by Delta James
Over the years, the village and the outlying farms experienced a mostly peaceful existence. When there was trouble, they banded together and found solutions or beat back trouble that came their way. Mostly living without any kind of overlord left them with a freedom many would never know. But when a band of rogue shifters began to raid various farms, those in the community feared for their safety and petitioned the closest wolf pack for protection. Their entreaties were met with indifference.
Some of the wolves simply drove the owners of the farms off their lands and took over. Others raided for what they wanted, be it goods or women. The latter normally used the women to ease their lust and then left. There were several stories though of some rogue wolves who wanted the farms for themselves and stayed behind, claiming and turning a captured female and forcing her to be their mate. These shifters were ostracized by the other villagers, but that seemed to matter little to them.
Míorúilt’s father cautioned her to stay close to the farm, but Míorúilt had always loved to wander not only in their fields, but along the rocky cliffs that served as a border between the farm and the sea. She often found herself staring at the castle ruins along what was now an island, but had once been a headland. Time, wind, and the ocean itself had laid siege to the abandoned fortress after it had fallen in battle. Míorúilt thought about the great cavern system her parents had described as a sanctuary when the world had been unsafe for humans.
Late one evening, the sun set on the far horizon, turning the darkening sky to various shades of purple and magenta. Míorúilt sat watching the inky blackness descend only to be lit up as the stars began to peek out of the veil. This was her favorite time of day. Her chores were done and she knew her mother would be cooking supper. It was her time to be alone and dream of what her future might hold. Taking a last, long look and gathering her things, Míorúilt began to make her way back to her parents’ farm.
The first hint that anything might be amiss came when she saw an orange glow from where she knew the farmhouse and barn were located. She dropped what she had been carrying and ran to see the source of what she was sure was a large fire. Instead of finding one of the main buildings on fire, Míorúilt stopped short as she saw her parents’ bodies backlit by a large bonfire burning brightly in a macabre dance. They had been tied to a pole at the top of the bonfire. She could see they were not moving; the stench of charred flesh reached her nostrils and she retched. Dropping to her knees, she hugged herself as her stomach emptied itself.
“Did you see something... at the top of the hill?” she heard one of the marauders call.
Míorúilt could hear the men below bustling together and heading in her direction. She knew she should flee, but to where? There was nothing but open field between her current position and the sea cliff. If they were the rogue wolf-shifters, they could change to their wolf selves and run her down. She had nothing with which to protect herself except for her father’s long knife that she often took with her when she was going to be off by herself. He had taught her to use it with skill. She knew she couldn’t defend herself against all of them, but she meant to make a good account of herself before joining her parents in the afterlife. She knew one thing for certain; she would not allow herself to be taken against her will.
She heard the raiders scrambling up the hill and egging each other on.
“Whoa ho! What do we have here?” one of them taunted.
Grabbing his crotch, one of the men next to him said, “A tasty bit of sweetness...”
“I’ll bet she’s still a maid,” called another as they began to surround her.
“Are you, little one? Is your maidenhead still intact?”
She could hear the lust growing in their voices. They carried torches so she could see the hunger and viciousness on their faces.
“She might be worth keeping,” said one.
Míorúilt fell into a defensive stance and prepared to defend herself well enough that they would have to kill her. She meant to make as many of them pay for her parents’ murder as she could. Míorúilt was unprepared for the snap of the whip as it snaked out and disarmed her. With a feral squeal of victory, several of the wolf-shifters started toward her. Terrified, the darkness that always seemed to be lurking at the edges of her mind, and which she had attributed to the warrior of her dreams, leapt to the fore.
She spun around to confront those closest to her and roared in defiance. She hadn’t even known she was capable of making such a sound. But more alarming, and far more effective, was the stream of fire that blazed through her lips, not harming her, but engulfing several of those who threatened her in flames.
Their screams of agony split the night as they fell away. Several of the others turned to run, while a few of the bolder members of the rogue pack shifted to their wolf form and charged.
Míorúilt confronted them and spewed a more controlled stream of fire in a line between her and them. The attackers that had been at her back fled and Míorúilt whirled around and darted toward the cliff through the opening their departure had left in those that encircled her. Not sure of her own plan, she ran, hearing the rogue wolves gaining on her—their jaws snapping in expectation, their growls filled with lust and violence. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, but knew she would not be fast enough. She stopped midway to the edge of the bluff and turned back to confront those who pursued her.
She watched as they charged toward her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the darkness fluttered, urging her to let go of her humanity. Míorúilt thought it was calling for her either to surrender herself to rape and death or to throw herself from the cliff. No sooner had the thought formed than a mighty black dragon revealed itself, rearing on its hind legs and beating its impressive wings. It dropped to all fours and galloped toward the front of her conscious mind. She let go of her own free will and felt her body shift as the dragon emerged from her being.
Míorúilt had no time for any reflection or recognition other than that she had become one of the dragons of her mother’s stories. The dragon within sounded a ferocious warning as it spewed death in the form of a multicolored flame. Several more of her pursuers fell and Míorúilt turned back to the precipice and galloped toward it. Her wings unfurled and spread as she picked up speed. She felt her wings beat in time to her stride and her feet lifted off the earth. Míorúilt sailed over the edge of bluff and felt the ocean air beneath her wings as she soared upward and banked back toward her attackers and the only home she’d ever known.
Flying back, she rained fire down on the marauders who still remained. Their deaths were instantaneous and silent. She flew back to the farm and in an expression of rage and grief, blasted all that remained until there was nothing left but scorched earth. She flew for hours, circling all that remained of the happy life she had led. Finally, she flew to the enormous rock outcropping at the top of the hill, overlooking her parents’ farm. Managing to land, Míorúilt considered her next move. She had shifted into a dragon without having given it much thought... was she trapped in this form for the rest of her life? She tried to remember all the stories her mother had told her. Surely if she could shift from human to dragon, she could make the switch back. As she focused on the things her mother had shared, she began to feel a change in her limbs and watched, in fascination, as they changed before her eyes. Once the transformation was complete, she discovered that she was naked with no trace of her clothes. She realized she would need to remedy that and keep it in mind if she were ever to shift again. Shaking her head at the new intricacies in her life, she began to make her way down the face of the rocks.
Míorúilt staggered from the rocks in a state of anger, hurt, and disbelief and approached the charred remains of her mother and father. She caught her breath and forced herself not to be sick. She picked through what tools she could find lying in the dirt. She found a large, mostly intact shovel and headed away from the site of her parents’ massacre. Míorúilt moved to their favorite place—the top of a hill, un
der a large tree, that overlooked what little was left of the place she had once called home. She began to dig their grave. She knew most people would have dug two separate ones, but she always remembered her parents being together.
So many mornings as a child she had crawled into bed and snuggled between them. As she got older and came to understand what went on in the marital bed, she allowed them their privacy and passion. Míorúilt remembered the loving glances and touches and catching her parents kissing and embracing each other. When she thought of them, she always thought of them together. She would bury them so they could lie together for all time.
Returning to the now dwindling bonfire, she cut her parents down and found an iron box her father had brought with him from the Cave of Tears before she was born. In it she managed to salvage a lace tablecloth that her mother had treasured as well as a pair of breeches, a shirt, and boots. Míorúilt managed to get their bodies laid out on the material and then dragged them to the grave she had prepared for them. She lowered them as gently as she could into the ground. A small sparkle caught her eye. It was her mother’s pendant.
Míorúilt smiled softly, remembering her father gifting the gem to her mother. She had chastised him for spending the coin to have it made, but he had insisted, and she had relented. It was a dome-shaped piece of stone that was thin, blue, and covered with crystals. As a child, Míorúilt had been fascinated by it. Once her father had placed it around her mother’s neck, Caoimhe had never removed it. Míorúilt found it interesting that it appeared to be untouched by the fire. She removed it to take as a keepsake of her parents’ love. Covering them with the tablecloth, she took a deep breath and began to fill the grave.
When she was finished, she dressed herself and found a small reticule into which she placed her mother’s pendant and a small silver pitcher. Turning away, she started down the hill. She wondered if she could shift back into the dragon, and if so, how? The first time had been purely instinctual, fueled by adrenalin and a need to save herself. Trying to recall if her mother had ever given any hint as to how one shifted into a dragon, she could think of nothing. She remembered that while she had been terrified before, the dragon had seemed to call to her to let go of her physical being and allow it to come forward. Could she do the same? Remembering the loss of her clothes, she removed them and placed them in the bundle of things she would take with her from this place.
Míorúilt breathed deeply and tried to still her mind, allowing a certain kind of peace to wash over her. With it came the formation of a dark shape, which quickly morphed into that of the dragon. With her inner voice, she summoned it to the forefront of her consciousness. Once again, she could feel her body shift as the dragon claimed her being. She picked up her meager belongings and started to trot and then run, picking up speed as she beat her wings and felt her feet leave the ground as she took flight.
Turning away from the ruins of what had been her home, Míorúilt followed the ribbon of moonlight out toward the ruins of the island fortress. She would be safe there for the night. She would figure out what to do come morning. Her father had always told her that most problems seemed far less troublesome in the light of day. At the thought of her murdered parents, her heart clutched, and she felt her wings falter. She stretched them back out, surprised that she knew how to respond, and allowed herself to glide upon the air currents as she made her way to the ruined stronghold.
Míorúilt circled the island, at first from a high and wide arc and then spiraling down until her clawed feet almost skimmed the tops of the waves. She could see the moonlit ruins, which must have been beautiful at one time. She found a wide-open spot in what once must have been a large bailey and tried to land with a modicum of grace. That, however, was not to be. While flying had been instinctive and glorious, her first attempt at landing, other than to perch as she had on the rock face, had been awkward at best. All four feet seemed to go in different directions as she touched down and her back feet seemed to go faster than her front. They overran and tripped her front feet and she found her nose digging a furrow in the dirt before she fell over, the inertia causing her to roll several feet. She was almost glad when her crash landing was stopped by one of the few remaining solid walls. Otherwise, she might have fallen into the turbulent seas that crashed all around the small island. Míorúilt wasn’t sure whether or not dragons could swim but felt a dark night in a stormy ocean was not the time to find out.
She felt her body shift back to human as she came to rest against the stones that formed the outer perimeter of the castle. It was a bit disconcerting to find herself naked again, but she thought it was a small price to pay for the gift of being the last dragon shifter. She opened her small bag and removed the only clothing she had to her name, dressing quickly. It was chilly and no one had lived on the island in hundreds, if not thousands, of years. She made a cursory look around but, as expected, found nothing. She realized that as she could breathe fire, lighting kindling and logs to make something by which she could warm herself would be easy. The thought both comforted and amused her. Míorúilt gathered the wood and created a ring of stones with a sand base to create her fire in. Once it was stacked correctly, she blew a controlled stream of flame and set the wood ablaze. The heat felt good as she rubbed her hands in front of it and then rubbed her warmed hands all over her body.
Once she had chased the chill from her bones, she curled into a small ball beside the fire and closed her eyes, but sleep was elusive. And in its absence, her tears began to fall. She wept for her parents and for herself. Gone was any future she might have once imagined. Who would want a dragon girl for a wife? All of the dragons were gone so there would be no mate for her. Had her parents known she was a dragon? Was that the reason her mother had filled her imagination with stories of dragons? Were one or both of her parents a dragon? Hadn’t her mother once told her that for a time she and her father had lived in the Cave of Tears? She had always valued the open and honest relationship she had with her parents. If they had known and kept it from her... what else had they been hiding?
Chapter Two
Dunnet Head, Scotland
Kellan stood on the ramparts of his home, Raicleach Castle. He knew it was Raicleach, even though it was in ruins. What had once been stately fortifications and elegant gardens was, in his dream, a ruin of crumbling stone with only portions of wall and floor to designate where the great keep had stood. He could smell the ocean that was an integral part of his home. When he had lived there, the castle had been separated from the mainland by a peninsula; it now appeared to be an island. He heard the cry of a dragon... a female dragon.
How could that be? Neeva had been the last of their females and her scales had been an azure blue as she had been turned by Duncan, Lord of the Skies. Turned females were always the color of their clan. He searched the heavens above and spotted a black dragon, a dark shadow on the sunlit sky. Only dragon-born females were black. He galloped toward the edge of the island and flapped his wings as he lifted off to join her in the sky. This was his sky and she would answer to him. His roar split the sky and seemed to startle her. Instead of heeding his call, she began to gain altitude in order, he suspected, to hide among the clouds.
She was no warrior; her flight was graceful but lacked true power and if she thought to conceal herself within the veils of billowy white, he would show her the foolishness of her plan. He watched as she disappeared, her dark color concealed by the bright white. Kellan gently breathed a weakened stream of fire and burned away her hiding place. He rumbled his amusement as she responded in the way of a bashful maid stripped naked on her wedding night for her lord and master’s perusal prior to breeding.
Foolish girl, he thought as she put herself into a steep dive and headed for the cliffs. He watched as she banked so that she flew parallel to the rocks. She had put herself on a vulnerable flight path and as Kellan closed in he meant to get the answers to his questions. He swooped down, flying directly over her and allowing his wings to brush agains
t hers, sending her tumbling toward the beach. As she hit the sand, the impact caused her to shift. Kellan remained in his dragon form and grasped her in his rear claws, flying her to the ruins of his keep.
Landing, he released her only long enough to shift himself. His brilliant blue eyes swept over her curves. As she had when he had removed her cloud covering, she now blushed and tried to hide her luscious body from his sight.
He seized her wrists in one of his large hands. “You will not hide yourself from me,” he commanded. “I am Kellan, Lord of the Seas.”
She struggled against him. “Let go of me.”
He smiled, feeling his cock begin to harden in response to her loveliness. “I think not. Who are you?”
“No one who wants anything to do with you.”
“That is not your choice. You are a female of breeding age and I am in need of a mate.”
He inhaled deeply. Her scent carried not only that of the ocean spray but the earthy, woodsy smell of moss and clover with just a hint of wisteria. It was the most intoxicating aroma he had ever experienced and made his cock stiffen until it was fully erect. He watched as it caught her interest and she increased her struggles. His smile broadened as the telltale scent of her arousal began to mingle with her unique perfume, causing her nipples to become beaded.
“That’s better,” he crooned, bringing up his finger to trail down the column of her neck to the hollow of her throat, descending along her breastbone. He resisted the temptation to fondle her ample breast as she seemed frightened.
“Take your hands off me,” she said, trying to sound brave.
The tone of her voice wavered between frightened and aroused, very much what he would expect from a virgin.
“Where did you come from, little one? My brothers and I believed we were the last of our kind. And yet here you are, ripe for the taking.”