His mouth was dry, and when he tried to speak, to ask what he’d just witnessed, he was stopped by a strange man’s hand, landing gently on his chest. Conor was strong, though; stronger than he knew, and he bolted upright in spite of the attempt to keep him still.
“You must rest,” said a gentle voice. “Come, Mr. Dunbar. It’s essential that you regain your strength slowly. It will take at least a few hours to settle into your new body.”
“What’s happening?” Conor managed at last. “New body?”
He looked down. He still had arms and legs, and, happily, a torso. Though all of it looked a little larger than last he’d seen it, as though he’d been pumping iron in his sleep.
“I need water.” What he wanted most was Lilliana. Where was she?
Dr. Evans handed him a glass which had been sitting in wait on the nightstand.
“You’ve been rather ill,” he said as his patient drank. “Slowly. Sip it.”
“Ill? Ill how? What do you mean?”
Conor’s head was spinning, as though he were coming off a particularly nasty night of drinking. But no—last night there had been no drinking. Only sex. Only the greatest night of his life…
“The Ritual,” he said from between dry lips.
“Yes,” said the doctor as he shone a bright light into the man’s eyes. “You engaged in the Ritual, and it has had quite an effect on you, to say the least. Well, your irises seem to be choosing a colour,” he said. “It seems that your body has accepted the change at last.”
“Change?”
“You’ve become one of them.” It was Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s voice. That was right—she was here. She’d pulled the curtains shut. Everything was slowly coming into focus now.
He turned to see her in a chair, sitting now by the window with a gun in her lap casually, as though merely a pile of knitting that she hadn’t yet gotten to.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked, his palms flat on the bed beside him. “Am I some sort of prisoner?”
Mrs. Fitzpatrick laughed. “No, lad. Of course not. Where’s your Sight gone?”
Conor put a hand to his forehead. That was right—he had Sight, abilities. He should simply read their minds. But so much was happening in his own—Lily—Graeme—the shower, the bed. What was happening outside that window? Were they in danger?
“I can’t see…” he began.
“You will be able to soon enough.” It was the man’s voice again. “Conor, I’m Doctor Evans. Lily sent Graeme for me, to help you transition. For a time there, I’ll be honest—I thought we might lose you. But you’re a hardy fellow, to say the least.”
“So you mean to say that I’ve become a shifter? Officially?” he asked, as though he’d just been accepted onto a major football team and signed a contract for millions of pounds a year.
“Yes,” said the doctor. “That’s just what I’m saying.”
“Well, what sort am I?”
“We don’t know that yet. Even your eyes, which usually give at least a hint, aren’t enough to go by.”
Dr. Evans handed him a small mirror and Conor studied his irises. Each was a different colour. One gold, with flecks of dark brown. The other, green like the Mediterranean Sea. Each seemed still to change as the seconds went by, like water whose surface had been disturbed by a tossed stone. He wondered if they would ever settle, but then again he’d spent his entire life with eyes that seemed to alter each day, so this would simply be a small adjustment.
“I don’t suppose I’m a dragon,” he said, recalling Graeme’s light turquoise eyes.
“I don’t think so. More likely a large cat of some sort, or…”
“Or?”
“You could be any number of things: A lion. A goat. But we won’t know until you change for the first time.”
“Doctor—are my—my mates—are they out there? What’s happening?”
“Merriman is with them,” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “There has been an attack on the house, and they’re defending it from intruders. And, given that we have yet to be attacked by a giant bird or pterodactyl, I’d say they’re doing a fine job.”
“I need to help them,” he said. “I can’t leave them out there alone.”
“Just a moment, young man,” said Dr. Evans. “For one thing, they’re not alone. For another, you nearly died. I will not have you roaming around among flaming missiles, let alone fighting, in this state of yours.”
“No—I’m perfectly fine—“ Conor tried to stand then, and thrust his back to a vertical position before dizziness overtook him and gravity seemed to pull him back onto the bed. “Christ,” he said. “This is no good.”
“Laddie, just remember that your mates are dragons,” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “It’s not so easy to defeat their kind. They’ll be all right.”
“But…”
“But? But nothing. You stay there and I’ll make you a spot of tea. Settle your stomach, it will.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick rose and looked out once again through the thick curtains. “Now, you’d best forget the dog fight that’s taking place out of doors and give in to what your body’s telling ye: don’t be a feckin’ nincompoop.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
9
Many of the déors who were earth-bound had fled before the wall of fire, running back towards the woods, while others had simply backed away as though in wait for the wall to come crashing down. If the gryphon were taken out, they knew, his magic would fade.
Graeme’s red dragon joined Lily and Merriman above the house’s peaks, as Barnabas stood perched atop the roof overlooking those below, keeping an eye out for potential break-ins.
“You can hear my thoughts, Lilliana.” Merriman’s voice came to her, loud and clear, as his gryphon’s face stared at hers.
“Yes.”
“There will be trouble in a little. These have been small menaces next to what’s on its way.”
“What is on its way? I heard them speak of a ‘him.’”
“He is one of their most powerful weapons, and with good reason. And he is capable of taking even a dragon on.”
Graeme watched the interaction between the two shifters, knowing what was unfolding only due to small fragments of information which he received: Him. Coming. Dragon.
He had not acquired such a direct dose of Conor’s gift for Sight, for mind-reading. But something had happened which allowed him the ability to comprehend as he never had in past.
“What is he?” Lily’s voice came clear this time, and Graeme could make it out.
But no answer came from the older man.
Merriman’s eagle head jerked towards the distant wood and Lily’s followed immediately. Over the treetop in the distance they saw it: a creature whose wingspan seemed to cover the entire forest.
There were no flames, no fire. And as he drew nearer, Lily felt the minds of those below her cheering for this gigantic foe, as though he were their saviour. But in his own mind, nothing.
He came at them at full force, wings flapping in a slow, steady rhythm, propelling his enormous form forward.
“What is it?” asked Lily in her mind.
“It is what’s called a Roc,” said Merriman. “A bird of legend, but as with so many legends, he’s proven all too real. It is said that they can carry elephants in their talons as weapons.”
Lily could see that the bird had to be eighty feet across, his body larger even than hers for its bulk. His talons could have lifted a house, let alone an elephant. And here she was, up against it with no army to back her up.
Graeme, whose dragon was not accustomed to waiting for a foe to come to him, seemed to do a better job than the others in reading the creature as it made its way towards the house. It seemed to him that the bird was not intending to attack them, but to make headlong for the house itself; to burst through its walls. To get to Conor.
The red dragon waited, holding steady as the eagle-like creature drew near, but as it passed over the wall of fire he chose not to await a signal from M
erriman or Lily but instead shot forward, his long neck arching forward as his body dove down towards the bird’s back, followed closely by his companions.
Fire shot from the dragons’ mouths as they aimed themselves at the bird, who flipped immediately onto his back in mid-air, extending his impressive set of talons towards them in threat. Each dragon halted, pulling back as the flame seemed to move around the bird’s body, missing him by mere inches.
Again, the intruder tried to lunge at the house and again, the dragons stopped him with piercing arrows of fire.
At last he’d had enough and he turned to face them, hovering in midair as his wings maintained their rhythm.
“Come on,” thought Lily. “Just you bloody try it, you big bastard.”
And as though obeying her command he lunged at her first, the giant darkened yellow beak aiming directly at her long neck as though in hopes of opening a vital artery.
Lily jerked out of the way, her body easily slinking around his as he shot by. Her one advantage, she knew, was her speed.
Well, that and fire. Fire was always a bonus.
As the great bird flew by, the tip of one of his wings grazed her own, burning her flesh with its blade-like sharpness.
“Take care, Lilliana.” Merriman’s voice held confidence in her abilities, in spite of the warning.
The bird circled back and aimed once again. This time Lily pulled herself upwards at the last second as he approached, deftly avoiding the beak and wings, and positioning herself so that she could shoot a steady stream of flame at his back as he soared beneath.
His feathers caught fire for a moment, and the roc once again tipped his body over, flipping so quickly that the flames seemed simply to die, having only singed the tips of feathers.
Graeme went at him now, shooting a fiery missile at his left wing. This one was more effective and the roc seemed at first unable to help himself. He flew at the house’s roof, knocking the flaming wing deliberately against it and shaking the entire house in the process.
And once again, the flame was gone, leaving behind a patch of black smoke.
Flyers still moved about, swarming around the house, and Barnabas toured the area, lunging at any who came near a window or posed a threat. Each time he won the altercation, and Merriman watched with smug satisfaction as his companion took on the world.
Meanwhile, the roc seemed to have given up on the notion that he could beat two dragons, instead making his way once again around the house. He was, it appeared, searching for something. Lily could only guess that it was Conor’s room, though the reason remained unclear.
What could a dying man possibly have to offer such a creature?
At last she saw her enemy come once again to a stop, hovering outside the bedroom where she was sure that he still lay, helpless and weak. Her lover was in there fighting for his life, and only a thin pane of glass separated him from this creature bent on ending him before he had a chance to fight.
“No!” she screamed inside, and as her dragon let out a piercing cry she thrust herself down towards the roc again, Graeme hot on her tail.
The bird hovered in place, slowly lifting his talons, pulling up as though about to smash them through the window. The two dragons would be too late; he was about to gain entry. If the window were penetrated, others could dive in and Conor would be killed before they could get to him.
As they dove at the bird, though, a strange thing happened. Suddenly the roc turned and flew off as fast as he had come, into the distance, back over the trees.
The flyers followed, leaving the house in quiet solitude, and those who’d stood in wait in the fields below dashed after them.
For now, at least, the battle had been won.
The question, Lily knew, was how?
10
The wall of flame remained in place until the three shifters had landed safely behind it. Merriman’s gryphon turned towards the vertical barrier and once again seemed to emit a sort of smoke from his beak, which served to douse the flame that it had helped create.
Little by little, the fire receded towards the ground until all that remained was a thin line of dead grass, already seeming to grow over with fresh green. By the time any human might see it, it seemed, there would be no evidence of the strange glow they’d noticed the previous night.
The sky was lightening now, a cheerful orange hue coming over the horizon as the sun began to rise. It was as though nothing of the previous night had even occurred. A strange dream, thought Lily. Even for us.
Graeme shifted first, politeness dictating that he should run in and find garments for Lily and Merriman. And he did so quickly, bringing out a robe for each of them, and draping their déors before turning away. Much as he would have liked to behold Lilliana’s naked form once again, in front of the man he held in such reverence would not be the time to do it.
“That’s a little better,” said Merriman cheerfully as he tightened the fabric belt at his waist. “Isn’t it, Barnabas?” The owl, who’d been floating above, came down then and perched as usual on his lower arm.
“He’s quite an ally,” said Graeme, his tone admiring. “I’ve not seen an owl fight off so many birds at once.”
“Yes, he’s gifted, this one. In many ways.” Merriman stroked Barnabas’s head; it appeared that they had the sort of friendship in which such things were permitted.
“Thank you, Barnabas,” said Lily. “And you, Merriman. Without your…magic…we wouldn’t have been able to hold them off at all.”
“No more magic than what you two do,” said the man. “Fire-breathers, mind-readers, telekinetics. And Lilliana, you with the glowing hide of flame. I believe you’ll discover more spells in due time. Call it magic if you like, but these are simply elements of your lives now.”
“I hope not to discover new elements, then. I’m fairly overwhelmed at the moment with everything that’s been happening. Now, please—could we go in and check on Conor?”
“Of course,” said Merriman.
They found him sitting upright, in the midst of a lively conversation with Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
Lily ran to him, nearly knocking the fine bone china cup out of his hand as she flung her arms around him.
Conor smiled and hugged her back as she made sounds that could have been mistaken either for weeping or hysterical laughter; the difference was marginal.
“I thought I’d murdered you,” she said as she looked at him, her hands on his cheeks. “With my selfishness—I thought—“
“Silly Lily,” he said. “You can’t kill me. Besides, we went over this. It was my decision, and I made it gladly. I would never have regretted it, even in death. Of course, I’d be dead, so I wouldn’t regret much of anything.”
Lily slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t ever talk about being dead,” she said. “I was terrified.”
Graeme stood back, watching the happy reunion. He was not yet at the point where embracing another man seemed appropriate. But he was happy.
“Your eyes,” said Lily, still taking in the vision before her. “They’re so different.”
“I hope that’s not a bad thing,” he said.
“No, not at all. It’s just—they’ve settled, but not really. Two different colours.”
“Heterochromia,” said Dr. Evans, who’d been sitting quietly, observing the three newly bonded mates. “No doubt from some very confused genes. His déor and his human are still in conflict. The difference is that now it isn’t likely to kill him.”
“So it’s happened? You’ve changed?” Lily’s voice was filled with excitement, reined in only through great effort.
“My human body has. As for my déor—I don’t yet know what it will be.”
“With those eyes you could be almost anything. Even a dragon.”
Conor laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something?” he said. “Three dragons.”
“It would,” said Graeme, speaking for the first time. He approached the bed and held out a hand, which Conor grasped.
“I am so glad to see you well, Brother.”
“Brother,” said Lily. “That’s a nice title, albeit a little surprising from you, Lord Graeme.”
“Well, you are now of my kin and of my blood—you are one of us, Conor. And I couldn’t be more pleased to welcome you into our strange and hostile world.”
“Thank you, Graeme. And so tell me, you two—what the hell went on here last night?”
“Lord, where do we begin?” asked Lily.
“A very bad man wanted to take you out before you came into your powers, young Conor.” Merriman’s deep voice broke through all of the elation that had infected the room for a few minutes.
“What?” Lily turned to him. No one had explicitly spoken the words, though it had seemed very much as though the roc’s sole mission was to get to Conor. “I know it looked that way, but why would they want him?”
“I don’t know, Lilliana. Not yet. Perhaps only because if Conor survived, it meant that you two would also be strengthened by his power. But in all likelihood it is that the Stranieri fear the bond that you three now have. They do not want you to procreate, and that is putting it mildly.”
“I don’t really see that we’re more of a threat than that…whatever that was,” said Graeme. “The giant prehistoric bird.”
“The roc,” Merriman replied. “He is no threat to you, not really. Though he is powerful. Like you, though, he needs to stay out of sight of humans. But he was not their leader.”
“He wasn’t?” Lily felt her heart sink. And here she’d thought they had a chance against the organization that seemed to be hunting them like game.
“No. He was merely a weapon. A good one, at that. But a weapon all the same.”
“So when he turned and flew away…” Lily was beginning to see what had happened.
“It was that he could sense that Conor had regained his strength, yes. He knew that there was a man within these walls—a shifter—who could fight him. He had expected to meet with a weakened man near death.”
Dragon Flight: A Dragon Shifter Menage Serial (Seeking Her Mates Book 3) Page 5