Chapter 2 #2
“Probably best you don’t try.” Denise stepped back with a small smile.
“The last thing your dragon did last night was smash down onto the Sheriff’s brand-new, custom-built SUV into a modern art exhibit.
It was a gift from the town for his hundred years of service, and he owned it for all of five minutes before you flattened it.
He probably wouldn’t be happy if you broke his jail cell, too. ”
Avelunne’s chest tightened. She had destroyed a valued tribute? It didn’t bode well for any hope of freedom. “I have nothing of value,” she stammered, looking at the healer with wide eyes. “I can’t pay for a replacement.”
“Relax.” Denise waved a hand dismissively, her expression unbothered. “It was just a tricked-out truck. Boys’ toys are replaceable; people aren’t.” Her mouth quirked in a quick smile. “Neither are dragons. Besides, Tanner is more worried about who you are than what you destroyed.”
Avelunne shook her head. All she could do was hope they’d listen to her request before tossing her in debtor’s prison.
The smooth wooden door swung open again, admitting two males who couldn’t have been more different if they belonged to separate species — which, Avelunne realized almost immediately, they did.
The first was a fairy of lavender complexion and variegated purple-and-gold feather-hair, dressed in an asymmetrical blue-and-purple brocade tunic over a black vest. He radiated a prickly, volatile magic that felt like sparks popping from a grease fire, and he twirled a slender wand between his fingers with practiced ease.
Behind him stood a human… no, an avian shifter of quiet gravity, wearing a tan shirt with a metal star pinned above the chest pocket, brown trousers, and sturdy boots.
His dark hair was pulled back, revealing a square, handsome face that didn’t carry the sneer of the fairy, but rather a watchful, grounded focus that felt as immovable as a mountain.
“Councilor Pendragor and Sheriff Tanner Stands In River,” Denise said, waving her hand toward the males, “this is Avelunne.”
“Charmed,” said Pendragor, though he clearly wasn’t.
His amethyst eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to the bars.
“Our shield is impenetrable to unauthorized aerial entry, yet you went through it like it wasn’t there.
Who sent you? What spell did you use to bypass our wards?
” The wand in his hand pulsed with power.
Avelunne’s breath was trapped in her throat.
The aggressive fairy magic scraped against her senses, triggering the deep-seated panic she’d spent years suppressing in the breeding pens.
Before she could find words that would placate the fairy, Denise stepped in front of her to face him.
“Pendragor, stop being an asshole.” She crossed her arms. “She just woke up. She is injured, traumatized, and my patient. Take your interrogation and your bad attitude somewhere else until you can be civil.”
Avelunne flinched, fully expecting the fairy to lash out at the healer for such insolence.
In the demesne, speaking to a keeper that way meant at least a beating.
Instead, Pendragor’s jaw tightened. He held Denise’s gaze for a tense second, then let out a sharp huff of breath.
With a suspicious glare at Avelunne, he turned on his heel, brushing by the sheriff as he stomped through the wooden door, the latch clicking shut behind him.
“Sorry about that,” Denise said tiredly, turning back to Avelunne. “He takes security breaches personally.”
Avelunne barely heard her; her attention was fixed on the man who remained.
He stood with his thumbs hooked loosely in his belt, his presence washing over her not with heat or sparks, but with the cool, clean sensation of a high-altitude breeze.
Her human instincts told her he was an authority figure to be wary of, but her inner dragon was intrigued and strangely soothed by his proximity.
It was a contradiction she couldn’t parse right then, so she didn’t even try.
“How are you feeling?” Tanner asked. His voice was deep, lacking the sharp edges of the fairy’s tone, though his gold-flecked brown eyes locked onto her like she was prey.
Avelunne swallowed, her throat dry. Taking a chance that he had a sense of humor, she said, “Like I had a very hard landing.”
A corner of Tanner’s mouth lifted, the stoic mask cracking to reveal a genuine, warm amusement that made her toes tingle. “That, you did.”
Denise chuckled as she patted her trouser pocket, then brought out a flat rectangular device and looked at it.
“I need to check on another patient before dinner.” She put the device back, then caught Avelunne’s eye.
“Right now, you need rest more than anything. I’ll be back later.
” On her way out, she paused in front of the sheriff.
“Be gentle, Tanner. She’s had a rough time. ”
The hint of compassion in Tanner’s gold-flecked eyes did more to lower her defenses than any spell could have. It beckoned her to trust him, a dangerous impulse she hadn’t felt in forever.
She stayed seated. “I know you have questions, and I will answer what I can, but I must speak to the Kotoyeesinay Town Council immediately.” She took a steadying breath and resisted the urge to clutch the hem of her soft tunic.
“Do you know of Surasa, the dark elf who crafts monsters for amusement and for a price?”
He nodded.
“I was a captive in her laboratory and breeding grounds that are hidden in a secret demesne high in the sky. Other captives, including some from Kotoyeesinay, helped me escape. I promised to ask the Council to come to their rescue. They are in danger.”
Surprised widened his eyes. “I’m listening.”
A small part of her wanted more than anything to lean into his strength and cry on his broad shoulder, but obligations came first. She ducked her head, then looked up again. “I would not presume to tell you what to do, but it would be faster if I could tell you and the Council at the same time.”
He studied her face for a long moment. Whatever he saw must have convinced him. “I’ll put in the request. In the meantime, do you want something to eat? If so, tell me how much you need, and we can order in.” His eyes twinkled. “I know a chef who works magic.”
Men with a sense of humor were enchantingly sexy. And that errant thought wasn’t helping her stay on track.
She sighed. “I have no knowledge of what passes for coin here. I have none, or anything to trade, but I am willing to work for it.” She heard from the newer captives that, even with the wonders of modern technology, manual labor still put fish on the table.
He shook his head with a hint of affront. “We don’t let guests go hungry.” A frown crossed his face. “Unless you need a whole, live cow or something. That might take longer.”
Bemused at being called a guest while she was plainly in a jail cell, she nodded. “Then, yes, please. A large bowl of stew or soup with fish and vegetables, if it is available. If not, eggs or beans would suffice. No cows for me, nor deer nor pigs. I am violently allergic to meat.”
He blinked in surprise. “I thought dragons were obligate carnivores, like felines.”
Dragons had a reputation for such, and liked to further it when they could.
“Most dragons are omnivores unless they are… different.” She preferred that word over defective, the descriptor her long-ago family had used.
“To be honest, most dragons just really like meat, preferably freshly stolen from someone else’s stock. ”
Laughter rumbled out of him. “Why am I not surprised?” He looked at the flat square strapped to his wrist. “It will probably take an hour to get your fish stew and to get a reply from the Council. Can I get you anything in the meantime? Another blanket? Pillow?” Glancing at her feet, he added, “Shoes?”
The undercurrent of thunder was back in his deep voice. It was nice to have someone looking after her, even if it was just his job. Kindness, however fleeting, was a rare gift to be treasured.
“Thank you. I am unaccustomed to shoes, and the mattress is fine. Better than fine, actually.”
A sudden impulse to invite him inside to test the mattress with her snuck in.
There were so many things wrong with that thought that she didn’t even know where to begin.
She had evidently lost her mind. “May I have a pencil and some paper with which to draw?” It would give her something to do besides remember and worry.
“Sure.” With one last, lingering look that seemed to blend curiosity and something like sympathy, he turned to leave. The metal gate closed after him as he exited through the wooden door beyond.
The uniform still made her nervous, but she appreciated the way it accentuated his wide shoulders and muscular thighs. In a time long gone, she might have asked him to cast off the uniform and pose for her.
For now, she would count herself lucky to get food and the chance to tell her story.
A sliver of her wished this were all over, that she could fly away and hide in the clouds, but the years in the pens had taught her that avoiding the frightening present by imagining a brighter future never worked. She had a promise to keep.
Avelunne sat in a shiny, padded metal chair, a long table in front of her.
Empty chairs were beside and behind her.
She was trying to focus on the positive to keep herself from fidgeting.
Her stomach was full of enough rich fish stew that her dragon half had nearly dozed off.
She wore warm winter clothing, although the boots felt like she was walking on weights strapped to her feet.
And thanks to Tanner, she now owned a coiled pad of smooth drawing paper and an ingenious mechanical pencil.
On the less-than-positive side, she was also wearing a belt-and-bracelet set that was thickly laden with layered charm magic. Tanner called it a peace-bond, designed to protect the town from her, but also to protect her from attack. It felt too much like a compliance leash for her comfort.
The Council Chamber was filling up, a parade of beings that defied every expectation she had formed over centuries of traveling.
There was no pomp, no heralds, just the clatter of wooden nameplates being set upon the table and the low murmur of casual conversation.
A centaur with a glossy chestnut coat stood at one end of the long table, chatting amicably with a towering, fur-covered being she couldn’t identify but whose sheer size commanded respect.
Pendragor, the prickly fairy she’d met earlier, set up his nameplate but leaned one shoulder against the back wall behind the chair instead of sitting.
Beyond the table’s edge, a wyvern rested in a neat reptilian coil, its dark, red-and-silver scales gleaming.
Though his jewel-faceted eyes seemed fixed on nothing, she knew wyverns never stopped thinking.
Her gaze returned to the rows of chairs reserved for observers, which were filling rapidly despite the late hour.
Her dragon senses, fortunately not muffled by the peace-bond, noted the distinct resonance of three other dragon shifters in the room.
That surprised her. In older days, they wouldn’t have been within a flight-mile of each other without bloodshed.
The nameplate identified the iron-gray-haired man seated at the long table as Lin Wolcz, Council member.
He radiated the unyielding, rock-bound solidity of a cave dragon.
His attention was studiously fixed on a stack of papers in front of him.
In the audience, a young woman with warm brown skin shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
Avelunne pegged her as a sand dragon — venomous, heat-loving, and unquestionably wishing she were somewhere else.
Next to her was a massive male with a red beard braided in the style of a Viking warrior.
He didn’t look away. He stared straight at Avelunne, his eyes burning with a cold hostility that promised violence.
An ice dragon. His overt hatred was a physical weight.
That kind of pressure once would have sent her running.
After all she’d been through, now it just made her tired.
She suspected the ice dragon’s wrath was directed at her because of her heritage.
Moonwing dragons, as a species, were stealthy and secretive.
Plus, her Storm Mouth clan had an unparalleled talent for making enemies in their never-ending quest for political power and position.
It likely mattered not that she had fled her family centuries ago and hidden from them ever since.
As the old saying went, once a Storm Mouth, always a blackguard.
Pleasant tones sounded in the room, causing council members and the audience to quiet themselves.
Panic threatened to close her throat. Then, a whiff of cool, clean air drifted over her shoulder.
Tanner sat one row back and two chairs to her right.
His steady presence centered her. For a moment, she let herself lean in, just an inch, toward his strength.
At the head of the table, a slight figure commanded silence without raising her voice.
Guivre Gul-Vert, a golden elf, looked like a teenager dressed in living leaves, but her power was an ancient, banked fire that demanded respect.
She surveyed the room with cool, green eyes before settling her gaze on Avelunne.
There was no judgment in her expression, and maybe a hint of compassion.
“Welcome, Avelunne,” Guivre said, her voice carrying to the back of the room without effort. “I am Guivre Gul-Vert, current leader of the Council. Please, tell us your story.”
Avelunne gripped her precious drawing pad and took a deep, unsteady breath. She had to make them believe the impossible. Worse, she had to convince them to fly into hell.