Page 6 of Feathers and Scales

“I’ve never seen a demon scared like that,” Thea said as she sheathed her sword.

“Me neither.” Izzy handed her the pistol. With the demonic presence gone, the surrounding area lay dormant of hostile spirit energies.

“All right then. The carving is in that nook back there.” Thea pointed it out.

They walked toward the rear of the cave where an opening in the roof bathed moonlight over the ground. Izzy amplified the light in her hand, revealing the nook the forums had discussed. Lying on her back, wings pinched closed, the rough ground was a murmur of sensation as she scooted headfirst into the small opening.

At the back, the space grew tall enough to where she could lift her hands. The feather-like carvings lay on the ceiling. Most people believed someone had etched them there as a prank or as part of aritual to Summon the demons. They didn’t appear to be the demons’ Angelic names, but their structure nagged at Izzy. She touched the carvings, and inhuman energy charged the air, sizzling across her being.

“It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve touched before,” Thea murmured, mimicking Izzy’s exact thoughts. “It feels ancient. I’d date it to before some of the local tribes even.”

“Whatever created these markings wasn’t human and scares demons. I’ll grab a sample for carbon dating and to test for particulates.”

“I’ll stick around. Just in case. I have that dig in Kenya to get to, so I won’t be available for a while after this.”

Izzy got what she came for, but the promise of hope had her knowing she might just risk coming back here again.

Acadia National Park, Maine

Present Day

Daxton fell backward, clutching his chest. Leaves and twigs crunched under his ass. That female winged being had turned into an orb and flown inside him.

His torso and brain pressurized. Sparks ignited along his flesh. Wherever she traveled, she existed with his dragon side. Protective instincts reigned, and he didn’t want to kick her out despite not knowing what the hell she was. But he did know what had attacked her. A Tattered One.

Scrambling to his feet, he unleashed his Insight, the sixth sense of dragon shifters. Unfiltered spirit energies from the shrubs to the owl in a nearby tree assaulted his brain. Pain ripened across his skull. The Tattered One’s stench, like burning metal in acidic fumes, nearly tore his dragon from his skin. A wave of fear squelched the compulsion to shift. He swallowed, mouth dry. After the last incident a year ago, he couldn’t let that side of himself free.

He hunted after the metallic energy on foot, recalling how the Tattered One flew east over the trees. As he neared the cliff edge, dark water chopping against the rocks below, the energy dimmed to a trace before disappearing.

The Tattered One was gone.

Shit.He rubbed his pounding head and strode back to the campsite.

This wasn’t how he’d expected this night to go. He’d gone to Acadia National Park to find refuge. The need to shift to his dragon had gnawed at him as he lay in bed earlier, creating a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. His dread—tight and feral—created an anxious energy that twitched his muscles and kept him awake.

Instead of finding peace, he’d come across a Tattered One.

He should have wanted to destroy it, but the other wounded creature, feminine in form with plucked wings as long as her body, captured his attention. He had been frantic to help, fingers shaking. His dragon had thrashed with a sense of urgency. He felt a kinship with her, a primal need to protect. But that didn’t mean caution didn’t nag him for feeling this way toward an unknown creature.

The pop of a campfire announced he’d returned to the campsite. The lifeless man weighed on Daxton. He’d arrived too late to save him. Even if it had been his last hunt, killing the Tattered One would have been worth it. He stared back at the ground that glowed an ethereal red to his enhanced eyes.

Her translucent body had appeared blurry, making it impossible to tell what she wore. But her image stuck with him.

Eyes the shade of muted gold. Long flowing caramel-blond hair with streaks of brown fell around her fragile form, and her ghostlike face held sharp, but lovely angles. Few feathers clung to the wing bones and glowed fluorescent white. Gazing upon her stole his breath. The blood trickling from her mouth made his stomach turn. When hetouched her, she was barely perceptible, like the warming touch of sunlight. The sensation sparked a desire to feel her tangible form.

She didn’t carry a scent. Even when the wind shifted in his direction, his keen olfactory senses had picked up only a mixture of pine and damp earth. His Insight failed to detect her spirit energy. Something that had never happened before.

She wasn’t a figment of his imagination, but paranoia waged war in his mind, whispering that the Tattered One created an Illusion to distract him. Her light-like appearance had seemed unnatural enough. But his instincts told him she was real. They were never wrong. He only needed patience.

He focused inside himself and searched for her light form. Her energy felt familiar, like a long-lost friend. So much so that his dragon curled around her unconscious orb and rested.

Daxton stilled and his heart thudded in his chest.

His dragonneverrelaxed. It was a miracle, something he’d longed for since his accident a year ago. His chest tightened with the fear that her effect wouldn’t last.

Yanking his phone from his pocket, he called Jamal, his second-in-command.

“Morning, Chief Dyamur,” Jamal said around a yawn. “You’re up late.”