Dragon Bait

By Millicent Pearl

A dragon in a pickle, a human on a mission, one huge misunderstanding.
It's a fire-breathing recipe for disaster.

Pimlyn is ready to set out, find her own way in this big, wide world. Her mother's nomadic life style just isn't what she wants. She craves a place to settle and put down roots, but first she means to avenge her father's death and once and for all rid Harstmuth of the creature terrorizing the Scorched Woods.

The Great Beast of Blackstone could have imagined many a scenario as to how his day was going to go as he lolled about amongst his treasure, dreaming of his long lost freedom. The little spitfire of a human bold enough to come at him with the equivalent of a metal toothpick, wearing not but a tin can of oversized armor, was not quite what he'd had in mind. THIS mouthy little thing was to be his chance to escape? His sanity rides on THIS being? The fates must be mad!
She had grit, though, he had to admit. He'd give her that. She was no wilting lily.
Eh. Perhaps the human could prove useful... She would, at the very least, be entertaining.

A revenge hungry human means to catch the dragon by the talon, and yet... it would seem the dragon is not the only one feeling caught.

Lighthearted fantasy romance with plenty of heart and funnies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeanette Lynn
• Release date: Jun 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005912673

Millicent Pearl

Millicent Pearl is the not entirely secret pen name of a romance author of quirky, off-beat characters in out of this world stories.Millicent Pearl pens sci fi, fantasy, paranormal, and contemporary romance reads, hold the spice!Sign up for Millicent Pearl's newsletter to keep up to date on book news!https://mailchi.mp/4d100a5c0ee4/millicent-pearls-newsletter

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A Wee Lil Note

This book is Fantasy Romance between a human woman and a dragon shifter. It takes place in a totally made up place, time, plane, a land of magick and fancy, that’s completely separate from the lil ol’ world we live in. It’s Fantasy Fiction.

This is a sweet romance series— meaning no culmination, ahem, if you know what I mean— that follows the two main characters on their journey through three books. Please go into this expecting at the most some smoochin’.

The third book is their HEA.

For those that wish, uhm, more? A final novella with the culmination—we’ll just use that word for it, lol— of their love will be released shortly after book 3, available to Millicent Pearl’s newsletter subscribers!

A nifty dictionary has been included in the back of this book, if you were wondering what some of the words used mean.

Dragon Bait

Catch A Dragon By The Talon

By

Millicent Pearl

Dedication:

To So Pai Hau

To infinity & beyond.

No And then!

Chapter 1

Pimlyn/Pim

The sun was still sleeping as I crept free of the stifling box of a cubby I’d found shelter in the whole of my life—I knew no other place to lay my head but for those nights camped out beneath the stars during the heat of the summer. Even then, Marmy was always near. I used to find comfort in the fact, but even more so of late, I found myself sort of feeling like I was growing crowded— overcrowded— from the inside out. It wasn’t enough returning to the few haunts that didn’t begrudge our traveling lifestyle, like this oh so familiar hilly area we’d come back to once more for a short respite before we packed up, picked up, and passed through.

This life... it was not what I wished for myself.

I was past the age of leaving, when most others had already long broken off from the Clasp in search of places unknown, for things wished, adventures to be found, to find themselves. I’d withheld when I’d rather have ventured off myself to find something... more. Something me. Even now, I was filled with an equal sense of hesitancy to match the urgency riding me to be off.

I couldn’t quite say what I wished for myself, but to feel settled, on solid ground, a foundation to build upon. I just wanted a different life, a different way for myself. The lifestyle of a nomad was not for me, figuratively, literally, and any way that might be conjured up in-between. I’d always felt unsettled, never staying in one place long enough to decide if I even liked it there. The wagon was one’s home, and everything else was interchangeable.

My lack of an adventurous nature was considered a hardship for my mother—Marmy, as I called her. Now, Marmy, she was a true one, a harbinjhare through and through. She had adventure in her blood, a rover if there ever was, a flower blossoming in the heat of that sun, seeking out new experiences, grand places, new people at every turn. I found more comfort hanging back by the wagon, the comfortable and familiar, our home on wheels. I’d always had an odd fear of losing our little bit of reliability and thus was wary of venturing far from it for too long. We lived in a carfavan, a wagon of a wheeled house, for Jingare’s sake! One could just hitch our mares Jelly and Bean up to it and be off with all of our worldly belongings and our only shelter in one fell swoop.

To wish to leave and venture out, yet not wish to actually adventure, it was a conundrum that confused my dear mother as much as it befuddled me, trying to explain it to her.

Was safe adventuring a thing? If so, I wished a very safe adventuring. That was the best I could come up with to explain it. I wished to leave to find somewhere to stay-stay.

The unknown made me feel uncertain and sick. I’d carried this feeling of helpless gut ache with me for as long as I could recall. There was no crime in wanting a life different than the one you were born to, was there?

As much as we moved, there was some semblance of predictability: the length of our stay. The Clasp kept it short and sweet, never lingering for more than four months in one spot at the most.

There were several months in my youth where we’d spent a lengthy time in one place, Tarfamut of the Lower Fells, nearly half a year, in fact. Repairing damages after traveling through the stormy landscape of the lower end of the Pegkos mountains, I’d never felt so settled, even with everyone rushing to right the disarray. Marmy kept warning this was not the way, speaking of the safety in numbers and moving on often. It was as if the woman had always sensed the restlessness in me and felt the need to make sure I didn’t think to run off one night. Ah... very much as I was this night.

Saints but the blessings on me, was I stupid or smart enough now to finally be off? There was madness to this brilliant plan of mine. A lot of madness, truth be told.

Why do you not stay? Travel with us ‘til you find this place to stay of safe and non-adventurous things, and we’ll part ways then, yes? she’d say, and in seeing the look on her face, that worry for her aged child as if she fretted I might be a wee bit squelched in the helmet, a mite out there even for her bohemian preferences. All she’d speak of after that was encouragement to find a male to bring into the Clasp, start building a carfavan of our own, settle down. I sincerely prayed she wasn’t holding her breath waiting for that to happen. I’d yet to meet a male that made me wish to test any kind of matchmaking. Perhaps in that I was meant to be my own kind of nomad? Were there nomads of love?

Marmy didn’t believe in putting down roots in the build-a-house sense. She preferred to see and know everything for herself, and learn of new tales to tell. She’d have remained on the move constantly if she wasn’t so tied to our home group, our Clasp, the Sundrupt.

I much preferred my adventures to be found in the pages of a well-worn book, please and thank you.

She thought it a phase, my want of different that I wasn’t quite certain of, this unknown, as of yet clearly defined entity missing within me. Perhaps my love of the written word and notions of romance gathered from the books I’ve devoured have pinched my view of things and skewed my expectations of flesh and blood males available for acquainting.

No matter. I’d decided, quietly, as I’d no other choice but to, if I wished to find myself, I had no other choice. I was to leave. It was to be done. As far as marmy would know come morn when she began searching me out, the note I’d left would inform her I’d taken a job with the smith who’d allowed me to apprentice under him, an Ogre named Curhe with an eye for a good blade, and I wished to remain in Hartsmuth indefinitely.

Possum, the Ogre Curhe called me, because Pimlyn was a right pitiful name for a wee lass with my height and a squeak of a voice. Pimlyn means resolute protection in modern tongue, but it was also a Fae word from the times before, the name of a type of plant Sunder Elves had brought over from the Other Side and grew here—a kind of pale colored, white spotted mint plant that glowed under the moon. Perfect really, sadly. I supposed that point of view depended on the being having a think over it.

Yes, I was a bit of an oddball, a weird minty plant amongst a Clasp of sunflowers. I was tall with pale silver hair at odds with the dark purple hair of my mother and her harbinjarav. With silver threading my sapphire eyes, both from my sire, if not for my nose, high forehead, stubborn tilt of my chin to match the ornery streak and uncannily similar mannerisms to Marmy, one would have wagged that tongue something awful, I could imagine. Not that my mother would have let talk of illegitimacy or stolen infant silliness, like many unfounded rumors that plagued the harbinjhare, the traveling sun worshipers.

That didn’t save me from unkind remarks, mind you, even from our own traveling grouping, our harbinjarav, the Clasp. Thanks to my father, a toiler, or moon farmer, simply put, I glowed in the dark, literally, the pale silver pigment dotting my skin luminescent under the full moon’s light. It was a good-natured joke amongst the Clasp that Marmy must have plucked me straight from a Faerie mound.

What I knew of my father I’d learned from Marmy. He’d left us too soon for me to recall him myself. Da had been a toiler through and through, according to Marmy, a silver speckled farmer of the moonlight. Marmy had met him along her travels through Delphaven, the land with less sun. She claimed her attraction to him was instant. He was the most beautiful creature she’d ever laid eyes on. She’d thought him magical at first. Until Da, she’d never met a Droilen—the moon worshiped.

I’d personally have preferred the soft golden dots of Marmy’s line kissing her cheekbones and shoulders, reflecting off that bright ball burning high up in the sky like golden angel kisses on pale sunflower yellow skin. Or her eye catching purple-black hair. The older I grew, the more I slowly began to appreciate the parts of my sire I’d inherited—it was like having a piece of him with me forever, and no one, not even a flaming beast, could take that away from me.

Maybe at times I wished for a wee bit of gold coloring to me, a peek of Sundrupt, something to break up the fact that overall I was basically a washed out looking, blue-tinted grub worm for the moon in the wrong light.

I’d been a stout child, and moonglow was a rare Droilen trait not shared by any others. Moon Grub, Grub for short, was all the youngers of the Clasp would call me—it’s all they heard me called. It sort of just spread and stuck, until everyone but Marmy called me Grub. I supposed it was better than some of the less than kind names strangers in passing have thought to call me, and I knew the Clasp meant nothing by it, not truly. Ribbings were a large part of the Clasp.

Zombie.

Corpse.

Cursed.

Moon maggot.

I’ve heard it all and more.

At the heart of my discontent was the wish to be settled somewhere accustomed to oddities, I’d admit.

After my mission, I could surely come back to Hartsmuth. Curhe claimed to have a stool for me, should I wish to smithy with the Fae. They needed someone capable of handling iron—which I’d proved myself useful to the Ogre in this regard. There was always that. If I did come back here, uh, if I was able, my note to Marmy wouldn’t be a lie, not entirely. The thought helped ease the discomfort of feeling I’d deceived my mother. It was for all of us, Marmy, Da, me, I set out this night for this difficult task.

Everyone in the sleepy hollow the Clasp had camped for the night were either still under the Sandman’s spell or too busy preparing for the journey to come at first light to the north lands to notice or care as I quietly slipped off into the night. The wide hood of my cape hid the moonglow lighting my features. There were definitely some drawbacks to being a walking glowworm.

Marmy would be sour with my hasty exit, but this was the only way I could think to make a clean break. She would be livid if she ever knew my true intent. The woman was fearsome. She’d have kept me tied to her apron strings, by her side, for the rest of my days, if I’d been a following sort to her leading nature. If she thought my intentions foolish, I wouldn’t put it past the woman to try and shackle me to the wagon for a fortnight or longer, until she felt I was seeing reason. She’d tie me straight to a wagon wheel and watch me flounder about for a spin if she thought it would knock some sense into me.

Boots in hand, I made my way out of camp on silent feet. The cool ground on my bare feet gave me that wide awake feeling. A half smile tilted my lips as I passed the camp grounds, grass soon replacing the moist earth. The short, fat blades tickled my toes. A light breeze ruffled my cape, the urge to glance up at the night sky and watch for a moment almost enough to tempt me. There was something so calming about the night, the twinkling stars, the moon beaming down on us as if in greeting. I’d take a moment to soak it all up if I wasn’t worried about being found out.

My sight at night was much better than during the day. It was easy to miss the camp’s traps to warn of intruders and dodge soggy ground.

Once I was a safe distance away, just beneath the tree I’d stowed my armor, I dropped my sack and rummaged out my stockings to shove them on, then wiggle my feet into my worn leather boots.

It had to be done this way, I reassured myself. No other option was before me. I’d take care of this, and then the journey to myself began.

Marmy acted as if she’d accept my apprenticeship with Curhe when I brought it up previously, but I knew the woman all too well. She was calculating, wily, and she cared to the point she’d put her cunning to use on me if she thought it in my best interest. Already at supper she’d made it a point to tell of tales of females leaving their Clasps to end up dismembered, violently killed, or plain missing, never to be seen or heard from again. She wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t simply rushing off.

Her attempt to manipulate my departure solidified my resolve. I wouldn’t put it past her to leave early as I slept and Oops me into waiting another year until we traveled back through Curhe’s territory to finally set me free. Argh. I admired her ingenuity while I loathed it as it was directed at me entirely. I loved Marmy even as I questioned the woman’s sanity from time to time.

I’d say I’d never do that when I became a mother, but I had no desire to become one. No male was going to pin me down and claim me as if I was their property and push anything on me. I would be in a partnership and we’d decide things together, should I ever find such a mythical creature willing to understand compromise and true love, or I’d simply remain as I was—alone.

The moon was beautiful this night, shining bright. The glow as I stood on the top of the hill and prepared to descend, looked as if it was lighting my way. Faerie lit, I thought to myself, shaking my head, a sure sign.

Blackstone, the very same spot Da had been taken from us all those years ago, was just a half a day’s walk from this spot if I made good time. If ever there was a time to venture off on my own, this felt like my moment, my now or never.

NEVER, my insides screamed.

If I were ever to have a grand adventure, this, in this I would admit, was to be my destiny. It was all kismet, really. This sudden hankering to shove off, the timing, the place! Yes, the fates, the Fae, the strength of the calling of the moon, maybe it all was at play here.

Marmy would crap a brick if she knew I meant to dispatch of the beast that had murdered my Da. Or clap one to my head and then actually try her hand at that strap me to a wagon wheel bit I’d been contemplating moments ago, spin some sense into me? I snorted at the idea.

Which was exactly why I intended to tell her after the deed was done and I’d collected enough coin for proper lodging. I had a bit of gold left after I’d commissioned a fine sword from Curhe. He knew not what I’d wished it for, but that I needed it strong enough to withstand the devil’s own fire.

I had the element of surprise in my favor with the beast of Blackstone—it wouldn’t see me coming, or so I kept telling myself.

My knees felt funny and my heart was beating so fast I could hear it pounding in my ears. I was scared, I’m not stupid, but I needed to do this, for me, for Marmy, for Da.

My heart ached thinking about all Da had been denied, all he’d missed out of our lives, the life he never got to fully live. He was no more than my age when he was taken, eaten in two big chomps and a gulp.

Marmy was quite vivid in describing his demise, as if to allow it to become the tale of my warning. It had traumatized me a bit as a small child to hear it, but I’d always been so curious about him and she’d finally come out with all of it. I could only imagine what that must have all been like for her.

With a long suffering sigh as I looked up and the moonlight hit my skin, glowworm status in full effect as my glow brightened, I ducked my head and tucked my hood tighter around my face. I supposed the bright side of that was I’d never get lost in the dark?

I’d be the first to perish in those horror tales Yair is always so eager to terrify the little ones with, I grumbled. One of several elders of the Clasp, he had a knack for telling a tale of terror.

With one last look behind me, staring at the lightbuttes, the moon fire bugs filling the glass jars dangling off the hooks on Marmy’s wagon flickering in the distance as I began to carefully pick my way down the rocky slope ahead, I lifted my hand and blew her a kiss in farewell.

She’d forgive me for my subterfuge if she figured it out. Eventually.

Aye. Hopefully. You know, if I didn’t muck this all up and die.

What a happy thought, I thought sarcastically.

With a shudder, imagining Marmy’s vibrant green eyes bearing down on me darkly as she chewed off a hank of me and gave me more than a piece of her mind, I put one booted foot in front of the other.

Destiny awaits.

Or death. You know, but who’s fussin’ over that?

Chapter 2

Pimlyn/Pim

Tangles of vines and debris from a long-crumbling estate littered the path I’d chosen. Ah, it was the only semi clear path, truth be told. Wrought iron gates barely stood, towering high enough I’d think they meant to keep a beast in, which I found a bit curious. Was this not the beast’s territory, its lair? Could dragons work iron? Most magical beings could not.

Even curiouser, the rusted, busted locks appeared to be on