The moon was so new that there was only a tiny slice of silver in the sky. Thorolf was watching over his fellow Pyr, Alasdair, who continued to struggle with nightmares after being tormented by the Dark Queen. Thorolf’s son, Raynor, and mate, Chandra, were both asleep as midnight approached, and Alasdair was, too.
Being on watch had to be the most boring job ever. There was nothing on television, because Kristofer’s farm was so far out in the country, and Thorolf had surfed the ’net on his phone long enough. He was in the kitchen, wishing there were more chips, and debating the merit of driving into the closest town to get some.
Even out here in the sticks, there had to be some shop open at night. This was America, after all.
And Thorolf had a serious case of the munchies. He felt like he hadn’t eaten for a week, even though that wasn’t the case at all. The Pyr had dined like kings at Thanksgiving, thanks to Rhys’ amazing skills in the kitchen, and there were still leftovers. It was all healthy, though, and Thorolf yearned for salt and fat. His body, he was convinced, needed regular infusions of junk food.
The night was still, but then, it probably always was out in the country like this. Nothing had happened in the paranormal realm since Rhys had busted out of Fae with his mate. There hadn’t even been a good dragon fight since Thorolf had gotten to town. He was restless as well as hungry.
Thorolf could see Rhys’ truck from the kitchen window. The keys were on the counter, as if to tempt him. How long could it take? Down the driveway, drive a couple of miles into town, find a place and return. Twenty minutes, if he drove faster than the speed limit. Thirty, tops. He’d pick up some new kind of pickle for Chandra. The dragonsmoke barrier around the house was thick and deep—he’d breathed it with the other Pyr and thought Kristofer had insisted on it being excessive. He understood, though, the need to protect a pregnant mate. Chandra was starting to show, too.
What could go wrong in half an hour?
No one would ever know, if he hid the empty bags from the chips.
His choice rationalized, Thorolf was tugging on his boots when Alasdair awakened with a scream of anguish. “They’re coming,” he cried, seizing Thorolf’s arm so hard that it hurt. “They’re coming!” Before Thorolf could ask what the heck he was talking about, Alasdair raced out to the patio, leaving the door open behind him. He shifted shape in a shimmer of blue, becoming a dragon of hematite and silver, soaring into the night as he breathed a brilliant plume of fire.
What was that about? Thorolf swore, torn between responsibilities. Should he follow Alasdair or remain on guard? He hated when he needed to be in two places at once: there was no good choice. He peered into the sky, still able to discern Alasdair’s silhouette.
Why hadn’t that scream awakened anyone else?
“Dude!” He called Hadrian in old-speak. “Your cousin’s AWOL.”
“What was that?” Quinn rumbled sleepily. “What’s wrong?”
“What? How?” Hadrian demanded from the other end of the house.
Thorolf could hear footsteps, but Alasdair was disappearing fast. Despite his injuries, that Pyr was making good time, wherever he was going. Where was he going?
“Alasdair!” Thorolf cried, wishing he could cast his old-speak better. He jumped when Chandra touched his arm.
“Go,” she said softly. “We have the dragonsmoke barrier.”
Thorolf knew the dragonsmoke barrier wouldn’t stop the Fae, so he hesitated. “Are you sure?”
Chandra nodded, her gaze trailing after Alasdair. “The other Pyr are here. Go before he’s lost.”
Thorolf didn’t delay any longer. There was another brilliant shimmer of blue light on the patio as he shifted into a dragon with moonstone and silver scales, then he lunged into the sky. “Alasdair!” he roared in old-speak. “Get your sorry butt back here!”
But Alasdair seemed to be flying to the moon. He didn’t respond or slow down, much less turn back.
At least he had back-up. Thorolf felt the presence of another Pyr and glanced over his shoulder to see Hadrian’s emerald and silver scales gleaming in the moonlight. A team effort. Thorolf liked that. Hadrian wasn’t just Alasdair’s cousin and the closest of all the Pyr to that dragon, but he kicked butt. Between the two of them, they’d get Alasdair back to safety.
With the excitement, Thorolf even forgot about chips.