by Celia Kyle
His dragonlets—their dragonlets.
Taulan drew some of Lana’s lingering exhaustion into himself, giving his strength in return. He released Lana and placed his hand on the med transport, pushing until he was upright with his legs dangling over the edge.
“We have two little bundles who would like to meet their mommy and daddy.” Grace’s face glowed, her smile spreading as she spoke. Carla’s smile was similar, her own tiredness resting on her shoulders.
Lana reached out for one, cradling the dragonlet close to her chest while she pressed a kiss to the young’s head. He did not know if the one she held was male or female. They had only discovered the sex of one of their young, not both. But it did not matter.
He was… a dah-dee.
He held a title no Preor male ever imagined to possess. There was hope when the fleet arrived in Earth’s orbit, but not true expectation. Yet, here he was—a wingless war master with a mate and two dragonlets of his own.
One of which cried out when Lana lifted the bay-bee away as if to hand the dragonlet to him and… set his mommy’s clothing aflame.
6
After two weeks of scorched clothes and replaced garments, Lana needed to just get used to being naked—twenty-four-seven nakedness. Not because doctors paraded in and out of her hospital room, asking her to disrobe for an exam. Nope.
It was because her kid liked setting his mother’s clothes on fire. Fire.
The only saving grace was the fact that Preor fire—any fire—didn’t hurt her. She was biologically compatible with a Preor and with her mating to Taulan came certain benefits—more than just a hot alien mate who gave her beautiful babies, babies she loved more than anyone else in the world. But that wasn’t true. She loved Taulan—Taulan who’d suffered every snippet of pain she experienced giving birth to the little ones. Her heart overflowed with emotion and her eyes stung, vision blurring with the beginning of tears. It seemed all she’d done since the little monsters came out was cry.
“Our dragonlets are not monsters.” Taulan’s voice preceded his scent, and then his heat bathed her back. He propped his chin on her shoulder and stared down at the twins sleeping in their cradle. “And you are not to cry.” He nuzzled her neck and she tilted her head to the side to give him more room. “I forbid it. I cannot handle your tears. They destroy me.”
“I…” Lana took a deep breath and sought her center, hunting for a calm that’d escaped her the last two weeks—two weeks of crying babies, tender breasts, and hormone fluctuations that were about to drive her crazy.
Taulan moved away, his chest no longer flush with her back, and he cupped her shoulders. She allowed him to move her as desired, nudge her until she turned to face him. “Hush, shaa kouva. Our dragonlets nap and you are exhausted.” Dark eyes bored into hers, his intent stare missing nothing. Then again, she didn’t want to hide anything from him either. “You constantly care for our young. Let me care for you.”
Lana leaned into him, letting her larger mate take her weight. She sank into his embrace and let herself simply breathe in his presence. The kids were sleeping. Her mate survived the pain of birth. They were all healthy and well, even if they weren’t quite sure what “normal” growth progression for human-Preor babies happened to be.
By Earth standards, the kids were better than perfect. By Preor standards, they were just shy of acceptable.
In her and Taulan’s opinion, they were perfect, annoying, constantly demanding attention monsters.
Taulan chuckled and ran his hands up and down her spine. “Shaa kouva, you must stop calling our young monsters. Even in your mind.”
Lana grinned and rubbed her cheek on his bare, muscular chest. Even without wings, the War Master wore the uniform of his warriors, two katoth—tanned hide—straps that crisscrossed a Preor’s chest. One strap to reflect honors, the other position.
Instead of replying, she simply stood still, resting in the quiet of their rooms while the twins slept. She’d been up and down with them all night, their attitudes shifting from hungry, to angry, to happy and ready to play—until about ten minutes ago when they’d both finally collapsed and slept, hopefully for several hours so Lana could as well.
While Taulan—even though he’d been at her side all night—began his shift on the command deck.
She yawned, opening her mouth wide as it continued on and on in an unending stretch.
“You are still too tired. I should not leave you. I will inform Kozav…”
Lana shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Whelon and Yazen stop by every day and Liquid,” —even though she secretly thought of the hacker as Lily— “has tweaked Penelope’s programming so that I have no choice when it comes to summoning you or the healers.”
Lily had not been happy to hear that Lana had decided to walk across the ship rather than call medical. Now she wouldn’t get a choice in the matter.
Taulan grunted. “I am not sure I believe you.”
She stroked his chest. “You don’t have to believe me.”
“You have to believe me.” The all too cheery voice of Penelope zipped through the room. “And I will take excellent care of the war mistress.”
And with Penelope’s focused attention, that meant Lana had to take care of the two dragonlets the ship just woke.
Lana sighed and took a deep breath, drawing strength from her mate before she stepped away. Two loud cries—the twins did nothing softly—came from the crib and she went to them. Her mate matched her steps, and she paused long enough to shake her head at Taulan. “You should go. If you stay, you’ll end up here for hours, and Kozav deserves some time off to spend with Grace.”
“But the dragonlets…” Indecision filled his features while his love for them battled with his feelings of honor and duty.
“We’ll be fine. I promise.” One of the cries rose above the other, its high-pitched shriek and sharp edge identifying the baby in an instant. Go, she mouthed at Taulan and then returned to her path. She peered over the edge of the crib and smiled down at the crying twins.
Well, her son mostly snuffled and gave half-hearted cries, torn between copying his sister and being a strong little male. Taulan told her strength and determination was bred into every male Preor.
That was one way to say the race’s males were all stubborn.
“What are you two doing, huh?” She cooed at the kids, reaching for her sobbing daughter. During a break between the cries, she heard the soft whoosh of the room’s doors parting. “Did mommy hatch two little tear factories? Huh?” She grinned and lifted her daughter away, holding her up and tossing her gently. If her daughter was human, it’d be dangerous to play with a newborn in that way and not support her neck, but she wasn’t human. “It looks like you’re just a great big teardrop that came out of an egg, aren’t you?”
Her playing with her daughter ended with a single word. “Lana…”
Lana cringed. “I guess your daddy isn’t gone, huh?”
She brought their daughter back to her chest and slowly turned to face a glaring Taulan. “You did not hatch our dragonlets. We are not Earth lizards that—”
Their daughter cried harder, but that wasn’t so bad. Nope, the crown for “Best Method of Getting Attention” went to their son.
Who set the crib on fire.
Which drew Taulan’s attention and had him going to their son rather than fussing at her. Which made their daughter jealous like it always did because she desperately wanted to be a Daddy’s girl like other Earth children.
Only… unlike all of the other times since their birth, her daughter didn’t cry louder or harder in a bid for attention. Nope, she couldn’t be like any other Preor dragonlet, could she? She had to be different.
The baby’s face gradually turned red, the flush traveling through her small, rounded body. That red brightened further and further, growing a deeper maroon the longer she cried and the more Lana tried to soothe her.
Then… then the red faded in a ripple, like a pebble dropped i
nto the middle of a puddle. It was a slithering of color with the red retreating to be replaced by… glittering purple.
Literal. Sparkling. Purple.
Scales.
Her baby—her daughter—had scales. Girl Preors didn’t have scales. They didn’t. It wasn’t part of their biological makeup and…
“Taulan?”
“You must listen to your sire. You will not set your sleeping mat on fire. It is dishonorable. Do you understand?” His voice was gruff, but his face and touch was soft. Which was all sweet and heart melting, but…
Her daughter had scales. “Taulan?”
“I am instructing our son.” He smiled down at the baby. Their son smiled wide in return, a tendril of smoke escaping his tiny nose and his miniature purple wings fluttered with happiness. Tiny purple scales peeked out as well, further proof that he was his father’s son. “And if you are good, I will take you to the aerie when I return.”
That special attention upset their daughter even more so that her skin was fully replaced by purple scales, no hint of baby-soft flesh in sight. If only that’d been the end of the tantrum. But it wasn’t. No, their daughter’s upset wasn’t soothed until she did one last thing.
She set her little brother on fire.
Okay, “on fire” was a stretch since the flames couldn’t harm either child, but that didn’t mean her daughter hadn’t tried. Hard.
Silence descended, the bout of flame quieting both Taulan and their son, and they all focused on the little girl in Lana’s arms.
The purple-scaled, giggling, happy as could be, little girl—none of which would be surprising if she’d been a boy.
Except, Preor females didn’t have scales. Or breathe fire. Had she mentioned that?
“Um…” Lana wasn’t sure what to say. “I guess it’s good we named her Lorrasyh?”
Burning skies. They’d both agreed that Lorra came out screaming so loud Taulan said she could set the skies aflame, while their son, Shanas, was steady and watchful—a quiet, easy birth with his wings tucked close as if he knew they could hurt Lana. His name was a combination of the Preor words honor and strength, both things important to Taulan.
So her son’s name was a perfect choice as well. Shanas would need a lot of honor to keep him from killing his sister when she set his toys on fire and then strength when he had to protect her when she set someone else’s toys on fire.
Lana met Taulan’s gaze above their childrens’ heads, her surprise mirrored in her mate’s expression. She slowly pulled the corners of her lips up to form a forced grin. “I guess I actually hatched two little fire factories?”
About the Author
Ex-dance teacher, former accountant and erstwhile collectible doll salesperson, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Celia Kyle now writes urban fantasy, science fiction (as Erin Tate), and paranormal romances for readers who:
1) Like super hunky heroes (they generally get furry)
2) Totally dig beautiful women (who have a few more curves than the average lady)
3) Love laughing in (and out of) bed.
It goes without saying that there's always a happily-ever-after for her characters, even if there are a few road bumps along the way.
Today she lives in Central Florida and writes full-time with the support of her loving husband and two finicky cats. (Who hate each other with a passion unrivaled. What’s up with that?)
Find Celia on the web…
@celiakyle
authorceliakyle
www.celiakyle.com
[email protected]
Copyright © 2016 by Celia Kyle
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
