by Celia Kyle
Ivoth
Dragons of Preor
Celia Kyle
Erin Tate
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Contents
Blurb
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
Blurb
He has to choose—love or honor—because he can’t have both.
Elle may be a Davenport, but she’s finding she enjoys life as a mostly-gray sheep of the Davenport family. She kicked off the Daven Bio uniform and now works for their corporate enemy—Cole Pharma, now headquartered in Preor Tower. She’s got massive, muscular, winged aliens surrounding her from sun up to sun down. But there’s only one Preor warrior who throws her world into a tailspin—Ivoth sen Pezet’li. Strong. Sexy. Sinfully seductive. Hers? No. They don’t share the Knowing, but that doesn’t stop her from wanting him. Bad.
Ivoth made a vow to his sire—the sen Pezet line would not end with him. And yet, when he speaks with Elle, scents her skin, and feels her curves against his hard body, he does not know if he can let her go. He craves her more than any other—perhaps even more than he desires to fulfill his vow—and he knows he must make a choice. Keep Elle and never have dragonlets or leave her and lose his heart forever.
Ivoth has to make a choice, but first, he has to keep Elle alive. Someone wants her dead and Ivoth is determined to kill them first. He only prays to Syh he is successful.
1
The nanite window was shattered. The Araimi shielded nanite window was shattered.
Elle Davenport let that word linger in her mind, repeating the syllables with every step nearer to the empty window frame.
Sha.
Ttered.
Sha.
Ttered.
By the stars, shattered.
Her heart rate doubled, blood and adrenaline rushed through her veins at an ever-increasing pace, and air heaved in and out of her lungs. She wasn’t a worrier by nature—worry, not panic, because Davenports didn’t panic—but she was a little concerned by what she saw.
Yes, concern was an excellent word. Not worry and definitely not panic.
Charred remnants of tech framed the portal, sparks flickering and raining down on the concrete sidewalk. A sea of dark sand covered the pale gray walkway, disabled nanites forming a soft bed of deactivated robotics.
She continued on her path toward the destruction, her heels clicking on the hard ground. She wanted to break into a run, race to the building, push past the growing crowd, and dash through the entry.
But Davenports did none of those things. They were stately. They walked. They did not touch others and simply stared until a lesser moved. Hair always remained in place, and they never ever sweat or allowed anyone to see them in any way other than perfect.
Yet the nanite window was shattered, and everything inside Elle urged her to break every one of her father’s dictates.
The window was—had been—one of the few allowed on Earth anymore. The family had petitioned the President for special dispensation and executive approval to have it installed. After that pesky problem of nanites going rogue and turning their hosts into indestructible armor instead of giving them armor…
Well, that had been that.
Until the family brokered an agreement with the Araimi and secured shielding to secure the small robotics.
Except both were destroyed now.
And Elle knew the cause. Especially since it wasn’t the first time she’d come home to such a sight. Was this the third time? Perhaps the fourth?
How many times did the building have to be damaged before others learned?
She shook her head and continued her approach, only slowing when she reached the outer circle.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, keeping her hands to herself while she waited for the onlooker to respond.
Except the wide back in front of her didn’t even shift a centimeter. Elle took a deep, calming breath and fought to keep her concern at bay. She walked the razor thin line between a Davenport’s responsibility and pure panic. Yes, she felt her emotions edging toward pure panic. Especially when her attention drifted to the empty hole that’d held a nanite window only that morning before she’d left for work.
Elle’s stomach churned, gut clenching, and she pressed a hand to her middle—only to snatch it back just as quickly. Davenports didn’t show discomfort or anything other than a pleasant smile and smooth manner.
No one invested in a company run by ill individuals.
This time, she pushed to her tiptoes and raised her voice, ensuring her mouth was as close to the man’s ear as possible—without touching him. “Excuse me!”
There, she’d even raised her voice and yelled. Well, a yell for her. Davenports didn’t yell, either. Davenport women were demure in public. Always.
The man in front of her grunted and glanced over his shoulder, a slight curl to his lip, a hint of anger in his eyes. Until he realized who she was. She pinpointed the very second he recognized her—the slight widening of his eyes, the way his chin dropped, and the rush of blood from his face. Shock or fear, she wasn’t sure which. She was pretty used to both, she supposed.
“I believe I’m needed inside.” She tipped her head toward the building, lips curled in a placid smile as if she had all the time in the world to wait. Though she knew that if she didn’t get into that building and to the penthouse soon, the nanite window would be just the beginning of the destruction.
The stranger rushed to get away from her, stumbling back and slamming into others in the crowd while he shouted orders. “Move your asses!”
“What?”
“Who do you—”
“Don’t you—”
Objections surrounded her, anger and frustration swirling in an invisible cloud that formed a barrier between her and everyone else. Soft whispers, shouts cut off before they’d fully formed, and murmurs followed in her wake.
Damn her father. Damn her brother. Damn… her whole life, really. It was better—and yet worse—than most, but that didn’t make up for her current situation. The public feared her.
No, not her. They feared him. Not her family, but the one who caused this damage. No one understood how sweet he was. As long as he wasn’t frightened. Or surprised. Or angry.
Charlie was a bit emotionally unstable at times, but it was what it was and she loved him more than anything in the world.
“Let her pass.”
“He’ll do it again if you touch her.”
“Don’t breathe her air. He’ll hunt you.”
Well, really. He wasn’t a monster. He was just… Charlie.
The moment the last person moved out of sight, she was spotted by the doorbot. At least Charlie hadn’t destroyed him, right? Then again, she’d reinforced him with a special polymer she’d designed so he was able to withstand Charlie’s tant
rums.
“Miss Davenport, he—”
“I can see that, Kappa.” She’d decided to number the doorbot based on the ancient Greek system. Calling the bot “twenty” hadn’t seemed… right. Even if he was the twentieth doorbot since she’d moved into the building. Elle paused and tilted her head back, staring at the once pristine exterior that’d been perfectly smooth when she’d left for work that morning. “Did the building change its schedule?”
The central computer wasn’t artificial intelligence exactly, but it could determine the optimal maintenance schedule and adjust itself accordingly. But after the last incident, she’d ensured her penthouse apartment maintained a standard schedule. No deviations. Ever.
“Of course not, Miss Davenport.” She almost smiled at his affronted tone. Almost. But this wasn’t exactly a laughing matter.
“No deliveries that crept past?”
The doorbot’s programming kicked in, one metallic hand pressed to what would be its chest if he was human. “I would never allow…”
Elle sighed. “No, I’m aware. Who’s up there, then?”
Someone was. Charlie didn’t throw a tantrum unless his space had been invaded. He was a hint territorial. She lowered her attention to the decimated nanites. More than a hint, really.
When the doorbot remained silent, she turned her attention to him and raised a single brow in question. She wouldn’t wait all day.
“Individuals employed by Daven Bio…”
“Fu—” Elle clicked her teeth together and swallowed the rest of the word. No point in cursing in public. It’d just make the situation worse. “I’ll take care of it. Have the bill for that,” she waved her hand at the once glistening window, “sent to Daven Bio.”
Then she felt it. A stirring in her bones, a tremble and hint of indignant-laced fear that struck her heart. There was no pain, but rage soon followed, a fury that would soon lead to… She sighed. “And get these people out of here. Charlie’s still being,” she grimaced, “Charlie.”
And the people intruding on his territory were still being themselves. They breathed his air and touched the things he’d claimed. He was worse than a child in some ways, and she knew about children. Especially after the day she’d had, she knew more than she’d ever wanted to know about children.
The doorbot zipped around her, the android’s wheels spinning over the nanite-littered ground while it issued orders. “Attention. Disperse. Attention. Disperse.”
Elle wondered if she could code it to say “please” or if the techs at Daven Bio would discover her tinkering.
Then again, Davenports didn’t tinker. The programmers wouldn’t even think to look.
Elle strode across the lobby, ignoring the wide-eyed stares and few hate-filled glares from the other residents. They crowded the first floor, each one rushing out of her path as she went to the hidden stairwell. If Charlie had turned the nanites into nothing but metallic sand, then the electrical systems in the vert-trans were gone as well.
It was at times like this that she hated her penthouse apartment. But if Elle wasn’t going to remain a resident of the Davenport compound and demanded her own space, well… Davenports didn’t live on the first floor of a building. Ever.
She kicked off her high heels the moment she passed through the doorway to the stairs, dangling them from two fingers while she gripped the hand rail with her free hand. Then it was just a matter of climbing. One step and then the next, eyes front and not down, back straight and neck elongated. There were cameras in the stairwell. She’d already be censured for removing her shoes in public, but no one could find fault in her posture. Though she might get a snipe or two out of hurrying. When the choice came down to perfect poise and Charlie bringing the building down… She’d go with a little disapproval. By the time she reached the top floor, the worry vibrating in her bones had transformed to near panic.
But the poise remained.
It remained as she slid her shoes back on and then pressed her thumb to the shielded identipad—that same polymer guarding the device. It remained as she waited for the lock to disengage and stayed in place as the panel slid into the wall and granted her entrance to her floor.
It vanished when she took in the scene before her.
Daven Bio employees filled the small entry, some holding boxes, others stacking them one on top of another, and still others holding glistening treilium nets. The links formed a tight web of thin threads, the pale gray—nearly white—color making them look like veils and not instruments of torture. Which was what they were, at heart. One touch of treilium on Charlie and…
She internally shivered as fear slid down her spine. She didn’t even want to think about what he’d do if they got a net on him.
Elle might hate everything that went with being a Davenport, but some skills came in handy. Especially in this type of situation. She held her head high, steps crisp and sharp with each connection of her pointed heel on the white marble flooring. It was a cold and barren color that leached happiness from the area, but if the Coles—the family that owned Cole Pharma and Daven Bio’s main competitor—had a marble-lined apartment, then every Davenport would, as well.
She took one step and then two, pace unhurried as she moved deeper into the entryway of her apartment. She had eyes for one man and the bot at his side, ignoring all others. That didn’t mean they ignored her. Some froze in place and others snapped their mouths closed and fell silent, while several lowered their voices to a whisper and thanked God she’d finally arrived.
Those were the men holding the treilium nets. She couldn’t blame them for their fear.
With the silence around her came attention from the cause of the mess—the one person who could demand entrance to her apartment and order men to disrupt her home.
Her father.
Her father who stood next to a bot who used to be her brother. He was still human—no tech occupying his body—but he might as well have been turned into a robot.
“Can I help you?” Her tone was calm, soothing, and placid like she’d been trained, but she had no doubt he saw the fire and fury in her eyes. She might have been trained to be demure, but she’d gradually become her own person over the months since she’d moved out of the compound.
William Davenport—owner of Daven Bio and Elle’s father—continued to address her brother. “I want a bot to go over every inch at least ten times. I want that stench,” his nostrils twitched, the only physical sign of his distaste for Charlie, “gone. I won’t have rumors spreading.”
Rumors. About her apartment smelling. Preposterous for two reasons: 1) Charlie didn’t smell, and 2) if he did smell, no one was brave enough to say so. Except, apparently, her father.
“Of course, Mr. Davenport. The bots will carry out your orders without question.” And her brother. Ben—sorry, Bennett—murmured the words, his attention momentarily flicking to Elle before he refocused on William.
She couldn’t call him father anymore, and she refused to call him “Mr. Davenport.”
“I said, can I help you?” Elle sharpened her tone. She wanted to know what the hell was going on and then she wanted them all gone.
Her father slowly turned his head and gave her his attention, gaze skating down his nose until it collided with hers. “Elle.”
His tone resonated in her ears, years of living and working with the man allowing her to interpret the word. Daddy Dearest was displeased.
“William.” She could be just as furious as him. “I believe I asked a question.”
“Immaterial.” He didn’t have to do the dismissive hand wave; the shifting of his attention from her to a couple of nearby men was enough.
They burst into motion once more, carrying and stacking boxes, some taping them shut, but all were intent on one of two tasks: hunting for Charlie and removing her belongings from her apartment.
Stupid, stupid, stupid Elle. She should have searched for an apartment before William arrived to kick her out. But she hadn’t because she’d
gotten so caught up in being appreciated, useful, and making a difference with a company that had resources even greater than Daven Bio. She should have known, though. When she’d refused to acknowledge his multiple summonses, she should have realized being kicked out of her home was only a matter of time.
“Don’t move.” Her words were just as clipped and harsh, message directed at the men while her stare remained on William. “And I believe it is very material. You broke into my home—”
“The building is Daven Bio property.” Ben—she’d wiped her brother’s tears when he was no more than three, and he could never be Bennett to her—adopted a tone much like William’s.
“And Daven Bio no longer honors its contracts?” She sensed her anger rising and then felt Charlie’s in return. Dammit. She fought for a calm that remained just out of reach.
“Daven Bio contracts allow for bi-annual review and alteration of housing agreements. You—and that thing—have been deemed unsatisfactory tenants.” Her father raised his hand and snapped his fingers, and the employees doubled their speed.
Obviously, he was not taking her career change well, at all. He also probably hadn’t appreciated her most recent denial of his demand she return to Daven Bio and the compound.
“Then, per the agreement in place,” because god forbid he simply let her live in a Daven Bio building without a tenant contract, “I have thirty days to vacate.”
“Thirty days following the demand for relocation,” Ben broke in. “The communication was delivered and read thirty days ago, today.”
Elle’s attention shifted between William’s smug grin and the arrogant tilt of her brother’s chin. She had no doubt that if she pushed for proof, someone within Daven Bio would come up with the appropriate records to justify their actions.
No. Doubt.
That kind of behavior was what made the Davenports so feared—and reviled. Any desire was no more than a bank transfer away from being granted.
Elle wasn’t sure what sent her anger over the edge—whether it was her own emotions or Charlie’s feeding into hers—but it didn’t matter. One moment she glared at the last two members of her family, and the next a soft, delicate, invisible weight landed on her shoulder. Gentle breath fanned her cheek, and a familiar musky scent filled her nose. Velvety fur caressed her chin, the tiny hairs tickling her.
