Moonstone Shifter (Demon Lord Book 8)

by Morgan Blayde

  The mounted Indians kept going, fighting to control their horses. They passed me and went a couple dozen more feet.

  Winter ran toward Angie to back her up.

  I stopped and took off my coat, dropping it to the trail. I unbuttoned my tucked-in shirt and let it dangle from my belt where it wouldn’t get ripped and bloodied from what I was about to do. I focused on my shoulder blades, popping bone spurs out of my back, shredding skin. The bone spur continued to grow. Blood vessels and muscle filled out expanding ribbing as dragon wings formed. It hurt, but what is pain but an appetizer to carnage? My hands formed themselves into claws. Fine scales erupted on my forearms and chest, a bit of natural armor I hadn’t expected. I concentrated on my skin, trying to extend the scaled protection as much as possible, as fast as possible.

  Lathery skin grew over my dragon wings. I beat them furiously, fighting for height, whipping up a cloud of dust.

  Leaving the Mohave Indian to Angie and Winter, I hovered over the road, blocking the way back to the rest of the Indians that had finally settled their horses—until the horses saw me and started acting up again.

  Horses really are quite intelligent.

  My inner dragon looked out of my eyes. He said: Tasty, too.

  They Indians didn’t like Angie much. They liked me and my dragon wings even less. The Indians yelled to each other in the gibberish they spoke. Reaching a quick consensus, they turned their mounts toward the wilderness and hauled ass out of there. They headed roughly the same way our missing girl had gone, but I trusted the Eyes of Bastet to protect her.

  Colt, however, listened to his child’s heart. He went after the escaping Indians, getting an early start on finding the missing girl.

  So much for being a strategic thinker.

  Turning, I flew toward Winter and Angie. She’d gone full wolf in the heat of battle, ripping her dress completely off. Winter stayed in human form since the time needed for his change would have left him vulnerable. His face had grown coarser with amber-lit eyes, and his hands were claws, but that was it.

  The medicine man’s horse was long gone. The Indian crouched, his knife slashing the air to fend off Angie. It wasn’t the knife doing it. The Indian wore silver necklaces, and wristbands. Werewolves were sensitive to the metal. Allergic. Winter hung back, edging toward the Indian’s blind spot.

  I landed on the road, staying back from a fight that was congested enough. The Indian knew he couldn’t out run a wolf. Staying and fighting was his only real option. Well, maybe he had one more: I saw his free hand clenching a piece of skin that looked like it was covered in beads that formed black and orange bands.

  A bad feeling swamped me. I listened to my instincts. “Skin-walker!”

  Angie had gone too far into her wolf to listen, but Winter shot me a questioning glance.

  I yelled to him, “What kind of skin is that he’s holding? Beaded lizard?”

  Winter’s stare locked onto the skin as the Indian danced around with his knife, fending Angie off.

  Winter’s roughened voice said, “Gila monster.”

  Pressed to the stomach of the Indian, the reptile skin fluttered, stretching, and clinging so that it magically swallowed the Indian. In a moment, he went from man to armored monster. His white bands became orange and black. His wedge-shaped head had obsidian eyes in a black-scaled face. His jaws parted, revealing back-facing teeth that were wicked meat hooks. The Indian slowed, as if speed had been sacrificed for protection. His offensive smell intensified. He could no longer grip the knife. It fell to the ground, but he acquired clawed hands, which were even more dangerous.

  Wrinkling her nose at the smell, Angie backed off so we had a temporary stalemate.

  Winter lived here in the desert. I trusted his judgment. “What are we dealing with?” I asked.

  He said, “Venom similar to diamondback rattler, but they can’t inject it. Gilas latch on and worry you until the poison seeps from bottom teeth into you. Once they bite, they often flip on their back to open the wound and help the poison spread. You lose blood pressure, swell up, get lethargic. Poison can rupture internal organs.”

  I yelled, “You and Angie get back. I have strong immunity to most venoms.”

  Dragons start out tough. I was only half dragon, but I had recently been enslaved to a naga harem. Having survived the snake-shifters, my body had been strengthened. I was far more invulnerable since the experience. It was true that I’d never been bitten by a Gila monster, but odds were good I could deal with it, if it happened.

  Winter went around behind me to make sure Angie stayed back, as I rushed the skin-walker.

  It hissed, lunging at me with an open maw.

  Using full dragon strength, I claw-slapped the side of its head. It spun with the blow, smacking me with its stubby tail as it flopped to the ground and rolled off the road. The blow I received rocked my senses a moment. I shook it off and staggered after my prey.

  Calling on shadow magic caused a blotch on my chest scales. The blackness refined itself into the fey symbol for storm-fire. I hadn’t tried this out yet, but I was almost positive it would work like my old Dragon Fire tatt, except I’d have lightning instead of flame. I normally couldn’t use lightning without a full change to dragon. I hoped that was no longer true.

  Golden dragon magic welled out of my chest scales, powering up the spell, as I reached the skin-walker. He lay on his back, eyes nearly closed, drooling mouth open, hissing softly. He was slower, less strong, and he knew it now. He certainly couldn’t fly after me if I went airborne. I figured he was playing wounded to lure me in close.

  Sure enough, as I set a foot down close to his head, he lunged for it. Expecting this, I collapsed the joint, and drove my knee into the side of his head, pinning it to the earth. Like swimming on the loose soil, his clawed arms flailed at me.

  “Watch out!” Winter yelled.

  I didn’t need to. I had lightning breath. Electrical fire surged up my throat. I tasted melted copper. Fire burst off my lips as jags of gold that bleached the world, and burnt the air, making ozone. Storm-fire filled the space between me and the Skin-walker. The bolts played wildly, gouging the ground, leaping skyward, curving back to earth again. Some of my own lightning grounded into my body, harmlessly returning home.

  I heard Angie growl and Winer curse.

  Oh, yeah, I hadn’t warned them, had I?

  Reptile teeth were blasted out of the skin-walker’s mouth. His body burned, black smoke made a formidable stink. Chunks of him flew far and wide.

  Scratch one monster.

  I cut off the storm-fire and backed away from the cratered kill-site. Turning, I looked for Angie and Winter. They were a good distance off. Angie—still in wolf form—lay on her belly. Winter lay possessively across her. Both glared at me in a less than friendly way.

  “A little warning next time,” Winter said.

  Angie huffed agreement.

  I smiled. “Sorry. I didn’t know that attack would be so powerful.”

  Winter picked himself up off the ground, then helped Angie. She stood on all fours and shook the dust from her red-brown coat. Her amber wolf eyes burned at me. Unfortunately, I had no doggie treats to offer as an apology.

  Winter asked, “What now?”

  I smiled at Angie. “Now we put my favorite bitch to work.”

  Winter glared. “Favorite bitch?”

  “She’s a female, and my favorite wolf. The term is accurate,” I said.

  He said, “I know. It just sounds really bad when you say it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Angie. Find that little girl’s trail. Colt went after her. Hopefully we’ll find them near each other. He is our way back home. Let that thought motivate you both.”

  Without another word, or growl, they went along the road until we reached the point where the wagons had been. The shifters peered over the rocky ground. Angie had a better nose as a full wolf and stood lower to the ground. She did the serious sniffing, giving another lupine huff when sh
e found the girl’s tracks heading away. Angie ran, but not full out. She used an easy lope that Winter matched, drawing on his inner wolf’s strength.

  I beat my leathery wings and struggled aloft until I found a good thermal wind to carry me in a rising glide.

  The turkey vultures saw me coming and got out of my way, veering sharply for the ground where pieces of Gila monster finished reverting to human remains.

  Bon appetite.

  I floated in the sky, gliding effortlessly after Angie and Winter. They were dots on the ground, until I focused and my eyes took on some of the traits of a true dragon. The dots exploded into larger focus. I didn’t expect a long hunt. The little girl might be a were-cat since she had the Eyes, but shifting wouldn’t do more than make her a leopard or panther cub. She wouldn’t have an adult shifter’s strength and endurance. And in fur, she’d feel the heat even more. No, I expected her to stay in human form and to rely on the Eyes of Bastet for protection.

  I hoped Colt would find her first and get a handle on how to pierce her protection. As a kid himself, he had the best chance of making friends with the girl. Historically, cats and wolves don’t get along any better than cats and dogs.

  I couldn’t help but wonder why a small kid—all alone—would travel half the world to reach the Wild West. Who told her this was a good idea? And what did she hope to find here? I had a sneaking suspicion that she was on a divine mission for her goddess.

  And Bastet is supposed to care about kids.

  Time passed. It stayed hot. My mouth dried. I began to hallucinate icy pitchers of margaritas. They taunted me by dancing just out of reach. Pissed, I destroyed the mental images, and focused on scanning the desert. I returned my fingers to human form, figuring I’d be less scary to the girl that way. I’d ditch the wings, too, when I no longer needed them.

  Dad. The thought burst into my mind.

  Yes, Colt.

  You guys are close. Keep Angie and Winter back. I’m handling this.

  Sure. Where are you exactly?

  He sent a mental image of a rocky hill surrounded by Yucca. There were a few giant fingers of rock connected by a slab of rock that had fallen against them.

  I looked for the place, knowing it must be near Angie and Winter. I swooped down, dropping in front of Angie.

  She skidded to a stop.

  I held up a hand to signal she needed to wait.

  Winter ran up behind her. He stopped and bent forward, hands resting above his knees as he recovered his breath. Not wanting my voice to travel, I spoke very low, knowing the wolves would hear.

  “She’s close. Let’s try not to panic her. Divine relics in fear-crazed hands can be tricky to deal with.” I pointed off to the standing stones. “We’ll give Colt a shot first.”

  Winter nodded his understanding.

  Angie lay down in the dirt, panting.

  There was a small flash of red-copper light between Angie and me. When it cleared away, there was a metal mixing bowl filled with ice and water. Several bottles of beer were inside, and a pink pitcher for me to guzzle. I smelled margarita: tequila, lime and triple sec

  Teary eyed, I choked up a little. I have the best son ever.

  Angie lapped at the ice, her muzzle sinking deeper to get to the water. Winter pulled out a beer and twisted off the cap. He took a long pull and sighed with satisfaction. I pulled out the pitcher and started to work on it.

  My inner dragon cocked his head at me, his eyes gold stars in the back shadows of my mind. He said: It’s not that he’s being considerate. He’s bribing you guys to stay out of his way. He knows your usual methods of dealing with people.

  I know. It’s just that I see so much of me in him.

  Hmmmm.

  I asked my dragon: You think he can get through to the kid? I’d really hate to just go in blasting. The relic might get damaged.

  My inner dragon rippled, a kind of shrug. Colt is my kid, too, so I hope he’s smarter than you.

  Colt’s thoughts burst into my inner conversation. Will you guys shut up. I’m trying to concentrate here. Think about someone else.

  I lifted eyebrows. Then lifted the pitcher and gulped icy refreshment. It really was the best use of my time.

  Thought formed a cold, black patch of shadow on my back. I shaped the configuration for my bi-location spell, and warmed the pattern with golden dragon magic. I wanted to watch Colt up close, but I didn’t want to stop drinking to do it. Activating the spell let me do both. While my body remained with the pitcher, a second, ghostly me floated free. This version of me didn’t have dragon wings, but still flew toward the rocks that sheltered the little girl with the Eyes of Bastet.

  EIGHTEEN

  “Virtue is such a clever trick, few suspect it.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  Just behind Colt, I floated in the air, in my astral form. Disembodied, I could see his aura; a haze of red-copper light that swirled across his skin. I looked past him, through a tangle of brush, I saw a little bit of homespun clothing, it’s dustiness blending in well to the surrounding environment. There was no aura on her. I attributed this to the Eyes of Bastet shielding her.

  The rocks blocked the hot sun, not the cooling wind. I could see why someone would hole up here. The thorny brush and the spiky yucca made a protective screen that the girl had barely managed to crawl under. She probably felt safe from anyone bigger than her, but she wasn’t safe at all.

  The easy way to get a ship out of the bottle is to break the glass. There are numerous magical answers that wouldn’t leave much here but a crater. If it comes to it, I’ll be the bad guy, but we’ll save that for last. I don’t really want to risk destroying the relic I need.

  Colt looked over his shoulder at me. His irritation crackled like red-copper lightning through my astral form, distorting me like an image in a Fun House mirror.

  Hey! Cut that out.

  Ignoring me again, he reached into his front hoodie pocket and pulled out a little plastic chair that only a doll could sit on. His hands kept returning to his pocket. Soon, there were two chairs with a little table between them. He added tiny saucers, teacups, and napkins to the table. Then he pulled out a ragdoll with red-yarn hair and a red dress. He put her on one of the chairs. His hand went back in his front pocket and pulled out a little stuffed bear with black-button eyes. The bear took the second chair. Lastly, Colt pulled out a little teapot.

  Kinda hot for a tea party.

  Colt looked back at me and I read his lips: “Everybody’s a critic.”

  He turned his head toward the ragdoll. I floated to the side so I could still make out his words.

  He said, “What’s that, Ragdoll? You’d rather have an ice-cold can of watermelon soda? Why, I think I just may have one of those in my pocket.”

  I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a Doctor Who extra-spatial dimension in there, too. Same sort Santa Claus uses in his bag of endless toys. I need to find out who’s selling the ESDs and get me a few.

  Colt pulled out a pink can beaded with condensation. He pulled the tab. I imagined the usual pop and fizz, unable to actually hear it without my physical body. I saw a flinch of movement in the girl’s little nest. This had to be the first time she’d ever seen a pop-top can.

  He poured a little fizzy pink into the teacups. He then took a sip off the can, closing his eyes in bliss, no doubt making a yummy sound in his throat. The ragdoll moved on her own, like that was the most natural thing in the world. She pulled her cup over, lifted it, and seemed to drink.

  I wonder if Colt gave her a yummy sound in her throat.

  His thought wiggled me like Jell-O: I’m the director here; butt out.

  Try to help someone…!

  He offered the can to Mr. Bear.

  Mr. Bear slid off his chair and took the can in a bear hug. He turned and tottered off slowly with the burden. The bear had no problem walking to where the girl had crawled. I didn’t have a good view, so I willed myself to float lower, hovering just off the ground. M
r. Bear set the can down, and used the back of a paw to wipe non-existent sweat off his brow. His task done, he marched back, chest swelling with pride. He took his seat and reached for his own cup of soda.

  I saw a tiny girl’s hand pick up the can, pulling it from sight.

  Colt ran through the whole thing a second time with a package of frosted oatmeal cookies. A cookie went on a plate for Ragdoll and Mr. Bear.

  You’re not going to offer me one.

  Colt said: You can’t eat it now anyway.

  It’s still polite to offer.

  Do you want a cookie?

  No, but thanks for offering.

  Colt shook his head sadly. Sometimes, I just want to beat you with a stick. Mom could have done so much better.

  Irritating their kids is one of the few perks of being a parent. You’ll find out yourself one day.

  Mr. Bear got off his little plastic chair and stood at attention. Colt held out three cookies, pressed sideways in a stack. The bear took them between his paws and marched them into the girl’s nest. He held them up, waiting. After a long while, the girl reached out and took them from his paws.

  Colt was teaching her that she could interact with us and the world wouldn’t end.

  So, what’s next? I wondered.

  Colt’s thoughts answered my question: I’m going to ease all of us ahead in time. Evening’s going to come fast. I’ve already warned Aunt Angie.

  The sun visibly moved in the sky, as if someone had made a time-lapse film and we were in it. The shadows on the ground moved as well. From my removed body, I had a feeling of growing thirst and knew the pitcher had gone dry. The sun settled low in the sky, losing its white-yellow blaze, becoming red. Moments later, the sun was half hidden by a mountain range. The sky over us had deepened to a dark blue. White wisps of cloud swam by, their bellies pink from the sunset.

  With time reset, playtime ended. Colt put away his toys, leaving not the slightest bulge in his hoodie pocket. He stood slowly and wandered around the area, gathering wood for a fire. His thoughts touched me: There’s not going to be much to see for a while. I’m going to spread some blankets out by a fire and wait. The cold of the night will help us. I want her to come out because it’s her idea. I want her to trust me.