Chapter Thirteen #2
For a moment Jimryr caught a glimpse in his mind’s eye of another pale dragon, a silvery sheen to its scales, and equal to Jimryr’s size. An alpha. The brother he’d never fly with again. What would Wynn make of this situation? He’d give good advice for certain.
Wynn would’ve made a spectacular leader; one reason Cousin Gael likely had him killed. The other reason involved the pretty omega fonder of Wynn than Gael.
Those times were long past. Wynn, Gael, and the omega were now all gone with the rest of Jimryr’s court. Time to put the old memories away.
For now.
He settled into his room, unpacking the few things he’d brought with him, then inspecting the bathroom they’d all share. Not bad. They’d need to set aside time for showers, though it looked like Jimryr might be the only one showering alone.
Griff or Daire came to mind again, accompanied by an unexpected twist in his chest. Yes, maybe he should’ve at least invited the scarred beta this weekend. Then he might not feel so lonely.
Jimryr snorted at his own foolishness. Surrounded by dragons and still feeling all alone. You just couldn’t please some people.
Jimryr and the others gathered around several large fires in the clearing near the cabins. He scrutinized the faces of mostly betas, with a few alphas and omegas thrown in. Each came with their own reasons for leaving Adrakus, plus their own reasons to return, mostly family, friends, or vengeance.
He’d met many of the attending dragons. Some he knew in passing, and others had helped him acclimate to his new life in the human world. Most were from smaller courts, though Jimryr had met no kin here from his. He’d long ago stopped looking. Too much disappointment took a toll.
Groups of dragons chatted among themselves between bites of pulled pork and barbecue chicken.
How much planning and preparation had gone into this gathering?
The logistics of getting supplies and dragons here alone must be daunting.
Jimryr knew of only two with the required organizational skills: Zorah—assisted by Fen—and Wynn.
The thought of his brother brought sad memories again. Jimryr chewed his barbecued chicken methodically, half-heartedly watching Fen practicing her wiles on a couple of alphas. Some of the younger dragons flirted or listened to stories the elders told.
Conversation flowed around him, a rock in the middle of the river, water coursing by on each side but never quite moving him. The scarred dragon lived near a river. Was he also an immovable rock, or a grain of sand carried by the currents?
Shadows grew longer. The sun sank behind the mountains, taking the temperature down rapidly. An omega whose name he’d forgotten rose, stretched, then yanked his T-shirt over his head like some kind of signal because his companions applauded before they, too, began disrobing.
Cotton and denim fell to the ground, revealing skin in a vast array of hues, some covered in tattoos, others natural. They’d come from many courts in Adrakus. All had their own reasons for being here. They’d put differences aside for a common goal.
A goal started because Zorah trusted the mission an unknown mage tasked Jimryr with. She’d trusted implicitly, never questioning. Goddess, let him be worthy of such trust.
“Jim! Stop scowling and start stripping!” Fen called from the other side of the fire while helping a rather muscular beta out of his shirt, laughing all the while. She ran her hand over impressively bulging pecs. “Nice!”
Jimryr dropped his clothes by the fire and wandered away from the crowd, finding a large, as yet unclaimed spot with room to shift. Groans arose around him, along with the popping of joints, the occasional whine of pain, and roars once the transformation ended.
He crouched on all fours, imagining claws instead of fingernails and toenails, a snout for a nose, pale golden scales, a tail, wings…
. Jimryr stretched and stretched some more, elongating his body.
Additional muscles filled out his arms and legs.
Sprouting a tail and wings sent a bit of a jolt through him, but unlike the younger dragons, he kept the pain to himself.
The entire process happened in mere seconds.
When at last he stood in dragon form, the clearing held dragons of many sizes, hues, strengths, and weaknesses. He towered above them all. In perfect synchronization, at least twenty dragons nearby turned their heads toward him. Yeah. Stare at the oddity, why don’t you?
Zorah waddled over, a short, snub-nosed dragon of the darkest orange. Like Jimryr, her strength lay in being an immovable object. Too bad they weren’t capable of speaking with each other mind-to-mind. It didn’t matter. They’d practiced together enough to become a well-oiled dragon machine.
Dylan approached at a trot, sleek, midnight blue, and extremely fast, as most omegas tended to be.
The tiny spikes along his face, over his head, and down his back made him more aerodynamic than Jimryr’s more pronounced spines, designed for fighting.
Other than her lethal flames, Zorah’s body didn’t give her advantages in battle.
The Goddess designed them all for their purpose.