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.
3
The 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.
* * *
When 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.
Find a hotel off the beaten path, but do not record its name. Watch for allies as well as enemies.
I will see you soon,
M
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.
4
The train ride was a little more pleasant than the voyage in the car had been, if only for the lack of a surly chauffeur.
The tickets, thanks to Merriman, were for First Class seats, and three companions managed to sit together in a private chamber in an empty car, sealed off from the rest of the world by a clear glass door which allowed them to speak freely without fear of being overheard. Lily had never enjoyed excluding Graeme from interior dialogues, and was pleased to be able to use her speaking voice.
“So,” she said as she sat down, prepared for several hours of quiet with her men. “It seems a silly question, but what are you both thinking? About this trip, this mission of ours, I mean.”
“Well, I am thinking that we find this leader person and take him down, which we should be able to accomplish in an hour, tops,” said Graeme, a twinkle in his eye as he revelled in the thought of overthrowing a great leader.
“The ambitious red dragon,” laughed Lily. “If only the world were so simple as it is in your head.”
“All right, I’ll be realistic: an hour and a half. Then we hit the pub.”
“And meanwhile I’m thinking that something doesn’t add up,” said Conor, his tone more serious than that of his mates. “How is it that there are all these cloaked types, friends of Merriman, running about in London and elsewhere, allegedly hunting Stranieri, and yet no one has found this elusive leader? No one is that good at hiding.”
“Maybe our side just wants peace,” said Lily. “And quiet. Maybe they don’t really want to find him, because it would mean a fight.”
“Pfft. What self-respecting shifter really wants peace and quiet? We’re not exactly homebodies,” said Graeme. “It’s in our blood to seek blood.”
“You’re not a homebody, perhaps. But some are.” Lily was thinking of Freya, her grandmother. “Some prefer a quiet life to the curse of constant battling.”
“Well, it also seems that some are members of long-lasting underground movements, and a little more quiet about it all,” said Conor. “Like Merriman, for example. For all that I tried to extract information from him, I mostly failed. But I do believe that he is ancient, as he says. And he would like to rid the world of these shifters—whoever they are—who are so bent on taking out the dragons of the world in every century, or at least rid them of that ambition. Merriman doesn’t love dragons, but nor does he hate them. He sees their good.”
“Which, I suppose, is noble of him,” Graeme added. “Given that it sounds as though he’s had his fair share of conflict with our species.”
“He is a good man,” said Lily quietly. Of that she was certain, regardless of all of the other questions that spun in circles in her mind about the odd man and his owl companion. “There’s a part of me that wishes he could have come along.”
“Well, he said he’d see us soon, and he’s a man of his word,” said Conor. “Though I think a Merry sighting is an omen of unpleasant things to come. Now come, let’s get off this topic of doom and talk about what we’ll do when we arrive at our hotel.”
His face took on the familiar mischievous look that so enthralled Lily and meant that no mind-reading was necessary. He had sex on the brain.
* * *
“Why wait for hotel rooms?” asked Graeme, who reached a hand towards the panes of glass separating the three from the narrow hallway outside their small compartment.
Opaque off-white blinds shot downwards in rapid succession, covering the windows and sliding door, and concealing the three shifters from view.
“Your skills are improving, Lord Ramsey,” said Lily. “I’m impressed, to say the least.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Graeme said, leaning in towards her. “Wait until you find out what I can do with my…”
“Someone will be by for tickets,” said Conor, breaking the mood with an unfortunate moment of reality. “And it’s probably not a great idea to be naked when they arrive.”
“Silly man, spoiling the fun,” Graeme laughed. “You have a point, I suppose. Fine, I’ll stand on first watch. When I return, though, I expect to have my way with our Firebird here.”
Lily feigned shock. “Using my poor, innocent body for sex,” she gasped. “Suppose I should turn you two down?”
“All right, Lady Lilliana,” said Conor, allowing himself to be taken in by the naughtiness of the situation. “Let me ask you point blank, as it’s the polite thing to do: Would you, my Lady, like to be fucked in our private, first-class chamber here, by not one, but two men who are awfully keen on you?”
She leaned towards him, taking in his scent. Something in it had changed since the Ritual; he’d become enticing in an entirely new way which sent the beast inside her into a frenzy of excitement; she didn’t know whether to bite at him or kiss him.
“Mr. Dunbar, I would very much like to be fucked,” she growled. “Right here. Right now. I’m only appalled that it’s taking you so long to take off your trousers.”
“Well, that tears it,” said Graeme. “You’re sending me out into the hallway with a hard-on. Cruel.”
“Lucky for you,” said Lily, looking sideways at Graeme as she pulled Conor towards her, “I specialize in curing hard-ons.”
Graeme laughed and slid through the briefly opened door, standing casually in the narrow aisle outside, whistling and watching the passing landscape as his companions did whatever it was that needed doing, three feet or so behind him.
* * *
Lily took Conor by the collar and pulled him aggressively to her, his knees hitting the car’s floor with a thud as he thrust his muscled thighs between her legs, pushing them apart.
“What is it with you?” she asked. “Your change has made me want you even more, and I never thought that was possible.”
“I suppose you like big, hairy beasts,” he said, his fingers exploring her collarbone. “Rather like how I enjoy big, beautiful breasts.”
She wore a loosely-draped cotton shirt with a wide neck, which Conor wanted to tear away. Instead, he pulled at its waist, yanking it upwards and over her head.
Her bra was white, its fabric thin, and the dark of her nipples pierced through. Conor leaned down, his tongue teasing the right, the tender, aching tip rising, pushing through the fabric to reach out to him, asking already for more and more.
Lips pursed around the puckered nub, sucking, as his hands went to the button on her pants, opening them expertly before sliding her zipper downward.
When he’d saturated the area around the first nipple he tore at the other cup, freeing the second, already erect, waiting impatiently for his mouth.
Lily raised her hips, letting him slide her pants and panties down as she navigated, somehow keeping her knees close enough together to allow him to render her almost completely naked.
“How did this happen?” she asked. “You fully clothed, me…”
Conor leaned up and kissed her, interrupting the thought.
It’s as it should be, he explained, his words penetrating her mind. Because I want to suck, lick, kiss and pierce every bit of you with my tongue.
He showed her what he meant as he kissed her, his luscious tongue caressing her own as though to say, “Remember me? I’m the guy who likes to lick your pussy until you explode.”
Kisses rained down on her body, beginning with her neck as she raised her chin to grant him free access, and then her shoulders, her upper arms: soft, tender series of touches of the lips, his hands moving from her waist up to her breasts, which he cupped, supporting their roundness as his thumbs ran gently over her hard nipples.
Lily’s pelvis gyrated beneath him, her hips attempting to thrust themselves towards his, telling him how ready she was to receive some attention down there.
“Patience,” the voice said in her mind. “I’m working towards that juicy pussy of yours.”
Again, a tongue ran over one nipple and then the other, the thumbs working them over, caressing the wetness, spreading it around the areola and teasing the tip itself. Lily ached, her slit pulsing for his touch, for his fingers, tongue, cock.
As he peeled away her bra, letting it drop, Conor’s mouth worked its way down her belly; the soft whiteness that had always made her self-conscious, but which now seemed like a shrine at which the gorgeous man worshiped, her hands in his unkempt hair, his bright eyes focused on her smooth skin as he took her in, here giving her a gentle bite; there a kiss or a lick.
And finally, her thighs. He kissed the white surface, a hand sliding between her legs, its side landing softly on her delicate petals, prying them apart and smoothing her own wetness all over his own flesh before looking into her eyes.
She stared back into his and said only one word: Please.
Loyalty: A Dragon Shifter Menage Serial (Seeking Her Mates Book 4) Page 2