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Their love had been strong. Even as they’d died in bed of old age, they’d held hands, always connected, forever connected.
Following a tree-lined, wide river that wound through the city park, he approached the castle and its impressive tower and keep. Beside it, an old bridge was dotted with lichen-ridden stone creatures. They guarded the entrance of the castle with unseeing eyes, paws and claws gripping the bridge.
Not that the castle needed much protection from anyone who couldn’t fly. Its walls were higher than any ladder, its huge wooden door was dotted with armory, and polished cannons still poked their noses toward the approach—an approach that was these days a medley of pubs, restaurants, and gift shops.
Ivor flew over the castle, and a tale about Griffin, the great red dragon who’d helped Wales defeat many enemies, came to mind. He’d lived in the keep, surviving on goats and lambs the ancestors of the powerful Bute family threw his way. For fifty years they hadn’t known he was a shifter. Believed him to be a dumb dragon incapable of understanding language or independent thought.
Until Griffin finally showed them what he really was, transforming to his human self before their very eyes and telling them of a plot he’d overheard to steal their great wealth.
The Bute family was so grateful the robbery had been foiled that they offered Griffin anything they could give him. He’d asked for several remote castles they owned dotted around Wales, including Llanarch Castle, so his descendants could live privately and safely, thus ensuring the survival of the meager dragon shifter population.
Ivor sent a silent thanks to Griffin and headed over the still city center. A road sweeper worked with a small flashing orange light on his vehicle. Ivor wasn’t worried about being spotted. His belly and the underside of his wings were black, so he melted into a dark sky.
He swept a little lower, past the train station that had barely changed since Queen Victoria had sat upon the throne, then up and over a tall, modern glass building, his reflection sleek and silent.
Next came the prison, the walls tall and with rolls of barbed wire lining the top. Was that a face at one of the barred windows? Wide eyes, mouth half open? Perhaps. Ivor didn’t care. Who’d believe a prisoner if he said he saw dragons?
Stretching out his wings, he followed the river to the bay. All within his lifetime, it had gone from bustling with dusty coal trade, to rusting and decrepit, and then to contemporary and aspirational. Perhaps he’d go and perch on Holme Island for a while, now that the monks had gone, and enjoy the view of the city from there.
Movement down below caught his attention. It was late, yet three, no make that four, people were emerging from an alley.
And it was clear one person didn’t want company.
A female. Long, dark hair and a swishing, citrus-orangeraincoat.
Glancing over her shoulder, she broke into a run with her purse swinging.
The three men, yes, that was what they were, rushed after her.
“No, get away,” she called, fear coating her words.
“We only want to talk, sexy.”
“Sexy, yeah right. Sexy bitch who needs cock.”
“Make that three cocks.”
“No! Please, leave me alone.” She was panicked.
A sudden and hot sense of protectiveness came over Ivor. These three men had evil intentions, and he would not stand back and let them act upon them.
Folding in his wings, he let himself drop lower, gaining on them and the ground.
She was quick, her flat shoes allowing her to make good progress toward the apartment block ahead.
But Ivor knew she wouldn’t make it. She didn’t stand a chance. Just before his dragon body hit the road, he shifted into his human form. It took only a second if he concentrated hard enough. Landing in the shadow of a van and amongst a puff of smoke, he crouched, steadied himself, and then burst into action, racing toward the young woman from the right.
She turned, saw him, and screamed. He was closer than her pursuers, unintentionally blocking her way.
He held out his hand. “I mean you no harm.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Please … please help me.”
“I will.”
“Hey you, get away from our girl.” An angry, breathless voice.
“She’s not your girl.” Ivor stepped forward, putting himself between the three darkly clothed men and the woman with the scared brown eyes.
