I can’t quite keep my jaw from dropping at the Imperial's declaration. “Dragons.”

He nods. “There are a few of the monsters hiding in the mountains, guarding the pass. I was expected by my brother on the other side weeks ago.” His eyes take a gleam I cannot interpret. “He needs my help with an urgent matter, yet because of those blasted dragons, I cannot get through. They sweep through here every so often. I lose my people, berserks, and even children. I have heard Shifters have a way to communicate with the dragons, to control them.” He raises those eyebrows again, this time with a question in his gaze.

I hold in a sigh. “Yes, I have heard the rumor as well. But I know nothing of truth or error there. I didn’t live with a pack long enough to find out.”

I shift, trying to find a comfortable position, but everything hurts. The Imperial doesn't seem to notice my discomfort.

He lets out a low breath, puffing his cheeks above the beard. “I need you to try.”

I narrow my eyes. “And if I should say no?”

“The door is there. You saved my granddaughter. Most Shifters would never leave alive, and were I you, I would think deeply on visiting any Were village again, including this one. The next wouldn’t go so well.” A deep warning is in his tone. I wouldn’t be welcome back. Not that I’d need to be welcomed at the home of cats.

Should I leave these Werecats to their problems?

Yes.

I'm ignoring you.

It’s not fair of them to ask this of me. I am needed elsewhere.

There ya go. We agree.

Hush.

A knock at the door interrupts my internal debate. Flash comes back in with a full plate of slightly wrinkled fruit and meats.

“Bon appetite! Shefa Bridge is on her way. I told her to hurry.” He casts a glance at me as he sits the plate before me on his father’s fur covered desk.

Do I really look that bad?

You look worse, my inner voice pitches in.

How you would you know?

Mirror armor.

Oh, true.

There, in the breastplate of a rare armor that reflects both images and rebuffs attacks, a black-haired man stares back at me. There is the beginning scruff of a spotty beard growing in around my cheeks—which has become gaunt and narrow in the days and weeks since my family's abduction—and a square chin. My nose is crooked from one too many fights, and my eyebrows are almost as bushy as the Imperial's. My eyes are a black so deep you can't quite see where the iris ends and the pupil begins.

They stare back in both accusation and weariness, reminding me of a wild badger I once put out of his misery. The animal was stubborn to his last breath, biting and scrambling to get away even though sickness and fighting to survive the bitter cold had ravaged his body and made it impossible for him to live through the night.

I glance away quickly, afraid of what else that image might say... things I don't wish to acknowledge.

Truth is a hard master.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Who's the philosopher now? I retort.

At long last, that remark buys blessed silence inside my brain.

“Thank you, Flash," the Imperial says. "Shifter, we can continue this conversation later.”

I nod. But I already know my answer. Why not add one more crazy task to my overgrowing repertoire… it wouldn’t be the first time I tried something crazy. But I will need a favor from them.

“I will try. No promises. But I have a request of you to fulfill first.”

He sighs, a surprising amount of emotion coming from the big guy. “Thank you, thank you. If your request is in my ability to give, you shall have it.”

That is good enough for me. The Were take their word seriously.

The food before me is tantalizing, but I cannot find the energy to do more than pick at it.

“Shifter, eat,” the Imperial commands.

I try, I genuinely do, but my stomach won’t hold much more than a few bites. I push the plate away.

“Thank you, sir, for the hospitality. The food is exquisite.”

“Then why don’t you eat more?” The question is sincere, not a scathing rebuke one might expect from his stature.

How to tell them I’m weak without looking weak? “It’s been a long few days—”

A knock at the door rescues me.

“You called, Imperia?” A slim and tall lady comes into the room, the mop of dark brown hair on her head reminding me of a rat's nest. It wouldn't be surprising if some creature suddenly emerged from it.

Zephora follows behind her, carrying bags and supplies. She gives me a tight-lipped nod. I nod back and give her a slight smile. She probably saved my life on the trip here—loathe as I am to admit it.

“Shefa Bridge, your patient.” The Imperial gestures to me.

She looks me up and down and clicks her tongue. “My oh my. What happened to you?”

Despite myself and her frank stare, I chuckle. I was chucked in a jail train by Commander Vex and fought the jingoist and appointed mayor in the small town near here. Plus, Werecats attacked me. All in the past week.

“You wouldn’t believe me.” Her gaze narrows at my impudence, but I meet her almost black gaze with the impassive mask of my assassin upbringing. Her eyes soften and she looks away mere seconds after the stare begins.

Familiar footsteps make my ears prick. The dark wooden door bangs open, Heather and Healer Morgana duck inside. Well, Heather ducks. Morgana bustles in like she owns the place.

“Bridget!” Healer Morgana gives a great big gap-toothed smile, the biggest I’ve seen from her—which may not be saying much as I always seem to be an annoying stray she's consistently having to patch up.

“Morgana!” Shefa Bridge replies, her purple eyes brightening from the deep purple to a lighter shade of amethyst.

They embrace in a jumble of tall and slender and short and rotund.

“How have ya been, ya trouble maker? It’s been too long since I could make it out,” Healer Morgana asks. Her slightly round, wrinkled cheeks glow with pleasure.

“Too long, Mor. It gets boring watching these cats without you around,” Shefa Bridge says, pulling a face that makes her look like a teenaged pup as opposed to the middle-aged Were she is.

The Imperial scoffs, “We give you plenty to keep you busy, you crazy oaf. Shefa Morgana, it’s an honor to see you again.”

The Imperial kisses Morgana’s hand, lingering slightly longer than is typically acceptable.

Morgana flushes a becoming pink, even through her wrinkles.

Then she spots me. I cross my arms over my chest, conscientious of my bare torso and still healing wounds.

“Oh, my. Roland, what did they do to ya?” She shoots a scathing glare at the Imperial from beside me. “After that silver arrow, ya should’ve stayed abed another month! Instead, you train a small militia and fight a jackolope.” She wags her finger at me, and I wince, remembering my fight with the bully Bob. I cover the scratch on my arm like a kid hiding cookies behind his back. “Don’t ya think for a moment ya have got me fooled, you stubborn wolf. Now you’ve collected quite a collection there since I last fixed ya up. What am I to do with ya?”

My eyes close for a moment, hearing a rushing sound much as I remember waves to be, and it brings back good memories despite the fogginess overwhelming my brain. It must be longer than a moment because when I come to Zephora and Morgana are holding me upright, and Shefa Bridge is talking with the Imperial. They all flash me matching looks of concern.

“Do I really look that… bad?” I ask Flash in a halting tone.

He looks on empathetically. “Worse.”

“Worse than worse,” his sister adds.

Heather nods her agreement while watching the cats warily for signs of aggression.

“Shoot. Now… I’ll be stuck in bed.”

Zephora shoots me a look I can't quite decipher. "You are lucky to be alive. You will listen to Shefa Bridge, agreed?"

“Yes, ma’am,” I can’t help but reply, terrified she's going to keep scolding me.

I'm an assassin, for goodness' sake. Get yourself together.

But then I look at Zephora, see flashing silver eyes and imperious eyebrows for but a moment, her commanding demeanor making her seem ten feet taller than her five foot four. I promptly gulp and turn my gaze to studying the rushes at my feet.

"Much better, youngster. You just listen and we'll have you right as rain in no time." Shefa Bridge pats my cheek with a motherly smile, frowning when I flinch. “Let’s get you patched up.”

I gulp.