ALIEN SHIFTER ROMANCE: Alien Tigers - The Complete Series (Alien Invasion Abduction Shapeshifter Romance) (Paranormal Science Fiction Fantasy Anthologies & Short reads) by Tanya Jolie Page A
Authors: Tanya Jolie
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Vreden, who had once been a knight of renown. He was aging, grey in the dark hair at his temples, but his sword arm was still strong. Mairaed’s own bow leaned against the wall at her side, her quiver with it.
“Perhaps,” she said, giving Vreden a look from over the top of her tankard, “you receive some measure of satisfaction from taking the heads off of beasts at close range. I, however, am content to make my name from the safety of distance. Were I one to choose practicality over pride, I would have joined that illustrious company of men who found themselves within reach of the Breywood beast’s many sharp teeth.”
Vreden’s eyes narrowed, but the bang of the wooden door swinging wide to admit a cloaked and hooded stranger interrupted him. Every gaze in the room turned toward the newcomer, who was pulling the hood down from over his hair, his cloak dripping rainwater onto the floorboards. He shook the dark fall of hair back from his face, and Mairead felt his eyes move over her and the others at her table. When he swept his cloak back over his shoulder, she could see the insignia of the king’s message riders on the shoulder of his tabard.
“Buy me an ale to take the chill from my bones,” he offered the room at large, “and I will share some news which has only today come in from the Wyndwae.” His eyes caught on Mairead’s again. “I believe it will be of some interest to you.”
Mairead rose from her chair with a whisper of leather against wood and sauntered over to the bar, setting a coin down on the sleek wood of its top with a clack.
“There is your ale, then.”
He took the tankard the innkeeper set before him and drank deeply before he spoke again, inclining his head in thanks.
“There is rumor,” he said, leaning against the bar on one elbow, his dark eyes looking into her own, “that a dragon has been sighted in the north of the Wyndwae.”
Mairead’s snort was decidedly unladylike.
“There has not been a dragon seen in Lyndoun in half a century.”
“And yet there is one now. My brother saw it with his own eyes, a great black shape against the full moon.”
In his eyes there was no deceit, and Mairead considered his story as she tipped her own tankard back, mead flowing sweet across her tongue and warming her throat.
“What think you?” she asked, turning enough to look back at Vreden over her shoulder. “Is there a dragon in Lyndoun?”
They had, of course, heard the tales of the dragons in the distant west, in the rocky lands of Mivreth, but none had come so far east as the bordering mountains, and certainly they had not seen any in the eastern end of Lyndoun, where the forests gave way to windswept heath. It was true, though, that there were caves in the north of the region, and that a dragon might set up home in such a place.
“I trust not the eyes of men I have not met,” Mairead said, straightening to her full height as she made her decision. “So I will go and see with my own if this be true.”
Her boots made a decisive sound against the wood as she crossed the room and took up her bow, swinging her quiver across her back. The arrows rattled against each other in its confines. She glanced once more at the stranger, and allowed herself a smile, wide and a little wicked.
“I think, though, that I will wait until the heavens are not dumping the waters of the inland sea on our heads.”
A chuckle ran through the gathered men. Vreden only shook his greying head at her, his expression grave. Mairead lifted one leather-clad shoulder in a shrug. It was more likely that there was no dragon in the Wyndwae than that there was. Undoubtedly, some over-excitable townsperson had laid eyes on a drake, one of the relatively little firelizards that occasionally set up home too near a village and harassed the locals, raiding their livestock and burning their fields. Such creatures never grew beyond ten feet from nose to tail-tip, and Mairead had found them easily dealt
“Perhaps,” she said, giving Vreden a look from over the top of her tankard, “you receive some measure of satisfaction from taking the heads off of beasts at close range. I, however, am content to make my name from the safety of distance. Were I one to choose practicality over pride, I would have joined that illustrious company of men who found themselves within reach of the Breywood beast’s many sharp teeth.”
Vreden’s eyes narrowed, but the bang of the wooden door swinging wide to admit a cloaked and hooded stranger interrupted him. Every gaze in the room turned toward the newcomer, who was pulling the hood down from over his hair, his cloak dripping rainwater onto the floorboards. He shook the dark fall of hair back from his face, and Mairead felt his eyes move over her and the others at her table. When he swept his cloak back over his shoulder, she could see the insignia of the king’s message riders on the shoulder of his tabard.
“Buy me an ale to take the chill from my bones,” he offered the room at large, “and I will share some news which has only today come in from the Wyndwae.” His eyes caught on Mairead’s again. “I believe it will be of some interest to you.”
Mairead rose from her chair with a whisper of leather against wood and sauntered over to the bar, setting a coin down on the sleek wood of its top with a clack.
“There is your ale, then.”
He took the tankard the innkeeper set before him and drank deeply before he spoke again, inclining his head in thanks.
“There is rumor,” he said, leaning against the bar on one elbow, his dark eyes looking into her own, “that a dragon has been sighted in the north of the Wyndwae.”
Mairead’s snort was decidedly unladylike.
“There has not been a dragon seen in Lyndoun in half a century.”
“And yet there is one now. My brother saw it with his own eyes, a great black shape against the full moon.”
In his eyes there was no deceit, and Mairead considered his story as she tipped her own tankard back, mead flowing sweet across her tongue and warming her throat.
“What think you?” she asked, turning enough to look back at Vreden over her shoulder. “Is there a dragon in Lyndoun?”
They had, of course, heard the tales of the dragons in the distant west, in the rocky lands of Mivreth, but none had come so far east as the bordering mountains, and certainly they had not seen any in the eastern end of Lyndoun, where the forests gave way to windswept heath. It was true, though, that there were caves in the north of the region, and that a dragon might set up home in such a place.
“I trust not the eyes of men I have not met,” Mairead said, straightening to her full height as she made her decision. “So I will go and see with my own if this be true.”
Her boots made a decisive sound against the wood as she crossed the room and took up her bow, swinging her quiver across her back. The arrows rattled against each other in its confines. She glanced once more at the stranger, and allowed herself a smile, wide and a little wicked.
“I think, though, that I will wait until the heavens are not dumping the waters of the inland sea on our heads.”
A chuckle ran through the gathered men. Vreden only shook his greying head at her, his expression grave. Mairead lifted one leather-clad shoulder in a shrug. It was more likely that there was no dragon in the Wyndwae than that there was. Undoubtedly, some over-excitable townsperson had laid eyes on a drake, one of the relatively little firelizards that occasionally set up home too near a village and harassed the locals, raiding their livestock and burning their fields. Such creatures never grew beyond ten feet from nose to tail-tip, and Mairead had found them easily dealt
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