American Dragons series Box Set Read online

  Table of Contents

  Summary

  Shadow Alley Press Mailing List

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cheyenne Magic | Summary

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Montana Firestorm | Summary

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Books, Mailing List, and Reviews

  Books by Shadow Alley Press

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  Copyright

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Summary

  Gather an escort. Acquire a dragon hoard. Build an empire...

  STEVEN WHIPP, A NORMAL, poor college student, is kissed and shot on the night of his twentieth birthday. He realizes three things: he’s bulletproof, he’s a dragon, and everything he’s ever wanted is within his reach. But the attempts on his life are just the beginning of his troubles.

  Steven is a Dragonsoul—a magical race of beings who have thrived, hidden from the eyes of humans, in control of the world. And not just any Dragonsoul, but the last in a long line of Arch-Sorcerers, thought long dead. Now he is being hunted, and he must unlock his powers through battle and sex or ancient forces and old feuds will destroy him and all he loves.

  From the author of the LitRPG epic War God’s Mantle comes a brand new Pulp Harem Adventure!

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  Chapter One

  IT WAS GOING TO BE one of those nights at the Coffee Clutch. You’d think midnight in a Denver coffee shop would be pretty chill, and it was most of the time. But then things can get weird on the night before a guy’s twentieth birthday.

  Steven Whipp grabbed the mop out of the cleaning closet just as Bud came in and kicked the water bucket. “Oops,” Bud sneered. “I just gave you more to mop up. Gotta earn that minimum wage, Cool Whipp.”

  Steven tried to ignore the guy. What was the point of getting in a fight and losing his job over some bully messing with him? The cleaning company job was the one job that Steven actually liked. His other two jobs—shelving books at the Denver Metro University’s library and working in the cafeteria—were stupidly boring. Besides, there was no Tessa Ross there to make them bearable.

  Bud swaggered back to the employee lockers to grab his jacket and backpack. He’d leave early and let Tessa close down the latte machines and other equipment. It was unfair to Tessa, but Steven could relax once the jerk-off left.

  Steven maneuvered the rolling bucket and mop out of the cleaning closet and into the main area of the coffee shop. Chairs crowned the tables, and while the bright overhead lights had been turned off, the neon signs cast a multicolored light like a buzzing rainbow. Tessa cleaned behind the bar, wiping off the machines with a rag and listening to music on her phone through one earbud. The other dangled free.

  Even late on a Wednesday night, traffic still moved down Broadway in a parade of lights.

  Before Steven started mopping, he inhaled and smelled the sweetly bitter coffee and Tessa’s perfume. He so wanted to tell her how he felt about her, but she was light-years out of his league.

  She was a hipster chick—tattoos, piercings, and one side of her dark hair shaved. She dressed in black and wasn’t afraid of showing a vast valley of pale cleavage. She was a thicker girl, but Steven didn’t mind a bit. He liked women with hips. While Tessa was ultra-cool and listened to music he’d never heard of, Steven was just an everyday average normal guy—medium height, medium weight, medium everything. He did like his hair, though, which was thick and inky. That was all he had going for him. He was too busy dealing with three jobs and working his way to a bachelor’s degree to be cool. He’d never be able to afford even a single tattoo. He wasn’t exactly shy, but he wasn’t all that outgoing either.

  He splashed the mop down and started in the far corner by the door. If he timed it right, he’d get to the coffee bar right when Tessa finished. On good nights, she’d stay, and they’d talk. On bad nights, she’d leave to hook up with someone, guy or girl. Tessa was pansexual and proud of it. On those nights, Steven wanted to burn the entire city down out of mad jealousy.

  Bud walked out of the back room wearing what he called his extroverted bomber jacket and sunglasses, even though it was past midnight. He tossed Tessa a look and then did what he normally did. He pointed to a spot and said, “Hey, Cool Whipp, you missed a spot.”

  He laughed at his own joke. Instead of leaving, he paused. “What kind of a name is Whipp anyway?”

  Steven felt Tessa watching them. He wanted to shove Bud, or come up with a snappy comeback, but his head was blank. Truthfully, he didn’t much like his last name either.

  “It’s a name,” Steven said. “Just leave, Bud.”

  The guy smirked. “That’s the thing. You can’t tell me what to do. You’re just the cleaning guy. Tes
sa and I are baristas. We’re important. You’re not. We’re the lords, and you’re the servant, Cool Whipp.”

  Steven could picture himself slapping Bud across the face with the mop, but then Bud would contact the owners of the Coffee Clutch and there went that job. He’d have to spend a fortune on coffee just to spend time with Tessa.

  He slapped the mop onto the floor. “Sure, Bud. I get it.”

  Bully Bud laughed, unlocked the door, and went out into the night.

  Tessa returned to cleaning. Steven made his way across the floor, hating himself for being such a punk. The fact was, he didn’t feel like a servant. He didn’t think he’d be smelling like disinfectant when he was in his fifties, unlike his mom, who worked as a cleaner at the Denver airport. He knew that at some point, things would change. But when?

  He had the floor shining when he reached Tessa, who sat on the counter, so he could get to the coffee stains and cast-off grounds on the tile floor.

  He glanced up and saw she was watching him.

  “He’s wrong,” Steven said suddenly. Well, that was certainly off script. He always let Tessa talk first. He didn’t want to be the douche who talked her ears off.

  “I know he is,” Tessa said. “But come on, at some point, you are going to have to stand up to him. He messes with you because he can get away with it.”

  Steven leaned on his mop and dared to look into her face. She had a nose piercing and hazel eyes that changed color. Sometimes they were greener, and sometimes they were bluer, and sometimes they were even a brownish color. She obviously dyed her hair black, and he liked the combination. Always had. Dark hair with blue or green eyes was striking. There was a foreign exchange student at Metro University from India named Aria who had similar features. Steven thought Aria might be a model because she was kill-me-slow gorgeous. She sometimes studied in the coffee shop. She loved the caramel lattes there.

  Yeah, the caramel lattes were good. Behind Tessa, the specials of the day, latte this, frap that, were written in her distinctive handwriting, full of loops and character. She’d also added little flourishes—cartoons of happy cups of coffee promising sweetness and caffeine.

  “Guys like Bud don’t matter in the long run,” Steven said. “So what if he bullies me? I have a ton of stuff I want to do in this life, and I’m not going to let dicks like that get to me.”

  Tessa grinned at him. It was warm and welcoming. “What kind of stuff are you going to do?”

  Steven felt a blush warm his face. “I have no idea. But ... can I be honest with you?”

  Tessa glanced at one of the many watches on her left wrist along with a bunch of brass bangles and plastic bracelets. “It’s after midnight, early on a Thursday morning. If you can’t be honest with me now, then when?”

  Steven felt the fear in his belly like cold water. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He was going to push forward and tell her something he’d never told anyone before in his entire life. And yet, every second of every moment he had felt it. “Tessa, this is going to sound stupid, but I feel like I’m going to do something great. It’s just a feeling ... I mean, I have no evidence to support it. I grew up in Thornton, I got Bs in school, and I knew I wasn’t going to go to any big university. Hell, I’m lucky to be going to Metro. But at some point, something is going to happen, and it’s going to make my entire life make sense.”

  He watched as the smile dimmed on her face. Her eyes went far away, and a hush filled the coffee shop. A car outside honked a horn and another car roared past on the street.

  What was that look about? Why wasn’t she saying anything? Steven had no idea. There was no way he could ask. He got the mop wet, swirled it into the wringer, drove the handle hard to wring it out, and then started on the floor behind the coffee bar. He’d been so stupid to open up like that. She must think he was such a moron.

  He concentrated on wiping away the coffee grime and footprints from the day. In a few short hours he’d be twenty years old officially. According to his mom, he’d been born at exactly 6:16 a.m. But then, sometimes his mom said she’d brought him home at 6:16 a.m. His mom was a bit spacy even on her best days, so he had no idea what time he’d been born. And it was odd how she talked about it. Spacy and odd, that was his mother.

  Why wasn’t Tessa saying anything? Finally, he had to break the silence. “You know, today is my birthday. And maybe the big grand something that is going to happen will happen because of my superior mopping skills.”

  “You do mop well,” Tessa finally said.

  He risked glancing at her face. Instead of a smirk or sneer or any kind of disgust, he saw tears sparkling in her eyes.

  Damn. Her silence was one thing, but tears were a whole other animal, a species he had no idea how to handle. It was time to try and back out of the trouble he’d got himself into. “Well, Tessa, you know, I bet most people think that they’re special. Isn’t that the point of humanitarianism? We’re all special humans living special lives, when in fact we’re just ants.”

  Tessa jumped off the counter, landing her trendy knee-high boots squarely onto the area he’d just mopped.

  “Don’t,” she said viciously. “Don’t do that.” She grabbed his arm.

  He found himself staring into her face. “Don’t mop? You know, Mr. Slocum pays the Broadway Cleaners Incorporated like five hundred dollars a week to keep his coffee shop. Not to brag, but I get like five percent of that. A night. Cha-ching.”

  Tessa didn’t smile, and those tears never left her eyes. “Don’t do that either,” she said. “Don’t shit on your truth by avoiding it or by trying to be funny.”

  “Trying and failing,” Steven murmured. “Obviously.”

  Tessa must’ve realized she had lost control of herself because she let go of his arm and stepped back. “Maybe we’re all ants. Maybe nothing matters. But Steven, you work your ass off. You’ll get home around two, but you have your cafeteria job at nine. You do that, then ace your classes, before you go to the library.”

  It was a shock that she knew his schedule as well as she did. Steven wisely stayed quiet.

  She kept on talking, passion in her voice. “You’re at least trying to make something of yourself. Me? I have this crappy job, and I write my crappy poetry and practice my crappy calligraphy, and that’s my life. That’s probably going to be my life for the duration. And yet ...” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve felt it too. On some nights, when I’m alone in my room, I know that someday, I’m going to rise above all this. For me, though, it’s wishful thinking ... For you ...”

  Steven couldn’t stare into her eyes. They were too intense, too pretty. He slopped the mop back into the bucket.

  “You’re doing stuff to make your dreams come true,” Tessa finished. “Unlike me.”

  “Give me a break, Tessa. You go out. You have boyfriends and girlfriends and you go dancing and you take care of your brother and you do stuff too. Yeah, I’m going to college, but you could too. I could help—”

  Tessa flung out a hand. “It’s all so empty, all that sex, and the newness wears off, and I’m with some hipster and his beard and there’s nothing there. Yes, I have friends, and I love my family, especially my brother, but if some great thing is going to happen to us, we’re going to have to work for it. You’re doing that.” She paused. “I’m not.”

  For a second, Steven thought about trying to argue against everything she’d just said. He thought about telling her he’d been in love with her for months. But then, he knew the friend zone well. And with someone like Tessa? It wasn’t just a zone, it was a dungeon, and she’d thrown him into the friend dungeon long ago and thrown away the key. No way would she ever go for him.

  Yet, she knew his schedule. She admired him for some strange reason even though he let Bud walk all over him. Could he escape the dungeon and into her heart?

  He was about to say something when a guy in a lizard mask covering his entire head charged through the front door. In his hand was a black pistol. />
  Fuck! Bud hadn’t locked the front door on his way out.

  “Take the cash!” Tessa yelped in fear.

  No, this guy hadn’t just busted in to rob the place. Something about him, something about the way he moved, how he held the gun, and how his weird red eyes fixed on Steven said that he hadn’t come for the money.

  He raised the gun. He didn’t aim for Steven, though. He fired at Tessa.

  Chapter Two

  STEVEN DIDN’T EVEN pause to consider what to do. It was like every single movie he’d ever watched had taught him exactly what to do at that moment.

  He flung his arms up and lunged in front of the bullet. He felt the punch of lead striking his chest and knocking him back. He wasn’t dead yet, good. He didn’t feel like he was bleeding, but he must’ve been.

  “Tessa, get to the back room and call the police!” Steven whirled, grabbed his mop, and leapt over the counter. The guy in the lizard mask fired again. Steven dodged to the side on instinct. His heart hammered, and adrenaline gushed into his system, making it hard to think even as his senses came alive in a way he’d never known before. He could smell the guy’s leather coat, the cleaner on the floor, the gun metal oil, even the exhaust of cars outside. Every detail screamed at him.

  Another bullet hit him, this time in the arm, and it hurt, but that pain felt distant. He had to keep Tessa safe, and he had to get that gun away from the psycho. Why wear a mask that covered your entire head? It was green, scaly, and so realistic looking. He must’ve been a makeup artist since the mask melded seamlessly with the guy’s face. His eyes were crimson and slitted horizontally like a serpent’s. He must’ve bought cosplay contact lenses at a comic con to alter his eyes like that.

  “There’s a guy with a gun!” Tessa’s panicked voice screamed from the back room. “He shot my friend. Please, get here quick!” That would be the 911 call.

  Steven slammed the mop into the lizard mask. The gunman was driven back into a table. The stacked chairs came tumbling down in a crash of noise. Steven lowered his shoulder and drove it into the guy. He tripped back over the chair and went down. The pistol went sliding across the floor.