Silver Dragon (Silver Shifters 1)

glanced in despair at the cave entrance, beyond which the morning sun shone benignly, as if there was not a battle to the death going on here.

Mikhail’s sword flickered even faster, and through the steam a cold fog shimmered.

Now, my mate!

She ran, almost stumbling in her haste. The fog dissipated around her—but not before she shot through the entrance into the sun. She skidded on a mixture of sand and gravel, and fell flat on her face. Spitting sand, she forced herself to her hands and knees, aching all over. Bird looked back at where the evil red glow seemed to swarm around the blue flickering blade.

Desperate, she cast her glance around, and spotted the rest station! And an idea hit her.

Maybe it wouldn’t work . . . but she was going to try.

She put her head down and pounded through the sand the fifty feet or so to the rusty piping. There, she dropped the gear bag and her backpack, and with frantic, shaking hands, grabbed the coiled hose that fishers used to rinse their boats and fishing equipment.

Dragging the heavy hose with both hands, she toiled back through the sand. The hose stopped about fifteen feet short of the cave entrance. Grimly she hit the control at the end of the nozzle, and then braced herself.

The hose stiffened into a heavy, live-feeling thing that threatened to rip out of her hands as water shot out, straight into the cave entrance. She braced her feet apart, and held on with both hands as she directed the jet of water into the cave.

Shrieking voices rose in a howl she knew she would hear in dreams. The cave became a billow of steam. She held the hose steady, her jaw aching as she gritted her teeth.

A tall figure surrounded in shimmering blue light emerged from the steam.

It resolved into Mikhail, dripping wet and with horrible blackened patches on his clothes, through which she could see raw, red burns. But he was smiling.

Bird dropped the hose, which promptly began wriggling as wildly as a mad snake. She bent to try to catch it. Mikhail put his foot on it. She scrabbled at the nozzle to turn the water off. Then she collapsed to her knees.

“Mikhail! You’re hurt!”

He shook his head, water flying off his hair. “It’ll take me longer to dry off than it will to heal,” he exclaimed, laughing, and threw his arms around her. “A shifter benefit. Oh, my darling Bird, you are so clever!”

Bird hugged him fiercely, wanting to never let him go.

TWELVE

MIKHAIL

Mikhail could feel Bird’s whole body trembling. Her heartbeat was frantic against his ribs. She was so soft, so warm, so very brave. They stood there together on the bright sand, and he breathed in the scent of her hair, never wanting to let her go.

But she stirred, and he loosened his clasp instantly. She frowned at a burn on his arm. “That must hurt. We should get you to Dr. Tranh.”

Mikhail could not remember when anyone had fussed over his wounds. He found it delightful. “Shifters really do heal fast.” Already the throbs from the burns were lessening.

He watched her scowling at the one on his bicep. Her knit brow eased, then puckered in wonder. “I need to make sure,” she breathed.

Quickly she checked him over, her small hands deft and light. He stood still under her ministrations just for the pleasure of her touch. Everywhere she laid her hand bloomed with heat. He knew he was essentially unhurt, but he allowed himself, and her, that moment.

When she stepped back, her relief plain to see, he said, “Let’s go.”

“I have so many questions,” she began.

“I will answer them all. But I think we ought to first get off this beach. The lava wyrms won’t manifest on the beach in full sight of any humans, but I’d rather not test it.” And it was not them he was concerned about.

Bird peered anxiously into his face, eyes wide. “Why couldn’t you turn into a dragon in there?”

“The cavern is too small for me to effectively maneuver in there,” he answered as he led the way up the beach. “I’m able to partially shift, which helps me to move in tight quarters, but in such a state I am partially insubstantial. I couldn’t fight effectively.”

And something—someone—knew it.

“What did you call those things? What were they? They looked a little like the silhouette figures in that mural.”