He glanced at the sleeping humans, decided they were going nowhere, and followed Aryana. She came to an abrupt stop, staring at a circle of dragons in the middle of the village. Inside the circle stood a group of black-masked humans, swords in a defensive posture.
Pop! Pop! To his right, a group of Council warriors appeared, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Their appearance meant he could convince Aryana to return to the Temple and check on her wounds. He smelled blood on her, and it wasn’t the human variety.
One of the warriors turned to Aryana, his open-wide eyes a comical accompaniment to his slack jaw. “High Priestess. What are you doing here?”
“I heard of the attack and came to check on the villagers.”
“Are you injured?”
The warrior took a step toward Aryana, but she held up a hand in defense. “I am fine.”
“You should not be here.”
I’ll take her to the Temple. There are two unconscious attackers behind the houses. He nodded to where the attackers were. Before Aryana could protest, Fafnir wrapped his tail around her legs and transported them to the Temple Courtyard.
As soon as they reappeared, Aryana shoved away from him, her left arm held against her chest, her eyes flashing sparks under the light of the glow lamps. “How dare you? I needed to be there, to comfort—”
You are injured. You need to be here.
“What right do you have to transport me against my will?”
If she only knew. He froze the words wanting to escape his tongue, wanting to proclaim to all she belonged to him, locked them up tight. He wanted her to know and yet he didn’t. Conflicted was not a state of mind he enjoyed.
He opted for a silent stare.
Narrowed eyes focused on him. The air around her shimmered and he flicked his tail around her legs before she could transport back to the village.
No.
“No? No? How can you stop me?”
By expending a lot more effort than he planned. Goddess’s teeth, she was powerful. Only with extreme effort did he manage to hold onto her and stop her from transporting. By the time she swayed, putting out her uninjured hand to collapse upon his tail, he panted with the effort exerted.
Stubborn female.
Who had clearly lost a lot of blood and needed tended to sooner rather than later.
Running the layout of the Temple through his mind, he tried to remember where the healing room for the cloistered males was located. Never having been there in his current form, he tried pulling the memory from when he was a hatchling, running the Temple corridors with his mother.
The memory came to him, the location of the room at the end of the infirmary wing. One room only, one extra-large room, since dragons rarely got sick. Or injured for that matter.
Scales protected against a lot.
At least the scales on male dragons. Judging from Aryana’s wounds, female dragons possessed flimsy scales more for show than protection.
Who knew?
It wasn’t like he’d ever heard of a female dragon. Those sightings had been relegated to long, long ago in a time far, far away. Fables. Tales told to children at bedtime.
How did Aryana manage to change into a dragon when no other female could?
His goal loomed before him, joined with the more pressing matter of taking Aryana to the healing room before she fainted from blood loss.
Closing his eyes, he focused on the healing room for cloistered males and transported them there. Aryana collapsed onto his tail, her fingers clinging to the spiked ridges of his scales as if they were a lifeline in raging waters. Her touch simultaneously soothed him and aroused him. What a combination.
Did all mated males feel this way toward their mates? How would he attain his goal of discovering how she changed into a dragon with these bloody emotions pinging around his veins?
He was in dragon form. Even if she felt the same way toward him, and that was a huge if, he couldn’t carry those feelings to their obvious conclusion. Dragons didn’t mate. They couldn’t. For a dragon to mate with a female was abhorrent, repellant, taboo.
And that did nothing to stop his feelings.
Bloody feelings.
Where did they get him? Nowhere fast.
Instead of over-thinking matters, he should be calling for a priestess to come tend to Aryana.
As if he’d called, the door banged against the stone wall, one infuriated priestess storming through the opening. Green eyes flashed worry that bled into anger, and she glared at Aryana as if holding back a physical strike. He remembered that look from when he was a hatchling and shuddered involuntarily. No reason to shrink against the wall, no reason at all. The anger wasn’t directed toward him.
For the moment anyway.
She stood, lips pursed white, her anger wrapping around her like a cloak too heavy to wear. Annaliese, the head Temple Healer, was the best choice to heal Aryana.
And the last person he wanted to see.
Chapter Four
Aryana sat on Fafnir’s tail and prayed she wouldn’t faint. When was the last time her energy had ebbed this low? During her testing for High Priestess? No, not even then. This tiredness went far beyond the exhaustion that drained her after the testing of her powers.
At the sensation of liquid dripping down her skin, she looked at the tear in her gown, at the blood draining from a gash the length of her forearm.
No wonder she felt weak. And fighting against Fafnir hadn’t helped any.
None of which explained how he managed to transport her against her will. She was the High Priestess, for Goddess’ sake. A tremendous amount of power resided in the position, not to mention her own innate magical abilities.
Very few Draconi possessed powers stronger than hers and most of them were confined to one family, those members who carried the blood of Alviss and his long dead mate Eir. Perhaps Eir had distant relatives, of whom Fafnir was one, since to her knowledge, only Annaliese and Keara remained of Alviss’s line.
So who was Fafnir to possess magic enough to overpower her will?
A mystery to answer once she could sit upright without the room spinning like a ball rolling down a slope.
“What happened?” Annaliese stormed into the room, her anger visible in tendrils wrapped around her head, her mouth flattened into a thin line.
Aryana shivered as a wave of exhaustion attempted to shove her over. Remaining upright took more energy than she expected, energy she needed to heal. But with Annaliese exhibiting uncharacteristic anger, and anger directed her way, blood loss was the least of her problems.
Her friend’s eyes snapped worry, relief, and anger in varying amounts, and Aryana felt like a child scolded for inappropriate behavior.
Not that she had behaved inappropriately.
Maybe she should have stayed at the Temple.
And miss out on the fighting? No, I’d do it again.
Did she just answer herself? Yes, yes, she did. Clearly she needed healing and fast.
She’s lost a lot of blood.
Aryana glanced at Fafnir and attempted to turn it into a glare. If only to prove that as a grown female, she could answer questions herself. Not that she seemed to be answering questions, but still. She could.
She hoped.
Maybe she needed his overprotective arrogance as the ability to open her mouth and speak seemed beyond her capabilities. Why was he being so protective? Because she was hurt? No, he had been protective of her all night, even before her injury. He acted like a mated male. Acted like she belonged to him, like she was his mate.
The thought was preposterous. He couldn’t be her mate. First off, she spent her life rejecting the prediction she possessed a mate. And even if she was wrong, only one mate existed per Draconi and hers died years ago.
Didn’t he?
“What!” Annaliese stared at Aryana, her anger morphing into worry.
Aryana shrugged the shoulder of her injured arm. “It’s bleeding.” Did that small voice really belong to
her?
Annaliese’s brows raised, then dipped as she hurried over, her anger forgotten in her obvious concern. “Let me see.”
She grasped Aryana’s wrist, her other hand held above the skin ran along the length of the gash, absorbing the pain. Her lips moved as she turned her hand palm up. A roll of bandages appeared in her palm, which she used to bind the gash. Aryana watched as blood continued to seep through the pristine white cloth, soiling it.
Still holding Aryana’s wrist in her hand, Annaliese turned to Fafnir. “She needs to be moved to a bed in one of the healing rooms.”
This is one of the healing rooms.
“This is one of the healing rooms for the cloistered males. As you can see there is no bed. She needs a bed. Now release her so I can transport her.”
No. Transport a bed here so I can remain by her side.
Annaliese snarled at the dragon, steam seeping from her ears, circling her face.
Aryana placed a hand on her friend’s arm. “S’all right. He can stay with me.”
Annaliese’s eyes narrowed, the steam still drifting from her ears. “Fine.” With a wave of her hand, a bed appeared on the other side of the room. “Release her, so I can transport—”
Before she made it to the end of the sentence, Aryana felt her body split apart, its particles coalescing on the bed. Annaliese still stood by Fafnir’s tail, her mouth open in an expression of surprise.
Aryana stifled a smile. “He’s good about that. Transporting.”
“I see.” Annaliese hurried to a cabinet in the room where she removed a bowl and bandages along with a jar of ointment. She turned toward the bed, muttered a curse, and with another wave of her hand transported a nightstand beside the bed.
Aryana alternated between watching her friend gather supplies and staring at the fresco on the ceiling. This room featured clouds and mountains floating across the ceiling in broad strokes. No frolicking dragons in here. Which stood to reason seeing as cloistered males no longer frolicked. At least not with female dragons. She glanced at Fafnir as the thought went through her mind.
I do not frolic with males.
Good. I find I don’t like that thought.
He chuckled. So, you’d rather I frolic with females?
I’d rather you frolic with me. Oh great, did she just say that? Judging by how his eye-ridges popped halfway up his forehead, the answer was yes. Clearly Annaliese needed to work her healing magic and fast before she spewed any other best-left-unsaid thoughts.
Would you now? The words whispered across her mind, low and seductive. If she hadn’t been suffering from blood loss, she would have appreciated its timbre.
Well, not right now.
Obviously not.
Don’t go anywhere.
Don’t worry.
“Here we go.” Annaliese hurried to the bed carrying the bowl filled with water, which she placed on the nightstand along with the other supplies. “I’m going to remove your sleeve, clean your wound, then repair it. All right?”
“Thank you.”
As Annaliese cut off the now-soaked-through bandage along with her sleeve and cleaned her wound, Aryana watched Fafnir lay down, curling his tail around his body, his gaze never leaving her face.
Why is he here? Her friend’s mind-spoken words cut across her thoughts, jarring her back to reality.
Long story.
I think we have time.
I’m sorry. You were right. I should have stayed here.
That doesn’t answer the question.
No, it doesn’t.
Why did you leave?
They are my people. I couldn’t see them hurt.
Were they hurt?
I don’t know. I was attacked as soon as I arrived.
You were what!
Ouch! Aryana jumped as the cloth used to clean her wound pressed hard against the gash.
Sorry. What happened?
Masked humans with swords spotted me and attacked.
Annaliese raised a brow. You must have fought well to only have this one gash.
You could say that. I turned into a dragon.
You what?
Turned. That’s why there is only one gash. Then Fafnir arrived. I’m not sure how he knew to come there, but he took my place and together we incapacitated the invaders. Then the Council showed up, Fafnir grabbed me, and you know the rest of the story.
Annaliese glanced over her shoulder at Fafnir for a moment before focusing again on her work. Will he tell what he saw?
I don’t think so. He seems rather protective of me. But I’d like to keep him close in case. Feel out the situation.
As you wish. Just promise me you won’t go running off to attacked villages in the middle of the night again.
Worried about me?
The corner of Annaliese’s mouth stretched into a grin. “I think it’s clean so I’ll say a spell to heal the skin and to replenish your blood supply. After which you will sleep, understand?”
Aryana nodded. Sleep sounded like a wonderful idea. Best idea ever. Tomorrow would be the day for discovering why Fafnir insisted upon protecting her. Why he followed her to Goleb. Why his magic was as powerful as hers. Then she could work on finding a spell to turn him human, to force him from his dragon state.
Although that might be more for her benefit than his. In his human state, she could bed him.
But first she needed Annaliese’s healing spell to work its magic, to invigorate her body, to restore her drained energy.
The healing spell weaved its way through her veins, closing her wounded skin, restoring her lost blood. Despite the healing, exhaustion flooded her body, and it took her a moment to realize the healing spell also carried a spell for sleep. Annaliese’s warm hands touched her forehead, stroking as one would a child. Or a beloved friend.
“Sleep, Ari. Sleep and heal. Peace to you.”
Aryana’s lids grew heavy as the spell coated them closed. Giving herself to the welcome sleep, she drifted away on a wave of peace.
****
Fafnir stretched, his claws raking against stone. Stone? He tensed as fear stabbed a hole in his gut. Was he back in his cell deep underground? His lids flipped open, heart racing a wild gallop, his breath uneven.
Not a cell. A healing room in the Temple.
The tension bled out of his muscles and a couple of deep breaths later, his heart rate calmed. He shook his head.
Would he ever stop having flashbacks to his time in captivity? At least he recovered quicker now than he had when first freed.
The soft sounds of snoring brought his head around. Aryana lay in a bed, covers pulled to her chest, her lashes dark against her cheeks. Morning light streamed from the windows, bathing the room in washes of pale pink and orange.
His mate.
What a fool he had been. Who was he kidding? It appeared his foolish behavior started as a hatchling and only worsened over the years. One would think as he aged he would grow out of such behavior, and yet here he sat, refusing to admit his true identity.
A fool and a coward. What a combination.
With the wisdom of ten-year-olds, he and Aryana had made a pact to ignore the prophecy of the old Seer. After all, the Seer’s usual predictions consisted of telling the parents of a baby whether that baby possessed a mate, not who that mate was. To his knowledge, they were the only couple predicted to be mates. And the prediction was a bit loose, no names attached.
Not that it kept their parents from deciding their fates lay together.
As a young hatchling, the last thing on his mind was taking a mate. And Aryana had a strong desire to be a priestess. Who was he to get in the way of her dreams?
So he ran. Had affairs with non-Draconi females. Fell in love with one. Deeply in love. Which only strengthened his belief the Seer erred in her prediction. How could he be so in love with another if the fates decreed he and Aryana belonged together?
But the love he’d felt for Mabbina held a dull gleam to how he now felt about Ary
ana.
The door creaked open, startling him from his thoughts. Annaliese walked into the room and Fafnir dropped his head, closing his eyes to slits, pretending to be asleep. She glanced at him, but her attention focused on the High Priestess as she walked to the bed.
One more person he didn’t want to see. What a yellow-bellied rabbit. He should pop his head up, refresh her memory as to his true name and allow her to wallow in excitement over seeing him again.
Who was he fooling? She probably would just as soon banish him as welcome him.
It had been a month since he’d returned to Draconia. Plenty of time to greet his family members. Instead, he hid.
He didn’t deserve Aryana. How could he be the mate she deserved if he couldn’t even work up the nerve to speak to his estranged family? Did they even think of themselves as estranged? Maybe they would greet him with pleasure. Maybe they would be overjoyed to see him. Maybe they would welcome him home.
Or maybe they would see what he did, how he left his daughter to rot in a village in Cautasia, to be raised by non-magical humans and think what an irresponsible muddle he made of his life.
Why would his family want him?
“You seem troubled.” Annaliese’s whisper caused him to jump, his lids snapping open, a snarl crossing his lip before he wiped it away.
Don’t you know better than to disturb a sleeping dragon?
“My apologies. You seemed troubled.”
You don’t say? He kept the thought to himself. She couldn’t help her curiosity.
Healers wanted to help others, felt driven to ferret out the cause of pain and unhappiness, even when they should leave well enough alone. As part of their nature, they could no more stop caring than they could stop breathing and expect to live.
Therein lay their problem. Especially for one such as he, who wanted to keep his secrets nice and tight inside. Bottled up, locked down and allowed to fester like dead flesh left in the sun.
No wonder Annaliese wanted him to play the sharing game. He probably smelled like rancid meat.
Bad dreams.
“Hmm. While I have a tonic for that, in your case it seems like something internal eating away at your heart.”
Dragon Lover Page 4
