Chapter 5-Aitvaras

An intruder has not escaped me in years. Many, many years. Have I truly become so weak as to become a shadow instead of a being of elemental power? I snarl at my own weakness. Frailty is a human trait, and as such, should be beneath me! Yet my trembling does not cease until the girl pats my head again.

Eventually the lights dwindle down until a lone patrol car remains behind for an overnight watch. Birute grabs me and we both go back inside; Peter offers to stay the night as well, but she waves him away reluctantly, insisting she has work tomorrow and it would be impractical for him to remain behind. She does not see his eyes harden slightly, but even if she did, it would make no difference- she would interpret it as a sign of his concern.

And she does not fathom what I am yet. Oddly enough, her innocence draws me in further, deeper than I wish to go. My instinct to keep her close and away from her uncle ensures I will remain with her even more so than my household duties would compel me to.

Unlike those frail mortals, I am far too alert to sleep. Night was always the prime parts of my days, the busiest and occasionally entertaining. Though now they will be lonely. No, do not think of it like that, my life was never meant to have companionship; that is a human concept. Aitvarai serve and deliver. I should be grateful my previous dalliances have taught me this much, yet cannot suppress a shudder as I recall my previous experiences with my first few families.

Although the law enforcers left, I remain alert, my muscles tightening as I pace. My wounds are still healing, and soon I will be able to shift into my other forms. I miss being a dragon- torching the thief would have been most satisfying. As a dragon, I can defend my home. As a rooster, that is proving rather difficult.

I watch the girl’s uncle until at last he leaves, but he does nothing more suspicious than glare at the patrol car, as though they had affronted him instead of that one investigator. Perhaps he was once part of the police force; yes, that might explain his air of superiority. Yet, even as I reason this away, I ignore memories of a very similar individual whom I had endured the displeasure of knowing.

“Did my father do that to you?” Elena cries, her hand to her mouth in horror.

“It is nothing,” I reply. A limping paw has become nothing these days.

“It is most certainly not nothing! I will speak to Father, nobody should abuse you like that!”

“Your father is not to blame for this. Your uncle has a short temper.”

She grows silent for a moment. “I will speak with Father.” Her voice leaves no room for argument.

I swallow my response, for her father will do nothing: he possesses the same peaceful nature as herself. He could never confront his younger brother any more than I could argue against a god.

Peter’s aura disrupts my sleep enough for me to rise and irritably follow him. What more can he possibly be doing here? Clearly, he does not wish to be followed, for he constantly checks behind himself. He cannot see me, for my black feathers blend into the night perfectly, if I do say so myself. He does not notice me following him.

I dart behind a bush as my paws step on a dry branch, snapping it in two. Peter instantly swivels around, squinting suspiciously, but I am well hidden. He continues towards the back of the cottage. He tests the lock, but it is locked tight- at least my new master has the common sense to keep her home safe. I must get closer.

A lone officer remains stationed nearby, but he is well out of their earshot. Before I can come close enough to see, he delicately scoops up a mysterious, silvery trinket from the overgrown grass and hastily stashes it inside his front pocket. The object’s shape eerily resembles a cross.