by Kim Dare
Duck!
An Avian Shifters Novel
By Kim Dare
Duck! (Avian Shifter Series, Book 1)
Copyright © Kim Dare 2010
Published by Kim Dare
Edited by Christine Allen-Riley and Shannon Leeper
Cover Art by Kris Norris
First Edition – August 2010
Second Edition – August 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Kim Dare. Applications should be addressed, in writing, to Kim Dare at the e-mail address available at www.kimdare.com.
The author has asserted her rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
Duck!
Raised among humans, Ori Jones only discovered he was an avian shifter six months ago. Unable to complete a full shift until he reaches his avian maturity, he still can’t be sure of his exact species.
But with species comes rank, and rank is everything to the avians. When a partial shift allows the elders to announce that they believe Ori to be a rather ugly little duckling, he drops straight to the bottom rung of their hierarchy.
Life isn’t easy for Ori until he comes to the attention of a high ranking hawk shifter. Then the only question is, is Ori really a duck—and what will his new master think when the truth eventually comes out?
Content Information
Content notes for this title are available on the author’s website, but please be aware that they contain significant spoilers.
Dedication
To everyone who has yet to discover who they really are.
Table of Contents
Blurb
Content Information
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Also in the Avian Shifter Series
Also by the Author
About the Author
Chapter One
“Duck!”
Instinct took over. Ori dropped to his knees, taking cover behind the waist-high partition that separated the dining area from the adjacent corridor. A plate smashed against the wall to his right—just where his head would have been, if his reactions hadn’t been so quick.
Ori’s grip on his tray of dirty plates faltered as he hunched over them in an effort to stay low and out of range. They slid forward. Scrabbling at the china, he desperately tried to catch more than a dozen fragile pieces of crockery at the same time.
Two hands were never going to be enough. The dishes and glasses spilled leftover food and wine across the floor as they tumbled out of his grasp. Ori made one last attempt to catch a wine glass. Success! His fingers wrapped tightly around the delicate stem as the rest of the plates and silverware plummeted toward the dark oak floorboards.
As the clatter peaked, then faded away, Ori’s attention flickered from one piece of expensive china to another, from one lead crystal glass to the next. Each item stared back at him, miraculously unscathed.
“What the hell…?” Highly polished black shoes stopped at the edge of the debris.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll clean it up immediately,” Ori rushed out, scrambling to pick up the mess of scattered crockery and utensils, and move them out of the man’s way.
Clearing one side of the hallway first, Ori quickly made a path through the wreckage for the higher-ranking man. As soon as he was sure the man could walk by without soiling his shoes, Ori paused and politely waited for the man to pass.
The shoes didn’t move.
Ori sprung back into action, working even more frantically, as he realised the man had no intention of taking another step until every scrap vanished from his sight.
Ori didn’t waste precious time peering up at the stranger who loomed over him. It didn’t matter who he was. He outranked Ori by default, and every second that passed probably added another lash to the whipping Ori’s clumsiness must have already earned him.
Damn it, just a few more steps and he’d have reached the safety of the full height section of wall that still kept the stranger out of sight of the dining room. He’d have been out of range then—at least until he had to venture back into the dining room to clear another table. Ori pressed his lips together and kept his curses to himself. It was too late to wish he’d walked quicker now.
Placing the last shard of the plate that had smashed against the wall on the tray next to the surviving dishes, Ori set it to one side of the corridor and knelt neatly behind it, waiting for the other shifter to finally step past him. The shoes remained exactly where they were. Uncertain what else was required, Ori risked a glance up as far as the man’s knees.
A hand appeared alongside the neatly tailored trousers. Ori’s eyes went to the tattoo on the inside of the man’s wrist.
Hawk.
Ori knew he still had a lot to learn about the marks that distinguished each species of avian from the others, but the harsh black lines that decorated the stranger’s skin were impossible to mistake.
Hawk.
Ori’s stomach turned over as he imagined what angering such a high-ranking man could mean for him.
The stranger’s hand stayed exactly where it was until Ori reached up and offered his own wrist up in return. His fingers were still smeared with the food he’d cleaned from the floor. His unmarked wrist looked even barer when held next to the one that properly signalled a man’s species.
Ori looked farther up and into a pair of startling amber eyes.
“There’s a reason you’re not marked?”
“They’re waiting until they’re sure what I am, sir,” Ori blurted out.
“Have you completed a partial shift?”
“Yes, sir.”
The hawk looked at Ori’s wrist again. “What was the elder’s best guess?”
“A rather ugly little duckling, sir.”
It was an exact quote. It was also four words longer than his answer needed to be. Such things mattered when speaking to a man whose species endowed him with a rank as high as a hawk’s—Ori had learnt that the hard way. He dropped his gaze and waited for the worst.
“Is there a name you’re certain of?”
The question was so unexpected, it took Ori a moment to find an answer. “Ori Jones, sir.”
“Up on your feet, Ori.”
Picking up the tray, Ori rose to his full height without considering anything but the hawk’s order.
“Duck!”
Ori dropped heavily to the floor as laughter echoed out of the dining room. His tray spilled from his hands once more. The plates weren’t destined to survive two equally spectacular demonstrations of his clumsiness in such quick succession. Fragments of shattering chinaware skidded along the floorboards, colliding with the hawk’s shoes and Ori’s bare legs.
He looked up just in time to see the hawk step out from behind the wall and into view of the crowd of crows who’d been drinking in the dining room for most of the day.
“All of you—over here. Now!”
Ori started collecting up the fragments o
f smashed crockery, his hands shaking as he imagined the look that would flash in the chef’s eyes when he saw the mess Ori had made of the nest’s fine dining service.
Shadows fell across his skin as the crows crossed the room in response to the hawk’s command.
“Clean that up.”
Ori kept his head down, his eyes on his task. “Yes, sir.”
“Not you—them.”
Ori looked up. “Sir?”
“You heard me. On your feet.”
All Ori could do was stare up at him in horror. “I can—”
“You’ll do as you’re told. Stand up.”
Ori’s body obeyed without consulting his brain. Some sort of mental process clicked into operation when he was half way to his feet. “I could—”
The hawk didn’t appear impressed. He pointed to an area of clear floor, just beyond the fallout from the tray. “Take care that you step over the glass.”
Ori gave in. Keeping his gaze lowered, not daring to look toward the crows, he took up position where he’d been commanded.
“You expect us to—” one of the crows began.
“I expect you to do what you’re told, too,” the hawk snapped, as if a crow was no different from a duckling in his eyes.
Ori swallowed rapidly. Perhaps to a man with a hawk’s rank, the rungs at the bottom end of the social ladder were very close together. But Ori was well aware that the crows all knew the difference between their station in the nest and his own precarious and unofficial position.
The crows’ glares skittered over his skin as they stooped to collect the broken pieces of crockery and pile them on the tray. They didn’t have to say a word. Ori knew they all intended to remind him exactly how far above him they were as soon as the hawk stepped out of sight.
“And the rest,” the hawk commanded.
Ori looked up. The second plate that the crows had pitched at him hadn’t been empty. Food streaked across the wall in a vivid mess of browns and greens.
The hawk caught his eye.
“I’ll fetch—” Ori began.
“They can find whatever they need. Just tell them where.”
“There’s a storeroom behind the kitchens, sir.”
A nod from the hawk dismissed one of the crows in that direction.
Ori closed his eyes. His toes clenched against the floorboards as he fought against an almost overwhelming urge to run. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to race away from the crows or from the hawk. The crows were going to give him hell, but the hawk was…
The moment Ori opened his eyes, his gaze went to the bird of prey. He was far larger than either him or the crows; tall and broad across the shoulders. His well-tailored shirt did nothing to hide the muscles beneath the fabric. The dark material only succeeded in making him look more dominant, more aristocratic.
It was only supposed to be a glance, but Ori found himself incapable of looking away. He’d seen a hawk at the nest a few months before, but he had been a much older man whose hair had faded to grey as his back had bent with age.
He’d never seen a hawk like this one. The man was glorious, all strength and certainty.
Ori was still helplessly staring at the hawk when the crows finished their task. The hawk nodded to the tray, finally dismissing Ori from the corridor. Ori stepped forward, making his way between the crows.
The flock’s eyes followed him, sending a shiver down his spine. The tiny pair of shorts he’d been provided with when he started serving at the nest had never felt smaller.
He scurried back into the heat and chaos of the kitchens as quickly as possible. A few of the other servants cast glances in his direction as he rushed to his station at the farthest end of the room. Word always travelled quickly through the nest. They would all know what had happened by now. And, no doubt, they knew just as well as he did what would happen next.
Ori took a deep breath as he stared down at the tray full of broken dishes. The crows might not have dared to disobey a hawk, but the hawk would leave at some point, and then…
He let the breath out as a sigh. Perhaps, if he’d already been a fully-fledged shifter, he might have had a chance. Maybe he could have spoken to whoever represented his species and asked him to take his concerns to the nest’s elders. But, as it was, Ori knew that he didn’t really exist in the eyes of any of the avians who ran the nest. No one would step in and stop whatever the crows had planned for him.
While his mind rushed in circles, Ori automatically resumed the duties that had occupied his time for the last six months. Broken pieces of crockery disposed of, he took up his position in front of two huge Belfast sinks and started working his way through all the trays of dirty dishes that had made it back to the kitchens intact.
Each second dragged out until time stood still around him. His heart raced faster and faster. His hands shook with nerves, making him clumsier than ever. It was almost a relief when the atmosphere in the kitchen changed and he knew his wait was over.
“Get out.”
Still facing the sinks, Ori heard the other servants scurrying out of the room, leaving their duties without a word. Even the chef’s domineering presence faded from the kitchens as he temporarily relinquished his domain to the flock of crows. Ori stayed very still, his eyes closed tightly, knowing the order didn’t apply to him.
Footsteps sounded on the uneven flagstone floor as the flock made its way toward him. A rough hand grabbed Ori’s arm, spinning him around to face his long-standing tormentors. Every crow who had been in the dining room was there, fanning out around him, blocking any chance of escape.
Ori’s stomach clenched, tying itself in knots around his nerves as his hands formed into fists at his sides.
“Did you really think you’d get away with that?” Jermaine, the somewhat unofficial leader of the ragged flock, demanded.
Ori stayed silent.
The back of Jermaine’s hand slammed into Ori’s cheek, sending him stumbling toward the countertop adjacent to the sinks. Pain flared through the side of his face. His mind reeled. He fumbled at the edge of the granite in the vain hope that holding onto it might make the world stop weaving in front of his eyes before the next blow landed.
“I asked you a question,” Jermaine spat out. “Did you really think you could carry tales back to the hawk and not pay for it?”
“No, sir,” Ori whispered.
Another crow grabbed his right arm and pulled him around again. Before Ori could even get his balance, the crow had caught his left arm in an equally painful grip. He dragged Ori back to stand in front of him, his arms wrenched behind him, leaving his torso exposed and vulnerable.
Ori risked another brief glance up from the floor. The crows were looking around the kitchen with interest. Suddenly, it was impossible to see the objects that surrounded him as a simple collection of cooking utensils. It was a room full of sharp blades and scalding liquids.
Ori’s gaze flickered over knives, ranges, boiling saucepans, and a dozen other things that would hurt like hell when thrown in his direction.
Survival instinct tried to take over. He pulled at the crow’s hold on him. The crow tightened his grip around his arms. Part of Ori knew he was stronger than the man trying to hold him in place, but as the crow’s fingers dug into his skin, an even more powerful instinct took over. Ori felt something inside himself willingly yield to the higher-ranking man’s wishes. He fell still within the crow’s grasp.
“Apologize,” Jermaine demanded.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
A light appeared in the crow’s eyes, and some of Ori’s panic eased. He’d become almost used to the flock’s casual sadism. Being made to jump through painful hoops for the crows’ amusement wasn’t new. Getting screwed by one or more of them wasn’t such an unusual occurrence either. The idea that the situation might be survivable in spite of the crows’ fury began to spread through Ori’s mind.
“Again,” Jermaine demanded. “Loo
k me in the eye when you say it.”
Ori lifted his gaze, but the words died on his tongue as he glanced past the crows and realised they were no longer alone in the kitchen.
Please, not in front of him.
The words flashed up in the forefront of Ori’s mind, vivid and desperate. It was a stupid thing to think. Having an audience wasn’t so rare a thing. He should have been used to it. It shouldn’t have made any difference, but it did—with the new hawk standing there, it did.
Then, he saw the anger in the hawk’s eyes.
“Let him go.”
All the crows’ attention transferred to the hawk.
The hands holding Ori in place jerked away as if the words had turned his skin as hot as any range, as sharp as any knife in the kitchens. The crows fled, colliding with each other in fear as they rushed along the far edges of the kitchen, skirting around out of range of the hawk.
All Ori could do was remain where he was, staring at the hawk. They held each other’s gaze as the crows hurried from the room, and Ori couldn’t even bring himself to care that they would no doubt be back at some point in the future.
The hawk was right there, and, in some stupid way, that was all that mattered. Ori stared helplessly up at the bird of prey as he realised just how much he’d hoped he might catch another glimpse of him.
The hawk stepped forward, closing the gap between them.
Ori watched him approach, not sure what to do—what the hawk might want him to do. Stopping directly in front of him, the man ran his thumb along Ori’s bottom lip.
All confusion disappeared. Lowering himself quickly to his knees, Ori reached for the hawk’s fly. It wasn’t until the hawk pushed his hand away, that Ori noticed the blood on the man’s fingertips.
Ori’s lip was bleeding. The sharp metallic taste hadn’t really registered until then. Snatching a cloth off the countertop, Ori carefully cleaned the hawk’s hand.
