Page 1 of Rejected By Dragons

Chapter One

EMBER

Life isn't always a fairy tale, you know...

It doesn't matter that it's been over a decade since I've seen her. My mother's voice floating back to me makes my heart squeeze just as strongly now as it did the day she dumped me in this godforsaken town.

My gaze goes unfocused for a second. I can almost see her--can almost feel her warmth and smell the wood fire and orange blossom scent of her skin.

We used to read together every night when I was a kid. My father--fuzzier in my memory than my mother--used to read to me, too, but it was my mom's and my thing, even long past the age when I could read perfectly well myself. My favorite books were the ones where knights in shining armor rescued damsels in distress. I knew full well that a girl could take care of herself, of course--and it was more than a little ironic to love reading about being rescued from a dragon, of all things.

But there was always something so romantic about a guy on a horse riding up and plucking some poor, mistreated maiden out of her misery.

My mother would indulge me, shaking her head fondly as she let me choose from my most beloved stories, again and again. She still felt the need to remind me, though. Fairy tales weren't real.

The tightness in my chest releases, only to be replaced by a bitterness that floods the back of my tongue.

Yeah. At this point I know that all too well.

Swallowing the taste of bile, I close the book I'd been paging through, waiting for my shift to end. The second-hand store where I work never gets too busy, which is great. I'm earning my degree online, and being able to cram in some assigned reading between customers is always a plus. The place is practically deserted today, though, the racks of vintage clothes and shelves of used books, records and knickknacks practically untouched. Honestly, sometimes I'm not even sure how--or why--Maude keeps the place open.

Everybody in Wynrath Crest needs some sort of occupation, though. It's the Air Dragon King's decree.

I roll my eyes, even as my stomach does a nervous flip. By habit, I glance around the empty store.

King Zephyr has been in charge of the Air Realm for the better part of a century. Wynrath Crest may look like a dot on the map to most people, a tiny speck in the mountains perched over miles of high desert. But any dragon shifter knows better. It's the seat of power for one of the three remaining clans, and it's ruled with an iron fist.

A hint of a shiver travels down my spine.

I'll never understand why my mother abandoned me at age twelve.

But what I'll really never understand is why she abandoned me here.

With a rough exhalation, I shake off my momentary paranoia. Dragon shifters have a wide range of powers, but telepathy isn't one of them. It's not even like I was thinking anything particularly bad about the Air Dragon King, anyway. Just because I chafe at his incessant micromanaging of the dragons in his kingdom doesn't make me a dissenter.

And I have way bigger things to worry about when it comes to my problems with the royal family than a little grousing.

Turning, I re-shelve the book that sent me on my little trip down memory lane. Sliding it home, I let my fingertip trail down the fabric-covered spine, a wry half-smile curling my lips.

It's an older volume--maybe actually worth some money, compared with most of the paperbacks that fill the shelves. Humans would call it fantasy; hell, your average shifter might, too. There are definitely some fairy tales in there.

So many fairy tales have their roots in myth and lore, though. Some of the stories in this particular tome touch awfully closely to ones I heard from my own parents, back so many years ago. Stories about a dragon who would unify the kingdoms and bring light to shadow.

Nonsense, probably.

But what can I say? I always have been a sucker for a good, old-fashioned story about a hero.

I take a minute to straighten the other books on the shelf. When they're all in good order, I force myself to continue on. It really has been a slow day, so there's not much to tidy, but I put away a few items that got left in the dressing room. I stop to admire a little black skirt with some cool, silver zippers on it that must have come in the other day. In another life, maybe I'd consider it. As is, clothes that will make me stand out--or that I care about at all...

Well. They're just not important, is all.

With that taken care of, I head back to the front and peer out through the big glass window. Things seem quiet enough. I wave at Mr. Mulligan, out walking his dog. Mr. Mulligan waves back. Like about half the population of Wynrath Crest, he's human, and blissfully ignorant about the true nature of the other half of his neighbors. One glance at me, and the dog shies away, though. Animals know what I am--even if sometimes, the rest of my kind forget.

Taking mercy on the poor creature, I direct my gaze away.

The cafe across the street seems to be doing a decent business, considering it's not quite five. Outside the gas station next door, a couple of old-timers are shooting the breeze.

Above it all, the sky shines, bright and open and blue. The tiniest hints of red and gold sparkle at the horizon, and for a second, my lungs ache. The spot between my shoulder blades crackles, and there's a hint of power crawling just beneath my skin. For the briefest instant, I imagine I could summon it forward. Let the beast within take flight.

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