by Celia Kyle
“Very well.” Whelon’s agreement was immediate. “Can you be trusted now? You will stop attempting to injure others?”
“Yes.” No. “I will control myself.” He hoped.
“Very well. Release him.” The warriors’ retreat came slowly, first Brukr and Radoo releasing his arms while Argan took his from around Ivoth’s chest. Chashan withdrew next and then Liquid Knot with Char—
Charlie leapt and landed on Ivoth’s shoulder, claws grasping the katoth strap on his shoulder. Heart belong young cha, too.
Ivoth grunted and remained silent. He still wished to eat the quasti in one bite, but its love for Elle was undeniable. If—when—she woke, she would be sad to discover he’d eaten Charlie.
The blade at his throat remained, Triem’s frozen glare still in place and directed at Ivoth.
“Triem?” Khaza’s gentle voice was followed by the soothing wave of her caring. “He has vowed to calm.”
“As he vowed to his sire to find his mate? To continue his line?”
The accusation struck fast and deep, delving into his heart with his precise strike. “My sire…” Ivoth did not wish to speak of his losses, but he had no choice. “My sire should have taken his final flight with the death of my dam and sister. I should have granted him mercy. He begged to be freed, but…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. It was a difficult truth to admit. “I was a selfish young male, and I did not wish to lose them all. I forced him to live and every day.” His throat swelled shut, the words caught in his chest, but he had to be strong. He could not hold Elle as she went to Syh if he remained Triem’s captive.
Charlie end wing male. The soft tail brushed Ivoth’s back and the quasti’s position changed. Charlie vibrated with a subtle tremble, and the lowest of growls came from his tiny form.
Ivoth remained angry at the quasti, but he could not allow it to kill a fellow warrior, either. He mimicked Elle’s actions, tilting his head and rubbing his cheek on its fur. “All is well, Charlie.”
Triem snorted. “All is well? Your mate lays near death—”
“And CharlemKle’phi-juewee would like to end your life,” he snapped back. “As for my sire, he begged me to end his life every day for three hundred turnings. Each morning he asked to be thrown from the aerie, and each night he made me swear that our line would not end with me. My pity damned me. His mind was broken, Triem. Broken by the loss of his mate and dragonlet. Broken by his son’s refusal to grant mercy.” Ivoth pushed into Triem’s blade. “As I will be if you do not allow me to be with my mate. Finish it or release me, Triem sen Chor’li.”
Ivoth waited. Waited for the warrior to choose. Could he disarm Triem? Easily. But that was not the fullness of his intent. The other warrior had to see that a vow given could be broken. Breaking free solved nothing.
Triem’s gaze remained intent, eyes meeting Ivoth’s and searching his expression as if he held the answer to all questions. Ivoth did not know what the male saw, but it was enough. Enough for the male to sheath his blade and step aside.
The crowd in the room parted, each visitor stepping aside so that Ivoth could return to Elle’s side—to his mate’s side.
He retook his seat and reached for her once more, fingertips finding her pulse with ease. Charlie leapt from his shoulder and took up residence by her head, claws and paws tugging at her hair until he found skin. The quasti laid against her neck, his nose pressed to her throat. A low hum, a gentle song, filled the air—a healing song Ivoth recognized.
Help fix young cha.
He nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly so he could remain calm. “Tell me—us—” He flicked his attention to Charlie and then to Whelon. “What is to happen? What is the anomaly that sickens Elle, and how will it be healed?”
Whelon, Healing Master and strong warrior, ran a shaking hand down his face, as if what was to come frightened even him.
“Elle suffers from several difficulties, one since birth and others introduced during her short life. Each then worsened her primary abnormality. Like an Earth onion, the layers must be peeled away before the true illness can be addressed.”
“Specifics, Whelon.” He would settle for nothing less.
“Nanites from the Araimi negate the ryaapir unit. Genetic manipulation from Tantala makes her heal slower than other humans. There are other biological changes from her time on the quasti home world and healing treatments from Charlie. Then finally, it has all been rendered even more difficult by Pol Mutation.”
“So much,” he rasped. His small mate suffered from so much and he did not understand how Whelon could repair her. “The treatment?”
“It begins with Charlie deactivating the nanites in her blood as he has eliminated others—the most recent being at Elle’s previous home.”
Ivoth’s attention flicked between Elle and Charlie. “To do so would end her.”
“Yes. Charlie will end her, and you… You will save her with your blood.” He shot a frown at Whelon, and the male answered his unasked question. “Your blood has healed her once before. She was injured outside her condo and yet was fully healed when she returned to medical. The only change was your blood on her wounds. You experience her emotions even over long distances. You are her mate, Ivoth—her mate and her salvation.”
18
For some reason, Elle always equated darkness with weight. As if the black weighed thousands of pounds and piled on her so she couldn’t move—couldn’t escape the terrifying night.
In truth, it was feather light. Soft and smooth, more so than Charlie’s delicate fur. She floated along in the sea of nothingness, lazing happily in the sightless world as invisible winds blew her along some unseen path. The dark wasn’t oppressive. It didn’t frighten her or urge her to cry out for help. No, it simply… was. It welcomed her, cradling her gently in invisible hands as she floated along midnight clouds.
Clouds? How did she know there were clouds if everything was black…?
Elle opened her eyes wider, searching out any hint of light to mark her path, and the world around her gradually came into focus. The black melted away; sprinklings of yellow and white light dotted the skies and light gray clouds soon became visible.
She did float, she was pushed along by the winds—in the skies above Earth. She didn’t have wings, but she flew, catching the shifting breeze and riding each whirling gust. She was weightless, an ethereal specter that danced among the clouds while others slept.
Slept?
Yes. It was night. Of course, they slept while she explored. And when she was done, she’d return to Earth and…
And the twinkling lights flickered, one winking out of sight. Elle frowned and stared at the spot that had so recently glowed. Odd. She shook her head and tried to pick up her thoughts where she’d left off.
Right. She’d return to Earth and…
A second vanished from sight.
Then a third.
She needed those stars to help her find her way back to Tampa. Everything was so dark, so difficult to see. If she didn’t have the stars to light her way, she’d be lost in the darkness forever and…
And she was afraid of the dark. Afraid of the night and what it meant. Afraid of what it hid in the shadows. Afraid of what the midnight hours liked to claim.
Lives. No, her mother’s life.
It’d claimed her mother’s life, and now it wanted to—
A gust of wind sent her spinning through the air, whirling and twirling. She threw out her arms and legs, searching for anything to grasp, but the skies were empty.
Except for her. And the wind.
The wind that made her twist and roll until she didn’t know the difference between up and down. The wind that never stopped, never let her take a breath before sending her sailing in another direction. It pushed and pulled, throwing her across the skies only to snatch her back—snatch her back before she truly entered that mass of black on the horizon, a sickly, oily ooze that sent a shiver of fear down her spine.
That darkness was heavy, oppressive, and terrifying. She didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to get lost in those sticky shadows.
But the wind just laughed—like a joyous child—and pushed her close to that sticky slush. It left her there, hovering just for a moment so that the slime reached for her, dark tendrils twisting through the skies. She could sense its desires, the need to capture and keep her, but none of it made sense.
Elle couldn’t fly. She couldn’t dance in the stars. She couldn’t…
It had to be a nightmare? She shook her head and the breeze drifted across her forehead, brushing hair from her eyes, and a low murmur filled her ears.
“Shaa…”
Her lips curled up into a tiny smile. She knew the rest of that message. Shaa kava.
The wind carried her further from the roiling mass, but none of the stars returned. They remained dark, the flickering lights not there to light her way.
How would she…
“Come back.”
Back. Yes. How would she get back? But she wasn’t even sure where she’d gone.
A ghosting of fur—Charlie’s fur—brushed her cheek and teased her nose. He’d gone and stuck his tail in her face again. After almost thirty years of her tugging on his tail, she’d thought he’d learn, but he still hadn’t.
“Charlie,” she murmured, her grin returning. “You’re a pest.”
Her pest. Or he was hers because he’d… She lifted her hand and brushed her fingers across the gash on her shoulder. Or the gash that was supposed to be on her shoulder but wasn’t any longer. Had that been a dream?
No. No, she was pretty sure this was a dream—a dream where she was fully healed and had the ability to fly like Ivoth. It would be perfection if he was there, love in his eyes and desperate to have her as his mate. Just a little more desperate than she was to have him.
“You are mine, shaa kouva. I will not live without you.”
Ivoth again. Pretty words that she’d die to hear him say.
“No death. Only life.”
A long life—the two of them with a dozen dragonlets. Or two. Two dozen that they’d love and cherish forever. Two dozen that would be welcomed with wide smiles and joy. Two dozen who would have more than a quasti for a friend.
Charlie’s tail flicked the end of her nose and she giggled before pulling away from the constricting hands of the breeze and twirling through the air. Laughter bubbled past her lips, her heart lighter.
The world was lighter too. Not quite so dark. Not quite so scary. The oily mass was in the far distance, hardly visible any longer. It’d been swallowed by the weightless night that pushed her onward—onward toward a brightness she ached to touch.
She wanted to reach out and grab it, curl her fingers around the light and never let it go again. She’d tie herself to that brightness, meld herself to the glittering glare until there was no separating them.
Then she could relax. Then she could breathe again and feel joy, and—
Something tugged on her ankle, a cold, thick rope of wetness that slithered its way up her leg to encircle her calf. She screeched and yanked, staring at the freezing tendril of dark.
It’d gotten her. While her back was turned and happiness filled her body, it’d crept from its far-off home to capture Elle.
To drag her down.
To steal her joy.
To steal her… life.
“Return to me, shaa kouva.”
Elle wanted to, she did. That voice, the need, resonated with her heart. She wanted nothing more than to listen, to return to him. Him?
“Please.”
Him. He shouldn’t beg. He was a Preor warrior—strong and proud, males filled with honor and power greater than any other, and yet he begged again.
“Please.”
That blackness continued its slow journey up her leg, gaining ground, sucking the life out of her with its sticky vines. It wanted to take her—keep her—forever.
And Elle wanted… Elle wanted…
“Ivoth,” she gasped, whispering his name as she fought to bring air into her lungs. She arched off the hard surface beneath her, body coming to life in a rush of blood and oxygen. Her heartbeat raced, muscles tense and nerves buzzing with the sudden blast of energy.
The blackness returned, thick and strong and grasping her arms and legs. So many coils and curls snatching her. They wrapped around her arms and legs, forcing her to lay flat on the hard surface. The black pinned her, and she waited for what little life she had to be sucked from her. Any moment it would take the last, and then she’d be…
“Shaa kouva. Elle, you are safe. You are well.”
That voice. She knew that voice. She didn’t want him to be caught with her, but… but she didn’t want to be alone in the icy black. She didn’t want to be lost alone.
“You are not alone. Your mate is here. Your Charlie is here. All is well.” The breeze brushed her hair aside. “You are alive and all is well.”
The last words were hardly more than a choked rasp, as if someone strangled him and yet he tried to talk. It was enough to make her focus, to turn her head toward the source of those words. Silken fur brushed her cheek as she moved, a flutter against the tip of her nose
She grumbled. “Pest.”
The brushing ceased and she sighed, finally resting her left cheek on the soft cushion beneath her head.
“Shaa kouva?”
“Hmmm…” She liked that endearment a lot better than shaa kava. She didn’t want to be a heart partner. She wanted to be a beloved mate. My beloved. How did she say that in return? She couldn’t remem—wait, she did. “Shaa kouvi.”
Elle tried to open her eyes, part her lids and see the world around her, but her body refused to comply. Her eyes wanted to stay shut, so apparently they were staying shut. Instead of fighting, she simply sighed again and relaxed deeper into the hard platform. She drew in a deep breath, savoring the heated, spicy scents of Ivoth’s inherent flavors, and gradually released another long sigh.
“Shaa kouvi.” She liked saying that. “Shaa kouvi.” Even if it wasn’t true, she liked it, and Ivoth hadn’t objected.
Yet.
“And I will never, shaa kouva.” Warm skin rested against her cheek, and she turned her head, breathing in Ivoth’s aroma.
She nuzzled his palm, enjoying the scrape of calluses on her smooth skin. “Ivoth.” Small claws dug into her chest, low squeaks and growls accompanying each movement. “Charlie.” They were both stuck in the mass of unending dark with her. They were both damned to endless nights. “Sorry. S-sorry.”
“No apologies, shaa kouva.”
Wake cha.
“Hmmm…” Their voices were so close, so soft and loud at the same time. They boomed without and within, shaking her with the quiet intensity. It soothed and scared her at the same time, the strength of their voices overwhelming her in that instant.
Elle twitched, arms and legs jerking against the cloying hold of the blackness, but it vanished. With that single pull, the vines fell away—releasing her. But it’d fought so hard earlier. It’d tried to hold her captive, and now… She frowned, brows furrowed and pulled together.
A thick, blunted finger rubbed the skin between her eyebrows. “Do not frown, shaa kouva. I am here with Charlie. You live.”
Soft lips replaced the finger. Not just soft lips—Ivoth’s lips.
Her Ivoth’s lips. When he pulled away, she peeled her eyes open, fighting the crust that sought to keep her eyelids closed. She opened one and then the other—just long enough to catch a glimpse of Ivoth before she snapped them closed against the light’s brightness. A glimpse of his weary green eyes, gaunt face, and the harsh lines of exhaustion etched into every tense wrinkle.
“Did I not live?” The question made sense in her mind, but the words came out jumbled, and she couldn’t figure out what was wrong about them. Did… was… alive or living… she shook her head, but Ivoth’s firm but gentle grip stopped her from moving. “Did I die?”
<
br /> “Yes, shaa kouva. Charlie killed you, and I helped.”
Elle didn’t have much to say to that. Not while her brain remained muddled and dark, drifting in the gray between awake and sleep. “Killed me?”
She huffed and then coughed, wincing with a sudden flare of pain in her chest. She clutched her chest, hand pressed to the source of the pain, and fought to turn and curl in on herself. She held her breath as the throbbing continued, waiting for it to finally drift away into nothingness. When it was finally gone, she took a shallow breath, not wanting to suffer another bout of coughing.
Elle groaned and let her weight roll her onto her back once more. “That sucked.”
“Death or coughing?” So serious, so literal. Poor Ivoth.
Her lips twitched, one corner curling up in the smallest of smiles. “Both.”
19
Elle wasn’t comfortable in her own skin. It didn’t fit quite right anymore. It felt dry and taut in some places and loose in others, as if it’d been stretched by someone else and then shoved back onto her body. No amount of shrugging or wiggling put things back where they belonged, which meant she was constantly chased by a feeling of wrongness.
Which others assured her was perfectly normal. She’d believe them if they didn’t all stare at her with wary gazes, watching her every moment of every day, just waiting for… something.
Though she should cut them some slack. Two days ago, she’d been dead.
Dead.
Now she wasn’t, and everything was different. Her thoughts, her feelings, the sensations from the world around her—everything had changed while it all looked the same.
Elle sighed and shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside for now. There were other things—people—who needed her attention. Though, in reality, it was one Preor who waited for her. He was the most hesitant of everyone, and she hated that. Hated that the once demanding and dominating warrior now spoke softly and deferred to her every thought and whim.
