by Celia Kyle
He cooed, a soft trill against her skin immediately followed by the gentle rub of his nose. He repeated the quiet sound once more, his snout caressing her. He didn’t know what’d upset her, but it was his way of telling Elle that she belonged to him, and that was all that mattered. He marked her as his own like a feline.
“Elle? Where is the beast?” His voice remained husky, but instead of desire, fury filled each word.
She fought the laugh that threatened to break free and instead turned her head slightly. She nuzzled Charlie in return, transferring her own scent. How long had it been her and Charlie against the world?
For-ev-er. The tiny voice was hardly a whisper, the syllables tinged with growls and squeaks that she didn’t understand.
“It has been that long, huh?” she whispered against his soft fur. Soft wasn’t even a good enough description. It was so sensuous, it almost felt like water. Like it flowed over her fingers.
“Elle?” The rumbling growl came with a puff of smoke and she sighed, finally focusing on Ivoth.
“What?”
“Where is it? What does it want? If it thinks to—”
“Enough,” she snapped, and Charlie squeaked while tightening his grip. Pinpricks of pain blossomed on her shoulder, evidence of his uneasiness. Normally, he wouldn’t hurt her no matter what happened around them, but he obviously didn’t like Ivoth. “He’s not going to hurt anyone. He’s just here to comfort me.”
“Comfort? I harmed you. I believed the touching of mouths was pleasurable. Is that not correct?” He shook his head and kept talking, not waiting for her answer. “I do not know how to perform this task, but I shall be the one to provide comfort.” Ivoth didn’t put his war blades away, but he did lower them. “You will instruct me.”
If it wasn’t so sad, Elle would have laughed. “No.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You have always instructed me. You indicated it was better to ask than to error.”
Which was true. It’d resulted in quite a few interesting discussions. “Ask Penelope. I’m too…”
Heart-sick. Another trill from Charlie followed by a nip to her earlobe. He was right, but that didn’t mean she wanted to tell Ivoth the truth.
“Too…”
Busy getting shot at.
There was no warning—no whir of a phaser, no flash of light or ozone burn in the air to announce the shot. One moment they stood, still plagued with desire and arguing on the balcony, and the next a hunk of the building’s exterior struck her in the side of the head. She swung her attention to the source of the projectile, a deep divot where the wall had once been smooth.
Something else struck the wall, another crater, another rain of dust and chunks of the hard material.
When the third came, she recognized the accompanying sound—one she hadn’t recognized at first.
A projectile weapon. A gun. A relic from Earth’s distant past. But they were museum pieces, not meant for use.
That didn’t seem to matter to the shooter, though.
She reached for the newest hole, fingers teasing the edge. “Gun,” she whispered, shock and confusion holding her immobile for a moment more. When the fourth shot struck the building, a bit too close for comfort, she shouted. “Gun!”
A large shadow fell across her, a rising heat bathing her back, and gray smoke swirled around her.
Ivoth. Ivoth protecting her with his body while he released a bellowing roar that shook the very building.
“Inside!”
As if he had to tell her twice. She scrambled for the handle, the rush of adrenaline and pure panic making her movements awkward. She didn’t have time to be clumsy—not when the sharp sounds of bullets hitting cement no longer filled the air. No, now it was simply low thuds and deepening grunts.
Ivoth truly shielded her.
How many times had he been hit?
How many bullets were embed—
Her fingers found the shallow, depressed handle and she yanked, sending the sliding door slamming into its casing. Charlie’s claws dug into her flesh, his squeaks and snarls telling her that he was alive and unharmed by the flying debris.
But he was furious.
It wasn’t good to make Charlie angry.
She didn’t have time to soothe the ruffled quasti, though. Not when the coppery scent of blood filled her nose.
Elle yanked on Ivoth, used her weight to pull against him and drag him into the condo. He snarled at her, a single fang exposed, and she met the dragon’s eyes—not Ivoth her friend, but the dragon. He yanked against her clinging hold, pure fury in that reptilian gaze. Another thud. The flare of yellow in Ivoth’s eyes. The ripple of scales replacing skin. He’d shift and hunt and… she’d be alone.
For the first time in her life, she was afraid of being alone.
“Please.”
8
Apparently, no matter the species, males were difficult patients.
Including Ivoth.
Elle held a rag to her forehead to stop the trickle of blood from the nick on her scalp. An errant piece of concrete had caught, but her wound was nothing compared to Ivoth’s.
The Preor warrior paced the condo’s living room, rivulets of blood coursing down his back. Droplets flew from the tips of his wings with every turn, staining the pristine walls a deep red. The beige of his katoth pants darkened to a deep maroon, the tanned animal hide discolored by the crimson liquid.
And he moved as if he wasn’t injured. He prowled from one side of the room to the other like a dangerous animal caged and held captive—not wounded and contained for his own benefit.
Elle curled up in a corner of the room near the sliding door, remaining out of sight while also ready to jump in front of Ivoth if needed. The dragon wanted free. It wanted to hunt whoever had shot at them. In truth, Elle desired the same. She simply needed him healed first.
Others in his quintet felt the same, which was why more than one crowded the hall just outside the condo’s entry. They took turns peering inside, watching Ivoth for a moment only to disappear again.
Initially, they’d all crowded into the condo.
Ivoth spat a ball of fire at them.
That had been that.
“Ivoth,” she murmured. “You should sit down.”
The dragon—not Ivoth—shot her a glare and continued his travels.
Her head pounded in time with his every step, a throbbing pulse in what seemed like an unending cadence. Dark spots danced in her vision, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She hoped that when she opened them the dark would be gone.
It wasn’t.
The floating shadows remained just as the pain in her head stayed constant. Her neck merely stung now, the scratches and scrapes from Charlie nothing compared to the constant ache in her head.
Head and back?
She frowned and rolled her shoulders, searching for any hint of an additional injury. But there was nothing, so why…
Elle’s vision suddenly blurred, but it wasn’t related to a wound. It was simply a frantic Charlie. He had difficulty holding onto his invisibility when he was truly frightened.
Getting shot at was more than a little frightening.
The wavering blob of varying shades of invisibility and fur clung to her face, his twitching nose mere inches from the bridge of her own. He swung his head back and forth, staring into her eyes. He must have been satisfied with what he saw because he was on the move again. He scrambled all over her head, hand-like claws lifting and tugging on her hair, pulling on her clothing, and scratching at the dried bits of blood on her skin. He touched everything he could, exploring every part of her in sight.
“Charlie, I’m fine.” She reached for him with her free hand, flailing her arm around while she blindly sought the quasti. “Calm down.”
Fur finally tickled her palm, and she wished she’d never tried to grab the little rat. Her uninjured hand held the rag to her hand. Which meant her burned hand encompassed Charlie and dragged him out of her hair
.
Nausea flared, her stomach twisting with the bolt of pain added on top of the throbbing plaguing her. She drew in a sharp breath, hissing with the inhale, and lights danced in her eyes. Dizziness assaulted her, making her sway in place even though she sat on the ground. She thought it’d be hard to fall to the ground while on the ground, but apparently not.
With a guttural moan, she flopped to her side. Rag forgotten, she cupped the back of her injured hand and brought it to her chest, cradling her damaged limb. Her head and hand pounded, pain growing with every breath, and she was more than ready to pass out. The injury hadn’t been much before, but she’d forgotten about it during the frantic rush to get inside.
A dark growl slid through her mind, both a threat and a soothing trill in one.
No, she couldn’t pass out. If she lost consciousness, who knew what Ivoth would do?
“Eh-lle.” He said her name with a mixture of a dragon’s hiss and his regular, gruff voice. Rapid, heavy thuds of feet on thin carpet announced his hurried approach and then his warmth slid over her in a comforting blanket. “Eh-lle.”
She gave him a soft smile before finally forcing her eyes open to meet his dragon’s gaze. “Hi.”
Ivoth grunted and reached for her, his callused fingers ghosting over the wound on her temple. “B-leed-ing.”
It was almost like talking to Charlie.
That thought had Charlie squeaking out an objection, which had the more-dragon-than-Ivoth Ivoth growling and releasing a puff of smoke. And her? It left her in the middle.
“Shhh…” She carefully leaned back, propping her shoulder against the wall and working until she could move both arms. Her injured hand went to Charlie, his silken fur soothing to her damaged skin. The other went to Ivoth, first to his hand and then up his arm until she caressed the side of his neck. “Shhh… I’m fine. You’re the one that’s hurt.”
Ivoth shook his head. “No.”
“You’re dripping blood all over the carpet.” She even managed a teasing grin despite the constant agony. “Sit down so Chashan can heal you when he gets here. Moving around is pulling at your wounds. It’ll make his job that much harder.”
At least, she hoped the quint had summoned Chashan. She wasn’t worried about herself, but blood truly flowed from Ivoth’s wounds, and she didn’t know how much a Preor could lose before becoming gravely ill.
Gravely ill. She mentally snorted. A nice way to say die.
He curled his lip, long pale fang exposed with the sneer. “No, hee-ler.”
Of course. Of course he’d be difficult.
The rustle of wings and clank of metal on metal sliced through the room. Elle snapped her attention to the condo’s entry, hoping against hope that the sound came from Chashan’s arrival. The Healing Master needed to get there already and work on Ivoth. The amount of blood coating the floor…
Her stomach churned, nausea attacking her—sights and sounds from the past overlaying the present—and she swallowed hard against the need to vomit.
Another swish of scales and wings, and Ivoth snarled. No, he didn’t just snarl. He tucked his wings close, spun in place, and then stretched them wide once more. He blocked her with his body, crouched and growling in front of her. Whoever came through the door would have to go through him first.
She’d be touched if… the change in position didn’t give her a clear shot of his back.
“Ivoth,” she whispered and pushed up to an elbow, gaze traveling over every hole and gash. She scrambled to her knees, dropping Charlie to her shoulder, and stared at his wing base.
His ravaged wing base. “Oh, God, Ivoth.”
A half-dozen holes littered the flesh, pale bits of bone visible where his scales were ripped away by bullets. She scanned the wings themselves, cataloguing the various rips and tears of the thin wing skin.
“You have to be in so much pain.” She reached for him, fingers tingling with the need to stroke and comfort him. She snatched her hand back just short of caressing his wing, worry over hurting him further punching her in the gut.
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he—his dragon—took up an unending growl that rolled through the room. It shook everything within the space and reached inside Elle, touching her in a way that no other ever had before.
It touched her heart—her very soul.
More rubbing of scales and wings, and Elle ducked low, peering beneath Ivoth’s extended wing. Healing Master Chashan stood just within the condo’s entry, a portable ryaapir unit in hand, while his mate Khaza stood at his back. Hopefully Chashan could heal Ivoth’s physical wounds while Khaza did her job as Heart Master and soothed the savageness inside the green dragon.
Before he lost himself to the beast.
Could that happen?
Yesss… A low hiss slithered through her mind. Speech once more like Charlie’s, yet it came from Ivoth? Impossible. It just had to be a figment of her imagination.
“Warrior Ivoth, stand down.” Chashan’s words boomed through the small area, echoing off the bare walls. “Now.”
The Healing Master’s tone was solid—unbreakable, unbendable. The male issued an order and expected Ivoth to listen.
He didn’t.
Ivoth simply snarled once more, his chest expanding and shoulders broadening beneath her gaze. Green scales slithered over his flesh, the transition from tanned skin to green causing his wounds to open further.
“Warrior Ivoth—”
“Out.” His speech was even less recognizable than before and she wondered how far his transition had come while she stared at his back.
“You are injured. The female Elle is injured.” The lyrical voice wove a blanket of calm over the room—Chashan’s mate, Khaza, using her gifts as a Heart Master. “Allow Chashan to see to your wounds.”
Okay, at least Elle was calmed. Ivoth was not. “My aerie! Out!”
Bullheaded, stubborn male, she mentally grumbled.
“It’s my aerie,” Elle countered. “And you’re injured. Let Chashan heal you. Or even better, let Chashan take you to medical.”
Ivoth turned his head and glared at her, red and yellow fire in his eyes. “Mi-ne.”
One word. One word that had so many meanings in Preor culture. There were nuances that existed in their language—ones that only partially translated to human society. Was he claiming the condo? The building?
Her?
Elle’s heartrate doubled, a mixture of fear and fruitless hope surging in her chest. That rush of optimism was stupid as hell, but she couldn’t ignore the possessive edge to his stare.
Mi-ne. Stilted and gruff, but a statement from Ivoth’s dragon soul.
“Okay,” she soothed and returned her attention to the waiting couple. “Can you just toss the portable unit on the couch? You can walk me through its use from where you’re at.”
“Elle, the unit is highly technical and requires—”
“Now.” Ivoth’s tone and renewed growl left no room for argument. From anyone.
That didn’t mean Chashan didn’t try. “She could cause additional—”
“Out!” The bellow seemed to shake the whole building, but more importantly, it caused the bleeding from his wounds to surge. The slow trickle turned back into thick rivers of red and Elle sucked in a quick breath. If Chashan didn’t give in, Ivoth would hurt himself even further.
“Chashan,” she snapped and glared at him, but all she found was pure stubbornness in his expression. Okay, he’d be no help. Elle turned to the male’s softer half and appealed to Khaza. “Khaza, please. He won’t allow anyone in here. Better some help than none. Please.”
Please because she ached for Ivoth.
Please because it was as if his pain became her own and simply added to the throbbing ache in her head and pulsating agony in her hand, neither of which could be addressed until she’d seen to Ivoth.
“Explain it to me from there if you have to, but back off.”
Understanding lit in the female’s eyes, compassion f
illing her gaze, and then Khaza reached for the portable unit in Chashan’s hand. “Come, shaa kouvi, let her help Ivoth.” Another gentle glide of comfort slipped across the open space, the Heart Master’s gift easing some of the tension clouding the air. “Elle is gifted, gentle, and knowledgeable. She will treat Ivoth well.”
She would. Without a doubt, she’d do all she could for the injured male.
Chashan grumbled. “I…”
“Now, shaa kouvi, before his injuries plague him until he takes his final flight.” Khaza’s softly spoken words had another dose of fear sliding through her blood. Until he took his final flight?
Chashan snapped his mouth closed and hefted the portable ryaapir unit up and cradled it with two hands. With one effortless toss, the box shaped item sailed through the air and thumped onto the nearby couch. On instinct, and driven by her rising fear for Ivoth, Elle immediately reached for the device. She stretched around Ivoth’s extended wing, leaned over the arm of the seat, and struggled to get her hand on the gleaming metal handle—only to have a claw-tipped hand wrap around her thigh, pointed nails pricking her flesh. It wasn’t his grip that made her freeze in place. No, it was his heated gaze, the fire blazing in his eyes, and the green scales sliding up his neck.
“St-ay.”
An objection leapt to her lips. She’s wasn’t some pet. She was a free-thinking being. But instead of arguing, she backed down. Now wasn’t the time to go toe-to-toe with a Preor dancing on the edge of control.
“Okay,” she cooed and leaned back. “I’ll let you get it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Ivoth grunted and took her place, retrieving the device. He kept his gaze trained on the entry while he handed it to her, his attention intent as if the nearby males would break their vows and enter.
Please let their honor remain intact.
Not for her sake, but for theirs. Even as edgy as he seemed, she felt… safe. A part of her knew that Ivoth would do anything to avoid hurting her.
“Mi-ne,” the rumble came with a waft of dark smoke from his mouth and she did the only thing she could.
