Page 5 of Dragon Unhinged

“They are abominations against nature, and if we have to suffer them to live, then we should at least get our money’s worth.” My father’s voice is full of irritation, which doesn’t bode well for the shifters. “What of the dragon? They said it was a ‘prince’. The fact that these monsters pretend to be royalty is laughable. It’s like watching a monkey wearing a suit.”

I consider his words as I listen. A prince? Dragon shifters have royalty? That sounds more civilized than barbaric.

“The dragon’s getting faster at taking out the competition. We need to find him stronger opponents, if we’re going to keep taking him out this often. He killed the tiger in under five minutes.” Zimo almost sounds impressed. “It doesn’t make for an interesting night if the fights are over so short. The audience hardly has time to finish one drink, let alone pour more money into their gambling on who will win.”

I can hear all my father’s frustration and annoyance in one long sigh. “Figure it out. Maybe we need to send it in there wounded to make it more of an even fight. The audience wantsa good battle. Bloodshed. These beasts are good for only one thing, and if it’s not drawing crowds and entertaining them while they shell out loads of money, then we’ll kill it and invest in a monster that can get the job done.”

I hear my father’s familiar heavy footfalls on the stairs, and I slip quietly into my bedroom.

I close my door and go to my desk, intent on looking as though I’m studying, even though my mind keeps wandering back to the creatures in our basement.

I have so many questions, so many things I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around, and all I want to do is find answers.

“Brianna?” A soft knock raps against my door, but unsurprisingly he enters without waiting for an answer.

I place my pen down over my textbook. “Yes, Papa?” I give him as innocent a smile as I can muster, even though I’m nearly bursting at the seams with the need to learn more. But I won’t ask him. I’ll never get the truth, and I know he’ll be pissed if he knows I know anything about them.

“It’s getting late. Go to bed.” He gives me a tight nod, the closest to a warm expression as he’s ever given me. “I wouldn’t want you falling asleep in your classes and bringing shame on you or me.”

It’s the same sort of talk he’s given me every school night of my life, concern for the image I project in my classes—smart, but never smarter than the male students, concern for how I look to the rest of the world, but never concern for me.

“Yes, Papa. I was just finishing my studies for the night.”

He nods. “Very good. Good night, Brianna.”

I almost wish he’d give me a hug, any sort of actual affection or really any sign that he cares for me at all, other than as yet another asset he has to keep under his thumb.

Sometimes, I fantasize about running away, about finding some new corner of the world I’ve never seen, somewhere Icould be my own person. But that would mean somehow evading the guards that constantly patrol the embassy compound, including right outside our home, the “classmates” who are clearly paid spies for my father, and the so-called friends who I know only talk to me because it’s fiscally and socially beneficial to them.

I may have the latest fashions, the best of everything, but I’m far from cool or desirable outside of my family name and stature.

If anything, I’m awkward and nearly a leper with the way my real classmates look at me. I probably don’t help any of that as I don’t trust anyone. My father’s reach is farther than I can imagine, and if he catches me doing something he won’t approve of, it’ll mean I suffer even more.

I wait at my door, listen as my father’s footsteps disappear down the hall, and then the clear slam of the door as he moves into his own bedroom. Very little will pull him from that room before his alarm goes off promptly at five a.m., and I’m counting on that. He regiments his own schedule almost as stringently as he does mine.

Which means that as soon as I can confirm my brother’s followed in my father’s footsteps and taken himself to bed, and the staff will be tucked away in their wing until early morning, I have free rein of the house.

Usually, I head straight for the library, to pick through the rare books and to curl up in an armchair to read about things that my father wouldn’t approve of, or I find my way to the den and turn the TV on low, so that I get even a glimpse of what’s actually going on in the world, not just the little bits my father and brother determine I might need to know.

But tonight, I’ve made up my mind, and I don’t think anything will stop me from my goal.

I want to meet the shifters.

Carefully, I tiptoe down the stairs, watching for the spots I know creak under foot, and I peek around each corner slowly, watching the shadows, for any sign that someone else is here.

Just like every night, it’s quiet, dimly lit, and I’m completely alone.

The door to the basement is locked. The changes often, but I finally got the last number yesterday. I think I have it now. My hand is trembling as I gently push each button carefully and then I hit enter.

When the light turns green and the click of the lock releases, I let out a sigh of relief. I open the door. No creaks. No squeaks. My father makes sure the house staff keep all the hinges well oiled. Behind the door is nothing but the top couple of stairs leading down and darkness.

I pause, listening for any sign of movement, any sign that I’m about to get caught, but it’s still eerily silent below and above.

Almost like it’s all a dream, and I’ll get down there and see a bunch of expensive cars or something. Like I’ve made up this whole fantasy of shifters, so that I’m not alone in my prison.

But they’re down there, I know they are, they must be. I’ve watched those trucks for weeks, coming and going. I’ve listened to my family’s hushed conversations about the creatures. The news doesn’t talk about it, the journalists probably don’t even know, but people like my father are capturing these creatures, these…people, holding them hostage, making them fight and goodness knows what else. Humans don’t have a good track record when it comes to treating those that are different well, not to mention all the horrific things humans have done to other humans with trafficking and abuse. Even the dark secrets of humanity’s past are rarely spoken about, people trying to cover up the truth with lies and distractions. I can only imagine what secrets are hidden beneath the world of the supernatural.

The cement steps are clean, each scuff of my foot on the stairs seems to echo and bounce along the cement walls down into the darkness.

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