Dragon's Desire_A SciFi Alien Romance

by Miranda Martin

“You made this decision on your own?” Visidion asks Drosdan.

  The tension in the room keeps rising. The only sound between staccato delivered words is Drosdan’s tail swishing across the floor. It’s creating a pressure on my chest making it even harder to feel like I’m getting a full breath in. As if the broken ribs weren’t problem enough.

  “I have,” Drosdan says.

  “How many?” Rosalind asks.

  “What?” I ask, tearing my eyes away from Visidion and Drosdan’s confrontation.

  “How. Many. Survivors?” she asks, emphasizing each word.

  Blinking rapidly, I try to come up with an answer. Nothing. I don’t know. How can I not know? She’s trained me to observe everything. I collect data—it’s what I do. My arms tingle, my breath comes in short gasps, my mind reaches for the information, but nothing comes. My mind is blank. Focus! I have to know this, of course I do. How can I not… and nothing.

  “I… don’t know,” I say at last.

  Rosalind sighs. “Of course.”

  Only now does she look away, turning to Visidion.

  “We’re done,” she says.

  Visidion doesn’t look away from Drosdan but drops his arms to his sides and nods. The two of them turn in silence and walk towards the door. My heart pounds in my chest and an insane urge to laugh comes over me. This can’t be it. It can’t end like this. No, not like this.

  “Wait!” I cry out, throat tight, mouth dry.

  Rosalind stops, hand on the door, looking over her shoulder at me. My mouth moves, words should be coming out, but I’m blank, again. Emotions taking away every forming thought and leaving behind desperation and the need to say something, anything.

  “Yes?” she asks, arching her eyebrow.

  “It… can’t….” Can’t what? What do I say? How do I fix this? Grabbing Drosdan’s hand in mine I squeeze it tight. “This is good!”

  It blurts out without consideration. No thoughtful plan, no reasoning, but in my guts I know I’m right. I have to be. Rosalind looks at Visidion, and then as if they have some weird telepathic bond between them, they both turn, facing us. Rosalind looks imperious, the way she does to others. I’ve never been this to her. Outside, one of them, it leaves me cold, but behind that cold comes a certainty. She’s trained me well. I’ve learned all her lessons, and I know, in the deepest parts of my heart, I know I’m right. I catch Drosdan’s eyes and the moment passes between the two of us. We squeeze each other’s hands. He is my rock. I am his treasure.

  “How?” Rosalind asks, but I take the moment with Drosdan before answering so she continues. “How is it good that you two have allowed your base desires to destroy my entire plan for Gershom and his followers?”

  “Gershom is gone,” I say, sitting up straighter in the bed. “He openly plotted against you and you know it. He wanted power, no matter the cost, no matter who he hurt. Now that he’s no longer influencing them, those who don’t like the Zmaj will be less inflamed about it. They may not see reason, believe me they still don’t like the Zmaj, but the blind hate is… less at least.

  “Give them time. Help them, and they will become even more tolerant. They’re in a village of their own now. Drosdan says it was a mining community. We can help them figure that out, reopen the mines. If we’re going to grow, create the future that you see, we’ll need more resources like that.”

  Rosalind’s lips purse tight, the only sign on her face that she reveals, but something in her eyes shifts. I know her. She’s been my mentor for years, and I know her better than anyone. I’m getting through to her. I also know when to shut up. She’s thinking. Now is the point most people screw up with her. They take her silence as a void that needs filled and spew forth words that destroy their own argument. No, this is the time for quiet. Say nothing, wait for her question. Resist the urge itching inside to speak. It’s a trick she taught me. People abhor a vacuum so they fill it with words, revealing more than any questions will ever get you.

  “Okay,” she says, nodding sharply. “Good work.”

  She turns again. I watch her leave with bated breath exhaling heavily only when the two of them are gone. The dam of tears I’d been holding back bursts, streaming down my face, and my breath comes in ragged gasps.

  “Sarah,” Drosdan says, taking me in his arms with his surprising gentleness.

  He holds me like I’m a delicate piece of porcelain, which perhaps I am. In his arms, if nowhere else, I can be delicate. After all, I am his treasure.

  21

  Drosdan

  “I’m telling you I can’t do it,” Padraig says, snapping off each word and crossing his arms.

  “And I’m saying I don’t care what you can or can’t do, do it,” I reply, throwing my hands up.

  “Look,” Sarah says, stepping between the blacksmith and me. “They’re going to need weapons if they’re going to hunt for themselves. We can’t be their main food supply.”

  Padraig doesn’t take his eyes off me. His tail is still and his wings are partly open, and he leans in, openly challenging me.

  “Not my problem,” he says, his hands balling into fists as he drops his arms to his sides.

  “I’m going to make it your problem,” I snap, raising my tail.

  My hearts pound loudly and my palms itch. I could tear him limb from limb, and I will if he doesn’t do what I want.

  “Wait!” Sarah exclaims, putting a hand on each of our chests.

  I can’t resist—my eyes dart to her. Padraig snorts, and the bijass floods my mind. I’m swinging before I can think to stop it. Sarah ducks as my fist connects with Padraig’s jaw with a satisfying crack. He stumbles backwards, his hands flying up, his wings spreading, only his tail keeping him from falling down. Tools clatter to the ground as people drop what they are doing to watch.

  “Damn it, Drosdan,” Sarah exclaims, turning her full attention on me.

  “What?” I say, shrugging.

  Her upset cuts through the bijass, and in its wake I’m cold and empty. I can’t meet her eyes, knowing for a moment I lost control. Padraig roars, taking a step towards me with his right arm cocked. Sarah stops him with a look and one finger in his face. He stares at the finger, arms dropping to his sides, tail hitting the sand.

  “I—” he starts.

  “No,” she says emphatically. “Just no.”

  I can’t stop the grin from forming until she whirls towards me as if she knew it, and her angry glare destroys all hints of amusement.

  “No to you, too,” she says, lips forming a tight, hard line.

  I wonder how they would taste, and how long she could hold her serious look if I swept her into my arms and kissed her. I step towards her with every intention of following my urge, but she stops me by holding up an open hand and glaring. I throw my hands up in response. Becoming aware of how many members of the Tribe are watching right now, my scales warm in embarrassment. I’m the de facto leader with Visidion being over in the City, and I’m bending to Sarah like a plant bending to a sandstorm.

  “Padraig, I know we don’t have much in the way of resources for you to use, but the new village needs to be armed. We can’t leave them out there without tools to fend for themselves,” Sarah says.

  “Can’t do it,” Padraig says, stubborn as a bivo. “I can barely supply us.”

  Sarah stares at him silently, waiting. Padraig meets her stare, and seconds crawl. He lasts longer than I expected, which I have to give him credit for, but he caves, dropping his eyes from hers.

  “I thought so,” Sarah says. “How long?”

  “Spears by tomorrow,” Padraig says, sullen. “No way in hell can I do lochabers for them.”

  “They don’t need anything that fancy,” Sarah says. “They’d only hurt themselves with weapons like that. Get the spears done. At least a dozen, okay?”

  “Right,” he says, walking away without a glance in my direction.

  “Good, glad he’s coming into line,” I say.

  “You,” Sarah says, fi
nger wagging under my chin. “Have to learn that not everything can be resolved with your fists.”

  “But—”

  “No, no buts. We’re better than that. We have to be. Rosalind and Visidion entrusted the Tribe to our care.”

  “Drosdan,” Ragnar says, walking up with Olivia at his side, baby on her hip.

  The baby clings to her blouse with the tiniest little hands I’ve ever seen. They’re fascinating, so perfect and small. Each has a perfect, miniature fingernail on it that extends past the top of her fingers and comes to a small point, just like a full-grown Zmaj but minuscule. She shifts her grip, and her scales, subtle enough to almost miss, catch sunlight and sparkle like the rolling dunes out across the open fields.

  “Drosdan, up here,” Ragnar says, snapping his fingers in front of my face.

  “What?” I snap, irritation flaring.

  Soft cloth covers the baby’s arm up to her tiny, sweet face. Full cheeks, almost as if they’re stuffed with stored food, bright, sparkling blue eyes that match her mother’s. Small nubs of horns, thin red hair growing right up to them without going past. She smiles and makes a gurgling sound. An odd emptiness echoes in my stomach, a void that needs to be filled.

  “… Bashir will go to the village and stay—” Ragnar is saying.

  “Huh? Stay?” I ask, shaking my head, trying to clear it of the baby. Ragnar, Olivia, Sarah, and the baby all stare at me, so I frown and cross my arms over my chest. “Fine.”

  “Two weeks,” Olivia says. “He’s not happy about it, but he’s the best.”

  “Right, do it,” I agree. “What do you mean he’s not happy?”

  Olivia and Ragnar exchange a look as the baby shifts its position, giggling, pulling my attention back to it like a magnet. What is wrong with me?

  “He wants Penelope to come with him,” Olivia says.

  “We can’t send her out there—she’s heading up the garden and it’s about to harvest!” I exclaim.

  “Right,” Ragnar says, looking past me at the green expanse growing out of the large cavern.

  “Why would he want—?”

  “Drosdan,” Sarah cuts me off.

  “What?” I ask. “We can’t send her unless we can get Calista or Jolie here to oversee the harvest in her place. She knows more about it than anyone else. They’re not going to leave the City without good reason. What is he even thinking? Why her?”

  Past Sarah, I see Bashir next to the garden, standing inside the cavern. He turns and then I see that Penelope is with him. She touches his face, and he shakes his head. Understanding dawns.

  “Oh,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Olivia says.

  “It’s only a… short time,” I say.

  “So I’ve told him,” Ragnar says. “He’ll do it. He’s loyal and a good man. It’s not easy, though.”

  I know, better than most. I remember when Rosalind and Visidion sent Sarah off with Gershom. The pain I’d felt on finding out combined with anger, and then a long run across the desert. No matter, we do what we have to do.

  “We can’t send her, but who could we spare? Having a human with him would be smart anyway. They’ll be nervous enough dealing with a Zmaj,” I say.

  “How about Delilah?” Sarah suggests.

  “She was an engineer,” Olivia adds. “Could be right up her alley to help if they do have a mine out there to get running.”

  “Good, see if she’ll go,” I say, pointedly not looking at the baby on her hip.

  The baby’s eyes are hypnotic—everything about her is tiny and perfect. She’s a vacuum pulling me in, and I must resist. I don’t understand what her pull on me is, or the way she makes me feel. It’s a strange tingling that passes over my scales and settles into my core with an empty aching. I don’t have time for this.

  “I’ll talk to Delilah,” Olivia says. “First though, we haven’t had time to properly introduce you.”

  “Introduce?” I ask, glancing at her quickly while carefully keeping my eyes off the baby and her strange gravity.

  “Yes,” Olivia says, her face beaming with a bright smile. “This is Zoe.”

  She lifts the baby up between us, holding her out towards me. Instinctively I reach out, then, gaining control of myself, I stop and put my hands back to my sides. What a fool I am to take such a tiny thing in my hands! How would I keep from damaging the child? She is too tiny for hands such as mine. I’m sure she’s entirely too delicate. No, best to not touch.

  Zoe gurgles, reaching her tiny arms out towards me. Minuscule fingers open and close, reaching… for me. My hearts pound in my chest, making it hard to breath. Can’t get a deep enough breath. Light-headed. I’m swaying.

  “Drosdan?” Sarah asks, resting her hand on my arm.

  “I’m fine,” I answer her, but my words are choked as I force them past the lump in my throat.

  “It’s okay,” Olivia says. “I swear, you won’t hurt her.”

  “Why would you think that?” I bark. Olivia laughs, and Ragnar is grinning from ear to ear. “I’m fine. She’s just… I don’t need to hold her right now. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zoe. I should be on my way.”

  “Drosdan,” Sarah says, tightening her grip on my arm, stopping me from moving away.

  “Drosdan,” Ragnar says. “It’s fine. I felt the same way, trust me. You won’t hurt her.”

  Slowly I reach towards the small being, holding my hands out. Olivia lowers her into my hands. She’s so small she fits in the palm of a single hand, but I don’t risk that. I can’t let her drop, can’t apply too much pressure. She weighs nothing in my arms. Her sparkling blue eyes stare as if judging me, peering into my depths and deciding if I’m friend or foe. My shoulders are so tense it’s making my head hurt. She turns her tiny head to the side, looking for her mother or father. Her tiny brow furrows, creating the smallest of wrinkles, then she looks back at me and smiles, showing her toothless gums. Tiny hands reach out towards me, and she coos a sweet, endearing sound.

  The tension drains, and a strange sensation starts, like a fluttering in my stomach that sends tingles out through my limbs. Slowly, carefully, I bring the baby closer. Her smile widens, and she coos in what I think is pleasure. Holding her to my chest, the feelings explode in me, making it hard to breathe. It’s as if my hearts are expanding until they don’t want to fit in my chest. Glancing up, I see Sarah is watching, a big smile on her face. It hits me—this is what I want. Sarah and I should have a child of our own. A future opens up before me. One I hadn’t considered possible. I’d given up on it so many years ago, since the devastation when all hope was lost.

  “Hello,” Sarah says, leaning over my arm and holding a finger out to the baby.

  Zoe takes her finger and pulls it into her mouth, then starts sucking on it. I watch, unsure what to do now. Something moves against my hand. It takes me a moment to figure out that it’s her tail. She’s perfect, amazing, a stunning creation, and she, along with the other babies, is the future of both our races. Understanding comes with a rush, and for the first time I get what Rosalind is trying to do. Our races can’t survive alone. We need each other. Zoe furrows her tiny brow, squints her eyes, then pulls Sarah’s finger out of her mouth and cries. Even her cry is adorable, but cold fear pushes down the exhilaration in my chest.

  “Okay,” Olivia says, grabbing Zoe as if she is as sturdy as a sack of dried guster, and swings her up to her chest. “It’s feeding time.”

  “She is okay?” I ask, hearts pounding.

  “Sure, she’s just hungry,” Olivia says, obviously not concerned.

  “Right,” I agree, my arms feeling strangely empty. “So Bashir will go?”

  I focus on Ragnar, trying to ignore the weird emptiness and ache in my chest and arms.

  “Yes. Sending Delilah is good too,” Ragnar says.

  “We need a way to communicate,” Sarah muses.

  “What do you mean?” Ragnar asks.

  “We’re growing. When we were all in the City it wasn’t a big t
hing, but now we’re spread out. The Tribe here at the Caves, the City, now the Village or whatever name they give themselves. We need a method of communicating, something better than someone running days across the desert.”

  “How would we do that?” I ask.

  “No clue,” Sarah smiles. “It’s just a thought.”

  “It would be helpful,” Ragnar shrugs. “There used to be ways, I think, before.”

  Before. There were a lot of things, before. None of them are now. Now is all we have. Or is it? Sarah’s smile, her bright sparkling eyes, the beautiful curve of her sweet lips. Before, there was no Sarah. There was no hope, but now she’s here. Things change. No longer is anything set. We can change—everything can. Possibilities open up before us with every coming day. Olivia walks away carrying baby Zoe with her, and I know, with certainty, that the future is open now. Shifting sands out of which we can create anything we’re willing to work hard enough to have.

  “All right, make sure Bashir has all he needs. The Village needs our help sooner rather than later. We need to get food to them, and then train some of them to hunt on their own.”

  “I will,” Ragnar says.

  I turn in a slow circle, examining all we’ve accomplished here. When the Tribe arrived here, there was nothing more than a cliff. A rock jutting out of the rolling sand dunes thrust up in some long-ago upheaval. Dotted with small fissures and tiny caves, dominated by one large cavern leading into zemlja tunnels below the ground.

  Now a stone wall arcs out from one end of the cliff and comes around to meet the far end, sealing off an open area of safety inside it. It makes this area defensible against both natural and unnatural threats. The majority of Tajss threats are held back by its presence alone. If any outside threat, such as the Zzlo attack again, it makes a defense against them possible. Inside the open area a market place has been established, pitched awnings covering carpets and shielding tables of goods from the direct light of the suns, running along the inside of the wall.

  The fissures and tiny caves along the cliff have been opened and widened to create homes, and cloths now cover the openings, giving each group or family some privacy. The main cave now has a large garden emerging from its mouth. Irrigated by the water supply inside it through some creative engineering, a steady food source has taken shape. The human females work the garden every day in shifts, tending to the plants and making sure they are healthy and growing.