Dark Love: Stories from Bennett Bay, #1

By Stephen del Mar

Love and family, the two things Dieter wants most are slipping away. His uncle, the man who raised him as a father, is dead. Now his brother can't wait to bulldoze and sell the family farm. Yet Dieter clutches at the memories of the past, fighting to hold them close. What Dieter doesn't know is the past can be present and what is dead doesn't always stay dead. He discovers that Dark Loves wants to live in the light. 

"Dark Love" is a paranormal romance set in Stephen del Mar's Bennett Bay region of Florida. There are witches, faeries, bears, twinks, a dragon drive-by, and one very determined fag hag. Once again del Mar gives us the rich texture of his Florida setting that goes from the bayside tourist town of Bennett Bay to the backwater country hamlet of Live Oak. Remember, things are not always what they seem and be careful what you do under the light of the full moon!

Tenth Anniversary Edition contains the short story "Slay me," said the dragon as the prologue. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen del Mar
• Release date: May 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386039730

Book preview

Dark Love

A Story from Bennett Bay

Stephen del Mar

For Teresa, my first witch.

And a very good witch indeed.

Prologue:  Slay me, said the dragon.

The wind pushed George’s motorcycle toward the center line as he crossed the East Bridge over the Big Cypress River. He pushed back and the wind obeyed. He hated iron-grated bridges. Really, he just hated iron. Most sane dragons did. He had no feeling about bridges one way or the other.

He made a right onto Market Street. The motorcycle purred along, throbbing between his legs. He felt the combustion, the fire pushing the well-lubed pistons up and down. Even in this shell, he was a creature of fire. Fire-breather. Master of the Sky. He snorted. His kind hadn’t been masters of anything in a very long time. He was bored.

The syncopated throb of the motorcycle echoed off the walls of the abandoned warehouses. Even a small tourist town like Bennett Bay had its share of urban decay. He liked decay. It was an aesthetic. A thing.

He sensed life ahead, another block down, on the left. Life was a kind of fire and dragons could always find it. At 2601 Market Street, a human would only see a door in another nondescript brick wall along a deserted street. If anything caught their notice, it’d be the motorcycles parked on the street along with a few trucks. He noticed the fire-glyphs, the writing used by dragons, spelling out Steam above the door. He smiled. Even up north he’d heard about this place; a bad-boy bar in the middle of a retirement community.

He parked on the other side of the street. He was never part of the flock. He got off the bike and looked back down the street. In the distance, a crescent moon touched the horizon, a trail of silver light streaked across the bay toward him. He licked his lips. The smell-taste of the warm, salty water thickened the air. He shook his head. Why would any dragon want to live in Florida? They were all going gator, wallowing in the swamp like some ice-blooded reptile. Pathetic. 

As he crossed the street, the thumpa-thumpa of disco music pulsated from the bar. What is it with dragons and disco music? Maybe it’s the mirrored balls; we do like shiny things.

He pulled the door open and a wave of dragon musk broke over him. He clamped his mind down. He had to keep the human drag on. It was hard. His body wanted release. He stepped up to the bar and ordered. He looked around. Dragons, the pinnacle of evolution on this little rock in space, stood around wearing the skins of apes wrapped in cowhide. Should he cry or laugh? He downed the whiskey the bartender had placed in front of him. It tasted like fire. The one thing humans got right: smooth, liquid fire. He slammed the empty glass down and nodded for a refill. He licked his lips; the scent-taste in the room changed—a bouquet of fear and lust. Yes, they knew he was here. He smiled. Time for the Storm Master to play.

Flint sipped his wine cooler. He wished his cousin, Blaze, would find a trick and leave so he could slip back to the library. He had studying to do; it was finals week at Sterling University.

Blaze pushed his way through the crowd, set a new cooler on the table, and took a swig from his bottle of beer. I don’t know how you drink that swill. And why are you hiding back in the corner? You’re never gonna get laid hiding back here.

Flint emptied his bottle. He knew saying, I don’t want to get laid, wouldn’t fly.

Blaze reached out and grabbed his arm. You aren’t still burning for that roommate of yours are you? We almost lost you last time. Remember Jacob?

Flint pulled his arm free. Do you really want me to? He picked at the label on the bottle. Besides, that was a long time ago.

Blaze sat down on one of the high stools next to the table. "Not long enough. Remember, we wear these monkey suits so we can screw other dragons, not actually be them. I mean in our natural form, I couldn’t do anything with that snapdragon behind the bar, but Flame, as a human—he’s a power bottom."

Flint laid his hands flat on the table. "Look, nothing’s going to happen, with the human, I mean. Semester’s almost over. I’m moving out of the dorm this summer. I’m supposed to be at his birthday party tonight. You know I’m skipping it, so let it rest."

Blaze took a swig of his beer. I don’t even know why you go there.

Flint sighed. They’d been arguing about this for years. I like learning things. Their take on the past is interesting.

Blaze slammed his bottle down. The past? That shit will kill you, man. You really need to get laid, that’s what we do. You are forgetting who and what you are.

Well, I thought I’d give you first go. You know how these scaly old beasts go for hot college ass. I have an unfair advantage.

Blaze snorted. He opened his mouth to say something, but spun around and looked back at the bar. He licked his lips, and then hissed, Do you taste that?

Flint closed his eyes and licked his lips. He let his mind drift as he analyzed the scent-taste in the room, so many different species of horny dragons pumping out pheromones. He smell-tasted the sex from the back room, the tobacco smoke, the various forms of alcohol and other drinks, even the bay and the Gulf of Mexico outside. What was Blaze... then he tasted it. Power. An alpha, a very old alpha had entered the bar. Alarm bells went off in his mind. He clenched down. His dragon-self wanted to break out—to flee. It was fight or flight and stone dragons never fought.

Blaze took another deep breath. His tongue came out and licked his lips like a snake tasting the air. He focused on the older man in the biker leathers at the end of the bar. "For Flame’s sake you can taste it, a Storm Master. Can you believe it? A fucking sky dragon right here in Steam. I bet he’s hung."

Flint’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the table. He wasn’t sure if he was going to lose it and go full dragon or just piss himself. All he wanted to do was flee. Could he make it to the emergency exit in the back? Then Blaze’s remarks sunk in. He took three deep breaths and whispered, Are you fucking insane? Sky dragons eat us.

Blaze glanced away from the Master for a moment. You’re the insane one. No one’s been eaten, in like, forever. We don’t do that anymore. Not since the Clan Equality Act of whenever the fuck it was.

Flint hissed, Seventeen-forty-two. He almost said, Your father, but he didn’t want to take Blaze back to that if he’d purged it. He had trouble doing that. Blaze was always a blank slate living in the present, like a good dragon should.

What?

Flint had enough of him. It was time to go. The year the Act was passed by the High Wyrm Council.

Blaze shook his head. Whatever. He looked back at the Master. Maybe we should buy him a whiskey?

Are you nuts? Do you really want to be noticed by him?

Blaze licked his lips. Flint recognized that hungry look on his face. Notice me? Hell, I wish he’d fuck me. Imagine having that thunder-dick go off in you? You know, Thor’s hammer was forged from a sky dragon’s dick, right?

Of course, everyone knew that, Flint thought. He opened his mouth to plead with him to leave, but the musk in the room coated his tongue. Every dragon in the room wanted to turn tail for the Sky Master. Everyone wanted that thunder-cock. He looked back at the man-shape at the bar. His ass twitched like it had a mind of its own. Oh hell. Sometimes he hated being a dragon, especially a stone dragon, the lowest caste of dragon-kind.

The front door opened. Someone came in. Flint didn’t pay attention; he was too busy trying to push himself away from the table. He needed to leave. He felt it down in his balls; this night wasn’t going to end well.

Blaze hissed, Smoke and sparks, what’s that?

The air changed—a new flame kindled in the room. It started out vague and faint, but familiar. Now it flared white-hot. He looked at the door. Fuck me dead.

Blaze leaned over and whispered in his ear, You know who that is?

Flint looked at the blond college kid standing by the door. He had on a tight yellow Sterling University tank top, a pair of khaki-shorts, and sandals. He searched the crowd of leathermen and bikers. He saw Flint in the corner, waved, and walked toward their table.

Flint said, That’s Drake, my roommate. I... I thought he was human...well, normal human.

Blaze licked his lips then grabbed Flint’s shoulder and squeezed. That’s no normal. That’s a fucking paladin. You invited a flaming dragon slayer to a dragon den with a God-damn sky dragon alpha in it. There will be carnage.

Flint wanted to say, I didn’t invite him, but it was too late. Drake stood there, smiled and said, Hey, roomie, had a hell of a time finding you.

Flint didn’t know what to say. Had he been living with a slayer for the entire semester? For Flame’s sake, he wanked and fell asleep thinking about the guy every night. How fucked-up was that? In the Name of the Holy Flame, how in the hell could he not know?

It was too much for him. A sky dragon and a slayer. A hundred million years of genetic memory screamed, Get out now or die! He sensed a limestone cavern deep below the bar. He could just let go, become his true-self and be safe underground. That’s what stone dragons did, moved through the earth like a fish through water.

Drake didn’t seem to notice Flint’s panic. He reached out his hand to Blaze. Hi. I’m Drake, Flint’s roommate. Both dragons stared at his hand like it was something venomous, ready to strike them. Iron. He had an iron bracelet on. It was made of little chain links and a dragon-head dangled from it. Flint gasped, Where did that come from? He’d never sensed any iron in their dorm room.

Drake pulled his hand back from Blaze. Oh this? I got it on the pier a little while ago. He moved around the table, pulled one of the high stools next to Flint, and sat down. I went down to the Jolly Roger looking for you. I thought we were going to my party. Together. He looked around the bar. But maybe not. Anyway, there was this stand out on the boardwalk selling trinkets. I liked this one. You know my name means dragon, right? Cool, huh?

Flint wasn’t enjoying the iron or the irony. So how did you find me?

Drake kept fingering the dragon-head. Well, I called Jeff. He pinged your phone.

Blaze asked. Jeff?

Drake nodded. Guy that lives across the hall in our dorm. A total science geek. He narrowed his eyes and looked directly at Blaze. Who are you?

Blaze froze. Flint realized he was coiled for escape too. His cousin’s bravado vanished like a puff of smoke. I’m Blaze, Flint’s cousin. He extended his hand with a slight tremor. Drake shook it. Blaze pulled his hand away before the bracelet brushed his fingers. Refined and forged iron was the only thing that could bind a dragon. It burned cold. It stole their flame.

Drake smiled and said, Good.

Flint tried to keep his head. Why good?

Drake moved his left hand to Flint’s back and rubbed it just a bit. Flint felt the white-hot paladin fire through his leather vest. Is it burning brighter because he’s surrounded by so many dragons? Does he even know what he is? When do slayers come of age? Flint shook his head. Focus, damn it!

Drake’s fingers tickled the back of Flint’s neck. He said, Well, I didn’t want to interrupt a date. He looked around the room again. You know, I didn’t even know Bennett Bay had a leather bar. I thought the Jolly Roger, down on the waterfront, was the only gay bar in town. He turned back to Flint and gently brushed his ear. So are you really into all of this? Is this the kind of game you like to play?

Flint pushed his hand away. Why are you here?

Drake put his hands on the table. Because I’ve been waiting a whole semester for you to make the first move. I thought tonight, at the party, you know, we’d finally do something about the tension between us. But now maybe I understand. He looked back around the bar.

Flint followed his gaze. The only sound in the place was the disco music pumping through the speakers. No one was talking. Everyone stared at them. The stone dragon and the slayer had stolen focus from the sky dragon. Does Drake know what this place is? He said, What do you understand?

Drake looked back at him. That maybe I should have made the first move. He reached out, his hand sliding behind Flint’s head. His fingers gripped Flint’s ponytail. Maybe you wanted to be hunted? I can be whatever you need. He looked back around the bar, eyeing the men in leather. What do you want?

A glass slammed down on their table. Flint jumped, almost losing his human form. The sky dragon stood there with another glass of whiskey in his hand. He pushed the glass on the table toward Drake. Drink?

George set his empty glass on the bar again and gave the little pansy behind it a nod for a refill. He couldn’t believe any establishment would hire a flower dragon. He wasn’t even sure they were real dragons; puny little things flitting among the wildflowers. His esteem for this place plummeted. He licked his lips and caught the smell-taste of sweet, earthy meat. He turned and saw them, two dirt-worms cowering in the corner. Stone dragons! The only thing they were good for was slow roasting. They were nothing but food. What kind of place was this? Did they actually serve drinks to food here? He shook his head and reached for his glass. It’d been centuries since he’d surprised a stone dragon sunning and tasted that sweet meat. He loved the way they squealed as he roasted them.

He gulped the whiskey and scanned the room again, licking his lips. Brand, the Chief of the Council, was cracked if he thought there was any threat here. They were barely dragons. Yep, they’d all gone gator. He emptied his glass again. He turned to the bar, his back to the door, and set the glass down. Time to leave; nothing to see here. He snickered. Earthworms, dragonflies, and gators.

The door opened behind him. The scent in the room changed. He licked his lips. What in the name of the Flame was that?"

He spun around on his stool. A twink of a college kid stood there. He was blond and tan. He had on a college tank-top, shorts, and sandals. He didn’t belong in a leather bar, let alone a dragon den. A fucking human kid, didn’t this place have any standards? He was about to say something to that effect to the bartender, when it happened. A white-hot flame flared from the kid. His dragon vision burned. Slayer! George rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t seen a paladin in centuries. And he’d never seen one in shorts and sandals. They usually had lots of iron; chains, armor, and pointy weapons.

The kid waved and started walking toward the back of the bar. No one moved. No one said anything. He felt them all looking between the slayer and him. He was the alpha here. They smell-tasted that. They expected him to do something.

George watched the slayer. Was he going to attack someone here? George had never heard of a slayer actually walking into a dragon den unarmed and alone. Who was his mark? George nearly fell off his stool, when he saw who the slayer went up to. He sat down next to one of the dirt worms. He actually touched it in an affectionate manner. Bile rose in George’s throat. You could eat a stone dragon, but you sure as hell didn’t want to talk to one or touch it, at least before it was cooked.

He turned back to the bar. Refill this and give me another full glass. The bartender stood there transfixed, looking at the paladin. George pounded the bar. For Flame’s sake, he was a sky dragon, a Storm Master. He would not be ignored.

Drake kept a firm grip on Flint’s hair, his blue eyes locking Flint’s gaze. Flint knew he should offer submission to the sky dragon standing at their table, but Drake held him fast. Flint licked his lips, a fear response. He smell-tasted urine. Blaze had pissed himself. No stone dragon had ever been this close to a sky dragon, especially a full Storm Master, in living memory, emphasis on the living part.

The Master said, "I said, have a drink."

Flint felt a flash of rage course through Drake. He kept a tight grip on Flint’s hair as he slowly turned to the Storm Master and said, No, thank you. I’m kind of busy at the moment. I’ve waited for this for a long time. Fuck off.

Blaze let out a little yelp, like someone stepped on a shih tzu. No one talked to a Storm Master like that. The Master licked his lips, and then said, What are you doing here?

Drake snorted and pointedly looked around the bar. What do you think? I’m trying to seduce my friend here and I’m kind of new at this game. He looked at the Master. Drake’s fire burned iron-ice cold. Flint gasped. Drake said, What are you doing here?

The Master smiled and took a drink of his whiskey. Trouble. I came here looking for trouble.

Drake let go of Flint, stood up next to the table and crossed his arms. "You sound like you’re from up north. We don’t like Yankees coming down here looking for trouble."

The Master set his empty glass down; reached across the table for the one he had offered Drake and raised it to his lips. He paused and said, So, you’re local?

Local? Swamp water flows in my veins. Why?

Flint muttered, We’re... not looking for trouble. Maybe we should leave?

Blaze grabbed his shoulder. He’d just spoken in front of a sky dragon. That just didn’t happen unless you were pleading for your life, and that never worked.

Drake kept his eyes on the Master, but reached out and put his hand on Flint’s arm. He said, Not yet. He pulled his hand away and then stepped toward the Master.

George glanced away. The slayer’s flame burned his dragon vision. The slayer, suddenly before him, touched his cheek. It burned George’s dragon-self like cold iron, but it aroused his man-self. The hand caressed George’s jawline like a lover. The fingers traced their way down his neck, then his chest. They found his nipple. The slayer worked the little nub of human flesh. George’s dragon parts yearned for release—for satisfaction.

The slayer asked, What kind of trouble were you looking for?

George gasped as the iron around the slayer’s wrist brushed his nipple. Waves of agonizing joy coursed through his body. The inner-dragon screamed for release. He felt his skin tighten in a brief loss of control.

The slayer moved his mouth next to George’s ear. He whispered, Why are you here?

George’s mind raced. Why was he here? Why didn’t Brand tell him a slayer was here? And what the hell was going on? He was three thousand years old and this human child made him lust like some adolescent worm.

Again the slayer whispered into his ear, "Answer me." A command spoken with fire.

George licked his lips like some groveling earthworm. I don’t know. Oh Flame, no! The slayer’s hand moved slowly across the side of his chest, up under his leather biker jacket to that most sensitive spot all dragons have in their armpit. How did he know to do this? The slayer pressed the iron there and focused all of his flame into George’s most sensitive erogenous zone. This was the spot slayers aimed for with their weapons, but this slayer... Oh Flame... The change was coming, he couldn’t stop it. He was about to turn tail for a fucking child slayer. He sank to the floor and the room spun. He’d never known such need. He didn’t know it was possible. His body ached to be consumed by the iron-fire of the slayer. Submission became a pure element, and he was it.

Drake had the alpha sky dragon by the nipple and whispered something in his ear. Blaze huddled under the table. Flint knew it wouldn’t be long before his cousin popped, went full dragon, and wormed his way through the floor. Part of him was very glad Drake focused on the Master now, but an ember of jealously burned deep in the pit of Flint’s stomach. He wanted to mark Drake as his own. He shook his head, trying to shake the madness loose. Lusting after a human was one thing, but mate-marking? And with a slayer? Deadly madness.

A spark of sanity kept screaming at him to get under the table with Blaze. The genetic memory of his kind insisted a stone dragon’s place was on the floor. Or, better yet, deep under it. Especially if there was going to be a fight.

Drake’s hand moved further under the Master’s leather jacket.

Oh Flame, Flint thought, he’s going for The Spot. The Master quivered and sank to the floor. His milky, human skin shimmered like shiny blue scales. Oh hell, he’s gonna pop!

Drake reached down and grabbed the front of the Master’s leather harness. He dragged him toward the back rooms, to the dark maze of the empty warehouse where dragon-men had sex.

The bar was dead silent. Someone had pulled the plug on the disco. Dragon-men scurried out of the way as Drake pulled the Master toward the black velvet curtain marking the entrance to the back. The only sounds were Drake’s heavy breathing and the scraping of the Master’s boots on the concrete floor.

Flint licked his lips. The Master pumped out sex pheromones and alarm scent. They mixed with the fear scents coming from the other dragons in the room. The Master’s struggle to stay human made him vulnerable to Drake. Flint didn’t understand why he just didn’t let go. What could Drake do against a forty-foot sky dragon? He wasn’t even armed. A hot tear ran down his human face. He didn’t care if Drake was a slayer, he didn’t want him to die. He still wanted to hold that man in his arms. And fuck it, Drake was his friend. The best friend he’d had in a very long time. He wasn’t supposed to remember that.

They slipped through the curtain and chaos broke out in the bar. Dragon-men thronged toward the door. They were losing control. A few horns popped here and there. Skin turned scaly for a moment and then smoothed back again. Flint heard the rustle of leathery wings off to his side, somewhere.

Then a scream filled the bar. The air itself seemed to be shrieking. The warehouse shook with the force of a hurricane. Everyone froze. They gasped for breath as wind rushed through the room. Hot white light flashed beyond the back doorway and a crack of lightning ripped through the bar. The curtains blew in from the doorway and clouds of concrete dust billowed out as thunder mixed with the sound of the back rooms collapsing. 

Everything went black.

Red emergency lights kicked in.

More groaning, a moaning purr, more lightning, and thunder. And then silence. A silence more alarming than the raging thunder had been.

Nothing.

Curiosity and fear riveted everyone in place. The slayer had to be dead. How could he not be? And yet, an ember of doubt refused to die. Tongues darted and snaked into the bar’s thick air. Death was absent. Lust and release coated them like the residue from an oil fire.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Someone in heavy boots walked toward the bar from the ruined back. A wave of panic rippled through the crowd. They looked at one another. Surely, the Storm Master would emerge victorious.

Flint gasped as a dark figure stepped into the dim red light. Drake kicked a chunk of broken concrete out of the way. He finished buttoning up black jeans. Flint tilted his head and licked his lips. For Flame’s sake, Drake had on the Master’s clothes. He zipped up the jacket and Flint saw that he had even taken the Master’s boots. Drake walked back to Flint’s table. Blaze edged away. Drake dropped a set of keys and a pile of rags on the table. Flint licked his lips. Semen. He smell-tasted semen. He recognized Drake’s seed. His roommate masturbated enough to make that scent recognizable. He realized the rags were the shredded remains of Drake’s shirt and shorts. They were drenched in human and dragon seed. The musk of human-dragon sex followed him. Faintly, Flint heard the post-sex gurgling of a dragon from the back.

Drake pulled a tiny plastic zip-lock bag from the ruins of his shorts containing miniature iron dragon-heads. He took one out and fastened it to his bracelet. He pushed the bag into the jacket pocket, picked up the keys, and looked right into Flint’s eyes. Want to go for a ride on my new bike?

Flint didn’t know what to do. He looked around the room. The dragon-men frozen in place stared back at him.  Blaze, already halfway to the door, pushed through the throng. A low frequency thrum came from the back, the sound of a very large dragon purring.

Flint hissed, What happened?

Drake came close, too close. Flint licked his lips. The smell-taste of sex was so thick he could hardly think or breathe. The slayer-flame ebbed. Drake said, You know what I am, right?

Paladin, a slayer. Flint exhaled it more than said it.

Drake frowned at the word. If you want, I can be that.

The thrum grew louder. Even the human had to be able to hear it now.

Flint said, I don’t understand. The waves of post-ecstasy from the back filled the bar like ozone after a lightning strike.

Drake tossed the keys in the air and caught them. You do know there is more than one way to slay a dragon, right?

Unfortunately, he did.

Drake kept tossing the keys in the air and catching them. He turned and walked toward the front exit. The dragon-men parted before him. A heat arose inside Flint. Their cowardice revolted him. He didn’t want to see Drake attacked or challenged, but they were dragons for Flame’s sake. Drake stopped at the door and turned. Coming, boy?

All semester he’d dreamed of Drake propositioning him and here it was. All he had to do was follow Drake into the night, get behind him on his trophy, and ride off into bliss and oblivion. The gurgling purrs still coming from the ruins was testimony to the bliss this man could somehow offer a dragon. He stood, crossed his arms and said, No.

A wave of panic pulsed through the crowd. Flint locked his gaze onto Drake’s ice-blue eyes. He locked down his emotions. He became stone-like. Drake glanced away. Flint felt Drake’s iron-fire ebb further, almost gone. Without a word, Drake turned and pushed his way through the door.

No one moved or said anything. They all stared at Flint. A motorcycle roared to life outside and sped away. Someone asked, What should we do about the sky dragon?

Several of them muttered something that Flint couldn’t hear. An old dragon at the end of the bar emptied his glass and slammed it down on the counter. That dragon’s been slain. Damn embarrassment to our kind. Imagine, turning tail for a human like that. Fucking Storm Master my tail. Wait ’till the Council hears about this!

The spell broke. Someone laughed and the dragons filed out into the night. Blaze pushed his way back to the table.

Flint held up his hand. Don’t even fucking start.

He pushed his way through the crowd toward the door. Someone pinched his ass. Someone else slapped him on the back and said, Damn, who knew stone dragons actually had stones! Flint ignored them. He pushed through the door and looked up at the night sky.

The moon had set, but the starlight was more than enough for his dragon vision. He turned and walked down Market Street toward the bay. He didn’t want a ride back to campus from Blaze. He didn’t want to be around anyone right now. He could catch a bus back to campus, but then what? At some point, he had to go back to the dorm. At some point, he had to confront the slayer.

Drake shook. Sweat ran into his eyes. The high—the rush he’d felt in the bar evaporated. What the hell just happened? He pulled the motorcycle off Market Street into an alley. He got off the bike, stumbled behind a dumpster and retched. Dragon semen splattered against the brick wall and pavement. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of the jacket and staggered back to the bike. He sank to the pavement. What the fuck did I do?

His phone buzzed. He pulled it out of the jacket’s breast pocket. A text from his friend, Jeff. Find Flint? You’re missing your 21st birthday party!

There was another text he’d missed earlier from his grandfather. He opened it. Did it happen? Are you one of us? He typed in yes, and hit send. He leaned back against the gritty brick wall. The little iron dragon-heads jangled on his wrist as he moved. Happy fucking birthday, he whispered into the night. He reached up to run his hand through his hair. It was stiff with dried dragon cum. Just fuck me.

Drake? A black shape silhouetted by the orange sodium-vapor street light stepped into the alley. It was Flint.

Flint walked down Market Street toward the bay. Did he want to go back to the dorm? He could go back to the family compound in Live Oak, a little village in the eastern part of the county. But the only way to get back there tonight would be to go dragon and worm his way back. He didn’t want to be a dragon right now. He didn’t really want to be a human either. Did he even want to be?

His phone chirped. A text from Jeff. Where are you? Drake went to find you. You are both missing his party!!!!

Shit, Flint said. He slid the phone back into his pocket. He had no response for Jeff. He took a deep breath and licked his lips, hoping the salty tang of the bay would soothe him. He stopped. He looked into a dark alley on his right. He smell-tasted Drake. The words, Just fuck me, drifted through the darkness. Flint stepped into the alley and said, Drake?

Drake looked up. Flint? Oh hell.

Flint licked his lips again. The stench of sex was still strong on him. He also smell-tasted the stress hormones and the iron-fire was almost gone, no more than a background glow. He might have missed it if he wasn’t looking. He asked, Do you want me to leave?

Drake pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He didn’t look up when he said, Do you want to leave?

Flint walked into the darkness of the ally and sank to the pavement next to Drake, their shoulders touching. They sat in silence staring into nothingness. The flame of their friendship flickered. How many nights had they laid in the dark, their beds separated by not much more than an arm’s length, and talked into the night? They shared their hopes, dreams, and fears; the things that can only be whispered in the dark. But there were things they hadn’t said—dark secrets about their true-selves—slayer and dragon, anonymous in the night.

Flint said, Got a text from Jeff.

Drake nodded. Yes, I’m missing my big party.

I’m sorry I skipped out on you. Flint paused and put his hand on Drake’s knee. That’s pretty shitty, but why did you come looking for me? Why didn’t you just call or text?

Drake stretched out his legs. Because I’m an ass. Jeff said you went out with a guy, and Sammy said the guy was really hot. And fuck it, I was jealous. I really hoped tonight would be the night—our night. We’ve been dancing around it all semester and then there was the other thing.

Flint whispered, The other thing?

Drake put his hands behind his head and blew out a big breath, then said, When the moon kisses the Earth on the night of your twenty-first birthday, you will know.

What?

Pretty fucked up isn’t it? Part of slayer lore, I guess you’d call it. At moonset on your twenty-first birthday you find out if you have the slayer curse, or gift, or gene, or whatever the hell it is.

Flint looked at him. So why did you want to find me?

Drake looked back. They say when it happens you can sense, feel, the dragon fire. I thought you were one, but I needed to know... to know if it was all true. I grew up training and learning all of this stuff, but some part of me just wanted to be a normal kid. I just kind of filed it under crazy family shit. I mean, every family has a bit of crazy in it. How could dragons be real? Let alone dragons that turn into people. Come on, how crazy is that?

Flint smiled. I don’t believe a word of it.

Drake jumped to his feet and walked over to the bike. He turned and looked down at Flint. What are we going to do?

Flint stood, and then shrugged. What do you want to do?

Drake touched his hair, grimaced, and then said, God, I’m a mess. Can you smell it? Who knew dragon jizz was so strong. Yours never smelled like this.

Yes, well, I’m a different kind of dragon and you’ve never smelled my true-seed.

Drake tilted his head in confusion. What do you mean? Dude, come on, I know you wank every night. God, we both do. Hell, more than once most nights.

Flint spread his arms. Yeah, but I do it in this form, don’t I?

Oh. That makes a difference?

Flint nodded. This was getting strange. Yes.

Drake’s eyes roved over him. "So how does it work? What do you really look like?"

Flint looked down at the ground sensing the layers of sand, clay and limestone. The earth called to him. Did he still want to run away and escape all of this? He looked up at Drake and said, That’s kind of personal, don’t you think?

Drake sat down on the bike and spread his arms. Hell, I don’t know. Is it?

Flint whispered, Yes. He turned away from Drake. So do you want to go back to the dorm and clean up? I think we have a lot of talking to do.

Drake stood up and his phone rang. He pulled it out. Hell, it’s Jeff. He tapped the phone, putting it on speaker. Music and sounds of people laughing and talking filled the alley. Drake said, Hi.

Where the hell are you? Did you find him? Kind of shitty that he skipped out on you.

Flint stepped forward. Fuck Jeff.

Drake held up his hand to silence him. He had a family thing. He was with his cousin.

Jeff said, Oh. So you found him?

Yes.

Someone yelled in the background, Did you get a hold of them? Tell them to hurry up. Randy said the band’s gotta go soon.

Jeff said back in the phone, Did you hear Sam? When will you be here?

Drake looked at Flint. He just shrugged and mouthed, Whatever you want to do.

Drake said into the phone, Jeff, I think we’re gonna hang together for a while.

Jeff didn’t say anything for a moment then said, Like together, together?

Drake looked up from the phone at Flint. He said, I don’t know. Maybe.

About time. See you in the morning... maybe. Jeff giggled as he ended the call.

Flint said, So I take it we aren’t going back to the dorm?

Drake sat back down on the bike and sighed. I’m really not up for that. Are you? Flint shook his head. Drake continued, So do you know a place I can get cleaned off and we can talk?

Flint nodded and held out his hand. Yes. Give me the keys?

You know how to ride a motorcycle?

Flint snorted. Are you kidding? I remember when they were invented.

Drake’s hand stalled in midair. When they were... So how old are you?

Flint gently took the keys out of his hand. Again, with the personal questions? Now get on behind me and hold tight. I like to drive fast. And we’re going to be on back roads this street-hog won’t like. Oh, and take off that bracelet. I don’t want that damn thing biting me.

The late-spring night had turned cool. Drake was glad he had the jacket and jeans. Flint tilted the bike as they turned off Bayside Drive onto Swan Landing Road. Drake wrapped his arms tighter around Flint. Hard muscles rippled under his hands and Flint’s leather vest flapped in the wind. He was warm. He burned with the dragon fire. Drake closed his eyes and laid his face against Flint’s back.

Flint turned his