Page 4 of Dragon Unhinged

I’ve snuck down there a few times when I knew my father was out and the trucks were gone. Those doors were open. Prison cells, I realized quickly. Slabs of cement for beds, scratches on the wall like they tried to claw their way out, and evidence of blood.

I began to think my father was keeping human prisoners at first. It took a lot more investigation and one fateful night when I realized the truth.

I watched out the windows like I often do when I know my father is returning from one of his underground ventures. The back of the truck rocked so hard it nearly tipped over. I plastered myself to the window and gaped as a bright blue and black dragon split the truck in half. Its wings were tattered and shredded like a sail brutalized in a storm. The creature tried for the sky anyway, but it appeared too weak, too beaten. The slashes in its body seemed especially grotesque from the glow of the lampposts. It wasn’t much light and for a long time I wondered if I’d dreamed it all.

The magnificent dragon fell as my father’s security crew shocked it with so many electric prods, it looked like a miniature lightning storm in my front yard. The creature’s size diminished so quickly I blinked rapidly and then there was a naked woman left in the wake of the dragon. Her cool umber skin carried the same slashes on her body as the dragon did. Her black curls mangled together with dried blood. She kept trying to escape, but my father’s security was relentless and shocked her until she stopped moving.

They picked up her limp body, tossed her into the other truck and went about getting them back underground and then taking care of the demolished truck. My father had a new truck by the next weekend, and it was like nothing happened.

It was then and there I realized how truly awful my father was and what he was capable of, and it made me sick. I was a prisoner, but not like they were.

At one point, my father had six shifters in the dungeon. I believe I’ve seen fifteen come and go, just by peeking into their cells and never seeing them again. I imagine they’re dead. The wounds on the woman-slash-dragon I’d seen weren’t somethingshe got casually. I’ve tried talking to the shifters in the basement, in their cells a few times, but none of them have ever been interested in talking to me. But I keep trying. I wanted to do something to help, anything to bring some sort of comfort, if at all possible.

Not that it mattered, in the end. They all came through, and they all disappeared eventually, looking worse and worse before their end.

For a few months, the dungeon was empty, no prisoners wasting away in those cells. I had hoped he’d gotten bored and decided to close shop.

No such luck.

My father bought three shifters in an auction.

I’d managed to put the information together after more spying. Three kidnapped men who have less freedom than I do.

It’s not as though anyone will discover my father’s extracurricular activities. And even if they do, he has diplomatic immunity and I’m pretty sure he has more than enough dirt on the politicians in this town to keep himself out of hot water. He prides himself on being an ambassador of Jamitari, a small island country in Bering Sea that no one really knows much about, at least in the United States.

My father considers me a commodity. He thinks he’s going to marry me off and expects a dowry in return and an arrangement to get him more power and prestige. No matter what he has planned, it won’t bode well for me.

It doesn’t matter that I am accomplished in my own right, fluent in six languages, the highest GPA in my school, extra curriculars, volunteering, and virtual tutoring. But to him, I’ll always be less, because I wasn’t born a son.

My brother, Zimo, is being groomed to take over my father’s businesses, including the underground, illegal ones. He travels with them, dressed in tactical gear covered in shimmering runes.He’s learning to control them, to keep them captured, to keep them under thumb.

Predictably, as soon as the trucks disappear, my father struts into the library with a look of disdain smeared across his face, no doubt looking for reasons to punish me for existing. “Nose in a novel. Not even a classic.” He all but rolls his eyes with his tone flaring with derision. “Brianna, what man is going to want a woman with her face buried in some fantasy world?” He goes to the bookshelves and pulls out a nearly pristine copy of an etiquette manual. “You should be working on managing a household. That’s the best way to bring value to yourself.”

What he means by managing a household is doing as women are meant to do. Get pregnant, clean, cook, and also manage any staff to make sure everything is pristine and perfect. Only, his staff won’t answer to me. He doesn’t like the way I cook, clean, or even study.

I keep the charade that I’m reading just to piss him off, because I can never win against him so I take what little rebellious moments I can and enjoy them.

“Brianna,” he snaps.

I sigh audibly and slowly lower my book enough to look over the pages at him. “Yes?”

“Do not think you are too old for me to use the belt on your wide ass.” His tone is cold and angry.

I should not egg him on further. He’s done worse. “Yes, sir.” It’s difficult to keep my tone polite and neutral, but I manage with all my years of practice.

“I’ve got meetings first thing in the morning. I’m going to go celebrate my win tonight and then go to bed. Do something to better yourself tomorrow.” He turns and leaves without another word.

I wait until I can’t hear him any longer and sneak out of the library.

I don’t know where they go when they leave the embassy compound, but I do know that there’s always a chance one of the shifters won’t return.

Pressing my back against the wall at the top of the stairs, I wait for Zimo’s voice to filter up to me.

“The bear will need time to heal. He nearly lost his leg this time. And the wolf burned his feet so badly the skin peeled off, since he decided it would be fun to not leave the holding cell. Fucking idiot.”

There’s a tsking sound. “Then motivate them, my son. You’re supposed to be managing them. If you can’t handle it, then I’ll find someone else who will do what needs to be done. I don’t need updates on their injuries. I don’t much care. I just want the numbers for our wins.”

“Yes, father.”

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