“I was there when they did that to you.” Melody frowned. “It seems cruel. But then, the ways of dragons seem cruel to outsiders as well. And sometimes they are.”
That’s right, he had forgotten that Melody, as a dragon, had her own arcane family rituals. “Dragons have clans too, don’t they? Like our coverts.”
“Yes, but it’s not quite the same. We can come and go, and there’s no penalty for a dragon remaining part of their clan while they live in the outside world. In fact, my clan doesn’t really even have a—a lair, or anything like that. It’s really just me, my dad, and Ben, and our mates and kids now.”
“What happened to the rest of you?”
“The gargoyle war. Let’s not go into it. We’re at peacewith them now .... and actually,” she added, touching her fingertips to her lips. “The gargoyles might be the most likely to be able to help you. They are actual practitioners of magic in a way that we aren’t. I’ll see if it’s possible to send word. I don’t personally know any, but we’re allied with a clan that has some gargoyle intermarriages, so I can speak to them.”
“That would be great.” It was a strange feeling to have so many people helping him and Cela. He had gone from being a lonely exile to becoming a part of something bigger than himself, and he didn’t know how to deal with it, this strange mixed clan of shifters and humans, dragons and griffins and even gargoyles, a thing he hadn’t known existed. “I—I really appreciate all the trouble. I know I didn’t get off on the right foot in this town.”
Melody waved a hand. “You’re not the only one. Everyone here has some kind of past. My Gunnar was just out of prison when we met, though it wasn’t his fault.” Her eyes grew warm and soft, speaking of her mate. “And Derek and Gaby would never have come here if they weren’t being chased by—well, let’s not get into the weeds on it, but let me just say that you aren’t the only person who lost everything and found it again here.”
“Well ... thanks. Really. It’s not everyone who gets this much help starting over, especially given the history I have with all of you, and I’m grateful.”
Melody smiled. “No problem. And after that speech, I wish I could be more help.” She reached into her book crate and began pulling out some of the books. “I’ll let you borrow these if you like; they’re the ones that might be closest to what we’re looking for, books of spells and such. You can see if you can find anything like your tattoo. And I’ll keep looking. But now that I’ve seen it, I’m even more uncertain than I was before. It’s really unique, not at all like the magic mykind uses. Like I said, gargoyle magic is the closest thing, I think.”
“You’ll talk to them?”
“Of course. But I can’t promise anything.”
“I know,” Tyr said, and once again he felt the sense of a door closing, another wall slamming into the way of his quest for solutions.
It was increasingly looking like the answer was back on Griffin Island—but if he and Cela went there, would they ever be able to leave?
Or would they even survive the attempt? He didn’t know what happened when an exile tried to go home. So far as he knew, no one had tried. The whispered rumors of the consequences were dire.
But if it came to a choice between risking death or being denied Cela’s touch forever—he was increasingly sure which he would choose.
CELA
Cela couldn’t sleep.
She lay awake in her bed in Tyr’s house with the moonlight shining through the window, bathing the room in silver radiance. She turned over, fluffed her pillow and tried turning it to a fresh side. No such luck.
It had been a few days since the Rugers’ barbecue, and she found herself more conflicted than ever. Seeing all those happy shifter mates and their children had profoundly brought home to her what she didn’t have and might never have.
She heard footsteps above her, followed by running water. Sitting up in bed, she listened to the footsteps going down the stairs, then the front door opening and closing.
Apparently she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.
After a minute, drawn by temptation, she got up and, in her nightgown, slid her bare feet onto the rugs covering the floor. She peeked at the sleeping babies, made sure they were settled, then went to the front door and quietly stepped outside.
The summer nights felt soft and warm here compared to what she was used to. She hardly needed clothing at all. The moonlight was almost as bright as daylight to shifter-sharp eyes. Looking across the yard, she saw Tyr out among the greenhouses, drifting back and forth restlessly, lifting a board here and there, moving a stack of pots. Like her, he was dressed for sleeping, wearing loose pajama pants and stripped to the waist.
As he moved and flexed in the moonlight, she caught her breath.
This is a terrible idea. I should go back inside.
But she was captivated. As if drawn by a magnetic force, she padded down the porch steps and walked barefoot onto the grass.
Tyr was unaware of her until she came close. He turned, and she saw shock cross his face; then his eyes darkened with a mix of lust, eagerness, and pain.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
“No. It’s the moon, it’s so bright.”
“Full moon,” he agreed. “You know, back in the old days they say shifters were drawn to it.”
