Wisdom's Allegiance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Sound of Flight

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

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  Copyright

  Wisdom’s Allegiance

  By M.D. Grimm

  The Shifter Chronicles: Book Thirteen

  Can a loyal and sensual owl shifter couple woo a human mate who’s convinced he’s an ugly duckling?

  When socially awkward Dexter Fortis rescues an elf owl blown off course by a storm, he has no idea the bird is a shifter named Orion. Or that his life is about to change.

  Orion falls in love with the kind custodian, but he must convince his long-term partner, Talon, that Dexter is just who they’ve been searching for to establish a permanent ménage. Even if they can gently break down Dexter’s walls, they’ll have to contend with a dangerous cult rising in the shifter community and a hidden enemy determined to keep Dexter from them.

  My sister wrote the poem to accompany this story. There might be more to come for future stories. Thanks, Sis.

  Sound of Flight

  By Echo

  No sound is heard—I am stillness itself,

  No pause of leaf—they’re falling hard now,

  No waterfowl—I peer at my watery reflection,

  I suddenly stand up, and on high I hear beating wings,

  The hope of your beats will stay with me,

  I am no stranger to feeling alone,

  Now I smell the leaf slowly rotting on your recent kill,

  Oh owl! it is me, only me,

  Please don’t be afraid, I wish no harm,

  Your small delicate wings have too much charm,

  I see myself down here and you in your tree,

  With the rotting shell of a leaf I stand rooted to the spot in the hollow,

  The sun sets in yellow then orange against a bold blue black,

  Happy I am to meet you at the end of the day,

  The entire day gone now, the night at my feet,

  The feeling of belonging is true,

  My predator, I hope to follow you again,

  My wingspan proves it, my heart is moved to the sound of it,

  Our wingspan is long and we are gone,

  Against a cool black night away in flight.

  Chapter One

  DEXTER STEPPED off the bus, weighed down by sacks of groceries. The wind picked up, tossing his black hair around. He grumbled as he made his careful way down the sidewalk. He hoped there wasn’t a sneaky patch of ice waiting for him to step on. He smelled snow on the air. Great. Perfect. The clouds were gray, quickly turning black with anger. He cursed his damn car again—kept breaking down on him. He didn’t have money to get a new one and didn’t have money to fix the one he had. At least his mechanic—an intimidating woman named Lindsey—allowed him to make his payments in installments on the repairs she’d already done. She didn’t allow that with just anyone. They had trust and understanding between them. Plus he was terrified of her and her muscles, so he never considered skimping her on money. She knew it too.

  The first white puff of snow smacked against his face as the wind howled. Glaring, Dexter turned and shuffled up the porch steps. Not to his house. Nope. He had to make a stop at his eccentric neighbor’s—and landlady’s—house. That was why he was loaded down with food. She didn’t have a car either. Only one bag was for him.

  He stopped at the door as the snow started to come down in sheets. Surrendering, he set down half the bags to dig out his keys and unlock her door. The next minute was arduous as he gathered up the bags again and shuffled in the door. He kicked it shut and barely made it to the kitchen counter before his arms gave out. He grunted as he dropped everything. Taking deep breaths, his heart racing slightly, he shook his head, wet hair dripping.

  “Minerva?” he called.

  “I am not Minerva, you simpleton! I am Helga, Shieldmaiden of Uppsala!”

  Dexter couldn’t help but be amused as his seventy-three-year-old landlady strutted into the kitchen decked out in a breastplate, leather, and bracers. A replica Viking sword dangled from her belt, safely in its sheath. Her snow-white hair was short and curly and barely showed under the clichéd horned helmet. She had a pretty convincing scowl on her deeply lined face that still managed to appear cute and charming.

  Huh. Last week she’d been Minerva, Roman goddess of wisdom. Her legal name was Beatrice Griffin, and every week she pretended to be someone different. He knew she wasn’t crazy. She was the sanest person he knew. She paid her bills on time, was as lithe and energetic as a woman half her age, and had a full and varied sex life. She had more lovers in one week than he’d ever had in his life. Though that wasn’t saying much since he could count his number of lovers on one hand and still have four fingers left. Or maybe four and a half.

  Affection for her eccentric nature had him ignoring that he was wet and achy and tired. It was ten in the morning, and he’d just come off a double shift.

  “My apologies, Shieldmaiden. I have some plunder here that I can put away for you.”

  “My gratitude, dear Jarl.” She dug through the bags, humming in approval. Then she grabbed a box of Oreo cookies and walked into the living room, leaving him to deal with the rest. Shaking his head, Dexter competently put away all the food items. He’d been doing it for about two years, so he knew her habits and particulars.

  He set the two containers of crickets for Smaug, her bearded dragon, on the counter for her to put away. Smaug hated everyone except Beatrice and always tried to bite Dexter if he went into the room she’d designated as his. He was a spoiled little brat and certainly lived up to his name.

  He hadn’t known what to expect when he applied for the home she had up for rent. She insisted on meeting all potential tenants, and after ten minutes of him thinking he’d blown the whole interview as he stammered and mumbled, she whipped out the papers and had him sign on the dotted line. She told him he needed a Beatrice Griffin in his life, and he couldn’t quite argue with her assessment. He was glad he had her.

  The day he moved in, she was working in her garden barefooted and wearing an evening gown. As he hefted in one piece of furniture after another, she sauntered up to him with a light in her eye and pulled him into an actual conversation. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. He had a terminal diagnosis of acute shyness and awkwardness around people—especially attractive men—but her easy and strange nature and her nonjudgmental attitude helped him open up. He suspected, since she’d lived so long, she considered being wacky her right and privilege. At least the neighborhood had nothing but affection for her. She was harmless and amusing. Especially around the holidays. Instead of Santa Claus, the neighborhood children got Mrs. Claus handing out gifts and goodies.

  After putting everything away, Dexter grabbed his one bag of groceries consisting of fresh vegetables and fruit and poked his head into the living room. It was neat as a pin, with cross-stitched pillows on every surface, including the floor.

  “I’m heading out, Helga.”

  “Got a hot date?”

  Dexter rolled his eyes. She always asked that. And he always disappointed her. “No.”

  “Wonderful man like you should have a hot dat
e.” She turned her head from where she sat in her recliner and sent him a broad, sly smile. “I know some people who know some people who like big men.”

  Dexter didn’t even bother to sigh. “Helga, I’ve told you before, I’m not a bear. That’s just not who I am.”

  “Don’t have to be a bear to get some attention.”

  He shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. “Usually it’s the wrong sort of attention.”

  Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “When was the last time you even tried to get any sort of attention?”

  Dexter grumbled under his breath. “I just want a normal guy and a normal life. The white-picket fence deal, you know? Maybe even kids. I’m open to that. But how many gay or bi men do you know who want that sort of life?”

  “Plenty do. Just go looking, you’ll find them.”

  “Sure, I’ll find them, and they’ll already be taken.”

  “Aren’t you a Debby Downer this fine morning?”

  It was Dexter’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He glanced out the window at the snow starting to fall more rapidly.

  “Fine morning, my ass.”

  “If you swung my way, I might give it a tap.”

  Dexter snorted out a laugh. “Eww! Beatrice!”

  She grinned broadly, giving a bawdy laugh. “You’re beautiful, Dex. I keep telling you that.”

  His smile slipped despite the affection in her voice. He loved her for having his back. No one before her had ever been such a steadfast presence in his life. His parents never understood him and perhaps they loved him in their own way, but they were far more comfortable with his perfect, athletic younger brother.

  He knew he disappointed them. From his job to his appearance. It didn’t matter he had a thyroid problem and he ate healthier than any skinny 150-pound twink. Didn’t matter he walked everywhere and went up and down stairs and bent and lifted for his job as a custodian at UC Boulder. He was strong and he was healthy. His doctor kept saying so. But he knew what people saw when they looked at him: a fat, lazy slob seconds away from a heart attack.

  Fuck them and their shallowness.

  “I keep forgetting to ask you,” Beatrice said after her laughter faded. “Did your parents call you on Sunday for your birthday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Aaaaand?”

  He shrugged and looked at the floor. “And what?”

  She scowled. “Those ungrateful creeps. Not even a dinner celebration? A surprise party? Any present in the mail?”

  “They called me. Since I missed Thanksgiving, I wondered if they would.”

  She scoffed at that. “I will never understand why rotten parents get the best children.”

  Dexter smiled and ignored the burning in his eyes. “It’s okay. I have you, don’t I? No one throws a party like you do.”

  Even though the party had consisted of Beatrice’s elderly friends, Dexter had a lot of fun late Sunday before going into work. He could just be himself among the older crowd without judgment or worrying about presenting himself a certain way to land a date.

  “Damn right!” Beatrice said. “I adopted you when you came to me like a lost puppy. Now I just have to find you a mate.”

  He grimaced. “Hold on there. Don’t put on your matchmaking hat. I really don’t want you to push me at anyone.”

  She sniffed, looking insulted. “I never push. I suggest.”

  “Then don’t suggest. Please.”

  “You want someone. I want to give you someone. What’s the problem?”

  What was the problem? Beatrice wasn’t lying when she said she knew a lot of people who knew a lot of people. She was a fierce advocate for LGBTQA people and more connected to the community than he was. He’d certainly gone to more rallies and events in the last two years than at any time in his life, but his anxiety would always flare up and put a stop to any possibility of making friends, let alone flirtation.

  “Let me think about, okay? I promise I’ll consider your suggestions.”

  She gave him her squinty-eyed suspicious look. She must have seen his sincerity because her expression eventually softened and she nodded.

  “You think on it, honey. But don’t wait too long. You’re not getting any younger.”

  Dexter snorted out a tired laugh. “Thanks for the reminder. Later.”

  He left her house and locked the door. He pulled his coat closer and stared at the sidewalk as he trudged down the driveway.

  The wind blew sideways, and the snow fluttered against his body, soaking his hair. He sniffed and hunched his shoulders, pushing through the discomfort. Despite the ferocity of the weather, it wasn’t the most unpleasant thing he’d ever endured. Far from it. He took things as they came, expecting the worst and receiving it. Granted, he also tried to focus on the positive things: he had a couple of trusted friends he could depend on, a steady job with health insurance, his own home, and he even got along with most of his colleagues. Unfortunately social situations made him anxious. At the last party his department put on, he had a panic attack. He would never go to another one after that. No need to relive that humiliation. He just wasn’t cut out to be around a lot of people. One of the many reasons he didn’t go to clubs or bars, especially alone. Stacey, one of his few precious friends, managed to drag him to a bar or two over the last year, but nothing ever came of it. He just couldn’t push past his awkwardness and the feeling that everyone was judging him.

  Walking up his own driveway, Dexter smiled, relieved. He was almost home. He was almost to his sanctuary where he could close himself in and escape the world. His bed and his books called to him.

  Something large and soft suddenly bounced off his head and landed on the pavement in front of his feet. He gasped, jerking around to see what it was. His eyes widened, and his stomach clenched in fear and alarm. As the wind continued to howl and the snowfall grew thicker, Dexter stared at the furry little animal at his feet.

  An owl.

  It was an elf owl, to be precise. He would never think of himself an expert at anything, but he considered bird-watching and research a passionate hobby. Dexter nearly bent down to pick up the bird, then hesitated. He wore heavy winter gloves, which would protect him against any bites or slices from those talons. He didn’t want to aggravate the bird more if he should wake up. But he couldn’t just leave the poor creature in the storm.

  Coming to a decision a moment later, Dexter quickly approached his house and fumbled with the keys before unlocking the front door. He dashed into the kitchen to drop his grocery bag and backpack on the counter, then grabbed a towel before hurrying back outside. He covered his arms with the towel and gently picked up the limp bird with the care a mother would use to pick up her baby. The elf owl was cold, and his chest moved as he breathed. Dexter wasn’t certain of the bird’s sex, but thinking of it as “it” didn’t sit right. He simply thought of the bird as “he” since it ultimately didn’t matter.

  The fucking wind must have blown him off course. Cradling the owl in his arms, Dexter hurried back inside, his own breath rapid, his heart thundering. He couldn’t allow this amazing creature to die! It wasn’t going to happen. Not on his watch.

  After shoving open the door, he kicked it closed and locked it. Forgetting he was soaked to the bone, Dexter continued into the bathroom and set the soaked towel and owl into the sink. He turned to grab a hand towel and only then noticed the annoying weight of his jacket. He yanked it off with irritation and let it fall with a wet plop. Forgetting it, Dexter gave his entire attention to the tiny owl.

  He quietly shut the door and kept on his thick gloves as he gently dried the poor creature. He was careful not to rip out any feathers, though it would seem the storm had done that instead.

  “You poor thing,” he said softly. “I bet the storm caught you off guard, huh? Couldn’t make it safely back to your tree and your nest.”

  Knowing elf owls often played dead if they sensed danger, Dexter tried not to panic from his limp state. He continued to speak soothingly as he drie
d the owl’s feathers, never letting his guard down. Raptors were especially unpredictable when injured, and he had his fair share of scars to prove it. This wasn’t the first time he’d cared for a sick bird. He was the kid who would carry sick animals home, only to have his mother order him to put them outside. Also, in his youth, he volunteered at a raptor center and stored as much knowledge on caring for birds as he could.

  He stepped back and shook his head. “What is an elf owl doing so far north? You’re supposed to be in Arizona or Mexico. How could you have gotten so lost?”

  The owl was of average height for his kind—about six inches tall and a little ball of fluff. His feathers were the common mixture of light brown, white, and gold, and his beak and talons looked to be well shaped and undamaged. He just needed a little care and a safe place to sleep.

  “You should be good within a day,” Dexter said. Then he sneezed. “Dammit. I’m going to catch a damn cold. I don’t have time for this.”

  Grumbling and sniffling, Dexter straightened and, after one last look at the owl, grabbed his soaked jacket and shuffled out of the bathroom, careful to shut the door behind him. He continued to his bedroom to change.

  WHEN THE man left, Orion opened his large golden eyes. He snuggled deeper into the towel and counted himself lucky and blessed for such a kind human to have found him. He cooed to himself, wondering the man’s name. He was hungry, though he doubted the human had handy owl food around. What he wouldn’t give for a nice lizard or even a large spider. He’d settle for a scorpion. Anything to stop the hunger pains.

  Boy, would Talon be pissed when he found out. Orion should really know by now to listen to Talon when it came to the weather and practical things. But it had been days since Orion had flown as his owl, and he needed to feel the wind between his feathers again. Now look where it had gotten him. Then again, maybe, in a strange way, he’d done the right thing. Would he have met this interesting human otherwise?

  The human came back, and Orion decided to keep his eyes open. The man stopped and stared, chocolate-brown eyes widening in surprise. He seemed to have dried his hair, and now it stuck up in patches. Orion found that funny and gave a little mewling chuckle, the high-pitch sound causing the man to jerk, and then he simply stood frozen in the bathroom doorway, his gaze wary, posture tense. Orion appreciated his caution. A wild bird, even one as small as him, wasn’t something to take lightly.