Hi there!

Have I mentioned the dragon-warriors visit me from time-to-time? Last week, I got a call from Scotland.

Chatting with the guys never gets old. And since you enjoy Dragonkind warriors as much as I do, I know you’ll get a kick out of having the inside scoop. Scroll down to read about my late night call with the Scottish pack.

Enjoy!
xx,
Coreene

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My Late Night Call

My writing lair: July 17, 2023 – 12:37 AM

I’m not a night owl, but staying up past midnight happens sometimes. Tonight is one of those nights. I blame John Wick. JW 4 has me glued to my screen, headphones of the Princess Leia bun variety covering my ears, making the outside world go still. My internal world, though, is picking up threads, watching the action, cataloguing John’s moves, feeding interesting tidbits to my imagination like a zookeeper does a carnivore.

It’s a carnival. A balancing act, keeping my appetite for stories well-fed, but as the pieces start to settle (and John picks up a gun), I notice something strange. The light at the top of my screen blinks twice, then stays on. Red dot instead of black spot. A clear sign the camera on my laptop has been activated remotely.

I should be creeped out. I should find a sticky note and slap it over the lens. Or turn off the WiFi.

A couple of clicks will do it, but instead of freaking out, I wait, bowl of chips close, gaze riveted to the screen, the staccato of gunfire beating in my ears as John kicks ass and bad guys fall.

After a second or two, what I assume will happen happens.

The laptop goes dark. A single line of code crawls across my screen. A prompt, the rapid flash of a curser accompanied by the sound of typing and—

“Why cannae we see her?” a deep voice with a thick Scottish accent asks. “Is the bloody thing even working?”

Someone sighs. Sounds impatient, then…

“Shut up, Ran. Let me concentrate.”

“Legit question, Lev.” A third guy, one who’s voice I recognize instantly. Vyroth, identical twin to Cyprus (commander of the Scottish pack). “This needs tae get done under the radar—before our lasses come back.”

“You mean—find out,” Levin grumbles over the furious click of typing. “I cannae believe I let you talk me into this shite.”

“I donnae know what yer worried about,” Rannock says, voice full of gravel…and a whole lot of edge. The kind that usually ends with someone getting their head ripped off. “Priya doesn’t have a dog in this fight. Yer mate willnae care if we talk tae her. Niki and Cate on the other hand—”

Levin snorts. “Have you met my mate? She has a dog in every fight.”

“Journalists,” Rannock mutters. “So bloody nosy.”

“Necessary evil,” Vyroth says. “Have you seen the list of big stories Priya’s broken?”

“So she’s a Rockstar…whatever.” The low growl echoes through the line. Rannock again, sounding even more pissed off. “Lev—”

“Pulling her into this isn’t a good idea.”

“Donnae give me that, mon.” A creak interrupts the audio, and I imagine Vyroth leaning back in his chair. “You wanna talk tae her just as much as we do.”
Rannock grunts. “Mayhap even more.”

“You wouldn’t be hacking into her feed if you didn’t,” Vyroth says, his tone so reasonable Levin curses, making me want to laugh.

Lifting my feet off the ottoman, I push out of my slouch. As I sit up, I listen to more rapid-fire typing and the shuffling of feet. Chair springs squeak. One of the guys mutters something under his breath. Snowy static blows across the computer screen. The video feed flickers before dragon warriors appear in living color.

Multiple pairs of eyes narrow on me. One set ice blue, the second hard, metallic bronze, the third mismatched, one iris pale violet, the other electric blue.

I stare at the trio.

All three scowl back at me.

Planting his hand on the desktop, Rannock moves closer.

I cut him off just as he opens his mouth to speak. “I know why you’re calling, but I don’t have anything yet.”

Levin’s dark blond brows pop up. “Nothing?”

“At all?” Vyroth asks.

Orange-bronze shimmer fires in Rannock’s eyes. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” I say fast as he glares at me. “I know about as much as you do. Biscayne’s still hiding out in Grampian Mountain Range. He’s cleared out of the Fae village and taken Tamarack and his followers with him. I told you before—when I get a line on Legion, you’ll be the first to know. Though…”

I pause.

Levin’s focus sharpens on me. “What?”

“I may have a lead. There’s a woman in Biscayne’s encampment who—”

“Of course, there is.” Vyroth sighs and looks skyward. “When isn’t there a woman?”

Ignoring the sarcasm, I sail past the interruption. “If I can get a message to her, she may be able to help.”

“Is she in trouble?” Vyroth asks.

Levin throws his packmate an incredulous look. “Of course, she’s in trouble, mon. In way over her head if she’s tangled up with the likes of Biscayne and Legion.”

“Her name, Scribe,” Rannock growls, calling me by the handle all dragon warriors use when talking to me.

“Ran—”

“He’s right. We need a name.” Planting his forearm on the desktop, Levin shoves Rannock aside and leans in, leveling icy eyes on me. “As soon as you have it, Scribe…aye?”

Suppressing a shiver, I nod.

He continues, “Check yer inbox. I’m sending you an encrypted link. Any new information, you send it through tae me. No delays. We need tae know where Biscayne sleeps.”

Vyroth hums in agreement. “And donnae forget about Grizgunn.”

“I haven’t,” I say. “The Danish pack is in the mix. They’re collaborating with Legion.”

“Bloody hell, lass,” Rannock grumbles. “You should’ve led with that intel.”

I frown. “I’m telling you now.”

Rannock scowls.

Levin shakes his head.

Lips twitching, Vyroth reaches for the keyboard. “Later, Scribe.”

“Later,” I mutter. “Say hi to the girls and Lapier for me.”

I get three chin lifts a second before Vyroth hits a key. My screen goes dark. The red light on my laptop blinks off. The movie starts playing again, and I’m left sitting in my writing lair, wondering about the mystery woman embedded inside the enemy camp and how she could be the key to everything as John Wick wreaks havoc in Japan.

© Coreene Callahan 2023

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