Chapter Three
Coffee, Tea, and More served the best pastries, worth chasing down every crumb.
Jules sat at his favorite table in front of his favorite coffee shop.
People came and went, passing without so much as a glance.
Rich coffee and bakery scents wafted from the door each time someone entered or exited the shop.
He’d even bought the pumpkin spice latte the barista recommended.
Not bad, but it would never be a favorite.
Fake pumpkins sat on each table, while small pieces of tape plastered construction paper leaves to the windows.
His housekeeper told him all about Halloween when bringing Jules candies after finding out he didn’t get to take part in trick-or-treating.
She also slipped him small packages at Christmas.
He’d looked up the holidays in the university library the moment he’d gotten a chance.
Other holidays—more things he missed out on.
Humans seemed to bond over their holidays, getting friends together for parties or to exchange gifts.
Wearing festive clothing. Families enjoying meals together.
Everyone shouting, “Merry Christmas” or “Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
” made him feel more alone, like they all belonged to some secret club he’d not been invited to.
A woman he recognized from one of his classes strolled by in an orange sweater emblazoned with a black cat on the front.
College students on the sidewalk joked freely with each other, while couples strolled by holding hands or gazing at each other with pure adoration in their eyes. Would Jules ever experience such companionship himself?
The tall building under construction down the street caught his eye, or more specifically, a man sitting on a girder, looking out over the city. How great it must be, wind ruffling his hair, the closest one could get to flying while in human form.
What Jules wouldn’t give to travel to the mountains alone this weekend, find some secluded spot, and spread his wings.
Moira and Radomir would never allow such a trip.
Just as they’d forbidden him from making close friends, human or otherwise.
Jules had met a few others he suspected of being dragons over the years, but thanks to spells maintained by Moira, they couldn’t sense him.
Which meant he also couldn’t sense them and only knew they were dragons if his guardians said so or they gave themselves away in some other fashion, like a phrase, or a very dragon-like gesture, such as cocking their heads at a certain angle.
Dragons in the human world could be criminals hiding from their courts! Moira said often enough.
To which Jules usually grumbled, We’re not. Or is there something you need to tell me?
Radomir always snickered. Moira glared.
Even if other dragons could sense Jules enough to interact, destiny doomed them to a temporary relationship.
Destiny awaited. He’d heard so much about destiny that he wouldn’t have been surprised if it appeared as a living entity, settling down at the table to share his evening meal, saying, Okay, kid.
Here’s what you gotta do. No fun, no self-expression, live every moment for someone you’ve never met and likely never will.
Not entirely fair. A mysterious brother fought somewhere in the dragon world to reunite their court.
Jules knew his part. He would join with a mate chosen for him and receive the Goddess’s blessing, as all royal families did, or so he’d been told.
Then he’d help his mate restore another broken court in allegiance with Donovan’s.
He refused to believe the brother he didn’t remember might be dead, like their parents. He’d so little left to cling to.
While Moira and Radomir fretted, Jules attended university classes, trying his best to behave like any twenty-something human.
An engineering degree would prove worthless in the end.
Instead of calculating distances and materials for the high-rise being built, he’d have to wait hand and foot on some arrogant overgrown lizard who’d been fortunate enough to be born an alpha, and perhaps wishing dragons didn’t live so long.
Or so Jules had been told at Moira’s last contact with the dragon world. There’d been no word for years now, and all attempts to get a message through failed, as though someone had closed the door between Terra and Adrakus.
So he waited, as he’d done most of his life, to return to a world he couldn’t recall and a destiny he didn’t want.
He watched the man on the high-rise for a while until other construction workers joined him and they resumed whatever they did up there.
Jules sighed. Time to get back to class. He discarded the croissant wrapper and empty coffee cup into the recycling bin, shouldered his backpack, and after one last look at the man on the steel girder, headed back to campus.
Jules left campus later than usual, hunkering down into his fleece hoodie.
That’s what he got for immersing himself in the library.
Or, more specifically, a chatroom on the library’s computer.
Moira and Radomir constantly stressed the dangers of revealing himself to other dragons, but he could talk anonymously for hours as drgnboi629 to some who might or might not be his peers, or humans who wandered into the group thinking they’d found a role-playing site.
Dungeons and Dragons? Really? All the dragons Jules had heard of back home did their best to stay out of dungeons.
Caves? Yes. Dungeons? No.
His loneliness eased for a few hours, even if most participants on the chat weren’t really dragons. As the path to this world had centered on specific areas, or so Moira said, dragons often settled around Asheville, but others ventured to faraway lands.
He slung his backpack over his shoulder and ambled outside and down the nearly empty sidewalk. His guardians would fret about the late hour. Cutting through the alleyway would get him home sooner.
A noise drew his attention upward. Two guys in dark hoodies bore down on him out of the shadows into the light of a single dim streetlight.
His inner dragon went on high alert. Not good.
Jules whirled. Two more approached from behind. They strode purposefully toward him, cockiness in their gait, and hoods pulled up to hide most of their faces. Men used to bullying others and getting their way through strength or numbers.
Why weren’t you paying attention?
Jules swallowed hard, not quite managing to dislodge the lump forming in his throat. The men didn’t look about to ask for directions. Others had warned him to stay on the sidewalks at night. If allowed to shift, he could quickly dispose of any threats. Now….
He whipped his head to the right and left.
No escape. No help. His bookbag might work as a weapon, but not against four men who’d likely been in many more actual fights than he had, a whopping total of none.
Unless he used his dragon abilities, he could take one, maybe two. Four at once? Highly unlikely.
On the plus side, the encounter could test all of Radomir’s lessons. Jules backed up, bumping into the other two men. A quick elbow to the ribs, duck under a punch thrown by another…Once Jules got away, they’d never match him for speed.
One man grabbed Jules’s biceps from behind, holding him in place. “What you got in that book bag, college boy? Got a laptop? A cellphone?”
Jules tried to appear as the innocent weakling they probably figured him for. Use their underestimation of you as another weapon in your arsenal, Radomir had said.
“I…I don’t have those things.” Why have a cellphone with no one to call?
Jules kept perfectly still. Let them underestimate him.
He’d catch them off guard. First, the two behind him, then the two in front.
These bullies likely expected a passive victim, not an attack.
Any street-fighting experience couldn't compare to his formal training.
“He’s lying,” another of the four said. He stood taller than the other three, clenching and unclenching his fists.
A tattoo on his hand and a ragged scar across his jaw made him look more sinister.
He got into Jules’s face, so close his rank breath induced an involuntary wince.
Old booze and cigarette smoke. The man likely interpreted the flinch as fear.
Alcohol and cigarettes took a toll. For all his size, Scarred Gang Banger probably wasn’t the fittest man here.
Jules kept his voice meek, his gaze downcast, appearing demure while studying any telltale body language.
Even the best of fighters had their weaknesses.
“I…I’m not lying. All I have are textbooks and a few notebooks.
You can have it all.” Jules slipped the pack from his back, yanking away from the hands holding his arms. He’d rather talk his way out of a situation than fight, as Radomir had taught him.
Fighting might give away more than he intended.
But Jules had reasons to learn to fight.
Just in case, he inched his fingers toward an exterior pocket, where he kept insurance.
If only he could partially shift, turning his fingers into claws and letting his lovely scales creep up his hands, adding a layer of protection. Maybe these assholes would take the bag and leave.
Mr. Tattoo grabbed Jules by the throat, deciding the matter between fight and flight, flinging the backpack away.
No! “I’m thinking you’re more interesting than anything in the bag.
” He lowered his voice to something he might think seductive, but that made Jules’s blood run cold.
“Pretty little thing like you. Come on, baby, give us a kiss.”
Bile rose in Jules’s throat. His dragon rose, demanding release. He’d rend these attackers to their bones! A growl escaped Jules’s throat.