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Published By

Etopia Press

1643 Warwick Ave., #124

Warwick, RI 02889

http://www.etopia-press.net

Dragon Ugly

ISBN: 978-1-939194-47-3

Edited by Julian Smith

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Etopia Press electronic publication: June 2013

Chapter One

Carissa made her way up the secluded path, far from the sounds of the pack howling and partying near the lake. The full moon hung in the sky, a huge silver orb, calling to her, pulling at her skin, her muscles, her tendons. Tension reverberated down her spine as sparks of energy burst over her warmed flesh. In a dense copse of trees, she dropped her duffel bag and began to shed her clothes, folding them and placing them in her bag. Then she waited. Wild laughter and howls drifted toward her. A quick sniff of the air told her that no one had followed her. She’d managed to avoid attention by slipping in once it was full dark and taking a wide path around the packs that had gathered by Shadow Cove Lake for the monthly shifting.

She had no desire to encounter any of her kind tonight. Pain picked its way down her arms and legs as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Her wolf paced, growled, whined, and pawed at the barrier that kept it locked deep within her. The musk of animals swirled around her as she allowed the pain to penetrate deep into her soul. The wolf was coming out.

It began with a prickling in her ears. Her almond eyes changed shape, becoming rounder; her nose flattened and shrunk; her lips thinned as her muscles began to stretch and thicken. Her arms and legs contracted as her breasts blended into her torso. The pain increased as she gritted her newly sharp teeth and tried to ignore the blood that filtered through her saliva. An unwanted whimper escaped her lips. She felt a pang of loneliness hit her square in the chest. She was open, vulnerable, and utterly alone.

Fully shifted, she darted her head this way and that, taking in the musk of night animals and the sweet call of the moon luring her into the forest. Her body was lower to the ground now, heavier, and yet sleeker. Even in wolf form, she felt the need to avoid her kind, especially the unmated males. Her human mind receded deeper into herself as her wolf senses came fully alive. Pain continued to burst and ping throughout her body. She ignored it. She just wanted to get this night over and done with. Neither Carissa nor her wolf wanted to be out here too long. Nervous energy filled her as she continued to prowl around, chasing birds and animals that had come out to hunt.

Bear musk drifted past her and she reared. Fear flooded her senses, making her wolf whine and rush around with no direct path in mind. After a few frenzied minutes, she found herself back at her duffel bag. Neither the human nor the animal wanted to continue on deeper into the woods. It wasn’t the bears or the other wolves that had her spooked; it was something else. She was haunted by a powerful and unfamiliar mix of emotions. She felt a great need to put a barrier between herself and others, a need for protection. She wanted to be left alone—and yet, at the same time, more than anything else, she wanted a mate.

She closed her eyes and soothed the wolf with assurances that one day they’d be able to do what they both wanted: run free and not have to worry about the packs and the desire for a mate. Bright blue eyes burned in her mind for a moment, and then faded. Pain washed around her body in waves. The shift receded as she returned to human form, weak, gangly, and vulnerable. Everything around her seemed like a threat, ready to dart out and harm her. Her stomach grumbled, in need of sustenance. She hadn’t brought food for her shift and her wolf hadn’t fed.

Dressing quickly, she grabbed her things and rushed to her car. The back of her neck prickled as if eyes were on her, following her every move. She knew that she’d get a talking to from her mom for not showing up at the party at the lake. With a sigh, Carissa pulled into a twenty-four hour McDonalds and placed an order.

She knew her mother would never leave her alone until she had found a mate. But she was always trying to shove Carissa in directions she didn’t want to go. Was it too much to ask to be allowed to choose and not have one forced on her by her mother? That question triggered another more pressing one: would she ever be comfortable shifting into her wolf form without feeling so self-conscious? Her mom would call it frigidity, even though it had nothing to do with sex.

Carissa sighed and drove home, weary and frustrated.

* * *

Heated skin slid against Brent’s side, a soft groan and the whispering of the moving sheets dragging him out of dreamland. He opened his eyes and turned to look at the blonde who lay next to him. All he could do was stare as he tried to figure out who she was. Last night was a hazy memory. A moan and another shift of the sheets caught his attention. He sat up and looked over at his friend, Fletcher, still asleep on the other side of the woman. The faint scent of sex drifted on the air—sweat, some sort of floral perfume, and musk.

He forced his mind to work, gazing at the overly tanned skin of the blonde. Her messy golden hair formed a nest on the pillow next to him. Her name was Ashley, a tourist from Chicago. Boredom, several shots of tequila, a lot of flirting, and a desire not to spend the night alone had led him and Fletcher to take her home with them.

An emptiness hung in Brent’s chest. There hadn’t been much to it, the quick slap of skin on skin without much foreplay. Fletch had taken her ass while he took her pussy. He’d come—they all had—but it had been a disappointment, just another out-of-towner wanting to live on the edge by having sex with a couple of paranormals. It was the same thing every tourist seemed to want. They flocked to Shadow Bay to view paras in their natural habitat, maybe have an exotic fuck or two, and then return to their usual lives.

Normally he enjoyed sharing an enthusiastic tourist with his friends. He’d always been ready to go and up for anything. But this time, he felt disgusted by it all. Brent wasn’t sure what was missing. He looked over at the woman. The longer he stared, the more it felt like a thousand ants were skittering over his skin. Energy jittered along his muscles and his dragon began to roar. He threw back the covers, slid out of bed, and padded out onto the back deck.

An early morning swim was just what he needed to wake up and get his head cleared. The morning breeze carried a gentle nip of heat along with the scent of chlorine, a hint of alcohol, charcoal, and wood. Music drifted through the early morning quiet, the remains of the party that had been raging when he and Fletch had arrived home. They had been a lot more action earlier: firecrackers, mini-bonfires everywhere, braziers with blazes, dancing in the streets, alcohol flowing freely, and a general Mardi Gras atmosphere. There had been parties everywhere, confetti littering the town and police monitoring the action to make sure things didn’t get out of control.

He felt the dragon stir, slick scales smooth against his flesh. A cool touch of liquid strength flooded his limbs, making the world around him feel more solid. His senses opened up wide. He could smell rain in the distance. A hint of electricity danced in the atmosphere with each pull of breath. Brent felt goose bumps rise on his skin. The morning now felt cold, as the dragon amplified his senses. He also felt its skittishness and shyness. If he didn’t keep careful control over his emotions, he’d go back into his room, kick Fletch and Ashley out, and hide in there until everyone was gone. Despite the parties going on all around town, he felt suddenly very lonely.

Brent looked down at the pool’s crystal-clear blue water. It looked like an oasis. Stretching his arms over his head, he heard the pop and crack of vertebrae as his muscles lengthened. He pulled his shirt over his head, then shoved his pants down and stepped out of them. Despite the constant complaints of Tor and Fletch about his chosen swimming attire, he didn’t feel right wearing trunks or a Speedo. Feeling the silken glide of the liquid against his skin sent a thrill through him. Besides, it allowed his dragon to get closer to its natural element. Who was he to deny his inner beast that pleasure?

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