by Celia Kyle
“I don’t understand. He needs to have his wing base looked at.” Elle waved a hand at Ivoth, trying to ignore her attraction to him. Even bloodied and injured, he was gorgeous—glorious in his strength.
Strength he revealed when he stretched his wings, unfolding them until they brushed the walls. “Good.”
Healing Master Chashan grunted. “No flight until you have been examined.”
How did they not understand that Ivoth needed to go to medical now? “But the bullets—”
“Understood.” Ivoth jerked his head in a brisk nod.
Chashan curled his wing around Khaza and encouraged her to turn toward the door.
“Well, I don’t understand,” she snapped, no longer willing to just let the world whirl around her. “And someone is going to explain it. Now.”
Another secret smile from Khaza, and Chashan didn’t even spare her a glance as the duo exited the condo.
Which left her with five massive Preors, but Elle leveled her glare at only one—Ivoth. “Explain.”
Of course, he didn’t. He folded his wings close once more, gusting out a breath while his shoulders curled forward in a slump, as if simply extending his wings exhausted him. Sweat dappled his brow, the muscles in his chest trembled, and his hands shook.
The move had exhausted him.
She stepped forward, careful of his wings as she slipped beneath his arm and draped it across her shoulders. She wrapped her other arm around his waist and urged him to turn. “Stubborn male. You just had to stay, and now you’ve exhausted yourself. I didn’t tear up my ha—” She swallowed the rest of that sentence and got back to bitching at him. “I didn’t go through all of that work just so you could try and be a macho man and push yourself.”
“Male.” His deep voice slid over her in a tender caress, soothing some of the ragged nerves inside her. It now only held a tinge of the dragon, Ivoth the male back in control.
“Fine. Macho male, then,” she grumbled and focused on getting them back to the living area of the condo. Sure, she had a couch, but there were a few Preor pieces of furniture as well. Pieces that accommodated wings.
Elle fought to ignore his heated scent as she led him toward a nearby backless chair. Getting aroused by him was futile, but stopping herself from being aroused by him was futile as well.
They reached the chair and she nudged Ivoth, supporting him as he turned, and holding tight as he relaxed into the seat.
“Okay?” She nibbled her lower lip, hoping against hope that getting him into a seat hadn’t hurt anything. “Just stay there and I’ll get a wet cloth to clean up…” She grimaced. “Everything.” She stepped closer, their bodies separated by mere inches, and stroked the stained katoth straps that crisscrossed his chest. “They’re ruined.” She ran a fingertip beneath one wide length, carefully lifting it away from his skin. “I can see if Penelope—”
“Cease.” His harsh rasp sent two entwined sensations through her body—trembles of excitement with a touch of fear slid up her spine—and she froze in place. Ivoth turned his head, dark green orbs boring into hers, and her breath caught.
Not because he glared at her, but because she couldn’t miss the desire in his eyes.
“Argan.” Ivoth didn’t raise his voice, but the warrior reacted as if Ivoth shouted.
Argan took two long strides into the condo and came to attention—feet together, back straight, and one fist placed over his chest. “Orders?”
“Find the attacker. Patrol. I will remain with Elle.”
“Until morning.” The yellow warrior gave Ivoth a long, hard look—one meant to convey a message that Elle didn’t catch.
Ivoth sighed. “Yes, until morning.”
“What happens—”
“Dismissed.” Ivoth’s deep tenor overrode her soft voice.
She was getting tired of people talking over her, and as soon as Argan left, she was going to tell him so. Loudly.
Except… except the moment the sunshine-hued warrior departed, Ivoth slumped forward, his head coming to rest on her stomach. He pressed his cheek to her middle and gave her some of his weight, the bulk forcing her to brace her feet to remain upright.
“Ivoth?” She didn’t think, she simply did. She reached for him, hands gliding over what flesh she could touch and gaze searching every part of him in sight. “Ivoth?”
“Tired,” he breathed.
“You should have gone with Chashan.” She hated to say I told you so, but she had told him.
“Need you safe inside. Medical requires a walk outside. Too dangerous. Too exposed.”
He shook his head, cheek rubbing the thin fabric of her shirt. Without thought, she ran her fingers through his hair, the silky strands drifting through her digits like water, soft and delicate while Ivoth the male was so fierce and strong.
“Ivoth.” She curled down, instinct taking over where good sense normally prevailed. She… she gave him a gentle kiss on the top of his head. It was quick, nothing worth mentioning, but it was something to her.
A sign of caring. No, if she was going to be honest with herself—and Davenports were always honest, except when they weren’t—it was a sign of more than caring.
“You should rest, and I should get us both cleaned up, huh?” She didn’t kiss him again but did remain in place, drawing in his scent as she spoke.
A careful nip to her ear from Charlie told her that he supported her plan. Some of the small quasti’s emotions slipped into her. Charlie’s worry was understandable. She was still hurting, and Ivoth had nearly died for her. But the worry inside him wasn’t just for Elle—it was for Ivoth as well.
For the male who’d threatened to kill Charlie more than once.
Elle took a single step back, intent on gathering supplies for them both, only to have Ivoth’s firm grip on her wrist stop her. “No. You will tell me of your injuries from the past. You will tell me how a quasti came to save your life. I cannot share an aerie with a quasti, but…” His green eyes met hers. “But I cannot leave you, either.”
She closed her eyes and sighed, shutting him out—shutting the whole world out.
Except for Charlie. Charlie the annoying little pest that was more family member than pet. Truly, her only family member, and wasn’t that a punch to the gut.
“It’s not that big of a deal, really. Hardly worth mentioning.”
“Tell me, Elle.” Her name rolled off his tongue, the sensuous trill that came when he got to the end of her name like a physical caress. It was like his voice was truly an invisible hand that knew just where to touch her.
“It’s stupid…” She began to wave away the question like she always had in the past. It’s dumb. It’s of no consequence. I don’t even remember the accident. How could I? I was only one. Of course, it has no bearing on who I am today.
Lies. Every one of those words that fell from her lips were lies.
“I don’t remember all of it. Only…” She reached up and stroked Charlie, needing his strength. “I only know what happened after Charlie arrived. Everyone had to tell me what happened before.”
And at the time, an ageless quasti’s mind had been a frightening jumble of images and animalistic sounds to a one-year-old.
“Before?”
One hand in Ivoth’s hair, the other on Charlie, Elle began.
“They say that I was traveling with my mother. We were going to Deltira to see my grandparents on one of my father’s private shuttles. It…” She shook her head. “I have no idea what happened. Charlie doesn’t either. I have vague impressions…” Flares of light—yellow, red, blue—spinning past, faster and faster until she was blind to everything else but the whirling glow.
“The first thing I remember is pain. So much pain. Charlie tried to hide the worst of it then, I think. Even though we’d…”
“What happened, Elle?”
“The shuttle crashed on Qugira.”
“The quasti home world.” Surprise coated his tone, and she understood his response. Not
many—if any—survived a visit to Qugira. “But it is nowhere near Deltira. It is…”
“No, it isn’t. My father said the shuttle was captured, and my mother and I were being ransomed.” Elle took comfort in the dual sensations of Charlie and Ivoth’s hair. “But the ship crashed on Qugira and everyone died.”
“But you.”
“But me, because of Charlie. Because when the shuttle destroyed his den and killed his family, he sought vengeance inside the shuttle. He focused on the one last beating heart inside the shuttle, intent on killing me, and instead saved me.”
“Why?” Ivoth pulled away just enough to tip his head back. Green eyes met hers. “Why did he not end you? Quasti do not allow an enemy to live.”
Charlie trilled, the side of his head sliding along her jaw. “Because when he realized that I was alone—everyone around me dead—he decided I wasn’t an enemy, I was family. I was a child to replace the ones he’d lost. And he saved me.”
“Quasti destroy.” Ivoth glared at Charlie, and the little quasti huffed and turned his back on the large warrior, but not before giving Elle permission to reveal the rest.
“Quasti can travel through nearly any material. They can become invisible. Their sounds can destroy even the strongest barrier. They are Qugira’s greatest weapon, but they are also the greatest healers.” She turned her head and drew in Charlie’s scent—a mixture of home and comfort. “He can screech loud enough to destroy any nanite, any technology, or he can whisper a healing song.”
Which she would need. Soon.
“He sang to me. For two weeks, he sang to me and cared for me.”
“He…” Ivoth’s stare bounced between her and Charlie. “But you are so much larger.”
Elle grinned. “I was a lot smaller then.” A grunt from Charlie had her smile widening. “And, according to Charlie, I listened a lot better then, too.”
“He saved your life on Qugira.”
“Yes.”
“And when you crashed the hovocar with small Ben.”
“Yes.” She smiled over the memory even if it’d ended in a crash.
“Then he is a cherished member of Officer Elle’s family and a cherished friend of the Preor.”
It was a nice thought, but… Elle shook her head. “The other warriors will object to calling a quasti friend, and you know it. It doesn’t matter that they share so many traits with your race. They’re protective and possessive. They cherish family above all else and will do anything to keep their loved ones safe. He…” Elle’s eyes stung, the beginning of tears blurring her vision. One lone tear escaped, and Charlie immediately went into action. It didn’t matter to him that they’d been together for so many years and he should be used to her reactions. Tears still worried him.
He crawled around her neck, small claws grasping her hair and clothing while he sniffed her face and explored her mouth, nose, and eyes. He pulled on her chin, shoving his head inside her mouth, before he tugged on her nostrils and finally forced her eyelids to open.
“Charlie, I’m fine.” He squeaked, his version of calling her a liar, and she laughed. “I promise, I’m fine.” She returned her attention to Ivoth. “Over thirty years on Earth and he still isn’t used to tears.” She sighed. “The quasti are ageless with long memories and a deep-rooted sense of family. They live and die by the claw, and nothing—no one—will ever stand between a quasti and the ones they love.”
And god help them if they tried.
11
Ivoth’s first instinct was to kill.
His second, as well.
As was his third.
His fourth was just as adamant as the first, and he realized that perhaps he should seek a heart master to overcome his thirst for blood.
For now, he drew in a slow breath and sought a calm that danced just out of reach—out of reach because his dragon’s blood stirred, the beast urging him to claim the kill that was rightfully his. It pushed and roared, demanding Ivoth act and cease this… this… this passive behavior.
Preors did not rest in the presence of an enemy. They fought. They drew blood. They killed. The dragon’s desires sent adrenaline surging through his blood, stoking the simmering fires of violence that lived within his soul.
But his mind was stronger than the dragon’s. He could overcome. He could keep that feral part of him contained within his body while…
While…
While the quasti crawled all over his back.
He mentally shuddered, but managed to remain motionless—barely. The dragon roared its objection to being held captive inside him—its fury at being restrained while the deadly quasti skittered back and forth over his damaged wing base. It was not painful if he did not move, and he truly should have accompanied Healing Master Chashan for further repair.
A warm nose sniffed at his back, one of the more tender spots, and he gritted his teeth against the coming pain. Despite the beast’s small size, even the slightest movement had caused him to nearly lose his meal.
The pain never arrived. Instead, a gentle warmth bathed the spot while a soft, lilting hum filled the air. It was gentle and smooth, the sound more of a caress to his flesh than an actual melody. It rose and fell, lulling him with its rolling cadence.
He imagined he drifted in the skies, the wind carrying him to his aerie as if the hand of Syh cradled him. The cooing continued, a mellow heat accompanying the sound. It soothed his taut wing base, the muscles relaxing with the continued music. The temperature increased, spreading and sliding through his damaged flesh.
He released his breath with a long sigh and relaxed into the healing sensations.
Healing?
Healing.
The quasti.
On. His. Back.
That tension immediately snapped back into place, wrapping from his wing base and around his chest with a tight squeeze. It forced what little air he had out of his lungs, leaving him gasping and fighting for breath.
And the quasti growled and snapped at him, claws digging into Ivoth’s flesh while the snarl reverberated along his wing base and further into his spine. From there, the vibrations stretched on, encompassing his whole body and forcing him to shake.
It didn’t hurt, but he did recognize the animal’s intent—it had a choice to help or harm, and it was up to Ivoth to choose his path.
He swallowed hard, battling himself on two fronts. The dragon sought vengeance for catching him in such a vulnerable position, while Ivoth’s logical mind sought self-preservation. To go against the quasti was to possibly take his final flight and… lose Elle forever.
It was a thought no part of him could tolerate. He went motionless, urging his muscles to relax so he could sink into the sensations once more. For now, the beast sought to repair, though Ivoth did not understand why.
You f-am.
He jolted and tiny nails dug into his flesh once more. The quasti’s response wasn’t to prove his ability to cause harm. The animal simply unleashed a stream of squeaks, growls, and chitters.
No quasti. Am CharlemKle’phi-juewee.
Ivoth reminded himself that Preor warriors did not feel fear, though they were capable of being concerned. At that moment, Ivoth was very, very concerned by the angry tone of the quas—Charlie’s tone.
“Elle calls you Charlie.” It was both a statement and a question.
Young cha. Bad talk.
“Do you prefer Charlie or CharlemKle’phi-juewee?”
Charlie made a sound that could be interpreted as a snort or a snarl. F-am talk Charlie.
“And I am fam?” He wavered between the need to defend himself and the knowledge that if he harmed Charlie, he would hurt Elle’s heart.
Mate make f-am. You make cha.
He rolled those stilted words through his mind, allowing them to sink in and spark a flame of hope. Pointless hope. He did not have the Knowing, nor did Elle.
“I am not Elle’s mate. We do not share the—”
That sound was definitely a snort, and a weird
sense of… something wove through his mind. Almost like Charlie told Ivoth he was foolish.
He opened his mouth to inform the—Charlie—that he played a dangerous game with a Preor warrior, but then allowed it to drift closed. The soothing heat returned, caressing his back, warming him with an alien fire that he embraced. Pressure—the sense of something deep inside him moving—tickled his mind, but he was too caught up in Charlie’s attention.
Ivoth became lost to the healing heat and Charlie’s song, the rise and fall of the melody crowding his mind until all else disappeared. He did not stir as the small animal explored his body, climbing up and down Ivoth’s back with careful steps. His fur was like the softest xina, caressing his flesh with a gentleness that seemed so different from his knowledge of the alien race. How could a beast so deadly be so tender and peaceful?
The light brush of fabric and pad of feet on the condo’s plush carpet announced a newcomer. The accompanying scent told him who approached. Like the skies on a Syh blessed day, the crisp scent of her skin reached out for him.
“Elle,” he murmured, drunk with Charlie’s attentions but driven to call her closer.
“Ivoth? Charlie?” He counted her steps, waiting for her to draw near enough for him to touch her. “What are you doing?”
Her voice was no more than a whisper, a lilting rhythm that matched the ebb and flow of his thoughts. Like they were a perfect match.
Are.
Ivoth quirked his lips with Charlie’s response. The quasti was determined. Even if he was wrong.
Not. An animalistic harrumph followed and he chuckled. The longer Charlie spent healing him, the less Ivoth was concerned about the nearness beast’s intentions.
F-am now.
Elle crouched before him, kneeling beside the cushioned bench he’d slept on all night. Her worried gaze met his and he couldn’t stop himself from trying to soothe her anxiousness. He lifted his hand, weakness no longer plaguing him after Charlie’s healing. He reached for her, taking his time and giving her ample opportunity to evade his touch. But she did not. She allowed him to cup her cheek, to feel her smooth skin against his rough palm.
