When the vampires attacked, the other Harpies and I weren't expecting it. I'd been out by the coast, on the cliff's edge, wings extended to catch the breeze. I remember being pushed from the ledge, never seeing who or what had thrown me off. The fall had disoriented me enough that I couldn't catch any air, and when I spread my wings, they scraped against the cliffside. I don't like to think about the pain from the fall. It was agonizing, and if I were given the option to relive that moment, I think I'd rather die.

Another Harpy found me, but I don't remember who it was. They dragged me to relative safety, but by then, the vampires had already gotten us. They swarmed our island, the vampires. They killed several people and made us watch while they drained them of their blood. They put the rest of us in chains. I shuddered at the memory of cold metal. My wrists still bore faint bruising from where the manacles dug into my skin.

I shook myself from the memories. I was headed home. I should be grateful. I lived, after all.

My wings still weren't fully healed. I tried to not think about the lifeless way they dragged behind me. I wouldn't fly for a long time. I already missed the feeling of the wind beneath me, the way my stomach would somersault when I did a particularly challenging dive. It was freedom. Now I was just some bird in a cage.

My treehouse had a rope ladder that I rarely used, but I was grateful for it now. If Nathan, one of the island caretakers, saw the weak way I struggled up the ladder, he'd probably order me back to his house. He'd claim I wasn't fully healed, would force me into the cellar again where they'd wrap me in more bandages and treat me like an infant. I knew they meant well, only wanted to see me fully healed, but I couldn't stand any more of it. It was suffocating.

I was a little too absurdly proud of making it up the ladder by myself. Even though I was panting and a little sweaty by the time I managed to reach my front porch.

My treehouse was my pride and joy. I built it in the tallest tree near the cliffside, near where the other Harpies mostly built their nests. It was a few miles away, but when my wings were in top shape, the flight was easy. I wasn't really a seabird kind of guy. I preferred forests and tall trees, and while the other Harpies seemed supportive, I could tell it was weird for them. I was just...different. Maybe that was why they all gave me a wide berth.

The treehouse was the size of a small cabin, made of oak planks and reliably sturdy. I had almost everything I needed in it. When the cistern on my roof ran out, I often had to go to the creek for fresh water and bathing, but that didn't happen often. I hadn't thought about how much of a chore that would be now. I'd have to adapt, but I survived this long. I could figure it out. I'd use the water supply sparingly until I was fully healed. It wouldn't be too bad.

I opened my door, eager to throw myself down onto my nest, exhaustion already tugging at my eyes. I could feel some of my feathers dragging along the floor, collecting dirt and dust, but I didn't care enough. I'd take care of them later.

But as I opened the door to my home, I stopped dead in my tracks at the appearance of stark red eyes. With a shout, I leaped back. They were back. The vampires! I could see their sharp teeth, the pearly fangs that would drip with saliva. Gravity pulled at me, and I tipped over the edge, my body headed straight for the hard earth below.

The red eyes rushed out at me, and a wide hand reached for me. Snagged by the front of my shirt, I stopped midair. Breathing heavily, I knew my eyes were wide, bug-eyed, and my arms were windmilling wildly. A man was hovering above me. No. Not a man. A dragon.

I recognized him, thankfully. His name was Anderson, and he was the brother of the island's resident dragon shifter. He had a shaved head, but I was willing to bet that his hair would be the same dark black as his brother's. His red eyes were bright like rubies reflecting the sun. His mouth, which was unfairly attractive really, was folded into a stern frown.

He pulled me up, saving me from falling, but he didn't look happy about it.

"Um, hi," I said, winded. The last time I saw Anderson, he'd been in dragon form, and I definitely didn't faint. I passed out from blood loss, okay? I was wounded.

"Sam," he greeted gruffly.

"It's Seamus, actually," I meekly corrected, but he didn't seem to hear me.

He walked back into my treehouse, and I, unnerved, followed after him. It was dim inside the treehouse. All the windows were shut, and I wondered if dragons liked the dark. Didn't Anderson's brother, Azthyn, live in a cave?

"Um, why are you in my house?" I asked, hoping to sound authoritative, but honestly, it probably came out pretty pathetic. It was hard to be stern with a dragon twice your size, who could probably kill you sooner than you could blink.

Anderson turned and looked at me. He sat down in my favorite chair and crossed his thick muscled arms in front of his chest. He was wearing jeans and a huge pair of hiking boots. He had a plain black t-shirt on, and it looked way too tight around his arms. The treehouse smelled of cologne and men's deodorant, and I almost stumbled in the doorway. My own home seemed so different now.

Anderson cleared his throat and shuffled in the chair. "Nathan and Drake have asked me to stay on the island while they employ additional security measures. It's a temporary arrangement, but they told me to stay with you until my time here is up."

I blinked stupidly at him. His tone was no-nonsense. He wasn't joking. There was no humor in his eyes. And it was then that what he was saying actually hit me. I blinked again and looked around my home. There were different bags, some equipment strewn around the place. And a map of the island was unrolled onto my table. It had different markings all over it. The centerpiece that used to live there was nowhere to be found.

I wanted to scream. This whole time, I was eager to go home. I wanted my freedom back. And when I looked over at Anderson, looked at all the space he filled, the way he took over my home, I knew. I knew I wasn't free. I was just another bird in a cage. But this time, there was a dragon in the cage with me.

🙢🙠

I half expected to wake up the next morning and see that everything was just a bad dream. There was no way a dragon I barely knew was now living with me. There was no way that half of my worldly possessions were suddenly displaced or missing. There was no way my home no longer smelled like my home.

I turned over in my nest. It had started off mostly made of straw, but I had added to it over the years. There were bits of fabric woven throughout, different furs, and some of my own feathers too. The pale yellow color of my feathers blended in with the straw of the nest, but I knew that to most supernatural creatures, the scent would be obvious. According to the other Harpies, though, I didn't have all that strong of a scent. No one could ever place what I smelled like, and while I was curious, I always figured it was better to not know than know that I smelled awful. Maybe I smelled like bird poop and they were always too kind to tell me?

I wanted to sleep in. I usually didn't. Most of the time, I was up around mid-morning, early enough to have a productive day but late enough to get a decent night's rest. But sleeping in proved impossible when I heard the low timbre of Anderson's voice in my treehouse. Anderson had taken up residence on a small pallet he had constructed in my living room. I had a thin bedroom door, but with the lack of soundproofing, we were playing pretend at a sense of privacy.

When I poked my head out of the room, Anderson was standing by an open window, looking off into the distance. He had a phone pressed up against his ear. He was wearing the same tee as yesterday, but he was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. His feet were bare on the wooden floors. His free hand was on his hip, and I could tell by the tension in his shoulders that something was bothering him. He didn't turn around when I stepped out of my room, but he did quiet his voice. He knew I was there. His senses would be too good for him not to notice.

I wanted to mind my own business. I knew it was rude to eavesdrop, so I tried to focus on making us breakfast. It looked like Anderson had already made a fresh pot of coffee, so I poured myself a mug while I worked. I had eggs on hand, so I figured omelets were a good idea.

I wasn't exactly happy about our arrangement, but there was something kind of nice in making breakfast for two. If I let myself daydream, I could pretend I was making breakfast for a lover, a partner, someone who'd share my nest with me, someone who would hold me when the nightmares took over. But Anderson's chatter shook me from my thoughts.

"No, I know— Cooper!" He sounded exasperated.

I recognized the name of his partner, an old woman with silver hair and eyes that were as hard as steel. The last I had seen of her, she was in full combat gear and clearing out the swarm of vampires that had attacked the island. She may have been old enough to be my grandmother, but she was terrifying. I never wanted to be on her bad side.

And then Anderson kept going.

"But how long am I supposed to—" He made an affronted noise. "But I'd be more useful there with you." He shook his head, pounding a fist into the window sill. It rattled the whole wall, and I quickly turned back to what I was doing. Whatever the specifics of Anderson's assignment, he didn't seem happy about it.

The omelets came out beautifully, a perfect, solid yellow. I had added chives and tomatoes, and the red and green of them contrasted nicely. They were practically picture-perfect. I didn't want to approach Anderson when anger was rolling off of him in waves, but I told myself that he was a good man. He may have been upset, but the fact of the matter is that he helped us when the vampires attacked. He saved a lot of lives that day.

I placed his plate on the window sill, just to his left. He paused and looked down at it. I could hear a voice muffled by static continue talking on the other end of the phone. Agent Cooper said something pointed, but that was all that I could make out from my end. Whatever it was, it had Anderson turning his attention back to her. The anger returned, and I didn't want to hear any more of it. I took my plate and went out to the porch to eat.

My porch wrapped around the entire treehouse, with a wooden guardrail protecting me and anyone else from accidentally falling over the edge. I sat at the edge opposite Anderson. I wanted to give him, at least, the illusion of privacy.

I don't know why Nathan and Drake decided that he'd stay with me. His brother was on the island. Why couldn't Anderson stay with him? I shoveled my omelet into my mouth. I knew it was good, but it tasted like sand in my mouth. Normally, I'd be sitting alone in my treehouse, enjoying the sounds of the forest. Instead, I was stuck listening to a muffled, one-sided phone call. I could barely hear the birds over the sound of his angry voice.

Finally, the phone call ended, and blissful silence returned to the air around us. I heard the quiet clink of silverware against a plate, and a small smile found its way onto my face. The forest smelled fresh, and a cool breeze pushed its way through the branches around me, ruffling their leaves. A sense of peace returned, and even though I knew it may be short-lived, I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. I would try to savor it anyway.