Drakaina's Fire Read online

  Drakaina’s Fire

  Drak Defense Co. Book 1

  Copyright © [2022] by [Raven Lovelace] All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written

  permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  1. 1

  2. 11

  3. 24

  4. 35

  5. 54

  6. 77

  7. 89

  8. 104

  9. 124

  10. 134

  11. 143

  12. 156

  13. 169

  14. 181

  15. 190

  16. 206

  17. 216

  About Raven 227

  Acknowledgements 229

  About this book:

  Daphne

  My existence is one of constant danger. I am the oldest, the leader of a race of immortal warrior women. We are the stuff of myth and legend, with the ability to shift into powerful beings, The Drakaina. But now we are being hunted by Apollo's Champions, our greatest enemy from times long past, who we had thought stamped out of existence over a hundred years ago.

  When General Everett DuBois enters my life, he turns everything upside down. His very presence ignites a primal fire within me, but I don't have the time to give into it. My sister Michelle has just been captured, our enemy is back from the dead, and for the first time in twenty-five hundred years, the continuation of my people's immortal lives is on the line. And yet, the mating call beckons me... and my Drakaina is determined to answer it.

  Everett

  Daphne Drak is the defense contractor I'm assigned to investigate, and I never fail at my assignments. All part of making sure the taxpayers are getting what they paid for. At thirty-five, I’m the youngest General in the history of the armed forces. I'm used to getting my way. But this woman won't even return my calls, even as she sets my blood on fire with her emerald eyes and luscious curves.

  Daphne completely derails not only my assignment, but my life of military discipline, schedules, and routines. You can run all you want, Daphne. I WILL catch you.

  Chapter One

  Daphne

  I’m tired, I’m so bone crushingly tired.

  The music is pulsing, and the bodies are writhing. From my vantage point in this painfully generic nightclub, everyone looks the same. The music is blending together to where I am unable to differentiate when one song ends and the next begins. Watching the mortals dance, drink, and chaotically look for someone to go home with at the end of the night only serves to make me feel even more alone than I already do. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding as I slump into my seat in the VIP lounge.

  Tonight we’ve come to this nightclub in downtown DC to celebrate our successful mission, but our inhumanity is never more apparent than when we are among a group of mortals. They avoid coming too

  close to our group. Their senses tell them we are dangerous even if they can’t decide why. Sure, I can flash a smile and convince one that strayed from the pack to come over with a crook of my finger, but I still don’t like the reminder that I am different. I am inherently untrustworthy. I am an outcast.

  At least I have my eleven sisters. Without them, I would have cashed in my proverbial chips two thousand years ago. It’s not fair to say I’m lonely. Many people in this world have it worse than me. I have my family. They are all I should need, nevertheless, there is something missing.

  Perhaps it’s the weight of my leadership responsibilities making me feel this way. I’m a twenty-five hundred-year-old Drakaina warrior and the Alpha of my little group of Ner do wells. They treat me differently than they do each other, and how could they not? I practically raised most of them.

  They are animatedly discussing our latest mission. This time, we were in Tehran tracking down a stolen shipment of US artillery. With our particular brand of mercenary work, finding that which is lost is second nature. All it takes is a few mind-readings to take us to the right location, then a bit of the old “charm” put on, and we leave with what we came for and no one has to get hurt.

  Ok, I’ll admit usually we hurt a couple bad guys for fun but this time it was tough. There were too many people for us to control at once and things got pretty dicey for a minute, and Katherine almost lost her head. In the centuries we’ve been running this mercenary operation, we’ve never had such a close call, but as always, we came out on top.

  What really has me on edge is all the coincidences. There was just something off about this last mission. We found the cache of weapons we were looking for way too easily. I’m convinced they set us up for an ambush.

  “I’ll drink to that,” pulls me out of my thoughts as my sister Michelle practically screams from across the table thanks to the loud, thumping music. She lifts her drink as the strobing lights illuminate on her make her face flash in a rainbow of colors and for an instant her eyes reflect the light in the way a nighttime predator would. She gestures for us to all raise our drinks with her in a manner which is the universal language for a group of women to let out the cliche “woooo” but hey, some cliches are fun so I join in the sisterly wooing of whatever it was the girls had been talking about.

  “What do you think about that guy over there, Daphne?” my sister Charlotte asks me. She nods her head over to a guy at the bar, sitting by himself,

  nursing his drink. He looks out of place in this club given that he has all of his clothes on and not a single tattoo, but she always preferred the bookish type. I’d rather go over there and finish his drink for him like a real woman than take him home.

  “Not my type.” I pick up my drink and take a sip as I look away from the boring scene over the rim of my whisky neat. I’m just being honest.

  Charlotte raises her eyebrows at my answer. “What even is your type anymore? I haven’t seen you take home a guy in a long time, and I mean a LONG time.”

  I snort at her attempt to insult me, but she is right. It has been a long time, decades maybe. Besides, who keeps track when you live as long as we have? “Why do you care?”

  “Excuse me sister, I was trying to see to your happiness and wellbeing. I guess I forgot my place for a minute.”

  I roll my eyes and chuckle a little. She may be my sister, best friend, and confidant, but she was never one to mince words.

  Charlotte is just trying to goad me into taking someone home just to spite her. Which I may still do. The night is young, and I am looking damn fine in my tight jeans and strappy, barely there, silver sequins top, but I have an early morning meeting with the

  Army’s newest cynosure General. He is probably a paper pushing bureaucrat who is going to ream me out for not filing my T-12-XC9 report with the proper memo cover page or whatever obnoxious amount of paperwork our bold and decisive government is making contractors complete these days. It's bad enough that we have to do status reports to the pentagon every time we scratch our ass.

  I stand, pick up my drink, and raise my voice. “To my sisters on yet another successful mission, and to Drak Defense Co. the best mercenaries in the business. Another round on me!” My toast earns me another round of feminine “WOOOs” and I signal to the server to bring us a round of shots. We may be an immortal race of Drakaina warriors, but that doesn’t mean we don’t like to drink and let loose.

  “I’ll just have another Diet Coke, please.” Michelle tells the server.

  Michelle turns to Sara and whispers, “I have to go check out that warehouse we got intel on. It may be a secret hideout for some illegal arms dealing.” My sisters and I work really hard and take security seriously. I’m glad I can trust them to work independently. I may be the Alpha and the CEO of Drak Defense Co. but my family doesn’t need to report to me for every decision. Each one is a capable warrior in their own right.

  I tell Charlotte that I’m going outside for some air and step away from the group. Walking over, away from the crowd, I locate a back exit that leads me to an alleyway. This is exactly the kind of place mortal women fear, which makes it perfect for me. Feeling all of my twenty-five hundred years, I slump against the wall and allow myself a moment to slide down with my knees drawn up to my chest. I hold my head in my hands because even the weight of my skull is too much for me right now. This is the first moment alone I’ve had since our plane landed back home in DC this morning and I can’t keep up the facade of the confident leader any longer.

  Sometimes it's all too much.

  Some days, the weight of the entire world is on my shoulders. More accurately, the future of my entire species is on my shoulders. If you can call a ragtag team of a dozen sisters and a few of their mates and children a species. As their leader, my sister's safety is my responsibility and I can’t let my sisters down. I can’t believe we almost lost Katherine in that fight. The only way to kill a Drakaina is to cut off her head. It looked a lot like our enemy knew that before we even got there. They were aiming for our necks and armed with swords instead of guns.

  “Who brings a sword to a gunfight this century?” I’m saying it out loud to no one, with my voice

  trembling with anxiety, in an effort to release it from my subconscious.

  Not to me
ntion there were women among their ranks, and Drakaina cannot control women.

  We’ve fought an enemy who knew our secrets and our weaknesses before and beat them down. At least we thought we did. Could they have returned? If so, how could I have missed this? Is my negligence going to be the end of my people?

  I need another drink.

  My mini panic attack abated. I stand and compose myself. I need to get back to my sisters before they notice my absence. There is no way that the Apollo’s Champions (Or the AC, as we like to call them Apollo’s Champions is such a stupid name.) have returned, and even if they are, we will be ready for them. I pause for a second to look at myself in the reflection of a small puddle of rainwater in the alley and fix my hair back to the wavy, auburn updo that Charlotte had fought into submission for me. Who knows, I might get lucky tonight.

  Everett

  My uniform is pressed and ready for my meeting tomorrow at O seven hundred hours tomorrow morning. My bag is packed, and my shoes are by the

  front door. When I made General, the Army issued me this beautiful, historic home on base. Every man in my position for the past two hundred years has lived and raised a family in this home. It’s certainly different from the cottage I was raised in, the bunk bed I had in College, or the barrack I slept in previously; it actually has a front door.

  “Check, check, check.” I say to myself.

  I take a minute to pour over my notes from eyewitness accounts on the ground in Tehran one last time while I sip on my favorite after work drink: whisky neat. Witnesses saw about a dozen women, dressed in all black tactical gear, armed to the teeth, step off a private jet and without preamble. I bet that must have been quite the sight.

  They just walked into the desert, like they owned the place, and came back a few hours later. When they arrived, they were driving US humvees full of the stolen artillery. Artillery, which they promptly returned to the nearest base. Much to the surprise and gratitude of the top military brass at that base, so they could stop wasting time tracking it down.

  Drak Defense Co. has a reputation for being the best in the world when it comes to mercenary work, but this was a lot, even for them. They accomplished in hours to find what the US Army had been looking for, over the past few weeks. How did they step off a

  plane and immediately know where to go? What kind of technology do they have that pulled off that kind of surveillance and intelligence gathering that the defense department does not have, and most importantly, how can I get them to sell that technology to me? The women of Drak Defense Co. can keep their secrets. I, of all people, can understand wanting to keep a secret. If the Army found out about my ability, they would have my brain under a microscope so fast I wouldn’t have time to write up a will. However, with our national security on the line, the US military needs to have access to the best money can buy.

  My predecessor only had glowing reviews of Drak Defense Co. No missed deadlines, no American casualties, only perfect missions executed completely without incident. As much as I love a job done right, their services come with a price tag, in the millions of dollars for every mission, and I want to make sure the US taxpayers are getting their money's worth. That is why I asked for this briefing tomorrow morning, and it was no small feat to get this meeting, either.

  I don’t like to throw my weight around, but at thirty-five I am the youngest General in the history of the United States Army, for god's sake. I am used to people following my orders. When I say jump, not only do my men and women say “How high, Sir?”

  They invent the world's greatest jumping machine to enable them to reach new heights that no one has ever jumped to before. People just don’t reschedule appointments with me.

  Except apparently the women of Drak Defense Co. Defense contractors love to complain that the pentagon buries them in paperwork for every little thing they want to do. Well, Drak Defense Co. hasn’t even began to experience just how much paperwork I

  can come up with if they don’t give me what I want.

  That's fine, reschedule all you want, but I will find out for myself what intelligence gathering technology you possess and I will make that technology property of the US armed forces.

  Chapter Two

  Daphne

  “We are going to need gallons of coffee,” I say to my assistant: Rachel, as I enter my office, and all glass buildings as close to a skyscraper as buildings in DC can get without becoming taller than the Washington Monument. I fought under General Washington and donated money to his phallic shaped monument. Now, almost three hundred years later, he is still telling me what to do in the form of telling me how high I can make my office!

  I didn’t bother to take my sunglasses off as I entered the building, because for some reason the sun is inside too! So now I’m forced to remove my sunglasses unless I want to look like a complete idiot. I carefully slide the glasses over the rim of my nose, trying hard not to jostle my aching brain, only to then quickly push them back on as the light burns my eyes

  so badly I’m pretty sure they dissolved into my skull. Looks like “idiot who can’t hold her booze” it will have to be then.

  At least I had enough wherewithal to do my makeup and put on one of my favorite power suits that makes me feel extra confident with a black pencil skirt and blazer, I at least look the part of a Multi- Million dollar Defense contractor CEO, even if I don’t feel it.

  Rachel enters my office with a fragrant carafe of coffee and all the fixings. “Bless you, my child,” I wave her away. Rachel is the only person who ever sees me pre-coffee, and she’s signed so many NDAs; I'm pretty sure if she told anyone what I am like to be around in the mornings she would spontaneously combust.

  I have my first cup of coffee and start to feel normal again as I contemplate having all the windows blacked out. All the glass seemed chic and modern when we were planning it. Now I would give anything for some darkness anywhere.

  Remembering why I am here so early sours my mood even further. I have my meeting today with General High and Mighty, who apparently needs to call a meeting at 7:00am when most of my sisters are out doing the walk of shame.

  Rachel must have seen me finishing my coffee, because as soon as I take the last sip, she walks into my office. Either that or I’ve become so predictable she has a stop watch of how long I take to drink a cup of coffee. Rachel has wisely waited for me to brief me on my day. “Good morning ma'am,” she is always so chipper in the mornings. I don’t know how she does that. She probably doesn’t binge drink on work nights. No, Rachel is the picture perfect assistant: Rachel is a blonde, smartly dressed, poised young woman, who always wears her hair in a tightly knotted low bun. I like her because she is eager to please and not that observant. Even though she’s worked here for two years, she’s not caught on to the fact that most of the OPS teams are not what they seem.

  “Good morning Rachel, what is on the agenda for today?” I set down my mug on my glass desk, that is completely disorganized with papers and files. I really need to tidy up here.

  She pulls out a tablet and presses a couple of buttons to get to my calendar. “Of course you have your seven am meeting today with General Everett DuBois. That starts in fifteen minutes. I’d be surprised if he and his entourage aren’t downstairs now, going through security.”

  As if on cue, my security guards ping me “BEEP General DuBois and his command are here to see you, ma’am.”

  I roll my eyes because, of course, General DuBois brought an entire entourage, and press the button to reply via the intercom. “Thank you. Send them up please and alert my sisters to their visit.”