Charred Heart (#1, Heart of Fire)

Chapter One

Chapter One

Chace glanced up from the glass of amber beer as his closest friend, Gunner, approached their usual table in the corner of the bar. Unlike Chace, who was a dragon shifter, Gunner was able to transform into a panther the size of a car. He had dark hair and almond-shaped, brown eyes, a muscular frame, a gait worthy of a cat and two pints in his hands. He sat and placed one glass down beside Chace’s untouched drink.

“You ate your pizza, which means you can’t be too sick to drink your beer,” Gunner observed.

“There’s no excuse for wasting good pizza,” Chace replied. “Just not thirsty.”

“You really did it, didn’t you?” Gunner guessed.

“Yeah,” Chace replied. “I talked to him.”

“And?”

Chace’s eyes swept around the shifters’ bar, the only safe haven for a dying race of supernatural creatures that were being hunted and killed off. The tables, chairs and flooring were all mahogany, worn but polished and clean, the ceiling and lattice work on the pillars resembling those of an English pub rather than a typical biker bar. The walls were decorated with autographed classic rock posters, and shadowboxes with guitars, drumsticks and other rock curios perched above the row of plush booths along one wall.

The bar fed off his magic and was full this evening, though its patrons were tense. Their talk consisted of worried murmurs and the occasional cursing.

“He’ll give me what I want,” Chace replied. “Doesn’t seem to be any strings attached. Just wants me and everything I own, which is basically just my bike at this point.”

Gunner sat down, frowning. “Why Chace?”

Because I’m tired of watching people I care about die around me. Chace debated what to tell his friend, who had been with him the longest of anyone still living.

“You remember Steven?” he asked.

“Yeah. He built your chopper, right?”

“Yep. I used to take it to him for maintenance every year for forty years, and he checked up with me monthly to make sure it was working well. He built it by hand,” Chace mused. “He loved that thing like it was his own.”

“Used to. I can guess where this is going,” Gunner said. “He passed?”

“Last week. I got an email from his son. He left me spare parts in his will.” Chace chuckled. “Think he liked the bike more than me, but he was …”

“… the last human friend who hadn’t died. I get it.”

They both fell quiet. Sometimes, Chace wondered where the years went, because they seemed to jumble up and fly by in a blink. And sometimes, he wasn’t certain he’d make it through the end of a week, especially when someone like Steven died and made him question everything in his life all over again. He’d outlived every friend he’d ever had, up until he chose only to associate with other shifters. Every time he let himself fall for a girl or made a friend, he convinced himself that this time, it would work out. The curse would lift, and he wouldn’t be left alone again.

It never works out that way.

“A thousand years, Gun,” he murmured. “I’ve been alive a thousand years. Steven was eighty, and he left me spare parts, because he knew I wasn’t going to die anytime soon.”

“Oh, hell. Here we go again,” Gunner joked. “It’s the nature of who we are, man.”

“It’s the nature of who you are,” Chace corrected him. “I was made a shifter. You all were born shifters.”