Seeking Her Mates Boxed Set: A Shifter Menage Serial (All Five Parts)

by Carina Wilder

  “The armour around you, all of it, is yours. This place is yours.”

  “That’s splendid. It’s excellent to know that I possess a castle with a large assortment of metal outfits for bears.” Conor turned and began to walk away. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr…Roc.”

  “One second, my Lord Dunbar,” said the man, raising his voice so that once again it echoed through the large space.

  “I am no lord.” Conor turned and glared. “Least of all yours.”

  “Ah, but you are. It is your birthright.”

  “Well, if I am somehow your leader then tell me this: who is the leader of the Stranieri?”

  “Why you are, of course.”

  The words hit like bullets. They were ridiculous; unfathomable. And yet all of a sudden the scenes that had worked through his mind began to fall together in a sort of interwoven tapestry; a puzzle assembling at last.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “How is that possible?”

  The man approached and stood before him, Conor’s equal in height. “The Stranieri formed many centuries ago, under cover of darkness, and was made up of members of a secret society who congregated in hidden places. For a time—many years, in fact—they went quiet; many thought they had even disbanded. But in the fifteenth century they sprang back to life, inspired by the cruelty of the dragon lords. It is they who work to this day to preserve our way of life and to guard it from oppressors.”

  “You still haven’t explained how I’m somehow their leader.”

  “Let me show you,” said the man. “If you’ll indulge me for a moment.”

  He turned to his right and Conor followed his gaze, which seemed fixed on a piece of bare wall between two of the suits of armour.

  A moment later a scene began to spread across the space, another sort of film, but this time Conor knew that it wasn’t in his mind: it was being conveyed by the Roc shifter to him; the man was showing him using some trick of his own mind.

  The scene depicted a great field spreading in every direction, and covering it were shifters of all sorts; cats, birds flying low, hounds and wolves. But the largest of them were the bears, clad in silver and gold armour, preparing for war.

  In the foreground was the most impressively enormous of them all: A dark bear with eyes of two different colours: one aqua, the other gold flecked with brown. He wore a suit of armour made of silver so bright that it shone white in the sunlight.

  All eyes were on him as he seemed to communicate silently with his army.

  And then the sky erupted in a sea of flame and flying, scaled bodies of every colour: emerald green, sky blue, silver. Their leader was an enormous dragon, menacing, coated in red scales.

  In seconds the dragons were attacking, and the bear leader reared up protectively, his army behind him as he took on their greatest threat.

  And then what seemed like a screen went dark and the pictures ceased.

  “What…what did you just show me?” asked Conor.

  “I showed you your fate. And now I will show you more.”

  “I…”

  The man didn’t speak again. Instead, he backed away to the center of the room, where he stood, his arms spread outward, seeming to reach for the far corners of the cavernous space. In a moment a gigantic bird stood before Conor, its wings unable to spread fully despite the size of the chamber.

  As he watched, it lunged at him, threatening, aggressive.

  And inside Conor, his déor took over. There was no time to think; only to act.

  In an instant he had changed into the creature whom he hadn’t inhabited since fighting the shape-changer and her companion in the woods, defending Lilliana out of love and loyalty.

  The Roc backed away, luring Conor forward slowly until he found himself next to a particularly shiny piece of armour, bare of engraving, its side smooth, a perfect mirror.

  And then the Roc shifted his own eyes towards the armour. Conor understood and looked in the same direction.

  In the reflected surface he saw his déor at last: an enormous bear, dark-coated with an aqua eye and a golden one, flecked with brown.

  Large enough to take down even a dragon lord.

  66

  Dragon Wars, Chapter One

  “What is it that you saw? Tell me.” Merriman’s face was tense, his tone strained as he spoke the words.

  Lily stared into space, the vision still playing out in her mind as she stood in the room where she’d spent the previous night with her mates; the last night before she’d said good-bye to them, expecting to see them back there that afternoon.

  And now she knew that it may have been the last night they would ever spend together.

  Of two things she was certain. The first was Conor’s destiny, unfolding before her as it had in her mind. And his fate had no intention of bringing them back together; if anything, it was working overtime to tear them apart.

  The second thing that she knew was that Graeme, like Conor, was now far away, removed from her in one quick gesture. If her visions had been an accurate guide, he had moved back through time to confront a fate of his own.

  She turned to face Merriman at last, words coming slowly to her lips. “I saw it. I saw Conor’s déor,” she began to explain, her voice expressionless as she attempted to access the images that were now etched on her memory. “A bear. The same one I’d seen earlier today, in a painting. I’d tried to convince myself that it was all mere coincidence; dreams, not reality.”

  “Tell me about him: what did he look like?”

  “He was gigantic, muscular, unlike anything I’d ever seen. Beautiful, even. But it was his eyes that gave him away. No one has those eyes, except for Conor.”

  “Yes,” said Merriman thoughtfully. “That is true.”

  As Lily pulled herself out of her momentary dream-state it struck her that, as usual, the old man knew more than he was letting on.

  “I suppose that deep down,” she continued, “I knew all along what he was. But something inside me had hoped so much that it wasn’t him. Until today, when I saw that painting. It was so strange, so real. To see Conor’s animal form at war with dragons, so battered and bloody. Fighting against an entire army, against…” She stopped short as the memory flooded over her. It was too awful to consider.

  “Against Graeme,” said Merriman, turning away and taking a few disconcerted steps through the small room. “The most nightmarish scenario imaginable for you, I’m sure.”

  “Yes. How can this happen? And what do I do?” Lily was still seated on the bed, lacking control over her mind or movements. She felt at once numb and bombarded with a barrage of feeling; loss, sadness, abandonment. Fear.

  “I think you know the answer to both of those questions,” said the ancient man, who stood several feet from her, his figure casting a shadow like that of one of the standing stones from her wild seaside home in Cornwall. “Conor has found his rightful place at last. Everything he’s been through, from his days wandering the streets of London, has led to this.

  “The Stranieri have claimed him, and to his new allies he is a gift, a weapon more powerful than any that they have. He has bonded with two dragons and his strength exceeds that of anyone else on their side of the battle. He represents hope; the hope of changing the course of history, of saving their kind. And of defeating the dragons at long last.”

  “But he can’t…the painting…he was being killed. He was covered with wounds. I saw it.”

  “What you saw was an artist’s interpretation of a fight that unfolded hundreds of years ago. But the bear—the Beorn—in that fight—he was not the man you know now. That shifter may have had Conor’s eyes, and may even have been called Conor Dunbar. But the bear in the painting, whoever he was, had not bonded with you, with Graeme. Things are different now.”

  “Different, but the same. The Stranieri still want him. They still need him to fight, Merriman. Tell me what to do to stop this.” Desperation carved a rough surface into Lily’s voice.


  “You need to find your mates. And whether you are prepared to do so or not, you need to thrust yourself into their world and to find your own place in this war.”

  “But how do I find them? Like you said, they’re gone.”

  “Well, you have clues. The painting, for instance. You know what you saw, as it remains firmly implanted in your mind’s eye.”

  Lily looked up at the ancient shifter, whose face was supportive and kind as always. But a wall remained between them as Merriman urged her to find her own way. She knew that he would in all likelihood not hold her hand or guide her through this leg of her journey.

  “The painting,” she said, recalling one important detail in its corner: a man with an owl. However lacking in detail his figure had been, there was no mistaking the figure. “You know exactly which one I’m talking about.”

  “Yes, I know it. I have seen it, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “Yes, I suppose you have,” she said, standing up to address him. “Particularly as you seem to feature in its composition.”

  “You noticed that,” he said. “Yes, of course you did.”

  “Hard to miss a man with a snowy owl companion. But if you were present for the battle, you know what happened. You know the outcome.”

  “What may happen, you mean to say,” said Merriman. “Because in one place and time the battle has occurred already, of course; that war and all its consequences. But to Conor and Graeme, it has yet to take place, and so even I have no way of knowing.”

  “Maybe it can prevented,” Lily said. “If it hasn’t yet taken place…”

  “I wish it were so simple, Lilliana. Such long-standing hatred as causes conflicts like these is a difficult thing to ignore. That sort of rivalry doesn’t simply go away; not without a damned good reason and a leader who is able to change the mindsets of his—or her—subjects.”

  “But Conor and Graeme don’t hate each other. They’re like brothers, those two. They love each other.”

  “The human men whose bodies they inhabit do, of course. They’ve bonded. The Ritual is a powerful thing. But Conor has an animal within him now, and in it will be a sense of duty more powerful than much of what the man has ever felt. It will prove difficult for him, to say the least. I have seen greater men fall to the seductive forces of power and prestige.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible,” said Lily, who couldn’t begin to imagine the fire dragon within her taking her over, turning her against either of her mates. The very thought was almost laughable.

  “You’d be surprised at the ambition of a great leader, a man thrust into a position of such strength. But you shouldn’t be. In every century it occurs; men blinded by greed and the promise of greatness. It overtakes all else again and again. It is a disease that spreads like a cancer.”

  “Conor is not like that, so weak as to succumb to promises of rank and power. And neither is Graeme,” said Lily.

  “Aren’t they? Do you not know of some of Graeme’s exploits before he met you? He was not always a loving man, Lilliana.”

  Lily hesitated before answering. She’d always been glad not to know too much about Graeme’s military experiences. “Well, he’s fought in his father’s army, of course. But my brother has fought as well and he’s not exactly a cruel dictator. He’s simply followed orders, been a good soldier.” As she spoke the words, she realized that she was only confirming her worst fears. A loyal soldier sometimes amounted to nothing more than a controlled killer.

  “Graeme is not cruel,” conceded Merriman. “But he still has the genes of a Dragon Lord, which means invariable bloodlust. He does not back down from a fight, that one.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.” Memories of each time Graeme had thrust himself between her and danger cropped into her mind.

  And he would defend her to the death, even if he had to fight Conor to do it.

  Merriman went silent for a moment, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “There is one creature who remained absent during the war,” he said. “One who could perhaps have ended it before it began. A creature more powerful than either of your mates, in fact.”

  “What creature is that?” Lily’s voice was hopeful.

  “You.”

  * * *

  67

  Dragon Wars, Chapter Two

  “What are you doing here?” Graeme stood facing the man who’d raised him, a sense of dread flowing through his every vein.

  His father stood before him, seeming to have aged since they’d last seen one another. His face hadn’t altered a great deal, as most shifters showed signs of their years passing far more slowly than their human counterparts did. But though for Graeme it had only been weeks of separation, he could tell that for his father some years had passed since they’d last spoken.

  “When your son disappears off the face of the earth, seemingly stolen away to another time before your eyes, you tend to grow concerned,” said the elder Lord Ramsey to his son. “Though I knew, ultimately, that you were safe; Lord Lachlan informed me of your whereabouts decades ago. Children do leave the nest at some point; run off and start their own families, and as you know, I was all for you bonding with Lady Lilliana. I didn’t begin to worry until recently, when I discovered that the other man in your threesome is one of the Beorn, the mortal enemy to all my kin.

  “For me, it has been a long time since we last saw one another, Graeme. Decades. A century, even. But I’ve known for some time that the day would come when I had to extract you from your new life of hedonistic pleasures, cut it short and bring you back. I have waited long enough. You have obligations here.”

  “So you know,” said Graeme. “About Conor and Lilliana. About the Ritual.”

  “Oh yes, I know. I have lived with the knowledge for much of my life now. I wasn’t sure at first what the mysterious Mr. Dunbar was exactly, but word gets around in various ways. The shifters that you’ve come to know as the Stranieri may be our enemies, but they’re a useful resource for information. They speak of a great leader in their midst, one who will be their saviour in the war against our kind.”

  “So you’ve traveled through time to let me know that you don’t approve of my life choices, I take it?” asked Graeme.

  “Something like that. More accurate would be to say that I’ve brought you back to our time.”

  A sudden sense of panic struck Graeme as he looked around at his surroundings. A moment ago, he’d been in a modern version of the Ramseys’ castle. But now it seemed by some magical force to have reverted to the state that he’d known in his youth, the modern twenty-first century flourishes and decor gone. Once again, somehow, he was in the Scotland that had existed centuries earlier. And his mates were far, far away.

  Spinning around, he saw that the enormous painting of a war that he’d never witnessed had disappeared as well; had it simply been a strange figment of his over-active imagination?

  “How…” he began.

  “I’m no time-leaper; I don’t share your Lady Lilliana’s skills. But I have a few tricks up my sleeve, and so I’ve brought you through with help from a friend. You’re now where you belong, back home once again. Your mistakes will be forgotten and you can now begin to move forward with the life that you were meant to live, as a great leader rather than a man who shares a bed with an odious creature who would slaughter you in your sleep, given the opportunity.”

  His father’s voice was resolute, commanding. This was the voice of a man issuing an order to a subordinate, rather than a man who had any sympathy for a son who’d just lost not one, but two, loved ones.

  “What do you mean, move forward with my life?” asked Graeme, his tone confrontational. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my life? Lilliana and Conor need my protection. There are assassins everywhere, seeking them out. We were pursued through Edinburgh. The Stranieri…”

  “That is by no means your issue to solve. You are a Dragon Lord, Graeme, and your duty is to your clan. It always has been. You were meant to
mate with Lady Lilliana from the start, and I have no issue with your choice to do so. But you were meant to do it in our time, in our lands. For the good of our kind. But instead you chose to go galavanting around the modern era like some sort of action star from those despicable films I hear about.”

  “You say that my duty is to our clan. But my life has changed, father. My duty is to those I care for, those I…”

  “Love? Are you really going to invoke love, as though you’re capable of loving a bear shifter, a Beorn? He is a parasite, a menace which needs to be eliminated.”

  Graeme’s hand went to his forehead as he attempted to grasp the magnitude of what had occurred. He’d always loved his father, and had missed both parents and his home in his brief time away. And yet, regardless of the interminable string of threats to his new life with Lily and Conor, he’d found a happiness with them unlike any that he’d ever experienced in his years on earth.

  His mate was as perfect a woman as a man could ask for, and Conor was as close to a sibling as Graeme had ever had. And now here was his father standing before him, behaving like an immovable dictator, and worse: one who exhibited hatred for an entire species; enough to wish them eliminated like cockroaches.

  In Graeme’s younger days, the notion of clashing with a particular species of shifter had been relatively normal; it was a given that dragons would conflict with others. His fate, as he’d always understood, was to mate with fellow dragons.

  Yet somehow he’d ended up with one of these “Beorn,” a term which he’d only ever heard in passing during his youth for a species that seemed far away, foreign, legendary in their strength and size. The bond that he and Conor had established had demolished all of his pre-conceived notions about non-dragons; in fact their differences had strengthened him, given him new powers and a new sense of what it was to bond through the Ritual, through love and warmth, not to mention loyalty.