Blayze_Talonian Warriors_Sci-Fi Alien Weredragon Romance Read online

  Blayze: Talonian Warriors

  (A Sci-Fi Alien Weredragon Romance Series)

  Celeste Raye

  Copyright ©2017 by Celeste Raye - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Contents

  Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  About the Author

  Free Book

  Note from the Author

  Wait!

  You should know that Hesher is the third book of five in the Talonian Warriors romance series. Although each story can be read independently and all end with a HEA with no cliffhangers, to get the full experience of the Talonian Universe, you should really read them in order.

  Talonian Warriors

  Kelan

  Tae

  Hesher

  Maxxus

  Blayze

  1

  Belle

  Putting down roots was next to impossible for someone in Belle's profession. As a CIA agent, she was often sent to a new assignment with little notice. Until now, she had refrained from getting used to her surroundings or making friends. Before Seattle, the longest she had remained in one place was six months. Today was the second anniversary of her assignment to Seattle. She had been in this beautiful city for two whole years, a record by far. To celebrate, she had decided to finally turn her tiny house into a real home and then she could invite a neighbor to dinner. Already, colorful pillows adorned her once bare sofa and lovely landscapes decorated three walls. It was the fourth she was working on now. She was giving it a coat of green paint, the exact hue of her own eyes. The windows were open to a rare sunny spring day. Music was blaring as she danced, paintbrush in hand. There were streaks of the paint in her red hair despite the precaution of tying it back in a ponytail. She certainly held no resemblance to a CIA agent at this moment, and that was fine with her.

  Her wrist link beeped, letting her know there was an incoming message. She ignored it. Nothing was going to disturb her today. She wouldn't allow anyone to take away this feeling of belonging, and deep down she knew looking at the screen would bring her celebration to an abrupt halt. The only person who would be sending a message to that particular link, or any other in her case, was her superior in the agency. It would be a new assignment, though Belle had been promised two months off after the last one and this was only the second day. Sure, it would most likely be right here in Seattle as the last five had been, but she needed and wanted those two months to be a normal human being. She wanted to decorate, do lunch with new friends, binge watch all the shows everyone raved about, and maybe find a man she could love. All work and no play was destroying her life. She was thirty, and if she didn't find a life beyond her job now, then she wouldn't ever get the chance. At least that's how it felt to her.

  The music suddenly ceased, and the COM link on the wall lit up. Her boss was being rude and pushy. He was deliberately messing with her by overriding her controls. She was furious. But, it wasn't his face on the screen. It was a news report. The message was apparently so important that the emergency system had taken over the airwaves.

  The anchorman's face was solemn as he began speaking in an eerily quiet voice. "In a tiny Texas town, an awful discovery was made this morning. A reporter had been sent to interview the woman who owned what was regarded as the best barbeque shack in the U.S. When she arrived, she found the whole town was destroyed. Buildings were leveled by fire, many still burning. Bodies were everywhere: in cars, on the street, sitting on park benches, and even beside mailboxes with their mail still in hand. Afraid to leave her own car, she reached out to the nearest station, sending pictures her brave cameraman risked his life to take. The images are graphic in nature. If you have a weak stomach, turn away. Remove your children from the room. They don't need to see this."

  Pictures popped up on the screen of bodies, people who had been going about their daily business when their lives were taken. None appeared to have been touched by the fires. Instead, there were strange welts covering their skin. Neither old nor young were spared. Belle had seen many war zones and outbreaks of devastating illnesses, but this topped them all. Her heart was pounding so hard she had to take a seat; the paintbrush fell to the floor, leaving green streaks on the wood. Texas was her birthplace. She had left it behind to pursue her career after losing her parents to a boating accident. Her maternal grandfather once had a small ranch near Houston that had become her own as the last relative living. Nausea struck hard, making it difficult to concentrate on the words coming from the screen. She barely comprehended the deeper meaning of what was being said.

  The anchorman continued, "I just received an update. The cameraman who took these photos is in critical condition. His skin is slowly showing the same markings as those on the dead. His heart and lungs are failing. The CDC has been contacted, and the town has been sealed off. The reporter is now in quarantine. She is being watched closely for any signs of the illness. The source of this devastation is unknown but is being investigated. Stay far from this area. Surrounding cities are being evacuated. We don't know if or how this could spread. There is speculation that the fires were started to contain the problem by the very citizens who are now among the dead. We don't expect to find any survivors. We promise to keep you informed."

  Once the screen went blank, Belle became aware that her wrist was vibrating and the buzzing noise finally reached her ears. This time, she answered. "Agent Simons here. What do you need, sir?"

  "By your tears and swollen face, I assume you've heard the report," her superior announced.

  Belle reached up and touched her cheek, wiping away the salty wetness. She hadn't been aware that she was crying. It was unusual for her. She was excellent at keeping her emotions under check. "Yes, I saw it. I'm sure everyone did. They didn't really give us a choice. Has the agency been asked to be a part of the investigation?"

  "We were called before this even aired. What you heard was only a piece of the puzzle. Tests have already begun, and we now believe this is terrorist related."

  "But, sir, terrorism is a thing of the past. All nations are working together. We've had peace a long time now," Belle replied.

  "It's not terrorism as we used to know it. We don't believe that countries are fighting against one another. This seems to be something different, though just what we haven't figured out. Tests do show that a biologic was released, one so strong that the population was overcome within minutes, possibly seconds."

  "The news said the people lit the fires to contain this. That's not possible if it worked so fast," she argued.

  "Exactly! We aren't releasing those details to the public. We would have a panic on our hands. Whoever did this could turn up anywhere."

  "I suppose you want me back on the job. For this, I'll give up my leave. I'll be in the office within the hour. We can set up guidelines to keep Seattle safe."

  "No, Belle. I don
't want you here. We need you in Texas. Pack a bag. You're going to Houston. That's where the reporter and cameraman were taken. The tiny town is close to that metropolis, and we need to keep the problem from spreading to such a largely populated area. You grew up there, so you'll know just how to handle the laid-back Southerners. I'm putting you in charge; see that you don't disappoint me."

  Belle's emotions were all over the place. Fear, anger, frustration, and the rush of adrenaline overwhelmed her system. The fear was for how much worse this could get and for her safety since she was being sent into the midst of the action. The anger was due to the cruelty of the perpetrator who had killed innocent humans. The frustration came in over her loss of vacation and her one chance to make a real home for herself. Last, but not least, the adrenaline was caused by the heightened excitement of a new assignment. She enjoyed the chase, the hunt for those who cared nothing about the world. This was the biggest mystery she had ever been called upon to solve, and as lead, she held power in her hands. It was a mind-blowing rush.

  She glanced at the half-finished wall. Refusing to leave it like that, she jumped up and began to paint. As she worked, she made a mental list of what she needed to pack, who she needed to notify of her absence (post office, utilities), and what she must do to prepare her home for a long time away. That would mostly mean emptying the refrigerator of leftover takeout; cooking wasn't her thing.

  Paint bucket sealed and stored in a closet, brush cleaned, and the spilled paint removed from the wood floor, Belle could now wash off the residue. A hot shower would wipe away her lingering shakes from the scenes she had watched on the newscast. As the paint went down the drain, so did the everyday version of Belle. In her place, Special Agent Belle Simons evolved. Black pants, white blouse, and a black jacket added to the persona.

  Her red hair was tamed in a loose bun at her nape, minimal makeup was applied, and her badge was clipped to her waist. In the mirror was the seasoned agent that would be required to solve this case. This woman didn't have time for friends, family, or love, and definitely not a permanent home.

  Blayze

  The sun made it almost unbearable on the oil rig. Only in Texas could spring bring this much heat. Having the glare bounce off the ocean did not help. Blayze should have gotten used to it by now. This would be the second spring he had spent on the rig, as well as on Earth. He was among the first weredragons to make their home here. Technically, he was supposed to have returned to Talonia after six months. A replacement should have come, but the ship had not arrived. His homeworld had been going through its own battle, and all the able-bodied weredragons were needed there if he was to have a home to return to. Thankfully, as he had just received word that the freezing temperatures were abating, and the sick inhabitants were regaining the power to transform. Under the circumstances, he had been glad to extend his stay. In doing so, he had avoided a catastrophe and remained healthy. Soon he would be replaced, maybe before the summer baked him.

  All weredragons on Earth were required to find jobs in accordance with the alliance between the two worlds. Most worked for the government, in nice, cool, office buildings, or they became security for world leaders. Blayze had not wanted to be locked into cities where his every move was noted. He preferred freedom. An oil rig was definitely an odd choice for a creature that breathed fire. The idea was almost comical. At least that was what his boss had said when he applied for the job. But, the man held no prejudice tendencies, so he gave Blayze a chance and had never been disappointed.

  These new oil rigs were not anything like the originals. Blayze had spent many hours reading about those, and he knew there was no way he could have worked on them. Oil was everywhere on their surface. One overheated breath and all would have been lost. The one he stood on now was so clean it sparkled, not a drop of oil in sight. In fact, the oil never reached the surface. It went straight into tankers on the ocean floor. He never saw them at all. They were able to suck every drop from a grain of sand, so now there would never be a deficit or high prices. Miraculously, it took only four men to run the entire rig, and they stayed for a month at a time; the new crew would arrive tomorrow. He had to repair the broken bolt before tonight's inspection. Looking back to be sure his buddy was turning a blind eye to what he was about to do, Blayze shot fire from his throat to weld the metal bolt so it could not move. He could have used a welding device, and would have if the boss was watching, but why bother if he could do the job so easily himself?

  "Are you ready for a whole month of wine, women, and song?" his buddy asked from nearby. "You're one lucky dude, man. I miss being single. Don't get me wrong; I love my little lady. But, some wild nights on the town would be good too. Maybe I can convince her to leave the baby with her grandma and go line dancing. You got a good pair of cowboy boots, Blayze?"

  "To fit in here, it was a necessity," Blayze replied with a smile. "I got a hat too."

  "Then, come with us. I bet Lucy has a friend or two you wouldn't mind hooking up with. Some of them are pretty hot. You wouldn't want her sister, though. She's as ugly as my old hound dog and just as mean. I swear I won't let her pawn that one off on you."

  Blayze had to laugh. Texans had their own version of the English language, and he loved it. It was more colorful than the original. Sometimes the phrases slipped off his tongue before he realized it. The last time he had spoken with Maxxus, his best friend turned Talonian king, he had told him he was "fixin" to go to work. These good ole boys, as they referred to themselves, were so laid back that a weredragon did not phase them. He was allowed to fly whenever the urge came, and with only the ocean to witness it, he did so quite often. Suddenly realizing he had not answered his buddy, he replied, "I cannot dance. I think I would shame you by stepping on too many feet. Besides, I do not need to get into a relationship with a woman. I have to go back to Talonia soon."

  "Who said anything about a relationship? I'm talking about a string of one-night stands, sowing your wild oats. I may be tied down, but you don't have to be. With that sandy hair and those burnt-orange eyes, the women will eat you up. I'll get my jollies by watching it happen; so will my Lucy. Come on, man, do it for me and all of the married men who can't. I'll show you how to dance. We have until tomorrow."

  "Yeah, man. We'll teach you how to boot-scoot," the boss added, coming out of the office. "It'll give us something to do besides sit around and stare at each other. I can't read those books in the break room again. I know every word by heart. They better supply new ones next month."

  Blayze relented. Why not? He had read all the books too: last time and this one. Dancing lessons? Earth was a pretty good place to spend his time.

  2

  Belle

  The small but beautifully equipped private jet landed in Houston as the sun was dropping low in the sky. Flights were so fast these days, Belle had barely finished her drink when the jet came to rest. She'd been relieved to find the CIA was providing the transportation. A commercial flight, though almost as fast once it was in the sky, would've taken too much of her patience in order to board and exit. The chatter and closeness would've rubbed her already prickling nerves. She couldn't have concentrated on her assignment. Instead, she would most likely have been eyeing every passenger, worried they were the culprits who spread the biological weapon. Too many unknowns made everyone a suspect.

  Belle was shocked and dismayed to see her name on a placard held by a man dressed as a chauffeur. She didn't like attention drawn to her in public places. Anonymity was important as an agent, so she had fully intended to lease a vehicle using an assumed name. Now, people were staring, expecting to see someone rich and famous. Standing straight, trying not to blush, and pretending the crowd didn't matter, she reluctantly made her way to the driver.

  "You're here for me," she stated. "Why? I could've easily driven myself."

  "The director will explain once you're in the car. I wasn't informed of the details. I was only told to make sure you didn't refuse the ride. Please, don't make me fo
rce you," the driver replied.

  "Even if I wanted to argue or run, I wouldn't. It would cause a scene I'd rather avoid. Something tells me you've had others who did, though."

  "More often than I care to mention. My face is well known here. Look around and you'll see that security is watching closely."

  "No, thanks. Let's just go," Belle answered.

  The vehicle wasn't a typical car in any way. It hovered over the ground, no wheels required. It was sleek, silver, and bulletproof. The windows darkened to hide the identity of the occupant, a ridiculous notion since she had been seen by the entire population of the airport.

  She settled into the seat, and it molded around her body perfectly, easing the ache in her back. Instantly, the monitor in front of her activated. The CIA director appeared. "Glad to see you made it and the driver found you. I'm sorry for the display, but it couldn't be helped. Your destination has changed, and it was simply more prudent to send transportation than to get you here on your own."

  "Why aren't I going to headquarters for a briefing? Has my assignment changed so quickly?" she inquired.

  "The assignment is the same. However, the case has escalated and turned into an interplanetary issue. Among the dead, we found the body of a Talonian weredragon. He was identified, but this state isn't listed as his home. He resided in New York and worked as a bodyguard for an ex-senator. We have no clue as to why he was here. The senator and his family are in their home. They swear they had no knowledge that he was gone. They have several guards and are of the type who don't look at servants faces, just expect to be cared for," the director explained.