Title: RUNNING DOWN THE DRAGON
Genre: Adult urban fantasy
Word Count: 102,000
Thalia Drake is the last dragon on earth. Her cover identity as an ass-kicking werewolf in the U.S. Military's elite shapeshifter ranks is in jeopardy. Not even her adopted shifter family know what she really is.
When bodies start turning up in the Everglades, Thalia alone recognizes the ancient dragon glyphs burned into their skin. The ritual markings lead her to believe their killer has bigger, more reptilian game on the menu.
None of the investigators suspect what she does, that their modern-day murderer might be capable of killing essentially immortal shifters. Thalia isn't eager to inform them and blow her cover. A thousand years of lies would be tough for her family to forgive, and other shifters wouldn't think twice about killing a recalcitrant dragon. But holding back what she knows would put every shifter in danger.
Thalia and the FBI's shifter division track the killer to the heart of Washington, DC. Every clue seems to point to a U.S. Senator, despite his air-tight alibi. Whatever his involvement may be, if they don't find the killer soon, one of his rituals is bound to succeed-- and one successful ritual could spell extinction for the shifters.
For the third time in as many weeks, someone cornered me in the Common. I have no idea why they kept trying, but I guess everyone needs a hobby. As hobbies go, they could've chosen better. It must've been a sign. I should've changed my route. It probably wouldn't stop the idiots, but I do get sick of fighting them off.
It's not like this scrawny little street urchin could've hurt me. Shifters are nearly indestructible. Since we showed up in this country more than three hundred years ago, we've been on the front lines to defend it. It kind of sucks that that wasn't worth a little more respect. If I wanted to, I could've pounded this guy through the sidewalk and called it a day. That wouldn't have helped in the long run, though.
I don't actually enjoy hurting people. If my mugger were someone who was truly needy, he should've just asked for help. God knows I have more than I need. That's the beauty of compound interest when you have nineteen-hundred years' worth of investments.
Dragons used to collect gold, hoarding piles of it under drafty old mountains. But those were my grandparents. Now, I hoard savings bonds in safety deposit boxes. It's a much sounder investment strategy--a lot less likely to get you killed.
Unless you wander around Boston after dark.