Grumpy Dragon Daddy by Milly Taiden
Andre
“Is everyone clear?” Andorax asked. He was in his human form, sitting at a huge, antique desk that he’d once stolen from a French aristocrat back in the 1700s. It was the centerpiece of his office. He was talking into his speaker phone to a dozen of his Minions spread out across the country, as well to the few of his most loyal ones whom he allowed to live on the estate.
“Clear,” came their voices in unison.
Andre ended the call and dismissed most of the Minions. Humans aren’t all bad, he reminded himself.
There was no way that dragons and humans could have continued to exist on the same planet for so long if it were not for willing enablers on both sides. Of course, the dragons had mostly done away with the traitors among their own kind.
Humans, on the other hand, were constantly able to be turned. Every dragon worth his weight in gold had at least a handful of humans who were completely loyal. Their commitment required no magic, no manipulation. They were simply people who loved dragons, admired their majesty, and wanted to help them survive.
In return for their loyalty, they were handsomely paid, well-treated, and given the gift of knowing a special secret that made them feel part of an elite club.
Andre had just informed all of his minions to drop anything else they were doing and put all of their efforts into finding the mysterious slayer.
No harm must come to her, he had warned them. They’d taken their assignment without question. Andre knew, however, that it would not be easy.
Once, slayers had thought it made them look brave to openly flaunt their dragon-hunting credentials. That was back in the early days when ‘honor’ and ‘chivalry’ had seemed to matter more than ‘survival.’ Now, the slayers had become excellent at disappearing, at staying hidden.
Still, Andorax could not shake the feeling that this particular slayer was bound to cross his path again.
He realized that Durran was still lingering in the office. Durran was his most loyal Minion. He was a tall man, bald on top, built like a rail spike, yet gentle in manner. He was forever dressed in the same butler’s uniform he’d worn since he came to work for Andorax nearly sixty years ago, at the age of 17.
“What is it, Durran?”
“The fund raiser, Master Andorax.”
Andre sighed. He was on the board of the local children’s hospital. It wasn’t the sort of cover typical for a dragon. His kind tended to serve on the board of multi-million-dollar companies with little to no moral values. Some supported climate causes – after all, the humans seemed hell-bent on making the planet inhospitable for themselves and dragons alike. But Andre was one of the few who actually supported specifically human causes.
It wasn’t that he had anything against humans in general. Just the ones who wanted to kill him.
Before he knew it, Andre was dressed to the nines in a slim-fitted, midnight-blue tuxedo that had just a touch of sheen. It was the sort of outfit that was the closest he could get to feeling like his dragon self while in his human form. He adjusted the black bowtie at his neck as Durran drove the car to the Dallas-Fort Worth Country Club for the party.
It was an expensive, elegant affair. Local celebrities. Lots of news crews on hand to snap the pics of the high-end board of directors and even higher-end donors. Andre gave them all a wave as he entered the club. Along the way, he passed the silent auction table and quickly outbid some folks on a few random items.
Then he was in the main ballroom, ignoring the passed hors d’oeuvres, enjoying the high-end champagne, and taking in the crowd.
Normally, at these events, he was bound to walk away with a young lady or two. Sometimes they were the daughters of rich men. Sometimes their young wives. Sometimes they were highly successful businesswomen (those were the best, in his opinion). Tonight, there were plenty of female eyes on him, as was usual for him.
Unusual for him, however, was how little he cared about it.
Are you becoming discriminating in your old age? He mused wryly.
Chantelle, a woman in her early thirties who was recently widowed by the rich, old man she’d married while he was in the final stages of brain cancer, sidled up to him. Her dress seemed to be little more than strings of diamonds and left little to the imagination. She’d been hitting on him even before her now-deceased husband’s body was even in the ground.
“Shall we dance?” she cooed, taking his champagne and tossing back the rest of it herself.
Andre allowed himself to be pulled onto the floor as the band played a slow number. Chantelle pressed herself against him. Her body was tight. It had been honed and shaped by all the right exercises, diets and plastic surgery her (dead husband’s) money could buy.
She would be a fantastic way to occupy the night, he knew. Yet Andre could not seem to work up even a twinge of desire.
Perhaps I’m just tired from the recent fight with the dragon slayer, he tried to tell himself.
Perhaps you just want the dragon slayer.
The song ended. Chantelle was leaning forward to kiss his cheek, and perhaps more, but Andre had already turned away from her and was walking off the dance floor. Then, he saw something and froze.
The dragon slayer. He was sure of it.
She looked different, that was for sure. Gone were the rough and rugged clothes she’d had on when they fought. Instead, she wore a beautiful, tight-fitting gown whose colors matched his own. The plunging neckline hinted at secrets he longed for her to share. She even had makeup on.
For all that, there was no mistaking her. He would know that red hair and those blue eyes anywhere.
He started toward her when he realized she was not alone. There were two other humans with her. One, whom he could believe was related to the slayer, seemed battle-hardened herself. The other had the smell of a witch.
Isn’t this interesting? He wondered as he snagged a drink off another passing server’s tray.