Blueblood Dragon (A BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Genesis Valley Book 1)

Blueblood Dragon

Genesis Valley: Book 1

By Amelia Jade

Blueblood Dragon

Copyright
@ 2016 by Amelia Jade

First Electronic Publication: June
2016

Amelia Jade

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

All sexual activities depicted occur between consenting characters 18 years or older who are not blood related.

Bought this book? All of Amelia Jade’s new releases are priced at $0.99 for a limited time. Sign up for her newsletter to ensure that you don’t miss a deal, and for exclusive extras and teasers.

Amelia Jade’s

Newsletter Signup

Blueblood Dragon

Ana

It was the sudden scraping of wooden chairs on the stone floor that gave it away.

She knew what was coming. If there had been any doubt, the muted whispering had confirmed it.

Freak.

Whore.

Abomination.

Demon.

Their words were in a foreign language, but it was always the same. She really wasn’t sure how they got the whore part. Really, if she had been one, then none of this would have happened.
Men.
Her head bowed, she gave it a slight shake. They were scared, and she couldn’t blame them. If their positions were reversed, she probably would be as well.

What had happened wasn’t natural, at least for them. It was quite normal for her.

In front of her sat a glass tumbler, resting easy on the polished oak bartop. The stool beneath her creaked slightly as she sat upright and motioned to the bartender, who stood as far away from her as he could get. To his credit, he didn’t look terrified, only nervous. But it took two gestures for him to come and pour another double-finger worth of amber liquid into the tumbler.

She pulled some crumpled bills from her pocket and pushed them across at him. His eyes lit up at the foreign currency, knowing it to be much more valuable than anything his regulars would give him. The green bills would draw more attention to her, but judging by the sounds coming from outside the small tavern, it was too late for that anyway.

Her eyes roamed the bar. It was constructed mostly of stone. The walls were original, likely dating back several centuries, though the mortar was a patchwork of different colors from various types used over time. Two yellowed lights hung from the ceiling, their diffuse light barely reaching the walls, and leaving many of the corners cloaked in shadow.

The floor was rough cobbled stone, with straw tossed in some of the lower areas to help absorb any spilled liquids in whatever form they might take. The bar itself was also made of mortared stone, forming a solid platform for the thick slabs of oak that rested on the top. It wasn’t clean, but nothing was breaking down either. She could tell the barkeep took care of it to the best of his abilities. She admired that, respected it even. Taking a slow sip of her drink, she stuffed a hand into her pocket as the liquid slowly burned its way down her throat, the warming sensation in stark contrast to what she knew was to come.

“Here,” she said calmly, pushing the bills across the table.

The barkeep looked at them for a moment, then went to grab the bottle again. She shook her head, holding her hand out to forestall him refilling her drink.

Part of her thought twice about that.
Is there time?
A muted but slowly growing roar from outside told her she was just about out of time.
Nope.

“For that,” she said, pointing to her right, where the remains of a wooden chair and table lay on the ground like kindling.

“Uh, and that,” she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the door.

What was left of it, at least. The rough outline of a human figure had removed much of the central portion of the door, leaving only a drooping frame in its place. The barkeep smiled weakly from behind the bar and nodded nervously. She could tell by his jerky movements he hadn’t understood a word of what she had said, but her gestures had gotten the point across.

It hadn’t been her fault. Not really. Her reaction had been…excessive, perhaps, but she hadn’t instigated a thing. As far as she was aware, the act of sitting at the bar and enjoying a drink did not constitute stirring up trouble. Her mind drifted back to the events of twenty minutes ago.

The smaller one had been the troublemaker. He had convinced his larger, more brutish friend to go along with his plan. She had heard them whispering, and in the dirtied glass mirror behind the wall, had caught them casting glances her way. She knew what was coming next. The big man rose from his seat, moving to stand on her right. The smaller, reedy-looking man had crept around to what he considered her blind side.

“Go away,” she had muttered as they leaned in close. The bigger one had a stupid grin plastered on his face, while his very thin companion wore a leer that sent her stomach churning. Although she had nothing to fear from them, it was unsettling to know that they had likely used this routine before on women far less unsuspecting than she.

The thickheaded man laughed, his heavy booming voice confirming what she had suspected. He was a little slow. The thin one said something that she couldn’t understand. Their native language was different, but the context of it was the same. She knew what they wanted.

The thin man on her left laughed, a high-pitched squeaking noise. She shuddered at the sound. Until then, they had been nothing more than an annoyance. But at that point, five thin, very pale fingers had found their way to her shoulder.

“If you wish to keep your fingers, remove them now.” She hadn’t raised her voice, but the stiffening of her muscles and the threatening tone should have been enough.

A moment later, she discovered it was she who was wrong, as the big one’s thick, greasy fingers had shoved themselves down her shirt, pawing at her ample cleavage. Her initial hope—that things could have been settled peacefully—went out the window almost as fast as she sent the brute through the door. His friend had tried to stop things, which is how she had inadvertently broken the table. She hadn’t meant to hit them
quite
that hard.

The “mastermind” had recovered and hauled ass from the little tavern as fast as he could, casting several looks over his shoulder at her, his eyes so wide she could see the whites of them. Several other patrons had followed.

That was when it all began to go downhill. One of the patrons came back a few minutes later. The scraping of chairs came next as many of those who remained—perhaps half a dozen, since the place was small and couldn’t seat more than about twenty—filed out through what remained of the door. They had been muttering things fueled by fear as they tried to cope with the idea that a woman of her size and stature could throw someone so far, with apparently so little effort.

It was then that it became clear what the outcome of her overreaction would be.

And by the sounds of it, they’re just about here.

She eyed the remaining golden-amber liquid in her glass, contemplating whether enough time remained for her to enjoy it.

A shout came from outside.

So much for that thought.
She snatched the tumbler and upended its contents into her stomach, feeling the burn as it warmed her insides.
Good stuff, that
. Raised voices filtered through the broken door proclaiming, “The Lord shall protect us from Demon Spawn.”
Or something like that
. She had heard it all before, on more occasions than she could count. The only surprise this time was that it was in English.
Perhaps the local religious man is more educated than most.
Either way, it was time to go.

Pushing the stool back, she tossed a nod at the barkeep before pulling the faded blue jacket tighter around her shoulders. She wasn’t actually cold, but giving the villagers the impression that she was at least somewhat like them wouldn’t hurt. Stepping outside, the lights from the torches held aloft by the approaching mob cast playful shadows around the walls, adding another spooky element that was likely affecting the rationale of the villagers.

Her eyes narrowed as they came closer, rounding the corner and coming into sight.

Sheesh, there are a lot of them. Did I really warrant that much attention? It has to be two or three in the morning. How did they manage to rouse folks so quickly?

Something about it didn’t seem right. She would have to keep her guard up. Turning on her heel, she proceeded to head toward the other side of town, hoping to slip away into the forest that lined either side of the main road in and out of town. Although “town” was really a polite moniker. The place was no more than a little fishing village along the coast in the middle of a backward part of the world. There was electricity in several of the buildings, but most of them still used oil lamps.

And yet, they still managed to turn out nearly fifty people to chase The Demon down. Must be a particularly devout group.
She had her own religious inclinations, and wasn’t going to hold someone’s beliefs against them, but part of her cringed at the idea that they were so withdrawn from modernity that they thought she was a demon.

Part of that realization hurt. Some of it made her laugh. But mostly it made her think of a different time and a different era, when such had been the norm for all too many people. They had been hunted down, cast out, or in many cases, burned at the stake. After all, it was well known that witches could change form. It had not been a good time for others like her.
There are no others like me,
she thought angrily.
Similar, but none like me.
Although she hadn’t been too affected by it herself, having kept mostly to the shadows, it still hurt to know what others were going through.
They should have stayed unseen. All of them, like I do. There’s much less risk that way.

The mob behind her cried out and began to run after her.

Much less risk.
She snorted at her own thoughts, quickening her strides as she tried to reach the road out of town. She didn’t want to run. That spoke too much of cowardice, and a coward she was not! It would have been easier, sure, but there was her reputation to maintain.

The village was small, and it took her no more than a few minutes to reach the outskirts. One last turn and she would be on the slightly more well-maintained road that would take her on to the next town.
Where this will all play out again.
Those thoughts disintegrated as she rounded the corner, only to find another mob silently waiting for her. They looked almost like statues in the dark, standing frozen. There were no torches in this group. Just angry faces set in stone. Waiting.

Holy shit. They set a fucking trap.

Behind her, the other group rushed forward, thinking they had her trapped. To her right was a high wall. It ran much of the length of the village and was the only notable feature of the place. It had likely once been used to keep enemies at bay, but in the time since, the blowing winds had piled dirt and debris against it. Now it acted more as a dam for the encroaching high ground and plain that lay to the east of the city.

To her left stood more buildings, but as she watched, shutters opened and men with crossbows appeared. The sight of weapons, even if they weren’t anything modern, led her to believe this was anything but unplanned. They had been waiting for her to make a mistake.

It has to be them. No one else could be this coordinated.
She searched the crowd, looking for their tall forms. There was nothing. Cursing, she backed toward the wall. This was not good. Not good at all.

She wouldn’t fight. Partially because it was unfair to the villagers. But more so because she didn’t trust herself not to hurt any of them. No matter how careful she was, someone always ended up badly injured. Or worse.
Not this time.

Turning, she bolted for the wall.