by Celia Kyle
She yanked her thoughts from him once more. There was no evidence he didn’t cherish her. He’d just gotten angry. And stormed out. And had given her the silent treatment.
“Well,” she forced a perky tone into her voice. “What’s done is done. I get to go back to taking care of mommas and babies without wondering how I’m going to pay rent. Did Lana mention when she wanted to come by?”
“She said she finishes worshipping the porcelain god at approximately noon and should be by around one.” He tilted his head. “I was unaware of a porcelain god in Earth culture. I researched some religious texts on the way—“
Carla held up her hand, grin forming on her lips. “She just means her morning sickness should end by noon. Human women are ill in the mornings during the first trimester.”
Shock covered his face. “Is it dangerous to the dam? Is there something to be done to heal her illness? Should I order—“
Now she held up both hands. “Whoa, slow down. It’s completely normal for humans. Unless it’s so bad she loses too much weight or becomes overly dehydrated, she’s fine. Why don’t we sit together and compare pregnancy signs? This way, if you see a human-Preor mate alone, you’ll know what to worry about and what to simply make a note of.”
She’d do it herself, but it was hard to separate her own thoughts and knowledge from the ever-impeding Knowing. She’d get confused between Preor and human anatomy occasionally, which made for some weird notes on the subject. Q and A would probably work better.
“Yes, I shall gather—“
The doors to their cobbled together medical bay parted, spreading widely to grant several Preor entrance. The area was smaller than it should be to house Preors and the ryaapir platforms weren’t fully operational yet, but apparently no one told the Earth-dwelling males to take it easy and avoid getting hurt.
Two males—one yellow, one pink—were assisted into the small space, both leaning on other warriors in order to stay upright. A quick glance allowed her to catalog the superficial wounds and darkening of skin. She visually searched for bloating or discolorations that could indicate internal bleeding as well as any odd angles to limbs though she couldn’t see their wings.
Nothing seemed pressing with her brief scan and she let her gaze move to their faces. Two faces she recognized—Rendan and Argan. Both had new cuts and would probably have new scars as a result.
It was easy to see evidence of the causes of those injuries—claw marks, bruised knuckles, and darkened eyes. Fighting. Or training? Did it matter? This was what came from being involved with the military—violence, pain, recovery. Only to have the male get out of bed and do it all over again.
For the good of the country and rush of battle.
She imagined Rendan’s excuse would be similar. For the good of Preor.
Carla stepped forward at the same time as Chashan, but her training surged before the healing master could speak. She wasn’t sure what had her talking, issuing orders to these massive males and demanding they listen. Normally she’d hang back, wait for instructions, and do her best not to step on toes and annoy someone.
But today… Today her mate had gotten hurt. Her mate and a male who’d showed her his vulnerability and kindness when she’d been brought back to Earth.
“Argan to your right, Rendan to your left. Chashan, can you handle Argan while I deal with Rendan?” The healing master whipped his attention to her, objection on his lips. “I have the Knowing and years of training. If I get into any trouble or find something that needs a more experienced hand, I’ll let you know.”
Chashan merely grunted and turned toward the far platform, waving so they’d bring Argan forward.
Carla did the same with Rendan, rushing to the other side of the room and taking up a station at the side. She’d have to do the initial search quick and dirty with a handheld scanner since the ryaapir units required two to operate.
That was something she’d have to talk to Chashan about. It’d be so much easier—and quicker—if they could be at least used to diagnose a patient without needing another person to help. She wondered if the science masters could do something.
“Lay him here.” she distractedly gestured at the platform, hands already moving over the control panel. The Knowing surged, feeding her whatever she needed in order to operate the machine. Her fingers glided over the slick panel, eyes and mind quickly processing the Preor language and translating it to English.
She kept her attention focused on what needed to be done, resisting the urge to meet Rendan’s stare and fawn over him. He needed a healer, not some sobbing girlfriend.
Rendan grunted when he was tossed on the platform and she shot a glare at the male who’d brought him in. His wings were the color of rotted seaweed, dark green with hints of yellow, and she half-expected that briny scent to reach her. It didn’t fill her nose, but something did scratch down her spine, like invisible claws scraping her back. Goose bumps rose on her arms, the hair on the back of her neck standing up, and she nearly took an instinctual step back. Nearly. But she stayed in place, their gazes locked for one heartbeat, and then two.
“How was he hurt?” She tore her eyes away and lifted the handheld scanner, passing it over his body about three inches from his flesh. The platform recorded the results, displaying images of his internal organs while she hunted for damage.
“In the Trials of Syh with Argan.”
The Trials of Syh? She didn’t voice the question aloud, but the Knowing supplied the answer whether she wanted it or not.
A battle between two warriors to determine the position of—
Carla shoved the Knowing away. Battle. Warriors. Position. Three words she didn’t want strung together in a sentence. Military posturing and senseless violence.
At least she knew what she was searching for—evidence of injuries typically suffered in a fight between two males.
“As a dragon or as a hu— on two legs?” She’d almost said as a human, but the wings beneath Rendan proved his lack of humanity.
The stranger grunted and sneered at her. “Both.”
Because they’d used both forms? Or because she’d had to ask? Regardless, she didn’t want him near her any longer. “Thank you for your information. You can return to your duties unless you need med care.”
She turned her attention back to Rendan, pretending the green warrior—the scary green warrior—didn’t exist. If she couldn’t see him, he wasn’t there.
Except, she didn’t hear the heavy tread signaling his departure.
“What is his condition?” The male didn’t leave, still looming above her.
“Are you a family member?” She kept her attention focused on Rendan, fighting to ignore her mate’s stillness. There were any number of reasons he remained immobile and she refused to let panic steal her ability to do her job.
“I am Ballakin sen—“
“Yes or no question,” she murmured, doing her best to stand up to the male. “If you’re not a family member, I am bound by patient confidentiality not to release information about his condition.”
“I am—“
“Warrior Ballakin,” Chashan’s harsh voice whipped across the room. “You are no longer needed. Return to duties.”
She flicked her attention to Ballakin—at least she could think of him as someone other than ocean’s shit green—and her shoulders curled forward beneath his glare. The expression was brief, but long enough to shoot a spark of fear down her spine.
She’d angered yet another Preor. She was just making all kinds of friends.
Carla programmed the ryaapir unit to work on some of the larger injuries, the tear in his ewae—spleen—and the collapse of one of his four luuq—lungs. The Knowing made her feel like these weren’t life-threatening injuries, but she couldn’t help equating his body to a human’s. Which had her worry rising higher.
Soon another shadow casted across Rendan’s body and she glanced up to meet Chashan’s gaze. “Let us program the platform appropriately.�
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She jumped at the chance to use the platform properly, anxious to fix her battered mate. His eyes remained closed, breathing sluggish, and several wounds seeped blood, painting his tanned skin a bright red.
Carla stood by Rendan’s head, display screen ready for her to input repair commands, while Chashan took the diagnosis controls near her mate’s feet.
“Initiating diagnosis protocol,” Chashan murmured and she kept her gaze trained on the display in front of her. She caught the transmissions from Chashan, prioritizing them, directing the ryaapir unit.
Her lungs froze, breathing stilling, and she stared at the screen. There were so many more injuries than she’d manually discovered. Bleeding in his brain, which explained his unconscious state. Three collapsed lungs instead of one. A broken leg. Deep scarring to his wings and the snap of the flight lines on his left.
She worked furiously, keeping up with Chashan, catching each diagnosis and sliding it into the repair queue. One after another, he discovered them and sent it to her for healing. With each new order, her own pain grew, the worry transforming into a physical ache throughout her body. Her throat burned, eyes stinging and her heart picked up a rapid cadence. She understood why loved ones didn’t work on friends and family members now. It was too hard to be objective, too hard to do the job when worried if the next move she made would end up killing him.
But she pushed on. Intent. Focused. Determined.
Until Chashan spoke again. “That is the last.”
A small cut to his calf, the muscle torn, but fixable. She slipped it into the queue and let herself breathe. Then she let herself look at the long list of repairs.
So long.
Carla gave herself a moment to look to Argan, the male just as still as Rendan, and she huffed out a breath. She tilted her head toward the other bed. “How is he?”
Chashan followed her gaze and then focused on her once more. “He will live. His injuries were more severe than Offense Master Rendan’s, but I expect a full recovery within six Earth hours.”
“And Rendan?”
The healing master tapped a few buttons on his screen. “Perhaps four Earth hours though he will be required to abstain from his duties for a full rising. Possibly two.”
She stared down at her mate, unable to believe that he’d be up and around within four hours and would only need a day or two to rest and recover. The brain injury alone would require a human to undergo months of physical therapy to re-learn how to walk and talk.
But Rendan would be fine in four hours.
“Amazing,” she whispered and shook her head. Her hands trembled, shock finally setting in now that her mate was as healed as he could be. “And he’ll live? He will be better in four hours?”
“On my honor as a healer,” Chashan pressed a fist to his chest—a Preor salute. “He will live and will rise from the ryaapir without assistance within four hours. He will be weakened and his muscles will need time to become comfortable with his healed bones. That is why he must take at least one dae of rest. But you will not lose your mate due to the Trials of Syh, Carla joi Rendan Butler. I swear it.”
8
Perhaps it would have been better had he died during his trial with Argan. Then he would not be suffering through this unending torture.
He would not be surrounded by Carla’s scent, the delicate flavors of her sweet skin or heated musk of her arousal. And she was aroused, his mate desiring him even as she skirted his gaze. A light flush of pink stained her cheeks, the color a stark contrast to her normally pale skin. The Knowing fought to feed him knowledge of humans, the tie sluggish and weak. But it was enough to tell Rendan that his mate was embarrassed.
Why?
He did not know because she would hardly speak more than five words to him. No, four. “Do you need anything?” In her husky murmur. Did she not realize what her voice did to him? How her mere presence scraped at his control?
He had woken with her leaning over him, her touch delicate as she wiped his brow with a damp cloth. When she pulled it from his head, he noted its red staining and realized she tended him. She cleaned him as a dam would care for a dragonlet…
It’d made him harsh, that connection between his mate and thoughts of offspring. It’d rekindled their argument when he’d stomped off in a huff. Those were Grace’s words when she learned of his actions.
That’d also been before his trial with Argan.
Now he’d spent nearly one full rising in her company and he had another to go. How could he survive? He’d barely lived through the previous day with his sanity intact.
He had been fine while unconscious, but once they returned to Preor Tower, he had been placed in his apartment while Carla went to hers. Then… She opened the doors that separated their suites. The air in their rooms mixed and mingled, bringing him her scent and teasing him with what he could not have. He had spent the evening that way, mind whirling while he imagined Carla at his side, astride him, beneath him.
The early hours had not been much better, her luscious form striding into his apartment. She had not appeared to have suffered as he had during the night—his body yearning to be inside her—but her scent at least told Rendan she was not unaffected. He needed her to crave him as much as he craved her.
It was not a task that could be completed within the walls of Preor Tower, with the door between them that could close as easily as it stayed open. He needed to get her someplace she could not run and hide. Where neither of them could depart. His possessive instincts and need to protect her would not allow him to “stomp off in a huff.”
Rendan was the third fleet’s offense master. He would not be thwarted by a female—his mate. He would use his skills learned over two-hundred thirty-one years and defeat Carla before she realized she was under siege. It would not be the forceful demands that many others attempted. No, he would be smart about his approach.
He would be non-threatening. He would appear to be unable to push her for a physical connection and would instead—search for a melding of their minds.
Intimate. Seductive. An approach that would tie them as mates more firmly than if they’d only shared their bodies.
Yes, this plan was good. He let it unfold in his mind, following each thread and playing out different scenarios. He would find the angle that promised the most success.
Then he would pounce. Carefully. Secretly. Before his mate realized he’d sprung his trap.
Excitement surged in his veins, as if he once more planned a raging battle and not a day with his mate. The result was the same no matter the setting—victory and joy. A future that he could embrace without reservation.
No, that was not right. There was still a kernel of unease inside him, a small bit related to his mate and their family.
A family they’d never have.
Which, after their argument, he knew he could not tell her. It would be a secret he’d take with him on his final flight.
His conscience prodded him, making him question whether his choices were the correct approach. Should he pursue Carla while knowing he would lie to her—repeatedly? That he would purposely refuse her all she desired?
His dragon mind twisted and turned, the blood in his veins heating with the discontent in his other half. He had no choice when it came to Carla joi Rendan Butler. He would conquer her fears. He would climb her walls. He would claim her for eternity. And then pray to the skies she did not stay angry for more than a hundred Earth turnings.
The gentle sound of the ocean waves drew his gaze, the sun’s rays streaming through the sliding glass doors that led to the apartment’s balcony. They were not as high as Jarek and Evuklar—those decorated males occupied the top floor—but they were high enough.
High enough to…
Rendan pushed to his feet. He’d stretched and tested his body upon waking in medical and again when he’d finally been drawn from bed by Carla’s fresh scent. He stood now, arms outstretched, wings extended and body tense. He looked inside himsel
f, mentally checking everything over for remaining aches and pains. True, Chashan instructed him to refrain from any trials this day, but he hadn’t said Rendan had to remain tied to a bed.
Though if he could tie his Carla to a bed…
No. He cut the thought off before it could fully form. He would not rush. He would not push. He would, however, be at her side. Quietly. Constantly.
Dragon-ly? Now he was adopting the weird speech patterns of some of the human-Preor mates. That did not make the idea any less valid.
He twisted from side to side, stretching his back, flexing his wings, and letting the dragon come forward. His scales rippled over his skin, that hint of his transformation a gentle stroke over his flesh. His joints did not protest to the dragon’s push and his flight lines accepted the expanding of his form. He curled his wings around his body, extending his wing base and encircling himself. If his body protested, it would happen then, as his muscles and tendons were snapped taut with the movement.
There was nothing more than a small ache, a twinge that would be gone the moment he settled into wings and claws.
Yes, his plan would work. His body was tired, but his mind and his heart were willing and prepared, ready to put the ideas into motion.
Rendan padded from his bedroom, intent on locating Carla. Each time they were together, she came to him. It left him off center and uneasy.
No more.
The apartment’s living room was empty, the kitchen equally so, and he moved to the threshold of Carla’s space. He spotted her with ease, her long blonde hair bouncing and body shaking as she sang along to some Earth song that filled the air. While her attention was elsewhere, he looked his fill, memorizing her lithe movements and easy grace. She was always tense around him and this gave him a better look at her lush form. She flowed from one dance step to the next, her voice rising with the song, and Rendan winced.
His mate, as beautiful as she was, could not sing. But he would not tell her so. Not until they were so tied she could not even think of leaving him.
