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Protect and Serve
Protect and Serve
Author: merwa_g

Chapter One

Author: merwa_g
last update Last Updated: 2022-04-15 05:32:54

"Ouch!" Officer Shamira Carswell of the Atlanta Police Department had just bashed her head against something harder than itself, something both she, her immediate family, and fellow officers would have claimed was impossible.

She had awoken with a start in this darkened little bit of nowhere and instinctively tried to sit up. She had about five inches of clearance.

In her addled state, she confirmed her first finding by trying again, increasing the ache in her forehead.

'Yep,' she thought. 'Five inches.' Stretching out with her arms, she actually found less room there, barely able to move her massive arms.

The problem with having competed as a female bodybuilder was that she took up more space than she should.

Her shoulders were brushing up against the edges of . . . whatever the hell it was she was in. 'Trunk of a car? No way.

If it was, then it is, then I've got to get me one because its really . . . comfortable?' Yes, it was comfortable. It felt like padded silk, cool against her skin.

"Okay," she said, trying to calm her suddenly electric nerves. "What were you doing?" She couldn't remember.

"No, I can. I was . . . damn, I was down off of Commerce Drive," she said, remembering the landmarks flashing past her police cruiser.

"Got out to get a drink . . . stopped and talked to that homeless girl. She was too damn young to be on the streets."

Shamira didn't think the girl could be a day over eighteen, but she had a look about her that made her seem older. Slim girl . . . looked like a Native American. Must be what life is like for her.

She seemed awfully nervous, even though Shamira wasn't the type to hassle someone for being down on their luck. She'd told the girl how to find a shelter and even gave her five bucks to buy something to eat.

Her mother always told her that was one of her problems and why she still lived at home. The charity was all well and good, but "throwing her money away on those good-for-nothing dregs" was something else. Finally, she just left the girl alone.

She was almost back in her car when the call came in that gunshots had been reported at the Casa De Sade, a club of "interesting" repute. She was easily going to be the first officer on the scene.

She had shown up at the club (it was right next door) and had marveled at the interior. Probably not appropriate for what she should be doing, but she couldn't really help it.

Everything in the place was black. Black leather sofas, black hardwood floor, black curtains, a black bar, black leather . . . a lot of black leather. It looked like an office party in hell. But there were some things that weren't black.

The cages were gold. The chains and shackles hanging from the walls appeared to be gold as well. There were people in black leather chained to black walls with gold chains.

Her attention had been pulled back to what was important, namely the five men and women with guns who had drawn down on a small group of revelers. The intended victims looked strangely defiant.

One of them, a far-too-handsome man with blond hair and frigid blue eyes stood in front of the others, almost daring the would-be assailants. For a moment, she had looked at him and he looked back. He smiled. Then her attention was back on the guys with guns.

Five of them, one of her; had no backup for considerably longer than it would them to pull all their triggers at least once.

She had told them to freeze, told them to drop their weapons, and put their hands on the wall. She got their attention anyway. They didn't freeze. They didn't drop their weapons.

Guess what they did when she told them to put their hands on the wall? They didn't do that either. They did shoot at her though. That was nice of them. Nice because it gave everyone else a chance to run while she dove for cover.

She glanced around the sofa she had taken shelter behind and saw that all the intended victims had vanished without a trace. Other patrons of the club were cowering or sneaking out the front door.

Shamira got a look at the face of a big guy holding a 44-caliber revolver. He really didn't look happy.

He had said something about "taking care of the witnesses" and that had turned Shamira's blood to ice. And to make matters worse, she had noticed that there was a girl chained to the wall who was so scared she'd pissed herself.

Whoever was supposed to be responsible for her was nowhere to be seen.

Shamira was a crack shot. She'd actually qualified for S.W.A.T., but that glass ceiling was as solid for her as whatever she'd just nailed her head against.

Her bosses were intent that the overly muscled female stayed writing parking tickets and breaking up keggers for the remainder of her natural life.

But accolades didn't mean as much as skill at that moment, so she'd rolled and blasted the chains off the wall. The girl ducked. The bad guys saw Shamira. The bad guys shot Shamira.

"No," she whispered. "They had to have missed." But they hadn't missed. Shoulder . . . face . . . both arms . . . finally, a chunk of her neck.

Then the darkness had come, but not just for Shamira Carswell. Darkness came down from the ceiling and ate most of the bad guys, but the big one made a run for it.

He paused long enough to point his gun straight down at what was left of Shamira's head. Something had tackled him . . . something that smelled of dirt and whiskey . . . something street.

The last bad guy was gone, but Shamira's last gaze fell on an old-young face. She had given that girl five dollars . . . why was she there in the club? The girl looked towards something out of view, then smiled.

She pulled out of sight as the darkness caressed Shamira's eyes. Then her neck shifted . . . started to tingle.

"Crap," she said, her brain swimming as memories returned. She kicked out, her foot striking a sternly unforgiving surface.

Her hands pounded on the roof. She was lying down in a silk-lined box in total darkness after being shot multiple times.

"A fucking coffin?!" She tried to steady her breathing. They had buried her alive? How had she lived through that? How is it that no one noticed?

She wanted to cry, but nothing came. She wasn't normally the crying type but being buried alive made for a convenient excuse.

She had survived all of that just to die down here? Her parents and her brother and her sister hadn't noticed she wasn't dead? She'd miss watching football on Sunday?!

'Calm down,' she thought. 'Need to get out of here. Brute strength probably won't work.' She felt around the coffin, trying to find anything that might help.

'Damn it, they should build these things like car trunks with convenient escape hatches. What now? Breakthrough somehow? Tunnel to the surface?'

She was so thirsty, which shouldn't be too surprising. How long had she been down there?

*skrik skrik skirk*

'What the hell is that?' She placed her ear to the coffin lid. It sounded like scratching, scraping.

*skrik skrik skrik*

Muffled voices. Then the coffin lurched. Someone had found out . . . someone knew. She was going to get out!

The coffin was lifted upward and then . . . no one opened it. She tried the lid again, but it was latched shut. She banged against it with both hands.

"I'm in here! I'm alive! Someone let me out!"

She felt the coffin slide over something and then stop suddenly. Next came a low rumbling, and the coffin slid again.

She'd been loaded into a truck and was getting moved? Why? Her heart seemed caught in her throat. She'd never been this terrified in her life. She'd been more comfortable when she was back under the earth.

There was an eerie quiet in the coffin, despite the distant murmurs and low rumbling of tires on asphalt. She couldn't put her finger on it.

Then she realized that her blood should be pounding in her ears but it wasn't. She put her fingers up to her neck to get a pulse. Nothing. To be more specific, it was nothing over nothing. 'Not possible. This isn't possible.'

After what seemed like an eternity, the vehicle stopped and the coffin was moved again. She heard metal twisting and some wood splintering. Then the coffin lid popped open and staring down at her was --

"Homeless girl?" Shamira whispered.

Sure enough, it was that angelic face with a sly expression looking down from above. Then another face appeared: she'd seen that face before too. He had looked right at her at the club. He had smiled. Shamira took that opportunity to pass out.

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Janet Masajo
amazing story that u cant stop to read..thanks to the author
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  • Protect and Serve   Chapter Eighty Three

    --------- ----------------An hour later . . .--------- ----------------"Well, looks like I'm getting a visit," Shamira said after finally getting off the phone with her sister Samantha. Apparently being able to walk again and turn into a dragon was kind of a big deal. Who knew? She looked over at Kira and Arthur Blanks. "You guys gonna be available to babysit a while this weekend?"Kira was tossing bits of beef jerky to the Thorn-Tail while Arthur was sitting on the deck of the pool watching the Sea Serpent swim underneath. "Yeah," he said. "I think we can manage.""Katar, do you and yours have to be heading back to South America at some point? I hate the idea of just keeping you here indefinitely if you've got things needed doing."* The entire flock is here, and this is a momentous time. * Katar directed his next thought so that only Shamira could receive it. * We heard what you said to the elf. We will remember you for defe

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    Shamira's mouth hung open temporarily. What DID she want? There were so many things from the carnal to the mundane that it was hard to decide. Then she looked at Clara, and that was all it took. She grinned.An hour later, she and Clara were sitting on a sofa in one of the trailers watching the enormous HD television that Shane had acquired quickly and at great expense. There was a bowl of popcorn on the floor, a couple of beers, and the two women were watching a pay-per-view romance movie."A first date," Clara chuckled, reiterating what Shamira had asked for."Well, it's a little overdue, don't you think?" the other woman said, feeling a little dorky. She was laying down on the sofa with her head in Clara's lap, glad to have a quiet moment with a woman who meant so much to her. The baby dragon was asleep, while Kira and Arthur were having the time of their lives keeping an eye on the massive reptile as well as talking with the Lesser Dragons. Shane was d

  • Protect and Serve   Chapter Eighty

    --------- ------------------A week later . . .--------- ------------------Turning into a dragon . . . cool, but complicated. Being the only one who can get a real dragon to eat, sleep, and not set the surrounding countryside on fire was complicated and annoying. Trying to corral one Greater Dragon who wanted to go play with a flock of Lesser Dragons? REALLY annoying.*Everybody stop! * she projected in her most authoritarian voice. Apparently having the power of a full grown Moon Dragon had some advantages, because the dozen or so Lesser Dragons, each the size of large dog but smart as a human, all came to a complete stop and then tried to look inconspicuous. They had been playing what was quite possibly the noisiest, most destructive game of "tag" that she had ever seen played. There were paths through the woods around the farm where trees had literally been trampled by several tons of ancient reptile in pursuit of much nimbler prey.

  • Protect and Serve   Chapter Seventy Nine

    -------------- --------------The next evening . . .-------------- --------------Shamira was glad that dragons apparently slept most of the day away, because the young one was far too exuberant when it was awake. It did not seem to have any problem obeying Shamira's commands while she was in human form, but she still morphed back into a dragon most of the time because telepathy was more efficient with the youngster. One thing she discovered . . . convincing her companion to bathe would not be a problem. They went out exploring the property under cover of darkness and found a large tank stocked with fish. The little dragon dove right in and seemed to be having the time of its life. Shamira joined in and admittedly had a lot of fun splashing around.They hunted another cow, did some flying around the countryside, and Shamira spent a lot of time projecting behaviors into the young one's head, trying to impart some sense of what was acceptable

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