Chapter Two
Jimryr perched on the back of Zorah’s…motorcycle, clinging tightly to the sides of her black leather vest. He’d ridden on a dragon’s back once in human form, the experience similar except for the noise, the sky versus the road, and the asshole of a dragon he’d been riding turning sharply and snickering as Jimryr tried to hold on.
Memories came crashing down. The dragon in question now lay dead with the rest of the court, the incident forgiven in favor of happier memories, like tussling in the fields, or swimming together. Wraiths from another time, with no place in this current situation.
Wind battered Jimryr’s face, as did the occasional bug, until he put down the face shield on the helmet Zorah wrestled onto his head. He kept expecting to go airborne. After a while, he reopened the shield. The wind on his face reminded him of flying. Would he get to fly here?
The other dragons on machines behind them each turned off onto other roads until only Jimryr and Zorah remained. No amount of squirming made the gray suit more comfortable.
Zorah slowed and parked beside a building with a “Clubhouse” sign on top, sliding off the machine and hopping on her left leg while dragging her right over the seat. “You know, getting off this motherfucker gets harder with every passing year.”
Motherfucker?
Jimryr didn’t have nearly the difficulty, simply sliding to the side and swinging his leg over.
“Show off,” Zorah grumbled.
Jimryr reached for his helmet, hoping he wouldn’t fumble the strap.
Zorah lifted her hands as if she planned to help.
Ah, so she’d noticed his missing fingers.
A glare backed her off. Releasing the strap one-handed might’ve taken longer but wasn’t too difficult.
Jimryr could always use his mangled hand if needed.
Zorah removed her helmet. “C’mon in. I told everybody to go on home, but there’s still some who’ll want to meet you.” Her arm muscles bulged with her effort to pull open a door that appeared to be made of some kind of metal, like the building itself. “Gotta get some WD-40 on the sumbitch.”
Sumbitch. Jimryr searched his mind for the word. Or maybe the mage forgot to add that one. Ah. Bitch. There. But what was a sumbitch? Strange place, and one more word to add to his vocabulary. Jimryr followed her inside.
Twelve or thirteen new dragons lounged on various pieces of furniture, the likes of which he’d never seen before. One appeared asleep. Oh, how Jimryr envied him.
Music filled the cavernous space, large enough for several dragons to shift in, but Jimryr saw no band.
His keen hearing led him to a couple of black boxes.
One reverberated against his hand at his touch.
Interesting. While some human concepts seemed familiar, others didn’t.
Must’ve been what the mage meant about learning what he needed to know about this world.
Zorah’s voice boomed, easily heard over the music. “Jim, this is blah-blah-blah.” She continued introductions that flew right past Jimryr until, “And the one on the end is Rick.”
“Hi, Jim!” they all chorused as one.
“Jim” would take some getting used to.
“He’s joining us,” Zorah said, “at least for a while. Y’all play nice.”
The dragons approached one by one, all betas. Had they left their home world to avoid fighting?
Each dragon leaned in for a good sniff, repeating their name. “Ace.”
“Mikey.”
“Vito.”
At least no one bore the names Sumbitch or Motherfucker.
The next dragon appeared familiar. Instead of a sniff, she grabbed Jimryr by the collar, yanking his body against hers and planting her mouth forcefully against his.
“Ummpphh!” Her mouth tasted of strong drink, similar to some stuff Mystral brewed when no other choices existed—which explained a lot. He’d dealt with intoxicated dragons before, though it was an astonishing feat for a dragon—drinking faster than their metabolism could offset.
“Fen! How the hell did you get in here?” Zorah asked, pulling the woman back by one shoulder.
Fen released Jimryr, grinning. “This lot? This late at night? They never even noticed me slip in. Thought I’d been here all night.” She turned her attention back to Jimryr, now a bit wobbly on her feet. “Anyway, hey there, handsome. How do you feel about threesomes or moresomes?”
She stepped back while some of the other dragons came near like the others did, minus the kiss. Fen extended her arms. Two of the men latched on. She led them out into the night, calling, “Don’t wait up!”
Zorah tutted. “That woman, I swear. Good thing she’s with Dallas. He’ll make sure she gets home all right.”
Dallas? Had Jimryr met a Dallas? Was he really Jimryr anymore? In the human world, do as humans do. Jim. He’d be Jim. No, in his own mind, he’d always be Jimryr no matter what anyone else called him. His name was all he had left of his former life.
Zorah addressed Ace and Mikey. “Newbie here’s gonna need supplies and clothes. See what we got in the back. He’s staying with me for the time being.” She waited until they left to ask Jimryr, “Want a beer?”
“I’m not sure what a beer is, but I’m game.”
Zorah grinned, revealing a crooked front tooth.
“A human invention. One of my favorites. Kinda like ale, I suppose.” She opened a door and pulled out two bottles.
Jim stared at the cap, not like any cork he’d ever seen.
Zorah took the bottle back, gave the not-cork a twist, then handed Jimryr the opened bottle.
He sniffed the contents. Not too bad. He took a sip. Then another. Whatever lurked behind the door kept the beer colder than a mountain stream.
Zorah slapped him on the back. “See? I knew you’d like it.”
The others returned after Jimryr and Zorah finished their beers, carrying two boxes.
"Take a box," Zorah ordered, "and come on." Ace held the back door open for them to pass. “My place ain’t far. We can walk. And don’t get no ideas ‘cause we’re sharing a place. I’m taken.”
Orbs shone from poles spaced at even intervals, lighting their way. Zorah strode down a wooded path, arms laden with who knew what. The last few hours had passed in a blur. “Now, it’s not much, but it’s a roof over your head. How did you get here, anyhow?”
“I’m not sure. One moment I was fighting, and the next a mage opened a portal for an injured dragon. I got caught in the spell.”
“An injured dragon, you say? Know where it is? If they need help—”
“The mage took care of him.” Or so Jimryr hoped.
Zorah chuckled. “Left you to fend for yourself, did he, Jim? That’s a mage for you.
Not to worry. One of our elders can sense new dragons and led us to you.
They didn’t sense the other you spoke of, so the mage might have them shielded.
Mages can be contrary like that.” Her words didn’t exactly ring true, but what cause had she to lie?
They arrived at the back of an unassuming house on a street with many similar dwellings. How did people tell them apart? Jimryr followed Zorah inside.
“Like I said, it ain’t much.” Zorah touched something to cause light—a light switch—and deposited her burden on a settee.
Or was that a couch? “You’re welcome to share with me until you get your feet under you.
Most new dragons do. It’s also a way to make sure you get oriented.
The first trip to the human world can be a doozy. Um…this is your first trip, ain’t it?”
“Yes.” Jimryr’s court had been too small to warrant a mage gifted enough to make portals.
Zorah waved a beckoning hand. “Well, don’t just stand there; come into the kitchen. You got to be hungry.”
Jimryr’s stomach growled on cue.
Zorah chuckled. “Thought so. I’ll put you together a sammich or two. We can talk while we eat. Sweet tea? I’m warning you, it’s not the warm stuff you prob’ly drink back home. We drink it on ice here, with lots of sugar.”
Sugar? Was that something like honey? Jimryr’s brain supplied, Yeah, something like that.
Zorah bustled around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors and the door to a cold place where she stored food, similar to the one she’d gotten the beer from. Was there more beer? Jimryr could get used to beer.
“That’s the fridge,” Zorah explained. “Me and the others’ll teach you what you need to know.
There’s no test and you don’t need to know everything at once.
Hell, Ace’s been in Terra longer than any of us and still doesn’t know shit, bless his heart.
Learning a new realm takes time. Now, sit at the counter and let’s eat. ”
Zorah placed two plates on the counter and settled beside him on a tall stool, glancing down at Jimryr’s left hand. He promptly slid the mangled appendage under the counter out of sight.
“What happened to your hand? Feel free to tell me to mind my own fucking business if you want to. Everybody else does. Not that I listen.”
“A fight.” He wouldn’t share specifics about the asshole who’d enlisted friends to hold him down while giving him a handicap in any future fights. He replaced his hand on the countertop—a hand missing all four fingers. Only the thumb remained.
Zorah let out a low whistle. “That’s one hell of a thing. That affect your dragon any?”
“No claws.” Jim flexed his hand. “I’ve learned to fight well enough without them.” Well enough to make the asshole’s two friends a cautionary tale.
“I hope you killed the bastard who done maimed you.” Her not treating him with pity won her respect in his eyes.
“I’ve already checked that off my to-do list.”
Zorah smacked Jimryr on the shoulder. “Damn. I’da helped you if you wanted, held the bastard down or cheered you from the sidelines. I’d let you pick.”
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to dislike Zorah. Probably the reason she’d become leader here. Then again, he hadn’t met any other alphas since arriving. Even the mage had been beta.
Not sensing any threats, Jimryr’s dragon lay quietly inside of him, waiting to be summoned forth.