yanked him against his massive chest. “Do I look like I give a damn what you want, Cal?” Had he really thought he might escape? Had he really let himself believe that? Marco’s hand tightened in his hair, pulling it unmercifully. “I asked you a question, Cal.” “No,” Cal whispered, loathing himself for answering. Marco’s thin lips lifted in a grim smile. “That’s right. You are mine, Cal. Bought and paid for. You think those fancy clothes I got you came cheap?” “I didn’t take them!” Cal shouted, twisting against Marco’s grip. “I didn’t take anything you bought me!” The blow was as always both expected and unforeseen. Marco’s hand cracked across his cheek in a hard, heavy slap, and Cal cried out sharply. Then Marco’s callused palm clamped over his mouth. “It doesn’t matter,” he rasped, his cold, hateful voice chilling Cal to the bone. “Somebody still has to pay for them, don’t they?” Keeping his hand over Cal’s mouth, Marco turned him around, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it high between his shoulder blades. “No shouting, Cal,” Marco whispered in his ear. “We’re just going to have a little talk, you and I, down on the beach. I know how you love the beach.” He chuckled, and somehow that was the most horrible of all.

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Cal struggled fiercely when Marco shoved him toward the fire exit. He was hardly scrawny, though he had been as a kid -- but Marco was three inches taller and a good fifty pounds heavier, all of it muscle. It was like trying to fight a brick wall, Cal thought despairingly -- he thrashed and fought, but Marco simply held him in hands that clamped like iron pincers, not giving an inch. Finally he slumped, defeated, and Marco pushed him out into the night. For the first time, Cal thought of Kevan with a fierce, poignant regret. Not that he wanted Kevan to be here! He’d seen what Marco did to men who got too close to him. But the hand twisting his arm up behind his back, forcing him implacably down to the dark, empty beach, drove home the fact that Kevan was nothing like Marco. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Even at the beginning there’d been no tenderness in Marco’s kisses, no gentleness, only an absentminded fondness -- the same fondness one might show for a dog, Cal realized, flushing in shame. How could he not have seen it? How could he ever have mistaken Marco’s need to control him for love? Remembering the open yearning in Kevan’s wide, gentle eyes, Cal felt guilt stab even through his terror. Okay, so Kevan was different. There was something a little off-kilter about him, sure. But he hadn’t deserved the mistrust Cal had showered on him -- and Cal would tell him so, if he ever saw him again. If he lived through this. His heart hammered in his chest, and his feet stumbled on the shifting sand as Marco shoved and hauled him far down the beach, away from the twinkling lights of Provincetown. With a sickly despair, Cal realized that even if he did shout, it probably wouldn’t do any good. Yanking his arm up even higher, Marco thrust him forward, sending him headlong onto the cold, rasping sand. He cried out, and Marco kicked him in the belly, driving the air from his lungs in a hot burst of pain. Cal writhed on the beach as Marco squatted over him, his heavy brooding face wreathed in shadows.

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“Why did you do that, Cal? Why did you leave? You had it good with me -- a home, nice clothes, a good, easy life. And you threw it away, Cal. I don’t like it when people throw my gifts away.” “Please,” Cal whispered, the word no more than a breathless sob. “Please, Marco, no.” But Marco was already reaching for the button of his jeans, yanking it open as Cal fought to stop him. Rolling him onto his stomach, Marco grabbed his arm again, twisting it until he shrieked. Cal writhed, the pain in his shoulder a fire that consumed him, sapping his strength. He scrabbled helplessly as Marco reached around with his free arm, undoing Cal’s zipper and yanking his pants down. “I told you, Cal. You’re not done paying me yet.” Cal screamed, knowing what was coming, knowing that he couldn’t stop it, that nothing could stop it. If he was lucky Marco would settle for raping him and beating him senseless… but he doubted it. Not when he’d already gone to the police once, and might do so again. He felt Marco straddling his thighs, the massive weight of the man crushing him, pinning him as effectively as any ropes could have done… and then white, searing agony knifed through his body as Marco’s thick, rock-hard prick rammed mercilessly at his ass. Christ! Had he ever enjoyed this? The other times Marco had taken him like this, he’d at least used lubricant -- but how different was this, really, from those late-night sessions in the kitchen? And this time, Cal realized, Marco meant it to hurt. His fat, rigid cockhead hammered at Cal’s asshole, forcing its way inside. Cal felt like he was being torn in two, his whole body arching against the pain. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t beg, but the screams poured from his throat anyway as he felt Marco gather himself to slam his cock home. “No! Please, no! Oh God, Marco, stop!”

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“Too late for that, Cal,” Marco grunted. His balls, huge and hairy, dragged against the back of Cal’s thighs. Cal sobbed, his face pressed into the sand. He could taste it in his mouth, hard and gritty, bitter with salt. He couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t hold back the terror. He tried to brace himself against the pain he knew was coming, wishing desperately for one last kiss from Kevan’s lips…

Kevan saw the figure hunched over Cal, his broad, hairy ass flexing as Cal sobbed. Fury so deep it seemed to well up from his bones poured through his body, turning the world red around him. Shrieking, he flung himself at that massive, dark shape, colliding with a thud and shoving him off Cal. He rolled as he landed, coming up in a crouch, seeing the man who had to be Marco pull himself up slowly, towering against the starlit sky, his heavy face twisted in an ogre’s grin. Then Marco saw Kevan -- really saw him -- and stopped short in shock. For a second his gaze flicked disbelievingly to the silent, crumpled form behind him on the sand. Cal didn’t move, and Kevan felt something desperate and murderous flicker to life in his heart. If he’d killed Cal… Then Cal rolled his head on the sand weakly, and opened his eyes. They were huge and black in a face white with pain, a dark mottling already rising on his left cheekbone. His eyes pleaded with Kevan, and his mouth formed one voiceless word. No. Sneering, Marco turned back to Kevan. “You see, freak? He just wants to be left alone. You interrupted us before we were finished.” “You’re finished now,” Kevan gritted, tensing for another spring. He threw himself at Marco, who didn’t move an inch to try to evade him. Instead, one heavy arm, as thick as a tree limb, pistoned out and caught him squarely across the jaw. Kevan’s head snapped back and stars exploded behind his eyes. He dropped like a sack of rocks, unable for a moment to make his eyes focus. “Maybe I’ll do you next,” Marco grunted. “I never had me a pair of twins before.” He squatted down in front of Kevan, his shoulders hunched like a gorilla’s,

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studying his face. “In fact, maybe I’ll just let bygones be bygones and take you both home. What do you think of that, Cal?” he called. Cal didn’t answer, and Marco straightened, striding to him, and kicked him sharply in the ribs. At that, rage burned through the pain clouding Kevan’s mind, focusing his eyes to a laser-like precision. Rand! he shouted inside his mind. Darrek! I need you! Then he sprang to the attack. It was like flinging himself against a mountain -- pointless and painful. Every time he threw himself at Marco, the brute merely shrugged him off or clipped him with another of those jaw-rattling punches. But as long as Kevan kept him occupied he couldn’t hurt Cal more, and that was all that mattered… This time, Marco let him get in one punch, rocking his head back as his arms pistoned out, his hands clamping around Kevan’s throat. Darrek! Kevan shouted again desperately, staring up into Marco’s hard, ugly grin, feeling the vise-like fingers slowly crush his windpipe. The world wavered around him -- and then he was on his knees, gasping for air, staring through blood-filled eyes at the sight of Cal fighting furiously, his jeans drooping around his knees, raining punches on Marco, his handsome face twisted in a rictus of hate. Marco staggered back under the onslaught and then lunged, roaring, seizing Cal’s throat the way he had Kevan’s -- but this time there was no smile, ugly or otherwise. His hands clamped down brutally, forcing Cal to his knees. Staggering to his feet, Kevan heard shouts in the distance, but they barely registered on his awareness. Rage roiled through him, and this time he let it have its way. “Marco!” he shouted. The man’s head swung around on his bull-like neck, and Kevan smiled. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” It was the sheerest relief to give in to the pressure inside him, to let his body swell, his talons gashing the sand. Rising onto his haunches, Kevan unfurled his wings, throwing his head back as he shrieked at the sky. Far, far below him, Marco’s face was as white as a sheet, his beady eyes rounding in terror as he stumbled backward, letting Cal drop to the sand.

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Like a stooping hawk, Kevan pounced, his claws closing gently around Cal even as he fell. Kevan! Kevan, no! With a roar of defiance, Kevan ignored Rand’s frantic mind-shout and leapt skyward, his wings sweeping down as he bore Cal away.

*** Even now, on the crowded coasts east of Boston, there are sheltered coves and seashore preserves where a dragon can set down unseen in the darkness. Dropping lightly to the sand, Kevan lowered Cal gently, then turned away from him as he let his dragon-shape go. He stared out over the cold, heaving water of the Atlantic, the lines of his face harder than they’d ever been. He braced himself, expecting to hear Cal spring up and run away, his footfalls gritting on the sand, fading into the distance. Instead, he heard nothing, which was even worse. I should have told him, Kevan thought miserably. He wouldn’t have believed me, and he really wouldn’t have ever wanted to see me again, but I should have told him. Should have, would have, could have. It didn’t matter much now. Kevan gritted his jaw, and waited. But Cal’s first words were quiet. Almost calm. He murmured, so low Kevan could barely hear him, “There was a dragon sighting once, supposedly, further down the Cape. Twenty years ago now, I think.” Twenty-two, Kevan corrected silently. Aloud, he replied, “Yeah. That was Rand.” And Lara, he added privately, wondering how his sister would have handled this situation. Better than he was, undoubtedly. “I used to read about dragons,” Cal whispered. “There was this great series of books about dragon riders… You didn’t kill him, did you?” Kevan didn’t have to ask who Cal meant. He shook his head, and heard Cal sigh slightly. “Good. That would have been ugly. ‘Dragon Murder in P-Town.’ The rag mags would’ve had a field day.”

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Once, Kevan would have asked what a “rag mag” was. Once, all of six hours earlier. Or a lifetime ago. “Kev?” “Yeah?” “Kev, if Rand’s a dragon…” Cal trailed off, then his voice came again, almost plaintive. “If Rand’s a dragon and he lives here, does that mean you can stay?” Kevan closed his eyes, feeling a joy so deep it ached inside him, twined inextricably with grief. He shook his head slowly, and heard Cal choke back a harsh sob. “Okay,” Cal said. “It’s okay. I understand.” “I should have told you,” Kevan muttered, and heard sand rasp as Cal shifted behind him. “Kev, I’m sorry.” The words took Kevan totally by surprise. He froze, feeling his numb heart beating harder, lurching back into life. “I… I didn’t even give you a chance. I was just so scared, and hurt, and when you kissed me like that… Kevan, please just look at me, at least!” Kevan flushed at the naked plea in Cal’s voice, feeling even more like a fool. Here he’d been trying to give Cal the chance to leave easily, and what he’d really done was leave him alone with his pain and his fear, turning his back on him, for Winds’ sake! Cursing himself, he turned, feeling rough and ungracious, and then froze at the sight of Cal’s bruised, ashen face. He was crying, tears spilling down his cheeks, and Kevan sank to his knees beside him, belatedly reaching to smooth Cal’s tangled hair, wiping the crusted sand from his bruised cheek as gently as he could. Cal gripped his hand, cupping it against his face. “Kevan, I’m so sorry.” “No. Don’t be.” “I just… I was so scared. Every time I’ve let myself love someone, it hurts.” Kevan stiffened, his body tensing as if against an unexpected blow -- but something was singing inside his head, a high, almost noiseless vibration. “You love me?”

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Cal raised his head, his wide, vulnerable eyes seeking Kevan’s. He didn’t answer -- he didn’t have to. The answer was there in his eyes. Carefully, as gently as if he was holding a snowflake, Kevan bent forward and kissed him. Cal wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and returned the kiss with a fierceness that startled Kevan. He started to pull back, but Cal held him even tighter. “No,” Cal whispered hoarsely, his lips moving enticingly against Kevan’s. “No, Kevan, I need this. I need to forget what it felt like.” Kissing his neck, his jaw, his face, Cal pleaded, “Please, Kev, help me to forget.” Already, Kevan’s cock was springing upright, thickening at the naked need in Cal’s voice. Pulling Kevan down with him, Cal sank back onto the sand, holding his gaze as he pulled off his torn shirt. His jeans, still unbuttoned, hung partway open, and Kevan stared down at him, suddenly trembling. “I… I don’t know how, Cal. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d never done this before.” “Touch me. Just touch me.” Cal’s eyes were luminous, flecked by starlight. Kevan’s hand shook as he laid it flat on the hard, rippled plane of Cal’s stomach, feeling the pulse beating firmly beneath the skin. He swallowed against the sudden uprush of desire in his balls, feeling his head spin and his cock jerk against his belly with a mind of its own. Slowly, tremulously, he slid his hand downward, feeling crisp golden hairs brush lightly against his palm. Cal arched slightly beneath him, urging him on, and Kevan slipped his hand beneath the baggy waistband of Cal’s pants. Something hot and hard pressed against his fingers, and Kevan closed his fist around it, feeling stunned. Cal wanted him, wanted him so badly he was already hard, his shaft pulsing lightly in his grip. Hesitantly, he slid his hand up and down, tugging the velvety skin, and Cal moaned, pressing his own hand down over Kevan’s. “Harder, Kev. Squeeze it tighter.” Hardly daring to breathe, Kevan closed his fist tighter, his own shaft straining at Cal’s deep, hungry groan. Reaching down, Cal shoved his pants down over his hips, and his cock, hard and flushed, flexed in Kevan’s grip.

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Kevan stared in amazement at that thick, upright shaft, the bulbous head curving above his fist. Lightly, he ran his thumb over it, spreading the gleaming drop of fluid leaking from Cal’s slit over the smooth, taut skin. Then he raked his hand downward, squeezing hard, and Cal cried aloud and pressed up to meet him. The muscles in his forearms bunched as he pistoned his fist up and down Cal’s erection, his gaze flicking from Cal’s cock to his face and back again. Cal’s balls, taut and round, were drawn up tight against his groin. His abs rippled as he lifted his hips, pushing himself into Kevan’s caress. His eyes were closed, his lips parted in ecstasy, and Kevan couldn’t stop himself -- he leaned over Cal’s naked body and covered Cal’s lips with his own. Immediately, the need in his own groin spiked upward, and Cal moaned into his mouth, his tongue seeking blindly until it found Kevan’s. Teasing it out, Cal closed his lips around it, sucking it deep into his own mouth as he arched up against Kevan. The same hot, possessive hunger that had seized him in the club flooded through Kevan’s veins, and he jabbed his tongue deeper, wanting to taste every bit of Cal, to devour him, to take him. A wholly draconic frenzy flared deep in his belly, and he let go of Cal’s shaft long enough to draw Cal’s hand to his groin. Cal’s fingers closed over the erection inside his trousers, and his eyelids fluttered open. “You do want me.” Kevan stared at him, nonplussed. Want him? How could he not? His whole body blazed with the need pounding in his groin. Cal’s fingers caressed him, and he whispered hoarsely, “Winds, yes. Yes, I want you.” “You want to fuck me?” Kevan groaned, closing his eyes. Cal’s hand tightened, squeezing his cock. “Say it, Kev.” “Yes,” he growled, his eyes still closed, picturing Cal as he’d been on the stage, his body arching back away from Kevan, his groin pressed tight against Kevan’s hard cock. “Yes, I want to fuck you.” Cal’s fist released him, and his fingers tugged at the ties of Kevan’s trousers. “Take these off, then.”

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Pushing himself to his knees, Kevan tugged off his tunic and yanked hastily at his trousers, pushing them down. Cal watched him, unmoving, his body laid out like a gift before him on the sand. Staring down at him, Kevan swallowed again, nervously. “Cal, I really don’t… don’t know how to do this.” Smiling, Cal reached down, tracing a finger around Kevan’s thick, purple cockhead. Kevan gasped, feeling his balls contract, sending a first pulse of fluid shooting through his cock. It dribbled from his gaping slit, and Cal ran his fingers through it, gathering it up. Then he reached down, cupping his balls in one hand as he lifted his thighs, baring his rectum. Kevan watched, spellbound, as Cal smeared the warm, viscous fluid over his asshole. He winced slightly, and Kevan cleared his throat. “Cal… Cal, no. Not if it hurts.” Cal’s gaze snapped back to his face, his eyes suddenly hard and challenging, the way they’d been when he’d reached down to pull Kevan on stage. “I want it to hurt, Kev. Nothing else will erase him. But this time I want it to hurt good. Now watch. Watch and touch yourself for me.” Raising his hand, Cal licked his fingers, coating them with saliva and then slid his hand back down. Kneeling between his legs, Kevin watched, transfixed, as Cal’s fingers circled his asshole, lubricating it. “Touch yourself, Kev,” Cal ordered again, and Kevan obediently closed his hand around his cock. Glancing up, he saw Cal watching him drag his hand up and down his shaft. He flushed, feeling oddly exposed, and dropped his gaze back to Cal’s own working fingers. Then he gasped, his cock bucking in his hands like a wild thing, as Cal slid one finger deep inside himself. “Oh, you like that,” Cal murmured. Kevan nodded dumbly, unable to tear his gaze from Cal’s pistoning finger. He swallowed, squeezing his cock hard to keep from coming right then, as Cal shoved it in all the way up to the knuckle. A thread of amusement twined through Cal’s voice as he asked, “You want to be there, don’t you? Buried inside me?”

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Kevan squeezed his dick tighter, tears springing to his eyes. Lust raged in his groin like an unchecked wildfire, roaring in his ears, throbbing in his balls. He could hear his harsh sobs through the thunder of his heartbeat, and desperately wanted to come right then, let the pressure inside him explode outward, coating Cal, drowning him in the ocean of come he felt seething in his balls. “Give me your tunic,” Cal whispered, and Kevan felt for it blindly, his gaze never moving from the finger gliding slickly in and out of Cal’s ass. Cal lifted his hips awkwardly and slid the tunic beneath them. “Keeps the sand at bay,” he murmured. “Now tell me again.” “I want to fuck you.” “Tell me louder,” Cal demanded, reaching for Kevan, tugging him down between his upraised thighs. Bracing himself on his forearms, Kevan stared at him hungrily. “I want to fuck you.” He felt Cal’s hand close around his erection, leading it to that slick, warm entrance. Cal rubbed his cockhead back and forth across it, teasing him until he ground his teeth in frustration. “Say it again, Kev.” This was sheer torture. His cock was so hard it felt made of iron. He could pound a hole through solid stone, he thought dimly, clenching his jaw. Hissing through his teeth, he said it again. And again, as Cal’s fingers played over his cockhead, nudging it tight against that sweet, exposed ass. And again, until his pulse throbbed in his ears, shutting out everything but the agony in his balls and the demanding, overwhelming need to bury himself inside Cal’s flesh. Distantly, he heard Cal whisper, “Now mean it.” Throwing his head back, Kevan roared at the sky and slammed his hips forward, ramming himself into Cal’s ass. Cal cried out beneath him, his voice sharp with pain -but intermingled with it was a high, yearning plea, a wordless entreaty. Answering it, Kevan drew back and drove in again harder, sinking into Cal until the full length of his cock was gripped tight by Cal’s passage, his balls mashed between

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his thighs and Cal’s taut, rounded ass cheeks. He could feel the weight of Cal’s sacs against the base of his belly, and he ground his hips downward, trapping them between their bodies, squeezing them even as he forced his cock so deep he thought he’d pass out from the sensation. Then Cal tightened his ass muscles, and Kevan almost did pass out. For a moment, the world went black around him, the stars winking into nothing as the ecstasy inside him teetered toward a white-hot oblivion. He felt Cal’s knuckles digging into his stomach as Cal fisted his cock, rubbing it savagely. Opening his eyes, Kevan stared down, watching Cal’s hand rake over his shaft with growing desperation. Cal moaned, his head tossing on the sand, and Kevan pulled back, his hips working faster, pistoning his shaft in and out of that tight, gripping hole, so amazingly different than even his wildest imaginings. “Come for me, Cal,” he whispered urgently. “I want you to come with me inside you.” “Anything,” Cal panted. “Anything you want. Only take me, Kev, claim me, fuck me till I’m yours.” Opening his eyes, Cal looked up at Kevan, letting him watch every shift in their hazel depths. His hand moved faster, his balls hard as stones against Kevan’s groin. His lips parted, his face draining of expression -- then he was thrusting against Kevan, legs wrapped tight around Kevan’s waist, his chest arched up toward him as his cock jerked and throbbed, shooting hot spurts of cream that splashed across Kevan’s belly, his ribs, his pecs… Groaning, Kevan hammered down harder, watching Cal’s pupils dilate, his lips moving soundlessly as his balls clenched again. Glancing down, Kevan saw a fresh stream of come burst from Cal’s gaping slit, arcing through the small space between them and spattering across his knotted muscles. That was it -- Kevan couldn’t hold back any more. Grabbing Cal’s thighs, he forced them up against Cal’s chest, pounding his ass with a wild abandon as his orgasm roared upward, seizing him in its unbreakable grip. His muscles clenched as he rammed his cock deep, growling like a beast as his balls throbbed and contracted, filling Cal again and again with his hot, gushing fluids.

Chapter Six Slowly, Kevan lifted his head, realizing it had been pillowed on Cal’s warm, broad shoulder. Belatedly, he realized it must be near dawn -- pale streaks of color painted the sky, pink and salmon and a soft, delicate purple. It had been growing lighter even as they made love, the pearly, ghostly light showing him every shift of expression on Cal’s beautiful, precious face. Looking down, he saw the bruise darkening to purple on Cal’s left cheekbone, and felt a fresh spurt of anger. But he forgot it immediately when he saw the tears on Cal’s cheeks. “Cal… Oh Winds, Cal, did I hurt you?” “Yes,” Cal whispered, smiling slightly. “And no. You were… You were perfect, Kev.” Kevan closed his eyes, the ache in his chest by now familiar. Gently, he kissed Cal’s lips, then his forehead. He was still inside Cal, he realized, his softening cock hugged deliciously by Cal’s warm, throbbing passage. He started to withdraw, but Cal hugged him tightly. “Not yet, Kev. Please not yet. Do you really have to go?” Kevan couldn’t help smiling at the almost childlike note in Cal’s voice. He hid it quickly, though, and nodded. “I’m… I’m not just any dragon, Cal. My mother’s the queen. I have to go back.” He drew a deep breath. “I wish I didn’t have to.” That wasn’t true, though. He did want to go back. He understood better than anyone except Melgara how to rule Djarera, how to protect the dragon clans from their own essential wildness while still allowing them the freedom dragons instinctively craved. But leaving Cal would be leaving part of himself behind. Kevan dreaded it. Cal’s laughter surprised him, dragging him from his ruminations. “Wouldn’t you know it.” Cal chuckled. “I finally found me a prince.”

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Reaching up, he smoothed Kevan’s hair back from his face. Turning his head, Kevan kissed Cal’s palm, then propped himself on one arm to take Cal’s hand in his, laying it flat against his chest. Cal stared up at him, wide-eyed, and Kevan could feel his own heart beating strong and even beneath his ribs, knowing Cal could feel it too. “I love you, Cal. Don’t ever forget that. And don’t ever doubt it. You deserve so much love.” Wordlessly, Cal pulled Kevan down against him, his arms wrapping tight around Kevan’s broad back. He kissed Kevan’s shoulder lightly, and they lay together, simply holding each other as the sun rose clear and brilliant above the soft, hissing waves. “Kev?” Cal murmured after a long silence so complete Kevan was convinced he’d gone to sleep. He could use some sleep himself, he thought, stirring muzzily. “Yeah?” “Kev, can I come with you?” Kevan sat bolt upright, his cock sliding from Cal’s warm flesh. “I… Would you want to?” That tawny eyebrow quirked again. “Would I have asked if I didn’t?” “I guess not. But… No.” Kevan sighed, his shoulders slumping. Picking up a pebble, he chucked it at the waves breaking thirty feet away. “I’m supposed to get married, Cal.” Cal winced, but he managed a small, teasing grin. “Do I know her?” “Winds, Cal, I don’t even know her. My mother’s paraded every busty, nubile, willing female in the kingdom before me and…” He trailed off, sighing. “Sounds kind of interesting.” Cal flashed him a decidedly lascivious grin, and Kevan stared. “You mean you like girls? Why didn’t you tell me you liked girls?” “You didn’t ask.” Cal rolled to a seat beside him, their identical thighs brushing against each other as they sat, knees bent, gazing out at the ocean. Then he shrugged. “Sexually, yeah, I like girls just fine. The problem is, I always fall in love with men.”

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“Yeah,” Kevan sighed. “I know that problem.” Cal took his hand and leaned his head against Kevan’s shoulder, gazing up at him playfully. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right girl yet.” Kevan snorted. “I doubt it.” Cal seemed to mull this over silently for a while. Then he muttered, “I’ve only got one question, Kev.” “What?” “Do you think she would share?” Turning his head, Kevan looked at Cal, his fingers laced through Kevan’s own in a mute, unspoken bond. Winds! he thought suddenly. Am I heir to the throne of Djarera or not? What’s Mother going to do, gestate a replacement? “She’ll just have to, won’t she?” he growled, bending his head to Cal’s.

Epilogue API WIRE, PROVINCETOWN, MASSACHUSETTS Local residents and tourists in this bustling Cape Cod resort experienced what seems to have been a mass hysterical hallucination over the past two days. Late last night, a handful of witnesses claim to have sighted a thirty-foot gold dragon strolling on the town beach. This morning, the mania had spread, and no less than eighty people reported spotting three dragons of varying colors flying above Provincetown shortly after sunrise, with a few observers reporting a human rider, as well. The freak gales that whistled through the Cape Cod region early this morning drove most of the watchers to shelter. When they emerged, the alleged dragons had disappeared. At least one area resident, Marco Martelli, was hospitalized for minor injuries he claims were inflicted by the first sighted dragon. Mr. Martelli, 48, is currently undergoing psychiatric evaluation, and it is not clear at this time when he will be released…

Sierra Dafoe Sierra Dafoe published her first erotic romance with Changeling Press in May of 2006, and hasn’t stopped since! Named a Rising Star of Romance in July by Love Romances and More, she received three 2006 CAPA nominations including Favorite Erotic Author (a fact which still has her stunned!). Sierra lives in northern New Hampshire’s White Mountains with her incredibly tolerant hubby, her thoroughly obnoxious cat, and her twelve-year-old puppy. Visit her at www.sierradafoe.com for free stories and monthly contests, and join her yahoogroup at http://groups.yahoo.com/The_Sierra_Club -- she loves hearing from her readers!