Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.
May you have a memorable and magickal St.Patty's Day.
Here's a fantasy flash scene I had no idea was there until I began writing it. But it is the Year of the Dragon.
Wearin' of the Green Scales ~ Dragon Warrior
Dragon Warrior that he was, Dhaegan lowered his blade slowly. Bright as moonlight, the immense blade had served him well ever since he'd pulled it from the bottom of Avalon's deepest lake, and out of the grip of a red-haired giant who, though he lay in a state of suspension, nevertheless kept a savage hold.
Yet, wrest it away he had for the sake of the many princesses and fair maidens -- also for the foolish knaves or unlucky knights -- he'd rescued during the past few centuries, his training having begun once Merlin passed into another realm taking the age of Magick with him.
Now, a sort of retirement lay before him. Dhaegan could not have said he was sorry to see this day. He'd lived the ages-long adventure with gusto, slashing and slaying those of evilest heart and mind.
His soul had been tried, tested, and purified by the fires of both supernatural temptations and the fiercest of tribulations. However, in the end his triumphs had won out -- his reward earned.
Now his scales were the brilliant aurora green of an elder statesman, a counselor to the youth of his dragon shapeshifter kind. Now he'd earned family and castle and the proper leisures of life.
Yet, his true reward, therein lay his problem. Few dragon maidens without mates were about in these times, this year of 2012. And since the world tilted wildly and madly, thundering toward ever more tumult during this end of, and beginning of, a new age, even fewer maidens wished to be his mate.
None, in point of fact.
So he'd been told by the Dragoness Matchmaker. His warrior strength and ability counted against him. For, he would not forsake a fight, or a battle that needed winning, even though his days of seeking out such rabid-dog villainy had ended. And he was glad of it.
Refusing the sigh that would pass between his lips, Dhaegan placed the point of his broadsword on the thick strong brick before the crackling fireplace. Leaning on it for a bit of balance, he propped his booted foot on the bonnie hearth, feeling the hefty brush of his kilt against his thigh.
Pondering his dilemma, he let the cooking odors of the fine establishment bring him some measure of enjoyment. While he'd found a grand view and a lush mountainous terrain for his castle and grounds -- the purchase having been completed only a few days ago -- the true benefit would be settling himself within an established community of shapeshifters, and other diverse paranormal folk.
Of course, Dante's wondrous underground dungeon known as The Interspecies Pleasure Club held all manner of fascinations to be explored. While Dhaegan was a man-dragon of lusty and unlimited appetite for pleasures with the fair sex, both artful and primal, his nature was not inclined toward such erotic fetishes as had been described to him.
That is, other than what his dragon physiology offered. The tip of his tail tickling the pearl between a woman's thighs had gained him many lovers in the past. As had many other of his passionate and unique skills.
Dhaegan was also not inclined toward more than one woman at this stage of his life. He desired a richer relationship, one that included an intimacy of the heart and mind, not only the sweetfire ecstasy of joining loins with a woman.
He wanted a mate to share his life with. He favored the type of rollicking and loving life his sire and damn still enjoyed.
Dhaegan gave the bar maid an appreciative nod as she placed a pewter tankard brimming with a dark frothy brew beside him. She gifted him with a sassy smile before spinning on her heel and swaying away, her movements like an impatient sylph.
Lifting the ale to his lips, Dhaegan quaffed with satisfaction, his gaze on the leaping flames, yet not. Truly he'd not owned an abundance of time to plan out his new life. Now seemingly time had become his ally in the matter.
As a Celtic songstress began warbling over the pub's sound system, Dhaegan coiled his inner dragon around the heartfelt singing. He counted it good luck that his end of days as a wandering and dutiful warrior coincided with the modern version of St. Patrick's day, and the wearin' of the green... or the wearin' of his newly acquired green scales.
This, even though, St. Patrick, the man, had been of simple mind and a one-trick saint. The poor fool had been saved far more times by others of Dhaegan's ilk than the bumbling holy man had ever saved another human being.
Earlier in the day, as Dhaegan stared at his reflection in the hidden pristine lake, he'd been quite proud of the emerald sheen of scales. He'd also watched Sivakka, the Nessie, swim and frolic with her dolphin friends. In fact, the placement of his castle would not be far away, an hour's flight on a day of serene weather.
Dhaegan allowed himself a grin at his dragon's vanity before he threw back another large swallow of his ale. Moments later, the lilac, white-heat smell of the human woman he'd attempted to rescue mere days ago caused him to shake back his mane of hair, then alter his position to seek her out.
Letting the mostly finished tankard of ale rest atop his knee, Dhaegan searched the pub's ever-burgeoning crowd. He'd been hiking along the riding trails of Merry and Dash's dude ranch to familiarize himself with the terrain, and to stretch his human legs.
He'd observed the woman's horse slip on a patch of recently loosened pebbles. She'd taken a tumble, her behind thumping on the ground after a valiant effort to hang on. In seconds, Dhaegan had caught hold of the frightened horse's reins because the wild-eyed animal trotted straight at him.
Once he determined it was mostly the woman's pride that had been hurt, and since her mount was uninjured, with just a bit of fetlock bruising, Dhaegan had offered to give her a leg up, then escort her back to the ranch.
Her response had been a stiff but polite thank you for catching her horse. After tossing her long glossy braid over one shoulder -- her tresses were the color of dark chestnut -- she'd deigned to gaze upon him. Instantly, layers of frost formed over her peacock-blue eyes -- the piercing and mystical eyes of a Seeress, he swiftly noticed.
Dhaegan realized with little effort that the woman absolutely despised the male sex -- confirmed when she'd gone on to inform him she was just fine, that she would lead the horse back, and didn't need his help.
He didn't question why. There was no need, given how often he witnessed the fair sex being poorly treated, and often with utter disrespect. He'd chastised or severely punished any man who had done such in his presence, depending on the degree of the oaf's fault and failing.
Despite the woman's curt insistence that he could be on his way, Dhaegan had discreetly followed her to the ranch's barn until he'd known she was being attended to properly. And not that he hadn't lustily enjoyed every moment of viewing the pear-shaped swell of hips and the precocious outline of her buttocks as she walked down the trail.
The woman had been careful to keep her mount managed and calm. And Dhaegan wondered what it would be like if she managed him with such attention and care. He also didn't deny that her eyes still intrigued him, still haunted him to this very moment.
He didn't deny that he wanted her to pierce him down to his soul -- his soul as man and dragon.
Once he gained sight of the fey-delicate woman, Dhaegan set his tankard down, sheathed his broadsword, and strode toward her. She spoke with Gypsy Red Wolf, exotic dancer and Talbot's Peak psychic.
Gypsy had been kind, engaging him in an extended conversation when he'd complimented her dancing. Of course, he had remained platonic in his manner, well-knowing about Sergei, her Siberian Tiger lover.
Now, simply from overhearing snatches of conversation, and from what Dante had mentioned in their brief words together, he knew Gypsy was seeking a Power Circle to protect the paranormal community from psi attacks, and to advise those who were desirous of more assistance in these times of turmoil.
If his Seeress intended to be part of the Power Circle, there was no way he would allow her to remain unprotected, unescorted. He would simply prove his worthiness to her. He would be her Dragon Warrior no matter her distaste for him, and his presence.
"Ah, Dhaegan," Gypsy greeted, a knowing smile on her lips and in her eyes. "Have you met my dearest friend, Sychelle? She is from the Dawn Galactic Order."
Dhaegan halted in his tracks a few steps before he'd meant to stop. Astonishment coursed through him. His dragon blood burned in his veins like bolts of lightning.
The Order was as ancient as his kind. Only descendants of the High Priestesses who had first settled in Spain as the Basque people were allowed, and their blood had been kept as pure as possible.
Dhaegan could only stare as Sychelle turned her head, glancing at him over her shoulder, and only from the corner of her eye. For once, gallant words failed him. His tongue, the bastard, refused to move from its fastened position against the roof of his mouth.
"You are dragon, are you not?" Her formal voice did not surprise him, even though it was completely different than how she'd first spoken to him.
"I am a Dragon Warrior," he boomed. Yet his answer had been spoken in a low tone meant only for her ears, and also for Gypsy's hearing.
"Yes, then I was not mistaken as I thought about our encounter later. Why do you approach now?"
"Now," Dhaegan moved beside her. "I will be your Dragon Warrior, Seeress of the Dawn Galactic Order."
~ Happy Year of the Dragon St. Patrick's Day ~
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~