Surrendering to the Dragon (Stonefire Dragons 5)

“I’m not going to feed your damn ego, Caruso.”

“Not just a little?” Aaron said with a wink. The phone chirped out they were nearing their destination. “I guess you’re saved by the bell. Wake up Randall and Rossi. We’ll make them fly laps later to make up for falling asleep when they’re supposed to be on duty.”

Brenna Rossi and Sebastian Randall were younger Protectors, but both showed promise. Aaron was determined to make the two shine sooner rather than later.

As the younger pair awoke and mumbled their apologies, Aaron cut them off. “You can apologize later. After your nap, you should be alert and ready. Stick to the plan. Bennett Moore-Llewellyn vouches for his mate’s clan, but I want you to watch everything until your gut tells you the same thing.”

The pair murmured their assent.

Aaron made the final turn and pulled up to an eight-foot high stone wall with a solid metal front gate. One dim black light illuminated the old structure and a camera sat perched atop the wall. The sight reminded him of an old prison, right before a huge prisoner breakout destroyed most of it.

Glenlough’s first impression wasn’t exactly one of champagne and crackers.

Still, County Donegal was more remote than Stonefire. Not to mention a lot of the human skirmishes known as The Troubles had happened less than forty miles away, in Derry / Londonderry. Even before that, religious disputes had sparked violence in the same city as early as the 17th century. Defense might’ve been Glenlough’s best option for survival.

Not that most Stonefire dragon-shifters would think twice about the local human history. However, one of Aaron’s secret fascinations was the history between the UK and Ireland. Not that he’d ever tell anyone and ruin his image as a carefree, badass Protector.

Or, worse, the British DDA office marked him as an Irish sympathizer and he’d have to give up his Protector job. Not that he was one, but the tension between the Irish and Northern Irish dragon clans was amping up again. The British DDA most definitely locked away first and asked questions later.

His dragon huffed. You worry too much. History helps us understand where we came from. How can that be a bad thing?

He mentally snorted. How simple life must be as a dragon.

Tossing a temporary barrier inside his brain to keep his dragon quiet, Aaron slid out of the car and the other three Protectors followed his lead. It was time to put on his charm and win over Clan Glenlough.

As agreed upon earlier, Aaron knocked twice on the metal gate, waited five seconds, and knocked two more times. The small camera moved a fraction to probably get a better shot of him.

A lock turned, and the gate swung inward a few inches. “Yes?”

“Lager, crisps, and chips.”

With a grunt to acknowledge the correct, if not odd, pass phrase, the door moved until Aaron and his team could slip inside.

The inside was pitch black. While it was common for dragon-shifters to go without lights after sunset because of their ability to see fairly well at night, none of the cottages even had lights on. It was as if the entire clan had been tossed into darkness.

The male who had opened the door was in his forties with dark hair. The dragonman motioned with his hand. “This way.”

Before Aaron could even open his mouth to say a word, the guide was already several feet ahead of them. He might have to rely on his wits over his charm if the escort was a foreshadowing of the clan as a whole.

Aaron and the others walked for about ten minutes before their attendant stopped in front of a large, castle-looking structure. The large glass windows were dark, but he heard a few faint whispers from the inside. Maybe the clan was gathered in what he assumed was Glenlough’s great hall.

The Irish dragonman finally spoke up again. “Say nothing until you meet Killian. If you try, then my orders are to toss you off our land and ban Stonefire from ever returning.”

Following orders from a stranger wasn’t something Aaron usually did. But in this case, an entire clan’s existence might be on the line, so he merely nodded in acknowledgement.

“Right, then let’s go,” the Irish male said.

They entered via a small side door and walked down one corridor and then another before heading down a flight of stairs. The sounds of people talking grew louder. Was everyone underground?

The Irish dragonman opened a door and said to another dragon-shifter on the other side, “They’re here.”

The door opened wide and Aaron caught a glimpse of the edge of a crowd. As he followed their guide into the room, the merriment died down to a hushed cacophony of whispers.

There had to be at least 400 dragon-shifters in their human forms, ranging from babies to the elderly. If not for the lilting accent and Celtic designs painted on the walls around murals depicting Glenlough’s history, the crowd didn’t look all that different from Stonefire.

A walkway opened up and Aaron looked toward the front. Killian O’Shea’s dark-haired form stood on a raised dais at the end of the cleared pathway, his arms crossed over his chest.

The male couldn’t be more than his late thirties, but his assessing eyes reminded him of Bram. Maybe a piercing gaze was required to become clan leader.