“I am happy, I suppose, over all the rest of it. Isn’t there an expression: ‘It is better to have loved and lost…’?”
“Yes, something like that,” said Lily, “Though had anyone said those words to me an hour ago I would have ripped their face clean off.”
“You beast.”
“Come—let’s go see how our Conor is.”
4
The bedroom was still and silent when they arrived, a grim weight in the air between its light walls.
Conor lay flat on his back. His eyes had closed and his chest had stopped its gruesome heaving. Was he moving at all? There was no sign of life, no movement, and when Lily searched for his thoughts, she found nothing.
Her heart surged, her stomach overtaken with a sudden nausea as she thought the worst. Surely he wasn’t…
She took a large step forward, a sound emerging from her that wasn’t any word in the English language, before the doctor held up his hand to stop her.
“It’s all right, Lily,” he said, recognizing her panic. “I gave him a tranquilizer. He’s more or less asleep now. I’m sorry if you were frightened.”
A hand was on her back now, grasping at her clothing as Graeme calmed his own frayed nerves. He’d felt the same shock for an instant, she knew. The feeling of cascading downward into a bottomless pit—if only for a moment—had been horrifying.
“Will he be all right, Doctor?” he asked.
“Only time will tell. I know it’s not the kindest answer, or the one that you’d like best. But it’s the truth. He’s not out of the woods yet, I must tell you—his fever needs to break. That is the real threat. However, he’s stable and his temperature seems already to have dipped. I will stay with him and you in the meantime, until he’s properly on the mend.”
“Thank you, Dr. Evans,” Lily all but sobbed. “You don’t know what you’ve…” her voice caught in her throat as a desire for relief met sorrow.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I would do anything for your kin, Lily. And he is now exactly that. You are a family, and Conor knows it. It’s what’s kept him going.”
She knew that he spoke the truth, and that he understood the meaning of kinship among shifters. He was, after all, the partner of her Nana, who had no doubt sent him off with a blessing.
“Freya—I mean, your grandmother, says hello, by the way,” he added as though knowing her mind. “And sends a message not to worry. She said to tell you that you dragon ladies are strong—particularly those with phoenix blood. And, she pointed out, so are your mates.” With that, he glanced at Graeme.
Lily let out a laugh then; her first genuine one of a day which felt like it had lasted for years. There was no one stronger than Nana, after all, so she would know whereof she spoke. Besides which, she’d no doubt laid eyes on Graeme when he’d gone to fetch the doctor, and approved whole-heartedly of the match. There was nothing in the tall, broad, handsome man not to like, after all: he was as close to perfection as Conor was, and growing better each day.
And Lily’s Nana had chosen for her permanent mate a human man—only one. She had rejected the life of a shifter, and was all the happier for it. Her years with the cruel Lord Drake had made it an easy choice.
Freya had never spoken of a third mate; another male shifter in the relationship that had spawned her mother, Gwynne. But Lily could only assume that Drake had made quick work of him, taking his life or simply driving him off. Drake was not a man who was happy to share power, and killing a mate wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
Lily found herself happy that her mother didn’t know more of the tale of her parents than she did. The entire story had been one polluted with cruelty, heartbreak and horrors. But somehow the women of their family had come out strong and powerful, able to find their way to love, comfort and peace.
It was the sort of dragon’s ambition in her grandfather that Lily sometimes feared might overtake Graeme, though he had seemed to become more human, and not less, in the hours since the Ritual. This was a sign that his instincts were being redirected in the best possible way.
“Come, Lilliana, Ramsey.” It was Merriman’s voice. She turned her head to see his tall form standing in the doorway, Barnabas perched on his arm. “Let’s go downstairs and get you something to eat. Conor is not the only one who needs to keep up his strength.”
Lily and Graeme joined the man in the kitchen, where the owl who was either his pet or his friend—they still didn’t entirely know—now stood perched atop a high cabinet.
“Has Barnabas been with you for a long time?” asked Graeme.
“You might say that. We go way back, and there is no one more loyal.”
“You hinted that that he was a shifter,” Lily said. “Yet he seems to remain in owl form.” He reminded her of Asta, the sleek woman they’d met in London, who seemed more comfortable in her cat skin than human.
As Merriman rifled around in the fridge for meat, bread and cheese that he’d left a day earlier, he replied. “It’s possible that he’s forgotten how to shift. But I can’t ask him, since he’s a permanent owl. Clever trick, that.”
“I suppose of all the déors, it’s one of the least threatening. A dragon wandering around High Street would get a lot of looks, and likely a few armour-piercing bullets,” said Lily. “He’s chosen wisely. Human life seems pretty fraught with complexity.”
“And yet it’s filled with such an array of beautiful things,” said Merriman, “That we who shapeshift can appreciate all the more for their preciousness.”
“I suppose. I am grateful for emotion, even though at the moment it’s doing me in on the inside.” The hybrid dragon-phoenix inside her would have been an easier body to inhabit, as it could have numbed itself to the agony of her wait and the pain of her concern for Conor.
But she wanted to feel, even if the only feeling was pain. If Conor didn’t survive, she wanted to know, to remember how she’d cared about him, and the depth of her emotion. It was not a thing which should be denied, but embraced. Because it was the greatest thing in the universe.
They sat and tore at the bread, sliced into the cheese and ate greedily, satisfying the appetites that they’d forgotten they had.
“Remember that you two have undergone a change, as well as Conor,” said Merriman. “Your muscles and everything else in you needs nourishment. You will find in the days to come that changes take place that you hadn’t anticipated.
“Changes?” said Graeme, his mouth half-full of makeshift sandwich.
“Your powers will find a way of combining, spreading themselves about. It is how I’ve acquired my fair share of abilities through the generations. But it can be frightening to uncover—one day, for instance, a shifter might be able to fly and the next, to teleport.”
“It would be interesting to learn to leap as Lilliana can,” said Graeme. “I must admit that I envy her the ability.”
“In all likelihood, you will learn it,” said Merriman. “And in turn, her leaping will fortify and strengthen. And she will acquire the skills that you and Conor have. Though be warned: they’re never quite the same in two shifters.”
“Well, this will be another adventure, I suppose,” laughed Lily. How many damned adventures did one woman need in a month?
By now it was late afternoon. The sun was already beginning to move towards the horizon above the narrow treeline in the distance when Lily rose.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said. “I want to check in on Conor.”
It wasn’t worry that guided her up the stairs this time; it was a need for reassurance. She was beginning to feel…something. As though he were coming back to her, but she wanted to be sure that it wasn’t that damned false hope settling in.
When she arrived at the bedroom, Dr. Evans was sitting, calmly reading a book by a light on the nightstand.
He looked up as she entered.
“His fever has broken,” he said. “And your Conor will be fine.”
Lily, who would ha
ve expected herself to run up and embrace the doctor, Conor, or both, instead slumped back against the wall and slid down to the hard floor. Her knees rose to meet her chest as it heaved in deep sobs, her hands covering her face.
So, she thought, relief could be as violent an emotion as heartbreak.
She would have him again, and this time he would remain hers for many, many years.
5
Dr. Evans helped her to her feet a minute later, after giving her a moment to let out what had had built up inside over the course of the day.
“I’m all right,” she insisted, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
“Oh, I know that you’ll be fine.” The doctor smiled. “But you should tell the others the good news as well. You’re not the only one who will be relieved.”
“No, of course you’re right. Just give me one moment.”
She walked quietly to the edge of the bed and leaned over to place a delicate kiss on Conor’s forehead. It seemed cruel not to convey the good news to Graeme and Merriman as soon as possible, though she suspected that the latter would know full well what was up before a word was spoken.
After she’d touched her lover’s face one more time, she darted back down the stairs and found the two men still seated at the table, locked in earnest conversation about past centuries. They stopped and looked at her, inquiring faces reminding her of two animals, curious about what they were studying.
“He’ll be all right,” she said, walking towards them. She took Graeme’s right hand and squeezed.
“Oh, thank God,” said Graeme. “I was…” He stopped before uttering words that might denote weakness.
“I know,” said Lily. “Me too.”
“You were feeling broken by it all,” said Merriman, filling in the gaps. “As you should. As broken as if someone walked up and shattered the bones in your legs. He is an integral part of you both for the rest of your lives, and you of his. Never forget it.”
Lily leaned over and kissed Graeme’s cheek, as his arm went around her waist and held on tight.
“We’ve done well,” he said. “We three. To have found each other, somehow.”
“It hasn’t been the most conventional courtship,” laughed Lily. “But it’s in the challenge that it’s proven itself worthwhile. And I suspect that this is just the beginning, though I’d be grateful if things became a little less exciting for a little.”
Graeme smiled. His face, which all day had shown signs of stress, seemed to have softened now.
Lily found herself smiling as well, relief flooding through her. They say that you never know what you have until you lose it, but she was convinced that she’d known, almost from the start, what she had: the two most desirable, noble, strong men who’d ever existed.
* * *
Merriman regaled them with stories of another time and place and the three managed to laugh a good deal in the next half hour or so, exhausted and yet happy.
Even Merriman, who so often seemed to have his mind dashing around between several places at once and to be constantly considering serious and far-off topics, seemed to loosen up for a little. He even told them tales of scandals among the aristocracy from the days before and after Lily’s birth—stories that had never made it into history books.
It was as night began to creep in that a tremor shot down Lily’s spine, as though a chilly gust had cut through her clothing. For a moment she wondered if it was something to do with Conor; a sixth sense, telling her that he was in trouble.
Merriman’s head jerked towards her at the same moment, his face taut with alertness.
“You felt that,” he said.
“I think I’m just a little cold,” she replied as Graeme laid a concerned hand on her.
“Dragons do not get a little cold,” said Merriman.
“What’s happening, Merry?” asked Graeme, who hadn’t sensed what the other two had.
“They’ve found us. And they’re coming. Tonight.”
“How many?” Lily’s voice trembled. There was no need to ask who “they” were; she knew perfectly well. It wasn’t fear that she felt, not exactly. Merely complete and unrelenting exhaustion. More bad news was a solid boulder being added to the weight that she and Graeme had carried around all day.
“I don’t know. Only that it is the same enemy that’s threatened you before. I couldn’t tell you more, as I don’t yet know. But I sensed their movement just now, as you did. It’s only my experience that allows me to understand what it is that my mind has seen.”
“But I don’t understand. How did they find us?” Graeme began, before his mind answered its own question. “Of course. I’m an idiot: My déor. They saw me.”
“Or smelled you. Don’t forget, Lord Ramsey. They are looking for you.” Merriman’s voice was grim, his hostility aimed at the unseen foe. “Do not blame yourself. They would have found you after a time anyhow. Dragons and phoenixes, and whatever Mr. Dunbar upstairs might become, are difficult to conceal from their kind in any form—even human. And now that you have engaged in—well, let’s just say that the Ritual is a powerful thing, in more ways than one.”
“But you told me that this house is protected,” said Lily.
“It is, but the spell that I cast is not impenetrable. It would take a good deal of my strength to conceal our location properly, I’m afraid. And I am at fault; I underestimated our enemy, and thought that we would have a few days of peace at least.”
“Conor is upstairs fighting for his life. Isn’t there something we can do? Can we somehow distract them?” Lily asked. “If they get in here…”
“Distract? No. By now they will be headed here directly, and will attack as soon as night has fallen—which seems imminent. In all likelihood we will need to fight, to protect the house and its contents.”
Inside Graeme the red dragon silently reared up, excited at the prospect of a battle. It had been far too long since he’d had the chance to take on one enemy, let alone many. He was built for more ambitious tasks than to serve as a private jet for doctors, after all.
“I do have a few tricks of my own, though,” said Merriman, who at times really did remind Lily of a wizard, whether he called himself one or not. “Between the three of us and our scandiacus up there—“ he gestured towards Barnabas—“meaning ‘snowy owl,’ we will be able to fight them back for a time, perhaps. He’s more useful than you might think in these situations.”
Barnabas emitted a low hoot that almost managed to sound like a sarcastic statement, or as near one as an owl could make.
“And if we can’t take them on?” asked Lily.
“That’s simple: they will kill us. But how likely do you suppose it is that they would be able to combat two dragons so powerful as yourselves? You in particular, Lilliana, are special, with no offense to Lord Ramsey. You are the rarest: a hybrid, with the blood of a firebird.”
“But I’m no more special than any other dragon—than Graeme. I’m quite normal, really.”
Rohan, her twin brother, came to mind then. He seemed so much more powerful, his abilities so broad. But he was far away, and Lily wished for him now, her protector for life. She felt suddenly small as she had so many years ago in the barrow where she’d spent days concealed with him in darkness, before they’d ever shifted and discovered their déors. They were only two innocent, vulnerable children then.
And now, she reminded herself, she was a grown woman.
“Not special?” Merriman looked into her then and again, her mind seemed to take in his thoughts. Never tell yourself such things, his voice boomed inside her head. Never believe them. Realize your full potential. And your worth. Now, before it’s too late. Specialness does no one any good after they’re dead.
She had no desire to find out if he was right.
Her greatest desire, though, was to sleep for a little. To curl up into a small ball like a kitten, and to pass out in front of a quiet fireplace. To forget everything that weighed on her, if only for a few hours.
The previous night seemed now like a faded memory from decades ago; a beautiful dream from which she’d awoken into a nightmare. The joy of it, the sweet pain, the intimacy between herself and her two lovers.
Would she ever feel it again, or was life so cruel as to continually steal away her joy? If Conor managed to recover, and if they made it through tonight’s attack, there would still be other members of the Stranieri to take on. Lily didn’t yet know the full extent of their powers.
But she suspected that she would soon find out.
* * *
When the doorbell rang early in the evening, the shifters looked at one another nervously. Surely the Stranieri weren’t into such formality as coming to the front door.
“It’s only Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” said Merriman after a moment, standing as his mind assessed the series of images that he was receiving from elsewhere. “She may have news for us.” He made his way quickly out of the room, Barnabas’s head turning to follow his route for a moment, his intense eyes watchful.
News. Lily longed for news from upstairs, but needed to maintain the faith she had in the good doctor. He would do his best, she knew, to save Conor as he’d once saved her mother Gwynne.
A few moments later, Merriman re-entered the room. The friendly grey-haired lady whom Lily, Graeme and Conor had met at the train station followed him in, wearing what looked like equestrian clothes and carrying what appeared to be a shotgun.
“Hello, friends,” she said cheerfully.
“Hello,” said Graeme.
“Mrs. Fitzpatrick, what are you doing here? It’s not safe,” said Lily, aware that her tone was less than hospitable. “Even with that gun in your hand.”
“Well, truth be told I came to warn ye that strangers have been seen about the town today. But of course I should have known that you would be aware of it already, being the fancy lot that you are.”
“I don’t know about ‘fancy,’ but yes, we know,” said Merriman. “And Lilliana is right—you aren’t entirely safe here. But we nonetheless appreciate your coming, don’t we?” He turned to Lily, a chastising narrowing of his eyes which reminded her of a parent.
Dragon Flight: A Dragon Shifter Menage Serial (Seeking Her Mates Book 3) Page 3