Page 11 of Shifter’s Thunder

As always in his avian form, his thoughts narrowed to essentials. Though it would be more comfortable to pretend that he could only true-mate with another avian shifter, he knew it was a lie. His cousin Timoki — who might be in Surasa’s breeder demesne — was true-mated to another species.

And not just any other species, but to a water dragon shifter. Who, he realized with some shame, he should have remembered to notify that there was a chance her mate was still alive. Litanyu dragons weren’t that hard to track down in the magical world. They had been so blissfully happy that he refused to believe Darataya would have forgotten her beloved thunderbird mate.

Resisting a strong instinct to keep the figure of Avelunne in his sight until she made it back to the Transition Center, he flew toward his cabin. Her disarming charm and humor were what most people seemed to respond to, but he was more intrigued by the hidden layer of strength. She was already weaving herself into the fabric of Kotoyeesinay, and it had only been two days. Most new arrivals took months to find a place. Or in his case, a year after recovering from a poisoned batch of fairy moondew and remembered his own name. If not for the kindness of Kotoyeesinay, he’d be dead.

In the clear, still air of midnight, all things were possible. Not so much when he shifted back to human form, and took up the harness of duty and responsibility.

Chapter 6

The Town Hall auditorium was a heated kettle of body heat and anxious whispers, packed so tight that people were standing three deep along the back walls. Avelunne sat in the front row of the witness chairs, her hands clasped tightly around her spiral-bound sketchbook. She had spent the morning toting boxes for Tinsel, eating a sandwich in three bites at the Transition Center, and teaching the refugee children how to cut snowflakes out of small coffee filters. The news that the Council was going to announce its decision scattered her thoughts like seeds on the wind.

The only thing grounding her was the solid presence of Sheriff Tanner in the chair beside her. His heat warmed her tripping reptile heart and made her feel strangely safe, even though she knew he was there to watch her as much as protect her.

Guivre Gul-Vert stood at the podium, looking less like a teenager and more like an ancient queen of the forest. The room went dead silent as the golden elf raised her hand above her head.

“The Council has deliberated.” Her calm voice carried without effort to the furthest corners of the audience seating. “We will not leave innocents to rot in a cage. The vote to mount a rescue mission is passed.”

The room exploded in a roar of approval that shook the floorboards. When Guivre spoke again to ask for volunteers, the response was immediate. Dozens of hands shot into the air — wolves, bears, felines, and species Avelunne couldn’t begin to name. Phones were already glowing in the dim light as people texted friends and packmates. The sheer, unhesitating willingness of this community to bleed for strangers stole the breath from Avelunne’s lungs. She had hoped for a small band; she got an army.

“You’re all idiots! This is fucking suicide!” The bellowing shout cut through the cheering like a cleaver.

Sten Trolhorne shoved his way to the front aisle, his face flushed a mottled red against his braided beard. Lin Wolcz followed in his wake, looking like a tempest in a tailored suit. Trolhorne stabbed a finger toward Avelunne. “She is a moonwing! They’re liars, cowards, and backstabbers by blood. It’s a trap, and she’s the shiny bait!”

Beside her, Tanner went still. The rise of his magic prickled the hair on the back of Avelunne’s neck. She glanced at him. He was furious. Strangely, his anger on her behalf tamped her own fear.

Wolcz placed a hand on Trolhorne’s arm, stepping forward with a sneer that was far worse than the ice dragon’s shouting. “Sten is right about the risk. I was outvoted. However, he misses the practical point.” His voice was smooth and oily. “Regardless of her ancestral clan’s treachery, she is a fertile female dragon of a rare bloodline. To send her to battle — or to expend town resources on a suicide mission based on her story — is a tragic waste of breeding capacity. She should be protected.”

Gasps filled the room, followed by a hissing susurrus of whispering. Wolcz seemed completely oblivious to the expressions of outrage from all the females and some males in the audience.

Avelunne struggled to keep her face free of a sudden, white-hot rage that woke her usually slow-to-anger dragon. Wolcz wanted her for breeding stock. Echoes of hateful hisses from her parents about her only value to the family twined with the inhumane logic Tippizoars spouted for the last twelve years.

“Thank you for your input, Councilman Wolcz.” Guivre’s tone was devoid of warmth. “However, as I said, the mission is voluntary. Your refusal is noted and accepted. We have no need for participants who are hesitant.” She made the last word sound like a dismissive insult.

Wolcz still seemed oblivious, but Trolhorne’s eyes narrowed.

Guivre turned her attention back to the crowd, ignoring the two fuming dragons. “Success depends on reaching the stratosphere to breach the demesne’s upper portal. We are short on high-altitude flyers. I have contacted Fort LeBlanc and the Tribunal to request aerial support, but it may take several days to coordinate their arrival.”

Days. In the pens, days could mean death. It could mean the difference between her friends being there or being shipped out for experimentation, or to become protein slurry to feed monsters. She looked at the raised hands of volunteers, and then at Trolhorne and Wolcz, who were turning to leave with self-righteous smirks.

She wasn’t a warrior. She was an artist who liked colorful fabrics and drawing on coiled pads and eating tigerfish. The thought of going back to that place nearly paralyzed her. But she looked at Tanner, whose cousins were rotting in a cell because he couldn’t reach them. She remembered the fear expressed in the pictures the hyena children had made that morning.

Avelunne stood up. Her legs felt like water, but she locked her knees.

“Respectfully, Councilors, we do not have days. Tippizoars have the super-soldiers ready. Surasa is greedy.” She ignored the trembling in her hands and looked straight at Guivre. “I know the way. I know the wind currents. I am no fighter, but I can fly higher than anyone here.” She took a deep breath. “I will show you the door.”

The silence following her declaration was thick enough to choke on, until movement beside her broke the spell. Tanner rose from his chair, a slow, deliberate unfolding of height and authority that drew every eye in the room.

Avelunne braced herself, expecting him to tell her to sit down and stop speaking foolishness. Instead, his voice rang out, deep and steady. “She won’t go alone. I can match her altitude. I’ll fly her wing.”

Her heart skipped a beat. He didn’t trust her, yet he was willing to follow her into the thin air where most shifters couldn’t breathe.

“You’re a flaming fool!” Trolhorne’s face twisted with scorn. “You’ve just signed your own death warrant, and for what? A plausible story from a lying moonwing?”

Wolcz shook his head and looked Tanner up and down with exaggerated pity. “It will be a tragic waste of a good sheriff.”

Tanner turned his gaze on the two dragons. “She risked everything to come back for the captives left behind. You’re worried about breeding her; she’s worried about lives. If that’s a scam, sign me up.” The undercurrent of contained violence in his voice resonated in Avelunne’s bones like distant thunder.

Trolhorne looked ready to shift and brawl right there in the aisle, but Wolcz gripped his arm, whispering something urgent. With a final, loathing glare at Avelunne, Trolhorne spun on his heel and walked toward the exit with Wolcz.