Page 53 of Dragon in Boots

“That’s the last of them!” Cimil locked up the back of the U-Haul and grinned, unable to hold in the overflowing joy.

Out of every plan she’d ever concocted in seventy thousand years, this would be her best! In total, she’d collected over a hundred eggs and one ton of scrotum nectar from inside the theater.

That amphitheater layout sure made it easy!Cimil had used a mini Zamboni to move the jizz globs and then sucked it all up with a wet vac after the dragonettes left.

True story. Dragons were terrible parents and split the moment the fertilization ritual was over.Probably why dragons are so few. And so mean!Abandonment issues.

But these little monsters in shells would be put to good use. Heebie had also left a slimy trail of dollops a mile long across Dallas! Minky was out there now with the street sweeper, grabbing what she could.

Cimil now had everything she needed to carry out her plan plus leftovers for a rainy day!Or sticky day. Muahahaha…

Cimil sighed happily and got into the truck. “Goodbye, Pink Pit of Pleasure. It was nice knowing ya!”

She pulled out her cell and dialed SBP headquarters. “Hey, it’s me. Get everything ready. I’m on my way. Viva la revolution!”

Damien woke with the worst headache in the world, which said a lot considering he was immortal. He must’ve consumed a case of scotch last night, though his intent had not been to party. It had been to dull the pain in his heart.

With Pet as the spokes-pervert, he and Sky had gotten into another yelling match over Sky’s decision to call it quits on life. He’d even urged her to talk to Cimil directly and strike a deal.

She’d said no.

In the end, he realized that Sky was ready to move on and let him go—let her family go, too, after they were rescued.Hewas the one still hanging on, unable to make peace with it. Not her. The argument ended back at square one. He would head home, fake his death, and SBP would free Amelia and Miguel. Sky would then cross over and disappear forever.

Damien’s phone vibrated on the nightstand, indicating there was a message from last night. He hit listen.

“Tailor, it is Votan. I received a very confusing voicemail from Belch. Call me back.”

Wonderful.What had Belch told him?

Damien slid from bed, noting empty bottles, pizza boxes, and random articles of clothing strewn over lampshades and chairs. In the living room, Belch lay passed out under the table, and Jac was gone.

He pushed Belch’s large frame with his foot. “Hey, wake up. What did you tell Votan?”

Belch didn’t move.

“Wake up!” Damien tried again. He needed to know how to avoid angering the deadliest god in the universe.

“What do you want?” Belch muttered, cracking open one eye.

“Your wife’s here, and she’s pissed.”

Belch sat up and hit his head. “Ouch.” He rubbed the spot and then crawled out from under the table. “Where is she? She’s going to kill me if she finds out I missed my workout.”

His wife was some sort of health nut and fitness guru back in LA. Funny how she and the drunkest, least healthy god of them all had ended up mates. Maybe it was the universe’s way of balancing out two extremes.

“Relax. I just said that to get you up. What did you tell Votan last night?” Damien asked.

“He was here?” Belch scratched his small beer belly. Strange, he hadn’t looked so rotund last night. The alcohol seemed to instantly bloat him.

“No. You left a message on his phone. I need to know what you said,” Damien explained.

“I don’t know. I was drunk!”

Damien sighed. “Call him. Ask him what you said.” He grabbed Belch’s phone from the coffee table. He could see the god had missed several calls from his wife. He was probably in trouble. “Call your brother first; then you can let your wife yell at you for playing strip Twister with another woman.”

“I played strip Twister?” Belch rubbed the sides of his head. “She’s going to kill me. That, or tie me to the treadmill for a year. Again.”

“Call!”

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