by Kyle, Celia
Dragons of Preor: Taulan
Celia Kyle
Erin Tate
Contents
Dragons of Preor: Taulan
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Copyright
Dragons of Preor: Taulan
He wants to return to Preor and she wants a job, but you don’t always get what you want.
Lana Cooper is down to her last hundred dollars, has no job, and her clunker of a car has finally clunked out. How has her life become such a cluster of horribleness? Oh, right. A guy. Only she doesn’t get a chance to beg for a job. Nope, one walk along the beach changes everything. Oh, she has a job now… as the mate to a hot, hunky Preor dragon male.
Taulan sen Pavon is anxious to return to his home on Preor. Yes, he’d journeyed to Earth in hopes of finding a human mate, but now… Now he would like to heal in the privacy of his aerie. Wings destroyed and body damaged by an explosion, he has no desire to watch others find joy with their mates while he remains unworthy and alone on a ship filled with thousands. But then he finds Lana. Lana with her alluring smile, sparkling eyes, luscious body, and whose mere presence initiates the Knowing.
Can he live long enough to claim her? Can she see past her father’s prejudice to love him? Both questions are pointless because there are still Preor who despise the joining of humans and dragons. They will stop at nothing to drive a wedge between the races. Including murder.
**This is book 2 in the Dragons of Preor series.**
1
Taulan’s nose filled with the stench of burning flesh and singed wings. The scent overwhelmed all else to the point that he could not identify the attackers.
The traitors.
Moments ago, his only concern had been to ensure the Ujal delegation was adequately protected. A request for additional warriors was immediately answered and he’d sent a half-dozen fierce males to protect the War Master and Ujal both.
The moment Engineering became vulnerable, the traitors struck. First, one explosion rocked the ship, the vessel listing toward the port. Before he’d opened his mouth to issue orders, another blossomed before him. The starboard side was engulfed in fiery flames for a brief moment.
Fire that could not touch him—him or any other Preor. They were born of the flames, their bodies producing heat as if their very blood was replaced by fire. The explosion was merely a distraction.
The deadly assault came immediately after.
With the first roll of orange and yellow that blew the panels off Engineering’s portal, Taulan broke into a run. He shifted his wings aside and reached back. His hands found his blades easily, the worn handles melding to his palms after all these years. Passed from one generation to the next, they were as old as the Pavon family. Older than even War Master Jarek’s blades.
The handles of the honed metal filled one hand and then the other, wicked silver gleaming in the now dim halls. The ship quickly suppressed the flames, but it did nothing for the rest of the chaos.
Taulan stepped into the hall and blocked the first strike, meeting his attacker’s gaze. The Training Master—Prasho—snarled at him, baring his long fangs.
Prasho hissed two words that identified him as the enemy. “For purity.”
Purity. Purity of the Preor blood, purity of their race, purity of their souls.
The Preor were a dying race, war and disease ravaging their population until their only hope lay in the females on Earth’s surface. Without them… they would perish. There would no longer be Preors—what humans called dragons—filling the skies of their home world.
The council approved the joining of their races and the Ujal—a sea-dwelling race who called Earth home as well—brokered the agreement.
Yet many still disagreed with the plans. Prasho was one. Taulan looked around, spying others who appeared like the male attacking him. Males who no longer wore the uniforms of Preor warriors. They attacked others, metal swinging through the air and finding home in flesh and bone. Screams warred with grunts, the tang of blood mingling with the musk of sweat.
These males fought for purity?
Taulan fought for his own reason. One that spurred his males into action as well.
He bared his own fangs, locking blades with Prasho for a brief moment before gathering his strength and shoving the male back several steps. “For honor.”
Taulan would die before he granted this male victory.
Movement to his left drew his attention and he stepped aside, his second attacker’s swing missing its target. With the next, Taulan brought his blade up and blocked the strike. Prasho would not be left out of the battle, joining his fellow traitor.
He split his attention between the two, his focus remaining on the fight before him as he blocked out all else. This new traitor—Kazor, the Primary Training Warrior—was just as dangerous as the Training Master.
Yes, both of these men were responsible for ensuring the ship’s warriors remained battle ready, but they were only as good as their own trainers.
And they did not have War Master Jarek for a teacher as Taulan had.
The metal sparked each time the honed edges collided, sending glitters of yellow light through the air. They sliced into the darkness, revealing the identities of more traitors.
Malin, Yuzin, Rawet.
Malin fell beneath an honorable warrior, but Yuzin defeated his opponent, the warrior now lying dead on the floor.
Rage gave Taulan more strength, allowing him to dispose of Kazor with the next blow. His focus became centered on Prasho, their battle continuing.
He spread his wings, using the thin membranes and strong bones to retain his balance. He moved with fluid grace, in tune with every shift of muscle. A twitch of one wing helped him push left to meet Prasho’s attack. A flutter of the other allowed him to jump higher, avoiding the sweep of the other male’s leg. He used every part of himself, fighting for his life as others within the hall did the same. A cacophony of grunts and shouts, groans and moans as well as growls filled the air. They echoed off the metal walls and hard thuds told him of yet another falling beneath a blade.
His men. His warriors. Warriors trained to run a ship’s engines, not fight on his behalf.
The traitors would perish for this even if he had to destroy each one himself.
That was when a new scent singed his nose, the aroma immediately followed by an agonized shout and a resounding thump and rustle of wings.
Prasho’s grin widened, evil making his eyes glow amidst the encroaching darkness.
The putrid stench of burning flesh and sour death consumed his nose—further proof of the crazed nature of these males. Fire could not hurt a Preor, but there were chemicals that could. Chemicals that destroyed muscle. That ate through bone as if it didn’t exist.
His opponent stepped close, moving into the arcing path of Taulan’s strike and quickly taking the blow. Through the pain, Prasho’s grin never wavered. No, it remained steady even as he stepped closer and hissed once again.
He should have extracted his sword, should have kicked the Primary Training Warrior away and freed his blade.
Because that was when Prasho yanked at his belt, reached over Taulan’s shoulder and smashed a small vial between this wings. Lightning fast, it was done before he’d been able to even see the movement, the attack delivered before he could defend himself.
Now his screams joined the others, filling the air along with the scent of his flesh and bone being eaten away. Pain overwhelmed him, the agony stronger than any other feeling he’d experienced in his life. He’d endured much over the years, suffered countless injuries as he fought to become one of the greatest warriors.
The past was nothing compared to the present. His thoughts were torn from the battle and he was forced to focus on the agony sinking into his blood. His grip faltered, hand sliding from the blade still embedded in Prasho’s chest while the other clattered to the ground from his boneless fingers.
Taulan first dropped to his knees, the vapor of his consumed flesh surrounding him like a macabre cloud, and he became deaf to the surrounding battle. His body teetered forward and with that move came another sensation, one that hurt him even more than the agony of Prasho’s attack. A sudden weight lifted from his back, the new freedom odd and unnatural. His wings peeled away. All that made a Preor warrior fell to the ground beside him.
He would die. Die there on the floor of his ship with his body torn apart by these males.
Before him, Prasho fell as well, his pain-glazed gaze colliding with Taulan’s. Blood coated the male’s lips, droplets dribbling from his mouth. The traitor gave him a blood-stained grin, a crazed dedication to his cause filling his gaze.
No sound came from Prasho’s mouth, but his intent was clear. “For purity.”
Taulan did not have much strength left, the poison eating at his flesh and assaulting him with unending pain. But he had enough to find vengeance—to find solace in one final act. He reached for his side, trembling fingers finding the handle of his short blade. He clenched it tightly, gripping as hard as he could, and slipped the metal from its sheath. He panted with the exertion, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise, and lifted his arm. Gathering what power he could, he took one last honor, one last action to help his fellow warriors and the Preor.
He eliminated another stain on their race. One quick lift and shove accomplished his action, his sharply honed blade sliding beneath Prasho’s chin, through his mouth and into his skull.
While light remained in the traitor’s eyes, death lingering and waiting to take the male into its arms, Taulan gave him two words before it took Prasho and then came for him.
“For honor.”
2
Hunger drove Lana to the alien compound and desperation shoved her until she took that final, traitorous step into the station. Salty air teased her nose, and the scents of the sea infused her while the rolling rush of waves filled her ears. The wind buffeted her body and a quick scan of the building’s entry revealed the source. Yes, she was inside UST—Ujal Station Tau—but the windows facing the ocean were wide open, allowing the breeze entrance.
Her footsteps echoed off the metal grating that comprised the floor and she was thankful she wore flats instead of high heels. The pointed tips would have slipped right through one of those squares and sent her stumbling. Today—more than any other—needed to go perfectly.
Her life depended on it.
No, really, her whole life. This was it. The culmination of a chain of events that sent her world into a tailspin of one tragedy flowing after another.
The familiar sting of tears pricked her eyes and she pressed a hand to her stomach while she took a deep breath. Releasing it slowly, she fought for calm while dragging her thoughts away from what caused her to cry. She’d wallowed in self-pity long enough. She’d allowed herself a few good cries and now it was time to put on her big girl panties and get back to it.
She glanced around the area, searching for a receptionist of some sort. Or a greeter, even. The door was unlocked, so the station was obviously “open” for the day, but there was nowhere to sign in nor anyone to notify of her presence. Moving deeper into the entryway, she peered down a nearby hallway and wondered if the lobby was really down one of the winding pathways and not where she’d entered. She looked left, gaze searching the corridor before turning to glance right as well.
And saw… nothing. No signs. No doorways. No—
A low whoosh from behind had Lana jumping back, straightening while she tugged her jacket back into place as she sought the source of the sound. The black suit was one of her few nice—and clean—outfits that was interview worthy. Living out of her car made cleanliness and being wrinkle free a tad difficult.
More than a tad.
As for living in her car… She hoped today would be the beginning of the end of that.
“Can I help you?” the lyrical voice sliced into her thoughts and she jerked with a small squeak.
Lana spun just as another low whoosh reached her ears. To her left, a panel slipped closed, blending seamlessly with the metal wall. So there were other offices lining the hallways. They were just invisible at a glance.
“Miss?”
Oh. Right. She turned her attention to the woman standing before her. Tall and slim, the newcomer appeared human in nearly every sense. Her body had small curves in all the right places and her skin was a peachy, sun-kissed tan. Eyes that stared at her curiously were a sparkling blue that rivalled the clear ocean a mere hundred yards from her.
Yes, she appeared human from forehead to toes. That area above her forehead announced her alien-ness. Specifically, the fact that her blue hair matched her blue eyes.
Anywhere else in the world, that wouldn’t be a big deal. Men and women often colored their hair. But at UST the residents were sea-living aliens more often than not.
Lana cleared her throat. “I’m Lana Cob—Cooper.”
She swallowed hard and fought to keep her heartbeat steady. She wasn’t Lana Coburn—not anymore. She was Lana Cooper with a lovely fake ID and everything. She’d spent nearly all of the money in her hidden account to ensure she was never linked to the Coburn name again. It was the only true means of escape.
No one could find her now. At least, that was what she hoped.
“Sorry.” She gave a small smile and prayed the woman didn’t comment on her stutter. “I’m Lana Cooper and I have an appointment with…” Lana sought the interviewer’s name. Could she be more of a fuck-up? She needed the job yet forgot the name of the person she had to speak with? Then it hit her and she nearly cried with relief. She did a lot of crying lately. “Charlotte ta’Rhow.”
One of the human females who’d recently mated an Ujal male and was the newly appointed Director of Youngling Recovery. Lana’s specialty was children. Before she’d sunk to living out of her car, she worked as a social worker and then Director of Heart House—a privately funded home for orphaned children and teens. That was where she met Stev—
She wasn’t going there. Not today. Not ever again. Unless he finds me.
The woman’s eyes brightened and a wide smile graced her lips. “Oh! Lottie was excited to speak with you. She said your qualifications were exemplary and—“
Just as quickly as her excitement blossomed, it vanished, and Lana became aware of someone else’s approach. The heavy thud of boots on the metal grating told her of the person’s size. From the sound, he rivalled Steven—she swallowed the bile that surged at the thought of his name. Easily two-fifty, possibly larger. Since she was in UST, she assumed he was an Ujal, and those males were typically six feet or more. Since he wore boots, he was land bound for a while. The Ujal didn’t bother with shoes unless they were going to be out of the water for extended periods.
Then there was another sound that joined the thumping steps. A soft, gentle rustling, the slide of… She couldn’t identify what exactly rustled, but it was something. Not fabric. She knew that sound. And the brush of paper on paper. This was organic? But not skin or Ujal scales.
Which left Lana with…
The male turned the corner and fin
ally came into view. With his appearance, the woman she’d been speaking with shuffled back a step. Fear sneaked into her eyes, and the genuine smile turned brittle.
Lana could understand why. Two-fifty? Try two-seventy. Six feet? Nope, six three. As far as the male’s coloring was concerned… He was different alright, but not an Ujal. No, she was faced with a Preor. Live and in living color. His long hair curled at his shoulders, the dark—nearly black—hue a contrast to his slightly copper skin. But above those shoulders were a pair of glittering maroon wings. The dark appendages twitched, retaining her attention. She’d never seen a Preor so close. Sure, the dragon-shifting aliens were all anyone talked about, but they didn’t mingle with the regular population like the Ujal. Where the Ujal could pass for humans, depending on their coloring, the Preor never could. Their status as aliens was kinda obvious with the whole wing thing going on.
Dark eyes settled on the other female before turning to Lana and then away again. He quirked a single, midnight brow in question, not voicing the words in his mind, but Lana could imagine what he said.
“Who’s this?”
“Good Morning, Radoo sen Matzal.” The female was much less animated now, her speech formal. “This is Lana Cooper to see Charlotte ta’Rhow.”
Radoo grunted and then she was the subject of his scrutiny once more. He stared at her, his eyes scouring her body from head to toe as if trying to read her mind. Could he? There wasn’t much known about the Preor race. Did he know she was a fraud? Did he know she was running from—
Her questions went unanswered—or answered, depending on how she looked at things—because Radoo simply turned from them and continued his travels down the opposite hall. Neither woman spoke for long moments, seconds ticking past while the sound of his steps lowered in volume until his presence was no longer felt.
She released her breath in a gradual exhale while she fought to slow her heartbeat. He hadn’t said anything about the fears running through her mind. Maybe he couldn’t pluck her thoughts from her brain.
