The beast within stirs at my brother’s blatant challenge but I keep him at bay. "If we do not leave now then we may as well offer ourselves up on a silver platter, send up a flare, and beg Cyril to come back and finish off the Dragovihk line."
"Coward," Milos sneers, his word laced in disgust.
My eyes narrow. "In a short few moments the morning light will begin to rise above the mountains and with the rain washing away the ash and smoke, it will be more than obvious that the four sons are missing. Cyril is not stupid enough to leave without being sure we were all eliminated. When he sends what is left of his men to search for our heads, what then?" I look at him and motion to Henrich and Andrej. "We are all injured, incapable of taking on more than one or two each, and in our weakened states it will be that much easier for them to finish what Cyril started. We head to the cave, retrieve our necessary documents, conceal ourselves, so we may shift and heal in safety, then we leave to a place he would never look to find us." I give him a pointed glare before I turn and start walking. "Once there, we contact the elders of our allied clans and prepare for war and then... then we will avenge our fallen loved ones, our people, and I will personally put Cyril's head on a pike for all to see."
I walk somberly through the clearing toward the forest, toward the cave my father designed as a fail-safe for us in the event of something just as tragic as this, and after a few moments I hear my brothers follow.
If it is a war Cyril wants, then it is a war we shall give him.
I am Kasimir, the Chosen of the Dragovihk Clan, and now I am king of all dragon shifters.
Venti Bullshit
Oregon — three month later
"What can I get for you?"
My eyes shift from the menu on the wall to the pimply face of a barely post-pubescent man-child.
Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Close to six-feet tall. Lean, gangly but starting to develop muscle. Patches of light hair on his cheeks and chin. Most likely lives on a cattle ranch. Has anywhere from one to four siblings, possibly a brother, definitely two sisters, all younger. He smells of testosterone and anxiety, sleep deprivation, a hint of beer, a fruity perfume, and excitement.
Judging by his scent—Ronny, according to his name tag—popped his cherry in his parents’ barn after getting drunk with a girl who wears too much perfume. He most likely snuck into his house at some point this morning after sleeping in too late, then took his siblings to a friend's house on his way into work.
The way he smells keeps alternating between the earthy sweet scent of happiness and the bitter citrus of dread. I bet Ronny has a second date with that girl tonight, but is so worried his parents will find out what he did in the wee hours of the morning amongst the bales of hay that he might just cancel.
Oh, to be young and idiotic.
"Um..." He clears his throat. "Can I take your order, sir?"
I blink with a shake of my head. "What is a… venti?"
Ronny smiles, albeit nervously, and grabs an empty paper cup. "This is our venti. It's a twenty ounce drink."
"Ah." I arch a brow but nod. "I'll have a large black coffee."
"A venti black? Ok, no problem. Which roast?"
I frown. "Roast?"
Ronny blasts me with a strong wave of bitter citrus as he glances at the growing line behind me. "Which kind of coffee roast do you want?"
"I don't know." What is it with this place? I just want a cup of fucking coffee. I don't need some fancy roast or some venti bullshit. If Milos hadn't essentially blown up our coffee machine while trying to brew a pot this morning, I wouldn't have had to subject myself to putting on pants, let alone driving into town in search of the caffeinated sludge I somehow can no longer function without.
"Well..." Ronny eyes the line again. "We have light and dark roasts, Columbian, French… there's kind of a lot to choose from."
My eyes return to the menu and I can feel myself scowl at the long list of coffees. What the fuck is a blonde roast? This is ridiculous, but just when I'm about to tell Ronny the Cattle Rancher that he can stick the venti black up his teen-aged ass, the bell over the shop door dings and I'm overwhelmed with the most delicious scent I've ever had the privilege of smelling.
A woman blows past the line, a slightly small woman with rich, chestnut-brown hair piled high on her head.
"Sorry, Ronny!" she sing-songs as she rushes behind the counter. "My truck took a shit again and I couldn't get the fucker started!"
My brows raise while she throws her bag somewhere under the counter, grabs an apron and wraps it around her generous hips.
I do believe my morning just became much more interesting.
"Thank God, and watch your mouth!" Another woman carrying a tray of baked goods, a little older and somehow shorter than the firecracker of a thing she's scolding, comes out from the back. "I know mornings aren't your thing but when Allie went into labor and then Grace called in sick… I just didn't know what else to do."
"Don't sweat it, Kady." The brunette hurries over to Ronny—who looks so relieved he could just shit—squeezes his arm then starts to help the next waiting customer.
