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

by Carina Wilder

  “Perhaps we could reason with them…explain that—“ Lily began.

  Merriman’s hand reached for hers and squeezed it tightly; his strength was impressive for a man who appeared so old and frail. “You’re so lovely and idealistic, child,” he said. “If only there were more like you in the world—human or otherwise.”

  From a high corner of the kitchen, Barnabas let out a soft cry. It seemed that he sensed what was going on before the others did; his hoot, a low call of warning, stirred them out of their conversation.

  “Be prepared for the long night ahead,” said Merriman, standing and throwing a long coat about his shoulders. “Do not let your guard down for a moment, do you hear me?”

  Graeme and Lily nodded. Inside each, a dragon strained to appear, to show itself to any threat. For Lily, though, something else seemed to awaken: the phoenix which revealed itself normally only as a series of multicoloured flames coating her scaly coat. It too was on high alert, a protective mode which was altogether too concerned with the man upstairs. Her mission, she knew, was to protect him on this night, whatever else happened.

  “He’ll be all right,” she assured herself in all her manifestations. “As long as we survive to protect him.”

  Merriman led them to a back door, which opened onto the small garden surrounded by a wide open, grassy field. In the distance, Graeme and Lily could make out trees silhouetted against the lush grass and backdrop of fading sky.

  At first it seemed as though all was still. But then the forest seemed to move, but rather more violently than if a breeze were blowing through its dense assembly of green. The trees themselves seemed to advance towards the house across the field, one at a time.

  “They’re…human,” whispered Lily. Figures progressed toward them, many carrying large boughs coated in green leaves.

  “Human? They’re nothing of the sort,” said Merriman. “But they know that you can see them, and are reluctant to show their déors’ forms to you, lest you plan ahead. They’re remaining under the cover of the branches as long as possible.”

  “No need to plan ahead. I’ll burn them all,” growled Graeme. “And carrying wooden sticks only makes them all the more flammable.”

  Lily reached for his arm and held it, attempting to soothe the beast within him. She wasn’t keen on the idea of bloodshed, much as she knew that it might be necessary.

  “We might be able to get answers,” she said. “To find out who’s in charge. We can’t just kill them all.”

  Merriman remained silent for a moment, peering into the distance.

  “We must create a shield between us and them,” he said, his mind elsewhere. “Around the house.”

  “But how—” Lily stopped herself. The man reminded her so much of Conor; he always seemed to know what he was doing, to have a plan in place. And she needed to trust in his powers.

  Merriman stepped out into the dark of night and turned to them. “I will see you in a little,” he said.

  They heard the familiar snapping sounds that came with a shift, and the lanky old man before them was gone. In his place stood a creature who resided only in the world of deep mythology—or so the other two had always thought.

  40

  Dragon Flight, Chapter Seven

  The creature’s body, large, muscular, and coated in fine blond fur, was identical to that of a lion. His head, on the other hand, looked as though it belonged to a giant grey eagle, and the enormous wings which unfurled at his sides like great sails only reinforced the astounding combination of features.

  At the ends of his legs were dark, hairless feet accented with a bird’s talons, which pushed off even as Lily studied them, thrusting the creature into the air accompanied by the loyal Barnabas.

  “A gryphon,” murmured Lily. “I didn’t think they actually existed.”

  “Most people say that about dragons,” smiled Graeme. “And yet, here we are, in the flesh.”

  “Here we are indeed.” Lily smiled back, excited more than fearful for what was to come. Her dragon was lending her strength now; it didn’t tire as her human body did. If necessary, the scaled creature could have gone for days with no sleep, relying entirely on the motivation of a good fight or its protective nature to light its fiery form from within.

  “Do you know what he’s up to?” Graeme was watching the gryphon’s powerful wings beat against the air around them, his trajectory unknown as he distanced himself from the house.

  Lily tried in vain to pry into his mind and to assess his thoughts, but her powers failed her on that count, or else Merriman was still blocking her deliberately.

  “No—he’s difficult to read, to say the least. But I’m sure he’ll let me know what to do when he’s ready.” Lily watched the déor’s movements, doing her best to understand her own task.

  It seemed that Merriman was flying towards the figures who made their way towards the house from far in the distance, but as he moved away from Lily and Graeme he veered sharply to the left, his head bent towards the ground. A thin stream of dark vapour emerged from his beak, and Lily could see, even in the looming darkness, that the grass below turned brown, dead, dry as a bone.

  “I see what he’s up to,” she said. “He’s giving us kindling for a fire.”

  “Right. You follow him and light it. I’ll hold off our intruders until the job’s done.”

  Lily quickly undressed and shifted then, her giant dragon’s form all but covering the Old House from distant sight. She knew, of course, that the would-be assailants would have seen Merriman by now, and they would certainly spy her soft, fiery glow, even from a distance. She could only hope that something inside them would cower in fear. But in that moment it was she who felt fearful and hesitant, weakened still by worry about Conor’s state.

  Her coat shone with multi-coloured flames which flowed in mercurial streams of various hues along her scales, as though she’d been doused in liquid fire.

  The flames alternated between searing heat and icy cold, only settling on a shade or temperature depending on her mood, her intent. And currently, her dragon was confused. It wanted to attack; to kill. And yet she had assigned it the menial job of starting up a grass fire. The carnage would have to wait a few minutes, and the softer human heart inside Lily breathed a shallow sigh of relief.

  She launched herself, following Merriman and shooting a narrow, orange flame at the dried grasses, lighting them. Behind her a tall wall of vertical orange heat rose up, and she turned her head to see the impressive structure which burned far higher and brighter than it should have done, given the meagre length of the grass itself. This, she knew, was a trick of the old man’s, forcing those shifters who couldn’t fly to wait outside the perimeter and separating the attacking party into its respective species, weakening those with four legs and no wings by cutting them off before they had a chance to act. It was a sly move, but only meant that now an aerial battle was inevitable.

  Graeme shifted as well, his dark red scales largely concealed against the night sky as he soared up above the house, assessing the enemy’s numbers. They seemed to come from all sides, men and women alike, as though they’d been sitting in wait for hours.

  Among them a few had altered into their déors’ forms; wild cats, a few bears and many smaller creatures. And as he watched, some changed into flyers of various shapes and sizes: eagles, hawks. Nothing, so far, that could shoot fire as he could. And nothing that came close to his or Lily’s own size, or that of Merriman’s gryphon, for that matter.

  He flew at one group of those on the ground, his head thrust downward, leading his enormous body, and as he neared them he fired off a warning shot of bright flame which landed between two large panthers. The two cats leapt sideways in fear, and a familiar sense of smugness filled the dragon. This was what he lived for—well, this and now his feelings for Lilliana and their partner.

  Sex and violence, not necessarily in that order.

  Lily, meanwhile, had followed the gryphon’s silent instruct
ions and completed the large circle around the house, occasionally using the flames along her tail or a wing tip to light a patch of grass which hadn’t yet caught. Her phoenix blood was coming in handy on this night, and she hoped that it would remain so.

  She couldn’t help but imagine what sort of horror the fire-wall would seem from the town, but there was no time to concern herself with such worries.

  She joined Graeme in the sky, looking down at the intruders and wishing for the gift of speech. He nodded as though to say, “I’ve got the situation in hand,” as he continued to herd the enemy with sharp blasts to the nearby grass, and Lily turned away.

  It was then that she saw them coming towards her: flyers. The ones she’d heard of in her youth, who used to attack Dundurn Castle in regular and devastating air raids in the days before the peace treaty. Large eagles, vultures and other birds would unleash streams of large rocks at the castle’s fortifications, breaking away chunks of wall at regular intervals. Individually the flyers were not an enormous threat, but as an army they could be formidable.

  At first there appeared only to be a few scattered here and there, but soon a dark cloud passed over the moon and split into many parts. The night sky had filled with forms which shot about; birds of prey, large bats, even small, agile sparrows which darted to and fro, flying by her head in distracting flurries.

  She learned quickly to ignore them and to focus on the large ones, which seemed now to be aiming their bodies at the house, seeking entry points.

  “Why go in there, when we’re out here?” she wondered.

  A large white eagle landed on the slate roof, digging talons in and attempting to pry away tiles. A moment later, Barnabas the owl was flying at its head, his own sharp beak and talons tormenting the flyer so that he gave up on his task.

  Merriman’s gryphon watched from the sky as well.

  “Do you see them?”

  The voice in Lily’s head was the ancient man’s once again. He had rebooted his communications, it seemed.

  “Yes,” Lily replied. “What do I do?”

  “Keep them outside. Do not let them get to Conor.”

  “Conor? Why would they want him?”

  He didn’t reply; instead his form made a b-line for a hawk which was throwing itself relentlessly at the kitchen window.

  Lily circled the house, allowing Graeme to continue his strategy of fighting those who were outside the circle. She could see them being driven off, one by one, no doubt wondering why their master had sent them on a suicide mission.

  In her mind she heard the odd piece of panic from inside their own minds: “It’s too much.” “My powers can’t match this one’s.” “We must wait for him.”

  Him.

  A three-letter word which was horrifying, and yet filled her with hope. Would he come, whoever he was, the leader of the Stranieri? Would they be able to put a stop to this conflict tonight?

  Merriman had said that this wasn’t a war fought against one being, but against many, against a whole ideology. But surely “he” was one entity.

  The question was: what sort, and could he take on two dragons and a gryphon?

  41

  Dragon Flight, Chapter Eight

  The bright circle of fire continued to blaze around the house as the young man stirred in his bed. His eyes fixed on the room’s window, and at first he told himself that he was hallucinating: surely there wasn’t some sort of avian battle raging in the sky as flames shot vertically from the ground. But it really did seem as though he saw large birds, silhouetted against flashes of red and orange like airplanes involved in a shoot-out amid exploding missiles.

  Cries rang out in the night, the harsh, shrill calls of carrion birds signalling that they’d found their prey.

  And a moment later, a face stared in through the window: the bright eyes of a hawk, sizing up the room’s contents.

  Yes, this must be a dream.

  The curtain shut as though signalling the end of a play, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick stood looking at Conor, silent and grim.

  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 bee
n 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.”

  42

  Dragon Flight, Chapter Nine

  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.