Page 18 of A Shifter Disaster Thanksgiving

Chapter Eight

Star Wars: The Village Strikes Back

With several rooms, it was the largest building in the village, standing out from the homes around it. Four plumes of smoke drifted into the sky from the chimneys. A singular horn extended from the roof, pointing toward the sky. On the front porch stood two large men carrying large swords. They nodded at Sylvester and stepped aside to let them pass.

Sylvester ignored them. He hated coming here. Just the thought of coming here to see his brother was enough to make him taste bile. It reminded him of the years he’d spent living in this very building. Even worse, it reminded him of his father, who was dead now, replaced by the very man who was responsible for his demise.

“It’s beautiful,” Diane marveled. She pointed at the horn overhead. “That’s a dragon horn, isn’t it?”

Sylvester nodded. “It belonged to one of my ancestors.”

“Whoa. Quinta told me your family’s ruled this village for a long time. You grew up in this building, didn’t you?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I did.”

“You’re basically royalty around here. But you don’t act like it. Why…?” Sylvester didn’t answer. He just kept walking.

They entered the living room, the floorboards creaking slightly under their combined weight. A fire crackled in the immense fireplace, the flickering flame casting shadows on the walls. Above the crackling, a voice could be heard.

“…think we’re going to surrender? Ha! I would sooner have my wings shorn off.”

Sylvester’s blood boiled at the sound of those words, which came from a man who sat, talking in disgruntled tones, to a smaller, timid-looking man. Neither took note of the newcomers.

“B-but, sir,” the other man began, “it would be the best approach. We still do not have a tactical—”

“There will be no surrendering, Elias. And that is final.”

The smaller man opened his mouth as though he had something else to say, but closed it instantly. His gaze flicked toward the entrance, where Sylvester and Diane stood.

“It appears you have guests, sir,” he said.

The man in the chair turned his gaze, letting out a groan at the sight before him. He looked barely older than Sylvester, with dark, bushy eyebrows to match his long, dark beard and a fierce look in his eyes that gave the impression that he was perpetually angry. He was bare-chested but wore black trousers and boots.

“Leave us,” he snapped at the other man, who instantly nodded and hurried out of the room, nodding again as he passed by Sylvester.

Sylvester walked toward the center of the room, keeping his gaze on the man in the chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Diane still standing in the doorway.

“Gregory,” he spat.

“Sylvester,” his brother replied, sounding almost bored. His gaze drifted toward Diane. “You’ve come here again and you’ve brought a friend, I see.”

“Not a friend,” Sylvester corrected, feeling a twinge of irritation. “This is Diane. She is my wife.”

With that, he motioned for Diane to come closer, and she did, carefully, as though afraid Gregory might strike her. She stopped at Sylvester’s side, glancing up at him.

Gregory blinked at the pair. “Wife? What are you playing at, brother?”

“I’m not playing,” Sylvester replied coolly. He took Diane’s hand in his. “I have taken a wife. I just thought you should know.”

The brothers stared at each other for the next few seconds. Then Gregory chuckled. “Is this an attempt to get a rise out of me, to get my attention? You must know, brother, that I have more pressing matters to attend to—matters that concern this village.”

“Matters like our father’s murder?”

Again, Gregory was silent. Sylvester realized he’d balled his fists. The room wasn’t large enough for two dragons to attack each other without destroying everything around them, but he was more than prepared to leave his brother with a broken nose.

“I have told you,” Gregory said, his tone suddenly low and dangerous, “to leave that topic for now. There are greater matters at hand.”

“Yes, you’ve never failed to mention it, this threat of war that’s been hanging over our heads for so long. You speak as though it isn’t what you always wanted.”

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