“I wouldn’t leave my Merry to the wolves, as it were,” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “With no offense meant to you, of course, Lilliana. I know that your fathers are of that ilk. It’s only that I always reckon that if I can help I should.”
“No offense taken,” said Lily, her voice softening. “And my fathers are dire wolves, so I tend to think them somewhat above your run-of-the-mill timberwolves.”
“Not so run-of-the-mill when they’ve shifters’ blood in ‘em,” replied the woman. A moment later she seemed at last to register Conor’s absence. “Where’s your other companion?”
“He’s…” began Lily. She stopped herself. How did one explain Conor’s condition? We had the most astonishing sexual intercourse in the history of the world, and now he’s fighting for his life.
“He’s not feeling so well today,” said Merriman, raising his eyebrows to his old friend.
“Ah…I see,” she said, seeming to understand the meaning behind the few words. “The Fever.”
“The Fever?” It was Graeme who spoke now, too curious to remain silent.
“The Fever what sets in when the bonding is done,” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “I’ve seen it more’n once in my time.”
“And what happened?” asked Lily.
The woman’s eyes, so bright and cheerful normally, saddened in a flash. “As with so many things, some lived, some died. The strong can usually pull through, though, and if I’m any judge, that man upstairs is a strong lad.”
“He is that,” said Graeme, putting a hand on Lily’s arm to reassure her.
A sound broke through their moment of calm conversation; a penetrating cry, inhuman and raw in the distance.
“What was that?” asked Lily, her fingers digging into the finish on the table beneath them.
“That was the cry of a distant déor,” said Merriman. “Attempting to find a way to this elusive house.”
6
Night fell slowly and yet seemed to come at the house far too quickly. Lily and Graeme remained with Merriman in the kitchen, certain that Dr. Evans would alert them of any changes. The best they could offer Conor now was their vigilance in guarding the Old House.
On a warm summer day, this kitchen was probably as close to perfection as could be: copper pots and pans hung from iron hooks in the wall; old, lovingly-crafted blue and white pitchers and vases stood here and there as though in accidental arrangements, perfect in their randomness. It would have been easy to picture a rosy-cheeked woman spending hours baking while flour coated nearby surfaces and children ran about in joyful play, a soft breeze wafting through pale yellow curtains which would billow in response.
The window overlooking the back garden was large and from it one could see far beyond the property itself, which now rendered the room the perfect strategic location to watch for an imminent attack, one which seemed to contradict the very nature of the cheerful space where the three companions sat.
Graeme, protective and alert, made frequent trips to the window overlooking the fields outside. In the distance was a quiet road which passed by the property, and beyond that a graveyard whose tombstones were faded to the point that most could no longer be read. Trees loomed over all of it, their twisted branches highlighted black against the fading indigo of the sky.
“I don’t see anything yet,” he said on one such surveillance mission. “And I don’t feel what you two seem to sense…this foreboding of yours.”
“Lilliana has acquired a touch of the Sight, it would seem,” said Merriman. “And no doubt you will as well, Ramsey. As I said, your skills will be shared between you as time goes by.”
“I look forward to being able to fling dining tables at threatening stalkers,” murmured Lily, half-joking. It all seemed pointless now. She turned to the man with the wild grey hair. “We will have no choice but to fight them as dragons.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you worry that we’ll be seen from town by humans? It’s not so far down the hill.”
“The veil of protection over this house is still in place. It’s stronger against humans than against shifters who seek it. In all likelihood those who live down the hill will see something, but they won’t know what. When they speak of it tomorrow they’ll shrug their shoulders and chalk it up to a strange dream or too much ale.”
“That’s how the world perceives us. As a dream, something other than reality,” said Lily. “We don’t exist to them, do we? It seems as though they’d rather live in denial than accept the truth.”
“You’re quite right. And yet, over centuries, we’ve protected them often, against one another as well as other threats.”
“Ironic.”
“What’s truly ironic,” said Graeme, “is the Stranieri’s desire to kill off the most powerful déors, the ones who have the greatest potential to protect.”
“Dragons are not historically all that wonderful at protecting other living creatures,” said Merriman, a hint of anger in his voice. “They are outliers, and can be cruel. They are known to hoard material possessions more than lives.”
Of course, Lily knew the truth in this better than anyone. But her mother, born of a dragon and a phoenix, was kind. Then again, that trait came from Freya, Lily’s grandmother. Her grandfather had been a tyrant during his lifetime, cruel enough to want his own daughter murdered, and to have burned his wife nearly to death.
“We’re not like that,” she protested before Graeme had the chance. “Graeme has protected me at every turn, and I would give my life to protect my…”
“Your mates?” Merriman’s voice calmed. “I know that. Forgive me, Lilliana. And Ramsey. It’s only that I’ve had some negative experiences with your kind. But I don’t mean to judge you for them. However, you can imagine that the Stranieri might. They see you as nothing but trouble, and much as I hate to say it, there are historical reasons for their own prejudice.”
“Perhaps we could reason with them…explain that—“ Lily began.
Merriman’s hand reached for hers and squeezed it tightly; his strength was impressive for a man who appeared so old and frail. “You’re so lovely and idealistic, child,” he said. “If only there were more like you in the world—human or otherwise.”
From a high corner of the kitchen, Barnabas let out a soft cry. It seemed that he sensed what was going on before the others did; his hoot, a low call of warning, stirred them out of their conversation.
“Be prepared for the long night ahead,” said Merriman, standing and throwing a long coat about his shoulders. “Do not let your guard down for a moment, do you hear me?”
Graeme and Lily nodded. Inside each, a dragon strained to appear, to show itself to any threat. For Lily, though, something else seemed to awaken: the phoenix which revealed itself normally only as a series of multicoloured flames coating her scaly coat. It too was on high alert, a protective mode which was altogether too concerned with the man upstairs. Her mission, she knew, was to protect him on this night, whatever else happened.
“He’ll be all right,” she assured herself in all her manifestations. “As long as we survive to protect him.”
Merriman led them to a back door, which opened onto the small garden surrounded by a wide open, grassy field. In the distance, Graeme and Lily could make out trees silhouetted against the lush grass and backdrop of fading sky.
At first it seemed as though all was still. But then the forest seemed to move, but rather more violently than if a breeze were blowing through its dense assembly of green. The trees themselves seemed to advance towards the house across the field, one at a time.
“They’re…human,” whispered Lily. Figures progressed toward them, many carrying large boughs coated in green leaves.
“Human? They’re nothing of the sort,” said Merriman. “But they know that you can see them, and are reluctant to show their déors’ forms to you, lest you plan ahead. They’re remaining under the cover of the branches as long as possible.”
“No need to plan ahead. I�
�ll burn them all,” growled Graeme. “And carrying wooden sticks only makes them all the more flammable.”
Lily reached for his arm and held it, attempting to soothe the beast within him. She wasn’t keen on the idea of bloodshed, much as she knew that it might be necessary.
“We might be able to get answers,” she said. “To find out who’s in charge. We can’t just kill them all.”
Merriman remained silent for a moment, peering into the distance.
“We must create a shield between us and them,” he said, his mind elsewhere. “Around the house.”
“But how—” Lily stopped herself. The man reminded her so much of Conor; he always seemed to know what he was doing, to have a plan in place. And she needed to trust in his powers.
Merriman stepped out into the dark of night and turned to them. “I will see you in a little,” he said.
They heard the familiar snapping sounds that came with a shift, and the lanky old man before them was gone. In his place stood a creature who resided only in the world of deep mythology—or so the other two had always thought.
7
The creature’s body, large, muscular, and coated in fine blond fur, was identical to that of a lion. His head, on the other hand, looked as though it belonged to a giant grey eagle, and the enormous wings which unfurled at his sides like great sails only reinforced the astounding combination of features.
At the ends of his legs were dark, hairless feet accented with a bird’s talons, which pushed off even as Lily studied them, thrusting the creature into the air accompanied by the loyal Barnabas.
“A gryphon,” murmured Lily. “I didn’t think they actually existed.”
“Most people say that about dragons,” smiled Graeme. “And yet, here we are, in the flesh.”
“Here we are indeed.” Lily smiled back, excited more than fearful for what was to come. Her dragon was lending her strength now; it didn’t tire as her human body did. If necessary, the scaled creature could have gone for days with no sleep, relying entirely on the motivation of a good fight or its protective nature to light its fiery form from within.
“Do you know what he’s up to?” Graeme was watching the gryphon’s powerful wings beat against the air around them, his trajectory unknown as he distanced himself from the house.
Lily tried in vain to pry into his mind and to assess his thoughts, but her powers failed her on that count, or else Merriman was still blocking her deliberately.
“No—he’s difficult to read, to say the least. But I’m sure he’ll let me know what to do when he’s ready.” Lily watched the déor’s movements, doing her best to understand her own task.
It seemed that Merriman was flying towards the figures who made their way towards the house from far in the distance, but as he moved away from Lily and Graeme he veered sharply to the left, his head bent towards the ground. A thin stream of dark vapour emerged from his beak, and Lily could see, even in the looming darkness, that the grass below turned brown, dead, dry as a bone.
“I see what he’s up to,” she said. “He’s giving us kindling for a fire.”
“Right. You follow him and light it. I’ll hold off our intruders until the job’s done.”
Lily quickly undressed and shifted then, her giant dragon’s form all but covering the Old House from distant sight. She knew, of course, that the would-be assailants would have seen Merriman by now, and they would certainly spy her soft, fiery glow, even from a distance. She could only hope that something inside them would cower in fear. But in that moment it was she who felt fearful and hesitant, weakened still by worry about Conor’s state.
Her coat shone with multi-coloured flames which flowed in mercurial streams of various hues along her scales, as though she’d been doused in liquid fire.
The flames alternated between searing heat and icy cold, only settling on a shade or temperature depending on her mood, her intent. And currently, her dragon was confused. It wanted to attack; to kill. And yet she had assigned it the menial job of starting up a grass fire. The carnage would have to wait a few minutes, and the softer human heart inside Lily breathed a shallow sigh of relief.
She launched herself, following Merriman and shooting a narrow, orange flame at the dried grasses, lighting them. Behind her a tall wall of vertical orange heat rose up, and she turned her head to see the impressive structure which burned far higher and brighter than it should have done, given the meagre length of the grass itself. This, she knew, was a trick of the old man’s, forcing those shifters who couldn’t fly to wait outside the perimeter and separating the attacking party into its respective species, weakening those with four legs and no wings by cutting them off before they had a chance to act. It was a sly move, but only meant that now an aerial battle was inevitable.
Graeme shifted as well, his dark red scales largely concealed against the night sky as he soared up above the house, assessing the enemy’s numbers. They seemed to come from all sides, men and women alike, as though they’d been sitting in wait for hours.
Among them a few had altered into their déors’ forms; wild cats, a few bears and many smaller creatures. And as he watched, some changed into flyers of various shapes and sizes: eagles, hawks. Nothing, so far, that could shoot fire as he could. And nothing that came close to his or Lily’s own size, or that of Merriman’s gryphon, for that matter.
He flew at one group of those on the ground, his head thrust downward, leading his enormous body, and as he neared them he fired off a warning shot of bright flame which landed between two large panthers. The two cats leapt sideways in fear, and a familiar sense of smugness filled the dragon. This was what he lived for—well, this and now his feelings for Lilliana and their partner.
Sex and violence, not necessarily in that order.
Lily, meanwhile, had followed the gryphon’s silent instructions and completed the large circle around the house, occasionally using the flames along her tail or a wing tip to light a patch of grass which hadn’t yet caught. Her phoenix blood was coming in handy on this night, and she hoped that it would remain so.
She couldn’t help but imagine what sort of horror the fire-wall would seem from the town, but there was no time to concern herself with such worries.
She joined Graeme in the sky, looking down at the intruders and wishing for the gift of speech. He nodded as though to say, “I’ve got the situation in hand,” as he continued to herd the enemy with sharp blasts to the nearby grass, and Lily turned away.
It was then that she saw them coming towards her: flyers. The ones she’d heard of in her youth, who used to attack Dundurn Castle in regular and devastating air raids in the days before the peace treaty. Large eagles, vultures and other birds would unleash streams of large rocks at the castle’s fortifications, breaking away chunks of wall at regular intervals. Individually the flyers were not an enormous threat, but as an army they could be formidable.
At first there appeared only to be a few scattered here and there, but soon a dark cloud passed over the moon and split into many parts. The night sky had filled with forms which shot about; birds of prey, large bats, even small, agile sparrows which darted to and fro, flying by her head in distracting flurries.
She learned quickly to ignore them and to focus on the large ones, which seemed now to be aiming their bodies at the house, seeking entry points.
“Why go in there, when we’re out here?” she wondered.
A large white eagle landed on the slate roof, digging talons in and attempting to pry away tiles. A moment later, Barnabas the owl was flying at its head, his own sharp beak and talons tormenting the flyer so that he gave up on his task.
Merriman’s gryphon watched from the sky as well.
“Do you see them?”
The voice in Lily’s head was the ancient man’s once again. He had rebooted his communications, it seemed.
“Yes,” Lily replied. “What do I do?”
“Keep them outside. Do not let them get to Conor.”
�
�Conor? Why would they want him?”
He didn’t reply; instead his form made a b-line for a hawk which was throwing itself relentlessly at the kitchen window.
Lily circled the house, allowing Graeme to continue his strategy of fighting those who were outside the circle. She could see them being driven off, one by one, no doubt wondering why their master had sent them on a suicide mission.
In her mind she heard the odd piece of panic from inside their own minds: “It’s too much.” “My powers can’t match this one’s.” “We must wait for him.”
Him.
A three-letter word which was horrifying, and yet filled her with hope. Would he come, whoever he was, the leader of the Stranieri? Would they be able to put a stop to this conflict tonight?
Merriman had said that this wasn’t a war fought against one being, but against many, against a whole ideology. But surely “he” was one entity.
The question was: what sort, and could he take on two dragons and a gryphon?
8
The bright circle of fire continued to blaze around the house as the young man stirred in his bed. His eyes fixed on the room’s window, and at first he told himself that he was hallucinating: surely there wasn’t some sort of avian battle raging in the sky as flames shot vertically from the ground. But it really did seem as though he saw large birds, silhouetted against flashes of red and orange like airplanes involved in a shoot-out amid exploding missiles.
Cries rang out in the night, the harsh, shrill calls of carrion birds signalling that they’d found their prey.
And a moment later, a face stared in through the window: the bright eyes of a hawk, sizing up the room’s contents.
Yes, this must be a dream.
The curtain shut as though signalling the end of a play, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick stood looking at Conor, silent and grim.
Dragon Flight: A Dragon Shifter Menage Serial (Seeking Her Mates Book 3) Page 4
