How to Lose Your Dragon
Immortality Curse Book 1
Peter Glenn
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places,
or events are entirely coincidental.
HOW TO LOSE YOUR DRAGON
First edition. February 4, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 Peter Glenn.
Written by Peter Glenn.
Cover created by Miblart.
Created with Vellum
Dedications
First, off, many thanks to my wife Jennie. Without
her, none of this would be possible.
Second, thank you to my kids, who put up with me
being gone writing all the time.
Third, I'd like to thank my editor, Christopher Bai-
ley, and my beta reader Amanda Bailey. Damian's
story is so much better thanks to you too.
Finally, I'd like to thank Miblart cover design for
their awesome cover. You really brought Damian to
life!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Author’s Notes
OTHER BOOKS FROM PETER GLENN
CONNECT WITH THE AUTHOR
1
I raised my sword and hacked into another low-hanging branch. The tree’s limb gave way with a loud crack as the branch fell to the ground, the path forward finally cleared.
For a few more steps, at least.
Panting a bit, I pushed forward into the dimly-lit forest. It was morning, and yet it didn’t feel like it. The fog in this part of Ireland always seemed to be thick.
More branches and overgrowth greeted me up ahead. I gave out a small sigh as I raised my katana, hacking and slashing again to clear the path forward.
I know what you’re thinking. An Asian guy with a katana. How cliché. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all. All the Asian jokes, everything. Three hundred years of existence will do that to a person. You’ve seen just about everything in that length of time.
But that’s why I was here, actually. I was hoping to change things. And if I’d read all the signs and clues properly, I would soon be able to do just that. Regardless, I hacked through the next set of trees and bushes, hoping maybe somehow this would be the last set.
The tiniest hint of sunlight peeked through the thick fog overhead, lighting up a small mound of earth not ten feet in front of me.
My lips cracked into a wide smile. This was it. The place I’d been looking for.
Or at least, I was pretty sure it was. To be honest, the guidebooks didn’t really have anything on them about ancient, cursed ruins of Celtic tribes like the Iceni.
Which, if I was being honest with myself, made a lot of sense. Most tourists these days were looking for cozy spots and neat-looking castles to dally in and spend the night, doing untold naughty things with their mates while feeling like royalty.
And I couldn’t really blame them. A few years ago, a pandemic thing had gone down, and it had really shifted the perspective for a lot of people. The whole “life is short, live it while you can,” deal really took hold after that.
Tch. As if. I was nowhere near as lucky as those louts. I’d been roaming the earth for three centuries now, with no end in sight. That’s how immortality worked, or so I’ve been told. That whole not-dying thing put a big cramp in the current “life is short” movement, making me feel even more of an outcast than I already was.
But hey, if I was lucky enough, maybe I could change that soon, too.
I just needed to find that blasted door.
The light from before faded as the fog regained its grasp on the sky, making me squint a bit to adjust to the semi-darkness. I sauntered forth - really it was probably more of a stuttering gait; the growth underfoot was massive, making it hard to walk - but I’ve always wanted to use cool words like sauntered, so sauntered it is.
Anyway, I sauntered forth towards the mound of earth. It was perhaps ten feet high and covered in grass at the top, with an earthen cliff facing toward me. Not much of a mound, really, but barrow-downs usually weren’t. Most of them were underground and all.
My hands felt around in the dirt and muck of the cliff face, feeling for some sort of lever or switch that would let me open the secret door to the crypt. It had to be around here somewhere. I was sure of it.
Okay, I wasn’t really sure. Like I said earlier, the guidebooks didn’t give me much to go on, but that gypsy had been really clear when he’d sold me that tattered old map in my back pocket that the location was certain.
I shook my head as I thought about that small man with the too-wide, toothy grin. He’d looked all fancy in that nicely pressed suit. I should have known he wasn’t on the up and up, but the map only set me back about a hundred euros, so if it didn’t pan out, there were worse things.
My hand caught on something hard beneath the first layer of dirt. I smiled again and pushed hard on it.
The sound of ancient gears creaking and turning greeted my ears as the hidden mechanisms, which probably hadn’t been touched for longer than I had, kicked into gear.
Moments later, the hidden door swung open about halfway, then stopped abruptly as an awful racket filled my ears and the gears came grinding to a halt.
I shrugged. The place was ancient. The fact that the door still worked at all was a godsend. I squeezed through the door, the slight pouch of fat at my waist groaning as I wiggled my way through into the room beyond. I looked down at my tum tum and promised myself for the hundredth time I’d finally hit the gym and lose those extra fifteen pounds when I got back from this.
If I got back from this, I corrected. Have to think positively. That’s what my therapist kept telling
