Chapter Twelve
Jimryr waited in the shadows, nursing a beer until the four dragons separated from their human companions, and followed them from the club. How the hell did they even get in there? They couldn’t be twenty-one yet.
“I still can’t get over the asshole beta from the other night,” a beta said.
“Drop it, Louie,” the alpha snapped. “I don’t want to talk about that dickhead.”
Jimryr cut through the parking lot to stand in front of them. “We need to talk.”
“To us?” One beta pointed to himself.
“Oh, fuck. Another one.” The alpha groaned.
Jimryr folded his arms over his chest, ensuring his bulging biceps and tattoos were fully visible.
Sometimes one didn’t have to fight if the opponent made a wise choice to back away.
Being physically superior helped, as did the scars, showing Jimryr’s battle skills. Mostly because he wasn’t dead yet.
“It’s good you recognize what I am,” he said, adding all the authority he could muster to his words. “You should pay better attention to your surroundings.” The barely-more-than-fledglings made their lack of experience painfully obvious.
The alpha puffed his chest out. “I’m not afraid of you! You’re only a beta.”
Ah, the young. Never trusting those they should. Jimryr shifted two fingers into claws—something he’d achieved through practice that many other dragons never managed, to compensate for his injured hand. He swiped the claws across the front of the kid’s T-shirt, careful to avoid skin.
“Hey!” The kid jumped back. “Do you know how much I paid for this shirt?”
Jimryr crossed his arms over his chest again, making sure his injured hand stayed hidden.
“Would you rather I rip your shirt or your flesh? Alpha only means a born potential leader. Since you just led your court into what could prove to be a deadly situation, I think it’s safe to say you’re not a very good one. ”
“But—”
Jimryr waved the talons, cutting off whatever the kid might say. “What did you mean by another one?”
“Another asshole beta came around a few days ago, asking who we were.”
One beta blurted, “He didn’t like Brian here using Prince of Thornes as his on-screen name.”
“Shut up, Clay!” Brian growled.
Prince of Thornes? Jimryr cocked his head to the side, studying Brian. The red hair and freckles didn’t run in the Thorne line; Mystral said they tended to have dark hair and eyes. “Are you a Thorne?”
Clay answered, “Our guardian told us about the Thornes. We thought they were just stories. Brian likes to pretend he’s Elouan Thorne.”
Oh, the insolence of youth! Jimryr narrowed his eyes. “What did the beta look like?”
Brian’s face reddened. “Big ugly dude with scars across his face like this. Looked like someone tried to rip his face off.” He pantomimed drawing three fingers over his face, then stopped and gulped, looking down at the fingers Jimryr recently turned into claws. “Oh, shit. That’s how he got those?”
“Wicked!” the lone omega exclaimed.
Jimryr glared, first at the “wicked” girl, then at the arrogant asshole who dared call Griff, or who he thought of as Griff, ugly.
“Hush, Denise,” Brian snapped.
“What did this beta say?” A sneaking suspicion crept through Jimryr’s mind.
An elbow to the ribs didn’t stop Clay’s talking. “He said if Brian really was Elouan Thorne, he’d recognize his own brother.”
Brother? “Did he give a name?”
“Darren. Or something like that.”
“Daire Thorne?” Oh, shit. Could it be?
“Yeah, Daire.”
Fuck.
Jimryr sat at a table in a local diner, feeding three starving dragons and one sullen omega who only picked at her fries. If they spoke the truth, he’d spent the night with Prince Daire Thorne, though who knew if ranks still mattered.
He visualized the moment he’d first laid eyes on the man who called himself Griffin. Brown hair, amber eyes, confident gait. While he’d never met the man in the dragon realm, he’d heard stories about the family blessed by the Goddess with three young.
Daire Thorne had a reputation for being a skilled warrior. Jimryr could use his help, if Daire could still fight. Even without fighting abilities, though, the knowledge in his head could benefit those who knew the motions but perhaps not the theories.
Like the four young dragons currently trying to eat an entire diner out of food.
They would be useless as recruits for now, but Zorah would still expect a full report. “How did you get to Terra, and what do you know about Adrakus?”
Clay appeared to be the spokesperson for the group since Jimryr had called Brian’s bluff. “We don’t remember our parents. Our caregiver said they paid a mage to bring us here because our court’s enemies were coming.”
“Are they coming back for you?” Jimryr stirred sugar into his coffee—the only thing he’d ordered. The other four covered the table with plates, bowls, and drinks. Dragons ate more food than most humans. Young dragons ate ridiculous amounts.
The server raised a questioning brow every time he brought another plate, to which Jimryr smiled and shrugged in a “what can you do?” kind of way. Good thing the club paid his credit card bills.
Brian stared down at the table. “They were supposed to, but they never did.”
“What court?”
“Rocky Ridges,” Denise replied. She blushed, then slid back down in her seat.
Rocky Ridges. Zorah’s former court. “What about your caretaker?”
“She died three years ago,” Brian said, looking anywhere but at Jimryr.
“You’ve been on your own since then?” Four unsupervised fledglings? How had the city of Biloxi survived this long with these four running loose?
“Yeah,” Clay paused shoving sausages into his mouth to say. “She left us with money and a house.”
The look Brian shot Clay’s way would’ve been lethal as claws.
“What?” Clay retorted, glaring back.
Jimryr ignored the byplay in favor of more important issues. “Have any of you ever shifted, or did your caregiver just tell you what you were?”
“Brian shifted once in the backyard, but the rest of us haven’t.”
Jimryr fought the urge to palm his face. Four untrained dragons who should’ve learned to shift and fly years ago. “Do you have jobs here in Biloxi?”
Brian answered before Clay could. “We’re taking college courses.”
Best not to uproot their lives, but he couldn’t leave them here alone, either. Jimryr held up a finger. “I need to make a phone call.” No one said anything about his using one hand or voice dialing.
Zorah answered after two rings. “Got some good news for me? I’m on my way to the airport.”
“Good and bad, I’m afraid. Which do you want first?”
“Let’s get me started with the good news.” The reservation in her tone said she’d already braced for the bad.
“I think I’ve found four members of your court, but they came here too long ago to remember much.”
“Really? Fantastic. What’s the bad?”
“They’re all young. Only one has ever shifted. They’re in college here, so they have ties, and have been on their own for the past three years. They have a house, and enough money to live for now. I’m afraid they won’t be much help to us in a fight, but we can’t leave them alone here.”
“Well, fuck.” The line went quiet for so long Jimryr feared a dropped call.
“Zorah?”
“I’m going to call around, see what I can do. I’ve got a couple in mind who might agree to be house parents.”
“Hey! We don’t need no babysitter.” Brian shouted. “We’re doing fine on our own.”
Zorah’s chuckle wafted over the phone. “I hear an alpha.”
“Yeah, his name’s Brian.” Jimryr made a clawing gesture with his fingers. Brian grabbed the front of his ruined T-shirt, shrinking back behind Clay. Yeah, some alpha.
“Stay with them until help comes,” Zorah instructed. “Give me the address.”
“There’s one more thing.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Remember the scarred beta I told you about from Alabama?”
“You said he wanted to be left alone.”
The seclusion made far more sense now. “I’ve reason to believe he might be Prince Daire Thorne of High Reaches.”