Join us for the World of Wakanda virtual panel on July 17th, 2021 at 1pm EST! Information in the flyer above.
Archives for : kyoko m
Join us Friday, June 18th, 2021 at 7pm for the virtual panel at Subsume: “What is Wakanda?” Featuring yours truly, Linda D. Addison, Jesse J. Holland, and Glenn Parris, contributing authors to Marvel’s Black Panther: Tales of Wakanda.
Join me and other authors from the Black Panther: Tales of Wakanda anthology as we discuss the glory of Wakanda on April 30th, 2021 at 6pm. Use the QR code in the poster to register or go here to read more and find out how to join us: https://blacksci-fi.com/on-the-blerdar-black-panther-tales-of-wakanda-panel-discussion/
See you there~!
Update 5/10/21: The entire panel is now available to enjoy on Youtube for free!
Want to know more about the Black Panther: Tales of Wakanda anthology, featuring a story from yours truly? Watch the following Con-Tinual panel!
“What’s it like being a self-published author?”
So. 2020, amirite?
The most that I can say is at least we’re still here. I know that these annual posts recap 2019 through the current date, but woof. It’s hard to for me not to talk about the first half of 2020 while discussing the time between now and my sixth year post. And hell, we thought 2019 sucked. We had no idea, did we?
Sadly, thanks to the pandemic, I don’t have a cute pic of me hugging any celebrities. 2019, as mentioned above, was an unkind year to me, same as most people. I did manage to catch up with Charlie Cox and get my Playbill to Harold Pinter’s Betrayal on Broadway signed, but Mr. Hiddleston stood me up this time around and that is a summary of 2019 and 2020 in a nutshell: me, standing outside in the freezing cold, staring at a door that won’t open, my dreams held within it. Melodramatic, but true.
Well, you’re not here for my open wounds, you’re here for what semblance of advice that I can give you, so let’s get to it, shall we? Here’s what I’ve learned in my seventh year of being published.
Expect the unexpected. I know it’s impossible, but there is a lesson to be learned here for 2020 throwing everything at us but the kitchen sink. You can’t prepare for everything, but you can learn how to adapt to an unprecedented situation. No one thought we’d end up where we are now, but in spite of that, those of us who have survived are still here and doing our best to stay afloat. No one ever wants to find out what they’re made of in a worldwide plague scenario, but it’s here and so we’ve all had to tighten our belts, toughen up, and support each other as best as we can.
This sentiment is to remind yourself to appreciate what’s in front of you, for you have no idea what’s coming. All you can do is try to build a foundation that will remain standing when the world winds up a brick and hurls it at you. You have to keep an open mind and be ready for change. Sometimes it’s voluntary change and other times it isn’t. Identify the best way to proceed and set a new course. It’s alright to mourn the things you lost along the way, but nothing kills you faster than refusing to let go. Trust me, I know that from personal experience.
Try to work by your own standards. This past year, someone started a hashtag on Twitter that was about how much published authors make and it was extremely eye-opening for many people, both those in the industry and those outside of it. Truth be told, the publishing world does not like to accurately portray itself to the rest of the world. That hashtag revealed that a lot of us are just tiny fish in the pond, desperately searching for breadcrumbs. There are far more of us who grind out books and cannot support ourselves on writing full time than the reverse, but that’s not what the publishing world wants you to think. They want the world to see us as Stephen King’s, thinking we make money hand over fist.
It’s tough to find the motivation to spend hours writing if your sales suck. That’s the hard truth of the matter. Many of us are busting our asses to make good fiction and still see little to no results. The other truth of the matter is that we’re holding ourselves to an unfair standard. We see these big names raking in the dough and try to match their sales when it’s not realistic. Sure, it would be wonderful if everyone sold millions of copies and secured movie deals with creative control, but it’s not going to happen for a majority of the writing world, both traditional and independent/self-published. That’s the cold, hard facts.
So now what do we do?
Find your spot and plant your feet.
It’s okay if you’re not making thousands of dollars a month off of your fiction. It’s wonderful if you are, but the numbers say that most of us aren’t that fortunate. Instead, focus on what you ARE able to accomplish instead. Break your goals down into something more achievable and take it a day at a time. Often what prevents us from writing or being productive is that impossible standard hovering over our heads and you have to kick it to the curb. Find goals that satisfy you and do your best to meet them as often as possible. At the end of the day, your opinion of yourself and your work is the most important, not that of everyone else’s. They aren’t in your situation, so it’s fruitless to wring your hands trying to emulate them.
Change is scary, but sometimes unavoidable. Some of you may already know, but I originally finished the first draft of my upcoming fourth novel in the Of Cinder and Bone series, Of Fury and Fangs, in early 2020.
And I hated it.
Really. I’ve never hated anything I’ve written before. It was a strange feeling for me to pick it up and slam it back down, sure that it was the worst trash to disgrace the face of the Earth.
I took some time off. I worked on my mental health and managed to get a handle on the fear and anxiety, and then consulted my writing sensei with my problem. He was thankfully able to help me reaffirm what was wrong with the book and helped me develop a strategy to fix it.
And again, that had never happened to me before.
Sure, I’ve hit walls. I’ve had long periods of not writing. But I’ve never written what I felt was a bad story, or rather, written a good story incorrectly. This time, oh yeah, I totally did. I think that the stress of the 2019 to 2020 period had gotten to me and so I was pushing myself to write when I didn’t quite have everything together. I was pushing the wrong angle, so I had to regroup and understand what was needed to fix it. At the time of this post, the revisions for the second draft are roughly half done and the book’s pre-order is live, so I’ll have everything ready by the release date.
Still, this was one of the first times I had to admit my own failure and take things back to the drawing board. It’s also a byproduct of this series being so different from The Black Parade series, which for the most part was planned from A to Z. I knew the plots, but all the things in between were genuine surprises. Of Cinder and Bone was much more off the cuff for me. The stories generate themselves out of thin air rather than being so carefully planned. It may be why I was off the mark in the original draft, but thankfully, I wasn’t so off that I had to destroy most of the book; just retool it and save some of the content for later.
What did end up taking me so long was my own stubborn refusal to admit the first draft sucked. Or, rather, to be brave enough to find a way to fix it. I definitely wanted to give up on the book at a few points, but slowly, I regained my confidence and went after it.
Naturally, most experienced writers know this is totally possible and prepare for it, but to any newbies out there, this is a terrifying feeling. It’s okay. Sometimes you just have to get it on the damn pages and then worry about fixing it later, when you have at least a teaspoon of your sanity back.
Reflect carefully and as often as possible. It’s no surprise that with the pandemic, unemployment is as high as it was during the Great Depression and everyone’s miserable, scared, and broke for the most part. As a result, pretty much across the board, everyone’s struggling to make money. My June sales were sadder than Requiem for a Dream. Well, unfortunately, writing is the same as most businesses: you have to spend money to make money. I’ve had to get awful creative in my attempts to promote Of Fury and Fangs without breaking the bank. Keep in mind, just blitzing social media with links and photos doesn’t work. Don’t believe anyone who says it does. You have to do better than that, as the average person’s ability to simply filter out advertisements on the Internet is very developed by now.
While doing so, I happened past some of my older methods of marketing and promoting, using free or low cost options like digging to find sites that let you post for free or writing guest blog posts. While time consuming, it is helpful for the overall SEO for the book in its early stages to spread the word. It’s not all about mailing lists and expensive site postings. There is value in doing the small stuff that can add up over time to get your work out there to people.
Is it a pain in the ass to produce more content like author interviews or guest blog posts? Totally. But it’s just as valid as the other methods as long as it’s allowing your further saturation. It doesn’t matter how you get yourself into a reader’s vision, just that you get there and reach them in a meaningful way.
Be good to yourself and to others as much as you can. This should be a no-brainer, but it ain’t. Especially not for me. I am my own worst enemy. Always have been, always will be. However, therapy has helped me recognize the impulses that I have to treat myself poorly and while I’m still doing it, the awareness means that I have a chance to do better.
The pandemic has made a lot of us realize that many of the things we used to do to decompress or find happiness are no longer possible. That means doing a bit of soul-searching and finding alternative ways to be at peace, or if you’re lucky, happy. It’s unfair and extremely difficult, but it’s worth doing for overall mental health. To that end, many authors have been stressed out thinking that they should be writing some magnum opus during quarantine. That’s simply not true. It’s okay to just get by. You don’t have to become some award winning author and write the next great novel. The most important thing is to keep your head above water, which does not happen if you’re constantly yelling at yourself for not writing. 2020 is ungodly stressful. If you find a way to weather the storm, go with that. It’s great if you can also help others. Give yourself a break.
After all, 2020 sure ain’t gonna do it for you.
Well, that’s all the time I have this time around. Sisyphus has got to get back to pushing her boulder up the mountain. I hope I’ll see you guys back this time next year. For God’s sake, be smart, be careful, and be diligent. Here’s to seven years.
Happy New Year, everyone, if I haven’t said that to you yet!
One neat thing to kick off this year is Smashwords’ new Affiliate Program. With every ebook sold using the affiliate link, you get 11% commission! I figured it would be prudent to post links in case any of my fellow authors, bloggers, or fans wanted to sign up and snag some commission money this year. Details below.
We’re just one week from the release of my all-new novel in the Of Cinder and Bone series! So let’s hit you with one final excerpt before it arrives to your digital bookshelves.
Please be warned: this is a minor spoiler for new characters and there is a bit of violence and language.
“Closing in on the compound,” Agent Shannon said as quietly as possible. It wasn’t easy. He could hear the low growling hiss slithering out of the throat of the dragon standing several feet away, hidden in the brush. She hadn’t taken her yellow eyes off him since he’d appeared. He felt her glare like razor wire raking down his skin. Calloway stood to her left, one gloved hand on the dragon’s neck, the other holding a pair of binoculars.
The building had once been a Home Depot, if the lingering orange paint on the roof was any indication. The empty parking lot had grass poking out between the cracks in the concrete and an overturned cart that had been turned into a nest, perhaps for rodents of some kind. It was in a bad part of town on a long stretch of road in the backwoods, hence why the retail store hadn’t survived in the long run. It sat on a couple acres of land as well, so it had no immediate neighbors and no houses across from it that would notice anything.
The only thing out of the ordinary was the semi-tractor-trailer parked at the loading dock behind the building.
“Four men,” Calloway said.
“They armed?” Agent Shannon asked as he opened his equipment bag.
“Looks like handguns mostly.”
“Right. Tether the dragon, will ya? Don’t want her breathing down my neck while we get ready.”
“Give her a break already,” Jack said over the comm-link. “If she hasn’t spat venom into your eyeballs by now, you’re safe.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d take a picture and get it blown up to a 24 x 36 print, then frame it on my wall.”
“Guys,” Calloway said as he set the binoculars aside. “Cool it. I know we’re all a bit tense about catching these clowns, but we need to keep focused. Where are we at with SWAT?”
Shannon checked his phone. “ETA twenty minutes. They were running short on staff this morning. We’ll maintain surveillance until they arrive—”
Before he could finish that sentence, the tractor-trailer rattled as a roar bellowed from inside it.
Two of the men came running down the ramp, shouting something at the ones standing at the top of the loading dock. Seconds later, a Highlander dragon came barreling out of the truck bed at full speed. One man had already begun sprinting across the empty parking lot; the other hastily climbed onto the loading dock and screamed for them to close themselves inside the garage. Unfortunately, the other two men got there first and locked the door on him. The dragon flapped its wings and landed on the loading dock. Its long, spiny tail lashed behind it as it crept towards the man, who drew a .9 mm Beretta and took aim at the dragon.
He fired. Both shots ricocheted. One hit the wall. The other hit his right thigh.
“Shit!” Calloway hissed, grabbing his helmet. “Shannon, we gotta go!”
“Goddammit,” Shannon complained. “I’ll get the net launcher ready. You go.”
“What’s going on?” Kamala demanded.
“Highlander dragon’s loose,” Calloway said as he raced down the grassy hill towards the loading dock. “The crew bailed. He’s got a guy pinned. I’m gonna intercept.”
The man tried to crawl away from the dragon, his injured leg trailing blood in a long smear on the concrete. The dragon clamped its jaws down on his ankle and dragged him back. The man shrieked and kicked at it with his other leg in vain.
“Highlander dragons react to loud noises,” Kamala said. “See if you can distract it.”
“Hey, Lake Placid, over here!” Calloway shouted.
The dragon dropped the man’s ankle and snapped its head in Calloway’s direction. The man tried to wriggle out of range, but the dragon hissed and he curled into the fetal position to make himself a smaller target.
“What else ya got?” Calloway asked.
“Eyes,” Jack said. “Got anything that can blind it?”
“Yeah, a flashbang.” Calloway addressed the man. “Cover your eyes!”
He pulled the pin and flung it towards the dragon. The flash grenade bounced once, twice, and then ignited. The entire parking lot flashed with blinding white light for an instant.
The dragon roared in pain and backed away from Calloway, its head whipping to and fro in panic. Its deadly tail slashed at the air around it in erratic swipes, trying to hit something, anything, now that its vision had gone out.
“Calloway!” Agent Shannon barked as he approached with the net launcher in his hands. It was about the size of an automatic rifle with a wide, open barrel. He planted his feet and aimed as his partner moved over to one side.
Just before he could pull the trigger, the door to the abandoned building flung open and the dragon smugglers opened fire.
Agent Shannon cursed and raced for the other corner of the building for cover. Calloway followed him and narrowly escaped the men’s gunfire.
“This is going great so far,” Calloway said, flattening himself against the brick as the shots continued tearing holes in the wall.
Agent Shannon handed him the net launcher and drew his gun, waiting for a pause in the gunfire. “I’ll try and take them out. If I can’t manage it, I’ll see if I can lead them away from the dragon.”
“Any chance you guys can request a chopper?” Jack asked.
“Wouldn’t do us much good. There isn’t one close enough to make a difference. We’re on our own for now.”
“I’ve contacted the incoming SWAT team,” Libby said. “They’re hauling ass now, but they’re still ten minutes out even with their sirens going to cut through traffic. Be careful.”
“No worries, little bit,” Calloway said. “We got this. If we can manage to trap it, how the hell am I going to sedate it with scales that thick?”
“Underneath the jaw is a soft spot,” Kamala said. “Inject it there.”
“Gotcha.” He glanced at Agent Shannon as they heard the telltale clicks of the smugglers’ guns going empty. “Ready?”
Shannon nodded. “Follow my lead.”
He gauntleted the Beretta in his fist and whipped around the corner, firing twice. One of the men cried out and hit the ground with a shot to the leg and another in the shoulder. The other one took cover behind the tractor-trailer. The first injured man had managed to wedge himself in a corner away from the snarling, blinded dragon.
“Listen up,” Shannon said as he pressed up against the other side of the tractor-trailer. “I’m a federal agent. Lower your weapon and come out from around the truck with your hands up. I am authorized to use lethal force if you do not cooperate. If you fire on me or my partner, you will be shot.”
“Federal agent, huh?” the remaining smuggler said, his voice heavy with a New York accent. “Killing you oughta make my rep forever, then.”
“You sure you wanna go down this road, son?”
“Hell yeah.”
The tires behind Shannon’s legs abruptly punctured and deflated as the man ducked and tried to sneak a shot. Shannon knelt and held still as the truck groaned under the weight of the trailer as it shifted to one side. The smuggler closed in on him, all but emptying the clip in hopes of hitting him through the tire. A bullet grazed Shannon’s shoulder, but he didn’t budge.
Just as the smuggler got close enough for a point blank shot, Agent Shannon grabbed the man’s wrist and jerked his arms up. He fired a single shot into the man’s temple. Blood splattered against the side of the tractor-trailer and the man crumpled to the concrete.
Agent Shannon kicked the gun away from his twitching fingers just to be safe. “Clear.”
Calloway rounded the corner with the net launcher as Shannon went to subdue the other smuggler with the two gunshot wounds. The dragon still couldn’t see, but he could tell it knew where he was, based on scent and sound. It charged him each time he tried to get a clean shot, snapping its jaws or flicking its tail in his direction, missing him by a few inches. Calloway finally got just far enough away to fire, but then the dragon spread its wings and vaulted into the air.
“Son of a bitch,” Calloway whispered. “This just went from bad to worse.”
Of Dawn and Embers is out July 20th, and don’t forget there’s a Facebook Launch Party you can attend for a chance to win a free paperback copy. Pre-order now for a special price of .99 cents. It will go up to $4.99 on July 21st, so grab while you can.
Are you ready for the next excerpt of Book Three in the Of Cinder and Bone series? Here it is! Please be mindful of spoilers for Of Cinder and Bone and Of Blood and Ashes!
CHAPTER ONE
UNTETHERED
“Jack…why is there a dragon in our backyard?”
Dr. Rhett “Jack” Jackson spit out his coffee and gaped at his pregnant girlfriend. “Wait, what?“
He pushed his chair out and stumbled to Dr. Kamala Anjali’s side. She had the curtain drawn to one side, her jaw hanging open slightly, her brown eyes wide as they beheld the mythical beast that was calmly sniffing the red snapdragons in her garden. Jack rubbed his eyes with his palms just to be safe, but there was no mistaking it. He ripped the sliding door open and padded out onto the neatly cut grass in his faded grey MIT t-shirt and black pajama bottoms.
“Pete? Is that you?” The scientist asked, of course knowing the creature wouldn’t answer, but he just couldn’t help himself.
The dragon Pete hadn’t changed much since the last time he saw her. She stood at the height of the average horse with long limbs and a muscular, streamlined body covered in leaf-green scales aside from her belly, which was a pale cream. Her wings were folded along the groove of her spine, rustling slightly as she lifted her head as he approached. She blinked large golden eyes at him and her tail lashed in the rose bushes behind her, scattering pale pink petals. Her long, sharp fangs protruded down over her lower jaw, but it was closed; she had a muzzle on. She flared her nostrils as he cautiously extended his hand towards her snout, palm flat. The dragon sniffed it and a soothing set of vibrations filled the air.
“Goddess above,” Kamala whispered as she reached Jack’s side. “It is her.”
The dragon chittered slightly in delight and nuzzled Kamala’s cheek, then blinked in confusion at her protruding belly. Kamala laughed slightly in spite of her puzzlement and rubbed the bumpy crown of the dragon’s head as she sniffed her enormous stomach. “Well, I guess introductions are in order. Pete, meet the baby. Baby, meet Pete.”
“Kam…how the hell is this possible?” Jack asked, pushing one hand into his dark brown hair. “How did she get here? How did she even find us?”
“Excellent questions,” Kamala agreed. “Which we will answer momentarily. First, we need to keep her out of sight before the neighbors start panicking. Do you think we can sneak her into the house?”
“I don’t know,” he said, scanning over their eight-foot wooden fence to see if anyone had spotted them yet. It was still early, barely past seven o’clock in the morning. Cambridge tended to wake up on the early side, as both the MIT and Harvard students and alumni would be flitting about getting ready for the day. “She’s kind of skittish about small spaces. Let’s try to get her into the garage.”
Kamala clucked her tongue. “Come along, Pete.”
She walked back inside and the dragon followed with slow, steady steps, ducking its head beneath the threshold. Pete’s forked tongue darted in and out, testing the air, as she glanced about the two-story house. The den had vaulted ceilings, so she had no trouble standing on all fours. She sniffed the couch as Jack pulled the sliding door shut and tugged the curtains together. He gave the dragon a nudge and she got moving again, following Kamala to the two-car garage. Jack’s trusty old Mazda Protégé and Kamala’s powder blue Volkswagen Beetle were already inside, but it wasn’t too cramped. Kamala led the dragon between the two cars and gently pushed on her shoulders until the creature sat on its hindlegs.
“Did anyone see us?” she asked.
“Not that I noticed, but if she flew in here, there’s got to be somebody who saw her,” Jack said, taking his phone out of his pocket and Googling dragon sightings in the last hour. He noticed quite a few hits; mainly a blurry figure or a short video of a shadow sweeping someone’s backyard. Neither he nor Kamala had any social media accounts, so he had to check to see if dragons were trending, and they were at the moment. Plenty of people were trying to prove or disprove the sightings, but no one had convincing evidence yet.
“I don’t get it. The government shut down our project almost six months ago and seized her as well as our other dragons. How could she possibly have gotten loose?”
“Dunno,” Jack said, pacing between the cars and rubbing the five o’clock shadow he hadn’t shaved off just yet. “Maybe they were transporting her somewhere and she busted out. Does she have any abrasions or injuries?”
Kamala flicked on the overhead light and examined the dragon. “No injuries, but take a look at this.”
Jack stepped next to her and peered at where her fingers rested on the dragon’s neck. He could see one of her scales had been removed, so there was just smooth pale skin beneath it. The species of dragon that Pete was, varanus lacerto, had multiple epidural layers: thick outer scales about the size of a quarter, and then a protective layer of fat over the muscle. Someone had removed the first layer by force, it appeared, and there was a small scar as if she’d been sewn up from an incision.
“Shit,” Jack muttered. “Dollars to donuts that’s where they placed a subcutaneous tracker.”
Kamala shut her eyes for a second. “Which means the bastards are on their way right now.”
“More than likely,” Jack sighed. “Dammit. Ten bucks says they’ll find some way to blame this on the two of us.”
“I’ll take that bet,” she groused, stroking the dragon’s swan-like neck. “That still doesn’t explain how the hell she found us. She’s never been anywhere aside from MIT campus. Is her sense of smell truly powerful enough to locate us from literal miles away?”
“In theory? Yeah, I guess so. She imprinted on us at birth, and dragons’ senses are sharp as hell. Even though we’re indoors, we’ve lived here for a good while, so our scent’s on everything around here by now. Still, this is insane.”
Kamala smiled a bit. “Yes. But in spite of it all, I…missed her.”
Jack rubbed the bumpy scales over Pete’s right eye and listened to her purr. “Yeah. Me too, Kam.”
The doorbell rang.
Jack shut his eyes. “And here comes trouble.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Kamala said. “Make sure they show you a bloody warrant first.”
Jack shuffled back to the door, snorting. “Like that’ll matter.”
He shut the garage door, grabbed his coffee from the dining room table, and then opened the front door.
“Morning, assholes!” Jack said brightly. “What would you like to steal from us this time?”
Two men stood on Jack’s welcome mat. The one on the left was tall, sturdy, and had brunette hair and deep frown lines with a no nonsense expression on his face. He wore sunglasses, a black suit, black tie, a white dress shirt, and polished shoes. The one on the right was slightly shorter, pudgy, and had curly brown hair and a beard. He wore a lab coat over a stained Firefly t-shirt, khakis, and sneakers.
“Climb down off that cross, Dr. Jackson,” the man on the left said, folding his sunglasses and tucking them in the pocket of his suit.
Jack stared at him and then pointedly tilted the mug enough to spill coffee on the man in black’s shoes. “Oops. Clumsy me.”
The man sighed laboriously and shook his feet. “So infantile. You know why we’re here. Where is it?”
“What?” Jack asked innocently. “Oh, your hairline? I think it’s on the back of your head.”
“The dragon,” the man snarled. “Where is the dragon?”
Jack leaned against the doorjamb and purposely slurped his coffee before answering. “Oh, I’m sorry. Have you lost one of our dragons? What a pity. It’s almost like you two chuckleheads and the rest of your department have no idea what you’re doing.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” the pudgy man insisted. “The handler was careless.”
Jack glanced at him. “You’re really not helping your case here, buddy.”
“Dr. Jackson,” the man on the left said through his teeth. “Where. Is. The. Dragon?”
Jack leaned in, pronouncing every word slowly. “Up. Your. Ass.”
The man stared at him with his dead brown eyes for a long moment before smirking. “You know, if you weren’t so high-handed and pretentious, I’d probably like you. Fine. We’ll do this by the book.”
He reached into his suit jacket and withdrew a document, slapping it against Jack’s chest. “Here’s the warrant you’re about to ask for. Not that it matters.”
He jabbed a thumb at the man beside him. “Dr. Whitmore’s got the tracker to prove the asset is within these premises. So scurry along and go get it before I call local P.D. to kick the door down.”
Jack scowled and flipped the document open, again slurping his coffee obnoxiously loud and reading it as slowly as possible. “Well, seems everything’s in order here. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see what I can do about facilitating the evidence of your complete and utter ineptitude.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” Dr. Whitmore whined, but by then, Jack had slammed the door in both their faces.
Jack returned to the garage and handed Kamala the letter. She growled and crumpled it in her small fist. “Four hours. She’s been missing for four hours according to this nonsense. They couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel.”
“Agreed,” Jack said. “But this is a fight we can’t win right now. Maybe we can use it later, but we have to turn her over to them.”
“Bastards,” she spat.
“Hey,” Jack said gently, kissing her temple. “Stress levels, remember?”
She exhaled, rubbing the top of her swollen stomach. “Right. Pete won’t go willingly. Find out if they have a tranquilizer first. I’ll administer it so she doesn’t get upset.”
“Will do, angel.”
Jack opened the front door again. “Agent Shannon, I assume you have something that can subdue the dragon.”
“Yes,” he said. “What about it?”
“Mind handing it over? I’m pretty sure she’ll rip your face off if she sees you coming at her with one.”
Agent Shannon lifted a thick eyebrow. “You want me to hand you a tranquilizer gun? So you can knock me out and take the asset and run?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Actually, I don’t want your big, ugly body on my driveway. You’ll scare my neighbors and cause the property value to plummet.”
Agent Shannon sucked his teeth and glanced at Dr. Whitmore. “Doc?”
“He’s right. The dragon is, uh, rather averse to your presence. It’s imprinted on the two of them and should allow them to inject it.”
The government agent gave Jack a long stare before walking over to the large unmarked truck with a long, metal trailer attached. He unlocked it and pulled out a silver briefcase. He popped it open and withdrew a tranquilizer gun.
“Any funny business,” Agent Shannon said, slapping it into Jack’s hand. “I take you down.”
Jack smiled. “Yeah, because that worked so well last time.”
Agent Shannon sneered. “It was a cheap shot, Jackson. Want to try me again when I’m paying attention?”
“No, I think I’ll just let you live with the shame of knowing a civilian put you on your ass.” Jack slammed the door shut a second time and headed into the garage.
Kamala took the tranquilizer gun and gave it a detailed once over, checking that the dosage looked correct and would subdue the dragon. She sighed and pressed her forehead to the dragon’s, her voice slightly hoarse. “I am so sorry, meri priya. We will save you. I swear it.”
She injected the sedative. The dragon flinched slightly when the tiny needle pierced her skin. The effect was almost immediate. Pete swayed and Jack caught her upper body, lowering her to the ground as gently as he could. A thin green film slid down over her golden eyes and she fell asleep in minutes. She even snored, which they both thought was cute.
Jack heaved another sigh and walked over to the garage door. He hit the switch and the door rumbled and roared as it slid up from the ground. Agent Shannon and Larry were already standing there with an altered version of a hand truck. It was collapsible and about eight feet long and a couple feet wide. Agent Shannon smiled as he spotted Kamala.
“Dr. Anjali,” he said politely. “Don’t you look radiant.”
“Don’t you look smug and unintelligent,” she replied, and then swept back inside the house without another word. He chuckled and helped the chubby scientist load the dragon onto the carrier. They wheeled her up into the trailer and locked it shut. Dr. Whitmore got inside the truck and Agent Shannon slid his aviator sunglasses back onto his face.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Jackson.”
Jack smiled again. “I hope you step on a Lego. Barefoot.”
Agent Shannon bared his teeth in a grin and climbed inside the truck. He backed out of the driveway slowly and then pulled off into the street. Jack spat the sour taste in his mouth out into the bushes and returned inside.
Kamala stood in the kitchen, furiously stirring a spoon into her chamomile tea. “This is unacceptable.”
“Yep,” Jack agreed, pouring the remainder of his coffee down the drain.
“Who do they think they are? They lose our dragon–they risk her life with their idiotic inability to comprehend her abilities–and then demand that we return her to them without any consequences whatsoever? I have never heard of anything so ridiculous in my life.”
“Yep,” Jack agreed, rinsing out the mug.
“What if someone had gotten hurt, eh? What if some gun-toting moron with a twitchy trigger finger spotted her before she came to us? She could be gone, just like that. Taken from this world through no fault of her own.”
Jack stepped up behind her and slid his arms around her shoulders. Kamala’s stiff spine slowly relaxed against the front of his chest. Her eyes drifted closed as he ran his large hand over her belly in soothing circles. He kissed her ear, his voice low and soft. “I know. And we’re not going to let them get away with this. We’re going to give them hell. We’re not going to give up on the fight until our dragons are back where they belong, safe and sound.”
She shook her head slightly. “You always know just what to say.”
“Hardly,” he said. “You were stirring that tea pretty hard, Dr. Anjali. I just didn’t want you to break my favorite mug.”
Kamala turned in his arms. “Yes, we both know you’re terrified of my superhuman maternal powers. I’ll try not to scare you so much.”
“You kidding me?” he said, lacing his fingers over the small of her back. “I’m counting on them to save us someday. You should be wearing a cape instead of stretch pants.”
She sighed. “Oh, don’t bloody remind me. I went up another size this week. I need to get this blasted child out of me before I become a manatee.”
Jack choked on a laugh. “Stop it. You’re gorgeous no matter what size you are.”
She pursed her lips. “Don’t try to get back on my good side, Dr. Jackson. Remember, it’s all your fault that I’m like this.”
“Oh, lest we forget. The rugrat was conceived the first time we, uh, fondue’d, and I believe you were the one who initiated that.”
Kamala blushed. “Point taken.”
She pressed her forehead against his and sighed. “This sucks.”
“Yes,” he said softly. “It does. But you know what doesn’t suck?”
She glanced up at him. “What?”
Jack leaned in and kissed her gently between words.
“Slow…” Smooch.
“Heartfelt…” Smooch.
“Intimate…” Smooch.
“…oral sex.”
Kamala collapsed into stunned giggles. “You are an idiot, Dr. Jackson.”
“What? I mean, am I wrong?”
Her smile turned a bit wicked. “Not in the slightest. It would be an excellent distraction from the chaotic morning we both just had.”
She eagerly gripped his hand to drag him into their bedroom, but then her cell phone rang. She sighed and answered it with a brisk, dismissive tone. “Yes?”
“Kam,” Faye Worthington’s resigned, annoyed voice said. “I’m in jail.”
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