It seemed to Lily as though her lover’s mind were now in another place, as if the battle raging inside him had transported him elsewhere, away from this weakened body to an arena where he would fight a solitary struggle for his life. As Lily touched him she felt his skin burn with enough heat to alarm even a dragon shifter.
His body, she knew, was trying its best to take on the challenge that was threatening it. But the human flesh was giving in, attempting to accept its grim fate; a fate for which Lily herself felt responsible.
“I did this to him,” she said quietly as she knelt down by the bed, holding his searing hand in hers as she tried to absorb the heat that he emitted. “If he dies, it’s my fault.”
Her heart seemed to shred inside her chest, the pain of it weakening her so that she hunched forward, unable to straighten her back. She felt instead that she was closing in on herself; shutting down as her own walls crumbled from within, a fortress taken down by an enemy stronger than herself.
It was inconceivable now to think of life without this man. Though he had only been a part of her for a short time, it felt now like an eternity, locked inside her mind and soul. As though he’d become woven into her own flesh in more ways than simply a physical one.
And with each breath that he drew she felt it: his struggle, his pain, as though she too were inside him. His thoughts were a jumbled, incoherent mess, coated in a shroud of torment as he fought for his existence, and her own mind cried out in pain, wishing to replace him in his fight.
She turned to Merriman, who stood behind her, a silent watcher with an expression of concern still embedded deep into the creases of his face.
“What do we do?” she asked, her voice tightening, as weakened as her body. “Please tell me. There has to be something. You said you’ve seen this sort of thing before…”
The ancient man didn’t speak at first; he seemed to be contemplating any and all options. Lily chewed her lip, silently urging him to speed up his thought process. There was no time for this sort of slow pondering.
“Please,” she pleaded, her mind uttering the word that her voice failed to speak again.
“Don’t rush me, child.”
She felt the words thrown back at her as his eyes met hers. He had not spoken them; his lips were still sealed tight. But there was a clarity to the sentence, like that of icy water in a wild creek streaming transparently over white stones.
This was not the first time that Lily had found words transmitted into her mind by another; Conor had done it. And Merriman had managed to convey a message the night before. But now something had changed.
She felt as though a door inside her had been opened to allow a steady stream of conversation. This was Conor’s gift to her—to allow her to see the world differently and to understand its inner workings. His Sight had become hers. Unfortunately it was no help now.
And so in turn, he had most likely inherited hers and Graeme’s gifts during the Ritual; her talent for leaping through time, through space. And Graeme’s talent for telekinesis, thrusting objects through the air with his mind as he’d done in the London pub.
And it was all proving overwhelming, too much for Conor’s human flesh.
“I’m sorry, Lilliana,” said Merriman at last, his voice resolute, as though he’d come to an irreversible conclusion. “But Conor is in need of medical attention. From an experienced doctor who knows the workings of shifters as much as humans. I can help a little, but I cannot heal him.”
“Is there such a doctor around here?”
“No, unfortunately. There aren’t so very many of our kind in this area. I knew a good doctor, who was kind and skilled—but he is long since dead. It’s been many years since I’ve found myself in this position.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I am truly sorry.”
Lily bowed her head, beginning to surrender to the thought that hope was lost at last. But it wasn’t in her to surrender, not even to a force as strong as fate. Her flame-coated dragon thrashed inside her, urging her on. There had to be another way.
No, this won’t do, she thought. I won’t let him die.
Conor was not going to succumb in this way; not if she had any say in the matter. This was his chance to become something new, a stronger version of himself. This, Lily insisted internally, was his destiny. Surely he hadn’t been led to her by his visions in London only to be ripped from her days later.
She waited only for a moment before rising and dashing out of the room, her legs carrying her down the hallway towards the only answer she could think of.
Graeme was drying off after a shower in the large bathroom where the threesome had enjoyed such physical bliss the previous night. When he saw her, a broad smile spread itself over every aspect of his face and he approached, hands prepared to embrace her, to feel that luxurious touch of hers once again.
But an unseen force seemed to stop him in his tracks, as though an invisible wall had sprung up between them.
“Lilliana, what is it?” he asked. Whether it was her face or her mind that he read in that moment, she didn’t know. But it didn’t matter.
“It’s Conor. The change is killing him—because of the Ritual.” Lily found herself rambling, unable to prevent thoughts from emerging. “It’s what you predicted, but I hoped that this wouldn’t happen…Please, Graeme. I need you to go and find Dr. Evans. He lives in this century—he delivered Rohan and me. The trouble is that he’s far off. I would leap to him, but if I don’t find him—I can’t bear to leave Conor—”
“All right.” Graeme’s voice was calm, settled, as though trying to counterbalance the frantic nature of Lily’s streaming words. “Of course I’ll go. But I’ll need to take a train. If people see a dragon flying…”
“We don’t have time for trains,” Lily’s voice was pleading, desperate. “You have to fly. And you’ll have to carry him back.”
“But, Lilliana…” This would mean risking everything; the general public could become aware of their kind. Not to mention the indignity of acting as a mount for a human. He was a dragon lord, for God’s sake. Not a pony.
It was then that Lily broke down, her mid-section seeming to give way as if her spine had collapsed in on itself once and for all. Ashamed of his own pride, Graeme grabbed her and pulled her close as she wept, her face finding a temporary home in his shoulder.
“It’s all my fault…” Her voice choked as the words came out. “Graeme, I’ve killed him.”
“No, you haven’t.” His own tone was resolute and powerful. Risk be damned, and foolish pride along with it. “He’s breathing, isn’t he? He is a strong man—stronger than either of us can imagine, I think. And together we’ll save him.”
Pulling away, he wiped tears from her cheeks and kissed her forehead. “We are one now. And you must stay strong for him. You keep him with us. Do you understand me?”
Lily nodded. It was all that she could manage.
“Now, you need to tell me where to find this doctor. I will leave immediately.”
“Thank you.” The words seemed insufficient to convey everything raging inside her. So she simply held him again for a moment, this man who was the only source of strength that she had.
35
Dragon Flight, Chapter Two
The day was cool and overcast, a low, dark covering of cloud overhanging the house as if to foretell of events to come, or, more optimistically, in an effort on nature’s part to offer the dragon some concealment from observant eyes below.
Graeme had determined the quickest path to the doctor’s location before hastily making his way to the back garden to transform into the great red beast that dwelt within him. He had assured Lily that he would return promptly and intended to live up to his word, provided that he could find the doctor without difficulty.
He altered into the impressive déor that his new lover had only seen in happier circumstances and shot toward the clouds above. Anyone who happened to look skyward in that instant would be in for a moment of confusion: why wa
s there a giant bird in the Cotswolds? Perhaps it had emigrated from Africa, they might speculate over a cup of tea from the town far below.
He might—just might—have been mistaken for an actual dragon by someone who’d had too much scotch. But no sober human would ever believe such a thing, of course. Dragons had never existed, after all.
The few who knew better would remain quiet about it.
Lily watched him disappear into the low-lying grey of the clouds. From inside the bedroom where she remained with Conor, she hoped that she’d made the right call in sending Graeme away. Should she have used her own talents to leap to Dr. Evans’s location? It would have been quick, after all.
Perhaps the answer was yes. But leaving Conor suffering on the bed, away from her voice and her touch was not an option. If she’d estimated the location wrong, or if anything happened to their mate while she was away she would never be able to forgive herself.
This was the only choice. And she had only to hope that it had been the right one.
* * *
A large dragon is capable of extremely fast flying speeds. Graeme’s wingspan easily reached sixty feet, propelling him forward with all the might of a jet engine. He had seldom had to employ this momentum and such long-distance flight in battle; his strategy tended to focus instead on acrobatics, diving, and the precision of the flame-thrower that was his mouth.
But now he flew in a straight line towards his destination, soaring above clouds as his scales coated themselves in a thin layer of ice which broke and melted away quickly under the heat that seeped out from within him.
There was a desperation in his mission unlike anything he’d known. For Lilliana, of course. But also for him. He, who had remained silent about his own feelings, who had tried to be strong for her. And of course, on some level he had succeeded.
He denied, even to himself, the difficulty of the change that had occurred since the previous night. He felt like a new man, but not everything that had altered within him felt comfortable. It was as though he’d both softened and hardened at once, his attitude changing alongside his powers.
His heart, over which he’d always held dominion, had opened itself in a way that he’d never thought possible.
When he’d first seen Lilliana, she’d been an object of interest; a challenge, a prize to claim for his own. And there was lust, of course, as his dragon had beheld her, demanding that the man find his way to her bed. She was desirable in every way.
And then he had grown to know her a little, to understand her personality. She was headstrong, that woman. And willful. And all of the things that make a woman delightful and infuriating. But they seemed to make a fine team, she with her worldliness and he with his physical strength. And so it was no great surprise to find himself bound to her now, having joined with her in the Ritual.
What surprised him, though, was his growing attachment to Conor, and as he flew he grew more and more aware of it, and of the importance of his mission. Graeme couldn’t put a finger on what it was that ate at him; he hardly knew the other man, after all. But they’d become friends in their short time together. And he couldn’t imagine sharing a woman like Lilliana with anyone else. Something in Conor opened him up to the idea of trust and of partnership on a purely platonic level.
Oh yes, they shared a mate. But the sexual attraction was for her only. Towards Conor he felt a kinship, a brotherhood. Yes, that was it: he felt for the first time as though he’d acquired a sibling, and finally he was beginning to understand the bond.
And his brother was now lying on a damp mattress, combatting some inner demon that was the result of their selfishness in performing the Ritual. Graeme had known the risks and yet he’d allowed Conor to be pulled into it all. He was human, after all, and Graeme had known it since the first moment when he’d laid eyes on him.
And so he flew on, telling himself that if he never accomplished another thing in his life, he had to save this man.
The voyage went by quickly, interrupted only briefly as a commercial jetliner flew at him out of a dense cloud, Graeme tucking his red body aside so that the plane’s wing just barely missed his own.
In the strange rectangular windows he thought he saw faces with round eyes staring out at him, and then the giant metal bird was gone. Inside he allowed himself a brief chuckle and wondered if airplane passengers were allowed to drink alcoholic beverages. He hoped so.
He wondered, too, if he would acquire Lilliana’s gift for leaping through time and space, and much as he loved flight, he found himself yearning to be able to teleport.
This was taking too long.
* * *
Merriman had disappeared to the kitchen on a mysterious errand, leaving Lily alone with their patient. She was quickly realizing that everything about the older man was mysterious, including his motives for helping them in the first place. Who was he, really?
He had told her the previous day to perform the Ritual; but surely he knew the risks, and surely he wasn’t trying to kill Conor. He must have known what he was doing. Among his odd set of skills was a sort of Sight that seemed even more powerful than Conor’s own, after all, and therefore he must have known that Conor could survive all of this. Even if he hadn’t said it, something in him must have known the future.
That was, if he was a true ally to the three. Lily hated to question his motives, and yet how could she not? Here was her lover, near death, and Merriman had encouraged the very activity which had put him here.
She pondered all that had occurred: the attack in the London pub; the strange trio made up of Xin, Asta and Duncan. And now, Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Merriman. It was a sort of blind faith that had led them to believe in these people.
No, not blind. Conor was the least blind person she’d ever met. He saw far beyond what she did, to the good and the bad in others, and to their very thoughts. He had trusted in the plan, uncertain though it was, and so she should as well.
Lily was sitting on a wooden chair by the bed when the old man returned to the room. Her hands, which seemed never to stop moving, stroked Conor’s hair, then his cheek, as though to confirm that he was still feverish. At least his heat was a sign of life.
One thing had changed: the young man seemed to have grown since the previous day. His shoulders, which had always been broad, seemed even more so now, each muscle rounder, more pronounced. His mass continued to heave in a rapid series of breaths, but the movement seemed to have slowed a little.
“I can see that his body continues to adapt,” said Merriman, watching intently as he laid a damp cloth on Conor’s forehead. The sodden fabric looked as though it had been soaked in white liquid, which Lily assumed was meant to cool the raging fever.
“Do you mean that this is normal? That he’s getting better?” she asked. There was, for a moment, a good deal of hope in her voice.
“Unfortunately I don’t mean that, no. He is trying—but it doesn’t mean that he will succeed. Though I suspect that the strength of you is keeping him going.”
“I’m not strong,” said Lily.
“I don’t mean that; I mean your presence, your very existence. His knowledge that you exist at all, and that you and he are now parts of a whole. It is enough for a man, sometimes, to feel love. He will do anything in his power not to allow it to be stolen from him.”
Lily looked down at Conor’s face; the grim, expressionless features which didn’t seem to recognize her or anything else. Did he love her? Was it possible?
“I don’t know how he feels. But I do know that I would do anything for him,” she murmured. “And if I lost him, I feel like I would die.”
Merriman put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You have bonded with him now, and with Graeme,” he said. “You’re different, even, from yesterday, though perhaps you can’t see it. Conor is not the only one who’s changed.”
“What do you see in me?” she asked as she looked up at him, a tear streaming down her cheek.
“Strength. Affection. Fear. All thi
ngs multiplied. The need of a dragon to protect what is rightfully hers. These men are yours in flesh and blood now, and you, like this man here, would do anything to keep your mates safe. To keep them yours.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Lily. “But why do I feel so helpless if I am so powerful?”
“Because it’s up to him, not you, to survive. Because you cannot make him fight. The blood inside him is changing, straining against his veins. He is evolving from within a body that was never meant to evolve. It is weakened by generations of humans who moved away from their roots as shifters. Their bodies are not as strong as ours, by a long shot. But even so, he is exceptional, Lilliana. Try to remember that.”
Lily leaned forward and kissed Conor’s damp cheek as his breath strained against his throat, rasping inhales and exhales a horrible cacophony that rang in her ears.
“I just want him back,” she said. “I just want him…”
“I know,” said Merriman. “You want him forever, and that’s how long you should have him. Life can be cruel.”
For what felt like hours Lily sat, a hand always on Conor, always making certain that he could feel her presence, her affection, her need. The old shifter sat opposite, his eyes also fixed on their patient, watching for changes.
“Merriman,” she said after a time.
“Mmmm?” He seemed deep in thought.
“What are we fighting?”
“What do you mean, child?”
“I mean, who is this enemy of ours?”
“Ah. Well, while there are physical enemies, it is not necessarily one man that you fight. Oh, there will be a leader, of course; there always is, after all. But if he is taken down, another might rise up in his place.”
“So if it’s not one man that we’re up against, what is it?”
Seeking Her Mates Boxed Set: A Shifter Menage Serial (All Five Parts) Page 19