Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

DRAKE

A dmiral David Whitaker's estate glittered with opulence. It was a luxurious mansion perched on a hill overlooking the bay. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the manicured gardens where a sea of dignitaries and officers were mingling on the vast terrace. Lanterns and strings of lights flickered to life throughout the trees and shrubbery, illuminating the lush greenery and the intricate marble statues scattered throughout the grounds.

Drake McAllister stood near the edge of the terrace, his eyes sweeping over the gathering. He felt out of place amidst the grandeur, his white dress uniform feeling more like a straitjacket, stark against the sea of evening gowns and tuxedos. The invitation had come as a surprise; he was more accustomed to the chaos and stealth of covert ops than the elegance of high society. He glanced down at the new medal pinned to his chest, a heavy reminder of the service that had brought him here.

Admiral Whitaker approached with a broad smile, his steps confident and assured. "Commander McAllister, I'm glad you could make it," he said, extending a hand. "Your service has been nothing short of exemplary, and it's an honor to celebrate it tonight."

Drake shook the admiral's hand, offering a polite nod. "Thank you, sir. It's an honor to be here."

Whitaker's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief as he gestured toward a nearby table adorned with an array of drinks. "I have a special surprise for you. A small token of my appreciation."

Curiosity piqued; Drake followed the admiral. His breath caught as he spotted the familiar label: Northern Lights Bourbon. It was a rare reserve bottle, aged to perfection in his family's distillery. Memories of his father and the generations before him who had poured their lives into the craft flooded back, a bittersweet reminder of home. Tomorrow morning, he would discharge the last of his duties as a naval officer and fly home to Kodiak to lay his father to rest.

Whitaker picked up the bottle with reverence. "I heard about your family's distillery and managed to procure this. It's only fitting that we toast to your achievements with something personal."

Drake's throat tightened as he accepted the glass Whitaker poured for him. He held it up so that the amber liquid caught the light. "To those who serve and those who support us from afar," he said, his voice steady despite the emotions swirling within him.

Whitaker raised his glass, and the surrounding guests followed suit, their glasses catching the light like a constellation of stars. "To Commander McAllister," the admiral proclaimed. "May your courage and dedication continue to inspire us all."

The bourbon should have been smooth, a taste of home rich on Drake's tongue, but it was off. Drake had been sipping and tasting bourbon long before the law said he was allowed to. It was the family business, and Drake's father had developed his son's palate to rival his own. Drake took another sip, rolling it around his mouth, savoring it, and letting the warmth spread through him. It was good, but it wasn't Northern Lights Reserve good. In fact, it tasted more like small-batch bourbon, which was a kind of blended whiskey with bourbon from different barrels.

Dismissing it as an oddity, Drake managed to find a discarded and broken bottle, removing a piece of the bottle with the label from the trash and slipping it into his pocket. As he looked around at the faces of those who had gathered to honor him, he felt a profound sense of gratitude, finality, and peace. This part of his life's journey was over. It had not always been easy, and he had faced many challenges, but in this moment, surrounded by respect and admiration, he was ready to walk away and forge a new path.

The evening progressed with laughter and stories, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of conversations blending into a symphony of celebration. Drake found himself at ease, the initial awkwardness fading away. He spoke with old comrades and made new acquaintances, the bourbon a constant reminder of his roots.

As the night wore on, Admiral Whitaker approached Drake once more. "I hope this evening has been memorable for you," he said with a genuine warmth in his eyes.

Drake nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "It has, sir. I can't thank you enough."

"You sure I can't persuade you to rethink your decision?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. My family needs me. With my father dead, it's time I went home."

Whitaker clasped him on the shoulder. "I understand, Commander. The Navy was lucky to have you for the time we had. Never forget that you have friends in high places, not only within the military but within US Intelligence and the State Department. Never forget that; if you need something, you just let us know."

Drake looked out over the river, where the lights of the city twinkled in the distance. In that moment, he felt a deep connection to both his past and his future, the bourbon in his glass providing a bridge between them both.

The sky was a canvas of gray and gold as the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows over the water. The air was thick with a somber reverence as the Northern Lights Clan of dragons gathered along the rocky shoreline. At the center of their attention was a longship, resting on a bed of stones surrounded by wooden stakes adorned with intricate carvings and runes.

The longship, crafted from sturdy oak and adorned with his father's personal symbols, stood as a testament to his life and achievements. The boat's dragon-headed prow pointed out to sea; a silent guardian ready to lead the fallen to the afterlife. Drake knew that somewhere out in the mist, his mother awaited his father. Together they would travel on to join their ancestors as a part of the dazzling aurora borealis, the dragon version of Valhalla, the place where only the best and bravest were believed to dwell for all eternity.

Draped in rich woven fabrics and furs, the body of his father lay at the center of the ship. His arms were crossed over his chest, fingers clutching the hilt of his sword, a final symbol of his valor and strength. The faces of all of those attending the funeral were etched with grief, ready to bid their final farewell.

As the leader of the clan, it now fell to Drake to begin the solemn ritual with a deep, resonant chant, invoking the gods and asking for his father's safe passage to be reunited with his mother. The air was filled with the scent of burning sage and cedar as their medicine man blessed the ship with sacred oils and offered prayers to their gods. The rhythmic beat of drums accompanied the chants, creating an atmosphere thick with mysticism and tradition. It had never been something his father fully believed, but had taught Drake that tradition was a way to help people gather and share their grief.

As the sun kissed the horizon, the time came for the final act. With help from several others, the longship was rolled into the ocean. With a collective breath, the clan stepped back as Drake removed the sacred torch from the bonfire and set the ship ablaze. Flaming arrows, fired by their best and most skilled warriors, arced through the sky, their tips igniting the ship's tar-coated timbers upon impact.

The flames roared to life, consuming the vessel in a brilliant, glowing inferno. The crackling of the fire echoed through the descending night, a final tribute from a grateful clan to his father. The longship, now a blazing beacon, drifted out to sea, the flames reflecting off the water in a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow as the northern lights played out overhead. The community watched in silence; their hearts heavy yet uplifted by the knowledge that their fallen leader was being honored in the most sacred of ways. The fire symbolized purification and the passage to the skies beyond.

As the ship became a distant, glowing speck on the horizon, Drake raised his hand in a final farewell and then he and the others present let out a unified roar. The echoes of their voices carried over the water, a last salute to the dragon who had led them faithfully and surely for many decades. There was a brief moment of silence before the clan called out Drake's name in time to the drums, proclaiming to all he had been chosen to follow his father as alpha to the clan. The funeral was not just a farewell but a profound celebration of life, bravery, and enduring spirit, ensuring his father's legacy would live on through the ages.

He returned with the others to their compound, where most of the clan lived and worked in the Northern Lights Distillery. They were a small clan, as shifter clans went, but they were tightly knit. His father's legacy, both as the head of the Northern Lights Dragon Clan and the owner of their esteemed distillery, now rested on his shoulders.

Once inside, he allowed the others to begin the celebration of his father's life. He wanted a chance to check his father's office and computer, ensuring there was nothing that needed his immediate attention. Nothing appeared out of place, but Drake checked the wall safe, hidden behind the painting of his mother that hung over the stone fireplace. He opened the safe and withdrew the letter he'd found slipped beneath the door to his room. Its edges were worn as if it had been handled excessively.

The message was brief but laden with meaning: ‘ Trust the fire within, for it knows the path you must take.'

Drake's eyes traced the letters, his father's familiar handwriting a stark reminder of the guidance he had lost. The distillery, Northern Lights Bourbon, had been the pride of his family for generations. His father had nurtured it with the same care he'd shown to their clan, his dual roles intertwined like the roots of an ancient tree. Now, both were Drake's to protect and lead.

The weight of the responsibility pressed down on him, the familiar floor beneath his feet feeling unsteady. The clan needed a leader, and the distillery needed a master distiller. He doubted his ability to fill either role, let alone both. His dragon stirred within him, a restless presence echoing his uncertainty. The transformation from naval officer to master distiller was more natural to him, but still it would take some getting used to. He had long ago accepted that and had allowed his father to teach him, but leading the clan was another matter entirely.

The wind rustled through the leaves, carrying with it the faint scent of the bourbon aging in the distillery's oak barrels. It was a comforting, familiar aroma, yet now it seemed to underscore his sense of loss and duty. The clan members had looked up to his father, their alpha, with unwavering respect. They expected the same strength and wisdom from Drake, but he feared falling short.

He stood by the French doors, looking toward the distillery. "Am I ready for this?" he murmured.

The silence that followed was heavy with unanswered questions. His dragon, usually a source of strength, offered no clarity. Instead, it mirrored his turmoil, the fiery essence flickering uncertainly within him. His father's words, ‘Trust the fire within,' seemed both a comfort and a warning.

Grief welled up, bringing with it an unfamiliar fear of inadequacy. His father had always known what to do and had always seemed unshakable. Drake's memories of him were of steadfast leadership and quiet confidence. Could he ever live up to that?

The clan's future and the legacy of Northern Lights Bourbon were now intertwined with his destiny. The path ahead was daunting, filled with expectations and responsibilities. He wished for his father's guidance; to have one more conversation to ease his concerns.

Drake turned away from the French doors, the letter still clutched tightly in his hand. He took a deep breath, drawing strength from the land that had been home to his family for centuries. The fire within him flared, a reminder of his heritage and his potential. His father believed in him, even in death. Perhaps it was time he started believing in himself too.

‘ Trust the fire within, for it knows the path you must take.'

What the hell was that supposed to mean?