Loyalty: A Dragon Shifter Menage Serial (Seeking Her Mates Book 4) Read online

  “Of that I’m more certain than of anything in this world,” said Conor. He looked into Graeme’s eyes, and then Lily’s, his gold and aqua irises bright even in the tunnel’s dark. “And you two need to remain certain as well, whatever may come to pass.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” said Lily. Again she searched for answers in his mind, but found herself blocked in the way that Merriman had so often succeeded at doing. There was something inside Conor that he didn’t want her to see. But why? “What do you suppose might come to pass?”

  “I’m more worried,” said Conor, “About what has already passed. It seems that history itself is following me around, though I don’t know why. You’re the ones who time traveled to this century—this is supposed to be my home, yet everything feels like it’s leading me elsewhere.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Lily, her voice tense.

  “Neither do I, sweet Lilliana. I wish I did, but I don’t.”

  “Come,” said Kyne. “They may be back for more, or with more of their allies. We need to get you away from here.”

  He led the way once again down the tunnel for several minutes, until they reached a section which began to slope gradually upwards. At its end was a dim light in the distance, and as they approached they saw another grate, this one larger than the semi-circle which they’d used to enter the underground.

  “Where are you taking us?” asked Graeme, his tone protective again. He was in no mood for further altercations; only for a shower, which had grown to be his favourite modern pastime.

  “The inn is close at hand; I’m taking you there, and there I’ll say good-bye for now. Its owner will keep you alerted of any stranger who enters through his front door. Be wary, and stay safe tonight.”

  11

  They reached the so-called “inn” through an old, empty courtyard, lit only here and there by dim old lanterns, its floor cobbled and worn like so much of the Vault had been.

  The actual door was nothing more than an inconspicuous wooden slab, painted black, a small light hanging overhead. No sign indicated the building’s intended use, and so it seemed like a promising hiding place at last.

  “You will find that the owner keeps to himself,” said Kyne as he guided them inside. “And you would be wise to do the same. Do not draw attention to yourselves, if you can possibly avoid it. This place acts as a haven for lost travellers, but not all are shifters, and not all would be too excited about discovering who and what you are.”

  “I think that will be just fine with all of us,” said Conor, his voice tense. “I don’t think any of us is keen on any more drama, at least for a few hours.”

  Graeme remained silent. The innkeeper, as promised, showed them to a secluded room in a far corner of the building.

  “There’s a pub in the basement,” he said, his voice indicative of years of smoking, yelling at football matches on television and of a life generally well—or poorly—lived. But he seemed friendly, and nothing in him set off alarm bells for Conor or for Lily. The man continued, “The clientele is largely silent types who don’t want eye contact. But you’re welcome to a drink, if you’d like. It sounds like it’s been a long day for you lot.”

  With that he left them alone.

  “I am close by, in a flat down the road,” said Kyne before leaving them. “The innkeeper knows where to find me if you should need assistance. But if something occurs that requires my aid, I expect that I’ll find you. Our people are keeping an eye on you as protectors, as the Stranieri are doing as stalkers. But please don’t ask any more of us than that.”

  “We won’t,” said Conor. “We chose to take on this task ourselves, and we intend to see it to its end.”

  “I hope, for your sakes, that you finish it before it finishes you,” said Kyne. “I’m not entirely convinced that you know what you’ve gotten yourselves into. But then, I suspect that if you hadn’t come looking for the Stranieri, they would have hunted you to the ends of the earth. You may as well precipitate your own fate.”

  With that he left them, the air filled with reminders of the uncertainty of the days ahead.

  Their room wasn’t very large, its window looking out onto the dark courtyard. The bed was big, though; large enough for the three of them, if well-worn after what appeared to have been decades of use.

  Though all three companions were tired, none wanted to lie down yet. For Conor, it was his mind that was still submitting to a frenzied series of thoughts; for Lily, concern. And Graeme, who was the most accustomed to conflict, simply looked to find a way to unwind after a long day, and to delay the morning as long as possible.

  “I think,” said Graeme, “That we should take some of our cash and head down to the pub.”

  “Spoken like a proper Scot,” laughed Conor. “I could easily fall asleep here and wake up in three days’ time. But you’re right; we need to unwind after all the madness. I feel as though I’m coming down after a strange trip.”

  “Come on. Merriman said that we should split up. Let’s at least enjoy one evening together before we go our separate ways. It’ll be good for you. You need to feed those new muscles of yours, brother.” With that he slapped a hard palm on Conor’s shoulder, impressed at its rock-like solidity.

  “What do you think, Lilliana?” Conor asked, turning to their mate, who was standing at the window, assessing the quiet courtyard below.

  “Hmm?” She turned slowly towards them both, oblivious to their conversation.

  “She approves,” said Conor. “Meaning that she doesn’t exactly disapprove, though she seems rather distracted.”

  “I’m fine,” Lily said with a smile. “Let’s do whatever it is you just suggested. Or something. Just—let’s not go outside where men in leather are looking to threaten us and follow us into underground spaces.”

  “It’s a plan. Let’s go then,” said Graeme, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the warming brew that would make its way through his bloodstream. A dragon needed his ale, after all.

  It didn’t take long for the three to find the pub, nestled at the based of a narrow, dark spiral staircase leading underneath the inn and surrounding buildings. The space consisted of a long, dimly-lit basement containing many old oak barrels stacked atop one another in tidy rows, and its architecture, ancient and no doubt used for centuries for less pleasant purposes, was somewhat reminiscent of the Vault in which they’d spent such a long part of the day.

  “Cheerful, isn’t it?” asked Graeme. “Homey. And, from the looks of it, there’s plenty of liquid joy to be had.”

  “I’m glad that home hasn’t come to this,” said Lily. “I prefer windows. Though I rather feel as though we don’t have a home anymore. I wonder when we’ll find our way to one.”

  “We will,” said Conor, taking her hand. “Somewhere, sometime, and hopefully soon. The three of us, together, taking a well-deserved and prolonged rest of some sort. With breaks from the rest for extended periods of sexual intercourse, naturally.”

  Lily managed a proper laugh then.

  “I can always count on you two for your horniness to win out over any proper emotion.”

  “We are men, after all,” said Graeme.

  “And you are a rather sexy specimen,” added Conor. “So what are we to do?”

  “Keep it up,” she said.

  “That’s your job,” Graeme replied. “And you do it awfully well, my little erection-granter. You’re like a witch whose greatest spell is creating hard-ons in the most inconvenient of places.”

  “Your trousers?”

  “Not at the moment,” said Graeme, “but give me five or so seconds.”

  “Incorrigible,” said Lily, grateful to find them so consistent, so dependable, so utterly wonderful in their cheekiness.

  They sat down at a table in a far, dark corner, the ideal vantage point from which to monitor anyone who might be considering entering the place.

  “I’ll grab us a drink or three,” said Graeme, standin
g.

  “Water for me,” said Lily, adding sheepishly, “I’m tired.”

  “All right.” Graeme’s tone had shifted immediately, his eyes fixed with concern on her own. She did seem less energetic than usual, and it wasn’t like Lilliana to turn down a drink; she seemed able to compete with the strongest of men on that front.

  “Are you all right?” asked Conor when he’d left, placing a warm hand over hers.

  “Fine,” she said. “Worried, I suppose. I don’t like this notion of Merriman’s that we should separate. I can’t fully explain why, but I feel as though it means that this is the last night we’ll spend together.”

  “Never,” said Conor, squeezing her hand and easing his body towards her. “Do you hear me? Nothing will ever pull us apart.”

  “Death might.”

  Her eyes met his and each tried to read the other. But each failed. Conor shielded her from his confused array of thoughts as she hid from him what she was beginning to suspect. They were like two normal humans, confused, confounded and frustrated.

  “Isn’t this grand?” said Graeme as he sat back down, handing each of them a glass. “Finally, a chance to relax.”

  “It is,” said Lily. “Though I do wish this trip of ours were a holiday rather than this thing that hangs over us like a harbinger of doom. Sometimes I feel as though we’ve eloped with no honeymoon. Ever since we left the Tournament we’ve been on the move, or under attack, near death’s door, or…well, there have been some very nice moments in between, at least.”

  “Very nice,” agreed Conor. “They all but make up for the other nonsense.”

  “The honeymoon will come when it’s all over,” said Graeme. “When we’ve done what we came here to do. We’ll have all the time in the world together, Lilliana.” With that he clinked his glass against hers.

  “I hope so,” she said, taking a sip of her water. “I must say that you’re the most optimistic dragon lord I’ve ever come across.”

  Graeme leaned in towards her. “Don’t talk about coming,” he murmured. “Or you’ll make me want you again—not that I ever stop.”

  “Dirty-minded and optimistic,” she laughed. “And you’re welcome to come across, near, inside or behind me any time you please.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind for later,” he said, leaning back, pondering the possibilities. But a moment later he seemed to return to a more serious state. “So listen, we need to discuss some sort of plan of action, now that we’re here, and before I’ve had too many of these.” With that, he downed half his pint.

  Lily smiled, appreciating Graeme’s openness to strategizing. She recalled the first time that he and Conor had met, and the dragon lord’s reluctance to acknowledge anything like equality between them. He was evolving, as was the bond between the men.

  “I need to pay a visit to an ancient family residence,” said Conor. “I’ll do so tomorrow and report back with my findings. I think it’ll give us some answers, though I’m not sure we’ll like them.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s the castle of my ancestors, not far from the city. I haven’t been since I was a boy. You’ve seen the model, in the house in London.”

  “Ah, so you’re headed to the mysterious home of the clan Dunbar. And do you think it holds clues?” asked Lily, searching Conor’s mind for information. Once again she came up short. But there was certainly something in there that he was withholding, as though he were fearful that they wouldn’t allow him to leave if they knew.

  “I don’t know,” he said, his tone genuine. His suspicions were based purely on the mangled array of visions that had come to him, but he’d drawn no firm conclusion about his own place in the underground war that was unfolding. “But it will likely tell me something about who I am, and where I come from. Much as my family history is well-documented in London, there are secrets that have been kept from me, from all of us, for centuries. I would like to understand what my place is. Clearly our pursuers have an agenda, but they’re not exactly forthcoming with information, are they?”

  “It’s a shame,” said Graeme, “that I haven’t seen you in shifted form. I really would like to take a look at you.”

  “As would I. In the tunnel, though, I felt strongly that I should let you take charge. I hope you don’t feel that I was being cowardly. You have more experience in these situations, to put it mildly.”

  “Of course not,” said Graeme. “After all, whatever you are probably isn’t quite as threatening as one of us scaley monster-types. Particularly the terrifying yet lovely Lilliana here, instilling fear in all who behold her. No…not fear. What’s that word? Lust.”

  “I suppose I’m probably less daunting, true,” said Conor, chuckling. “And certainly I don’t inspire such salacious thoughts as our Lilliana.” Though, he thought, the Stranieri seem awfully keen on acquiring me, for whatever reason.

  “When you were in the woods…when you were running to Lilliana and her assailants,” Graeme said softly, hesitant to bring up the unpleasant memory, “What did you see of your déor?”

  Conor took a sip of beer before replying.

  “Huge paws—I saw those right away. Dark, thick fur everywhere. And claws like shark’s teeth. I’m not too proud to admit that I was frightened of my own feet at first.”

  “Perhaps you were in the form of a wolf,” said Lily.

  “I don’t think so, unless I was a very large one. And those were no wolf’s claws.”

  “Well, my fathers’ dire wolves are large. But you’re right, I suppose. I saw your frame through that confounded sack and you seemed about the size of an elephant.”

  “Maybe I’m a mammoth,” Conor laughed. “They had razor-sharp claws, right?”

  “Yes, and giant pointy teeth,” laughed Graeme. “Like furry sharks, they were. With four legs and droopy tails.”

  “It’s a wonder they went extinct if that’s the case. And here I thought they had trunks.”

  “A myth,” laughed Graeme.

  “Silly lads,” said Lily. “You two have never actually read history books, have you? Besides, what you two have between your legs are far better than trunks.”

  “I blush,” Conor replied.

  “Well,” Lily said, her tone returning to its former seriousness. “What else do you know about your family? You’ve never told us much about them, except that they own that odd house in London.”

  “My family,” began Conor, his handsome face contorted into a bitter smile. “My family is made up of very proper, very wealthy people who think themselves above almost everything in the universe, but who are in fact above nothing.”

  “But socially…” began Lily.

  “Socially, yes. They have status, at least my parents do. But we aren’t close. I never fully understood them or myself until my powers began. My grandmother, known as the old Scottish bat, used to tell me tales of shifters and wizards and all manner of creatures. To me they were fantastic stories for bedtime, but I suppose that in her mind, they were truth. Needless to say, my parents did not appreciate her imparting the information.”

  A young woman came by to see if anyone required more beer and Graeme tapped his glass to indicate the affirmative. But instead of responding by returning to the bar to fetch it, the waitress remained fixed in place, and Lily looked up at her only to realize that her jaw had gone slack and she was staring first at one man and then the other, undecided on which was the more stunning specimen. It seemed almost as though Graeme had used his mind control again to hold her in place.

  But no; this was simply a question of awe.

  “Yes. Beer, now,” Graeme said, shooing her away in his mind as he uttered the words. The woman, unable to resist the command despite her desire to continue staring, turned immediately away.

  “You two are going to have problems one of these days,” laughed Lily when the waitress had left. “There aren’t a lot of men about who look like you. If I weren’t already in the fortunate position of getting to sleep with you two,
I’d be drooling too. Hell, I drool anyhow.”

  “Well, I for one, have no interest in slack-jawed young women who are so easily impressed,” said Graeme. “Particularly if they can’t breathe fire or travel through time. So Conor, are you saying that you have severed ties with your parents? I suppose it’s safe to assume that you’ve not told them of our little nomadic love-nest.”

  “No, I haven’t,” he said. “Performing the Ritual was reverting to what my grandmother would have referred to as the ‘Old Ways,’ and my parents would be horrified, just as they would be horrified to learn that I have the Sight. All of it, to them, is a sign of some sort of witchcraft at work. Undignified, vile and low. No one ever rose through the British aristocracy by being a bloody witch.”

  “That’s debatable,” smiled Lily.

  “Don’t you speak that way about Henry the Eighth,” said Conor. “He was a lovely chap; not witchy in the least. Except for cutting off wives’ heads and all that nasty business.”

  “Sorry, your Highness.”

  “It’s all right.” Conor took another swig of beer, which had been laid before him by the barkeep. It seemed that the female server had lost her ability to provide beer to two such handsome men, as she was remaining behind the bar, safely separated from their disconcerting allure.

  “Anyhow,” Conor added, “You two are my entire family now. And I am very happy with that notion. I feel more loyalty towards you, and I…well, let’s say that I am tied to you by more than blood.”

  Lily felt the absent word circling the air about her head: Love. He felt love, though he was still afraid to say it.

  “Well,” said Graeme, leaning in again in the intimate way that he so often did, embracing the other two within his aura, “I feel loyalty as well. I will never betray you two. You have my sword, so to speak. I don’t have a sword per se. But I have other bits that are all yours whenever you should need them. They tell me, for instance, that my tail is rather impressive.”