Being a true shifter isn’t the blessing it may seem. But through pain and darkness Perdita seeks to find her own life despite the ambition of others…
I sat quietly barely breathing. The car was powerful and smooth and we seemed to be travelling a well-maintained metalled road. After what I estimated was around twenty minutes the car slowed and I felt it turn onto a less smooth surface.
I reckoned we must be pulling into an eatery of some sort and I hoped on hope that Moth and Mandrake were close enough to home in when I was left alone. Because I honestly didn’t think much of my chances of survival if I reached my intended destination.
The vehicle came to a stop and I somehow knew it was parked in a quiet corner away from passing people. For a minute nothing happened then a disturbance in the air warned me that someone was moving. The fist to my face was vicious, calculated to cause maximum pain without actually breaking any bones – although one or two of my teeth felt loose. He must have been wearing something big and chunky in the way of rings too, because the skin on my cheekbone split and I could feel blood running down my face.
Cold voice spoke completely emotionlessly. “She isn’t playing dead. Cover her with a couple of blankets and we’ll go eat.”
“Why’d I have to cover her up all nice and warm?”
“Because. Knucklehead. Lion intends to kill her himself. He would not be amused if we left her to freeze to death.”
The thug in the seat beside me covered my torso with a smelly old sleeping bag before climbing out of the car. It didn’t seem to matter about my feet, which were already freezing. If this carried on for long at least I’d not have to worry about Lion killing me – the cold would do it long before I got to him.
“Weather’s closing in. It’ll be good to get something warm in my belly.”
When the door opened I could smell snow. Great. Now Moth and Mandrake needed to track me in a bloody snowstorm.
I don’t know how many minutes it was before I heard vehicles coming slowly towards me. I thought myself hallucinating when the sound indicated that they were parking either side of my prison. I was trying to open my eyes when the door was wrenched open and I felt strong arms lift me. I was passed into the back of some sort of a van, where it was blissfully warm and careful hands were cutting the bonds about my wrists and ankles. I felt a gentle touch on my cheek and Moth was there in my head.
“Open your eyes beloved,” she said sharply. “Sit up now.”
I fought my eyes open to see Mandrake and Moth’s beloved faces looking down on me. I struggled to lift my head and Mandrake braced me with a strong arm.
“Can you talk?”
“Yes.” My voice was a rusty thread.
The hands that were tending my wounds were gently efficient. “Let the lady be quiet for a minute while I look to her face.”
“You have the right of it, Purslane.” Mandrake said. Then to me. “Rest a while beloved. You are safe now.”
I was only too happy to lean against his heat and let the warmth seep into my bones. Moth cuddled against the front of me and between them they drove away the killing cold.
Something astringent was wiped across my cheek and the female called Purslane spoke in some anger. “Whatever bastard did this intended for you to suffer pain.”
“Oh. He did. And I am.”
“We shall see about that. This will sting for a moment.”
She wasn’t joking. For a second the world spun and I couldn’t have drawn a breath if my life depended on it. But it was over in a heartbeat and the raging pain in my face had dulled to a manageable ache.
“Thank you. I take it nothing is broken.”
“Probably not. Your cheekbone could be cracked but as long as you don’t let anybody else use your face as a punchbag for a while. It will be fine. Also the three loose teeth will settle in a very short time if you can stick to soft food.”
While she talked she set a couple of stitches in my cheek. I sat quietly for a few minutes before pulling my will together and starting to talk.
“The first thing you have to know is this was a case of mistaken identity. I was taken in place of Amaranth FitzRoy.”
Purslane stopped attending to my wounds, sat back on her heels and swore foully.
“What?”
She showed me her teeth. “No problem for you, Madonna, but all fighting dragons received a royal directive that we were not to interfere between houses Lyon and FitzRoy.”
“That’s just dandy, isn’t it?” I said bitterly. “Declare Dragonheart out and not bother to inform the Agency. Even they wouldn’t have hung me out to dry quite so thoroughly.”
“What means that, beloved?” Moth asked.
“It means that if anybody had known of an ongoing feud, I’d not have been sent into the college where FitzRoy’s daughter is living without backup of the heavily muscled sort.”
Moth drew herself in and I could feel her fighting against her own rage. Before I could comfort her, Mandrake spoke.
“Be at ease, beloved fae. There will be a reckoning.”
“There will indeed.” Purslane sounded truly dangerous.
“It is not your fight, belle soeur.”
“You are wrong. It is our fight. You may no longer be our wing master in the sky. But you are still our wing master in our hearts.”
I wondered what the new wing leader might have to say about that assertion until Moth spoke in my mind.
‘Purslane is new wing leader.’
There was at least one other presence in the van and I got the sense of experience and wisdom when he spoke.
“We will deal first with this vermin, shall we.”
“Yes indeed.” Purslane inclined her head to Mandrake.
“Take back your own, Sky Lord.”
He swallowed hard. “A loan of your dragons would be appreciated.”
Her smile was like the sun rising and she bowed her head as if to hide her blazing joy. I wondered if anyone was going to explain what the frag had just happened. Moth obliged in the quiet vaults of my head.
‘Purslane offers beloved his command back. He can take forever. But he makes clear is only loan. Our beloved is great hearted dragon.’
Working Title Blogspot 
Leave a comment