Dragons Infernal

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

I was the first.

Five hundred years have passed since that blasted god, Hermes, kidnapped me from my mountain stronghold and brought me to this rust-colored dust bowl in the Underworld.

The Infernal Valley.

Now, we are six.

Our purpose, as yet, unknown.

Perched atop the highest mesa, I survey my domain. Red mountains splinter into red foothills that overlook bubbling red lava lakes and miles of, yes, red plains.

Nothing new to see. There never is. We spew fire, pump brimstone and practice aerial maneuvers, working our asses off to keep our bodies from turning into lard.

No warrior has dared challenge the Dragons Infernal — despite our polite invitations.

“Incoming!” Dread yells from a nearby pinnacle, flapping spirulina-green wings with frenetic urgency.

I spot the fireball approaching, flick my dragon wrist casually and absorb the sphere’s energy into the razor tip of my middle finger. The influx of untamed power expands my lungs with a breath deep enough to lift my multihued chest scales.

Samuel squawks, “I would’ve had you, Wryn!” as he slices the air currents like a flying ninja star a few yards above my head.

I retract the claw but not the finger.

The kid is less than fifty — a boy by dragon standards — but he turns into a testosterone-charged firebrand whenever he hits the taps at the Hound and Fox. Not a female in the town of Tar Pits is safe once Sam’s been at the brew.

That’s why he never goes there — without me, a collar and a very short leash.

Another fireball arcs across the Valley. A comet with a blinding trail. The object impacts the sandy soil below, disturbing dust into a heart-shaped plume. The UFO’s flaming core jets across the flats for several hundred yards before gliding to a standstill, while its pursuant dust cloud barrels onward like a Tartarean tiger tripping over its tail.

Odd that I didn’t see who launched the projectile.

Trev can turn invisible but not to dragon eyes.

Squinting mine at the meteorological anomaly, I surmise that it’s a long-overdue combatant arriving to take us up on our offer — A battle to the death.

Or near-death.

If he makes an entertaining adversary, the fellow might be worth keeping around.

I twist my serpentine neck and follow his dissipating dust trail backwards. It leads to the hole in the sky — the Styx of the Betwixt — the orifice between the Underworld and the land of mortals.

If he came through that opening, he’s no worthy opponent. More likely a fallen fool from the Overworld delivered by the divine hand of that blasted trickster god — yes, Hermes.

If that devil of a deity stayed in one form long enough, I’d scorch his balls and send him hopping across a lava lake.

I bat the air with sapphire wings, hop-step off the flat top and sail in a tapering corkscrew to touchdown at a precautionary distance from the UFO’s landing site.

My cadre joins me. Samuel flits about like his feet are on fire. Something in the air has him flustered. Did he fly too close to that thing?

“Where’s Frost?” I ask. No need to search, I’d smell the tepid breeze off the ice dragon’s scales if he were near.

Settling onto haunches, Dread crosses his vermilion front legs, and rumbles, “He’s in the Hoar Caves with the Virgins.” If I didn’t know Dread was referring to hoar as in frost, I’d find that statement a whopping contradiction.

“Get him,” I order.

Dread takes off across the flatlands, lifting into the air after a dozen steps, and banks toward Mount Hades.

Trev alights, joining us on an outcrop of chiseled obsidian a hundred yards from the fallen object, an ovoid rock from which traces of a silver gas waft. I glance at Samuel — still bouncing on claw tips, wings flickering like orange flames — then I take a drag, filling my chest, to determine the cause of his ridiculous prancing.

Crone’s crucibles! Pheromones…

And now I’ve sucked them in, I may never get rid of them.

How many ways can I say, I am screwed?

I flap my wings to push the drifting scent back toward its source. “Move away, boys. Hold your breath. And don’t breathe again until you’ve taken human form.” I grab Samuel by a leathery shoulder and shake him. “You need to shift, clodhopper. Do it with me. Now!”

My command breaks through the young dragon’s stupor, and we make the change, joining our brethren as men.

Hedge drags both hands through the river of ebony locks pouring over his white T-shirt. Being immortal shifters, we can use transformational energy to conjure clothing — a nicety Samuel has managed to forget.

“What’s going on, Wryn?” Hedge hauls off his shirt and lobs it at the naked boy’s ginger curls.

“A temptress in a box.” I shake my head, lips flapping like a bloodhound’s as I attempt to clear the foul odor coiling down my throat.

“I think I’m in love,” Samuel muses with a drunken titter as he sinks into absurdity.

“In love with what? A rock?” Trev’s expression of disbelief would be comical if I weren’t struggling to keep my head.

“We need to retreat,” I growl. Distance is our best defense against something this dangerous.

“Retreat?” Hedge says the word as if it doesn’t exist in his vocabulary. “Ye what?” Given the heavyweight could strangle a mountain, backing off wouldn’t cross his mind. But if he knew what we faced…

A dragon’s nightmare.

“Bring Sam and follow me,” I call to Trev.

Fighting the lustful impulse to stalk up to that crashed object and lay claim to it, I about-face and trudge in the opposite direction.

Our only hope is Frost, so he better be on his way.

My dragon’s desire to fly back to the source of those maddening pheromones slows me to a crawl. I stop tramping and wave Hedge over. “When Frost gets here, I need him to freeze the air in our lungs.” I glance meaningfully at Samuel, who totters after us. “For Frost’s protection, make sure he doesn’t take a step closer than here to that flaming meteorite.”

Hedge rubs his chin as he looks at me. “Aye. If ye’re sure, Wryn.”

“I’m sure.” Unable to take a step farther from the UFO, I shout to Trev. “Hold me down!” I toss a glance Samuel’s way. “Him too.”

“By your command, Wryn,” Trev says with a grin, then shoves me backwards into the hot sand and sits on my chest.

I grapple for air with his impact, but I actually feel better, having Trev’s two-hundred pounds of mostly muscle constricting my lungs. “Hedge,” I cough. “I’m handing command to you until Frost gets here. Keep your distance from that…thing until I’ve recovered.”

“Aye, sir!” Hedge answers, wrestling Samuel to the ground while the boy’s limbs writhe like wereworms.

I express my final order before amorous insanity overtakes me. “If Sam escapes, do not follow him!”

Hedge’s laughter rumbles so deep the sand beneath us judders. “He won’t escape me.”

As I nod in response, an earsplitting crack echoes through the Valley.

“What was that?” Sam stops wriggling to crane his neck for a clear view beyond Hedge’s flexing biceps.

Trev rotates on my chest — no worries about cracking ribs, given they aren’t his. With him positioned on top of me, I can’t see a damned thing.

“What is happening?” I demand.

“Ah, merda!” Trev cries. “We’re doomed!”