Rendan (Scifi Alien Dragon Romance) (Dragons of Preor Book 4)

by Celia Kyle

  He reacted based on his most feral of emotions.

  A soft gasp followed by a scrape and thud reached him, the next sound a feminine groan of pain. After that? A low murmur, an apology, an offer of assistance in rising.

  Rendan could piece together the events in his mind, his mate stumbling and another male assisting her. An unmated male putting his hands on her as he helped her to her feet.

  How injured was she? Severely? He wasn’t sure. He’d never had a female of his own and hadn’t spent much time around the human-Preor mates. She could be dying while he kept the healing master and primary healer occupied with his paltry wounds.

  He opened his mouth to shout at the healing master, but the scent that reached out for him, that wrapped around his dragon’s mind and consumed his every thought, spurred him into motion.

  Fear.

  Her fear.

  Now there was no pain but only need. Need to see her. Need to protect her.

  With a roar, Rendan vaulted from the bed, rolling and slamming his unharmed wing against the healers. The strike sent Yazen stumbling back, the younger male unable to withstand Rendan’s sudden attack. He used his arms to pull him himself onto the healing platform, planting his feet and finding his center. His one wing hung uselessly at his side, but he did not need two wings to protect his fearful mate.

  Whelon faced him, the healing master’s attention locked on Rendan while he reached for a hypospray from a nearby tray.

  Healing Master Whelon would drug him—incapacitate him—so Rendan could not protect his mate.

  Unacceptable.

  Dragon’s fire gathered in his throat, that fiery part of him rushing forward to help protect his mate. No male should ever make the mistake of challenging an offense master. He was built and trained for warfare.

  There were warriors—Preors strong and skilled.

  And then there was Rendan sen Tarkan.

  He tensed his muscles, legs bunching and arms flexing in preparation for his next movements. He waited, watching Whelon while keeping his mind open to the location of the other warriors.

  The wait for the healing master was not long, his eyes betraying him before Whelon went into motion.

  Rendan vaulted up and over the healing master, flipping through the air and landing in a crouch between Whelon and the female at his back. Whoever had assisted her was gone, more than likely now part of the small crowd in front of him.

  If they remained on their half of the room, they would all make it out alive. If not…

  He would lose friends this day.

  But first, he would give them a single warning, one word meant to identify the female behind him and what cause him to take this new position and issue his threat of violence.

  “Mine.”

  2

  That single word pounded through Carla’s mind. Thump, thump, thumping in her head until it felt like it was the only thing in her world.

  Mine.

  The floor was hard beneath her. The thin fabric of her scrubs wasn’t much protection from the rough grating and she groaned. Her voice joined the echoes of the stranger’s word, seeming to boom in the small space. Her hands stung, palms scraped by the uneven edges.

  She tried to recall what’d happened in that flurry of movement. A peach Preor had reached for her, his presence the reason she’d shuffled away in the first place. She’d tripped on air, then fell, and then…

  Mine.

  Her soul seemed to agree, mind calling out the same thing even though her mouth stayed shut. She couldn’t help it. Fear and surprise kept her immobile and silent.

  His wing, his glorious pink wing, dangled from his wing base, the flight lines shattered and scales sluggishly bleeding where he was torn and shredded. A long claw mark marred his side, a sure sign his opponent hadn’t been on two legs when he’d attacked the pink warrior.

  He remained crouched, fists uncurled and sharp nails decorating their tips. Despite his injuries, he was prepared to… protect her?

  But why would some random—

  The Knowing didn’t allow the question to continue before it supplied her with answers. Answers that raced through her thoughts, digging in and suffusing her brain with the new knowledge.

  She experienced the Knowing after meeting—seeing—the male in front of her. He was her mate—her one. Carla swallowed hard. Okay, she had a true explanation now, the blood history of the Preor race easing into her head from her mate.

  That was how it worked—the Knowing between a human and Preor. The knowledge was large, vast, heavy… It was cold yet hot, scorching and soothing, a contrast of sensations that seemed to overcome her between one breath and the next.

  Yet, the rapid rush remained somewhat slow, the information gathered secondhand from her Preor mate.

  Their minds were connected now. He could find…

  Carla pushed the Knowing away, not wanting to hear anything more about this weird tie between her and a stranger.

  “Rendan…” Whelon murmured the warrior’s name—her mate’s name.

  Rendan, she formed his name on her lips but remained silent.

  “Mine,” he followed the word with a threatening hiss. One that said it’d be best if everyone heeded his declaration. He backed up, closing in on her while he kept his attention on the others, and she scooted away. She peered around Rendan, searching for Whelon, and met his worried gaze.

  Preor warriors didn’t get worried. They lived without fear.

  Oh, so not good.

  Her gaze jumped to Yazen, his expression equally anxious.

  Great.

  That had her switching to the warriors who’d brought Rendan into medical. Each was holding his war blades, the gleaming metal they’d trained with since their twelfth turning.

  Twelve years old and training with deadly swords.

  No one else spoke, the quiet of medical growing so large it was nearly painful. The silence was oppressing and merely ratcheted up the tension in the room. The only thing that broke through the soundless air was the low hum of the ship’s engines.

  Carla held her breath, aches forgotten, while she watched and waited for Rendan’s next move.

  Rendan—her mate. She wasn’t sure if she was prepared to believe the Knowing, but the feelings assaulting her, the certainty she felt deep in her bones, told her to trust in the Preor.

  Now it was a matter of waiting to see who blinked first. Rendan was outnumbered, though she figured the two healers didn’t really count. She knew the males had to undergo warrior training, but their primary purpose was to heal, not fight.

  That left the other two—one peach, one yellow. Both appeared prepared to fight though she couldn’t miss the fear on their faces. They were afraid… of Rendan? His wing was useless and she had no doubt the agony he experienced eclipsed all else. As soon as his adrenaline left him, he’d crash. Sometimes it was just a matter of waiting out the crazy.

  No one moved, all of them immobile and waiting out their standoff. The peach one looked as if he’d jump into the fray first, but yellow wouldn’t be far behind. She wasn’t sure how Rendan would fare under—

  Rendan struck first. Her mate struck first. He moved like a snake, slithering effortlessly through the room, attacking and blocking without making a sound. He was powerful and graceful with his movements, his strength visible in the ease of his actions.

  She would have been awed… if she wasn’t so scared.

  Yes, the Knowing told her to trust him, that her mate would never injure her, but the Knowing wasn’t staring at a crazed, pink Preor either. She didn’t recognize any sentient awareness in his gaze. His eyes were flat as he battled with the other men. The healers tried to help, jumping into the tangle only to be tossed back out. Blood stained the ground, droplets splattering around the room with Rendan’s every move.

  Carla’s stomach rebelled at the violence, the fresh waves of coppery scent in the air and the snap of bone when Rendan struck. She was a nurse, not some random civilian who’d n
ever sewn up a patient. Yet the brutality she witnessed, the quick and emotionless actions Rendan took, made her ill.

  He was a machine—a deadly, violent machine.

  Yellow and peach both faced off against Rendan, the other two men taking more damage than they gave. Both were panting and sweating with the exertion of their fight.

  While Rendan seemed unfazed.

  Would he kill them? For what?

  That Knowing, the knowledge dumping into her brain, filled in the blanks. He was her mate. He’d seen or heard her falling and then there’d been an unmated male near her. It was enough to spark a Preor male’s jealousy and rage.

  And it wouldn’t end until the male’s dragon’s fire was spent. Or until he was forced into submission.

  The battle raged on the other side of the room and Carla wormed her way along the walls. She stayed low, ducking behind med equipment when she could, trying to hide her journey. She didn’t want him seeing her—trying to stop her—when she needed other warriors so desperately.

  She neared the double doors, wide portals operated by an identipad nearby. It’d take one press of her thumb, then a scream, and she’d have warriors running to her rescue—or rather, peach and yellow’s rescue.

  At least, that’s what she hoped.

  Whelon stood near the battling males, hypospray at the ready, but she wasn’t sure he’d be able to get her mate before he caused irreparable harm to the others—or himself.

  Carla slammed her hand down on the identipad and bolted, squeezing through the doors the very moment there was enough space.

  A bellowing roar followed her, the sound reaching into her heart and squeezing the muscle. The sound was filled with anger and betrayal, fury and a possessiveness that she more than liked. She shouldn’t, but then the Knowing assured her she should.

  It was natural between Preor mates.

  Riiight.

  “Help!” Her feet pounded on the metal beneath her, the thud echoing down the nearly empty hallway. “Help!”

  Her rapid steps were echoed by others—heavier and quicker than her own. Then a quad of males rounded the corner, blades drawn and claws flexed. They came at her call, prepared for battle.

  “Don’t kill him!” She darted between the men, the quad striding between her and Rendan. Rendan—the male who still chased her, snarling and hissing. The moment the last male passed, she spun in place, anxious to see he wasn’t harmed. “He’s hurt! He’s not himself!”

  The largest of the group, a blue-gray male whose coloring reminded her of a storm at sea, gave her a short nod.

  And then… then it became a mass of bodies and blades, wings and claws flashing and jerking as the quad surrounded her mate. Snarls and roars echoed down the passageway, others soon moving near, and she waved the most eager of them away.

  “He’s injured and—“

  One nodded understanding while another spoke. “Battle anger.”

  Battle anger. As good a name as any, she supposed.

  No matter the name, the fight was what worried her. The sticky scent of blood now consumed the air in the hallway, the warriors battling Rendan now all bleeding freely from their wounds. She only caught the occasional glimpse of her pink Preor—her mate breaking free only to be tackled by the others once more. The grating beneath her feet vibrated each time one of the males was thrown to the ground, their weight making the material tremble.

  But it was the worst when she saw Rendan fall. Hiss on his lips and the promise of violence in his eyes. He repeated that word now, mine, mine, mine.

  Fear and heartache warred in her heart. She shouldn’t stand around doing nothing. Her mate was being attacked… but he’d attacked first.

  Because he thought she was hurt. She tried to reason with herself, explain her cowardice. A mate shouldn’t be afraid of her own mate. She should…

  One last roar, one last pain-tinged bellow, and then it was done. The sound trailed off, the only others coming from the harsh panting of the other warriors. A flash of dark gray followed by dark red told her that Whelon and Yazen were in the middle of that group and already tending to her mate.

  Her stomach rolled, thoughts of his new condition making her sick, and she hated that she’d somehow been the cause of these events.

  No, it was the Knowing’s fault, if anything.

  Right, she’d keep telling herself that while guilt ate at her stomach.

  What bit of strength remained suddenly fled, leaving her hardly able to stand, and she leaned against the smooth, silver wall. The other Preors moved off, some heading into medical while others returned to their duties. At least, that’s what she’d assumed. They left Carla there, trembling with shock, and she was thankful for their distance. Though she knew it wasn’t because they were being conscientious.

  It had more to do with them not knowing how to act around an unmated female. And it wasn’t even that she was unmated—most of the human-Preor mates weren’t fully mated when they arrived on the ship. It was more that she had no mate to even speak of.

  At least… at least until minutes ago.

  She stared down the passage, the last of the warriors who’d fought Rendan now entering medical. She should get up and go check on him. Go spend some time figuring this out while Whelon and Yazen patched up her mate.

  She…

  The Knowing pulsed, throbbing in a not-so-gentle wave. It told her that distance between her and Rendan before they’d completed their mating was not a good thing. It was a very bad, madness-inducing thing, actually.

  Carla closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and she sought for strength. Or calm. Either would work.

  A rustle of wings, the creak of metal, and the unmistakable sense of someone had her opening her eyes.

  Whelon stared down at her, his expression a combination of worried, furious, and bloodthirsty. She wanted to stick with the worried aspect.

  “Hi,” she gave him a small smile.

  “Healer Butler,” he murmured, his gaze softening. “Are you injured? I will assist you—“

  The warning from the Knowing came a split second too late. That snip of hesitation between the two events meant Whelon grasped her wrist, his other hand cupping her elbow. It meant their skin connected, flesh on flesh. It meant the genetic recognition that determined she was Rendan’s mate also reacted to the touch of someone other than Rendan.

  Pain suffused her, yanking a scream from her chest and bursting from her lips. She fought Whelon’s hold, scrambling away when his motionless fingers didn’t tighten around her arm. She raced backward, not stopping until her back hit the opposite wall.

  “Don’t…” she held up her hand. It wouldn’t physically stop him, but she hoped he’d at least pause long enough to listen.

  “Healer Butler…” He took a step forward and she shook her head, needing him to keep away. “What troubles you? Are you injured?”

  “No.” She shook her head, the agony slowly fading with each second now that he no longer held her. Yeah, there was no pain, but dizziness was a thing apparently. She wobbled, flattening her palms against the wall to brace herself. “I’m—“

  Whelon was there again, fingers brushing hers, and she collapsed, curling in on herself with an agonized cry.

  The massive Preor knelt at her side, his face stricken and pale in the face of her tears and she didn’t know how to reassure him that… as long as he kept his hands to himself, she’d be fine.

  “Healer Butler, I—“

  Carla’s strength was rapidly heading for the exits, darkness pressing in on her. The Knowing, the pain, the panic… It all collapsed on her in one blinding rush that left her in an all-encompassing dark. As light faded, her vision no longer clear and bright, she fought to say one last thing…

  “The Knowing.”

  3

  They would not let Rendan see her. They would not bring her near enough to scent. They would not let him free so he might hunt her.

  No, they kept him caged—locked away like an animal, a
snarling bezor. He strode from one side of his cell to the other, baring his fangs at any who dared to enter. If the intruder was not his mate, he did not want them near. He craved her sweetness, the memories her aroma brought forward.

  Not another stinking Preor.

  He spun once more, his bindings pulling tightly across his back. The rotten osri—assholes—sedated him, healing him while he was unconscious. The superficial wounds were gone, but his wing base needed additional time to heal. Time he wanted to spend with his mate at his side.

  But they’d spirited his kouva away while he slept.

  Shaa kouva, he whispered the endearment in his mind. His beloved.

  His mate.

  She was alone, outside the room and without his protection. His skin stretched taut over his bulging muscles, his dragon’s shape threatening to burst free. He could hunt her, take her, as a dragon. He would cradle her in his claws, be gentle while he found them an aerie.

  His fingers tingled, the press of his long nails making them ache. His skin rippled, scales threatening to break free of his flesh. And his fangs… his teeth throbbed, gums scraped by dragon teeth.

  The bestial side of him wanted out, his need for his mate driving him to rebel against captivity. He would destroy anything between him and…

  And he did not know her name. No matter. The Knowing manifested. She would recognize him without names and then they would mate.

  But first, he had to be set free from this shielded prison. He glared at the room around him, the seamless metal walls and single door on the far side. The door did not keep him within, but the dome-like shield that surrounded him. A pale blue haze kept him from touching metal, from using his dragon’s fire and damaging the ship unless he was freed.

  He recalled the stories of Taulan and Lana. They’d been separated by Ujal—sea-dwelling aliens that called Earth home—and put into cells made of metal bars. Taulan had not liked being separated from his mate and nearly melted the bars in an effort to get to Lana.

  Rendan wished he could do the same, but the hazy field did not react to his heat. It would remain in place, a nearly invisible presence that kept him from shifting or burning his way free.