Chapter 5
Tanner adjusted his collar against the chill, his path easy on the cleared sidewalk of Glade Street.
The storm had blown itself out, leaving behind a sky of winter blue and a sharp wind.
It was a good afternoon for the town’s clothing shops.
Tourists were practically diving into the storefronts on Magister Way to shop for colorful knitted scarves and hats.
The town vibrated with joyful energy, the air smelling of roasted nuts, pine, and the nose-tingling crispness of high-altitude air.
It was the kind of day that usually made his thunderbird soul ache for the upper atmosphere, but today, he found an unexpected satisfaction in keeping his feet on the ground.
But foot patrol was more than good exercise.
Walking the streets allowed him to take the pulse of the town in a way that driving or flying never could.
He nodded to Izel, who was brushing the snow off her bakery display window, and gave a pointed but smiling look to a group of teenage wolf shifters eyeing a precarious drift of snow on a roof, obviously contemplating “accidentally” making it fall on a passing tourist. They grinned, dropped their snowballs, and moved on.
His decision to take the patrol shift was also partly fairness.
He’d sent Shiloh home three hours ago. The deputy sheriff had a bad habit of pulling double shifts, driven by a coyote shifter’s restless energy and a personal, deep-seated need to be helpful.
Tanner couldn’t exactly call him on it without being a hypocrite, considering his own tendency to live at the station.
But as the boss, he could order Shiloh to go home to his husband, Matteo.
Good leadership meant modeling better behavior, even if Tanner wasn’t quite sure what he’d do with himself if he actually took a whole day off.
The wide corner where the solstice parade usually started reminded him of Deputy Chantal Hammond.
She’d had a collapsible stand built so she could direct traffic without being run over.
He missed her calm, centering presence, though he couldn’t begrudge her a well-deserved vacation in the Grecian Isles with her new mate, Dauro.
The Ice Age shifter she’d helped rescue had a heart so open it was impossible not to like him.
As he crossed the street, Tanner hoped that Osborne, her temporary replacement, would decide that the warmth of the community made up for the lack of warmth in the air and accept a permanent position.
The Florida cougar shifter was a good officer and deserved better than the clusterfuck of a sheriff’s department in Barron County.
The steady clang of metal on metal grew louder as he turned down the alley connecting Glade and Wizard streets, approaching the town’s quasi-industrial neighborhood.
The scent of coal smoke and hot iron wafted in the air.
Sten Trolhorne’s blacksmithery drew tourists in the summer when he dressed like a shirtless Viking and gave demonstrations.
In the winter, he busied himself fulfilling custom and online orders.
The hammering stopped, replaced by voices raised in argument.
Tanner slowed his pace, stepping into the shadow of a brick wall and using his sharp vision and hearing to observe the action in the open bay of the shop.
Trolhorne, in a leather apron straining over his massive chest, gripped his hammer like a weapon. Facing him was Tiziri Selah. The young sand dragon looked small next to the ice dragon’s bulk, but her posture was rigid with fury.
“You’re wasting yourself on a stinking wolf!” Trolhorne bellowed, his voice booming off the corrugated metal roof. “It’s disgusting. A fertile dragon female has no business cavorting with a flea-bitten environmentalist! You have a duty to dragon-kind.”
“My duty is to myself, you egg-rotted asshole!” Tiziri shouted back, her voice shaking not with fear, but with rage. “Keep your snout out of my life.”
“You are young and foolish.” Trolhorne took a step forward. “You need a virile male dragon to teach you.”
Tirizi appeared singularly unintimidated.
“Go fuck yourself.” She flipped him off both hands.
“Or go fuck Wolcz, since he probably put you up to this.” She spun on her heel and marched to the heavy wrought-iron gate, slamming it behind her with enough force that it rang like a church bell, the sound reverberating against the buildings after she’d stormed away.
Tanner stayed in the shadows as Trolhorne glared after her, muttering curses that involved lineage and traitors.
The Sheriff let out a silent breath. The town’s unofficial motto was “live and let live,” but for some, the holidays didn’t bring peace; they just brought more opportunities for squabbles to ignite.
He made a mental note to have a quiet word with Trolhorne if the harassment continued.
Domestic disputes were volatile enough without adding ice magic and dragon fire to the mix.
The encounter left an acrid taste in his mouth, reminding him that Avelunne wasn’t the only one navigating the minefield of dragon politics.
Tanner found his gaze drifting toward the intersection of Wizard Street.
Thunderbird instinct insisted Avelunne was there.
He told himself it was a matter of public safety.
She was a walking, talking anomaly who had crashed through their shields and destroyed property.
Security risks had to be monitored. But as he scanned the crowd, he knew that was a lie.
When the crowd shifted, he spotted her easily.
It was hard to miss the woman wearing galaxy-patterned snow pants and a vivid pink coat that was neon-bright against the grey stone of the buildings.
She was laughing at something Tinsel was saying, her breath puffing in white clouds, her face alight with a curiosity that made her seem younger than her centuries.
He watched from half a block away, using the stillness that made him hard to notice when he chose.
She turned her head, her gaze locking instantly onto his. She smiled briefly and gave him a little wave, as if to say she’d caught him.
Tanner sighed, lifting a hand in return.
So far, she clocked him every single time.
It was unnerving. Denise Voski had sung Avelunne’s praises earlier, mentioning how natural she was with the Center’s refugee children, and now Tinsel seemed to have adopted her as a pet project.
Avelunne was weaving herself into the fabric of Kotoyeesinay with alarming speed.
He resumed his patrol, the cold wind biting at his cheeks.
The problem wasn’t that she was a threat to the town.
The problem was that when he looked at her, the restless, lonely ache in his chest went quiet.
And for a man whose duty was to the town and whose soul belonged to the storm and the open sky, feeling settled around one singular and sexy person was… unsettling.
An hour later, the hiss of the espresso machine greeted Tanner before he even crossed the threshold of his office. He found Shiloh leaning against the credenza, a mug of the good Kona blend in hand, looking entirely too comfortable for an employee who had been ordered off the clock three hours ago.
“I thought I told you to go home to your husband.” Tanner unzipped his jacket and hung it on the rack. “Or does Matteo have you on a timeout?”
“Shopping.” Shiloh grinned, revealing his permanently pointed coyote teeth. He poured a second cup and handed it to Tanner. “I needed a caffeine refuel before hauling bags up the mountain. Besides, someone has to make sure the machine doesn’t get lonely.”
Tanner accepted the bribe, the rich heat seeping into his cold fingers. “Very noble of you.” He leaned against the corner of his desk, blowing on the steamy dark liquid. “Any news from the Council?”
Shiloh shook his head. “None. Guivre is keeping a tight lid on the deliberations.” He took a sip, grimacing slightly.
“Not that I blame her. It’s a big ask. Defending our borders is one thing.
Launching an assault on a high-altitude fortress based on the word of a stranger is risky.
Avelunne seems genuine, but if she’s wrong about the defenses, or if it’s a trap set by Surasa…
” He blew out a breath. “Like I said, it’s a big ask. What do you think?”
Tanner suppressed a frown. “I can’t guess how they’ll vote.”
“And if they vote no?” Shiloh asked softly, watching Tanner over the rim of his mug. “What about your cousins? Rutera and Timoki?”
The names felt like hail on Tanner’s wings. The possibility that his kin were alive and needed rescuing had been a low rumble of worry ever since Avelunne’s revelation. “I don’t know,” he admitted, staring into the dark brown depths of his coffee. “I’ll have to fly that storm when it gets here.”
After a long moment of silence, Shiloh set his empty mug on the credenza.
“For what it’s worth, I think they’ll say yes.
” He waved vaguely toward the lobby. “And when they do, we’ll probably have a line of volunteers stretching from here to the solstice circle.
Surasa has been the source of too much misery. ”
“Truly,” agreed Tanner. Between the lawless hunters and illegal auction houses that supplied her breeding stock and the fact that his ancient enemies, the Ahklut, had originated as her bio-engineered nightmares, Surasa needed to be dealt with.
“We’d need a war leader. Someone with siege experience.
Rorabek from Fort LeBlanc, maybe, or one of the Tribunal’s alphas if we can get them to stop posturing long enough to help. ”
Shiloh tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing. “Why not you? You’ve got centuries of experience, and you’re the most strategic warrior I know.”