Loyalty: A Dragon Shifter Menage Serial (Seeking Her Mates Book 4) (2 page)

“
I
have
a few words of advice for the three of you,” said Merriman as the three mates took their seats before him like students awaiting a lecture. “Before you leave on this, the last leg of your journey north.”

Evening was setting in at last, and the house and its surroundings were still and quiet as the four gathered in their normal place around the kitchen table. Barnabas stood perched and watchful as always, his eyes attentive and bright.

No one had been overcome by new concerns over an imminent invasion from beyond the house’s walls since the afternoon’s attack. All seemed to Lily to have been mended between her mates, and the house was as close to peaceful as it could be. Yet she found herself filled with an apprehension which seemed to stem only from her own imagination. She hoped, for everyone’s sake, that it was mere paranoia, the result of an eventful day.

“You may wonder why I’m recommending that you head to Edinburgh, or to Scotland at all,” continued Merriman, his tone professorial as he stood over the three younger shifters. His height sometimes seemed to increase, his authority expanding to surround them as he spoke. He exuded power in a way that could only come from centuries of experience and the gathering of knowledge. Only a man such as himself could make such powerful shifters feel like small, impressionable school children.

He continued: “I have my reasons, among which is that, as you already know, the last evidence of a Stranieri stronghold was uncovered in Edinburgh itself, in an old, deserted church which has since been vacated. But regardless of where the enemy may be hiding out, we have every reason to believe that the answers we’re looking for are in that area. It is where both Conor’s and Graeme’s families come from, after all. And I think it is in their ancestry that we may uncover the secrets.”

“Secrets to the Stranieri’s whereabouts?” said Graeme, surprise in his voice. “My family has no affiliations with them, surely.”

“No,” said Merriman. “Yours does not, of course. The Stranieri’s greatest enemy are dragon-folk such as you and Lilliana, so you’d be the last collaborators they’d choose. But it would serve you well to determine why it is that they despise you so much that they have pursued your kind over many centuries.”

Graeme fell silent, feeling almost guilty for sins that he hadn’t committed, and more so for those he had. Merriman had a point; dragons could be relentless and were reputed for terrorizing rather than forming alliances and preserving the world of shifters. Although he hadn’t spent his life acting in an inherently cruel manner, he, like so many of his kind, had enjoyed combat; the burning of homes of his clan’s enemies, and the vanquishing of weaker shifters. It was in his blood, but he was coming to realize that it wasn’t a terribly attractive trait in his kind. Dragons were not sought after as friends.

“And you will not like this next piece of advice,” said the old gryphon shifter, pulling Graeme’s mind away from thoughts of morality in battle. “But it must be said. When you arrive in Edinburgh you need to consider splitting up when possible. There is safety in numbers for humans, who are physically weak. But it is not always so for our ilk. If the enemy tracks you it is best to divide them up. And you are less trackable as individuals than as a threesome. To pick up your scent when you’re together is as easy as spotting the sun in the sky. But on your own, you will not be so easily found.”

“But we are stronger together,” protested Graeme. “We can fight, help one another.”

“Stronger? No. More secure, perhaps. But remember that altering into dragon form in busy tourist districts is inadvisable, so the brute strength of your déors will not always be a viable solution. It is to you to find the enemy and to learn to understand what it is that motivates them, so that we can learn to communicate with them. We need to find out who calls the shots, and can only do so if we have contact with their kind.”

“I assume that they’ll know that we’re after their organization, given that we’re coming to their turf,” said Conor.

“They will suspect that you are looking for something, of course. But as you know, our people have tried in vain to find this elusive leader of the Stranieri, and so they’ll assume that you three are after something other than their commander in chief. Besides which, there is no reason that you should succeed now at finding him, unless…” He stopped in mid-sentence, hesitating to complete the thought.

Conor searched Merriman’s mind, but found himself barricaded as always; the man was too skilled to allow his walls to fall.

“Unless?” said Lily.

“Let’s just say that I have a few theories. If I’m correct, there is some aspect of the Stranieri that
wants
to be uncovered. Why, I admit that I don’t know. Their coming here that night, when Conor was ill—it was unusual, to say the least. They are not an organization that likes to draw attention to itself and yet here they were, an army of shifters on our land.”

Lily’s mind flashed back to the great wall of fire surrounding the house; the enormous bird, the Roc, which seemed bent on breaking through Conor’s window and killing him as he lay feverish on the bed.

Merriman continued. “You must be careful, most of all, not to be lured into any traps. You’ve seen how clever they can be. Don’t forget that some have lived for centuries and have honed their skills.”

Lily winced, recalling the events that had unfolded earlier that day in the woods; the intruder disguising his or herself as Mrs. Fitzpatrick. The birds, circling overhead, watchers on the prowl. The Stranieri were good at getting the upper hand, and at forcing her own. She was determined not to let it happen again.

“Do you think shape-changers will be an issue?” she asked. “Like the one who turned into Mrs. Fitzpatrick?”

“
Everything
will be an issue. Every person you see could be one of them; every pigeon. A Canadian goose. Be wary. But also be wary of yourselves. Your powers are still growing. Graeme, do not throw a bus at anyone unless strictly necessary. And Lily—take care with your leaping through time. You will find that it too has altered and developed, though until you use it you won’t know how. You don’t want to find yourself in a place you’ve never been, unless you have some real purpose in finding your way there.”

“And me?” said Conor.

“You ought not to shape yourself into that monstrous déor of yours until the time is right.”

“Whatever ‘monstrous déor’ means.”

“Yes,” said Merriman, “Whatever it means. I suspect that you will discover the meaning soon enough. And remember: look to your ancestors, particularly you, Mr. Dunbar.”

“Me? But my ancestry is relatively dull,” said Conor. “I’ve seen the family tree. I’ve researched a little, even. They were aristocrats who ruled over serfs, and probably not very well. And then they were aristocrats who played golf and lived on money that they didn’t deserve.”

“Not as dull as you might think. Perhaps if you do some research you will discover why it is that our enemy has such a keen interest in you in particular. Why the Roc left you alone rather than killing you, as he could have done.”

As always all three of the younger shifters felt that Merriman had his reasons for being cryptic. And as though in quiet agreement, Barnabas flew down from a tall shelf and perched on the back of Merry’s chair, his head darting around as he studied each of them.

“Take care.”

Lily heard the words inside her mind as she locked eyes with Barnabas, but this time the voice wasn’t Merriman’s or Conor’s.

It was the owl’s.

T
he night passed without incident
, Lily sleeping between her two men. For once there had been no sex; only quiet, warm hands laid upon her skin, and affection after a long day, as though a perfect calm had returned to their relationship. There would be time, they hoped, for love-making once they reached their destination, once some sort of home base had been established.

Throughout the nighttime hours, Lily dreamed of events that seemed oddly real: of Conor, visiting an old, stately stone building of some sort, looking at relics of a past that he didn’t entirely understand, fearful and overwhelmed.

Of Graeme’s dragon under attack by an army bent on killing him, shapes that were indiscernible but enormous, lunging at him and his kin.

Of Merriman, of Barnabas, of many darkly-cloaked figures and of a battle on an open field, bloody and deadly.

And finally of herself torn between the two sides, trying to figure out which way to go, her peacekeeper phoenix wanting to save the world; her dragon wanting to destroy all that threatened it.

When the dreams had come to an end she lay in bed, attempting to open her eyes. It was when she realized that they were already open, staring up at the ceiling, that a sense of foreboding overtook her. Had it all occurred in her mind’s eye? A vision of things to come, or of a past that had never occurred?

Mere anxiety
, she told herself.
Be calm. Nothing has happened, and the future is preventable.

“Lilliana?” It was Conor’s voice as he lay next to her, observing her with concern.

“Mmm.”

“Are you all right? Your eyes have been fixed on one spot above you for ages.”

She turned and looked at him, his broad chest emerging from under white sheets. Had he seen what was now carved into her mind?

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Bad dreams, which I suppose are inevitable, given all that’s happened.”

“Be mindful of those,” he replied, seemingly unconcerned as he stretched his strong arms towards the ceiling and let out a yawn. “They can take you over. Try to dream of ponies and kittens, or in moments of sheer desperation: steamy, passionate sex.”

Lily laughed as she leaned over and kissed him gently on the dimpled cheek. His hair, as always, was a mess. True bed head, and nothing on the planet was sexier.

Or so she thought until behind her, Graeme moved a hand onto her side, stroking her as he whispered, “Pay particular attention to the sex.”

And once again she found herself feeling invincible, protected from every angle by the strongest, most loving, strangest men the world could offer. And they were hers, she reminded herself, whatever odd and dark fantasies her cruel mind concocted.

W
hen the three
descended for breakfast, having packed their sparse belongings into the bags that Asta had given them so long ago, they discovered food laid out on the table alongside an envelope with a note scrawled on its outside.

In the envelope they discovered three tickets to Edinburgh via the town of Cheltenham, which meant being taxied to a station once again by a driver. Also inside were three passports: Conor’s from London, though he had no idea how it had gotten to this place; an English one for Lily, whose new surname was “Miller,” and a Scottish one for someone called “Graeme Connelly.” The photos contained within looked just like them, but their actual source was a mystery.

“The man really is a wizard,” murmured Lily. “I really have no idea how he manages these things.”

“Perhaps after several hundred—or thousand—years, we’ll be pretty skilled, too,” said Graeme.

Last was a generous pile of cash stuffed into the envelope next to the passports, which the three divided evenly and stored in the inside pockets of their packs. The absence of any sort of credit or bank card was no doubt an effort to avoid tracking by any electronic means; cell phones were a no-no as well, which suited Lily and Graeme fine. Neither had ever gotten the hang of them, besides which, telepathy seemed to make up for the need between Lily and Conor.

“I wonder if it’ll be Mrs. Fitzpatrick who drives us to the train,” she said. “I’d sort of like to see her again.”

“Not sure that I would,” Conor replied as he pulled an apple off the plate at the table’s center. “I feel rather like I killed her, which means that she’d be some sort of zombie chauffeur. That doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Think of your victim as her evil twin, emphasis on evil,” Graeme contributed. He’d done in enough enemies in his time to be relatively numb to the prospect.

“Will do. Still, I’d prefer some nameless, faceless sort of driver this time round.”

His wish was granted when, an hour later, the bell rang. A man wearing a cloak very much like those that Xin, Asta and Duncan had worn in London, stood waiting to guide the three.

“You’re a shifter,” said Lily.

“I am.”

He was tall and thin, not built like her mates. His eyes were gold and not so far off from one of Conor’s, and she sought to pry into his mind. The driver didn’t resist as some had, which Lily took for the weakness of a shifter who wasn’t engaged in an underground war as they were.

She could see his déor: a bear, surprising given his lean human shape. Fast, though; able to run more like a wildcat than a lumbering grizzly. Unlike any bear that Lily had ever heard of roaming the wild.

“What is your name?” asked Graeme as they loaded their bags into the car.

“Braun,” he replied. Well, he wasn’t a talker, this one. Probably for the best, as none of the three was in desperate need of idle conversation with a stranger. Each had his or her mind on the future, on what would happen once they hit their destination. Whether all three would live out the week, and who else might die in the process.

Braun drove them through the misty countryside as the three companions stared out the windows at the lands that they might not see again. Graeme sat in the back with Conor, occasionally honing his craft by hovering a few coins or the train ticket in the air, and causing them to dance in a sort of helix figure, intricate, slow, refined.

Even without watching, Lily could sense him practising this skill which might come in handy in the next few days, particularly if limited by the rule that he must remain in human form. Coins and paper, however, would be insufficient, she knew. When Graeme could spin cars and buildings through the air perhaps he could take on the enemy with some assurance.

Braun’s mind remained open to Lily, but contained little of use. He was following orders. He was a shifter, but kept it hidden while he performed his job, working behind a desk at a bank. He lived in London for most of the year. But nothing within him conveyed information about the Stranieri.

“Braun…have you had dealings with the enemy?” she asked after they’d traveled for about half an hour in silence. The words were direct, but she wanted a direct answer.

“The enemy?” he asked, turning his expressionless face to her.

“The Stranieri.”

“Ah. Not really. I’ve heard of them, of course. To me they’re no more an enemy than you are, however.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know them is all,” he said. “And I don’t know you. You are as likely to harm me as they are.”

Braun went silent, his jaw tensing as though to force the words back in, as though he’d said too much or were restraining anger.

He’s hiding something,
Lily thought. But much as she pried, she couldn’t unlock the secrets in his mind.

Yes, he is hiding a good deal.
It was Conor’s voice.
But I don’t know what, other than a dislike of dragons, which seems a common thread these days. This driver is good at emptying that vast room that he calls a brain; it’s like an echo chamber in there. He’s not stupid, though. Intelligent enough to keep thoughts to himself.

Well, damn it. I was hoping for more than a short series of mental grunts.

As was I. But he’s only an underling, a driver. He’s not a conspirator, this one, at least I don’t think so, and whatever he knows isn’t enough to help us. We need patience, sweet thing.

Lily tightened her jaw and shut her own mind down, as though closing a laptop computer to shield it from prying eyes. Conor was right, of course. But patience wasn’t easy when one was awaiting one’s destiny.

She turned her eyes once again to the passing countryside, attempting to appreciate its beauty, which seemed to have been perfectly preserved over centuries. If only all good things could last so long.