“It will be quite dark for a little,” he said, “but follow me and I will light the way.”
An opening had formed in the stone wall, tall enough for even a large man to walk through. As they followed the stranger, the door seemed to read their movements, sealing itself shut. They found themselves in total darkness, walking along precarious downward-sloping cobbles. The shifters’ eyes took a moment to adjust, and then they could just make out one another’s faint outlines.
“Under Edinburgh are a series of passageways, known as the Vaults,” their guide continued. “Hang on one second, and I’ll show you.” His hand reached again for something against the wall and he extracted a wooden torch from a recessed opening in the stone. From his pocket he pulled a lighter.
“I know that you could do this with your breath, but this bit of tunnel is a little small for a dragon.” He lit the torch, which revealed an arched length of steep passageway ahead, ancient and worn by time. “But follow and I’ll lead you through.”
As he led them, he told them about the passageway’s history.
“Most of the Vault is well-known, some used for what they call ‘Ghost Walks,’ used to teach tourists to fear the underground. Originally built centuries back as storage for merchants and tradesmen. But these—the ones we’re in—were built for another purpose entirely.”
With that he held out the torch, revealing that they’d arrived at a large, open space, leading far into the distance. Its ceiling was high and arched, its walls so far apart that they could no longer be seen.
“These,” he said, “were for déors, during the Dracan Wyrre. The Dragon Wars.”
9
“What are you talking about, with these so-called Dragon Wars?” asked Graeme. “We dragons fight on occasion. But outright war? I’ve never heard of combat in Edinburgh by our kind.” He spoke in the present tense, forgetting that he now found himself centuries outside of his own time.
“Oh, there have been many battles in the sky above this city. One reason that the buildings are so heavily constructed of thick stone is to protect against the likes of you,” said the man, who had taken off at a confident pace, leading them into the depths of the underground. “You will see records around this area of Scotland, in artwork and in books, as well as hidden in iconography all over this part of the world. Most humans regard it as fantasy, mythology, of course, no more a part of our true history than a gargoyle is. But it happened, regardless of what you may think, and many of us were around to witness the bloodshed. Some who were there are still alive to speak of the carnage, the mass extinctions caused by the conflict.”
“Extinctions?” Lily found her mind reeling at the word. “Who—what—went extinct?”
“Some very powerful species of déor. Various great cats, hounds, other creatures. Some of the greatest of our kind. It would take many hours to give you all of the details. But because of the fighting and never-ending conflict, Rituals and the breeding of young shifters came to an end for many noble families, and so their offspring lost their abilities or never had them; they reverted to mere human form, and their ancestors fell into legend.”
A flash of memory hit as Lily recalled the family tree in Conor’s house in London, where the mating of one woman to two men had abruptly ceased in the fifteenth century. She wondered if there was any relationship to these Wars that the man spoke of.
“And so what happened then?”
“As I said, they lost their abilities. Many have long since forgotten that their ancestors ever had any, of course.”
“Just one moment,” said Graeme, stopping in his tracks. “We’re walking around pitch-black tunnels, following you along with some sort of blind trust, like you’re a tour guide in a museum. What is your name, and where are you taking us? Why should we believe you or anything you say?”
The question was for his own sake only; Conor already knew the answers, though he remained silent. And in all likelihood, Lily did as well. But Graeme nevertheless felt protective, hostile to any threat. He needed to understand.
“My name is Kyne,” the man said, halting and turning to face them so that they could see his features lit by the torch’s flame. He looked about twenty years old, though for a shifter that could mean a good number of things. His eyes were orange, outlined by yellow and accented with dark, narrow lines leading outward from the pupil like a wheel’s spokes, which gave him an other-worldy appearance. Something in him reminded Lily of Merriman; though he lacked wrinkles he seemed somehow ancient, knowledgeable and more skilled than he let on. “And I am taking you somewhere safe, for now at least. An inn, belonging to an old friend, one of the human Díegol himself. He is kind enough to house our kind on occasion, though his staff is human and so you must take care not to let them in on your secrets.”
“Thank you, Kyne, for your help,” said Lily, turning to look sideways her companions as though to tell them that they too should be grateful for the unsolicited aid. “But I don’t understand—why are you assisting us, if you know we’re dragons? It sounds like we should be universally hated. Or rather, that we are.”
“Because I hate no one, even those goons who threatened you. I want to help. I believe that you do as well. I feel that war should remain an element of a long-forgotten past. And nothing in me dictates that I should fear you. You are not bad; you simply have genes in you that could make you so. It isn’t your fault.”
“Why thank you for the kind compliment,” said Graeme, his sarcasm coming out in a growl.
“Do not ask me to be kinder than that, Lord Ramsey,” said Kyne. “Yes, I know who you are. A mutual acquaintance of ours warned me that you three might show up today, and that you would likely find yourselves in some mess or other. I see that he was correct; without me your face would be a bloodied mess by now.”
Graeme took a long step towards the man and Conor held him back, grasping his upper arm.
Don’t, he said. You don’t need to prove your strength here, and you don’t know what he’s been through in his lifetime. Let him be.
Graeme held back, silently acknowledging receipt of the message.
“It would be somewhat more helpful if we understood what we’re up against,” said Conor, changing the subject away from dragons. “Much as I search my own mind and those of others, I receive only mixed messages.”
“Ah, you’re a telepath,” said Kyne. “Well, at least I know that I can trust that you believe me when I tell you that I’m here to help. And so your mates must do the same.”
“They do,” Conor replied, sensing a growing calm from his companions; even from Graeme.
“As for what you’re up against, I can only tell you that it is the Stranieri who seek you out. But the reason is unclear. If they’d wanted to kill you, they would have tried to do so already. And let me just say that they’re not in the habit of sending thugs to confront enemies in dark alleys; they’re usually more covert than all that.”
“Well, so far they’ve proven the sort of organization that shows up at a house with an army and attempts to break in using a really, really big bird,” said Lily.
“That doesn’t sound like the Stranieri that I’ve grown to know over the centuries,” said Kyne. “Those are the manoeuvres of a desperate organization in a hurry to acquire something.”
“Acquire?” said Lily. “What?”
Kyne turned as he walked and looked towards Conor.
“I don’t know,” he said.
A chill ran down Conor’s spine then. The man had a theory, and neither of them liked it.
“There is only one section of tunnel that may bring a little danger,” said their guide after a time. “Coming up in a moment. It is accessible from the outside, unfortunately, and vulnerable.”
“Do our enemies know about it?”
“That I cannot answer, though perhaps you can.” Kyne looked at Conor once again, searching for any information that a telepath may have acquired.
“I don’t sense anyone coming for us ye
t,” he replied. “Though I hesitate to assume that all will run smoothly.” He didn’t want to tell them that his mind was otherwise occupied, fashioning theories of his own about their enemies’ motives.
They came to a sort of narrowing in the tunnel’s shape, which now bottle-necked to a passage still wide and high, but clearly denoting the end of the large chamber that they’d spent the last half hour hiking through.
Overhead, a little light poured in through what looked like a grate leading to the street. Kyne reached down and doused his torch in a shallow puddle to his right.
“We’ll have to proceed without our own light source,” he said softly. “No point in signalling the world of our presence. Please—keep quiet.”
Despite its having shrunk, the tunnel was nevertheless large enough for all four to walk through side by side. They proceeded cautiously, eyes turning upwards as they passed beneath one grate and then another. So far, no sign of trouble.
It was after they’d passed the third, though, that Conor’s eyes closed and he stopped in his tracks, a hand reaching out from his sides to halt his companions.
“What is it?” asked Graeme softly.
Lily could feel it too; something wasn’t right.
A shadowed form skulked through her mind, unclear but menacing; a man creeping through the dark towards them.
A moment later, her fears were confirmed as a quiet splash erupted from behind them. She and her companions turned to see that the last grate lay open now, light from the city now pouring in.
Before them stood an enormous creature: a cat, with teeth as long and broad as daggers, prowling towards them through the dark.
* * *
“That’s rather large,” said Graeme. “It looks like…”
“A sabretooth,” Kyne said. “So much for not being seen from above. It’s the man you saw in the alleyway; the giant thug with the leather. This is his déor.”
They could smell him, his scent stronger now than his human’s had been, filled with hostility, his adrenaline kicking in for whatever underground battle lay ahead.
Running was not an option. Even if not for pride and duty, a large cat would have beaten the companions’ human legs in a footrace any day. Now was the time to shift. There were no tourists about to impede them, and these tunnels had, after all, been built for their kind.
Graeme went first, as always thrusting himself between his mates and danger, his red dragon arching its neck almost immediately towards the cat, who halted, its own back curved upwards, ears laid back in threat.
Lily and Kyne stood back, assessing the situation. Graeme’s dragon could take the beast, they knew. But a little help wouldn’t go amiss. Logistically, however, the tunnel could only support so many déors side by side.
Any hesitation was brushed aside when the other two men leapt down through the hole that the cat had used. It seemed that Kyne was not the only shifter about who knew of the Vaults’ existence, and they wondered how many others might show up.
Lily braced herself for her own change as the other two enemies altered into their forms: a sleek, emaciated-looking cheetah and a jackal, each baring teeth as they skulked behind their leader.
Conor, recalling Graeme’s anger when he’d taken charge and defended Lily against the Mrs. Fitzpatrick look-alike, stood aside, allowing his friend the glory of the moment. Graeme, he knew, revelled in his power and loved his dragon form. He was in his element. And something told Conor to hold off for the moment, until the time was right.
Seconds later, Lily’s flaming dragon-phoenix hybrid stood next to its scarlet companion, the two a menacing pair, showing their strength to their much smaller enemies.
10
The sabretooth seemed remarkably unfazed by the two threatening dragons looming over him. Instead of paying them any attention, his eyes focused on the dark-haired man with eyes of two different colours who stood between them. Conor’s arms were crossed as he studied the enemy, attempting to access the deep reaches of his mind. The flames coating Lily’s flesh reflected off the damp stone surface of the tunnel’s walls, casting a dancing light on the sabretooth’s face, which made its features look almost human at times, albeit a fierce one.
Conor’s mind was focused, linking itself to the cat’s, searching for images, clues as to the large shifter’s motivation for stalking them, and him in particular. He felt himself connect to the creature, who seemed willing for a moment to communicate.
Why are you here? Conor asked.
For you, replied the sabretooth.
So get on with it: kill me.
No. I was told to take you alive, but your friends are making it difficult. If you’re wise, you’ll call them off.
That is not for me to do. You should know better than anyone that one does not simply call dragons off their enemies.
Then we’ll do this the hard way.
The internal voice was angry now, strained with rage at the two inconvenient shifters who defended their mate with such dedication.
The enormous cat lunged at Graeme first, as the two dragons thrust their bodies together, forming a protective shield in front of their more vulnerable mate.
Before he knew it, a set of massive canines was digging at Graeme’s scaled neck, failing to pierce but doing an impressive job of holding on as the dragon swung his head from side to side in an attempt to fling the cat at a stone wall.
Lily, unwilling to shoot fire at her mate, thrust her head forward, biting at the sabretooth. It was then that the other two, the cheetah and the jackal, ran at her and with uncanny agility threw themselves onto her back. She had no choice but to crane her neck, attempting to pull them off before they used her as a platform to spring off and lunge at Conor.
She managed to grab one and then the other as they discovered that the footing on a fire-dragon’s flesh was not so stable as stone or earth, and she flung first the cheetah and then the jackal forward, landing them hard on the solid, cold floor before her.
To her right there was a series of quick movements, and suddenly Kyne was no longer standing behind her, but had transformed into an eagle, flying through the air between her and Graeme’s heads, lunging at the sabretooth, who was twisting in the red dragon’s mouth, still attempting to free himself. The bird struck the cat’s face with his talons and the creature let out a cry of agony as Graeme let him drop at last.
As the cheetah and jackal prepared for another attack, Graeme braced himself, attempting to use the mind-controlling power he’d employed on the train. Whether it would work on shifters was a matter of focus; their minds were more powerful, more prone to following instincts than a human’s, and no doubt they would resist him.
As they attempted to advance, though, Graeme felt his own mind working, a new strength rising up within as he froze them in their tracks. For a moment neither could lift a foot off the ground; they seemed instead to have been glued there, helpless, gnashing their teeth but unable to do much more as they fought against the oddly strong gravitational pull which had violated their bodies.
A moment later the jackal seemed to realize what had happened, and began to fight Graeme’s power, using his significant strength to pull one paw and then the other upwards as though combatting the powerful magnets that were holding him down.
The cheetah followed suit, struggling against the strong pull of gravity that the floor seemed to be exerting on them, preparing once again to break free and to leap at their scaled foes, even as the eagle flew repeatedly at their leader’s head.
Backing away, though, the sabretooth moved his body towards the floor in submission and Kyne let up on him, allowing him a chance to give in and to admit defeat.
The great cat shifted and stood once again in his massive human form, hands stretched out to stop his accomplices, who were prowling forward, growling in threat.
“No,” he yelled through clenched teeth. “Stop.”
The next words were addressed to Conor. Kyne hovered in mid-air as he took them in, Graeme
and Lily standing alert, ready to attack again.
“Lord Dunbar,” the sabretooth shifter said. “Soon enough you’ll learn what side you’re on, and perhaps then you’ll stop making things so difficult for us. But your Draca companions here—they will, in all likelihood, have to die sooner or later. You can make this easy or difficult for us. The choice is yours.”
He turned away and walked to the place beneath the open grate, where he leapt upwards, pulling himself out onto the street above. His companions followed, incredibly agile in their movements.
Those who remained underground could hear the grate being returned to its original position.
And then silence, as though none of it had happened.
“What was he talking about?” asked Lily, turning to Conor after she’d shifted. “Do you know?”
Conor remained silent, deep in tormented thought.
“Something tells me that you will know soon enough, if you don’t already,” said Kyne, who had thrown his black cloak back on.
“Yes,” said Conor, “I’m afraid you’re right.”
* * *
“What do you suppose he meant, saying that you’d learn what side you’re on, Conor?” asked Lily again as she and her mates finished dressing.
Conor was silent, ponderous, and Lily pried at his mind, attempting to understand the concerns that weighed him down.
“I don’t know,” he said, and she knew that he was telling the truth; at least mostly. “I have seen a few things, but they haven’t made much sense. This power of mine, which was meant to get stronger, has grown more confusing instead. I feel like my head’s become a cinema full of films about wars that I’ve never witnessed, and things that happened centuries ago.”
“You can trust us, you know.” It was Graeme who spoke now, a hand on Conor’s shoulder. “Those men—they think we are their enemy, and clearly even your enemy. But we aren’t.”
Loyalty: A Dragon Shifter Menage Serial (Seeking Her Mates Book 4) Page 5