Battle Ground, Indiana

Dragons are distinguished creatures. They come in a vast array of colors, with nostrils that breathe fire when you make them angry, and bodies closest in size to a Tyrannosaurus rex, so there was no mistaking the one catapulting towards Battle Ground, Indiana. Unlike its name suggested, nothing exciting ever happened in this tranquil little town, not until the beast crash landed into Claire Evans's cornfield. Everyone knows that dragons do not simply fall from the sky. As it turned out, this one had a very good reason for dropping into Claire's life, but she wouldn't discover why for some time.

Minutes before it happened, she was speeding up the gravel drive towards her parents' farmhouse. Plumes of dust fanned out behind her. It was nearly three in the morning—a popular time for getting into trouble—but that wasn't the reason for her crazy driving.

The stereo in her Honda Civic blasted Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill album. It was the perfect ending to a shitty night. The album was an old favorite, and she knew all the words.

This occasion warranted one song in particular: "You Oughta Know." She played it on repeat after leaving Shannon's Bar. It was a way to help her get over the jerk who'd left her for someone else. His name was Jake, and as far as she was concerned, he was a complete and utter ballbag.

Seeing Jake was something she dreaded after moving back home, that and returning to work. Bartending in Battle Ground wasn't exactly where she saw herself at twenty-two. She never grew up saying, "Someday I want to serve booze to hicks and has-beens." To make matters worse, Jake's parents owned Shannon's, which he enjoyed lording over her. He especially loved showing up unexpectedly to put her on edge. Tonight, he'd appeared with his new girlfriend, Tiffany.

In high school, she and Jake were a thing. After she left for college, their relationship hit tough times. They broke up, got back together, broke up again. It was a vicious cycle of hurt feelings and shattered hearts. And just when she was ready to end it for good, Jake begged her to take him back. He promised to make things work. That was spring break. "He made it work all right," she muttered, gripping the steering wheel until the blood left her fingers, "right into Tiffany's pants." There was a special place in hell reserved for cheating boyfriends.

Now, her only solace was coming up with violent ways to make him suffer. She pictured him in a snake infested pit—he hated snakes. No, that wasn't nearly good enough. How about death by scarab beetles, like the ones from The Mummy. Yes, that earned a malicious smile. Better yet, maybe a zombie could eat his face off. He didn't deserve his good looks anyway.

It brought some satisfaction, at least. "You oughta knooow!" She started singing along again, bobbing her head to the beat of the music.

A flash of movement caught her attention and her mouth snapped shut. Her eyes narrowed. "What the...?" Every thought about Jake was swept from her mind. Her brain skidded to a halt. The world slowed. She blinked, trying to clear her gaze. Blinked again.

Bathed in moonlight and spewing flames, a dragon streaked across her line of sight like a meteor. "I'm completely crazy," she muttered, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "Absolutely effing crazy."

It took seconds for the impossible sight to disappear into the field beyond her. She didn't notice her car drifting away from the gravel drive. Whack-whack-whack! She jumped and yelped, jerking at the wheel. Her poor Civic was plowing corn like a turbocharged tractor.

Gravel crunched. She veered back onto the drive and spun around in a half-circle. Dust clouded up around her. The car slid across the lane and into the cornfield on the opposite side. She came to a halt in the dirt mere feet from a utility pole.

"Good going, idiot," she muttered, blowing a few locks of hair that'd come loose from her ponytail. She peeled her fingers from the wheel. It was a close call.

She blinked, looking out her windshield. Was it real? Of course it was—it had to be! A dragon had just crashed into her cornfield. Her cornfield! It was as likely as finding a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, or a leprechaun tap-dancing over said pot.

She looked out over the field, squinting into the darkness. There! Just a ways away in the distance. Wisps of smoke snaked upwards. A beacon. It said, "Come and find me," and she intended to.

She tore off into the field, her feet squishing and sinking into the soft dirt. She stumbled and caught herself, cursing profusely under her breath. It was worse than running on the beach. At least then you don't have stalks of corn slapping you in the face.

Her breathing came in gasps. Her side cramped up, but that didn't matter. Dragons were more important than side aches. The field fought her in every way, but she fought back. She kept her gaze just above the tassels, looking for the large shape she expected to find.

"Where is it?" she muttered, eyes darting. The closer she got, the further her hopes fell.

Some things are just too good to be true. Especially when it comes to finding a dragon, which just happens to fall from the sky. But she was determined. Either that, or all the books she'd devoured had left her too hopeful.

Her foot caught on a mound of earth and sent her flying. She yelped. Her hands caught her, sinking into the earth, but only just. "Why me?" she groaned, pushing herself up on her forearms. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She'd bitten her tongue.

Collecting what little dignity she had left, she got up and brushed herself off. Her eyes widened. She froze, mid-motion. "Oh my God, I don't believe it!"

She wasn't crazy after all. She'd stumbled upon the set of a science fiction movie. Or so it appeared.

An impact-crater larger than a dragon stretched out before her. Stalks of corn stood bent and strewn in all directions. Small fires flickered around the perimeter with feeble yellow flames.

"Shit!" She rushed forward to stamp them out. Her parents would never trust her if she burned their fields down. Destroyed their precious crop.

But...where was the dragon? This was proof, wasn't it? Proof that she wasn't crazy? There had definitely been a dragon. She would've stuck to her guns had she been dragged kicking and screaming to the loony bin. People landed themselves in nut houses all the time for seeing stuff like this. Didn't they?

The only problem was, there wasn't any dragon. What she did see was nearly as unexplainable. Lying face-down and unmoving was a man. Her eyebrows knitted together. Turns out, someone was having a crappier night than she was. And that was saying something.

A large sword glittered at his waist. A costume sword, perhaps? No, it was too fancy, even from this distance. And why was he dressed so...strangely?

It appeared as if King Arthur himself had stepped out of Howard Pyle's tale. He wore beige leggings, knee-high black boots, a long tunic, and a black leather vest. She almost snorted. He was straight-up Renaissance Fair. Was this really happening? She pinched herself. Yep. It was.

She climbed down into the crater and went to him, checking for a pulse. His heartbeat was faint, but he was alive. A sigh escaped her chest. Thank God! It was bad luck to find a dead guy in your field.

A heavy metallic scent filled the air—the scent of blood. "This can't be good," she whispered. Renaissance Man weighed a ton. She flipped him over and immediately regretted it. There was blood everywhere. In the dirt beneath him, on the front of his clothing, covering her hands. The moonlight made it eerier.

She held up her bloody hands in alarm. She hated blood, it made her woozy. As long as she didn't stare, she would be okay. But how could she not stare?

"Just...don't think about it," she said, talking to herself. She talked to herself a lot, actually. And she didn't care if people made fun of her for it.

Her first breath was deep and slow. Each one after that was shallower and faster. Until she was hyperventilating.

What would her dad do? That was it! She slapped her forehead in annoyance. Why hadn't she thought of it sooner?!

She was about to call for him—like she usually did—but she snapped her mouth shut. It was instinctual to think of him. He'd always been there, just a shout away. Like when Simon—her first real crush—fell off the barn roof and broke his leg. Or years later when James—one of their farmhands—carved open his arm on a piece of equipment. And the time Ronald—her cousin—cut off his finger, spraying blood all over the barn. Yes, she'd cried bloody murder for her dad those times. But not this time. Her parents were off vacationing in Florida. It took a few moments to realize this.

"Think, Claire. Think." She panicked anew.

Taking hold of Renaissance Man's shoulder, she shook him. He didn't respond. The gash on his left side ran from his chest to his hip. Wounds like this did not happen by themselves. Something had hurt him. Badly. Did someone want him dead?

She went very still and looked up from his body, squinting into the darkness of the cornfield. Who had hurt him? Where were they? Were they here now—watching her? Waiting to finish the job? Oh God! Was she next?!

"To hell with this!" She stood up. The memory of so many horror films flashed through her mind. The field loomed around her with its ominous walls. Anything could be hiding within. Or anyone.

She glanced back the way she'd come and considered bolting. She could run back to her car, forget this ever happened. Whatever this man was tangled up in, it wasn't worth her life.

But...was it worth his? She gritted her teeth. There was no other choice, was there? She had to save him. It was like some invisible force, urging her to. He was losing too much blood. If she didn't act fast, he would die.

But...without her dad, what was she supposed to do? It took just a moment to realize the answer. She needed to call the police. She reached for her phone. Her pocket was empty. "Shit!" She'd left it in her car with a dead battery. Ugh! She could have kicked herself.

There was a landline in the house. It would have to do. She dashed off, taking about ten steps before she froze. If she left him here like this now, Renaissance Man would die. At the very least, she needed to staunch the bleeding.

She removed her apron and stuffed it under his tunic, hoping the pressure of his vest on the fabric would slow the blood flow. It was amazing that he was even breathing. But maybe luck was on his side. She gave him one final look and sprinted away.

Her leg muscles protested, but she kept going, ignoring the tension in her ankles. Even if she called the police, what good would it do? Ambulances never came out this far. The nearest hospital was almost an hour away, in Lafayette. Even if they made an exception and collected him, he wouldn't last long enough.

That's why everyone went to her dad first. He was their best bet in these parts, when life-and-death situations arose. Now there was only her. If she was going to help, she would have to do it herself.

She knew what she had to do. It was a long shot, but she had to try.

It took nearly five precious minutes to make it to the barn. When she entered, the familiar smell of sweet hay and damp wood greeted her. She began throwing equipment around haphazardly, looking for something she could use. Tilly and Joe grew agitated. They mooed loudly. Poor things, they weren't used to seeing her this frantic.

"It's okay, Tilly. It's okay, Joe," she cooed, passing their stalls.

She had a plan. Her keys were still in the car, so she grabbed a spare from the hanging flower pot on the porch. Then she ripped through her house like a tornado and left a mess of similar magnitude. When she gathered all she needed, including her dad's medical bag from his upstairs bedroom, she grabbed one of the farm's John Deere Gators. After throwing the stuff into the bed, she hit the gas and took off. A minute later she was at the crater.

The man was still unconscious, so he gave no complaints when she stripped away his bloodied clothing and belongings. Undeterred by his nudity, she cleaned the wound. The skin along the gash was the color of tar. It hissed and protested. Black smoke sizzled up from the depths of the exposed flesh. She didn't have time nor the nerve to question how abnormal it was.

The lights from the Gator were a big help. Even still, her hands trembled. She turned away to regain her composure, especially when she began to close the wound. The sight of the needle passing through his skin made her nauseous. She never wanted to follow in her father's footsteps.

At last, she got it. The job was far from easy. Her hands were bloodied and slippery. But eventually the skin pulled together. A hospital would have done a much better job. Hers was a botch, at best. Small amounts of blood still crept from between some of the sloppier parts.

She used Super Glue to coat the length of the wound for safe measure. The blood stopped as quickly as it dried. Certain kinds of Super Glue were often used during the Vietnam War to prevent excessive bleeding—she'd learned that from her dad, too. It did the job well enough.

She finished by taping gauze over the length of the injury. Using a blanket, she covered his nudity, tying it around his waist. Next, she rolled him onto a seven-foot plank from the barn, propped it onto the bed of the gator, and managed to shimmy it onto the back. Her muscles were shaking by the end.

After securing him with tie-downs, she departed the crater. This time she drove more slowly, taking some time to think. It was a little past four in the morning. She was physically and mentally exhausted. But that didn't stop the gazillion questions from popping into her mind.

She parked at the base of the stairs to the porch and took a good look at her patient. He would have died had it not been for her. With tired fingers, she undid the ties holding him in place. She had no intention of moving an untrustworthy person into the safety of her home. The last thing she wanted was to get tangled up in whatever he was involved in.

Perhaps he would wake before she did, and take himself home. "One less thing to worry about," she muttered, thinking about her problems with Jake.

She gathered the Renaissance Man's sword, his belongings, and the bloody clothes from the back of the gator. She planned to take them with her inside for further investigation. The clothing was going straight into the garbage. The other stuff she was especially curious about.

Once more she leaned over him, watching his chest rise and fall. His breathing was no longer staggered. He looked much better. The worry lines on his face were gone. He was resting easier.

She inhaled deeply. He smelled peculiar, like pine and eucalyptus. She noticed faint traces of smoke, too. Smoke, like the smoke from dragon fire, perhaps? She shook her head. The idea seemed ridiculous now. What she'd seen was probably just a trick of the eye. She was exhausted, after all.

But...how could she explain what was right in front of her? His hair was dark and curly. It fell just above his shoulders. Delicately, so as not to disturb him, she brushed a lock of it from his face. Something about him seemed...abnormal, now that she looked closer. Not quite...human. He was powerfully built, and handsome too. His features were plenty capable of melting a frozen heart. And he was tall. Six-foot-four-inches, maybe? She had a weakness for tall men. Her heart fluttered for a moment, Jake all but forgotten.

She tutted, shaking her head. He was on his own now. Her weary feet climbed the porch stairs and took her safely inside, where she had a good look at the strange man's belongings. They were just as weird as he was. She laid them out on the coffee table, studying each one.

His sword was as impressive as it was heavy. Her fingers traced the icy-cold metal. A weapon like this must have cost a fortune. Its pommel was shaped like the head of a dragon. Was that a coincidence? Just below it rested a single opal gemstone. The scabbard was decorated by a fine pearlescent pave to match. She carefully placed it back onto the table then moved on.

His belt held a few curious trinkets: a woman's locket with a lock of hair inside, a small hunting knife, and a coin sack. Most intriguing was the dark leather pouch she'd taken from his neck. She poured its contents onto her palm. Two stones, imperfectly shaped, each about the diameter of a quarter. One was gold, the other black. They were highly polished and glittered with movement. The black one was iridescent, shimmering from hues of green, to blue, to purple.

The moment they touched her skin, shivers raced down her spine. The hairs on her skin stood on end. She gasped. Raw hunger clawed at her. Hunger for what? Power? It filled her mind with greed, eliciting desires she wasn't sure she was capable of.

For a long time she stared at the stones, stroking them in her palm, turning them this way and that, studying them, picturing unrealistic dreams that suddenly appeared tangible.

Eventually, exhaustion reminded her of the time. She tightened her fist around her prize. This would be hers in exchange for finding the man who carried them.

She didn't see the absurdity of her behavior until she broke contact. As soon as they were tucked away, her trance evaporated. A nervous laugh escaped her chest. She tossed the pouch on the table and cringed. Magic wasn't real, but against all logic, those stones possessed some form of it. The thought unnerved her. In fact, the entire ordeal was nothing short of impossible. Maybe she was going insane. What if her drama with Jake had driven her mad?

She tumbled into bed, her mind brimming with fake reassurances. Life would be back to normal tomorrow. Tonight was simply a bad dream. Her car was safely parked in the driveway. Jake wasn't a total ballbag. The creepy stones were merely part of her imagination. There was no wounded man outside. Dragons did not exist. And the idea of a dragon shapeshifter was downright outrageous!

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