Dragon Shifter Dominion 1: Passion of the Summer Dragon Read online

  Passion of the Summer Dragon

  ~

  Dragon Shifter Dominion

  Book I

  ~

  KC Kingmaker

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2021 by KC Kingmaker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  Cover art by Covers by Christian

  Join KC Kingmaker’s PNR newsletter (with free eBooks every week!) at KCKingmaker.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Passion of the Summer Dragon (Dragon Shifter Dominion, #1)

  1 | Levia

  2 | Levia

  3 | Coalt

  4 | Levia

  5 | Levia

  6 | Coalt

  7 | Levia

  8 | Levia

  9 | Coalt

  10 | Levia

  11 | Levia

  12 | Coalt

  13 | Levia

  14 | Coalt

  15 | Levia

  16 | Coalt

  17 | Levia

  18 | Levia

  19 | Coalt

  20 | Levia

  21 | Levia

  22 | Coalt

  23 | Levia

  24 | Coalt

  25 | Levia

  26 | Levia

  27 | Coalt

  28 | Levia

  29 | Levia

  30 | Coalt

  31 | Levia

  32 | Coalt

  33 | Levia

  34 | Levia

  To Be Continued!

  About the Author

  Books by KC Kingmaker

  Briarwitch Academy:

  A Whisper Before Dawn

  A Dream Before Dawn

  A Journey Before Dawn

  A Storm Before Dawn

  Dragon Shifter Dominion:

  Passion of the Summer Dragon

  1

  Levia

  It was getting late.

  Late enough that danger starts to rear its ugly head. But I was used to danger. It came with the job.

  Shit, it was the job.

  Jervus’ tavern was bustling tonight, making it hard to relax. I didn’t get much time off, so I liked my leisure time to be just that: leisurely.

  If serenity was my goal, coming to Jervus’ tavern was a mistake. The male patrons were loud and boisterous. They had been since sundown, which was now a distant memory.

  The men at the large table behind me had gone from playing cards and dice to arguing, arm wrestling, and sneering at the passing barmaids.

  Some of them went so far as to try molesting the women as they walked by, slapping their asses, grabbing their wrists, and trying to force the girls on their laps.

  My jaw ticked as I caught an ugly drunkard trying to manhandle a woman out the corner of my eye. She squeaked in protest before plopping firmly down on the man’s lap, and then his hands were roving all over her young body, his stinking breath snuffling the nape of her neck.

  I tightened my grip on my mug until my knuckles turned white, but I didn’t get up from my seat. I took a couple deep breaths to calm down, and reminded myself: You can’t save everyone, Lev.

  Plus, this wasn’t the “danger” I’d been thinking of. I wasn’t worried about a couple bleary-eyed oafs who couldn’t find their dicks in the dark. These rowdy drunks who thought the world was their playground, they were awful, but not the worst of the lot.

  I tossed my long silver hair out of my face and swept a glance over my shoulder. I caught sight of a lone, shadowy figure at the corner of the tavern, hooded and nursing a mug of ale with both hands, his head bent forward to conceal his face. Even sitting and brooding, as he seemed to be doing, I could tell he was a huge man—broad-shouldered, tall, fit.

  An odd pang of desire coursed through my veins, landing at my stomach before trailing further south. I squeezed my thighs together.

  Fight-or-flight kicked in as I realized the man was staring at me from beneath his hood.

  That was danger, right there.

  I turned quickly back to my drink, suppressing a shudder. Staring down at my empty mug, I frowned.

  What was that about? I wondered, but then shrugged aside the warmth pulsing at my neck. I attributed my sudden wantonness on the booze.

  I’d been here a while, after all, and had downed more than enough for my size.

  “Another, dear girl?” a voice over me said, and I looked up from my mug to find Jervus standing on the other side of the bar, palms down on the counter as he stared at me with a hungry gaze.

  I smiled wryly at him, watching as his big eyes roamed over my body and curves. Jervus didn’t care that I was wearing an unflattering leather tunic; he still thought I was a goddess.

  The tavern owner’s desire for me had never been a secret. It was written on his face, as plain as day, and the fact I’d never given him a taste of my forbidden fruit only made his longing that much more noticeable and desperate. I had never done anything to lead him on, so I couldn’t feel guilty. I just wasn’t interested.

  Jervus was harmless. With his drastically receding hairline, his oversized eyes and undersized lips, he looked a bit like a naked lizard.

  But he was my naked lizard, in a purely platonic sense, and at least he didn’t have a forked tongue. He wasn’t a charming snake, and he’d never pressed the issue with me.

  I also got plenty of free drinks coming here.

  I rattled my mug on the counter. “You always know how to treat a lady, sweet Jervus.”

  His flat lips curled in a grin, showing big, crooked teeth. He took my mug, turned to a barrel behind him, and said, “Been here a while, eh? What is this, number six?”

  I ignored the question, my eyes falling on the raucous men behind me, who were now passing the poor barmaid between them. The look in the maid’s eyes flashed with fear.

  “You gonna let those trash heaps have their way with your girl like that?” I asked, turning back to find a fresh and frothy mug in front of me.

  “Who, Clareen?”

  I nodded once, took a sip of my ale, and closed my eyes. Ahh, that hits the spot.

  Jervus shrugged and picked up a mug to start toweling it off, averting his gaze. I recognized it as a nervous tick of his, cleaning his wares, because Jervus never didn’t stare at me when the opportunity presented itself.

  “They’re just having some harmless fun,” he said with a shrug.

  “Could be bad for business.”

  Jervus bit his bottom lip—or what existed of it. “They know they’ll have to pay if they want to take her upstairs.”

  “But Clareen isn’t one of those girls, is she?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “You have others in that profession here. She’s just a barmaid.”

  He sighed and put down the mug. “Everyone who works here knows what they’re getting into, Levia. If the price is right, everyone’s a piece of merchandise.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Do you see me the same way, Jervus?”

  “Of course not,” he said quickly. “You don’t work here.”

  I tilted my head, arching a single brow.

  Jervus blushed and became flustered. “And I, uh, know what you do. Point taken.” The barkeep lifted his head and thrust a finger over my shoulder. “Hey, Bastio! A little easy there, lad!”

  One of the
drunks barked, and I heard Clareen squeal again. “Ah, come off it, man! Just havin’ a bit of fun here. What’s the price on this one, anyway?”

  Jervus’ jittery gaze fell on me. A wicked, challenging smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

  A moment later, Jervus crumbled. He looked back up at the dolt. “You’ve got the wrong girl, lad. She’s not a wench and you’re keeping her from getting drinks out to the other patrons. So unhand her—unless you want to pay for the missing tips?”

  Bastio let out a disgusted sound, and then I heard Clareen’s dainty feet scampering away on the wooden floorboards. She rounded the bar on my side, sniffling, and disappeared into another room.

  “I guess not everyone’s a piece of merchandise, Jervus. Eh?”

  He rolled his huge eyes and shook his head. “Not when you’re around, Levia Sunfall. Not when you’re around.”

  As he wandered off to pour drinks for others at the bar, I felt a large presence settle in on the stool to my left.

  I slowly canted my head to stare at the black, patchy beard itching down his neck, the rheumy eyes and the red, pocked skin. With his bloodshot gaze eating me up and the odor of stale booze and sweat nearly making me gag, I frowned.

  Ah, so the game is on.

  “What’s a pretty butterfly like you doing here, sitting all alone?” he asked in a raspy voice.

  I flared my nostrils, which was a mistake because it just made his gross breath even more powerful. “Trying to find peace from the buzzing bees.”

  He snorted. “And that’s what you think I am, then?”

  I nodded. “I think this one’s had too much pollen.”

  Leaning back, the man furrowed his brow. “Ah, so she’s not a butterfly. A firefly, perhaps.”

  “A more apt description.”

  He made a guttural sound in his throat, as if trying to clear it of phlegm. “Well,” he continued, his dewy eyes flashing, “I like a bit of fire on the bones. A bit of fight.” He nudged his chin behind him, toward the stairs. “What says I take you upstairs and show you how much pollen this bee really has—”

  Before I could say anything snide in return—like calling him an impotent gnat—a voice to the man’s left chirped up.

  “Why don’t you take on someone your own size, big boy? Clearly that frail bird wants nothing to do with you.”

  He raised his brow and slowly turned, and I got a look at the woman now sitting beside him: buxom, stocky, with a fair face and dancing eyes. She smirked seductively at the man and I knew she was telling no lie—this woman could handle all of this drunk bastard and more.

  “Oh?” the man said excitedly. “With tits like that, maybe you could take me on . . .”

  The girl scoffed, her eyes meeting mine over his shoulder for a split second—imperceptible unless you were looking for it. Which I was.

  I wanted to thank the girl for taking the heat off me, but now she was focused on the man, drawing his attention deeper—further down her cleavage as she squeezed her arms together on the bar.

  “Well, you said you like a little fire on the bones,” the woman said. “How about a little meat?”

  The man rumbled with laughter. “Oh, I like you.”

  “Everyone does.”

  I relaxed my hand on my mug, realizing I’d been tense the whole time, and faced forward. I took a deep breath.

  Jervus was staring at me from across the way, concern etched on his face.

  I smiled at him, raised my mug, and downed my drink in one fluid motion.

  I slammed the mug down just as the ruddy man was standing, my busty savior leading him by the hand toward the stairs.

  “One final hoorah, dear?” Jervus asked as he approached.

  I shook my head and wiped my wet lips with the back of my forearm. “I wish, my friend. But I’ve got work to do.”

  I stood from my stool and glanced at the stairs. The woman and the drunkard were halfway up.

  My eyes scanned the tavern and landed on the imposing hooded man seated alone in the corner.

  My pulse spiked. I had no doubt he’d been watching me the entire time, through all my interactions.

  I fought back the goosebumps spreading across my arms and marched toward the exit of the bar, fully aware of his gaze penetrating me through my leather tunic.

  What a visceral, strange reaction, I thought, trying to fight against the pull—the need to go over there, un-hood the stranger, and straddle his lap.

  Losing focus for a second, I bumped into the table in front of me like a stupid tipsy buffoon.

  The ruffians who had tried to buy Clareen for the night all turned to leer at me.

  Bastio was on the other side of the table, leaning back on two legs of his chair, head resting against a wooden post with his hands in his lap and his feet on the table.

  “Oh, do we have fresh blood?” he spat.

  I ignored him and made my way around the table.

  The men snickered and jeered as I passed with sashaying hips—not for their benefit, of course, but for the hooded man in the corner. And because I was a bit drunk.

  Once past the table, I casually slid my foot behind the two legs of Bastio’s leaning chair—

  And kicked.

  His arms wheeled frantically.

  The sound of Bastio’s startled yelp was music to my ears, and so was the crashing thud of his body landing on the floor, his chair collapsing underneath him.

  A satisfying smile came to my lips as I exited Jervus’ tavern.

  I WALKED DOWN A MUDDY road and pulled my tunic higher up my shoulders.

  My eyes darted all over, always trying to maintain awareness of my surroundings, especially when I’d guzzled a bit too much happy juice.

  I looked past a few homeless men and women trying to seek shelter from the coming rain. It was only drizzling now, but soon it would be pouring, if the black rainclouds above were any indication.

  I didn’t want to be outside when that started. The dirt roads in this part of town were already shitty enough. A slog through a churning mess didn’t sound too fun . . .

  Not unless I was wrestling a certain hooded stranger in the mud, of course.

  Who was that guy, anyway? I wondered. And by Merlog’s hairy balls, why can’t I stop thinking about him?

  Well, I had to stop. I never had this kind of reaction to mysterious men, but then again, most men I came across weren’t mysterious at all. Perhaps that’s what enticed me.

  I came to a shoddily-built wooden house—much the same as all the others in this neighborhood.

  Taking a deep breath at the door, I put my hand up to knock then noticed the door was slightly ajar.

  So I let myself in.

  I heard a woman quietly weeping nearby.

  This house was only two rooms, so all I had to do was turn my head from the entrance and there I saw her huddled over a table, a thick bristly blanket pulled up to her neck, tears streaking her face—

  Her bruised, purple face.

  “W-Who are you?” she asked through her sniffles. “And by the runes, what are you doing in my house?”

  “My name is Levia Sunfall.” I stood tall in the doorway, my silver hair blowing wildly. I closed the door.

  My lips folded into a thin, hard line, my lavender eyes scanning her battered face.

  “And I’m here to save you, Vera Pearl.”

  2

  Levia

  “What are you talking about?” the woman asked, sitting up a bit straighter. “I’m no Vera. You have the wrong person.”

  Vera and Vero were honorifics, to denote ladies and lords. While this poor thing might not have been a Vera, officially, I considered anyone in her position to be one.

  I saw the strength in her red-rimmed eyes, even from a distance.

  I took a step closer and she squeaked, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

  Holding my hand out, I said, “Please, let me help you.”

  “Help me from what?” she asked, her voice faltering. “A
nd how do you know my name?”

  I sighed. “I don’t have time to explain, Vera. But once we get you out of here, I will.”

  “Get me out of here? This is my home, you bitch!”

  My brows narrowed. Ugh, I hated when they were like this. I needed hysterical women in my life just about as much as I needed drunk, slovenly men calling me a butterfly.

  “S-Stay back,” she whimpered after I took another step.

  I obliged, keeping my distance. I didn’t want sudden sharp fingernails raking across my face or anything like that.

  Holding my hands up in surrender, I said, “Your husband is Vero Chornlotter. Grefon Chornlotter, of the Belfuese Guard.”

  “What of it?” she asked, one eye growing large.

  I leveled one hand toward her face. “He did that to you.”

  “What?” she asked, playing ignorant.

  With a frown, I gestured at her more emphatically. “Your fucking face, woman!”

  She yelped and shrank back.

  I calmed down immediately. “My apologies, Vera. Like I said, I’m here to help—to take you away from all this madness.”

  She tilted her head. “And just where will you take me?”

  “Away.”

  “Away where?”

  “I have a refuge for women like you,” I said, feeling like I was getting somewhere.

  She sat up on her bench and the blanket fell down to her waist. Skinny arms folded over her chest. “And just what are ‘women like me,’ Vera Sunfall?”

  As if I needed to explain the obvious. I nearly rolled my eyes, but managed to keep my cool. “Women who are beaten by their husbands, Pearl.” I said the words as softly as I could muster. “My refuge helps abused women.”

  “So it’s a shelter, then?”

  “Some might consider it a sanctuary. We’ve helped many women.”

  “Who is ‘we,’ Vera?”

  “My associates and I.” I didn’t have time for this. “Please, Pearl, I’m trying to help.”

  She shook her head defiantly, raising her chin. Yes, she was a strong one. And proud. “I don’t need any help, thank you.”

  “Were you not weeping when I entered because of your husband’s mistreatment of you?”