Hatched (Scifi Alien Romance) (Dragons of Preor Book 6)

by Celia Kyle

  Words filled his ears then…

  …monitor…

  …contractions…

  …distress…

  …labor…

  Labor. He knew that word—one he’d heard during Lana’s ah-point-mentz with Carla. Human labor was like presentation, and the only female near that event was his Lana.

  He whipped his attention back to his mate, to the tears in her eyes and the harsh lines of her face. He had fought to close their connection and not share his agony with her, which meant he also did not know her thoughts.

  So he allowed them to open freely, to take in her emotions while still attempting to withhold his own.

  It was at that moment that two things happened to Taulan—a fresh wave of agony encompassed him, and he realized his mate was in labor. She would present their dragonlets… soon.

  Lana wanted to push. She wanted to stay at Taulan’s side. She also wanted to murder him where he laid for getting her pregnant, but since her newest contraction was even stronger than all others, she figured she’d only get to push.

  As soon as she was done, though…

  She leaned her upper body on the platform, using the edge to keep her upright while all she wanted to do was curl into a tiny ball and beg whoever was listening to make it stop.

  Getting pregnant was a very, very bad idea. Horribad, even. The horrible-est of the horribles, and she wished he’d taken his balls and gone home. That would have prevented all of this. But he hadn’t, and now she had two little eggs inside her that were ready to hatch.

  Not actual hatching but it was fun to tease her mate, and her amniotic sac was thick enough to be egg-ish.

  She didn’t have a bit of teasing on her mind though—mostly murderous thoughts between rolling waves of “kill me now” pain.

  “Lana, the quads have arrived to take the stupid males away.” The digital voice with a hint of feminine lilt pierced her thoughts and she fought to draw in air. She couldn’t issue orders if she couldn’t speak, and speaking required air so… “Lana?”

  She was gonna have Liquid Knot program patience into the damned ship.

  “Liquid Knot?” And apparently she said that out loud because Whelon’s questions weren’t stopping. “Are knots capable of being created from liquid? Is a liquid knot the source of the virus?”

  If she didn’t actually need Whelon, she’d order him removed as well.

  “Knots are incapable of being created from liquid, Healing Master.” Vende, ever so helpful.

  “Liquid Knot is not a what. It is a who.” Choler chuckled.

  “There are such beings? Tied liquid?” Argan sounded skeptical, and he should.

  He should also get his ass out of Lana’s birthing suite because the babies were coming and there was no more delaying.

  “Whelon, it’s not a virus, it’s programming. Now, get a platform and move it to Taulan’s side. I don’t care what needs to be done, I want it here. Now.” She spat out the words, rushing them from her mouth during the lull between contractions. He tried to question her, but she didn’t stop. “Vende, Choler is correct, Liquid Knot is a female. Argan, her real name is Lily King and she’s a human…” She tried to think of a Preor word that would translate. Preors didn’t exactly have hackers. “A human systems-data specialist who assisted in reprogramming the ship to better work with humans. The ship’s name is Penelope. She’s sarcastic, annoying,” Lana ignored the ship’s harrumph, “and awesome.”

  The next contraction approached, the pressure increasing, and if things didn’t get moving she’d drop the babies on the floor. “Now, get the fuck out before I kill you all.”

  And so help her, she would. Happily.

  As if her hard as steel determination was all that was needed, the others in medical burst into action. Carla and Grace stepped aside while the quads moved in and escorted most of the males from the room. The Preors alternated between glaring at Lana—which she’d kick their asses for later—and utter confusion. Probably over Liquid Knot. Good. Let them stew on that and not on Lana.

  Soon quiet—of a sort—descended. It wasn’t quiet per se, but low, focused speech. The remaining group was focused—intent on doing what needed to be done.

  For her, the dragonlets, and Taulan. She wouldn’t allow Taulan to become secondary to her. Ever. Their young were important—already loved more than anything in the galaxies—but Taulan was part of her soul.

  “Lana?” Penelope’s voice was hardly a whisper, the word drifting to her from her right. Was she hallucinating? Was that why she heard the ship so quietly?

  “Penelope?”

  “I have researched, Lana.” She hadn’t realized Liquid—Lily—had coded the ability into the ship, but Lana didn’t really have the energy to care about the ship’s apparently artificial intelligence leanings. “I believe I know the cause of the War Master’s illness.”

  “What?”

  “In Preor history—”

  “I have the Preor history in my head. The Knowing…” The Knowing hadn’t told her anything. How could the ship know what was wrong if the Knowing hadn’t had any answers? It was the genetic history of the Preors and…

  “Listen,” the ship actually snapped at her, and if she lived through the mess of giving birth and dealing with Taulan’s illness, she’d demand Lily fix the ship’s attitude. “Mated couples experience presentation as one. They share the pain. The female is also prepared to birth Preor young. You are human. The young you bear are not. Not fully. Your pain is greater and cannot be tempered with pain inhibitors. The War Master’s illness is not illness. He feels your agony.”

  “Fuck.”

  “That is how you achieved your bearing state.” If technology could smile, she was sure the ship would be grinning—which almost caused her to grin.

  Almost.

  But then there was the pain…

  Lana lifted her head, prepared to do whatever needed doing if the group still filling medical would get their shit together. The Preors and women formed a small cluster of bodies near the entry to the space, heads bent while they exchanged rough whispers and hisses.

  “Hey,” she raised her voice, trying to get their attention, but her throat was no more than a scratchy mess of dried flesh. She swallowed in an attempt to draw saliva forward, and then tried again. “Hey!”

  As one, the group fell silent and spun to face her. “I’m ready to have my babies now.”

  “Have…” Taulan breathed out the single word and she lowered her attention to her mate. “Present?”

  Lana nodded and battled to lessen their connection—block her mate from the harshest edges of her labor. If he was truly experiencing the pain, she didn’t want him to endure any more. Males…

  Males were built for battle. They were created and honed to endure painful wounds and pure exhaustion from fighting.

  They were not created by the skies to suffer unending childbirth. Women didn’t enjoy it, but they were created with the strength to withstand the experience, and that was exactly what plagued Taulan.

  “Yes.” She gently stroked hair from his brow, wiping away the hints of sweat that dappled his temple. “I’m going to present our twins, and you’re going to hold my hand while I do it.” It was the least he could do. If she managed to separate herself from his consciousness, then he could at least let her squeeze his fingers for a while. “And the only reason you’ll let me go is to hold one of them, okay?”

  “Lana,” he shook his head. “I do not know if…”

  His voice trailed off as if the agony stole his voice, and she realized another contraction had wrapped itself around her middle. She pushed Taulan’s mind from her own, pulling away from their ties and stretching the connection until it was no more than a thin thread.

  Small hands reached for her, a set on each side of her body clinging to her arms. Grace and Carla? Probably.

  It was Grace who spoke. “Lana, we can’t move a medical platform. You’ll have to leave Taulan—”

  “
No.” She wouldn’t. Not ever.

  “Lana—” Carla tried.

  “No.” She tore her gaze from Taulan and focused on Carla—on the woman who’d attended more births than the males had caused deaths. “He’s experiencing my labor, Carla. It could kill him.”

  Carla shook her head. “The Knowing didn’t—”

  “The Knowing didn’t make the connection. I did.” Penelope interjected. “I am greater than genetic history.”

  That cocky attitude was all Liquid.

  Grace was the first to move into action. “We’ll move him to a med transport and use a portable unit to monitor him. You’ll take the platform.” She snapped her fingers and issued orders, calling out to Whelon, Yazen and Zadri. “Whelon, scrub in. Yazen, get the portable unit. Zadri, get me the transport. Move.”

  The room burst into a rush of rustling wings and pounding steps, the males rushing to do as ordered as if Grace was the war mistress. At that point, Lana would gladly have handed the title over. She didn’t want to be War Mistress. She wanted to be Lana giving birth without a massive amount of pain due to magical drugs.

  But she wasn’t. Which meant that when the med transport appeared on the other side of the platform, she had to let Taulan go. Then she had to allow the others to help her to take her mate’s place. His warmth and scent suffused her, a new strength edging into her body and calming some of the riotous feelings consuming her blood.

  A golden glow flickered to life above her, the ryaapir unit jumping into action the moment she laid in place. It scanned her body, the yellow expanding until it encompassed her from head to toe. It flickered red above her arm, where her forearm stretched across the distance between her and Taulan.

  Whelon grasped her wrist, his touch gentle but firm. “Lana, you must—”

  “I won’t let him go.”

  “The ryaapir cannot—”

  “The War Mistress has spoken.” Penelope’s voice boomed and rose above all others, the red blinking out of sight in an instant—probably the ship taking control. “Proceed with the presentation.”

  Okay, maybe she wouldn’t complain to Liquid. Maybe she’d leave Penelope exactly as she was.

  Hand still clutching Taulan’s, she turned her attention to the two Preor healers. “Monitor Taulan. Grace and Carla will help me.”

  It wasn’t like there was a lot of helping that could be done. She had to push. Now.

  5

  Other males had not lied. Taking a life was easy compared to giving. Taulan would know. He experienced every jolt of agony, every ache, and every torturous breath that consumed his mate. He did not move, remaining as motionless as his mate while push after push consumed her thoughts.

  And his own. Their minds became one, their thoughts entwined so deeply he wondered if the musings were his or hers.

  Though it did not matter. Not when he experienced the cause of her shouts, curses, and tears—tears that matched his own—and he would not apologize for crying like a dragonlet. He had not experienced such suffering. He did not know how his mate survived so much torment. She was tiny, delicate, yet fought harder than any warrior he’d met.

  “Push, Lana, push.” Grace’s voice was urgent—demanding. He would censure the female later. No one gave his mate orders.

  “I can’t…” Two words from his mate that held so much meaning. He did not know how long she labored, but he recognized exhaustion and defeat when he heard it.

  His mate was simply done. She did not have the strength to continue. She would…

  No.

  He would not allow such a thing.

  Lana… He reached for her mind, opening himself up and taking the suffering that consumed her. You must push, shaa kouva.

  Shaa kouvi. Even her mental voice was filled with tears—tears that broke his heart—but he could not relent. The Knowing informed him that females of the distant past had died while attempting to present young. That would not happen to Lana. He would not lose her. Be with me Lana. We will give breath to our dragonlets. Give me your pain.

  You can’t handle—

  I will take whatever I must to protect my mate and dragonlets, Lana. Give it to me.

  But—

  “Push, Lana!” Grace.

  “Baby One is in distress.” Carla. Baby One. Was that one of their young? “Baby Two is on One’s heels. You gotta push for me Lana. I really don’t want to do a C-section without drugs.”

  Yes. Yes, that was their dragonlets and a C-section… the Knowing pushed the answer forward. It was the cutting of flesh to remove young from their dam.

  “I can’t…” Lana sobbed.

  Shaa kouva, you must. I did not attend birthing instruction for them to remove our dragonlets by force. Do your breathing.

  Fuck breathing. This hurts.

  I know, shaa kouva. He cooed the words. Any other time he’d be accused of attempting to placate her, but he truly did understand the depths of her pain. It had become his own. But you must.

  “Baby One’s heart rate is dropping, and Mom’s blood pressure isn’t doing great.” Snaps filled the air, one of the females doing that odd thing with their fingers to make noise. “Lana, you gotta stay with me. I promised I wouldn’t let it get down to you or them, didn’t I? Don’t make me a liar.”

  Lana or them…

  Lana, I will not lose you.

  The babies… shaa kouvi, I’m so tired.

  Then take my strength. He would give her all if it meant the survival of their family. All. Breathe with me and bring our dragonlets into the world.

  Taulan…

  Hee hee hee whooo… The sounds were odd, but human history was undeniable. The Lamaze breathing had assisted many human females with presentation in the past, and he prayed to the skies it would help his mate. Come, Lana, you must.

  Lana mentally whimpered, but then he heard the most beautiful sound he’d ever witnessed. “Hee, hee, hee, whooo…”

  The syllables were soft, breathy, as if the speaker held not an ounce of strength, but he heard them none the less.

  And Taulan counted them. He took her pain into himself. He accepted the debilitating agony that threatened to consume him and tucked it away as he counted her breaths.

  One. Two. Three. Four…

  Then “push, push, push, push…”

  One. Two. Three. Four…

  Another “push, push, push, push…”

  The same pattern repeated, his mate fighting, Grace and Carla demanding, while he remained practically unmoving at her side. He was unable to assist as he’d heard of. He could not hold her hand, bathe her brow, or clutch her knee as she “bore down.” He still did not understand the full meaning or purpose for each action, but he had looked forward to experiencing it with Lana.

  Taulan, I can’t.

  You can. He would apologize for snarling at her once their dragonlets rested in their arms. You will. The skies did not give me a weak mate. Do not act like a child.

  A new emotion joined the continued pain—anger. Anger that gave his mate strength even as it hurt his own heart.

  A child? The words whispered through his mind with a tone he recognized—one that preceded a loud argument. He would take her arguments over her resignation.

  Yes. I did not mate a child. Do not act as one. Present our young. He snarled the last words, hating himself for each syllable. He hated himself even more when her renewed physical pain intruded. It stole the very air from his lungs, snatching away his breath. It made him wish to hide from the agony while in Lana…

  It made her shout.

  At him.

  “I’ll show you a child, you fucker. If you ever touch me again, so help you. You did this to me! And you call me a child? I’ll—” she grunted and ended that sound with a low, drawn out groan, one that stretched on and on while the agony doubled and then doubled again.

  “That’s it, Lana. Give me another one like that.” Grace’s tone no longer held the tenseness he’d recognized the last time she spoke. No, in truth, sh
e seemed almost happy that Lana suffered so grievously. “Come on, you can do it. Another good one.”

  Good one? When Lana’s misery wracked him once more, he did not think it very good. The pressure increased, growing and stretching until he felt as if the heat of their dragonlets consumed him.

  “Crowning.” Carla called out the single word.

  He did not understand. Their young were not royalty. Why would his dragonlets be given a crown?

  Then it did not matter.

  Not when he felt as if he had been ripped in two. Not when he felt life slipping away. Not when the skies beckoned him. He was pulled away, mind drifting up and up until…

  Until the pressure popped with a final shout from his mate—one that was more bellow than feminine cry. It was what immediately followed that solidified him back to his body.

  A young cry. A dragonlet’s cry.

  His dragonlet’s cry, soon followed by another gut-wrenching pain mere moments later. The second dragonglet’s cry filled his ears, the joy in his heart growing and stretching until it matched the happiness that consumed Lana.

  The pain was… forgotten. It was nothing. It was inconsequential compared to the elation of hearing his dragonlets for the first time.

  Lana, are they as beautiful as we imagined? Sleep pulled at him, urging him to relax into the med transport.

  Sleep or death?

  Lana?

  “Taulan,” she whispered in return. “Open your eyes and see.”

  I… He wished to rest. He wished to let exhaustion snatch him into darkness, but a renewed determination soon followed.

  Lana’s determination.

  Taulan forced his eyelids to part and turned his attention to his nearby mate. It was her exhaustion. Her desire to close her eyes and allow tiredness to overcome her need to care for their young—her bone deep desire for rest.

  She had been strong during her labors. She had fought the toughest battle of all and presented him with two dragonlets. It was now his turn to care for her.

  Movement just past his mate drew his gaze, and he spied both Carla and Grace standing nearby, small bundles wrapped in xina—weightless, strong Preor cloth—in their arms.