by Alix Nichols
The Dragon’s Woman
Alix Nichols
Contents
Books by Alix Nichols
Foreword
Prologue
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
First Epilogue
Second Epilogue
GLOSSARY
Books by Alix Nichols
SCIENCE FICTION ROMANCES
Keepers of Xereill
The Cyborg’s Lady (prequel novella)
The Traitor’s Bride
The Commander’s Captive
The Dragon’s Woman
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCES
La Bohème
Winter’s Gift
What If It’s Love?
Falling for Emma
Under My Skin
Amanda’s Guide to Love
The Devil’s Own Chloe
The Darcy Brothers
Find You in Paris
Raphael’s Fling
The Perfect Catch
Clarissa and the Cowboy (companion novella)
Playing to Win
Playing with Fire
Playing for Keeps
Playing Dirty
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alix Nichols is an unapologetic caffeine addict and a longtime fan of Mr. Darcy, especially in his Colin Firth incarnation.
She is a USA Today bestselling author of sexy, riveting romances that “keep you hanging off the edge of your seat” (RT Book Reviews) and “deliver pure pleasure” (Kirkus Reviews).
At the age of six, she released her first book. It featured highly creative spelling on a dozen pages stitched together and bound in velvet paper.
Decades later, she still writes. Her spelling has improved (somewhat), and her books have topped bestseller charts around the world. She lives in France with her family and their almost-human dog.
Copyright © 2018 Alix Nichols
Editing provided by Write Divas
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
Foreword
THE DRAGON’S WOMAN is Book 3 in a series of 5 inter-connected sci-fi / paranormal romance novels. This volume features Geru and Marye’s path to finding each other—and themselves. It can be read as a standalone.
I hope you enjoy it!
Alix
PS: You can find a glossary at the end of this book.
For extras, including a photo gallery and a quiz, visit: alixnichols.com/sci-fi-romance.
Prologue
Thirty Weeks Ago
As ghostly as Tastassi’s moon and drenched in cold sweat, Chev Tolkeet opened his mouth and let out a shrill, gut-wrenching scream as he arched his whole body.
“Do I continue, Your Grace?” Captain Voqras shot his boss an unsure glance.
Sir Governor Polit Horbell chewed on his lower lip. “It’s not my call… Give him a moment. He’ll let us know.”
Except Chev was in no hurry to communicate, clearly too engrossed in his throes.
All that writhing and bleeding was beginning to feel excessive, almost obscene. Sir Horbell shifted his gaze from his second’s hands to the smooth walls of the room they were in.
Five feet thick and completely soundproof.
Only a handful of people knew about the existence of this secret dungeon in the Governor’s Palace Sir Horbell had built as soon as he was endorsed as Tastassi’s ruler. Incidentally, that handful of people no longer included the builders, all of whom had perished in tragic accidents over the last year.
Father used to say, “No man keeps a secret as well as a dead man.”
He was wise and witty like that.
After what seemed like an eternity, Chev looked up, his face a grimace of excruciating pain.
“Was that enough? Can you see them now?” Sir Horbell asked, bending down nearer to his face.
Slowly, Chev turned his head from left to right. When he opened his mouth, his voice was a choked whisper. “More.”
Voqras looked at Sir Horbell.
“You heard him.” Sir Horbell motioned to the cyborg. “Keep at it.”
Voqras lifted the middle finger on Chev’s firmly secured left hand and gripped the nail with his pliers. Slowly, he began to drag it out of its bed.
Chev broke into another harrowing screech.
Sir Horbell’s face contorted with pity for the man he called a friend. Why couldn’t Chev call forth his gift of seeing without going through an ordeal like this?
When Sir Horbell used one of his gifts, he never had to “pay” by suffering physical pain. The price Divine Aheya charged for Chev’s ability seemed exorbitant. Last time, when nail pulling hadn’t worked, Voqras had ended up giving him electric shocks…
One day, Chev would push himself too far. His body would break, and his soul would depart the world of the living.
Like the rest of them.
Sir Horbell shuddered. If that happened, he’d be left truly and forever alone. There would be no one on this boondocks planet called Tastassi—or on any other planet—no one in the whole bleeding Xereill he could confide in. Worse, there’d be no one he gave a damn about.
Or who gave a damn about him.
Sir Horbell opened his mouth to order Voqras to stop when Chev’s eyes rolled back in his head. His lids fluttered shut. When he opened his eyes again a few seconds later, they were pitch black—not just the irises, but the sclera, too.
No matter how many times Sir Horbell had seen Chev like this, the sight still threw him.
He took a step closer. “Are you on Hente?”
Chev nodded.
It was at Sir Horbell’s request that Chev was screening the remote planet today. It was poor, devastated by armed conflict, and one of its realms’ ruler would soon be eating out of Sir Horbell’s hand. Hente made a lot of sense as a source of rich-bloods for Sir Horbell’s end game.
In contrast to well-oiled planets like Ittroise, which investigated every disappearance and didn’t hesitate to send agents to all four corners of the galaxy, Hente would put up zero resistance.
Whomever Chev found on Hente was Sir Horbell’s for the taking.
Besides, after an atomic war two hundred years ago, the surviving rich-bloods on Hente had lost their gifts. No new rich-bloods had been registered since. But the levels of radiation and disease rates had dropped, and the air quality in the habitable area was optimal, according to the League of Realms’ lat
est probe.
It wasn’t so farfetched to assume that gifts might be making a comeback—even if those blessed with them didn’t know it yet.
“Can you see them?” Sir Horbell asked, shifting impatiently. “Any rich-bloods at all?”
Chev raised the fingers on his good hand, indicating he needed a little more time.
Sir Horbell stepped back and took a deep breath.
Moments passed.
“I have them,” Chev said triumphantly. “All of them.”
All meant more than one. Hell, it meant more than two! Sir Horbell smiled with glee.
Chev’s irises began to flutter erratically, black on black, adding a layer of morbid strangeness to his already wild look. “Two underground healers in the Northern District… A medium in Orogate… A shifter in Iltaqa… And one more rich-blood in Iltaqa.”
“Five.” Voqras gave Sir Horbell a satisfied smile. “I counted five rich-bloods, Your Grace.”
Sir Horbell nodded before turning back to Chev. “Can you be more specific about the medium? Can he talk to dead people? Would he be able to communicate with someone who died long ago?”
Would he be able to summon Father?
Sir Horbell knew he should be asking about the shifter first, but he’d been unable to help himself.
“I’m afraid she can’t talk to anyone yet,” Chev said. “Her gift is still dormant, and I can’t tell when—if ever—it will awaken.”
Sir Horbell’s face tightened. “Tell me about the shifter. Is it one of those tricksters—the appearance shifters—or is it a real one?”
A nod. Silence. More frenzied eye movements.
“Appearance shifters shouldn’t be underestimated,” Voqras offered.
Chev squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again. His eyeballs were white now. He’d come out of his altered state.
“It’s a dragon,” he said.
Sir Horbell gasped, lost for words.
Voqras threw a fist in the air. “Yes! You’ll have two in your arsenal, Your Grace. No small feat, considering they don’t exist.”
Dragon shifters were believed to be a myth and understandably so. None had ever been recorded on any planet since the Original Ra started keeping records. None since the Human Infusion, either. And any gift expert in Xereill was only too happy to explain how the laws of physics made changing into something so much bigger than oneself impossible.
Sir Horbell used to think that, too, until Chev found the lamented Hassine and then Risp last year. And now he’d located another one.
“Can you give us a more precise location for the dragon?” Sir Horbell asked.
“Central Iltaqa.” Chev scrunched his face in apology which, combined with his still trembling body and bleeding hand, made him a truly sorry sight. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, I can’t be more specific than that.”
Sir Horbell gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s all right. I can work with that.”
“What about the fifth rich-blood?” the cyborg asked. “Is that someone we could use?”
Another apologetic look. “I don’t know. Her imprint was too weird, too… scrambled.”
Sir Horbell turned to Voqras. “Attend to him.”
The cyborg opened his medical kit, untied Chev’s hands from the armrests, and began to treat his mutilated fingers.
“Even her physical shape was vague as if cloaked,” Chev said while Voqras swaddled his hand. “Maybe she’s an infant, and her gift hasn’t fully developed yet.”
“I’ll focus on the dragon.” Sir Horbell placed his hand on Chev’s shoulder. “He’s much more valuable. Besides, mind meddling drains my energy. I’m stretched too thin as it is, working on too many subjects at once.”
Angling his head, Chev kissed Sir Horbell’s hand. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Taken by surprise, Sir Horbell yanked his hand away.
He’s just grateful for my magnanimity.
There was nothing else to it. There couldn’t be. Chev wouldn’t dare.
Sir Horbell picked up a bottle of his aide’s favorite brandy from the table, filled a crystal goblet, and thrust it into Chev’s right hand.
“Leave us,” he said to Voqras who’d finished bandaging the seer.
Voqras saluted and marched out.
“Why wasn’t I born a dragon shifter?” Sir Horbell poured some brandy for himself. “I wish I had a more powerful gift than mind meddling in people’s sleep.” He smirked. “And only after they’ve been poisoned. Such a minor power!”
Chev emptied his glass and held it up for a refill. “That might be, but your other gift is in a league of its own. Besides, mind meddling moves you toward your goal, Your Magnificence.”
The title felt like an exquisite caress, making Sir Horbell’s heart surge and his skin prickle.
He gave his second a tender look. “Ah, if only you could call me that openly, all the time.”
“One day I will. Everyone will.”
Chev stared into Sir Horbell’s eyes, his gaze watery and full of emotion. An emotion whose nature Sir Horbell refused to acknowledge.
It’s the brandy talking, and the torment he went through.
“Everyone on every planet in Xereill”—Chev’s gaze drilled into Sir Horbell’s—“will call you that.”
Sharply, Sir Horbell turned away. “That day is still far away, my friend. Until then, ‘Your Grace’ will do.”
“Of course.” Chev’s voice lost its dreamy quality. “Besides, Your Grace is a huge improvement on ‘Hey, Polit.’ ”
Sir Horbell blinked, then threw his head back and guffawed. “That it is, my friend. It most certainly is!”
Chev tee-heed.
When Sir Horbell’s hilarity faded, he knit his brows. “You are right to remind me of how far I’ve come already. I should be patient. Father used to say…” He tightened his jaw. “Well, Father should’ve heeded his own advice.”
“He was an exceptional man.”
“No matter how hard I fight it,” Sir Horbell said, “I forget things with every passing year. About him, about all of them.”
“Does your hatred subside, too?”
“Never. If anything, it burns brighter. It’s my guiding star.”
Chev raised his glass high and drained it. His eyelids drooped, and a distinctly tipsy smile touched his lips.
“My servants will accompany you to your residence where you can rest,” Sir Horbell said. “Take all the time you need to recover.”
“I’ll be fine in a couple of—”
“Take. Your. Time.” Sir Horbell glared at Chev. “You did your part for now. You’ve dealt me a great hand, my friend. Now, it’s my job to play it.”
1
Pulling his stool closer to the polished wood counter, Geru motioned to the barmaid.
Up until last week, he would’ve said, “The usual.” But now he could spare himself even that truncated utterance. The woman knew exactly what to serve him, and so did the man who tended bar at this inn… er… hotel on alternate nights.
She nodded and poured Geru a glass of hendi liquor. He blinked once by way of thanks. Here in Siy, people were a lot more economical with words than back home. They were also less nosy about each other and absolutely enamored with their countless level-two devices. Some devices Geru knew how to use, thanks to Hente’s smugglers. The purpose of others he couldn’t begin to imagine.
That said, what struck him most about Siy was its smell.
Not a whiff of manure. No trace of stale sweat. Not a hint of deep-fried doongles sold by vendors on every corner of every street. Norbal’s economic capital smelled like linens in the Gokk House—crisp and lavender scented. Even this bar didn’t reek. All Geru could detect in its air was freshly roasted kawa, brandy, and the ever-present lavender.
Beyond the obvious absence of horses in Siy, how a city this crowded could smell this clean puzzled Geru. Then again, it was just one of the many things he couldn’t wrap his mind around, no matter how hard he tried.
> How he’d gotten to Norbal was the biggest mystery.
He had no recollection of booking himself onto an interplanetary transport, boarding, traveling through space, landing, disembarking… Even if he’d done all those things dead-drunk—he’d been drinking quite a bit lately—how was it possible not to keep the slightest memory of any part of the journey?
In addition to the how of it, Geru was unclear about the when.
He’d been in Siy for some weeks now, doing what he had to do and waiting on the local red tape to deliver the necessary paperwork. But for the life of him he couldn’t tell exactly how many weeks. He’d spent three in his current hotel, according to the manager’s records. But he’d stayed in another one for a couple of weeks before that. And before that? He had no clue.
The one thing Geru did know was why he was here. His task on Norbal was time-consuming but simple—get his family to safety.
To do that, Geru spent his days meeting with potential business partners, investing, looking for a suitable house, setting up a company and applying for permanent residency permits for Mother, Father, the twins, and Benty. He was also looking to charter a private transport to quietly bring them here when everything was ready.
