Dylan rounded on him, letting his shift come. His claws elongated and tore at Ben’s hand.
“Ow!” Ben jerked away. “Chillax, Dylan. You can’t do anything. I mean, you can’t interact. We’re not really here.”
“Why?” Dylan demanded in a fierce growl. “Why are you showing me this?”
“Showing you what?” Ben asked, as though he didn’t know.
“The night my sons and I were captured. It was Yule, twenty-five years ago.”
“Christmas past,” Ben muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“They rounded us up. They tried to separate us, tried to take Sinead, Kenny’s mate. She was about to have Connor.”
Under the blare of lights, Liam broke free of those holding him and went for the man with Sinead, who was snarling and fighting with strength of her own. Her terror streamed from her and touched Dylan—she was afraid the soldiers would take her cub, rip it from her to do experiments as rumor had told them had happened to others.
Shock sticks struck Liam, but only slowed him a little. He lunged for Sinead, closing his hands around her just as a rope landed around Liam’s neck and yanked him back. Liam, choking, scrabbled at the noose with one hand while he kept tight hold of Sinead with the other.
Then Sean was there. The Sword of the Guardian gleamed in his hand, and he struck, silently and swiftly. His sword sliced the rope that bound Liam, deflected an arm that raised a shock stick, batted aside another man with a tranq rifle.
Even in his fury, Sean wouldn’t take a human life. The Sword of the Guardian wasn’t meant for that, though it could be a deadly weapon.
“Stop him!” a soldier shouted in a no-nonsense London accent. “Take him down!”
Sean leapt, shifting as he went, his clothes ripping away, until a lion soared over the soldiers’ heads. Two tranq rifles went off. Sean buckled in mid-air and fell in a groaning tangle on the ground, the Sword of the Guardian landing beside him. A policeman, one of the Irish Garda, picked it up, then dropped it as though it burned.
Sean’s attack had taken attention away from Liam and Dylan. Liam slipped off into the darkness with Sinead, the two disappearing as only Shifters could. Dylan sprang from his low crouch at the men who still held Kenny.
He’d had to calculate it just right, to separate the man with the gun from Kenny before the gun went off. Fortunately, Kenny, a wily Morrissey Feline, knew what to do. He dropped straight down, taking the man’s legs out with him. While the soldiers and Dylan tangled together, Kenny escaped in a flat-out run, sprinting into darkness after Liam and his mate.
It took eight soldiers to subdue Dylan. He was on a wild rampage, teeth and claws, though Dylan wouldn’t kill, even then. Shifters weren’t murderers.
Watching from the base of the damp hill with Ben, Dylan regretted that choice. If he’d killed all the soldiers and police—thirty men had come to round up the Morrissey family—and taken his sons to the still-wild places in Eastern Europe or a remote area of South America, they’d have survived. They’d even now be without Collars, without captivity, without playing into the hands of their greatest enemies. And Kenny and Sinead might still be alive.
The men finally conquered Dylan, not with tranqs or shock sticks, but by lifting Sean’s limp form from the ground. Sean, unconscious, had shifted back to human, his naked body bruised from the tranq darts, burned from the shocks.
“He attacked to kill,” the soldier who’d commanded them to take down Sean said to the lion. “We’re authorized to execute him right here.”
Dylan roared. He tried to shake the men off him—ten of them now, but only got shocked for his troubles.
He quickly shifted to human. A few soldiers backed off, but the rest surrounded him, one with an arm around Dylan’s neck, ready to break it. These men were well-trained and skilled fighters, likely hand-picked for this mission.
“Leave Sean be,” Dylan choked out. “He won’t hurt you.”
“He came at us with a weapon. That’s grounds for instant termination.”
Dylan dragged in breaths, lion’s growls in his chest. “Please.” Dylan never pled, never begged for mercy. “Don’t take my son.”
Dylan had lost his mate, mother to his three boys. He couldn’t stand any more loss, and not his precious sons, Sinead, his unborn grandson.
The British soldier came to stand in front of Dylan. He had a scarred face, a shaved head, and hard eyes. A man who’d seen much, probably had fought in difficult places all his life.
“Then call in the ones who ran off. They come with us, and you all live. Otherwise, we terminate this one, and then you.”
Dylan didn’t care so much for his own life. He’d already lived a long time, had seen too much, like this soldier he faced. But he knew damn well they’d kill Sean, then they’d hunt Liam and Kenny until they caught and murdered them. What they’d do to Sinead and her cub, he didn’t even want to know.
“Give me your promise,” Dylan said. “Your word that they’ll live, that my grandchild won’t be taken to one of your filthy labs and dissected.”
The man didn’t blink. “Shifters are being put into communities in the United States, not dissected.”
“The fuck they’re not.”
The look in the soldier’s eyes told Dylan he was right. The soldier didn’t like the job he’d been given to do, but he’d do it because it was his duty, and he didn’t disobey orders.
“Give me your word,” Dylan repeated. A man like this would abide by his promise, he sensed, even to an enemy.
“I’ll take you to a holding facility. Alive. But only if the others come in and surrender.”
“Sinead stays with us,” Dylan said firmly.
The man’s mouth flattened, but finally, he gave Dylan a nod. “The woman stays with you.”
Dylan took a step back. The men holding him tensed, but the soldier gave them a gesture to let Dylan go.
Down the hill, the present-day Dylan watched, sick at heart, as his old self shifted back to lion and began to roar.
It was the endless, barking roar that a lion sent over his territory, warning every beast to crawl away or face the consequences. It was the roar that told his family to come to him.
The roar also held grief, a knowledge that he was betraying his sons and giving up their freedom. The sound rose to the misty sky, full of mourning and defeat.
This was the first of many, many terrible decisions Dylan had been forced to make on the road to Shiftertown, but this one had been hardest of all, and he’d never truly recovered from it. To save Sean, he’d sent them all to captivity.
The lion’s roar shook the earth. Mist swirled into opaque threads between Dylan and Ben, obscuring the tableau on the hill.
Dylan knew what happened next—Liam and Kenny returned with Sinead, and all of them were locked in spelled chains and taken to a detention facility, where the Collars were put on them.
Dylan shuddered, praying to the Goddess that he wouldn’t have to watch the pain and horror of their first contact with the Collars. Sinead had never regained her strength after that, dying when she brought Connor into the world at the end of their long journey from Ireland to Texas.
The Goddess must have taken pity on Dylan, because the mist grew thicker, colder, and blotted out the scene. Dylan felt his feet lift from the ground before he tumbled into blackness, his only contact in the dark the tight grip of Ben’s hand.
When his vision cleared, Dylan again lay under the rubble in the bedroom in the haunted house, stiff, unmoving, once more unable to breathe.
Ben was gone. A different pair of hands moved a beam crushing Dylan’s legs, and sunlight stabbed painfully into Dylan’s unblinking eyes.
Silhouetted against the light was a broad-shouldered man with stark white hair, two locks of which fell forward in long braids glinting with beads. Dylan wished he could groan.
“Dylan!” Zander Moncrieff boomed in his huge polar-bear voice. “You do not look good, my friend.”
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Chapter Three
Though Zander could be an irritating smart-ass, Dylan sent up thanks to the Goddess for sending him.
He was a polar bear, un-Collared, who’d lived among humans most of his life, and right now, exactly who Dylan needed. Zander was that rarest of creatures—a Shifter healer.
“How did you know?” Dylan’s voice again sounded without his lips moving or any breath coming past them.
“Know what? That you’re buried in two-hundred-year old beams? No idea, actually.” Zander’s black eyes glittered. “I’m here because it’s my turn.”
Dylan growled. “What gobshite are you talking now?”
“Wow, having a ceiling fall on you makes you cranky.”
“I apologize.” Dylan gritted his teeth—or at least gritted them mentally. “I know the healing will hurt, but I’m ready.”
“Healing?” Zander looked surprised. “Oh, I’m not here to heal you, old friend.”
Dylan wished he could close his eyes. He knew he was dying, but he wasn’t ready. Much too much to do first. He wanted to watch his grandchildren grow up—take their first steps, learn to be Shifters, move through their Transitions, fall in love and form the mate bond. He wanted them to be Collarless, out of Shiftertowns, free.
“Did Rae come with you?” Dylan named Zander’s mate, who was the only female Guardian. “If she doesn’t mind, I’d prefer Sean to do it. If he can.”
“Send you to dust, you mean?”
The Sword of the Guardian had been forged to separate a Shifter’s soul from his or her body at death. The soul was free to enter the Summerland, safe from capture, while the body vanished as dust.
Zander rubbed his chin. “Sean’s a little busy right now. Yule celebration and all.”
Of course he was. Dylan didn’t want to pull Sean from his happiness, didn’t want to turn Yule into a Morrissey tragedy. “Rae, then. If she’s all right with it.”
Zander shook his head, the white braids moving. “Rae’s not here. She’s home, waiting for her dad to light the Yule log. She’s carrying my cub—did you know? Makes her growly and not as hot to travel. But so beautiful.” He beamed with pride.
“Then fetch Kendrick. Please.”
Kendrick was another Guardian, and the leader of a group of un-Collared Shifters. Dylan had worked closely with him this past year and had come to call him friend.
“He’s busy too. Do you really think anyone’s free for you today? Yule’s one of the biggest celebrations of the year. And now that we’ve adopted a lot of human customs, we’re all busy, busy. Last minute shopping, baking the fruitcake … Hey, you have any idea exactly what’s in fruitcake? Why would you put fruit in a cake? In a pie, now, that I understand—”
“Zander what the fuck are you doing here?” Sometimes the only way to stop Zander was to bludgeon through his speech. “Did you come to talk me to death?”
“What? No, no.” Zander chuckled. “You’re not going to die, my friend. Well … maybe you won’t. Or maybe you will.”
“Send Ben back up here. He at least makes some sense.”
“Ben?” Zander gave him a puzzled look. “Haven’t seen Ben at all. House is empty. Except for you, that is. And, you know, the house.”
Where the hell was Ben then? He’d agreed to be backup at the meeting tonight—if this was indeed the morning after Dylan had arrived. It wasn’t like Ben to miss an appointment.
Dylan subsided, reluctantly realizing he had no control over the situation. He hated not having control, but here he was, immobilized and near death, while Zander, the only Shifter on earth who could save his life, mused about holiday desserts.
“Tell you what,” Zander said. “I’m going to show you why everyone’s so busy, and no one has time to send you to dust. Not that they’d want to. They need you.”
“I can’t do them much good lying here not breathing.”
“You have a point. Now, I’m taking your hand … there we go. No bones broken in it—that’s good. Healing hand bones is a bitch.”
As Zander spoke, the room began to spin. Zander’s strong grip jerked Dylan from the rubble with a force that made Dylan want to scream.
Darkness swallowed them, wind rushing like the last time, but the air wasn’t as cold. It felt damp, but held the dampness of the southern United States instead of the Irish coast.
The humidity died as they rolled and tumbled through the blackness, Dylan’s only anchor Zander’s giant and overly strong hand. He heard the growl of a polar bear, which was comforting. As grating as Zander’s constant buoyancy could be, he was large, formidable, fearless, and one hell of a fighter. Plus, though Dylan would never admit it out loud, his fur was soft.
Dylan slammed to a halt, face down on the earth. Zander grunted as he landed in a heap next to him then climbed stiffly to his feet.
Once more, Dylan could move. He could draw a breath, blink, grip Zander’s hand to rise and steady himself.
To Dylan’s surprise, they stood in his own backyard. The house he lived in with Glory, Sean and family, and Liam’s house next door, opened to a long strip of grass and trees that ran behind the bungalows.
The Shifters held most of their celebrations in this common area. Liam and Kim, Sean and Andrea, and many others had mated here under sun and moon. Dylan had performed the ceremonies in the first years in Shiftertown, and now Liam had taken over his role.
They also held memorials here—sadly too many of those—burning offerings to the Goddess for the soul of the departed. Every Yule, every spring equinox, summer solstice, Mabon, Samhain, and festivals in between, the Shifters gathered to give thanks to the Goddess. Then they partied.
When humans had hammered out the agreements that put Shifters into Shiftertowns, one thing the humans had conceded was to allow the Shifters to maintain their religious festivals. A few humans on the committee were adamant about the freedom of religion clause in the First Amendment, though others were quick to point out that many Shifters came from lands outside the United States. No matter—the Shifters won that point. They were allowed their Goddess festivals.
The unlit Yule log was already in place in a cleared-out area, well away from the houses. Cubs played around it, tying ribbons, streamers, and other decorations to the log, which would be set alight after dark.
Which would be soon. The sky was already dimming, the sun going down, though Dylan swore the trip from New Orleans had taken only a few minutes.
Spell. The only explanation for this weirdness was some kind of magic that made time immaterial.
Either that or Dylan was having one hell of a dream. But if he were dreaming, wouldn’t he conjure someone less irritating to take him on these journeys than Zander or Ben? Why not Glory? Or his granddaughter, Katriona, who was growing so fast, or his smiling daughter-in-law, Kim? Dylan would far prefer to spend his last delirious moments with one of them.
Katriona herself came bounding out of Liam’s house. She was nearly three, and had the strength and energy of a lion cub. A white-haired lad, the orphaned Olaf, ran after her, followed by a brown bear cub, another orphan called Katie, whom eleven-year-old Olaf felt responsible for. He liked to take care of cubs.
“Katriona,” Dylan called to her. “Come give your old grandad a hug.”
Katriona ignored him and kept running, ribbons in her hand. Olaf overtook her, grabbing the ribbons before they could trip her. Katie gamboled around them, trying to snatch the ribbons with her mouth.
Dylan let out a sigh. “Don’t tell me. She can’t hear me.”
“Nope.” Zander looked around. “Too bad. This looks like one hell of a party.”
“Shouldn’t you be at your own Yule gathering? In Montana? With your mate?”
Zander continued to watch the Shifters, the crowd growing as the sun went down. There was Ronan and his human mate, Elizabeth, her slightly delinquent sister, Mabel, who held Ronan’s cub, still a baby. With them were Rebecca and Walker. Rebecca, a Kodiak bear Shifter, was pregnant with Walke
r’s cub. Carrying a cub didn’t make Rebecca growly—she was happier than Dylan had ever seen her. It did make her loud, her laughter echoing up and down the clearing.
Spike and Myka, Ellison and Maria, Broderick and Joanna, Mason and Jasmine, Deni and Jace, Tiger and Carly … and more couples who’d formed in the years since this Shiftertown began, spilled around the Yule log. All there, plus plenty of cubs, including Tiger’s daughter, who stuck close to Connor, and Shifters who were hoping to mate soon.
Kendrick’s crew would show up well after dark. They’d hold their own celebration at their compound south and west of Austin, then slip in and join the friends they’d made in this Shiftertown.
Darkness came quickly. A roar rose from the gathering crowd as Liam, as Shiftertown leader, gave thanks to the Goddess and touched the first flame to the Yule log.
The Shifters watched the small flame flicker, then they surged forward to light more branches, keeping the cubs well back … or at least trying to. The cubs cheered, and the adult Shifters took up their cries. Some stripped off clothes and shifted, and soon snarls, howls, roars, and growls joined the human voices.
Liam scooped Kim into his arms and kissed her. The kiss turned passionate, and those around them laughed and whooped. The Shifters would be seeking kisses and more as the night wore on.
Dylan’s heart warmed through his worry. Liam had found happiness, as had Sean, in ways neither brother had dreamed.
“What is this meant to show me?” Dylan asked Zander. “That my family can enjoy themselves without me? I already knew that.”
“Nope. To show you how far they’ve come.”
Dylan looked again. There were more cubs scampering about this year than ever. Shifters were healthier, better-fed, females were having more cubs and not dying of bringing them in. Everywhere he saw Shifter families hugging, playing, celebrating.
“If you’re trying to tell me captivity is a good thing …”
“Hell no.” Zander scowled. “You see me grabbing a Collar and locking it around my neck? Only reason I live in a Shiftertown is because my sweetie is its Guardian, plus she doesn’t want to stray far from her family.” He swept his hand toward the collected Shifters. “Those tough decisions we made in the beginning—they’re paying off. We’re stronger, ready to fight. If we’d fought the humans before, we never would have made it. Now, we’ll be able to stand up and demand things—we’ve already started to. And fight off the Fae, of course. Can’t forget about those slime balls.”
A Shifter Christmas Carol Page 2