Chapter 2.

 

Michael Farrell arrived late at the Stiles' farm.

On purpose. Being 'fashionably late' was a great way to remind them of your importance. Tradesmen and servants showed up on time. The powerful...well, they arrived when they were ready.

Though, as he entered the farm's living room, he was shocked to find that he wasn't the last. Only four Dragons sat within.

A slender brown-haired man lounged on the couch, devouring a plate of gingerbread. That was Owen Jackson. A man who always reminded him of an otter more than a Dragon. Entertaining, funny... and liable to nip you on the butt just because it amused him.

Two more stood by the window, speaking quietly. The chisel-jawed blonde with a Dragon tattoo curling up his arm was Darian Morland. Beside him stood a tall, broad-shoulder man in a tailored suit. Not a hint of gray frosted his black hair, despite his age.

Brandon Lorde. Alpha of the First Flight.

Sapphire blue eyes noted his arrival with disapproval. “Mr. Farrell. How good of you to join us at last.”

“Not last, I hope. We're short two.” Michael took a seat on the couch beside Jackson.

“Jamie Wolfe will not be joining us. He's still recuperating.”

No surprises there, really. From what he'd heard, the man had come perilously close to Falling. Chewing off his Dragon wings and becoming one of the loathsome Worms.

“And Donnelly?”

Jackson answered that, waving a square of gingerbread about. “He's got stuff to do. In the barn.”

“What on earth could be in a barn that would require a Dragon?”

His Flight-brother shrugged. “There were things. Heavy things, I believe. They needed to be lifted... or moved... or somehow shifted about. Probably repeatedly. I'm a little vague on the details, but Finn's taking care of it.”

Typical. His Alpha had called a council meeting and Donnelly was off dicking around with work that any human could manage. Still, it didn't matter. Planning wasn't the big Dragon's strong point – executing plans was. The more Michael thought about it, the more he approved. Some days, this Flight seemed to have too many generals and not enough privates. Good that at least one Dragon just wanted clear orders.

“Shall we begin then?” Lorde asked. “Since we're all here, now.”

Michael ignored that nip. His Alpha stepped to the doorway and called, “Hannah, would you show our guest in, please?”

His Mate entered the room like a ray of sunshine, casting a glow across the room. Some Shifters sneered about her. Why would Lorde, the Alpha of the First Flight, Claim a human woman? A farm girl, not a business woman or an academic with a dozen titles after her name.

Anyone who thought that was an idiot. Michael adored her; to him, she was the perfect Mate. Smart, brave, beautiful, and filled with a boundless compassion. She couldn't walk by a problem without stopping to fix it.

He rose as she entered the room and bowed his head. What he wouldn't give to Claim a woman like her!

“Michael, so formal!” Hannah laughed and shook her head. “Sit already!”

A teasing joke danced on the tip of his tongue – until he spotted what followed her.

The man who slunk in behind Hannah cast a pall across the room. Nothing was right about him. Not the unwashed brown hair that lay flat against his skull. Not his shifty, nervous eyes, pinched face, or the oil-stained khaki pants and a dingy flannel shirt that covered his scrawny frame.

And the aura that flickered around him… Revolting!

“A Rat?” Michael snarled. “You bring a Rat here?”

“Hey!” Jackson bolted to his feet, blocking his view of the foul creature. The two Dragons’ eyes locked in challenge.

A challenge Michael immediately broke by glancing away. What the hell? Jackson was one of the Flight’s most laid-back members. What had gotten under his skin?

“No stink-eye for our guest,” the smaller Dragon warned, his eyes still glittering with anger. “This is my neighbor, Walker Smith. He’s got important news for the Flight.”

“Mr. Smith,” Hannah interjected, “won’t you sit down and have some gingerbread?”

“Nah, I’m good where I am,” the Rat replied.

Which was standing close to the door, Michael noted. Where he had a five-step head start if he had to flee for his life.

Okay, the thing might be hideous… but he wasn’t stupid. The Dragon sat back down.

Slowly, Jackson joined him. “Tell everyone what you told me, Walker.”

“You know a Rat named Alice Grishom?”

Hannah gasped. “Mrs. Grishom? Yes! She was a nurse. She took care of my brother, Danny, after his ‘accident’.”

Her Mate’s eyes flashed. “She works for the Fangs of Apophis. She nearly killed me with a poisoned blade.”

Instantly, Michael became alert. The Fangs were their arch-enemies, a cabal of vile Shifters who enslaved the ‘lesser’ Kinds. They had humans in their crosshairs, too, and dreamed of amassing enough power to secretly dominate the world.

“She escaped me,” Lorde admitted. “I wondered, at the time, why she did not tell the Fangs about the Wellspring’s location. I hoped that the silence meant her master never told her why she was here.”

“Maybe it took her a while to figure it out.” Walker started to spit, then remembered where he was and thought better of it. “Or maybe she just waited fer the price to go up. Dunno. What I do know is, she told ‘em now. They know where you’re at.”

Silence fell on the room. Only Hannah seemed shocked, however.

Lorde patted his wife’s hand. “I’m sorry, but we knew this day would come. We’ve hidden your family’s farm for two years. That’s better than I dared to hope.”

“And now?”

“Now, we protect this place. That is, after all, what Dragons are meant to do.”

The pieces of his Alpha’s plans were clear for Michael. “They probably won’t attack directly, but you summoned us here in case they do.” Lorde nodded. “Treachery, or an indirect attack, are far more likely. Now I see why you kept the Rat,” he admitted with a grudging smile.

“Uh, I ain’t ‘kept’ by nobody,” Walker protested. “I’m here for him.” He jerked a thumb at Jackson as his nose began to twitch fiercely. “He done right by me ‘n’ mine and I aim to repay him. But I don’t know you lot.”

Deep within Michael, his Dragon’s anger stirred. How dare this creature, this Rat, contradict him? “We ‘lot’, as you call us, are the First Flight. The most powerful band of Shifters in the world.”

Power rose within him and he let it wash freely across his body. Red fire burned in his green eyes and razor-sharp claws sprouted from his fingertips. “This place is sacred, the beating heart of Earth. You should be honored that you are allowed to aid in its defense!”

The Rat said nothing. Merely stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared sidelong at the wall.

“I expect you to give us your full assistance and to perform any tasks you are assigned. Do you understand?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” Michael scowled at him a moment longer, watching for any sign of rebellion. But the Rat hung his head meekly, chastised. His Dragon settled once more. Claws and fire slowly vanished, then he turned to his Alpha. “I assume you have contingency plans for this?”

“I do. First, we’re evacuating all non-Shifters to Jackson’s place in California.”

“But…,” Hannah protested.

“No.” Firmly but gently, Lorde silenced her. “We can’t risk the children and your parents. And if I had to split my attention between you and the Wellspring, it could mean disaster.”

“We can’t just walk away from the farm! We have animals!”

“Which will be tended by a den of Bears who’ve agreed to come from Ohio. They’re on their way now. And Finn is, at this very moment, helping your father ready the farm for your departure.”

Ah, so that was what their missing brother was up to. Michael felt a grudging respect for his Alpha. The man could juggle a dozen different tasks at once and make it look effortless.

“I will call upon other Shifters who owe us favors. I expect many would be willing to help us.”

They shouldn’t have to ask. Once upon a time, Shifters recognized the nobility of Dragons and served when called upon. It galled Michael that his Kind had fallen to begging for aid. “Information is going to be our biggest need. Hopefully, this Rat,” he gestured at Walker, “will−”

The door was empty.

“Where the hell is that Rat?” Michael snarled.

Jackson squinted at the hall. “I’d guess he’s about five miles down the road right now. He took off the minute you turned your back.”

“What?” Flames lit his eyes again. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

His brother smiled, but his own eyes smoldered. “Because I’m his neighbor, not his owner. After what the Fangs did to them, you’ll excuse Rats if they get anxious when people talk about ‘keeping’ them.”

“Can you contact him?” Lorde’s voice remained calm and level despite the anger flaring among his Flight. “I admit that I have few contacts with the Rats – and they, above all Kinds, are what we need now.”

“I’ll try. If Walker won’t answer his phone, I’ll send word through his family. No promises, but I expect he’ll help us. If he’s asked politely,” Jackson added, with a pointed glare at Michael.

A glare he returned. “So, what are the rest of us supposed to do?”

“Aid those who are evacuating. Then guard this place. Watch for any unusual activity here or in town.”

Beverly, New York wasn’t big enough to qualify as a ‘town’ in Michael’s book, but no point arguing.

“And then?”

“And then, we wait for more information.”