Tenants and Tyrants (Book 5 of The Warden series) (12 page)

Cori threw out her hand to the woman. “You must be the Council of the Moon?”

“I am Frederique. I am head council woman.” Her French accent was even thicker than Leona’s. The musk that came off of her when she shook Cori’s hand almost made her cough. “I am also Leona’s sister,” she said with a smile.

Cori glanced back at Leona. There was no doubt in her mind that Leona had probably relayed all of their association to her sister, as any sister would. “I think very highly of your sister,” Cori said incase the translation of the story, missed the finer details of their encounter.

“Yes, she speaks very highly of you as well.” It took Cori a moment to realize that Frederique still had a hold of her hand, but when she gently tried to tug it away, she started massaging her hand with her thumb.

“I understand that she is fighting for custody of her children.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Frederique stepped closer and Cori found herself freezing in place like she often did with Leona. She tried to pull herself out of the ridiculous trance, but the desire to stay right there was so strong. “I think Leona will get everything she wants, and more.” Cori heard the distinct sound of a pistol chamber being loaded. The frozen feeling she had struggled with left, and she looked back at Nevia.

Nevia’s eyes were narrowed into fine slits and her target although not actually being aimed at with the gun yet, was Frederique. Likewise, Frederique had the same narrowed eyes on her. Cori wanted to step between them to stop whatever was about to occur, but she wasn’t exactly sure standing between a fem-wolf and a glock was a good idea.

“What do we have here?” Frederique drawled not taking her eyes off Nevia as she sniffed the air around her. “What are you? You don’t smell like fear. That must be stupidity I smell.”

“I would advise you to release her before I confirm or deny that assumption.” Frederique dropped her hand and side stepped so she was in front of Nevia. They each looked cool and calm as they glared at each other. The only one who was in least bit of discomfort was Cori.

“You smell like a mutt?”

“I’ve got a little bloodhound in me,” Nevia said. “And I can smell just what you’re up to. So, I’ll need you to continue to keep your distance for the duration of your visit.”

“Do you have any idea, who you’re talking to?”

“Yes ma’am, the head of the Council of the Moon. I could make more impressive observations, but we both know it doesn’t take my abilities to smell what you are. That musk you emit is as repugnant as skunk, but it doesn’t cover up your intentions, so keep your distance or I’ll shoot you dead.”

Frederique laughed, and her entourage had a little chuckle themselves. Cori cringed at the insult. She knew as well as they did that bullets wouldn’t even penetrate their thick muscle fibers. Even completely relaxed the bundled tissue was constantly in preparation for the next time they would change into full werewolf form, expanding their muscles into abnormal and painful proportions.

“Oh, you stupid mongrel, do you not know that I can’t be affected by bullets. My muscles would ricochet it.” Cori wondered if that was an exaggeration, or knowledge from personal experience.

“Actually, I did know that,” Nevia said tapping her gun against her leg. “That’s why I would shoot you in the eye. The ricochet inside your skull would do nicely to lobotomize you even if it didn’t outright kill you.”

Frederique paled at that statement. Cori pinched her lips back so she wouldn’t smile at Nevia’s ballsy retort.

“Evidence has found that a long knife or shiv of sorts, can be thrust into the nasal cavity,” Nevia continued. “It won’t usually kill right away, but strangely the heightened sense of smell in werewolves means increased blood vessels to the nasal cavities. You have a major one right above your left nostril. Since you can’t apply pressure to the area, you’ll likely bleed out in about ten minutes.

“Also if my aim is good enough, which by the way, it is, I could shoot you in the hollow spot where your throat meets your chest. The soft spot will allow just enough penetration to either cut off air flow or blood flow. If it’s removed outside of surgery, you would drown in your own blood. The intercostal muscles between the ribs are pretty flexible and if all else fails there’s always a few orifices that allow bullet penetration.

“But to get back on point, yes I know you are bullet…resistant. So, let’s just leave the pissing contests to the males of the species, and get you ladies to your destinations.”

Frederique took a moment to decide whether it was better to concede for now, or challenge Nevia’s aim. She decided against it and turned back to Cori. “If you wouldn’t mind Cori, my ladies are parched from the trip. Could we make a detour for some water?”

Cori nodded. “Of course, I’ll show you to the cafeteria. You can have whatever you like.” Cori glanced back at Leona. “Should I have the staff prepare some baby food?”

“That would be most generous of you,” Frederique said with sweetness that she never would have suspected for insincere, without Nevia’s reaction.

17

Ethan eased the dragon that had recently been dubbed Penelope, out of her airplane hangar. He understood why Belus was reluctant to let Cori near her. The great beast was agitated and difficult to coax out without the invitation of a battle.

Penelope’s cacophonic roar had become a lugubrious moan. He rarely sympathized with her since she had all too often broken his ribs, but his heart clenched at the sight of her big eyes tearing. She did not want to come out, and was pouting to get her way.

Despite Ethan’s strength there was no fighting with a dragon. Well there was, but there was certainly no dragging a dragon. Once the beast was down, the only thing you could do was wait her out, or lure her out. He threw down the big chain that was laughably called a leash. Laughably because of the, afore mentioned conundrum.

He approached the big head, and touched her snout. She let out a curt puff of air. Despite her lack of fire breathing ability, it smelled like charcoal. He leaned forward and rubbed the spot between her eyes, above the nose. It wasn’t his favorite technique to calm her, because it usually left his pants covered in snot.

Penelope groaned appreciatively. Despite her character being more recognizable, as a cat, her leg twitched, as if she wanted to help him with his efforts. Her mouth opened and she licked him up the side of the leg. As if snot wasn’t bad enough.

Behind him he heard Annette laughing. Her throaty laugh didn’t quite match her physique. Nothing about her matched. She was feminine, but well-muscled. Her hair and makeup were mature and reserved, but her ripped jeans and t-shirt were almost pubescent. She was attractive, but something about her was extremely asexual to him. Like kissing her would be like kissing a sister.

He looked back and saw Annette wearing a long black hooded robe. Although he didn’t question her when she said she was a witch, he kind of took it more literally than symbolically. Given his experience at the prison he expected that she would simply raise her hands, and call down the power of an ancient god with a chant and dance.

What he hadn’t expected was an hour’s worth of murmured prayers, frankincense, crushed flower petals, and bowing. That was just to clear the room of any unwelcome spirits, demons, and all around bad vibes. After that she began lighting candles, chanting, and meditating.

“You do that very well,” Annette said looking on from her make shift folding table alter.

“I’ve known a few dogs in my time. Granted they were never quite this slobbery.”

“You should feel privileged. The saliva of a dragon has many medicinal properties. In a pinch you should come to her if you’re hurt.”

“Like dog’s when the lick their wounds?”

“Yes, only not just coagulants, add antibodies, anti-inflammatory. To be perfectly frank, and gross, if one were willing to drink the saliva of a dragon, it would be as effective as a whole body cleanse. It would repopulate the flora in your gut. It would balance your pH, reduce inflammation to your joints and purge toxins with one glass.”

“Sounds like a miraculous cure-all,” Ethan said. In the mere distraction, Penelope huffed again, and he was promptly reminded to rub again. “Why don’t you bottle that along with the blood? I could put a bucket down right now and get you a gallon, in a few minutes.”

“I’ve tried it many times. The curative properties start degrading the instant they leave the dragon’s mouth. You can maintain most of it by keeping it at body temperature, which is why when I speak of drinking the saliva, I really do mean straight from the lips to the lips.” Ethan gagged. There was no way he was going to drink warm dragon spit, especially when he saw it dripping into his glass directly from the source. He still had trouble drinking the dragon semen. The only reason it was remotely tolerable was because wheat grass was the dominating taste.

Wheat grass was also disgusting, but it was honest in its unpalatable flavor. Had the dragon semen been mixed with berries, it wouldn’t have worked. First off, no one should every do such a thing to a berry. Secondly, having something repulsive blended with something appetizing, would not result in him liking dragon sperm, it would just make him hate berries.

“After a few hours outside of a bodily environment, the liquid becomes useless,” Annette finished.

“So…” Ethan was interrupted by Penelope giving him another grateful kiss. He took the opportunity to walk away, which prompted her to follow, like any animal would when they thought there was more petting to come. “You said you have many uses for the blood. I take it you don’t just use it to get high.”

She smiled at him proudly. He wasn’t sure how a woman he had just met could be proud of him, but he imagined she took a vested interest in Danato’s understudy. “Dragons are magical creatures. Everything in this prison is magical, or supernatural, or at the very least an aberration to what humans consider normal. But unlike all the other creatures here, dragons are immortal.”

“What?” Ethan must have said it as dead panned as he meant it. The word wasn’t registering. She smiled and let the word sink in deeper. “That’s not possible.” She smiled and bit her lip. She waited for him to formulate an argument. “Are you saying their spirit lives on, or are you saying, they literally don’t die?”

“They don’t die,” she said it simply, but the number of questions that were stacking up behind him like a pile up on a freeway were making his head shake without any verbal objection to back it up. “There are currently eight dragons on Earth today. I imagine there were more at one time, but I detest the dinosaur dragon debate. Frankly it’s the chicken and the egg all over again.”

“Eight? Where are they?”

“I have access to the four females. As you well know, your upper management keeps one male for your…supplements. The other three males that I have never had the privilege to see and the other three females are housed at my facility in China. I’m not aware of anyone who has seen all eight. In fact, seeing the four females at regular intervals probably puts me pretty high on the totem pole.”

“Why only eight? Don’t they breed? Why have sperm if you aren’t going to breed? If they never die, would they overpopulate?” Ethan threw out just a few of the questions he had rolling around in his mind.

“Only eight, because that’s what is left after many years with humans as hunters. They will breed, but…” Annette came around the table and placed her hands on his shoulders. She turned him around to look at Penelope who was sitting up proper twitching her tail like a cat.

Annette wrapped her arms around him like she was about to point stars out to him in the night sky. The warmth of her, and the sweet floral perfume made the embrace seem maternal. He wasn’t sure if he should feel uncomfortable by the sudden closeness to a stranger, but he didn’t. He relaxed against her and let her hold him.

“Those dragons will live forever, unless they breed. It’s kind of like the phoenix. The female in order to be fertilized must receive…shall we say a lot of attention from the male. I won’t get into details, but when people brag about going all night long, dragons could brag about going all week long.” Annette chuckled, and he smiled to let her know he was amused, but still listening.

“The male eventually, dies to impregnate her. Her pregnancy can last years. It depends on a number of factors that none of us really know, but in the end the female will give birth to one male and one female.”

“Twins?” Ethan asked.

“Oddly, no,” Annette said distracted, like that topic was one that had baffled her time and again. “The female is almost an exact replicate of the male, with the only variation in DNA being the sex, and vice versa with the male.”

“So they just flip flop, but come out predesigned to be potential mates again.”

“Precisely,” Annette pitched with pride for his quick mind.

“I take it the female dies in child birth?” Ethan asked following the thought process of the phoenix idea.

Her hands slipped from the embrace and she moved behind him now leaning on him more than holding him. She sighed. “Well, sort of. I would love to romanticize it, but…the offspring eat her as nourishment for the first weeks of their life. And when I said that the male dies to impregnate her, I meant that after she conceives, she becomes so ravenous that she eats him in order to gain the energy to grow her babies.”