Seeking Her Mates Boxed Set: A Shifter Menage Serial (All Five Parts)

by Carina Wilder

  Lily knew that she and her companions must have stuck out like sore thumbs against the backdrop of men in business suits and young people coming home for the weekend; the two hulking men at her sides probably looked like the sorts of bodyguards that an important celebrity might cart around with her.

  “My name is Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” the woman said as she approached, taking a bag from Lily, who was unable to prevent her from doing so without using unnecessary force. “I’ll be taking ye to the Old House above Chipping.”

  “The Old House?” said Lily, “That sounds romantic.”

  “Aye, romantic it is. It’s a lovely place, up on a hill. You can see all of the Cotswolds from up there.”

  “Oh, so we’re headed to the Cotswolds, then.” This time it was Conor who spoke.

  “Have you been?” asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

  “I’ve spent a little time in Stratford-Upon-Avon.” He nudged Lily and whispered, “That place is almost as old as you.”

  “I’m not old,” she protested. “Just…displaced.”

  The two men climbed into the backseat of Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s Land Rover, happy to allow their counterpart the privilege of dealing with what they could only assume would be a chatty driver.

  “I’ve lived here all me life,” she was saying, as though to prove them right. “I was born right in Chipping. They say that my mother went into labour right in the center of town, in the marketplace. You do know about the village, yes? It was a famed wool market in the Middle Ages. Oh, but you would know all about that sort of thing, being a leaping time traveller, wouldn’t ye?”

  “I…” Lily found herself surprised at the woman’s forwardness and willingness to speak of such things as her unusual abilities.

  “You’re not a shifter yourself, are you?” she asked the driver.

  “Oh, no. Not at all.” Laugh lines appeared around Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s eyes as she smiled. “But I know all about your kind. When I was a young lass I had a brief fling with a man who could turn himself into a lion, of all things. Oh, but he was a looker, that one.”

  “What happened to him?” asked Lily, suspecting strongly that the men behind her were rolling their eyes.

  “He had to leave…to go back to his home, to be with his own. You know how it is. My blood is not the right sort, and never would be, you see.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lily.

  “It’s all right. But you know, it’s always been difficult. I did marry a human, and it was a good marriage. But even after many years, you don’t forget a man like that.”

  “No, I suppose you don’t.” Lily thought of her two silent companions in the back seat and how difficult—no, impossible—it would be to forget them for a moment.

  “Well, at least I have old Merry,” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, as though out of the blue.

  “Mary?”

  “Merry. His full name is Merriman. The man who owns the Old House. A very old friend of mine, that one.”

  It’s one surprise after another, thought Lily, who smiled, reluctant to ask further questions.

  “He’s a shifter,” continued the talkative chauffeur. “From the old country, like you. Very old, that one, though—the oldest of all shifters, at least that’s what they say.”

  “I haven’t known a lot of very old shifters,” said Lily. “I mean, they—we—age, but not very quickly. Even my grandmother sort of stopped aging when she hit about forty and she still looks—“ Lily realized that she was rambling now. It was contagious. “She looks quite young,” she said conclusively.

  “Well, you’ll see that Merry is no spring chicken, but he’s still bright as a button. Yet age catches us all up eventually, even the gifted ones.”

  “What is his déor?” asked Lily.

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she smiled.

  “You’ll see.”

  * * *

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  Escape, Chapter Twelve

  They drove past paddocks which housed sheep, grazing on hillsides and docile cows, some of whom were lying down as if in protest of dubious weather which threatened to worsen. All was lush grass and tall shrubs flanking the road, occasionally interrupted by a gate leading to an unseen property.

  At last Mrs. Fitzpatrick turned up a narrow laneway coated in gravel and wordlessly led her passengers towards a great, grey house with high, pointed gables.

  “The Old House,” she said at last, as though having lost her ability to ramble. There was, Lily thought, a reverence in the woman’s voice. This place held some meaning, symbolic or otherwise, that was not yet understood.

  They descended from the car near the front door, the small amount of luggage that Asta had provided in hand. The two men came to Lily’s sides, once again taking on the appearance of bodyguards protecting their charge.

  But she felt no need of such care. Something told her that she’d feel quite at home in the old place, at least for a little while.

  “I’ll leave you here then, shall I?” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “Best of luck.”

  Lily waved as the car sped off.

  The front door was large, imposing and dark red. At its centre was a giant brass knocker: a lion’s head, holding a great ring in its mouth. But before anyone’s hand had accessed it the door swung open inwards and a tall, thin man with wild white hair stood in its frame.

  “You must be Lilliana,” he said. “And Conor, and Graeme Ramsey. The young dragon lord.”

  “That’s right,” said Lily. “And you are…Merriman?”

  “I am.” The man’s voice was deep as his height dictated, and reminded Lily of the bass instruments she’d heard, long strings creating resonant tones. Merry’s voice told of age and wisdom, as did his face, which was carved with wrinkles from years of experience.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” said Lily. The old man nodded to her and to the men.

  “Come in,” he said. “Welcome to your new home.”

  As they wandered into the foyer, a sudden flutter of activity caught Lily’s eye from above. She looked up to see an enormous white owl flying around the round entryway, then coming to a rest on a bannister at the top of the staircase.

  “That’s Barnabas,” said Merry, gesturing to the creature as though he were a piece of furniture. “He’s been with me for rather a long time.”

  “Can he shift?” asked Lily.

  “In theory,” replied the man succinctly.

  It seemed wise to ask no further questions for the moment, and so the three followed as Merriman guided them to a large sitting room.

  “Please, make yourselves comfortable,” he said. “I will only ask you a few questions and then you may go explore the house, which I offer to you for the near future. I shall be staying elsewhere, though I’ll be close by.”

  “You’re loaning us this entire house?” asked Conor.

  “Yes, though perhaps you already knew that, given your abilities,” said Merriman, who smiled slyly.

  “How did you know?…” Conor began, then stopped himself. This man was impenetrable, even more so than Lily. Conor’s first instinct had been to attempt to see what he was all about, to study his thoughts, but Merriman had put up a barricade, almost as though shoving his hand at the seer’s face to say, “No you don’t.”

  “I am old, young Conor,” he said. “Older than you can imagine. I have seen many things myself, and have gained certain skills of my own. There isn’t much that can be hidden from one such as myself. And yet there’s a good deal for me to hide, and I have the skills to do so.”

  Lily leaned forward, intrigued and hopeful. “Can you see the future?” she asked.

  “No more than our friend here can, no,” Merriman said, his eyes warming into a sympathetic state. “I would like to tell you that all will be well—that everything will be the best in this best of all possible words, but I am no Voltaire. He’s a French writer, Lord Ramsey,” he said turning to Graeme. “After your time.”

  Graeme nodded, still in the midst of a
ssessing their host, who struck him as the most lordly man he’d ever met.

  “As for the future, it is changeable, therefore not entirely predictable. If I told you what I’ve seen you might attempt to alter your own fate, and we can’t have that, can we?” Conor had told Lily almost the exact same thing. It seemed that great minds thought alike.

  The three companions nodded, like classmates listening to a stern lecturer. Something in this man made each of them feel younger than they were, less experienced. Lily was beginning to understand Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s reverence for Merry.

  “None of you, I see, can figure out if I’m friend or foe,” Merriman continued, letting out a brief chuckle. “And perhaps that speaks well for me. Or poorly for you.”

  “You’re a little difficult to make out,” said Conor. “Harder even than Lilliana, and she’s a tough nut to crack.”

  “When one’s spent centuries concealing elements of one’s existence, one learns to block out the prying eyes and minds of others. I am unreadable because I want to be. But all you three need to know is that I am here to help. What you’re up against is no small thing.”

  “Pardon me, Lord—Merriman, that is,” said Graeme. “What is it exactly that we’re up against?”

  “We will discuss that tomorrow,” said the old man. “For today and tonight, I’ve had a couple of meals prepared for you. They’re set aside in the kitchen, so please help yourselves when you’re ready. All I wish for you in this moment is peace and calm. We can get down to serious business when you’ve had time together, in this place.”

  Once again, the three wondered at his meaning. It was only when he turned his eyes towards Lily that she felt that she understood: Tonight, he was telling her. Tonight.

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  Escape, Chapter Thirteen

  “I will leave you three for the time being,” said Merriman, rising from his seat as Barnabas the owl flew towards him. The man raised a hand and the owl landed gently on his forearm, his head turning this way and that to study the three young people before him. “I will return tomorrow to discuss our plans.”

  Lily wanted to stroke the Barnabas’s intelligent head but for the fact that he might be a shifter. Of course, one didn’t pat shifters as though they were pets; it was undignified at best and incredibly rude at worst.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said. “And you, Barnabas.”

  The owl let out a low hoot and the two left the room.

  “Well then, that was interesting,” said Conor. “But now I’d rather like to take a shower. Who wants to join me?”

  Lily laughed. “A shower. Another contraption to teach you about, Graeme. And this one’s a proper wetter.”

  She wondered why every time she needed to show him some element of the modern age it seemed to involve his getting naked. Not that she was complaining, mind you.

  The three made their way up the winding staircase to the second floor, where they found more than one bathroom, as well as several extremely well-appointed guest rooms, complete with large beds and enormous windows overlooking the green landscape, which seemed to be growing prematurely dark.

  “This scene reminds me of Sherlock Holmes books,” said Conor, staring out one window. “As though some great hound will come running at us in the night.”

  “No great hound ever stood a chance against two dragons,” said Lily, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning her chin on it. “So we’re safe from them, at least.”

  Their heads turned simultaneously as a sound came from the next room. Lily dashed over to find Graeme wrestling once again with plumbing: this time a shower head whose long, flexible hose had come loose from its holder and was shooting water in every direction like a snake that had gone insane.

  She reached over, leaning into the very large shower. Its walls were coated in elegant slate towel and the space struck Lily as larger than most Londoners’ flats. Quickly she shut the water off, laughing loudly. Once again, Graeme was soaked.

  “Off with the clothes,” she ordered. “Honestly, I’m beginning to think you do this on purpose so that I’ll get you naked.”

  “It works, doesn’t it?” said Graeme, who really did seem to be loosening up.

  Conor stood in the doorway watching, as Lily helped the dragon shifter to remove his wet sweater and the jeans that clung to him.

  His eyes were fixed only on the woman before him; her curves, her gentle way in which she looked after the men in her life. The memory of her taste.

  Graeme, on the other hand, seemed almost oblivious to Conor’s presence, and stood naked before them as Lily started up the shower again to show him how to use it. She let loose a warm flow on his chest as she pointed to some soap. But Graeme had another plan, it seemed, as he took the shower head from her and sprayed her own chest, soaking her outfit.

  “Seems that you too need to become naked,” he said, his tone mischievous.

  Lily laughed again. “Scoundrel,” she said. “Trying to get a lady’s clothes off this back-handed way.”

  Conor turned away silently, leaving the two alone. He had a smile on his face as he left them, knowing what was likely to come.

  Graeme gestured with his fingertips towards Lily, who remained clothed, and at first she didn’t understand what he was signalling. But then her shirt began to lift away from her waist, pulling itself upwards. Graeme was doing this, she knew; commanding the clothing with his mind.

  She stood and watched in awe as he moved his fingers upwards through the empty air and the shirt went with them, lifting its bottom seam over her bra. Eventually the force seemed to push her arms up, and she gave in gladly, allowing the garment to be stripped off entirely.

  She turned to smile at Conor, but realized with disappointment that he wasn’t there anymore. Where had he gone?

  “Stay,” his voice seemed to tell her, as though he were reading her from a distance.

  “I will,” she thought back, trying to convey the words to him. “But you come too.”

  “In a little. Promise.”

  When it came to her bra, no amount of brain-power was going to pull it off Lily’s body; Graeme’s mind was not yet acquainted with the frustrating clasps on such garments.

  So she stood before him in her jeans her unrelenting bra, waiting. For all the times she’d seen him with no clothing on, they had yet to share a proper kiss.

  Graeme took her hand and led her into the shower, where he laid a palm on each of her hips. She felt his fingers dig in gently, exploring her flesh through the now wet fabric.

  “These need to come off too,” he whispered.

  Lily reached down and undid the button and fly and pulled the jeans downward, peeling the wet denim away so that she now stood before him in only a soaked bra and panties. Graeme let out a deep breath.

  His finger began to weave a path over her curves, running first under her bra strap as his eyes followed the lines of her body.

  “You’re breathtaking, Lilliana,” he said. “You took my dragon’s breath away the first time I set eyes on you, and now you are destroying the man.”

  “I don’t want to destroy him,” she replied, her voice hushed, intimate as she moved towards him. “I want to strengthen him.”

  His eyes looked into hers. These words held so much meaning, he knew.

  “As you wish to strengthen Conor.”

  “Yes. Both of you. I want you both.”

  The finger moved down now, pulling the supple fabric away from her breast, sliding in between the two so that the back of his knuckle ran gently over the hard tip of her nipple.

  “You shall have us,” he said. “Many times over. In every conceivable manner and from every imaginable angle, we will find our way inside this beautiful body.”

  Lily felt a renewed wetness between her legs as Graeme tore at the garment now, the beast within him taking over. Both straps were between strong fingers and he pulled them down, her breasts exposing themselves as the man freed them from their prison; soft, white sk
in framing eager pink nipples.

  She could see him staring, hungering to put his lips on them.

  “No,” she said. “Not yet.”

  Again his eyes focused on hers. “Not yet?”

  “Kiss me first. Please.”

  His mouth was on hers in an instant, lips famished for her own. Lily found her body giving way under her as it had done so recently with another man. Now she surrendered all her strength to this giant of a man, whose arms were around her, hands slipping down her back.

  His tongue sought hers, but gently, delicately, as though afraid to disturb it. He seemed wordlessly to be asking permission for the intimacy of her touch and she offered it freely as their bodies came together, pressed under the flow of water.

  And then Lily felt it again: the hardening of a cock against her, the unrelenting sign of desire to find his way inside her. She was filled with the same burning need, wanting to turn her back to him and to bend forward, to offer herself to him. To say, “Take me. All of me, now.”

  But there was Conor to think of, too. She didn’t want to take one man in without the other.

  When Lily gently pulled away at last, their kiss ended, she said, “I want you both inside me. Tonight. I want to be one with you.”

  “Then that’s what you will have,” said a voice from the doorway.

  The two turned to see their companion standing, watching, a look of pure pleasure upon his face. Lily could see the delicious bulge in the front of his jeans and knew that he was aching for her as she ached for both men.

  “Come here,” she said, extending a hand towards him. “It’s time for the Ritual. It’s time for you both to be inside me. I want you more than you know.”

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