Dragon Moon Read Free

powder-puff clouds, the bright sun, its heat surprisingly strong for May. I can understand why my son would rather play on a day like this than do chores.
    â€œGo ahead.” I add, “Just be careful,” even though I doubt that anything on the island can inflict any injury he can’t quickly heal.
    â€œYes, Papa.” He rushes off.
    Brushing my hands on my jeans, I wait a few minutes, then follow the stone path from the garden to the wide, deep stone steps that lead to the oak-decked veranda encircling our three-story-tall coral house. Taking the steps two at a time, I get to the bay side of the deck just in time to check on Henri as he begins to scamper up one of the dunes across the island on the ocean side.
    Barks and yelps break the morning quiet. As soon as Henri reaches the light brown slender stalks of the sea oats crowding the dune’s top, better than a dozen of our dogs, all furry and thick framed, with overlarge heads and mouths, appear from the other side of the dune.
    The younger ones and the puppies surround my young son, gambol about him and vie for his attention. I grin. As much as he’s grown, the beasts still tower above him.
    Only the few older dogs and the pack’s leader, Scar, keep their distance. They know better than to trust our kind. The younger ones have no memories of the many times I’ve had to cull the pack. They have no understanding that I’ve been trying to let their numbers grow back to full strength from the few that were left after the attack that devastated their ranks four years ago.
    Henri laughs as the dogs push against him. He pets some and allows others to lick him. When one of the larger pups jumps up and almost knocks him over, the boy just steps back and regains his balance. Ignoring the rambunctious beast, he resumes playing with the smaller pups.
    The dog jumps on him again. This time my son glares at it and shoves it away — hard. The dog yelps, then slinks back. Ears flattened, hackles raised, it circles him.
    To get closer, in case I’m needed, I walk to the ocean side of the veranda, stand by one of the open cannon ports placed every five yards along the waist-high coral parapet that rings the deck. But I’ve little doubt Henri can handle this challenge. The boy’s been taught to cope with worse.
    Henri knows to always keep his eyes on an attacker. He faces the beast, slowly revolves as it attempts to get behind him, allowing the dog no opportunity for surprise. Finally, it charges, knocking some of the smaller pups out of its way, snapping its jaws when it nears my son, then jumping back, lunging forward again.
    â€œBack!” Henri yells. The dog freezes for an instant, then shoots forward, mouth open, fangs exposed. The boy steps back, puts up his left arm to guard his face just as the animal bites.
    Its teeth sink into his forearm and Henri yowls once. Then the boy hisses — loud enough for me to hear from the veranda. The foolish beast ignores the warning, and refuses to let go.
    Henri holds his right hand up and stares at it, his fingers narrowing and extending, his nails turning into sharp, curved claws in only a few moments. I nod, proud the boy could ignore the pain and the attack long enough to focus on what he must do to save himself. Like me, like his mother, like all of our kind, the boy is a shapechanger, a far more dangerous foe than the animal realizes.
    Henri slashes out and this time the dog yelps. It howls as my son strikes again and again. The creature backs off, tail tucked in, blood flowing on the ground as it scurries into the underbrush.
    â€œGood,” I mutter. It’s best that all these beasts understand that we are masters of this island. And it’s time my son learned they’ve been bred to be our watchdogs, not our cuddly pets.
    Henri shoves the other dogs away from him, then turns and holds up his left arm so I can see the red teeth marks of the dog’s bite, the blood