Finding Claude (Wintermoon Shorts #3)

by Tessa Stone

There was a time when my father aligned with the dragon shifters against King Amir, but when he learned the king wasn’t to blame, he couldn’t bring himself to follow through. He refused to send my brothers and the young males of the clan to take part in a revenge that wasn’t justified. Instead, he urged the young clan to flee to the mountains. My mother? She stayed behind. She went into labor with me just as the women and children were sent off, and her bond to my father was too strong for her to leave his side. Sometimes I hate that she handed me over to my brothers. That she chose to stay behind with my father, dying beside him during his execution. She named me Claudia, but growing up as the only girl in a clan of male dragon shifters, my name didn’t stay Claudia for long. They butchered it. Masculinized it. I get it; they didn’t know any better. My brothers raised me to the best of their ability, full of love and good intentions. But there’s a gap they’ll never fill. Femininity. It’s a part of me I’ve never fully understood. Since Lauren came into our lives, I notice it more. I watch her—the way she carries herself so naturally, so effortlessly. It radiates from her, the ease with which she embraces her femininity. It’s like breathing for her. And I wonder… how can I be like that? I’m not her. I’m a tomboy through and through. Dresses? Not happening. Makeup? Nope. My hair? I keep it short, brushed back, simple. It’s who I am, and I’m fine with it. Comfortable, even. Bu...

I clear my throat and give Kane and Sam a hard glare. Sam chuckles, breaks eye contact, and goes back to scribbling in his notebook. “Kane, I’m glad you brought that up,” Sam says, shifting the focus back onto him. “I’ve been wanting to collect samples from the wolf shifter community. Honestly, I think I’ve been targeting the wrong group with my trials. I should be focusing on the males rather than the females.” Kane’s eyes lock on Sam, sharp and deadly, and I almost lose it. His entire expression oozes hostility, those vibrant green eyes practically slicing into my brother. It’s obvious Kane isn’t just irritated—he’s livid. “Sample?” Kane repeats, voice low and dangerous. “Sample of what?” I can’t help it—I snort. Laughter escapes me before I can stop it, and when I glance at Sam, he’s laughing too. But I quickly choke it back, doing my best to look serious again. This meeting just got a lot more awkward, and honestly? I’m trying not to enjoy it too much. Tami sighs, her hand moving to rest on Kane’s massive thigh. She gives him a soft, loving smile, and I can’t help but admire her. Tami exudes patience, handling Kane with a grace I’ve rarely seen. Her femininity radiates naturally—effortlessly, like breathing. Everything about her oozes elegance, from the smooth way her hands move to her perfect posture in the chair, legs crossed just right. Her hair cascades down her back, a little too perfect, and I can still smell the faint burn of a straightening iron lingering in th...

I am Tyrion of the Stormscale Clan. My bloodline is unique among dragon shifters. We’re born with the ability to harness the power of storms—lightning, thunder, the whole thing. But none of that matters anymore. My clan was wiped out, executed during the Great War by King Amir for treason. War crimes, he called it. At first, everyone thought the king himself had destroyed the sanctuary. I believed it, too. Then a small coven of witches, the Backwoods, revealed the truth to me. It wasn’t King Amir who killed them. It was Aya. I tried to warn my clan when I found out, but it was too late. My father, the alpha, was blinded by grief. Hell, the whole clan was. They didn’t care who was to blame anymore—Aya, King Amir, anyone. They just wanted vengeance. Or maybe, deep down, they were looking for a way out. A way to die in battle so they could reunite with their fated mates in the afterlife. And that’s exactly what they did. They turned on other supernaturals in the heat of the battlefield, joining forces with other dragon clans.

“Tyrion of the Stormscale Clan,” he said, “you will not understand my judgment now. But I promise you, one day, you will.” Then, with a snap of his fingers, it was over. They were gone. All of them. Turned to dust. It took me a thousand years to understand what he meant. One thousand years of grief, guilt, and soul-searching to finally see it. He had no choice. Losing a fated mate is a wound that doesn’t heal for shifters. It’s not just grief—it’s like losing half of your soul. For many, it’s unbearable. If King Amir had spared my clan, if he had let them walk away from their crimes, they would’ve sought out Aya. They would’ve joined her madness. She had the power to promise them a reunion with their mates, and they would’ve done anything to make that happen. There’s no shifter alive who could resist that. Not out of loyalty to their king. Not out of pride. And certainly not out of a desire to live when the one thing that kept them whole was gone. I see that now. I see why he did what he did. It was the only way to stop them from adding more destruction to a world already torn apart. I’m grateful my clan chose death over joining Aya’s madness, but it doesn’t erase the guilt I feel for surviving. I begged King Amir to kill me, too, to let me join them. He refused. “You are not worthy of the death your clan was sentenced to,” he said. “You did not share in their crimes. And I see a greater future for you.” A greater future.

I leave the two of them, shrugging off my lab coat as I head toward the back exit. The cold air bites my skin as soon as I push the door open, but I welcome it. Winter nights out here feel different. The air is sharper, cleaner. I glance up at the sky. It’s close to the winter solstice—our shortest day of the year. Something about this time always stirs something in me. The stars sprawl across the sky, scattered dust against the dark expanse, and like so many nights before, I feel the ache of their pull. Is it my mate? Is this how he’s calling out to me? God, I hope so. I’ve waited longer than I care to admit. I’ve dreamed about him for years, though I don’t know who he is. My only hope is that he’ll be a dragon shifter, but I know that’s impossible. There are no other dragon shifters left, only Ash Clan. And thank the gods I’m not mated to any of my cousins. A thousand years around those assholes has been more than enough. But it’s his scent I’m drawn to. Lavender. I’ve craved it ever since I came into womanhood. Lavender soothes me, quiets the chaos in my mind, steadying me in moments of doubt and loneliness. It reminds me of the stars—a sense of calm in the middle of my storms. Is that what my mate will be? My steady strength when everything else feels like it’s falling apart? I exhale sharply and let the thought drift away. No use getting lost in it now.

“Can I give you a lesson?” she asks suddenly. “On what I’ve learned so far.” I nod, locking my hands behind my back. It’s not like I have anywhere better to be. Honestly, I’d rather be home, staring at the walls and letting my loneliness settle in for the hundredth time. Instead, I’m here, humorously entertaining the Mayor of Detroit as she talks about planets. Still… she wants to talk about the stars, and I’ll never pass that up. People don’t care about the cosmos anymore. There’s too much noise in the world, too many distractions, and trying to get someone to pause and look up is next to impossible. “In astrology and some ancient cosmology,” she begins, pointing at Saturn like it’s on cue, “this planet is tied to restriction, adversity, fatalism… all the fun stuff. That’s probably why some historical depictions link Saturn to Satan—doom, calamity, and all that.” She glances up and flashes me the kind of smile that says she knows she’s piqued my interest. Then, with no warning, she tosses Saturn straight at me. I snatch it out of the air, one-handed. Clean, easy. My fingers run over the smooth surface of the carving, and I decide to play along. “Saturn,” I say, raising a brow as Tiffany’s grin deepens, “is associated with the limits of matter, structure, and form. Some esoteric traditions view it as a symbol of the physical world—materialism standing in the way of spiritual enlightenment. Kind of like the idea of Satan tempting souls away from their higher calling. Those ...

Once they’re gone, the room is silent again. Just the sound of Tyrion’s steady breathing as he holds me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You remind me of something,” Tyrion murmurs after a moment, his voice soft but full of meaning. I tilt my head slightly, trying to focus on his words through the dizziness and the strange heat in my chest. “Something like the Andarion Drift,” he says, his tone almost reverent. “A galaxy so far away that its existence feels like a rumor. Barely more than a whisper in the void. Beautiful. Unreachable. But unforgettable.” My eyes blink open fully, and I stare up at him, unsure if the lightheadedness is from nearly fainting—or if it’s from the way he’s looking at me. His voice is like honey, slow and rich, settling in my mind and making it hard to think straight. “What are you talking about?” I manage to croak; my voice unsteady and raw. His gaze doesn’t waver. He looks at me like I’m something he’s found after searching for a long, long time. “There’s something about you, Claude,” he murmurs again. “Beautiful, vast. Like a solar system I’ll never fully explore, no matter how much I try.” My breath hitches. His words hit me somewhere deep, waking something I wasn’t prepared for. Warmth spreads through my chest, lower even, distracting me further. I let out a nervous laugh, one that feels too shaky to pass for amused. “You’re… good with analogies,” I finally say, though my voice doesn’t hit the light tone I’d been aiming for. He...

“You’re an astronomer?” she asks, her tone shifting, softer now. I nod, watching as her lips tug into the faintest smile. “I’m a doctor,” she says proudly, and that makes me smile in return. “I help take care of Wintermoon with my brothers.” Her eyes are shining now, full of light and hope as she looks up at me, and it hits me in a way I can’t ignore. “Of course you are, Claudia,” I say, warmth spilling into my voice. “I can tell just by looking at you—you exude excellence.” Her cheeks flush at that. That faint pink rises to her skin again, and she looks away from me, embarrassed but smiling. “You’ve got a way with words,” she says lightly, brushing her fingers over her bangs again. “A real flatterer.” I chuckle, leaning casually against the desk as I watch her. “Only when it’s honest,” I say, flashing her a grin. She lets out the smallest laugh, then straightens her posture and meets my eyes again. “I’m in Detroit for a supply run for the medical center,” she says, shifting back into a more practical tone. “You should come back with me. To Wintermoon. We can explain everything to my brothers and figure out where you fit into Ash Clan. I don’t see why not.” I stiffen, but keep my face neutral. Claude’s green eyes brighten further as she continues. “You’re the first dragon shifter we’ve seen outside of Ash Clan since the Great War. It’s incredible. It means we aren’t alone. You have no idea how much hope this gives us.” Every word she says hits me hard because I want to giv...

My head swirls with conflict. Sam’s words echo in my mind—a reminder of the pain we’ve lived with for so long—and yet, Tyrion’s voice is there too. His claim that he wasn’t involved, the sincerity in his tone. I don’t know why, but I believe him. And if he wasn’t involved, it would explain why he’s still alive. Why he hides—not just from humans, but from us, from Wintermoon, and from Ash Clan. Tyrion isn’t just carrying his clan’s name; he’s carrying their hatred. I know that pain all too well. I was born into it. For the first time, I truly understand what it’s like to have the whole world turned against you—for nothing more than existing. For the first time, I truly understand what it feels like to have the world hate you for no reason other than existing. The thought lingers as I stare into the fire, the flames crackling and dancing in the darkness. Then I see it—blue flickers in the clouds above, faint but undeniable: a dragon’s call. My eyes sharpen, tracking the glow, the familiar streaks of lightning. But it’s not Sam. It’s not anyone from Ash Clan. It’s Tyrion. I groan, dragging my eyes back to the fire as the glow in the clouds grows stronger. A moment later, his wings sweep downward, and he descends gracefully, landing across the fire from me. I don’t bother looking up at him. I don’t need to. His presence is loud enough without me giving it any more attention. “You should go home, Claudia,” he says, his voice low but steady. I grit my teeth, my anger bubbling ba...

Finally, I pull back just enough to look at her. “I’ll find a way to stay close. There’s a university near the Wintermoon Lands. I’ll get a job there, keep myself busy while I wait to see you again. But I can’t live in Wintermoon, Claudia. Not yet.” Her shoulders sink, and her scent shifts—disappointment tinged with the faintest edge of stubbornness. She doesn’t argue again, but that look in her eyes tells me she’s not done with this fight. Not by a long shot. And, god help me, I think she might actually find a way. “Let me hold you a little longer. Then I’ll go home,” she murmurs, voice soft and pleading. “But promise me, Tyrion. Stay close, so I can see you when I have the time?” I nod, my hand tightening on hers. “You own me now, Claudia,” I say, my voice low but steady. “I’ll stay close. Always.” She nuzzles into me, and I can feel her breath against my chest. “I love it when you call me Claudia,” she whispers. “Everyone calls me Claude. It’s just grown on me over the years. But when you say my full name, my namesake, it feels… different. It makes me feel like I matter.” I lift her face gently, cradling it in my hand so her eyes meet mine. The firelight reflects in them, and they remind me of the stars I’ve clung to my entire life. “You do matter. You’re special, Claudia. I’ve seen the stars in your eyes since the moment I met you, the hope I never let go of. The hope that got me here.” Her breath catches, and I lean in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She...

Without bothering to knock, I slam the door open, ready to unload on him—until I stop dead in my tracks. Sam isn’t alone. Valek’s leaning against Sam’s desk, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. Oh, they want to double-team me? Fine. Let’s go. I step inside, crossing my arms. “Don’t even think about lecturing me about mating with my fated mate. It’s my right, and you both know that.” Sam sighs, his expression heavy with disapproval, before turning to Valek. Of course. “We aren’t trying to lecture you, Claude,” Valek starts, his voice calm but firm. “But you need to understand how reckless this was. We asked you to wait while we worked out a solution. It’s only been a week.” “A week? Are you serious?” I snap, glaring at him. “You think that’s moving too fast? I’ve waited a thousand years for a fated mate! A thousand! And now, the two of you—of all people—want to judge me?” “Claudia,” Valek says, his tone dropping, a sharp edge creeping in. “It’s Claude. Remember?” My voice rises, challenging him. “You stripped that name from me. Took it when I was a baby. You never let me be a girl, never let me be a woman. You hovered, dictated every move I made. You didn’t teach me how to live—you taught me how to be a man.” Valek’s face tightens, his jaw clenching. Finally, he snaps, his voice rising. “Because that’s all we knew!” He exhales sharply, his frustration evident. “What did we know about raising a girl?! What did we know about being a parent at all?! We did the ...

“Are you insane?” she snaps. “You almost ruined everything.” I hold her gaze, unfazed by her anger. “We spent the night together. A night that meant everything. I took your innocence, and I claimed you as my mate,” I growl. “The world knows who you belong to now. You can’t just slip out of bed and pretend nothing happened. Pretend that none of it mattered.” She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she steps closer, getting into my face with a fire that only makes me want her more. “Don’t order me around,” she says, her voice low but sharp. “I’m not your servant, Tyrion. I’m your mate. And I didn’t sneak out because it didn’t mean anything. What happened between us…” She shakes her head, like she’s holding it together by a thread. “What we did mattered. But I still have a duty to Wintermoon. My brother needed me. I wasn’t about to let those women suffer through childbirth while you sat there acting like you own me.” Her words cut, but damn it, her fire sets something inside me ablaze. “You want me to sit in bed all day? Stay curled up in your arms with your dick inside me like I don’t have a life outside of you?” she snaps. Her anger only makes me want her more. She’s standing her ground, and I love it. Every sharp word, every glare. She’s not scared to put me in my place, and fuck, I can’t get enough. I grin at her, wild and unapologetic. “You remind me of Lyra—a constellation. Small but powerful. Named after the lyre, a symbol of harmony and artistry. It’s about balance, strength, an...

A lion shifter steps forward next, flanking his mate as they approach. He’s hard to miss—massive, intimidating, and radiating authority. His golden eyes lock directly with mine, unflinching. This is it. I can feel it in my gut—his vote will make or break us. He stands tall, his voice steady. “Before I make my judgment, I want to make something very clear.” His glare hardens as he narrows his eyes at me. “I am Meekah, Alpha of the Zohar Pride. Your clan destroyed everything I had during the war. Took my family from me. Broke me. It nearly ended me.” Claude’s grip on my hand tightens. “But then,” Meekah continues, glancing down at his mate, “I found my Amaya. She dragged me out of the darkness.” His voice softens for the briefest moment. “Your mate works with mine. Wintermoon Medical.” My throat tightens as I realize Amaya is standing beside him, holding his arm. “She taught me something I never believed in,” Meekah says, looking back at me. “Forgiveness. It’s not for you—it’s for me. I forgive you, Stormscale. Because forgiveness is the only way to move forward. I owe it to my mate. I owe it to my son—to teach him to be better. And I expect you to teach him something no one else can: the power of the stars. Teach him about Leo.” Meekah places his coin on the plate, choosing to tip the scale in our favor. Amaya follows, silent but sure, and the balance shifts—hope returns. He turns back toward me, but the sharpness in his voice returns. “But let me be perfectly clear: we wil...