Stop Dragon My Heart Around World Read online

  Tipping the Scales

  Stop Dragon My Heart Around World

  Mandy M. Roth

  The Raven Books

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Blurb

  Stop Dragon My Heart Around World

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Title

  Tipping the Scales (Stop Dragon My Heart Around)

  By

  Mandy M. Roth

  Copyright

  Tipping the Scales © Copyright 2006 - 2019, Mandy M. Roth

  Third Electronic Printing Oct 2019, Raven Happy Hour, LLC

  Second Electronic Printing June 2011, The Raven Books

  First Electronic Printing 2006

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  * * *

  All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away without written permission from the author, Mandy M. Roth.

  * * *

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence. Novel intended for adults only. Must be 18 years or older to read.

  Blurb

  Tipping the Scales (Tipping the Scales Series Book One)

  Part of the Stop Dragon My Heart Around World

  * * *

  Dragon shifter Zarek Dracodomus has one slight problem—he needs to mate by the end of the year or his dragon clan curse will have the last laugh. When a headstrong seductress manages to turn the tables on the immortal playboy, Zarek finds himself racing to beat time. Little does he know, he's been caught by a woman sworn to kill him and all of his kind.

  Stop Dragon My Heart Around World

  Stop Dragon My Heart Around World Stories by Mandy M. Roth

  Tipping the Scales Series

  Tipping the Scale

  Licking Fire

  and more to come…

  * * *

  Stop Dragon My Heart Around World Stories by Michelle M. Pillow

  Romancing the Recluse

  To the one in my life. Regardless how surly I can be, you never let it dissuade you. That or you like my lasagna so much you’re willing to overlook it. Thanks for being you, Mr. Mandy.

  To Michelle for suffering through endless of hours of ironing the brothers’ kinks out. I still think it would be cool to have a gland that secretes an aphrodisiac.

  1

  Zarek of the Dracodomus stared out into the night. A blanket of darkness lay not only over the city of Pittsburgh but also over his heart, doing its best to protect it from the harsh reality of life and loneliness. Not one to be sentimental, he hated the way he’d felt as of late. Hated feeling, period. It was easier to exist if he remained numb to the world around him. Dwelling on traditions and curses that he was powerless to change only left him sinking into a depressive abyss—a path he refused to take.

  He sighed, letting the cool early summer breeze wrap around him. It held the scents of modern society, pollution, and other unnatural odors. He missed the days of smelling only the country air, the freshness, the sight of roses in the wild, and miles upon miles of untouched, undeveloped land; the freedom to come and go as he wished and to do so in an environment that seemed to thrive with nature. So much had changed.

  Time goes on, whether I am prepared or not.

  Zarek’s body naturally matched the exterior temperature as it always did in shifted form. While not cold-blooded, he still possessed the skills needed to vary his core temperature. Zarek could also slow his metabolism in shifted, dragon form. It made it possible to hibernate for extended periods, and considering the fact that he was immortal, years passed in the blink of an eye. Sleeping them away sounded better and better.

  Yawning, he took in the night air in hopes it would rejuvenate him. It did little more than nauseate him.

  Humans.

  No part of Zarek felt up to facing what would prove to be defeat again. The one was nothing more than a myth. A needle in a haystack of beauties just waiting to be fucked by him. Seeking out a woman had never seemed like a chore before, yet now it did.

  If it wasn’t for the fact he needed to mate or risk being impotent, then Zarek would have never even entertained the idea of finding a woman to call his own. There were so many to choose from. The idea of bedding the same one for eternity knotted his stomach. Variety was the spice of life, at least when it came to the bedroom. Sure, he’d had almost six centuries to fuck his fill, and he did, but never once had he come across a woman he’d wish to call his own—the one. He doubted very much he ever would.

  The selection process involved in finding a mate was difficult. Not just any woman would do. No. He needed to find someone who was not only compatible with him sexually, but also the one who’d supposedly been selected for him long ago by forces he had neither seen nor truly believed in anymore. Once, in the earlier years of his somewhat jaded life, Zarek not only believed the stories passed down from Dracodomus, he’d been responsible for passing a few himself. His younger brother by a minute, Viktor, had often looked to him for advice. Why, he wasn’t entirely sure.

  Zarek no longer bought into the idea of soul mates. Living as long as he had didn’t leave him much hope in that department. The notion of a ticking clock, counting off the time until he entered his six-hundredth year on this Earth was surreal. Immortality for him, while a gift by all outward appearances, came at a heavy price. A limited number of years to find the one—his soul mate—or risk impotence, or at best, still be able to have sex but never be able to father children of his own.

  You’re too old to run around with false hopes. Might as well prepare for the inevitable. In a few short months you’re going to lose the ability have sex.

  Talking to himself was surely a sign of madness. Though, if that were the case, he’d long since snapped. Solitary by nature, his species of dragon shifters, the Dracodomus, weren’t known for sitting about having long, overdrawn heart-to-hearts. Perhaps that had something to do with why they were so close to extinction. They seemed to have issues settling down and committing as well. Hell, they had to have it forced upon them.

  Not wanting to think on depressing matters any further, Zarek spread his golden, webbed wings, letting them stretch wide, each extending out far and wide. The reach of his wings was impressive, but not unheard of among his species. His brother’s span was equally as large and equally as stubborn on selecting a mate. Since they shared a womb, they also shared a birthday. If at least one of them didn’t find a mate, the Dracodomus line would end soon. A fate none wanted to see come to fruition. It wasn’t as if his cousins were any closer to mating, and they were as old as Zarek and Viktor.

  In all likelihood, we are the last of our kind.

  Puffing a cloud of smoke through his nostrils, Zarek felt the stirrings of need in his loins. Shifting slowly into his base form—a human—he stared down the length of his naked body. Already his cock stood at attention, demanding release, as if it knew its days were numbered. The need to bury it deep within a warm, tight cunt was overwhelming. He fisted it, the urge to come so great that he knew he could not risk flying until he found some sort of release.

  In today’s day and age, he had to remain vigilant, flying below the radar or sustaining enough of his natural magik to cloak his presence from air traffic controllers. He had learned the hard way some fifteen years earlier that the government could and would send fighter pi
lots if they picked up on something the size of him in full dragon form flying at top speed. He could heal a great many things. A missile through the heart was not one of them.

  He shuddered, thinking about his narrow escape. Never again.

  Humans of long ago hunted his kind to the brink of extinction, and they had lacked the use of strategic warfare. They were gifted by the Fae too, but having the ability to wield limited amounts of magik or additional strength was not always an assurance they could prevail over a dragon. The knights had come, seeking fame and glory by slaying the fire-breathing dragons. Many succeeded. Equally as many failed. One line of slayers in particular proved to be a thorn in Zarek’s eternal side—the Brandts, a German family who had been gifted by the Fae to help keep evil dragons and demons in line.

  Unfortunately, a select few in the Brandt family stopped discriminating between good and evil and went with the rule of ‘if it was not human, it did not deserve to live’. They simply killed because they could. Zarek cringed at the idea of a Brandt slayer existing in today’s society. They’d be more monstrous than an Arctic dragon after a complete freeze-over. Deadly, for sure. Thankfully, the line of Brandts that had descended from the original, Fae-aided ones had died out about a century ago. The Brandts in existence today lacked the power, the drive, and the knowledge of their hunter ancestors. It was a good thing too. The Dracodomus had enough strikes against them. Indiscriminate demon hunters were the last thing their species needed to contend with.

  Mmm, now I need to contend with, he held his erection firmly, something more pressing.

  Closing his eyes, Zarek drew upon the image, or rather the sensation of a woman on her knees before him, her lush mouth teasing his shaft as her fingers played with his balls. The woman had no face, not even a body he could actually see. No. This fantasy, as the ones before it, had the strong sense of a female, the one, or as best he could tell, the one but with no real shape or form. Why couldn’t he see her? Why was he denied that but not the knowledge of how glorious her touch could be?

  It is your mind playing tricks on you. There is no perfect woman for you.

  It made little sense to him, and with an erection bordering on painful, Zarek wasted no more energy thinking upon it. Instead, he let his imagination slip into thoughts of the one, of her tongue over his cock head and her sweet cunt dripping cream just for him.

  He gripped his dick harder and let a string of spit fall down from his mouth onto it, lubing it nicely, all the while visualizing her mouth over him. It was easy to picture her hands kneading his sac gently as she took his long cock deep into her throat. The walls of her mouth replaced that of his hands in his mind, and the moment he felt her teeth scraping over his sensitized flesh his balls drew up.

  “Not yet,” he ground out, his jaw clenched almost as fixed as his cock was.

  Zarek didn’t want to come just yet. No. He wanted to prolong the feel of the mysterious woman’s mouth over him. Imagined or not. It was perfect. Heavenly. If only she were real, he’d have no problem strapping himself down for an eternity to her.

  That is probably why they refer to the one as the one, you dolt, he chastised himself.

  Rubbing his long, thick cock, Zarek tipped his head back, savoring the imagined feel of ecstasy. He jerked, instantly sending a jet of magik-laced come far from his body. Had it been real, had his mate truly been there, sucking his cock, she would have found herself fully mated to him the moment his seed came into contact with her skin. It was another assurance that in the event a Dracodomus male found his mate, he would not mess it up and lose her.

  Mother Nature apparently knew his species well. The males in his family and species had a long history when it came to settling down, or rather, the desire not to settle down. Perhaps that was why they were gifted with six hundred years of bachelorhood to do with as they pleased. If in that time, by some miracle, a Dracodomus male’s semen came into contact with their chosen one, they would find themselves mated—a husband and, if luck was on their side, a father.

  His cock twitched as the last of his seed emptied. It did little to relieve his rampant want for a hot pussy, but it would afford him the chance to fly without pain. Turning, Zarek smiled as he headed back into his home. A deep laugh tore free from him as he took in the scenic view. “Oh, I almost pity the woman I find tonight. She will be so thoroughly fucked that she will not move for weeks.”

  He was reminded of the great poet Simonides. “Even the gods do not fight necessity,” he whispered in his native tongue, which was an interesting blend of several human languages as well as ancient dragon—though he noticed Latin, French, and Greek seemed to pull from the dragon-tongue. The fools could not be original in anything they did.

  2

  “Keren, did you miss the memo that we were going out tonight?”

  Keren Brandt looked at her co-workers, smiling hesitantly. They were what she considered close acquaintances, not true friends. Considering she’d never actually had anyone close enough to tell the truth about herself, she doubted she ever would have a real friend. “Why?”

  Gennie shook her head, sending tendrils of red hair scattering about her shoulders. The woman barely came to Keren’s shoulder, but she had a drive about her that had attracted Keren to her. It was rare to find that same spark in another. “You do not look like you’re on the prowl for a man.”

  “Because I’m not,” Keren said defensively, squaring her shoulders and standing at her full height of five-nine. In her heeled boots, she reached six feet. When she was younger, she’d been self-conscious about how tall she was but as time wore on, she learned to accept it. “It’s my night off.”

  The comment caused a number of speculative looks to be cast in her direction. Keren forced a smile to her face, doing her best to cover her slip. “It’s our night off.”

  The women nodded, each grinning. Keren exhaled, happy that was over. As of late, she’d been slipping more and more, coming close to revealing that after her day job was complete she had another more important job. One that she didn’t get to call in sick for or take any sort of real vacation from. One that didn’t allow her to wear a pretty dress, which was why she jumped at the chance to do so.

  Being a demon huntress wasn’t glamorous, and it sure as hell wasn’t something she could start blabbing about to anyone. No one outside of supernatural circles was to know that hunters or even non-humans existed, and she wasn’t about to break the news or that rule.

  Honor the code.

  Keren was not on a manhunt. At least, not in the way one would associate with going clubbing. No. Tonight she was out to find a hottie, screw him, and then forget about him. No working. No commitment. Just pleasure. She seemed to always be on the lookout for demons. Rarely was she ever seeking a man. That being said, she did a quick check of herself. Should she actually bump into Mr. Right, she wanted to look her best. The long khaki-colored crocheted dress she wore swept down to her ankles. The dark brown suede thigh-high boots she’d paired it with made her feel sexy. Just because she didn’t have on a “spank me” little red leather miniskirt like half the girls in the group didn’t mean she wasn’t sexy. Did it? It wasn’t like she didn’t own leather.

  Hell, she spent almost every night hunting in it. Was it too much to ask for a break? A night to be feminine, pretty, not covered in supernaturals’ blood?

  Apparently so.

  Ignoring Gennie’s comments, Keren opened the door to the club. The smell of cigarette smoke and hard liquor rolled out and over her. She coughed involuntarily and glanced at the group she’d arrived with. Every one of them stood there with their mouths agape. Two of them whistled.

  “What?” Keren asked, suddenly nervous. She was not one for crowds or groups of friends. In fact, she wasn’t much for friends, period. Being stared at by a group of women she’d only really just recently met did not sit well with her. Suddenly, she wished she’d armed herself. There was nothing like the feel of a twelve-inch hunting knife strapped to a thigh to ma
ke a girl feel secure both physically and emotionally.

  “What?” she repeated.

  “Nothing, but I take back the comment on you not being dressed to pick up a man.”

  “Gennie?”

  “Sweetie, your dress is almost see-through. The streetlight behind you just let us all know exactly what you are not wearing under it.”

  Desperate for her weapons, as if she could have really hidden behind a knife, Keren shook her head. Modest, to a point. Brilliant? Not at the moment. “No, it’s not that bad. Is it?” If the weight of their stares was any indication, it was bad.

  Wonderful.

  Marge from payroll put her hand on Keren’s shoulder and smiled. “Honey, if I had a body like yours, I’d flaunt it all day and all night. Hell, I might even walk around naked so everyone else could admire it as well.”

  Keren wrapped her tiny matching cardigan tighter around herself in hopes that it would cover her upper body. Not one who enjoyed wearing a constricting bra, she had gone without, never thinking about how it might look. Thankfully, she’d gone with a tan thong or she would have been completely nude beneath the dress.

  At least I wore a sweater.

  Oddly, that wasn’t very reassuring. Following the others into the nightclub, Keren glanced around nervously and prayed they’d find a table in a dark corner. Her stomach dropped when she saw Gennie heading straight for the dance floor. Loud techno music pumped from the sound system, causing her chest to thump along to the beat. The flicker of the strobe lights left her blinking and a slight headache began. More than human, Keren’s eyes were sensitive, allowing her to see better at night. The club lighting and atmosphere were seriously impeding on her natural abilities to sense and react to danger.