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

  She didn’t want in that moment to acknowledge the elephant in the room: the Ritual, which would have to occur soon. Not yet, though, she told herself. Not yet. To do it in a moment of stress seemed somehow wrong. She wanted it to be natural, organic. Orgasmic.

  But she wouldn’t be able to put it off for long; not only was it best for everyone involved, but she found herself once again filled with an aching need for the two men. On this night, she would have loved nothing more than to wrap herself around each of them, to stroke those chests, to feel perfectly safe, utterly secure. To be strengthened by their bodies.

  For now though, they would remain her bodyguards, poised as gargoyles defending the architecture of her own being.

  She crawled into the middle of the bed, Graeme easing in on one side, Conor on the other. On one side, fingers softly stroked her thigh and hip under the covers, reminding her that Conor still wished to be with her. That he still wanted her, in case there was any doubt.

  Graeme, meanwhile, turned his back to her, his body creating a barrier between them as though avoiding temptation. He was too much of a gentleman, she knew, to touch her uninvited. And she imagined that Conor’s presence was another impediment. Another item that Graeme would have to get over quickly if the Ritual were to occur.

  As the men drifted off, seemingly without a care in the world, she could hear their deep breathing. Images moved through her mind of their bodies surrounding her, moving, slipping inside her as she touched them.

  They were the ones. She knew it now, though each man remained a mystery in his way. Buried deep inside her was utter certainty that this—all that had occurred—was meant to happen. And in spite of the danger and her fear, she was happy.

  26

  Escape, Chapter Eight

  Lily woke early to find both of the men was already up, no doubt preparing for the day and journey ahead.

  She hadn’t slept much. Among the nice thoughts of the two protectors in her bed were more pessimistic musings about what might happen were things to go wrong in the days to come. Not only were their lives at risk in all of this, but the lives of many shifters. To keep their kind secret would be difficult, were they to actually fight and to vanquish whatever invisible foe they were up against.

  The weight of the world seemed perched upon her shoulders, as though she were responsible for the writing of all the history that was yet to come.

  In her day, warring between shifter tribes was commonplace. Before her birth there had been a long-standing battle between her fathers’ dire wolves and what were then known as the “Flyers;” the hawks, eagles and other birds of prey who had banded together in an army of assailants. When she and Rohan had been little, however, an alliance had been formed which had lasted throughout the centuries, and one of its chief objectives was to maintain secrecy; to allow stories of dragons and werewolves to pass into legend.

  And now here they were, an underworld of shifters at war once again. But this time the risks seemed even greater. The fights would need to go unseen, or the world itself would change. If shifters were found out, they would risk capture, imprisonment, torture.

  Lily had spent enough time in the modern world to know that those who were different were not treated kindly. Witch hunts were not a thing of the past, though most were done quietly.

  She rose and headed downstairs, where she found the men in a small sitting room, having what seemed like an intense conversation.

  “Everything all right?” she asked.

  Both men rose, each abiding by the tradition of chivalry.

  “Yes, my Lady,” said Graeme. “We were simply speculating as to what the future holds. Though it seems that Conor here has some awareness of things to come.”

  “Graeme, you really will have to drop the habit of referring to me as your Lady,” said Lily, whose mind was still on the notion of concealment. “We need to adopt something like alternative identities for the foreseeable future.”

  “Of course,” he replied. “It’s difficult for me, though. I’m still learning modern English and all that goes along with it.”

  “I know. It was hard for me, too,” she said. The adjustment had been a hard one; walking into this century without any of the formal titles, leaving her own dialect behind. Though she’d never had an urge to refer to her History professor as “my Lord,” thankfully.

  “And Conor, what is it that your mind is seeing in our future?” she asked.

  “Only bits and pieces, and they change, Lilliana,” he said. There was a seriousness in his voice to which she wasn’t accustomed, a graveness which foretold of trouble ahead without Conor mentioning any incident explicitly. “I hesitate to reveal any of it, as it could change. We can alter the course of our lives for the worse as well as for the better, and I don’t want to create self-fulfilling prophecies.”

  “No, of course not.” She advanced towards the men and took their hands in hers. “We will be all right,” she said. “I may not have Conor’s gift, but I am a woman and we’re supposed to have our own sort of second sight. I feel it. I feel that this is meant to be. We are meant to be.”

  It was the first time she’d said it; the first time she’d wholly included Graeme in the sentiment. She looked up at him, hesitant. He might have changed his mind, after all. Not only did he have to come to accept her as a mate, but Conor as well, as a permanent fixture in his life.

  But he smiled, his eyes filled with warmth, those lines that she so enjoyed appearing at their corners, just as Conor’s dimples made their reassuring appearances on occasion. In each of these men was a comfort, the feeling of being looked after and protected, just as Lily wanted so badly to look after them. That, in her young mind, was how a relationship was meant to be. She had watched it in her parents for twenty years and now she was beginning to experience it for herself.

  “Someone’s coming,” Conor said. He didn’t appear startled; rather, he delivered the news as though to announce that there was a slight breeze outside. “It’s the cat shifter, the panther.”

  The woman whom they’d seen the previous night glided up the stairs, but this time in human form. Again, she’d found her way into the house and again, her methods remained hidden. It was as though she’d come in through the chimney, like a Santa Claus panther, admittedly thinner and quite a lot more attractive, thought Lily.

  Asta carried with her a couple of leather bags, which she tossed towards the others.

  “Clothing,” she said. “I thought you might like to have some clean things for the road. And I brought you some sandwiches as well, which you’ll find in the bags.”

  Lily found the woman as intimidating in the daylight as she had the previous night. Something about her economy of words, her sleekness, was off-putting. She was more cat than human, it seemed. And her accent was slightly other-wordly; French, perhaps, combined with other exotic tongues.

  Her long black hair matched her déor’s coat, and today she wore a long cloak over well-fitting black pants, a t-shirt and long boots. A veritable sex kitten.

  “What, no Starbucks?” asked Conor. Asta was apparently immune to teasing, as she simply glared at him. Her face reminded Lily of a house cat, as Xin’s tiger form had done—this time with a grumpy sort of expression which was both unreadable and perfectly clear at once: piss off.

  “Thank you, Asta,” said Lily, trying to eradicate the room’s tension. “I know I’m famished, and I’m sure these two are as well. Besides which, this robe is the only clothing I have at the moment.”

  “It’s fine,” Asta replied, her voice chilly. “We leave in a few minutes. We’ll head to the train station in a taxi.”

  “Yes, mistress,” said Conor, and Lily wondered if he was commenting on the dominatrix-style dress of the woman. This didn’t seem like Conor’s type, or Graeme’s, for that matter. She was more like a drill sergeant in tight clothes than a warm, cuddly female.

  The trip in a taxi to the station was uneventful, other than the boyish look of wonderment o
n Graeme’s face. He’d never stepped into a moving vehicle of any sort, other than wooden carriages back in his time.

  “You’d think that a man who could fly around as a giant red dragon wouldn’t find things so impressive,” laughed Conor quietly as he watched the other man, his dimples showing in all their glory.

  “I’ve learned to take the dragon for granted,” said Graeme.

  “Lads,” said Lily, glaring at them. She glanced towards the cabbie, who was listening to some overly loud selection of 80s albums and appeared not to have heard. “Maybe don’t talk about mythical creatures or our driver friend there will think you’re mad.”

  “Merely discussing fiction, sweetness,” said Conor, who nevertheless changed the subject to Manchester United’s chances against Arsenal, which rendered Graeme speechless and confused, and caused his eyes to enlarge in wonder at the other man’s knowledge of a sport that he’d never heard of. He was tempted to discuss the last season’s jousting tournament statistics, but knew it to be a petty move designed to compete. There was no competition here, he reminded himself. They were allies, and soon to be more if all went well.

  Asta remained silent as she stared out the window, seemingly unconcerned with whether her companions single-handedly jeopardized the entire future of her species.

  “I will buy tickets,” she said after a time, “And give them to you. You will be met at the other end of the line by friends.”

  “Thank you,” Lily said again. These seemed the only words that she was capable of around this woman.

  “You are welcome. And please—don’t come back,” said Asta.

  27

  Escape, Chapter Nine

  It wasn’t until they were on the train that Lily permitted herself to relax a little. She and the other two had found four seats which faced one another in comfortable groups of two, though they didn’t offer much in the way of privacy for intimate conversations.

  “Well, she was a barrel of laughing monkeys, wasn’t she?” asked Conor when they were safely away from Asta.

  “She reminded me of an iceberg I once knew,” Graeme replied, laughing. “Icy, frigid and most likely terrible in bed.” So this was how men bonded.

  “Have you been in bed with many women then, Graeme?” asked Lily, her tone almost as chilly as Asta’s.

  “Of course not,” he replied. “I only meant…”

  “I know what you meant. And much as I found Asta less than friendly, I will give her the benefit of the doubt. We never know why a person is as they are until we grow to know them. For instance, I sometimes wonder if you are any more than a horny, muscular beefcake with a penchant for breaking toilets and saying the wrong thing.”

  Lily wasn’t even certain why she was defending the woman, other than their shared gender. But it was enough; she wanted to start things out on the right foot. It was a matter of respect, after all.

  “Forgive me, my Lady—that is, Lilliana,” said Graeme. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “No, I suppose you didn’t. And I may have overreacted,” she said. “I…I’m nervous about what’s to come. I can’t see into the future and I’m worried, if I’m to be honest.”

  “Well, I know someone who can see into the future,” said Conor. “Though his sight is a little muddy at the moment. And he has good news to report: we will eat well tonight and perhaps even learn to enjoy one another a little.”

  Lily looked out the window and allowed herself a smile. She hoped above all that he was right, and began to fantasize about the implied meaning of the word “enjoy.”

  The train was moving towards the outskirts of the city, passing by the sorts of houses that most people didn’t choose to live in, but which she’d always found enticing. Inside each of them was a story, and she wondered how many of those tales ended happily.

  “Conor,” she said quietly. “Are you certain of who you are? Of your ancestry, I mean?”

  “I am,” he replied, equally softly. Graeme was watching them, and Lily knew that he understood her question.

  “The Ritual,” Lily said, “strengthens our kind. My mother didn’t come into her abilities until she’d…been with…my fathers. But it was difficult; it is hard on the human body. For hundreds of years your ancestors have been humans only.”

  “That’s true,” Conor conceded.

  “This could kill you.” Lily turned to him. For the second time her companion saw tears in her eyes, brightening them to an almost impossible array of shades, their lightness penetrating and delicate.

  He slid a hand around to the back of her head and kissed her forehead.

  “My Lilliana,” he whispered. “Our Lilliana. I would not risk losing you, either by my death or yours.”

  “Promise me,” she said, pulling back and looking into his eyes whose colour was yet to settle. “Promise.”

  “I do. I promise,” he said. Their foreheads touched and she took his free hand in hers, reaching across for Graeme’s as well.

  “We will proceed then,” she said, her voice quietly authoritative. “Soon.”

  28

  Escape, Chapter Ten

  Asta had told the three travellers that they would be collected in a town called Melbourne-in-Marsh, which conjured images of green wetness in Lily’s mind; not the most hospitable setting, but not far off from the landscape around her lush, verdant home in the distant past.

  From there they were to be taken to an undisclosed location for the foreseeable future, hidden from the world and able, hopefully, to formulate a plan.

  As the train approached its destination, Lily felt a growing sense of unease. She wondered at her own intuition and if it conflicted with any foresight on the part of Conor’s mind’s eye. Would he be feeling it too?

  She glanced at her two companions: Graeme, across from her, was asleep, apparently calm and collected, unfazed by any and all events that had occurred or had yet to occur.

  Conor’s eyes were closed as well, but Lily nudged him gently with her elbow and discovered that he was awake. She nodded towards the aisle, signalling him to accompany her on a brief walk.

  “I just wanted to know,” she said when he’d joined her at the end of the car where the luggage was stored, “if you’ve seen anything. Please—tell me.”

  Instead of looking into her eyes as he normally did, he stared straight ahead, towards the car’s door. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing of consequence.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently, then finally looked at her. Lily wished more than anything that she could see his mind; that she could know what was truly in there.

  “My visions are sometimes clear, as I told you,” he explained, knowing what she really wanted. “But more often than not these days, they’re as foggy as the fields out there.” He gestured towards the window and Lily’s eyes followed. Over the fields was a thin, shallow layer of white, drifting mist which lent both a peacefulness and a foreboding air to the pastoral scene. Conor continued. “I want to learn to see more. To understand better, to control my sight. I want to become better. For you, for us. Until then all I can tell you is that there is danger ahead, for all of us.”

  “I know that you want your gifts to strengthen, but I don’t want you changed,” said Lily. “I’m pretty fond of you as you are, in case you weren’t aware of that at least.”

  “Ah, but I will change, my sweet Lilliana. If we go through with the Ritual. But it’s my hope that it will only be for the better; a new, improved version of myself.”

  She looked at him again: those eyes of many shades, that thick hair, the dimples that she loved so well. How could anyone possibly improve on such a creature?

  “I want you,” she said. “This you. Am I selfish? Am I risking who and what you are by inviting you into this mayhem that is my life?”

  “If you didn’t invite me I would nevertheless barge in and invade,” he said. “You couldn’t keep me away if you tried. I would fight until I was the last man on earth if I had to, to be with you.” His words were so
like the ones Graeme had uttered that Lily felt herself give way to a wave of warmth as it washed over her. She loved their differences, but even more than that she loved what they had in common.

  “Well, the good news is that you don’t have to,” she said, her eyes veering towards the sleeping Graeme, several seats away. “And neither does he.”

  “He is a good man, you know,” said Conor. “A good choice.”

  “I know, much as I chastised him earlier,” said Lily. “I know his goodness. But his dragon is very strong, which makes him less human than some. It frightens me a little, how much of the wild creature is in him.”

  “There is enough man in him to protect you and yours with his life. Don’t be frightened. The only person you should concern yourself with is you.”

  Lily knew that his advice was sound. But it was also impossible; it wasn’t in her nature to relax and let others look after her. She liked to look after those she loved, to take them in and to protect them, as she and her brother had always done for each other. She wanted to protect Conor from whatever perils lay ahead and to protect Graeme from himself.

  At that moment a muffled voice came over the intercom: “Next stop: Melbourne-in-Marsh.”

  “In other words, ‘Hey, you bloody bastards! Get your luggage and get the hell off our train,’” whispered Conor. Lily put a finger up to one of his dimples, exploring its depths, before jogging up the narrow aisle and putting a hand on Graeme’s knee.

  “We’ve reached our destination,” she said when his eyes had opened. “Though I don’t yet know what that means.”

  29

  Escape, Chapter Eleven

  A woman who had long since crossed over the hump of middle age came to greet the three as soon as they’d stepped off the train. She was dressed in a long, elegant sweater and stylish boots, her hair coiffed. But in spite of her well-kept appearance she had the air of one who’d spent a good part of her life in the countryside, romping through fields and riding ponies for pleasure.