“Audience voting now.”
The bright-haired female’s skin had taken on a pale-blue cast. The dragon looked closer. Was she of his clan after all?
The wyvern is suffocating our precious mate. His male’s voice took on a heavy finality. The jolt he needed to let loose memories of all that happened after the incarceration in stone.
We sought to protect her as dragon and male with the full ability to change. You heard the hag’s pronouncement. If we shift now, you may never see your dragon form again.
You sacrificed for Ekala. Now do it for our new mate. Claudia will bring you back. If anyone can, she will release the dragon in time.
The seer took one last disdainful look at the unconscious female and then she turned her black gaze to him.
“The energy bars will fry your male to a crisp, should he be so foolish as to attempt escape.” She tossed her chin at the hovering eyes. “Oh, the audience will love that, but that’s only a single episode of your story, dragon. I’d rather planned a whole series, with reruns, and perhaps a special or two. You have no idea how this new world of yours works, do you? They’ll be out there, pressing their little buttons. And they always vote for the series.”
He’d stopped listening, too lost in the agony of losing his dragon, of knowing every anguished moment of hesitation stole another breath from his precious thing.
“It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, dragon.” The seer crooned at him, soft words with a mocking edge. “I’ll see that you forget her.”
He thought never to know love when Ekala first gazed at him with such timid fear in her eyes. He went into that union with such hope, and she wished only to do her duty and be left alone. But Claudia had looked at him with eyes that promised so much more…
His dragon huffed out a stream of blue-and-pink smoke. Breathed in the sharp acrid tang of fire. The eye crackled, and he thought it spoke. No time to listen to that.
“No, dragon. I will not allow it.” The seer’s ear-piercing screams, his own guttural roars of pain, rattled his ear-drums. Too out of practice for a seamless shift, he stuttered in half-shift, punched his way through to his full male, landing panting on hands and knees.
Tharius the male measured the distance. Turned sideways and jumped.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Poor dragon. That small glimpse inside its head made Claudia understand its hesitation, the reluctance to give up all that power and beauty to be a mere male.
She could die here, expiring nobly in the wyvern’s grasp, and leave him to Serllia. Alive, and no doubt evil, but still a fully formed dragon. Black patches danced before Claudia’s eyes. The wyvern’s studded tunic cut into her neck. If they lived through this, she’d give her all to return Tharius his beast. But there were no guarantees.
She made herself limp in the wyvern’s arms, slowing her breathing and sagging against him. Instinctively, he loosened his hold on her neck, allowing the blood to resume flowing. Joan of Arc was welcome to her martyrdom. She had a dragon-man to save. A child to protect.
“Claudia will live.” The camera spoke. “She already earned her passage out here. Call off the wyvern. Let her go.”
Oh, thank Dio and all his angels, the Corporation were still on her side. The wyvern made no move to release her, completely in thrall to Serllia, who was ranting to the viewers, demanding more time.
“Release Claudia. Calibrating responses now.”
“All right, you win this one. But you don’t get him.”
The wyvern shoved her viciously away. Claudia staggered, her vision cleared, and she looked up to see an empty cage. No, not empty, a male with shimmering skin hunched on the ground, black hair trailing in the dirt, one knee bent like a runner waiting for the off. In one smooth movement, he unfurled, twisted his shoulders and dodged through the energy beams.
Three hissing sparks ignited one after the other. The man dropped and rolled, his dark mane burning like a halo around his head. He smothered the flames, throwing dirt, slapping at his scalp, breathing fast and hard. Spirals of smoke rose from his singed skin, but he was alive.
The crazy fool was alive. And with use of both arms.
Serllia darted for the trees, yelling for the wyvern to attack. Engaged in frantic damage control.
Never come between a dragon and his mate.
No need of thrall, the wyvern was already shucking his tunic, shifting towards his beast, and striding for the smoking man with murder in his eyes.
“Stop him.” Claudia appealed directly to the cameras. “That wyvern is not a part of this.”
“He is now.” The sands shifted so quickly during these live feeds. Driven by millions of viewers deciding the action, they cheered and abandoned according to their whims. No one was safe.
She jumped into the wyvern’s head and found Serllia already there.
Kill him and take the female. You shall have first go at her when we get back to camp.
Tharius rose from his crouch, arms braced at his side. Her first glimpse of the pure male inside the beast.
His skin shimmered bronze, glittering with blues and purples in the dancing light. Dark hair, singed on one side almost to his scalp. The broad shoulders and deep chest of a fighter. A small bump to his nose, full lips and liquid, purple eyes fringed by curling lashes.
The strong, severe face that sent Ekala into an undisguised panic when she saw the male destined to share her bed.
“You idiot.” She spoke aloud, never forgetting they needed that audience onside. Knowing he’d get the gist. “I would have saved you.”
Tharius shrugged. And was that an almost-grin playing about his lips? “I was ever an impatient dragon. You think I’d sit in that cage and let this thing have you?”
A wyvern in half-shift? Not a good idea, Tharius. She saw Serllia, sidling carefully away to the thicket, like some villain making her exit from a bad fantasy movie. Tharius followed her gaze.
Let her go. Even now, Claudia still couldn’t bring herself to contemplate cold-blooded murder. Tharius lifted his face to the camera.
“My dragon made a vow. The seer must die.”
Let them vote on it. Watch out for the wyvern. He couldn’t possibly take that beast. Not as a man. A camera held the wyvern back while the controllers recalibrated this new turn of events.
Not just any man, Claudia. When a dragon fights, all of him fights.
A square box emerged from the trees, herding a cursing Serllia into the clearing. One shoe missing, a straggle of grey hair flopping over her face. She’d never looked more…human.
“You gambled and lost, Serllia.” How could she still feel pity for the old female? Inside that grandmotherly exterior beat a heart of undiluted evil.
Serllia managed a weary smile. “On Prison Moon One, all the world’s a stage, Claudia. And all we males and females, merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and this, it seems is mine.”
Stunned, Claudia listened to the facsimile of words last heard in a school production of “As You Like It”.
“And one man in his time plays many parts. Who taught you those lines, Serllia?”
“A very ancient seer by the name of—”
Oh, Dio, don’t let her say Shakespeare was an alien, or my head will just about explode.
“—Kariare of Tesuto Four in the outer rim. I believe he visited your Earth once upon a time and left a few words of his wisdom behind.” Serllia’s legs shook, and she lowered herself with the last shreds of her dignity to sit in the mud. “It would have been glorious, dragon. Me and you might have ruled half this moon.”
“And instead, you die.” The words, delivered without emotion, hung between them.
“I’ll kill him for you, mistress. Tell them to give me leave.” The wyvern found his voice at last. “I’ll take him with one blow.”
“You will all await the viewers’ pleasure,” the camera spat. “Anyone who moves before I give the word, will die now.”
Claudia let out a long breath. Tharius swayed a little, his skin catching highlights of pale blue in the filtered light, still fizzing where it contacted the energy bars, his expression dazed. He was lucky not to have fried his brain.
When she rubbed her bruised throat, Tharius’s gaze slid to the wyvern, reminding her they might still be in a fight for their lives.
This time it’s to the death, she thought. Not losing him now.
You have to live, Claudia. For the sake of the child. May I kill the hag now?
He was close enough to Serllia to bend and take her neck in one hand. A quick twist, and she’d be out of their lives. Claudia turned her head, watching the swaying trees making shifting shadows in the clearing. The wyvern’s rasping breath hissed beside her. Serllia was laughing softly, a noise halfway between mirth and sorrow.
No, wait for your cue. Do it well and ask for time. I have three days. Ask for the same, and maybe we’ll have a chance.
We’ll find Toren and make for…
Shh. Claudia put two fingers on her lips. She’s listening.
What does it matter? In a moment, she’ll be dead.
Don’t make me watch. Hell, why am I here, and you over there? Claudia took a step, then another, ignoring the camera moving in. Tharius raised an arm, ready to enclose her. The maimed arm, now restored by the full shift. Dio, he was a sight to behold.
I’ll live or die at your side, Tharius. She tucked under his arm and let go another long breath, snuggling into the solid muscle. He pulled her in tight, like he’d never let her go. Soft lips touched her hair.
One moment at a time, she thought on a long sigh. That’s all we can count on. Anything more is a bonus.
“We will have many moments, Claudia. Neither you, nor I, will die today,” Tharius said quietly. “Listen, the camera is about to speak.”
How did you know that?
I’m a dragon.
Did he just smile into her hair? There would be smiles in his future. She’d make sure of that. The wyvern growled, low in his throat. This beast must die, or he’d be out there waiting his chance for another go at them.
“Attention, contestants. The viewers have voted.”
I love you, Tharius. Now seems a good time to tell you.
“Are you Earth beings always so unfailingly cheerful facing death?”
I’m afraid so. You’d better get used to it.
“We have an interesting result. One dragon on the loose, and now another. So many ways we can play this. The seer will live. She hasn’t outstayed her usefulness yet. The wyvern will return her to Othrid’s camp.”
Claudia sagged, flooded with liquid relief that Tharius wouldn’t be reduced to executing an old female for the viewers’ enjoyment. But if Serllia lived, like the wyvern, she’d never be far behind them.
Serllia had barely raised her head when the wyvern shifted on the run and scooped her up. The creature rose, Serllia tucked into its talons. A camera peeled away to follow.
We’ll meet again, Claudia. This is all a part of the game.
Don’t expect a welcome. Tharius won’t be so compliant next time.
“And us?” she said to the camera. “What happens to us?” They’d retracted the energy field, but it was still there, waiting to be deployed and hold them at the Corporation’s pleasure. And there was one other possibility. She knew that out there, somewhere, were other renegades, like them. People she’d crossed paths with, who were only trying to make a better life on this dismal world.
We can join with them, Tharius. Find Toren, build a tribe.
“It seems from the voting, your well-endowed dragon-man’s caused quite a fluttering across the sector. You are free to leave – for now. Provide us with...” he paused, chuckling again. “Entertainment and you may well earn more rewards.”
Claudia nodded, making sure to look grateful for the Corporation’s double-edged generosity. And oh, Dio, she’d forgotten Tharius was naked. She made the mistake of looking down at his impressive package. Tharius shrugged, unapologetic.
“You have never heard the expression, hung like a dragon?”
Did you just make a joke? A tiny surge of joy spiralled in her chest. Take the moments, store them away. This was all they ever had.
“General Tharius of Dra’Kathis never jests. Especially with regard to his cock. Fetch me my garments and we will leave.” We vowed before the war, were Toren and I separated, we would make for Dra’lera, if it remained hidden from the invader’s eyes.
We’ll be followed. We must be careful. She handed him the boots, vest and pants. All those disappointed females, watching him cover up his beauty.
They’ll follow us, Tharius. And not just to see where we go.
He slid into the vest, tied the lacings at his chest with strong, elegant fingers, and she almost wanted to weep. How sad he’d looked with that maimed arm tucked protectively into his body.
They wish to see us coupling?
It’s better than fighting.
Tharius paused. I returned to restart the war.
And found this instead.
And found you.
In one smooth movement, he hooked a hand under her arms and lifted her face level with his. She wrapped her legs around his waist, wishing they were skin to skin, unable to get close enough. The cameras closed in. If this kept him out of the arena, she’d invite the whole universe to line up and watch.
The scent of sulphur lingered in his burnt hair, and when he touched his lips to hers, she tasted smoke and a hint of something feral and dark. She shivered.
Don’t fear my dragon, he whispered and kissed a promise onto her lips. He’ll never hurt you. He wishes to meet you. And as you know, he is not a patient dragon.
Together we’ll release him. He gave up so much for me.
My dragon knows the value of sacrifice. He did it for you both.
Then I thank him. This close, his purple eyes blurred into twin smudges of colour. Using her gifts, Claudia looked beyond, and saw the dragon gazing back at her. Proud, defiant. A living version of the stone statue that called her to find its fire. She’d finish the task she started in that temple. Of course, she would.
Do I pass muster, General Tharius?
He took his time, his dragon gaze roving over every inch of her, lingering on her stomach where a small miracle was quietly ignoring the drama and settling in.
You’ll do, the dragon said in her head. You’ll do very nicely, soldier.
Epilogue
The world he came back to save is gone. Some days, the sadness in his eyes is too much, so she holds him and murmurs soft words of reassurance while he sits and gazes with brooding eyes at distant horizons.
“Toren is out there. Why does he not make contact?”
Claudia hears the frustration in his voice. Dragon or man, patience will never be one of his strengths. She scoots around to sit beside Tharius on the high ledge fronting the deserted temple. His dragon ached to take her to his lair, but she talked him out of that. Tharius doesn’t need to see the empty space left by his looted hoard. He vows to win it back, but understands as well as she that the Corporation will never give them the means to trade for arms and bribe warriors to their cause.
And if she’s honest with herself, she doesn’t want to live with Ekala’s ghost, the spirit she felt so strongly there.
Maybe one day, Tharius. The Corporation will give you a chance...
When they do, I will be there.
The steel in his eyes reminds her he did not let it go lightly and her heart clenches at the thought of losing him in a fight to regain his lost treasure. An argument she’ll never win so she smiles and vows to live in the moment, relishing what she found, with him.
Her dragon-man.
When the Corporation let them go, he brought her here, to this high temple, abandoned like all the others. A place of relative safety where they can rest and plan.
Tucking into his side, she presses her face to his bare chest, taking in the tang
y scent of sweat and the lingering hint of smoke. He pulls her in and resumes his vigil, gazing with his purple, searching eyes for the lost brother he yearns to see.
He’ll make contact when it’s safe.
“Do you sense him? Is he out there?”
I think so. It’s very faint, but there’s an energy like yours and it’s getting closer, Tharius.
“Then I will go down and seek him out.”
And I’ll insist on coming with you, because you’re not strong enough to face the dangers out there. Not yet. She kisses him, flicks at his nipple with her tongue. He likes that and groans, thoughts of Toren pushed aside. He pulls her down onto the piled up blankets where they sleep in this season of high sun, and rolls to face her.
“Teach me more of your words. I like the sound of your voice falling on my skin.”
He’s working at the knot of her simple sarong, peeling apart the filmy fabric. Placing a flat palm onto her quivering stomach, he listens to the growing child.
“Baby.” Say it, Tharius. Our baby.
“Ow-er son.” He says it with mischief in his eyes, and then a question. “Is it a son, Claudia? Does he speak to you?”
Would you mind very much if it was a daughter?
“A daughter would be a rare gift,” he says and bends to kiss her soft skin. Nothing to show for the pregnancy, yet, and she has no idea what to expect. How big she’ll grow, and how she’ll birth this child. She knows only a serene calm, and trusts that when the time comes, her body will know what to do.
“Da-ughter.” Is this how you say it?
It’s near enough. She takes his hand. He knows where she’s going and palms her breast, squeezing gently. Pregnancy makes them so sensitive, she nearly comes from his touch alone.
“Bre-ast.” The hand drifts lower, dipping between her legs. Was it only this morning they had sex up against the temple wall? Frantic and explosive with no soft words of love, and sometimes he needs it just like that. The man steps back and it’s the dragon taking her fast and hard.
Overhead, wisps of thready cloud streak the pink-blue sky. And there, edging over the ledge, is the ever-present camera broadcasting their lust, their love, to anyone with the cash to pay.
STONE DRAGON: A Prison Moon Series Romance Novel Page 27
