Liam Takes Manhattan

(A Story of the Elder Races)

Thea Harrison

This is a short story (15,000 words or 50 pages) intended for readers of the Elder Races who enjoy Liam Cuelebre as a character.

Reeling from a deep loss, the magical prince of the Wyr, Dragos
and Pia’s son Liam Cuelebre, turns inward and withdrawn as he struggles to come to terms with who he is, along with the challenges that lie before him.

Hoping to ease his heartache and offer comfort, a concerned Dragos and Pia offer him a gift, something he has desired for a long time. Liam’s response has a ripple effect across all of New York. Soon miracles of all kinds start arriving just in
time for Christmas, along with a visit from a mysterious person who gives Liam hope and a vision of his future.

Liam Takes Manhattan
is the third part of a three-story series about Pia, Dragos, and their son, Liam. Each story stands alone, but fans might want to read all three:
Dragos Goes to Washington,
Pia Does Hollywood
, and
Liam Takes Manhattan
.

Copyright © 2015 by Teddy Harrison LLC

ISBN 10: 0-9906661-8-2

ISBN 13: 978-0-9906661-8-9

Google Play Edition

Cover Art © Frauke Spanuth

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.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover

Title Page

About the Book

Copyright Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

About the Author

About Dragos Goes to Washington

About Pia Does Hollywood

Look for these titles from Thea Harrison

L
iam stood at
the edge of the rooftop of Cuelebre Tower, looking down at the city streets.

It was the darkest time of the year, after winter solstice and the annual Masque of the Gods, and right before Christmas. Below, the streets were decorated with Christmas lights, the ribbons of brilliant color piercing the frigid darkness.

Dense, icy snowflakes swirled on a wind so cold,
it stabbed at the skin like tiny, invisible needles and whipped through his shaggy hair. He ran his fingers through it, but it tangled again immediately after. He needed a haircut, but when had there been time?

It was not just the darkest time of the year. It was also one of the darkest times for the Wyr. For the first time in history, a sentinel had fallen. Constantine was dead, killed in a
battle with a first-generation Djinn.

Just a few days ago, they had burned his body on a funeral pyre. Shocked by a loss too deep for tears, the Wyr in the Tower went about their business like automatons, going through the motions. Dragos had decreed that the Masque would still be held, and so they’d done their jobs. Amidst the lavish festival, condolences poured in from all the other demesnes,
while the Wyr endured.

Behind Liam, the rooftop door opened twenty feet away, and a soft footstep sounded. Recognizing the footstep, along with the hint of scent carried to him by the knifelike wind, Liam didn’t turn around.

His mother stepped beside him, wrapped against the winter night in an ankle-length woolen coat, gloves and a cashmere scarf. As a gust of wind hit her, she shivered and
lifted her collar to protect her neck as she looked out over the city.

“I don’t know how you or your father can stand being out in this kind of weather without a coat,” Pia muttered. “Just looking at you standing there in your T-shirt and jeans makes me feel cold.”

Both he and his father carried so much fire inside, no winter chill could affect them.

“It feels good,” he said, lifting his face
to the wind. The light sting of snow on his skin broke through the distance between himself and the world.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother nod. Pia Cuelebre was a beautiful woman, tall and slender, with pale skin, light gold hair and dark violet eyes. She shone gently like a candle in the night.

After a few moments, she said, “Supper’s ready.”

“I’m not hungry.” He turned his
gaze back to the illuminated streets below. The dragon that lived inside him watched the small, fragile creatures with sharp interest.

“Liam,” she said gently. “Please come downstairs and eat something. I don’t think I’ve seen you take a bite since Con’s funeral.”

While that might be true, it wasn’t exactly accurate. His mom had been overwhelmed with funeral preparations and her duties as hostess
for the Masque, so the family hadn’t shared very many meals like they normally did. Whenever she had checked on him, he hadn’t been hungry.

But that didn’t mean he hadn’t eaten. Driven by instinct and need over the last week, he had shapeshifted into his dragon form and flown over the ocean repeatedly, hunting for massive amounts of food and gorging until he couldn’t swallow another bite.

Now,
her concern pressed against him like a cage, and he had to fight a small, fierce battle with himself to keep from lashing out at her. The events of the last week had brought his feral side too close to the surface, and he realized that he had become more dangerous.

Battle
, his dragon whispered to him, as it had ever since he had learned of Con’s death.
Fight. Death
.

Family
, he told it.
Home.
Love
.

The battle was over, and they had won. But at such a price.

His mom loved him and only wanted the best for him. And he loved her too. He would not give his feral side free rein and hurt her unnecessarily.

He told her, “I’ve eaten.”

The tense line of her shoulders eased. “Well, that makes me feel a little better, but you haven’t eaten with us, so I’d like to see some of that action with
my own eyes. You’re … you’re growing so rapidly right now, you must need a lot of fuel.”

For the first time since she had joined him, he turned fully to look down at her. Pia stood five-foot-ten, and he had passed that height yesterday.

Because in the darkest part of this particularly dark year, he had lost part of the battle with his dragon.

He had always been prone to growth spurts during
times of crisis, and sometimes he’d had to fight to keep his dragon form under control as it strained to become fully grown.

All predator Wyr grew faster and stronger than other Wyr, and the dragon was the apex of the predators. Fueled by the unique magics he had inherited from both his parents, he had grown in massive bursts since his birth, lunging into life.

As he faced her, Pia drew in a
breath. Tilting her head up to him, she whispered, “You’re nearly as tall as your father.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry tilt. “I know.”

“Do you … can you tell if you’re going to grow any taller?”

He hesitated and flexed his shoulders, considering. “I’m not sure, but I think I’m almost done.”

Her violet gaze had turned wide with fascination. “I can only imagine what your dragon form
must look like now.”

“It’s pretty big,” he admitted.

“You’ll have to show him to me soon.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and turned with him toward the stairwell. “In the meantime, let’s get inside where it’s warm. Your father and I want to talk to you.”

Reluctantly he gave up the wild solitude of the night and went with her downstairs to the penthouse.

Huge though the penthouse
was, the walls and warmth felt as confining as his parents’ concern, but he endured being inside for her sake. The living room lay mostly in shadows, except for the brilliant multicolored lights glowing on the Christmas tree in the corner.

Pia had been half human before she had accessed her Wyr nature and successfully changed into her Wyr form. As a child, she had celebrated both the Masque and
Christmas with her mother, and she had continued that tradition when she became Dragos’s mate.

As a result, Christmas decorations filled both the penthouse and their home in upstate New York. Dragos had been content to indulge her, and had joined in the preparations. Stacks of colorfully wrapped presents lay underneath the tree.

Once inside, Pia pulled away and hurried down the hall toward the
brightly lit kitchen and dining room. Liam paused momentarily, his dragon’s eyes appreciating the lavish decorations and bright jewel-like colors adorning the tree before he strolled to catch up with her.

He knew his father was in the dining room before he rounded the corner. Whenever they were in close proximity, Liam always knew where Dragos was. He could sense Dragos’s Power in his mind’s
eye, like a burning sun. He wondered if his father could sense him in the same way.

Dragos stood at the head of the dining table, his attention focused on the large beef roast on the platter in front of him as he carved it into thin slices. Light from the overhead chandelier gleamed off his black hair and outlined his tall, broad-shouldered figure against the plate glass window behind him.

Porcelain clinked in the kitchen as Pia prepared other dishes. A brief surge of revulsion hit Liam at the sight and smell of the roast. He had eaten so much raw prey lately, the cooked meat looked vaguely revolting.

His dragon focused on the sharp knife his father wielded with such competent, lethal dexterity. Carefully, Liam throttled the beast back. He and his father loved each other too.

Dragos never lifted his head from his task. He said in a quiet voice, “Tell me you’re in control, and I will believe you.”

He hesitated. Of course his father would sense how close to the surface his dragon was. Dragos had been Lord of the Wyr for a very long time. No doubt he had dealt with many Wyr struggling with the feral side of their natures.

Straightening his shoulders, Liam replied steadily,
“I’m in control.”

Dragos’s piercing gold gaze stabbed at him. Then his father turned his attention back to carving the roast. “Good enough. Go help your mom.”

At the order, rebellion surged through him like a flash fire.

He thought, I’m not a child anymore. I won’t do everything you tell me to do just because you tell me to do it.

As quickly as it hit, the rebellion subsided again, leaving
him rueful and wary. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as in control as he thought he was, or wanted to be.

Silently, he obeyed, walking into the kitchen to wash his hands. Afterward, he picked up serving platters filled with roasted sweet and white potatoes, Brussels sprouts sautéed in garlic and olive oil, and gravy.

Pia was just putting the finishing touches on her own meal, a vegan roast with vegan
gravy. As he carried the food to the dining room, she gave him a grateful look.

With the quick ease of familiarity, they were soon seated. Dragos and Pia had wine. They didn’t offer him any, and why would they? He was less than a year old. To them, he was a gigantic, dangerous child.

But he wasn’t a child. Not any longer. He was young, very young and inexperienced, but no longer a child. Bitterness
whipped through him at the thought. He throttled that back too. He was fast growing tired of this constant battle with himself.

After passing the food around, he took note when his mom and dad exchanged a look.

Here it is, he thought as he toyed with his food with a fork. Whatever it is they want to say to me.