CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5
Dynarys lifted his blade, blocking Kurath's strike. What was the fool doing? A dark concentration smashed the brows together on the man's forehead. Another strike and another block. Metal sounding against metal, crashing and rasping. Shifters might be powerful, but they were no match for a Dragon Lord's speed or strength.
So why this posturing? Why demand a challenge he had no chance of winning?
The courtyard swarmed with pacing and snarling wolves, but they didn't dare to interfere. Such an intrusion was against their law. Not that it mattered. Dynarys had no intention of following the rules. He would not slay his brother. If he had been inclined to, the battle would have been over already. Instead, he blocked and dodged, trying to figure out what Kurath was really up to.
“Fight, curse you,” Kurath snarled. Sweat beaded on his brow, glistening in the last rays of dusk.
Dynarys did not answer. There was no reasoning with Kurath, anyway. The Shifter blamed Dynarys for every trial of his life, beginning from the time Dynarys was born. They might have shared a mother, but they had never shared love between them.
A howl drew the attention of the courtyard. A long, sharp sound, from the aerie's center, far from this battle. A signal.
Dread filled Dynarys, as realization worked its way into his mind. The Konois-Gar was a distraction. He shifted to dragon, urging his beast to rise, intent on leaving the charade. If he hurried, his lack of judgment might not have serious consequences. But fate had other plans for him.
“Now,” Kurath shouted. The other Shifters, the ones that had been content until then to stand at the sidelines and snarl and snap, leapt toward him with howls of their own. Wolves slammed against him, their large bodies doing little against his scaled hide, but one or two found their mark. The dragon screeched its fury, prepared to take revenge on the creatures that dared to harm it. Dynarys wrangled the beast's attention. He was determined to lift off still, they couldn't afford to be distracted. One wolf latched onto the dragon's right wing. He flung it back fiercely, the force of the action sending the wolf flying toward one of the courtyard walls. The furred body hit with a solid thump and toppled to the ground.
Another wolf took his place and, for a moment, a scratch of fear entered Dynarys's chest. They outnumbered him. If they kept him from flight, he might be out powered, too.
Fortunately, the noise they made drew attention. A deeper shadow covered the battle. Strale's golden dragon passed over, scales glistening dangerously before landing on one roof. He lashed his tail toward a dark gray Shifter stalking along the courtyard's edge. The wolf yelped at the contact and scrambled away from the appendage. Pottery shards clattered and crashed. Dynarys's dragon turned its long neck and tore the second wolf from his wing. It snapped its jaws shut hard enough to leave the creature with permanent damage. It was all Dynarys could do to stop the beast from finishing the job. He might not wish to kill, but the dragon had no such qualms, especially for those attacking it. At last, he was able to climb from the courtyard.
Strale stayed where he landed, whipping the wolves into a frenzy, snapping his jaw just close enough to show exactly how much control he had. Dynarys lost Kurath in the battle. Using the dragon's eyes, he searched for the black furred form of his brother. But the traitorous man did not show himself, either in human or wolf form. That worried Dynarys. Whatever his true goal had been, and he had some purpose, he must have achieved it. It would be wise to check the center of the aerie, he might be able to track the invaders, to get a true feel for their goal. He urged his dragon that direction, but the beast refused, intent instead on the buildings and alleys surrounding the courtyard.
Through his concern, it took a moment for him to realize what the dragon already sensed.
Gayriel was gone.

Dark, looming trunks surrounded her, towering into the night sky. Branches tangled and entwined, leaving very little starlight to highlight her path. Vines brushed against her arms and roots jabbed into her naked feet.
The wild forest was an unforgiving route, especially in the dark, and she would have stopped hours ago, except she kept hearing that sound, always faint, and always behind her. So, even though floundering through the trees was a fool’s errand, the overwhelming suspicion that she was being followed urged her to continue on.
Muggy heat settled into the ground, forcing scents from the earth like the steam of a warm brewed tea. The damp dirt, rotting leaves and perfumed blossoms filled her nostrils. She breathed it in as she ran—or rather, stumbled—forward.
She sniffed at her arm as she moved, trying to detect what a superior nose might. Twice now, comments were made about her fear smelling strongly, and she would be damned to the deepest level of the underground if her own fear brought her down now. But just like the other times she had tried, she, of course, smelled nothing.
The choosing house held no hounds, but she was familiar with them from the streets of the city where she grew up. A stray could scent a piece of hidden scrap from three streets away; she lost more than her share of food that way. Even buried beneath rags for later, a mongrel would find it first. She learned fast to eat what she had when she had it.
The high lords, too, always kept hounds for security and to deter their slaves from escape; a higher breed of dog than those who ran the streets, but similar in their abilities. From those experiences, she guessed her bare feet and sweaty palms left a nice wide path to be followed should one of those wolves decide to trail her.
She frowned, her fingers tensed around the skirts she had bunched at her waist. Her overworked and overtired mind kept producing images of the black wolf, with his creepy grin, sniffing his way through the trees behind her. It left her feeling exposed and insecure.
But she had a plan. She pushed forward to the sound in the distance, a gurgle of a stream or river. Water, itself, wouldn’t slow a hound—or wolf, she assumed—but part of her skirts had torn; she worked the fabric as she moved, separating the trailing ruffles while trying to remain upright and not make too much noise. If she dropped the loose silk into the water to be carried downstream and moved upstream herself, she might confuse someone on her scent for a short time, maybe gain enough distance to rest or climb one of the massive trees and work her way through the branches. Some of the limbs above her head were as wide as her torso. She shuddered at what a misstep from that height might mean, but a wolf would have trouble climbing, right?
Until he turns into a man.
...she was doomed.
Her body agreed with her, urging her to stop and accept whatever fate awaited her. To rest. Fortunately, her mind knew that death might be part of that equation.
No, she couldn’t give up. She reminded herself of the impossibilities she had already overcome. She escaped the aerie, a fortress for Dragon Lords, of all things. Wasn’t it just hours ago that she thought that was impossible? She would find her way through this…probably.
It took longer than she expected to reach the water. The gurgle, she discovered as she walked, was less of a slow tinkling and more akin to a raging river from a distance. She looked out over the moonlit rapids, gauging the twinkling flash where the water dashed over stones and broken tree trunks. She frowned. She couldn’t swim that, even if she wanted to. The current would drag her around and bash her as easily as it did the loose branches it whisked along. She winced, as one particular branch snapped against a boulder.
Worse, the far side was not a smooth even landing, but a cliff that rose past the height of the trees on her own bank. She gauged that, too, but with no access to the cliff, there was little point debating if she could climb it.
She gathered the silk she removed from her dress. The skirt now hung around her knees, though the tear rose higher along her right thigh. She wasted little thought on the garment, beautiful as it had been, thankful only that she moved easier now and there was less to drag her down once she entered the water. She might not be capable of swimming the rapids, but she could wade until the current pulled at her, and follow the plan she had formulated. The river valley offered a break in the canopy that allowed more light to flow through than the surrounding forest. She prayed to the Gods it would be enough.
With what strength she had, she threw the silk toward the middle of the river. It landed, like a wounded bird, the ripples and waves of the water moving it about like a living thing. Then, it floundered down the river, catching momentarily on a log jam. She hoped it would travel a fair distance before lodging once more. And she hoped it was enough to buy her time.
She strained her hearing, trying once more to catch any distant sound. She hadn’t heard signs of pursuit in a while, but the noise of the river drowned out much.
The water was cool against her legs and provided relief for her aching feet, but the bottom of the river was either silty sand where she sunk to her ankles, or slippery, slime covered rocks. It slowed her progress considerably, turning her stomach a little with the anticipation. Her brief distraction would not be very effective if she lingered where the skirts started. Fast wasn’t effective either, she only stumbled more often, and created a great deal of noise. So she moved upstream with slow deliberation.
The water depth varied as she went, a few times rising as far as her chest, even though she was barely an arms-length from the bank. Progress was painfully slow; she distracted herself by counting the trunks she passed. When that didn’t work, she pondered how one would hide the scent of fear. Firestriker had mentioned it, in the carriage. She felt insulted at the time, but he had suggested she might learn to mask such a thing. Could one mask all their scents?
The problem had never occurred to her, but it seemed to have become the focus of her life since she had been sold.
Sold.
And that, she reminded herself, when the indignation rose again, was why she ran. And why she had to succeed.
The river twisted three times before it slowed enough to consider crossing. She stopped in the waist deep water for a moment, assessing whether to cross then and aim for speed as her savior, or to keep pushing upstream farther and count on the water to hide her trail.
She suspected crossing was the wiser move. The far bank had stretched away until it was nothing but a dark line in her limited vision. At least two hundred yards now, with an incline on the bank that was impossible to make out in the dark.
She took a deep breath and then pressed into the water, performing the first clumsy stroke that came to mind. They had learned little of swimming at the choosing house, but she prayed it would be enough. She kicked her legs hard beneath the surface; the silk fabric still impaired her movement, and her muscles were so tired she did not get nearly the result she had hoped for. The current of the river was deceptive, as well. Toward the bank the pull barely existed. As she pushed into the river’s middle, it picked up, pulling her downstream once more as she struggled to get across.
Slowly, though, she edged closer. She was going to make it.
Then, she would run some more. If she gained enough distance, maybe she could get to the edge of the cursed forest and beyond reach.
Maybe she wasn’t even being pursued; she had no indication that Firestriker still lived. The honor challenge was to the death, after all, and he faced an entire pack. Perhaps she was master-less, and no one even realized she had gone.
The thought should have given her hope, but her mind stuttered around the idea that the life-force of such a strong virile man...or Dragon Lord, would be extinguished so easily. Or at all.
She shook her head. So much speculation gave her a headache, and it did little good. Focus.
The water receded, already her toes touched bottom. The landing had devolved from cliff-side into a manageable looking climb, still high above her head, but this time sloped toward the water.
She breathed heavily by the time her feet found a solid hold and paused, standing on her toes and waiving her arms back and forth in the water for balance. Something watched her. She couldn’t say what, or where exactly, but the sensation of eyes upon her was undeniable.
Please be a rat, or rabbit or something innocuous.
It didn’t feel innocuous.
Just paranoid. It had to be. She was running for her life and so seeing threats everywhere she turned. She moved toward land; the river quickly fell below her neck and then shoulders.
Despite her instincts telling her something was there, nothing in the shadows moved. She watched intently as she approached, and did not let up her vigilance even when she left the water and began her climb.
She reached the top of the incline before she realized her mistake.
A heavy weight crashed down on her. She stumbled and tried to keep upright, but it was too much and she was forced down. The ground rose up before her, she tumbled down the incline’s far side and into a small, swampish clearing.
She smashed into the earth at the bottom, face down, her heart trying to climb up her throat. The flimsy sleeves of the crimson gown tore with the pressure and cool earth met her skin as her left breast broke free. Thankfully, she had stopped sliding along the ground by then, so that tender part suffered little damage. Damp rotting earth filled her vision and the heavy, sweet smell of dew and decay filled her nose.
At first, she thought the wolf from the aerie had caught her. How he managed to get ahead of her on her path she didn’t know. She reviewed quickly the sensitive parts of a man’s body. Taught to her in order to maximize pleasure, but it would work just as well to inflict pain. The cock was the most obvious target, but there were others. If only he would let her move.
Then it registered. The source of heat that grew all along her back, everywhere pressure touched her skin.
A limb moved into view and she had the very odd experience of watching a heavy scaled foreleg become a man’s arm.
Firestriker.
Both relief and disappointment overtook her emotions.
Firestriker’s hand rested next to her face, her view tangled with her black locks which had flipped about her head as she fell. He propped himself up, his weight only enough to hold her down, keep her still. And he must have done so as a dragon as well, or she would be nothing more than a smash of Gayriel on the forest floor.
A breath puffed against the back of her neck, stirring the little hairs there.
“Never run from me.” His voice had a strange quality to it, perhaps a result of having just been a different form.
She didn’t answer. What would she say, anyway? There was no point denying her attempt.
His chest rose and fell against her back, the skin there exposed, as well, from her fall.
Her head hung. She was exhausted from pushing herself so far. And now, with her muscles cooling, and her skin damp from the river, the night’s chill urged a shudder.
She waited his judgment. He must be deciding which punishment to use. Her mind raced over all the possibilities: flogging, beating, maybe he would return her to the choosing house and demand his money back....Death...she truly hoped he didn’t choose the last, though he had every right to.
“I smell blood, are you injured?”
Huh?
Cool air met her skin, as he lifted himself from her and quickly rolled her over. And there he was, propped above her as though rising from an intimate embrace. His chest less than an arm’s reach away, wings still present and spread from his back. Dark brows furrowed over his amber eyes, an almost concerned look, until his gaze traveled her chest, and the exposed flesh there, then they twitched upward toward his dark locks of hair.
She raised her arm from her side, presenting her damaged fingers, the only source of injury she was aware of...unless one counted her hopes and her pride.
He frowned at the blood caked tips, grasping her fingers between his own and studying them intently. Twice, his gaze slid from his inspection back to her naked breast.
“Our medic will know better what to do with these,” he shook her fingers, then looked up at her face. “Do you realize what a great risk you have taken? What danger you put yourself..the entire aerie in?”
And he was back to growling. She struggled with the rapid mood changes, unable to read what might happen next. One second, he showed concern for her well-being, the next he was angry enough to exact punishment.
“There are worse things than wolves and dragons in these woods.”
“And those things are on the move, I sensed at least four just north of here, and more than one has graced this hill recently.”
“Scet?” Firestriker twitched, dropping her fingers and raising himself to stand.
She would have pondered the presence of Scet, and the curious information he shared, but her thoughts arrested at the sight of Firestriker standing before her in his naked entirety.
The choosing house used many drawings, and sometimes even live models, to teach the girls about the male anatomy, but none of that compared to what she saw. Lean ridges of muscle bunched into firm pectorals and a line of smaller bumps defined his stomach. Hips and thighs all flowed together, creating a specimen far more appealing than anything the house had ever presented. Now she understood the giggles and whispers the other girls shared at night when they were to be asleep.
But his erection—did he walk around constantly aroused?—was not what she expected. Oh, it was long and wide, proportional to the man, from what she could tell, but its shape caught her gaze...and held it. The shaft seemed smooth along the bottom, but the top held several ridges that looked both firm and smooth at once. The head, as well, bulged to a larger proportion than she expected.
Part of the dragon?
Most likely, she acknowledged, and she tried not to find that...fascinating.
“What are you doing out here, Scet?” Firestriker demanded, pacing the small clearing. His erection bobbed with each step.
Scet shrugged and leaned in a lazy fashion against a nearby tree, hiding his nakedness with the crook of a leg.
One would think there wouldn’t be many places where a bedroom slave encountered too much nudity...
“The woman was running, you seemed possessive over her, I thought you might wish to know where she had gone.”
“You did not think to deal with the invasion first?” Firestriker waved a hand toward the river, but she assumed he indicated the aerie somewhere in that direction.
“You know Shifters will not interfere with an honor challenge.”
“Maybe not, but someone let Kurath and his mongrels in, and that is strictly against orders.”
Scet stood from his leaning position. “You are accusing me, Dragon Lord?”
Firestriker did not answer, but if Gayriel read his posture correctly, he was accusing Scet.
Scet growled. “You best be careful Firestriker, you are gathering enemies quickly. The old treaty might have subjected Shifters to service of your kind, but times are changing. If you wish to survive them in one piece, you will stop giving people reason to hate you.”
Firestriker grunted, eyeing Scet suspiciously. “I must get Gayriel back to the aerie.”
Scet stood silent for a long time. Then he took a deep breath and looked to the forest around them.
“Be quick, the shadows moved off when you flew over, but I sense they return. It has been long since something as weak as a human risked these woods and they are hungry.”
Firestriker nodded and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Scet is right, we should hurry” he told her. “Besides, we are late.”