Loyalty: A Dragon Shifter Menage Serial (Seeking Her Mates Book 4)

C
opyright
© 2015 by Carina Wilder

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

T
his serial begins
with Seeking Her Mates Book One:
Torn

A
Note to my Readers
:

This serial, Seeking Her Mates, is the follow-up to the
Sought by the Alphas
serial, which chronicles the story of Gwynne, a woman who finds herself thrust into another time and a life she never expected with two dire wolf alphas for mates.

If you haven’t yet read it, you can find the books below. They’re all available for FREE on Kindle Unlimited. It’s not necessary reading, of course, but does occur in the days before
Torn
begins.

The five-book boxed set is available here:
Sought by the Alphas Boxed Set

Sought by the Alphas individual books:

Encounters

Rituals

Trial by Fire

Kinship

Dragon Queen

H
appy reading
!

~Carina

“
I
s there
something you’d like to talk about, Graeme?”

Lily’s voice was laced with concern and remorse at her part in the conflict that had just unfolded between her mates.

The large male dragon shifter’s eyes were locked on the green fields behind the Old House, his expression grim. His hands were tucked firmly into his pockets as though in a deliberate attempt to prevent them from moving about and flinging stray posts, tree branches or other objects through the air in a sort of telekinetic hissy fit.

He turned to Lily, his light eyes devoid of any expression that she could read as she delved into his mind.

Hurt.

That was all she could see. No words. No jealousy. Just the slow, searing burn of pain.

“I’m sorry,” she said when he refrained from answering. “I really am. I’d gotten caught up in the idea that we were safe now, and I shouldn’t have gone off on my own so many times. And Conor…”

“You called to him, didn’t you? When you needed help.” The words, the voice, only confirmed the pain inside him.

“I called to him because I knew there was a chance that he might hear me, read my words in his mind. Not out of any sort of theory that he was or is better than you.”

“Yes. I know that.” Graeme’s voice transmitted his own remorse now; everything else was fading, stripping away to allow regret to take over. “Forgive me. It is hard for someone like me to sit back while my mate is threatened. Bloody hell—it’s hard for someone like me to sit back, period. If there’s blood to be shed, I want to be the one doing it.”

Lily’s lips twitched as she sensed his pain releasing into the air, his dragon calming as his mind accompanied it. “Kind of an animal, aren’t you?” she said quietly, testing him for the sense of humour that sometimes remained concealed beneath a strong surface, hard as stone and invulnerable.

“A beast,” he replied, grabbing her by the waist and smiling, granting her permission to do the same. “An insatiable, lustful beast who salivates for flesh.”

“We’re not talking about killing anymore, are we?”

“Not even slightly.”

As he leaned down to kiss her, Lily’s hands swept around his neck, pulling herself up onto her toes. She loved his and Conor’s height; the power and strength they exuded through sheer size.

But more than that, she loved her own strength.

“I didn’t need him, you know,” she said as she eased back down to earth. “I didn’t
need
help.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, Firebird. You are something else.”

“
Firebird.
I like that.” Each term of affection was a gift, a solidification of their tight bond. She continued, “But I am glad—and you should be—to know that Conor has come into his own, and that he’s regained his strength. And then some.”

“I am glad—I am. Of course I am. Listen, I’m going to go talk to him, which probably makes me seem like some over-sensitive man of the modern era, but quite honestly I can deal with that. I’ve learned that there’s something to be said for communication.”

“Speaking of which, are you noticing any mind-reading abilities of your own? Merriman did say that you’d likely develop them in time.”

Graeme locked his eyes on her and narrowed them, pretending to look over her form.

“No, but I can see that you’re not wearing panties.”

She slapped his upper arm.

“Ouch!” he yelped, flinching and grasping his tricep in mock pain. “Don’t hurt me. I’m sensitive, remember.”

“Piss off,” she laughed.

“All right. And the answer is ‘sort of.’ I make out bits and bobs of conversation. But nothing like what you speak of. It seems that’s not to be my forte.”

“Well, your forte is very impressive,” said Lily. “And by that I mean the one between your legs.”

“Appalling woman,” he moaned as he re-entered through the back of the house. “So un-ladylike.”

Lily turned to look towards the damp back fields, which were significantly warmer than they had been hours earlier when the house had remained under Merriman’s spell.

In the distance she saw the woods, calm and quiet now.

“Thank God,” she muttered. Some relief would be welcome. If they could make it to morning without another incident…

She turned back to the house, not noticing the tiny rodent in the corner of the garden who turned away, scurrying into a burrow under the field.

C
onor stood at the window
, staring out at the lush green world around the house and yet failing to taking it in. His mind was elsewhere, focused on a series of images that relentlessly showed itself to him, reminding him that his purpose in this world was altering even as his body continued to adapt to the changes brought on by the Ritual.

Since coming out of his illness, he had felt the evolution come at him in waves: this mysterious déor of his, as yet untamed inside him, offering new physical strength and new instincts which he had not grown fully to understand.

But another change had occurred: that of his mental abilities. His Sight, which had always come in strange, cryptic waves, came at him now more as a linear series of images; scenes such as those in a film, as though his mind’s eye were strengthening into hallucinations which were at once enticing and frightening.

And at the moment the images were disturbing him, eating away at his insides as worry began to take over. He wanted to tell himself that they were meaningless, just flashes of what might come to be.

But he knew better. And if his theories were correct, the greatest conflict was yet to come, and it would make a brief disagreement with Graeme look like a pillow fight.

“Conor.”

The voice came from behind him. Soft, calm, changed.

“Come in.” He turned to face Graeme, who stood in the doorway. Both men had lost the anger which had eaten at their insides minutes earlier, dissipating now into the air around them as though it had never existed.

“I’m sorry for my reaction to what happened,” said Graeme. “I shouldn’t have been hard on you. You did exactly what I would have done in the circumstance and I should be commending you, not condemning you.”

Conor always wanted to smile when Graeme’s voice took on this tone. His accent, so much that of a Scottish warrior, didn’t suit moments of quiet, and yet there was a sincerity in it that was charming. The man was incapable of lying, of deceit. He was always as he appeared to be, and Conor found himself wishing that all living things could be so easily read.

“No need for apologies,” he said. “Unless you’ll accept mine as well.” He stepped forward and perched on the edge of the sturdy wooden chair which normally occupied the room’s corner. “Something overtook me. Ambition, I suppose—the feeling of power that comes with whatever this creature is inside me. I felt
invincible.
” He chuckled at the word; it seemed like something a superhero—or villain—would utter.

“That’ll happen,” said Graeme. “As it does with me. When I was so enraged down in the kitchen, it wasn’t a human fury, as I’m sure you realize. It is a large, red dragon who seeks control in all situations. He’s not exactly okay with allowing others to take the reins, as you know by now. It’s a fine balance.”

“A fine balance,” repeated Conor, running a hand through his thick hair, his dual-hued eyes looking at the floor. “And I suppose it takes a lifetime to learn the tricks.”

“Yes, well, I still haven’t learned everything, as you can see. There is a sense of duty and loyalty in our déors that outweighs what’s in the men standing in this room. It’s what makes us great, I suppose.”

“And what can make us cruel,” said Conor. “I suspect that our enemies have that very sense, and that’s why they’re out for blood.”

“Our enemies in all likelihood look to protect their own, just as we want to do. That person—shape-changer—that you fought…” He watched Conor wince as he said the words. “I’m sorry,” said Graeme. “I don’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“It’s all right. It’s only that I’d never killed before. It was all too easy for my déor, but the man before you isn’t so devoid of feeling as all that.”

“Well, you were defending your mate. And you probably felt that you were being pulled outside of yourself. An animal with your soul inside it, your mind, was taking charge. You must learn to control it, but it will take some time.”

“And those I attacked were defending something as well,” said Conor slowly. His eyes looked up at Graeme’s, light and sincere. “But the real question is: which of us is on the right side?”