This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. David will be awarding a dragon pendant similar to the one worn by Christine Drachen in Dragon Mist (US only) to a randomly drawn winner via Rafflecopter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Read an ExcerptAs the third daughter of a third daughter, dragon-shifter Christine Drachen must mate with a human.
Not all human males are genetically compatible with dragon shifters, and suitable matches are rare in old Charleston. Christine, though, has identified James to be an appropriate match. Even humans who acknowledge the possibility of dragons cannot believe that one can be both a dragon and a human, shifting between the two. As a result, Christine must attract James without fully revealing her true, shifting nature until he has committed to mate.
James gradually discovers what Christine is. She shows him the gold dragon she always wears around her neck. He notices the prints, statues, and tapestries of dragons that decorate her family’s home. Strange noises emanate from behind the Drachens’ house during a party, and James believes he actually sees a dragon, one wearing a necklace like Christine’s. Christine’s last name, Drachen, means “dragon,” and, while she jokes her entire family is composed of the creatures, James begins to suspect there is more to what she says than a simple attempt at humor.
Finally, though, he sees her shift.
To protect their species from persecution, dragon-shifters silence any human who sees one of them shift, and the most practical method is generally death. The rule is absolute. But Christine has fallen in love with James. How can she protect her family without killing the boy she loves?
Dragon Mist is a story of boy-meets-girl, with a few non-human characters, high stakes, a bit of magic, a little humor, and an abundance of romance.
It had started two days after high school graduation, following a sleepover at Cindy Beaufont’s house. Cindy and I had slipped away before dawn, leaving a note claiming we were going out to the beach for an entire day of sun worship. Instead, we bought bus tickets to San Francisco and hopped the first Greyhound headed west. I’d calculated we would pass through Atlanta and be somewhere in Alabama before we were missed.
Inspired by the underground newspapers we read, Cindy and I were joining the throngs of young adults who were descending on San Francisco for the Sumer of Love. We parted ways as we stepped off the bus. I purchased two pair of overalls and wore little else for almost three months. The jeans and t-shirts I had taken with me would come home just as they had been taken from Mom’s washer on the first day of June.
I was searching for freedom. For a month, a summer, a year, a period of time, I wanted to be free, free from the rules and discipline of the drache, free from the expectations for an upper class, below-Broad young woman in old Charleston, free to consider and understand my shifting nature. I passed the summer painting dragons, making jewelry, and selling my work to buy food. I had done well, I thought. I had left home with fifty dollars, lived well, and my wallet currently held sixty-two greenbacks.
It is mid-August now, the Summer of Love is winding down, my freshman year in college beckons, and my masquerade as a flower child must come to an end.
The real world calls, and I had planned to leave for home next week.
But Bing is dead.
Someone will link me to Bing, someone who saw us in the park in the moonlight, someone who watched us leave the house together, perhaps a friend of his to whom he confided his “plans” for the evening.
The witnesses from the park all will tell a story of a golden dragon. The more lucid may recount how a blond girl turned into the golden dragon. All will say the dragon cut the man to bits with her hand.
Believable, right?
All of them, ninety-eight of hundred at the least, will have been smoking pot or dropping acid. Police officers will smirk, and search for a human perp. I was the girl with him, the one screaming “rape,” and the police will want to blame me for his death, although they will be hard pressed to explain how I overcame a man so much larger than I and dismembered him without a weapon, all in the space of thirty seconds.
Should officers frighten me, well, young draches have been known to shift involuntarily. An all-round bad scene.
Life will be simpler if I disappear, if I become an untraceable phantom.
I need to be on the road tonight.
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