by Celia Kyle
It was a small hello from her best friend. A gentle greeting before he… opened his tiny mouth once more.
And sent the Daven Bio employees to their knees.
2
Ivoth had wished to retreat the moment he stepped foot into Preor Choosing Station Tau, but he could not. Specifically because Esteemed Warrior Jarek blocked the entrance. The male used to be the War Master of the Preor third fleet, and although he no longer held the position, he still contained the ferocity and strength of a war master.
And Jarek wished every Preor warrior in search of a mate would spend more than a single moment with prospective mates—human females. The esteemed warrior did not care if the Preor could determine his mate was not present within a moment of entering the building.
Preor Choosing Station Tau—the central location for human females to gather and present themselves as willing mates—was not a “cattle call.” Ivoth did not understand the reference since Earth’s cattle did not contain comm implants, but he was intelligent enough to remain silent on the subject.
He decided the male’s mental faltering was related to Jarek’s mate’s bearing state. Several of the mated high ranking males in the fleet suffered the same decay in their thoughts. Each male’s mate was also bearing. New dragonlets would enter the world in the coming Earth months, and he was both jealous and joyous.
He wished for a mate.
He wished for a dragonlet, perhaps two if Syh granted his prayers.
He wished to fulfill his death vow to his sire.
Unfortunately, he could not accomplish his goals with the females present. The Knowing—the gift of the genetic knowledge of his race—did not manifest. It was the one indication he had located his mate, but his mind remained empty of the Preor blood history.
Ivoth let his gaze flick to Esteemed Warrior Jarek. The massive green male stood near the entry with one hand in the pock-it of his Earth pants and the other cradling a human beverage. The male had encouraged each of them to do the same to appear less intimidating.
Scanning the females in the room, taking note of their expressions, Ivoth decided the males’ attempts were a failure. He would not tell Jarek so, but they were. No matter the clothing a Preor wore, their mighty wings could not be easily hidden.
“Do not scowl. You frighten the females.” Brukr’s harsh rasp made his words nearly incomprehensible, but Ivoth had counted the male as friend for many turnings. He was even present when Brukr’s head had nearly been separated from his body.
“It is your speech, not my scowl that scares them.” Ivoth’s lips twitched with the taunt. “Or the scar that wraps around your throat.”
Brukr just grunted, the tease an old one that had long ago ceased prodding the male’s wounds. “Why must this continue?”
This. The meeting of Preor males and human females to find mates. “Jarek does not wish this to become…”
“A cattle call,” Brukr finished. “Do you believe his mind has left him? The females are not cattle.” His friend leaned close. “I searched through human records. There is no reference to females being treated as cattle. Though there is a notation defining the word heifer and its application to females. I do not believe that is his intent.”
Ivoth was not sure, which meant he would research the moment he returned to the ship. Lack of knowledge could lead to lack of life, and he had much to accomplish before death.
“I…” Ivoth’s gut clenched, a tightening of his stomach that was his own and yet… not. He paused and took a breath, forcing his body to relax and work through the knot. He cleared his throat and mentally shook his head. “I…”
His heart rate picked up, the beat accelerating into a rapid pace. Yet he felt no fear or surprise. He was not beating his wings with rapid flight or lost in the midst of battle. There was no reason for his racing blood.
Ivoth frowned and looked inward, searching for the cause of his body’s reactions.
Brukr leaned close and murmured, “You are scowling again.”
“He’s always scowling. How is this any different from others?” Choler joined them and Ivoth internally groaned. The Negotiate Master spent many hours with human females—humans in general—and constantly had advice for those searching for a mate.
Ivoth did not understand the need for advice. The Knowing manifested or it did not. Instruction and advice would not change anything. That did not mean the male did not try. Though no matter his words, the genetic knowledge of their race did not fill Ivoth’s mind. Which meant the human females were not his mate. Since none of the others in his quintet swept a female into their arms and carried her away, they were not Brukr, Triem, Argan, or Radoo’s either.
“This is not a glower of anger or frustration. He is also not wishing for Triem’s death even after the male scuffed the short flight hull when landing this afternoon.” Brukr’s words reminded him of Triem’s carelessness.
If the male could not take simple direction…
Another jolt struck along with a heavy weight of… exhaustion? No, he had done nothing more than run drills all day. Simple tasks which never should have tired him.
But he could not catch his breath. Odd. Perhaps he caught an illness from the females who were not his. He narrowed his eyes and slowly swept the room with his stare, searching for any females that appeared diseased.
“What is wrong with Ivoth?” Another male joined their small circle, his yellow wings a bright contrast to Ivoth’s own dark green. “Did you inform him of the damage Triem did to the control panel? He claims the Earth so-dah will not harm the crystals, but I am unsure.”
Ivoth turned his head and stared at Argan. “What did he do to the control panel?”
Argan raised his eyebrows. “I did not speak of a control panel.”
Ivoth narrowed his eyes. “You just did speak of it. You indicated Triem made a claim about so-dah and the control panel.” He took a step toward his quint-mate. “What did he—”
Ivoth had wished to finish the question, but something stopped him. Someone? No, he shook his head and lifted his arm. His forearm throbbed with pain, the flesh turning red before his eyes—as if he was being restrained by a strong and fierce captor.
But there was no one present. No one touched him. No one restrained him.
Odd.
The thought was followed by a blooming pain on his chin, not debilitating but enough to leave him dazed for a moment.
A brief moment. He was not a weak male.
He lifted his still-throbbing arm and rubbed his chin, searching for the source of the ache, and found nothing.
Odder.
“You spoke of the so-dah, Argan. I heard your words.” The male’s voice was filled with accusation but no true anger. Triem joined them as well, the last of their quad forming a circle around Ivoth. “Ivoth, I would remind you I am the last of my line…”
The male’s tone was both pleading and teasing, something he’d never sought to see from the younger male. Not after the great conflict. Not after what they’d both lost during that dark time.
When females and dragonlets died by the thousands because of territory and stupidity…
Ivoth wrenched his thoughts from that direction, a dark pit in his mind that could drag him down until he wished to take his final flight.
“Which is why I shall not kill you.” Ivoth glared at the male without much heat. Not because he was not angry. It was because his anger was directed… elsewhere. “I…”
Fear flooded him. His own and that of another. One that was weaker and needed… protection? Ivoth took a step forward, his friends and warriors moving aside when he advanced. He was not the only one to change position, either. Esteemed Warrior Jarek approached, as well. Ivoth wondered if the male experienced the same sensations. Perhaps Jarek suffered from pain and fear? He should contact the Healing Master once he determined the source of the illness.
Jarek spoke before he reached Ivoth’s side. “I have instructed you all on more than one occasion that y
ou must socialize. This is not a cattle…”
Ivoth waved off the male’s censure. He was too caught up in the sensations plaguing him. “Shhh…”
Choler gasped, Jarek jerked in place, and his quint stepped forward to form a line at Ivoth’s back. Appreciated, though Jarek could make short work of them all without losing his breath.
Ivoth closed his eyes and delved inside himself. Something that was him—and yet not—encircled his mind. It flowed through his body, invading his veins. What were the strange sensations?
“Did you just—”
“Silence!” Ivoth held up his hand once more. He beckoned for his dragon, encouraging its presence—assistance. The feral part of him rushed forward, skin burning as scales sliced through flesh to coat his body. As if the dragon could not wait to be released. Released to roar, to burn, to… hunt?
It wished to hunt. To hunt what?
Flashes of images flickered through his mind, hazy visions that remained blurred and out of focus so he could not identify his dragon’s thoughts. All that consumed him was its overwhelming drive to leave, to change, to fly.
To hunt.
“Ivoth sen Pezet’li—” Esteemed Warrior Jarek practically roared Ivoth’s name, his shout bringing down a blanket of silence around them.
The shift and twitch of wings that followed Jarek’s bellow indicated his quintet quaked and trembled in fear or anger. Perhaps a bit of both. Ivoth should be frightened by the stronger male as well, yet he was not.
Because the dragon wished to hunt. Desperately.
Pain. Denial. A cry. A shout.
Rage. His rage. Her? Rage? The rage of another—smaller yet stronger—and willing to fight.
The dragon surged, pushed and shoved past the constraining walls he’d built around that part of him long ago. He would change. Now. Immediately. The beast would no longer be denied.
Ivoth was powerless to stop the raging creature. He stumbled forward, taking one step and then two before his knees struggled to support him. He sensed Jarek’s rage, the pulsating wave of his fury at being silenced by a mere warrior. After that came confusion, and Ivoth could not blame the male. Not when Ivoth was also confused. He ended his tripping advance by gripping Jarek’s forearm, using the male to keep himself upright.
His heart felt as if it’d burst through his chest, straining and slamming to gain freedom. No, that was the dragon. It wanted the freedom. He gritted his teeth and fought the animal back. He could not shift within the walls of PCST—his sheer size would destroy the building.
His rage would destroy so much more.
He had to contain…
Another wave of overwhelming fury rolled over him. The fire scorched his skin, and the anger rang in his ears until his world became no more than the roaring flames. And his blood…
His blood boiled with soul-deep desire to flee. It was not a retreat or a cowering from the fear he experienced. He wished to fly toward the source of the emotions. Because they came from outside himself. They were fierce in their strength and overwhelming in their passionate concentration.
“Ivoth?” Argan’s voice held a hint of concern and more than a dose of confusion. Yes, he could understand his friend’s puzzlement. Ivoth did not understand either.
That did not stop his actions. He pushed away from Jarek and staggered toward the door, seeking the empty sky beyond.
He had to fly. He had to be free. He had to go to her?
He wished to prod the question further, explore his own mind, but the crisp Earth air beckoned, the bright sun tempted him, and the barren sky called for his dragon.
Ivoth ignored the yells that came from his friends, his quintet, and the frightened cries from the females. He would beg Syh’s—Preor god of skies—forgiveness for scaring the females, but he could no longer resist his dragon’s call.
The doors parted with a low whoosh at his approach, granting him exit, and the warm Tampa, Florida, air bathed him in a mixture of clean winds tinged with a hint of the sea’s salty scent. His scales stung with the addition of the ocean air, but it was nothing compared to the painful anger pounding through his veins.
He took one step outside and then two, the bright sun’s rays bathing him in the waning heat of the day, a heat that nearly felt cool—his dragon’s flame churning inside him.
With his third step… With his third step, the beast would no longer be denied. The strength of his dragon whirled around him, spinning and twining around his limbs and wings. His muscles snapped—breaking and then reshaping into his shifted form. Skin was fully replaced by scales, green covering him where copper once appeared. Fingers and hands became nail-tipped claws while his body stretched and grew to accommodate his inner dragon.
His massive inner dragon.
He had kept that part of him restrained for so long… And now it was free. Free to fly, to chase, to hunt.
Hunt.
His wings spread wide, the change forcing them to spread even further as he transitioned to over two hundred tons of Preor dragon warrior. His size increased and would increase some more until he would easily tower over other warriors. But it was not just his size that set him apart. It was the beast’s feral, uncompromising nature.
It knew what it wished, and it would not stop until it succeeded. It was why he kept the animal so contained—until that moment when it could no longer be denied.
The very second his dragon held firm control of his mind, it beat its wings, launching him into the bright blue skies over Tampa. He released a bellowing roar, long bouts of flame flowing from his open maw. Roars followed, males his dragon trusted and accepted.
Ivoth banked left, heading deeper into the city and away from the coast while the others remained in his wake. He turned his head slightly, glancing back to see exactly who joined him.
His quad. Argan’s yellow scales glinting in the sun’s rays. Brukr’s blue-gray scales that reminded Ivoth of a stormy sea. Radoo’s deep maroon a dark contrast to Triem’s light blue—near white.
And then there was the green of Esteemed Warrior Jarek. It was too much to hope he would remain at the choosing station.
The further inland Ivoth flew, the stronger the sensations became. The surrounding heat doubled while the rage tripled. His mind was consumed by the emotions, each one pummeling him and stealing his thoughts.
He had to get there. Now.
He had to get to her. Now.
Ivoth no longer disputed the truth—he hunted a female. But why? He was connected to her and yet not, but he could not deny her desperate need.
For him.
He banked right and angled up, two rough beats of his wings taking him higher into the skies. The building before him was tall, taller than any other in Tampa, and it was his destination. It drew him onward, beckoning him with invisible fingers.
There. He was needed there.
He would go there.
Ivoth flew straight up, wings pushing and pulling at the air, claws nearly scraping the building’s side as he ascended the skyscraper’s height. The rhythm of the other males matched his, their bodies moving in unison, actions perfectly in tune. It was why they were one of the best quints in the fleet. They were all different and yet the same.
The roof neared and his dragon practically danced in anticipation—of joy and blood. Ivoth was not sure which the beast preferred most, but that did not matter. Not when he burst over the edge of the structure, swung his wings out, and stopped his rapid ascension to hover over the roof. He flexed his wings one last time and then snapped them against his body, holding them close while he landed atop the metal skyscraper.
The beast had been drawn, lured by rage and pain, and he still did not understand why—until another blanketing roll pushed at him. Until it nearly brought his dragon to its knees in an aching fury. What he sought was at the top and yet below. A place he could not go with wings and scales. He had to return…
He lowered to all fours, massive body shuddering as the beast withdrew even faster
than it’d rushed him. The scales vanished in a raging flash of green while his wings practically folded in on themselves to shrink. While his body… He bowed and stretched, form twitching and then jerking until he froze in place, joints locked. Joints locked while he shrank in size.
It all happened so quickly, a transition that snapped over him between one rapid beat of his heart and the next. He had feet and hands where claws once were.
The building shook as the others landed as well, his quint and Jarek joining him, though he was sure Jarek would have preferred stopping him as well.
Ivoth would not be delayed.
The quint initiated their own transitions, and while Argan was the next quickest in their team, he was not fueled by something other.
Something familiar?
Ivoth did not know. He only knew he had to gain entrance.
So, he did. He raced at the roof’s door, gathering his inner fire until it formed a roiling ball within his chest. He held it tightly, letting it swell within him, and didn’t release it until he was less than ten feet from the door. That was when the flames broke free, heating—nearly melting—the barrier the longer the fire struck the hard surface. He did not stop there. In truth, he did not stop at all.
He melted the door until it could no longer cling to its casing. He ripped the remaining metal into shreds, tossing away the bits as if they were no more than paper. Then he finally slid to a stop.
He stopped and stared at what had drawn him to the tall metal building. It was not the cowering males that littered the ground or the single male that appeared as if he would soil himself. Nor was it the other nearby who held a female’s wrist tightly in his beefy fist.
It was the female the stranger held. It was…
“Elle?”
