Page 34 of Shifter’s Thunder

Guivre brushed light fingertips across the back of Avelunne’s hand. “You don’t have to accept immediately, or at all. Either way, I’d like to invite you to the town’s acknowledgement ceremony to welcome all the new citizens from this past year. It’s at the Solstice Circle, the day after tomorrow.” Guivre leaned closer, her presence radiating a calm, green warmth like a sunlit forest. “It is an open invitation, Avelunne. Not a summons.”

“I am immensely honored and grateful,” Avelunne said, her voice tight as she fought the urge to look for a window to ensure the sky was still accessible. “But I need time to think.”

Guivre gave her an empathetic look that held no pity, only a deep, ancient compassion that seemed to understand everything Avelunne tried to hide. “Take all the time you need.”

Avelunne left her phone and bag on the hooks inside the Transition Center, then went to the field behind it, on the far side of the children’s second snow fort, and shifted. She needed to strip away the jumble of human emotions and think like a dragon. She stretched, enjoying the pull of muscle and ripple of scale, then burrowed under the snow and curled herself into a ball, her snout protected by her barbed tail. Dragon magic kept her warm and comfortable. Her whirlwind of thoughts slowed from a tempest to a breeze.

Guivre’s offer of sanctuary pleased her dragon self. A place to collect a hoard and build a nest to protect it. After centuries of being on the move — often on the run — a bit of permanence appealed to her. She could still see the wonders of the new world, and then have a home to come back to. Sanctuary was less a chain that tied her down and more a guide to finding her way home when she was ready. Like the charm Tanner had given her that would let her find her way back to him.

She couldn’t ask him to leave. The town wasn’t just his job; it was his purpose. His salvation. If she lured him away to explore the world, he might come, but the loss of his own sanctuary would inevitably poison the love between them. He was a man of integrity. She refused to be the reason he broke his vows to the people he and his thunderbird protected.

A true mate bond with him would change everything. Beyond the lover, beyond the protector, it was the man himself she’d fallen in love with. Underneath the unflappable sheriff role he had built because both he and the town needed it, he had unexpected emotional depths. He often figured out sooner than she did when she needed comfort, diversion, or laughter. He gave fierce, Mayson, the Ice Age Shifter girl from the demesne, respect for her warrior skill and a model for how to be a human when the battle was over.

She cursed her moonwing ancestors who brought the moonwing curse on themselves and their descendants. Until last-born joins thrice-born and sings with one and no other, air must twine with icy spark, and ruler must wield the light but follow the sky music, the moonwings will ever be blind to a true mate’s glow.

Ancient Dragonic loved to pile meanings onto words until they collapsed under the weight. “Last-born” could mean the youngest sibling, a survivor of a massacre, or just the final egg in a clutch. And “thrice-born” wasn’t even proper Dragonic. It was a loanword from some forgotten dialect, its origin lost to the mists of time.

Then there was “sings.” In the old tongue, that word was used for everything from composing a symphony to hatching an egg, or even flying in formation during battle. Spark, crown, and spear were just as overburdened with semantic baggage. She’d given herself more than one headache over the last several days trying to divine its meaning.

It was hopeless. Generations of ambitious, power-hungry, sexually frustrated moonwings had tried to crack the code and failed. She was just an artist who dreamed in color and loved anything new.

And under all that, her worst fear was that if she somehow broke the curse, what if it only resulted in silence? No magical connection, no storied shower of stars as the Dragonic sagas promised for true mates, just… nothing? That failure would break his heart and shatter hers. Sometimes ignorance was a mercy.

She heaved a sigh, watching the vapor puff and vanish in the frigid air. She was no closer to a decision than she had been an hour ago. The night was getting colder, and the solitude had lost its appeal.

She pushed herself up, shaking the snow from her scales. For tonight, she would go home with Tanner. She would tell him she loved him, curl up next to his solid warmth as a lost dragonet might seek a parent, and pretend the future didn’t exist. Maybe the moon gods would take pity on a confused dragon and send a clue in her dreams.

Chapter 17

Tanner scanned the gathering for the new-citizen acknowledgment ceremony, reminding himself of names and faces he hadn’t seen often. Shifters, humans, a dryad pair, and others sat in chairs arranged loosely around the central pillar. The remembrance walls from the solstice vigil were gone, leaving the circle open to the slate-colored sky. City crews and magicians had cleared the snow from the paving stones and the surrounding sidewalks, though the mountains beyond remained buried under the heavy white blanket of the recent bomb cyclone. The seating was anything but formal. Mismatched wooden chairs, a velvet settee that had seen many decades, and sturdy park benches sat near large, bespelled river rocks that radiated a steady, dry heat against the ever-present wind. It was a setup unique to Kotoyeesinay — a blend of high ceremony and a neighborly backyard get-together.

He sat on a high-backed, padded bench, pleased to have Avelunne beside him. In past years, he had stood on the periphery, watching over the town as a guardian. Today, he wanted to be seen with her. He wanted the town to know that his dragon shifter wasn’t just a rescue case or a temporary visitor, but the woman who held his heart. He had done some hard thinking in the quiet hours of the morning. Loving her meant respecting her autonomy, treating her not as a prize the thunderbird wanted to claim, but as a woman with choices.

A small folding table, covered in a rich red-and-pink embroidered cloth, held the gift bags prepared by local businesses. About forty people mingled in the space, bundled in thick coats and scarves, their breath puffing in the frigid air. Tanner noted the arrival of more council members than usual. Guivre Gul-Vert, looked serene in winter whites, and Pendragor was dressed like a Shakespearean fairy who’d turned Goth. He was amused to see that Scholar of the Skies sported a knitted green muffler around his wyvern neck. Their presence was unusual for the annual ceremony, but given the record number of asylum grants following the auction house takedown and the battle for Fort LeBlanc, the extra pomp was warranted.

Beside him, Avelunne shifted, her scent spiking with a subtle note of nervousness. He slipped his gloved hand into hers. “The Council representative says a few words, reads each name, and asks them to stand to be invited into the protection of the Glade,” he said, keeping his voice low. “We clap, they say a few more words, and then we’re done. Everyone gets a gift bag and goes home.” He pulsed a quick image through their latent telepathic connection. “Back in the old days, seventy or eighty years ago, when they held it in the old courtroom, it felt like a diploma procession. I like the updated version better. It’s more welcoming.”

Avelunne squeezed his hand, offering him a teasing smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And holding it outside in the wind keeps the speeches short.”

Tanner chuckled. “Yes, it does.”

She glanced toward the leaders gathering near the central pillar. “Are the Glade holders all on the Town Council? Or maybe I should ask, was Wolcz a part of the Glade, and now he’s not?”

“There’s some crossover, such as Guivre, Pendragor, and Scholar of the Skies, but they are separate groups,” Tanner explained. “Wolcz was elected to the Council, not appointed by the Glade, so all he lost was his political position. He won’t be disinvited from the town just for being a jerk.” He snorted softly. “We’d be a much smaller community if we did that. When I first stumbled into town at the turn of the last century, I was a belligerent drunk addicted to datura-laced moondew. Instead of kicking me out, they detoxed me and gave me a job. The Glade is patient.”

The ceremony began without fanfare. Guivre stepped forward, her voice carrying easily over the wind without a microphone. Tanner listened as she read the names in date order. He clapped for them all, including the captive from the pen named Naima and the stoic bear shifter who had lost an eye.

When Guivre reached the end of the list, she paused, then said, “Avelunne Storm Mouth.”

Tanner turned in stunned surprise. Beside him, Avelunne stood, her posture straight, the wind catching the ends of her scarf. She accepted the protection of the Glade with a quiet “I do.” Pride and relief welled up in him. She had chosen to stay. She had chosen sanctuary.

As the applause died down and the crowd moved toward the gift table, Tanner stood and followed as she crossed to greet Guivre to thank her. After the surprise gift of the shiny new Sheriff 100 SUV, he thought he had learned his lesson about assuming he knew everything happening in his town. Clearly, he needed to up his game. Avelunne had kept her secret very well.

When the crowd began to disperse, he captured the flapping end of her scarf and tucked it into her pink coat. “I traded for the afternoon-to-midnight shift at the station so I could bring you here this morning.” He checked his watch. “But I’d like to celebrate with you tonight. It’s too late to get reservations at a restaurant because of all the New Year’s Eve parties, but would you like to go somewhere?”

Avelunne looked up at him. “Yes, I think I should.” Her smile was real, and her kiss was warm, but as she pulled back, he thought he caught a flicker of sadness in her expression, but it was gone so fast, he might have imagined it.

He kissed her forehead. “You’re welcome to wait in the cabin instead of at the Transition Center. I’ll text you after dinner about places we could go.”