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‘And so Caine shifted.
‘It had been many years since he had done so. Then he had been a boy but now he was a man, and as a dragon, he was big and strong, with broad wings and fiery breath that he did not hesitate to use as he took his revenge.
‘Not that doing so would bring Elsa back.
‘Caine would have liked to stay for the funeral, to say goodbye to Elsa, but when others came on the scene, they drew their own conclusions from the bodies. Of course, it was the dragon that had killed Elsa—that was what dragons did—and of course these brave young men had died while defending her; they were heroes!
‘Driven from another home, Caine flew away. Some say he went back to the mountains to his mother, and that his people now accepted him because his human side had been purged away by hatred. Others say that he went off to die alone.
‘I prefer the first version, and I do believe that to be the truer, if only because, since the days of Caine, there have always been dragon shifters. Though they still struggle, for they can never be fully accepted into either world.”
It would be too much to say that there was not a dry eye around the fireplace when Devon finished his tale, but it was notable that as he had told it, not one man, not even Vorst, had interrupted. Indeed, they had all listened in hushed quiet, wide-eyed as children. But, as the story ended, the spell was broken.
“Nonsense,” muttered Vorst. “That’s not how dragons are. They’re just animals.”
“What about shifters?” asked Chico.
“I’ve never seen one.”
“How do you know you’ve never seen one?” asked Devon, softly. “They appear as humans.”
Vorst shook his head. “I’d know. You can smell a dragon, whatever shape he takes.”
But it seemed to me that Vorst’s irritability was to mask the effect the story had had on him, as it had on all of us.
In fact, it seemed to me that telling the story had had an effect even on Devon himself. To anyone looking he would have seemed his normal, withdrawn self, but held against him, as I was, I could feel the tension in his body as he recounted the tale. I could feel his heart speed up at certain points as if the telling had a physical reaction on him.
For myself, the story had been desperately sad, of course. It had also felt strangely believable. But what I most took away was the sound of Devon’s voice as he told it, as if he had whispered it into my ear and every word was just for me alone. Even with all the others present, it had been a curiously intimate experience, and hearing that tragic tale in his voice had deepened that indefinable attraction I felt towards Devon.
But the member of our party most affected by the tale was Uther, who quietly sobbed, and, when Devon had finished, kept on whispering, “I’m sorry.”
Chapter Eight
Border Wood
I’d only ever seen Border Wood from a distance, knowing that it represented the limits of my father’s realm.
That knowledge had always given the place an air of mystery to me. Beyond it was a world I didn’t know, a dangerous and strange one. It was just Latran of course, but the fact that it was forbidden made it seem like something more.
Seeing it now, the wood represented something quite different; the end of the line. I cursed myself inwardly. If only we hadn’t stopped at Casper’s Relief, if only I’d fought harder against the mercenaries, if only I’d ridden harder when I tried to get away from Devon. If only I’d been able to get through to Devon.
For all that had happened, I remained sure that he wasn’t like the others, that he could be made to see that what he was doing was wrong. Maybe I was kidding myself, but I also thought that behind that amiable façade, he masked some genuine affection for me, that made him feel guilty about what he was doing. But he was a professional, and a man has to eat, and so Uther and I had to be delivered.
As we crossed the final open space before the wood, I saw Buck and the other men watching the skies with more nervousness than usual. Once we were beneath the canopy, we would be comparatively safe from dragons, which meant this was when one might attack if it had been following us.
There had been more prints the other morning.
And once I’d woken in the night to find Devon gone. Naturally, he’d tied my feet as I slept to ensure that I wasn’t going anywhere so I lay awake until he returned.
“Midnight stroll?”
“Thought I heard something,” Devon muttered as he lay back down beside me.
From what I knew about him thus far, it was unlike him to get jittery. But the possibility of dragons coming as we slept had us all on edge. I wondered how long he’d been gone.
We reached the woods unmolested and the whole party seemed more relaxed once we were out from under the broad blue skies.
“How much further?” asked Vassek.
