Welcome! This is a bonus scene with Val, Dimitri, and Sindari. Someone is getting in a box, but you’ll have to read on to see who it is.
The scene takes place after Storm Forged (Death Before Dragons Book 6) but there are only a couple of mentions of things that happened in Book 6, so you can read this before reading the novel if you like.
The Box
I was in my bedroom, attempting to obey my therapist’s suggestion to learn how to meditate, when the doorbell rang.
“Val, can you get that?” Dimitri hollered up from what sounded like the backyard.
“I’m meditating!” I hollered back from my cross-legged position on the floor, my headphones issuing binaural beats, theta waves, and who knew what other woo-woo noises to induce deep relaxation.
“I’m welding!”
“Is that more important than me reducing my stress and improving my health?”
“The last time I stopped in the middle, I almost caught the lawn on fire.”
“I guess that’s a yes.” I sighed, pulled out the headphones, and rolled to my feet.
So far, all I’d managed to do while meditating was put together a mental to-do list that included getting a Costco membership so I could buy meat for Zav in bulk and picking up new magical ammunition from Nin. I’d used a lot of mine during my adventure on the gnomish home world.
By the time I grabbed my sword—I always had to be ready for potential enemies at the door—and made it to the first floor, I half expected our visitor to be gone. But the living room window was open, so whoever was out there should have heard us hollering.
A delivery guy with a clipboard stood on the porch, wearing a puzzled expression as he peered around the yard. I peered around, too, wondering what had him confused. As far as I knew, Zav hadn’t put in the dragon topiaries he’d talked about yet.
“I have a delivery for Val Thorvald at this address, but, uhm, is that you, ma’am? They’re commercial appliances.”
“Oh, the smoker and the big fridge? Yeah, you can bring them in. We made room.”
His forehead creased. “Are you starting a restaurant? This is a residential area.”
“No. I just have a hungry…” I kept myself from saying mate, reminding myself that normal people didn’t use dragon terminology. “Boyfriend.” Continue reading
trucks, Volkswagen beetles, and motorcycles with dogs in the sidecars. As a begoggled husky looked over at us, I rubbed my face and wondered if other assassins traveled by such means. Hollywood was convinced every gun-wielding independent contractor made millions, but it didn’t work that way when you worked for the military. Or maybe the problem was that people are willing to pay more to have government dictators killed than they were man-eating wyverns and murderous vampires.
