Past drafts gone in a puff! Or, with the magic delete button. If I were an angsty writer of a past century, the pages would have been burned. I know an author who actually did burn his first draft, but that’s his story to tell, and it’s a good one.
I’ve been doing a lot of purging this month, getting ready for a big disruption in my life, so why not purge my drafts and give you my latest…
Enjoy meeting Onyx, who has the honor of opening my story… his story.
March 27, 2025
The Dragon
Onyx – Deep Inside Ben Shiel, Western Scottish Highlands, UK – Late June
In the mountain’s dim recesses, a dragon lay coiled in slumber on a granite shelf, snorting smoke rings at invisible foes. His fiery exhales turned to steam in the damp air, sending ashy tendrils writhing around his fearsome spikes before dissipating like miniature storm clouds.
His eyelids fluttered, one popping open to reveal a midnight blue iris flashing off a bank of dazzling quartz crystals before shutting again. His nostrils flared as if scenting danger.
It wasn’t just his face in motion. The dragon’s great wing jerked before his hind leg pumped the air. The vigorous movements sent scree tumbling off the edge and clattering into icy pools far below, inciting twittering protests from the deeper, more secretive inhabitants.
These disturbances did not trouble Ben Shiel. Upheavals were a constant in the mountain’s life, caused by forces more relentless than his winged friend. On the contrary, the dragon’s visits were comforting and far too rare. It was unusual for Michael Elliott, the mountain’s steward, to shift into dragon form and withdraw, allowing the beast an independent physical existence.
And so Onyx, the mighty dragon, as black as his name implied, slept in the cradle of the mountain and dreamed…
###
Michael, watch out!
“Onyx?” Michael inquired mildly through our bond as he straightened from his inspection.
My human should have been alarmed by my voice and ready when the silent missile, whizzing out of the trees, burrowed into his neck. The charge tore agonizingly through every nerve in his body. I knew this—remembered it. But I didn’t feel it. Why?
The rift. We were in Alaska during the Anurashin conflict. Another dream?
Panic gripped my heart, but the vision would not release me. I was inside Michael, watching as he went from stooping over the dead caribou he was examining to planting face-first in the bloody snow without the slightest awareness to stop his fall. Not a single muscle on the powerful shifter even had time to twitch.
The carcass must have distracted me, the blood and exposed flesh stirring my hunger—a foolish mistake when Michael’s physical body was in control.
A Great Horned Owl toppled out of a spruce tree, landing beside us—shot by another bolt before he could take flight. Michael would be frantic if he knew his friend had fallen, worrying more for Ozzy than himself.
My voice sounded feeble even to me as I called out to my human host. My frustration turned to icy horror when a barely perceptible pop signaled the worst thing imaginable, and the tether binding our souls began to unravel. This time, the pain felt real as I shattered into a thousand pieces and began swirling inside a vortex, like a barrow full of leaves picked up and carried by the wind. Once again, death by separation threatened us both.
I reassembled in a place devoid of substance. Yet, I hadn’t vanished completely, and my senses remained intact, as evidenced by the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow.
“What do we do with the owl?” said a woman, her voice tight with apprehension. “I acted on orders without thinking.”
A man replied in a tone no less grim. “We’ll claim we killed the spy. Hopefully, the owl will recover from the human dose and find his way back to the pack.”
“If Airzoih…”
“Welcome to the deadly game I’ve been playing, little sister.”
The siblings lifted my human, propping him between them as a cool misty force coalesced around us. A single step into the charged haze transported us from the Alaskan wilderness to a damp, echoing space that smelled of the sea. After stripping Michael of his clothes and securing him to a rough-hewn bench, the pair retreated into their mist. A day passed in silent darkness, Michael unconscious for most of it.
Before he came to, the brother returned, but not in human form. I recognized his scent and something more. Snorting breaths, shuffling wings, and a massive, spiny tail scraping against stone. The scent picture was complete. This was the dragon who’d been spying on us for weeks, the reason we were investigating the caribou. His shallow breathing sounded from the recesses as he settled in to wait.
Michael came awake, heart pounding, his agony raging as his body fought to heal. Without our bond, he wasn’t repairing as he should. But he was an alpha. It would take more than debilitating pain to keep him from assessing his situation. Just as he spotted the ruby-red dragon in the shadows, the beast transformed in a shower of crackling energy, the bolts illuminating the cavern in strobe-like flashes before the shadows fell back into place.
A man stepped into the thin light provided by a small crevice, struck a flint against the wall by the cell doors, and lit a torch. The shadows receded, and we got our first look at the enemy. Dark blonde hair swept back from a face like that in a Greek fresco. His lavender eyes were shadowed with weary conflict. A man forced too long to act against his nature.
Your dragon was stolen, Michael Elliott, by Prince Airzoih’s illegal magic. I can only imagine the pain you’re in. He means to kill you after toying with you. You need to convince me to stop him.”
“And who are you?” Michael rasped between parched lips.
“There’s water above you.” The man said, gesturing to a dripping straw-sized bamboo shoot jutting from a larger bamboo pipe near Michael’s head. Michael drank—and drank some more—until his stomach heaved, and he spewed half of the water back out.
“It’s mostly desalinated. You’ll be fine. To answer your question. I’m the only reasonable offspring Airzoih spawned.”
“Where are we?”
“Far from your pack, Alpha.”
“You’re the dragon spy.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to the owl?”
“I’m afraid he got zapped too. I don’t think he fared well.”
Michael swallowed down the news, tucking it away for later.
“How does the prince benefit from targeting me?”
“Airzoih wants us to eliminate dragon shifters so that his hybrid army reigns supreme,” the man replied, glibly divulging his sire’s plans. “You’re our initiation.” Derision entered his relaxed tone. “Degrading a powerful alpha will prove we’re a success—one he can glorify while he weakens the opposition.”
“How does he have children who can summon a dragon?”
“Our mother is Fiona McIver.” Michael jolted at the news.
“We lost Fiona in the Fae War,” he ground out. “I saw her go down.” He referred to a war long over but never forgotten.
“All part of my father’s plan, and one reason he aligned himself with the opposing coven. It’s the witches’ dark potion that incapacitates you and suppresses your dragon. Fiona’s, too.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I want your help to save my mother…”
A purple mist came to life in the center of the cavern, interrupting him. When it cleared, four dragons loomed large. The beasts snapped and snarled at each other for space until, one by one, they changed into three men and a woman. They bore a striking resemblance to the one who’d been bargaining with Michael, and they glared their greetings to each other with the same astonishing, lavender eyes. I recognized the woman’s scent from the forest.
When she caught sight of Michael, her expression turned feral, and she sauntered toward his crudely assembled cage. “You don’t look so legendary, Alpha of the Fire Star Pack,” she said, eyes gleaming a deeper violet. She gazed at Michael’s form like a predator, passing her tongue over her lips. Michael’s body reacted, his skin prickling with heat despite his pain receptors still firing like rockets.
“Fiona told us stories about you and Onyx when we were children,” she purred. “Do you miss him? Is it painful? Fiona still cries for Nangelica. It’s hard to imagine such a deep wound in my soul since my dragon is just a façade. Heizan says the separation is tearing our mother apart.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “Fiona can still kick my father’s ass if he fails to take the proper precautions. I wonder how strong you are without your dragon’s spirit
“That’s enough, Halil,” Heizan said under his breath. He didn’t seem interested in drawing the other siblings’ attention, leaving them to their mumbled discussion in a dark corner.
Despite the woman’s practiced posturing, I sensed a battle waging in her. It surprised her. But it was Michael who astonished me when she failed to offend him, not because he was indifferent. He saw beyond her contempt, recognized something in those amethyst windows to her soul that touched a place few had reached. It only made him look closer.
…
By D. L. Lewellyn 