Read Dying Dreams (Book 1 of Dying Dreams Trilogy) for Free Online

world from a boat. She wanted to get her hands dirty and live on the ocean for a while.
    “Hiya, honey, how about coming over here and giving me some sugar.” The voice jolted her from her thoughts about fish, and she turned toward it knowing who she’d see before she looked.
    Arty Munsinger was 85 years old, but that never stopped him from flirting with Liza and every other woman he saw. He was seated at a table in her section and she blew him a kiss. “I’ll be right with you, Arty, I’ve got an order up.” He shot her a wink and her step was a bit lighter on the way back to the kitchen. Arty always made her smile. He was weather-worn and looked every bit his age, but he had kept in shape and still went for long walks on the beach every morning. If Liza was 85, she’d be all over that, but Arty had told her once he preferred younger women – as in old enough to be his granddaughters. The old guy was loaded and charming and wasn’t entirely unsuccessful in his exploits, and Liza always rooted for him, but she would never go home with him.
    Liza picked up her order from the kitchen and headed back out to the front. She probably could have gotten a job somewhere like the Lobster Palace and made more money in tips, but she preferred the locals to the tourists. Especially the older guys, like Arty, who still remembered what it was like around there when Greenville was landlocked. Arty had been smart, a waiter himself, who’d snatched up every bit of property he could before the ocean rose to meet the city and made it beachfront. While other people had been running around screaming about the world ending, Arty had been planning for the future. Many people had moved as far from the coast as they could, but there were still people who loved the sea and vacationed there, even a few wealthy people who chose to live there permanently. Since the government had forbidden new construction, in an effort to curb carbon output, he’d made a killing.
    As Liza approached Arty’s table, she noticed he looked different and she studied him for a moment before she figured out what it was about him that had changed. She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Arty you have horns.” And he did, little white nubby horns almost entirely hidden by his hair, but visible none-the-less. Arty’s expression changed from hopeful to intrigued and he raised his eyebrows.
    “And if I do, would that make you more likely to come over and sit on an old man’s lap for a bit? Maybe tell him what you want for Christmas?” He looked her up and down. “Maybe something red and lacy?”
    She swatted him on the shoulder, but couldn’t hide her smile. If a guy her age said something like that, she’d punch him in the nose no matter how cute he was, but Arty… Arty could get away with just about anything.
    “Seriously, Arty.” She gestured to the horns. “Are they a prop to get women?”
    He threw back his head and chuckled. “You think it would work?” When she just shook her head, his smile widened. “Why don’t you rub them and see if they’re real or not.”
    She looked around the restaurant, but no one was looking at them, everyone intent on their food or their conversations. She put her hand in Arty’s surprisingly fine and soft hair and felt a horn. Holy shit, it felt like real bone. She pulled on the horn a bit and Arty moaned with pleasure. She jerked her hand away and sat down at the table across from him. Arty was laughing at her again, and she figured the moan had been his idea of a joke.
    “Holy shit, Arty. They’re real,” she hissed at him.
    He sobered up and his expression grew more serious than she’d seen it before. “Yes, they’re real and I expect you to keep it to yourself. I don’t need any science types nosing around me, trying to figure out what I am.”
    “What are you?” she asked, wondering how she’d never noticed his horns before.
    “Satyr,” Arty said, clicking his heels on the floor. She bent over