New Title 32 (35 page)

Rose snuffled and her eyes turned police box-blue with gold flecks—Dragon body language for utter joy.

Oh, yeah. Nailed it.

Gaar gave me a nod and said, “Rose, David has spoken his heart to you. Do you accept his love into your safekeeping, and promise to respect his thoughts, needs, person, and spirit as you respect your own, so long as you both shall love?”

She mantled her wings, and the nonexistent breeze sent her hair snapping and waving out behind her like a banner before a storm. “I do.”

Gaar held up our rings and said, “David and Rose have chosen these rings as symbols of the vows they have made to one another. As you place these rings on each other’s hands, say, ‘I give to you this ring as an outer symbol of the bond that lives within us’.”

We did. I even managed to keep hold of the ring and get it on the correct finger.

Gaar held his arms out in benediction. “As you have declared your intention to be married and your love for one another before these family and friends assembled, and formalized it by the exchange of rings, the Temple of Crom and the State of Nevada do recognize and sanctify your decision. As you go forth into the days of your togetherness, walk with strength and honor, mirth and reverence, love and respect, and may your years be good and long upon this world. The rite of marriage is done; you may kiss.”

This we did.

And in all our wedding photos, my wife has wings.

There and Back Again

“All told, that’s eleven bottles of Scarlet River mead, one Elvish leather breastplate sized for an anorexic twelve year-old, one book of Elvish herb lore, one gold-engraved battle-axe, one pair of quartz dice. One bear claw in a platinum setting, one steel penannular cloak clasp, one cast bronze statue of an eight-legged honey badger, one book of magical theory, one gold tiara, one silver ring set with an amethyst. Three dress-uniform leather baldrics with gold buckles, one steel falchion, one long dagger with white gold furniture, one set of steel chain and plate war dog barding, two matching silver-fitted hand crossbows, one full suit of steel plate armor for a Human male, three dark brown leather leggings, one dark green skirt. One amber lump with a large dragonfly inclusion, one gold-rimmed mirror, one brass cauldron, one golf ball-sized uncut emerald, one midnight-black arrow fletched with phoenix feathers, and one stuffed and mounted death sheep.” I shook my head and gave a low whistle. “I’d say that’s a pretty decent haul for our first dungeon delve.”

“Why couldn’t those ruins have been designed by a lazy GM who stuck to cash and small gems as treasure?” Ember waved her half-finished glass of healing potion spiked with her favorite energy drink. “I still want the sheep. Anyone else interested? I’ll rochambeaux you for it.” She mimed kicking straight up into the family jewels.

Miriam said, “No, no, you can take it.” Everyone else nodded and the sheep was awarded to Ember by acclaim. I sure as hell didn’t want it—the fangs on that thing could scare a shark.

I pointed my pen at the pile in the middle of the suite. “Anyone else see something they want to claim?”

“I’d like the book on magic,” Eric said. “It’s the only thing I value out of the stuff we found.”

“No objections? Looks like it’s yours.” I checked it off the list.

Miriam picked up the war dog armor. “I think this is big enough to fit Nietzsche, and she would look so cool when we’re out running.”

“Armor for the friendliest and least-threatening Rottweiler on the face of the planet, check.” I picked up the Uber-Badger statue. “Anyone object if I snarf this? All right, thank you. Next item…”

We went through the rest, awarding the jewelry and other high-value stuff by dice roll. Thankfully, there were no extra baggage fees on Aerin’s jet, so getting the big stuff home wouldn’t be an issue.

Miriam stood up and stretched. “This was an amazing experience. Thank you guys for inviting me, but I think I’ll stick with table-top monster slaying rather than the real thing. Although, if you ever decide to just go shopping, let me know. I would love to have a closet full of this Elvish clothing.” She turned to Geneva and added, “Thank you for sticking with me. I would have been toast half a dozen times without you. Would you please return these wands to Aerin, since they’re mostly unused?”

Geneva shook her head. “Aerin gave those to you. They’re yours. You should think about finding a Krav Maga school when you get home. I think you’d enjoy it.”

“I’ll look into it.” Miriam waved as she headed up the stairs to her room. “Right now, all I can think of is a hot shower and a soft bed. Night, all.”

Geneva turned her tablet off. “Do you need someone to do your back?”

Miriam turned bright red, but nodded. “That would be…agreeable. I might need a little coaching, though.”

“We’ll start with a few basic stances,” Geneva replied. She linked arms with Miriam and both headed up the stairs. The rest of our fellow adventurers said their good-nights as well, leaving us to turn off the lights.

Outside, it was four thirty-seven Sunday morning, and Las Vegas was still thumping along. Here, we’d been married about fourteen hours. I put my arms around Rose and nuzzled her hair. “I’d say your parents picked a great wedding gift. That was fun.”

“It was.” Rose turned and kissed me. “Worry about thanking them later. You have a gift to unwrap.” She pulled her blouse open enough for me to see a blue silk ribbon wrapped around her chest and tied into a bow.

“Isn’t that two gifts?” I scooped her up and carried her into the master suite.

“Nope, I’m a package deal.” Rose kicked the door shut behind us. “If you want the tail, you got to take it by the Dragon.”

“I can do that,” I said.

Later, pleasantly exhausted, Rose pressed her body to mine and drifted off to sleep. I traced my fingertips through her hair, down her cheek, and between her breasts. She wriggled a little and made a lion-sized purring noise.

I smiled and drifted off as well. No matter what might happen tomorrow, here and now I’m the luckiest sonofabitch in the world.

In all the worlds.

By day, I’m a mild-mannered IT tech, and by night, a writer who spends too much time in online games.

I grew up reading classical authors such as Verne, Burroughs, Wells, Haggard, and Lovecraft, often in conjunction with large doses of
Monty Python
,
Wild Wild West
, and
Hee-Haw
. My current influences include
Doctor Who
,
Girl Genius
, and
An Idiot Abroad
.

I began writing professionally as a member of the content design team for the
MMORPG Istaria: Chronicles of the Gifted
. My first published book,
Life With a Fire-Breathing Girlfriend
, was published by MuseItUp in 2014.

I live in Denver with my wife, Noelle, and daughter, Alissa. The three of us can often be found prowling around Istaria, Wizard City, and the wilds of Azeroth. I also make occasional side jaunts to scavenge bits of ancient technology in the radioactive ruins of the Grand Canyon Province.

* * * *

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Here’s a sneak peek into
Life with a Fire-Breathing Girlfriend
from Bryan Fields series, The Dragonbound Chronicles

A lot of guys claim to have hot girlfriends.  David Fraser has one who actually breathes fire. 

Rose Drake is a Dragoness in Human form, come to Earth for three years to soak up the local energy and increase her chances of having happy, healthy, baby hatchlings when she goes home.  In exchange for his time and energy, David’s body and love life both undergo extreme makeovers.  It sounds like the deal of a lifetime.

Fate doesn’t let David and Rose off so easily.  A friend of theirs is murdered, their homeowner’s association starts harassing them, and they have to complete a quest for an Elven sage in order to stop a genocidal Unicorn from turning Earth into a radioactive wasteland.

After all, when you’re dating a Dragon, you’re already a hero.  It says so in the fine print.

Caution: Bind on Pick-Up

The girl walked like Superman.

I don’t mean she was strutting her muscles, or striking a heroic pose; it was her confidence. She walked through the Friday night traffic on Federal Boulevard as though the cars should fear hitting
her
. Maybe they did at that, because the traffic parted for her like the Red Sea before Moses. She reached the sidewalk without being touched and kept on in a straight line directly for me. I didn’t move or turn away; I was too busy staring.

She crossed the Masonic Temple’s parking lot and stopped right in front of me. “I am here for fantasy. Is this correct?”

I blinked, trying to decide exactly what she was asking. “This is the Metro Denver Speculative Fiction Society meeting, yes. Is this your first time here?”

“First time here, yes. First time for everything here,” she replied. “Am I acceptable?”

“Oh, yes,” I said—and she was. Black hair with metallic purple highlights, short on top and down to her waist in back, yet somehow looking nothing like a mullet. A heart-shaped face with jade-green eyes and a pixie smile. Lavender eye shadow and matching lipstick. Both eyes were outlined by an Eye of Horus, the lower arm of each sweeping down and around her cheekbones. Black leather trench coat over matching roach killers, shotgun-washed jeans, and a T-shirt proclaiming, ‘Kiss me twice, I’m Schizophrenic’.

I’d read Burton’s translation of
The Thousand and One Nights
back in high school. In most of the stories in it, women were described as graceful as gazelles, and having a countenance as pale and beautiful as the full moon. The first young man who sees them falls instantly in love—followed by calling a lawyer, writing up a contract, and giving her all his money. I always figured it was just more efficient to get that part out of the way up front.

But now, for the first time, I understood what Scheherazade had been talking about. Looking at this girl, I felt the magic of the full moon at midnight. I heard the wind rustling through the trees, the heartbeat of a stag running through the night, the roar of a river, surging and pounding, breaking even mountains with its touch. I didn’t just want to be with her; I wanted to be standing next to her on the peak of a mountain, wearing a kilt and waving a claymore while Queen rocked out the background music.

I looked down at her shirt long enough to read it again and asked, “Is that a command, or just a suggestion?”

She smiled and reached out to me. “An invitation.”

“Well, then, I accept.” I put my arms around her, bent my head, and went for it with a full-body, lip-to-lip press, giving her my complete attention. Her body was sleek and sculpted like a gymnast’s, and holding her, I felt complete.

She broke it off with a turn of her head and a throaty growl. Or maybe it was a purr; I couldn’t be sure. She took a deep breath. “More.” She didn’t wait for a response. I heard the comments and snickering from the other folks in the area. I just didn’t care. Priorities, you know?

When we finished, she snuggled under my arm and leaned her head on my shoulder. “You,” she said. “I choose you.” She looked up, and this time her eyes had little flecks of gold in them. “Please say you accept.”

“What am I accepting?”

“Me. My choice of you.” She ran a finger down the center of my chest. “I choose, but you have to accept. It’s only for three years, if that helps.”

Behind me, Sharon made a loud coughing noise. “David, do you even know her first name? Remember what happened the last time a beautiful woman appeared out of nowhere and said, ‘I am for you’. Pfft! Ack! Dead!” Sharon was an old friend, curvy and Irish, with bright red hair and sparkling green eyes. Her wife Manya snickered, but refrained from piling on.

I shrugged. “What was it the Captain said? ‘A rose by any other name smells just as sweet’?” I leaned in for another, much gentler kiss. “I accept.” After I said it, I felt a change move through my head. It was like an otter on the parallel bars—fast, purposeful, and strange beyond words. In its wake was a whole new kinesthetic awareness, not just of my body, but of hers as well. I could also feel her emotions, and right now she was just as blissed out as I was.

“So, what is her name?” Sharon asked. “And the quote is from Shakespeare, numb nuts.” She parked her butt on the trunk of her Chevy and draped her arms over Manya’s shoulders.

My new girlfriend pulled a top hat from—well, somewhere—and put it on. “I’m Rose.” She said. She pressed against me and smiled at Sharon. “Rose Drake.”