by Lili Zander
According to Thruk, the first virus they created had a fatality rate of one hundred percent. Everyone that First infected with it died.
That should have stopped him, but of course, this is First we’re talking about. He’s a psychopath. As long as he gets what he wants, he doesn’t give a damn about how many people die in the process.
The current generation of the virus—the one that nearly got me—has a fatality rate of one in four.
Thruk should have never gotten hold of a sample, but he had. Just in case. Every single male Zorahn always wonders what would happen if they test positive. Some people join the Rebellion. Some others run to the Outer Reaches. Thruk stole the virus. “One in four people died,” he’d said. “It was the worst-case scenario. But if I tested positive, the risk was worth it.”
He’d been sick too, but nowhere as sick as me. One of the downsides of being one-hundred-percent Draekon. The virus attacked my body, trying to kill my Draekon genes, but for me, that’s all my genes.
Sixth is a fucking genius. I wouldn’t be alive without him. Raiht’vi too.
Then there’s Naomi. In my darkest hour, she was there. When I was drowning, she held on to me. When I needed her, she was there at my side. She kept the rathr at bay. She talked to me, and her love anchored me to reality.
She’s my mate. She’s the love of my life.
And this better be the best birthday party ever.
The other guests file in within a few minutes of each other. Ruhan and Lani are there, as are Mirak and Diana, who have both neglected their acts of piracy while I’ve recovered, refusing to leave the Rebellion headquarters until they could be sure I was completely on the mend. Sixth is there. Dor Pitts, the human pilot, shows up with her Draekon mates, as does Olivia with Zunix and Liorax. Cassie brings Taman.
Raiht’vi is there too, still surprised at being invited, but also happy to be asked. Tarish and Dariux wrangled an invite when they heard what I was up to. I would have told them to fuck off, but Dariux is now Naomi’s boss, so I held my tongue. Lisa and Mandy are chatting animatedly in a corner. Lisa is a pirate and Mandy is traveling with the smuggler Kelek ab Rahni; the two of them are probably comparing notes and making plans to take over the galaxy.
Everyone’s shown up for Naomi. She’s either going to love this, or she’s going to kill me.
I’m hoping for the former.
We eventually figured out why Lashi’vi had agreed to put the High Empire’s prison on Noturn. She was trying to save Thruk. It’s a long and complicated story, but the gist of it is that she was forced to give up her child, she’s spent years trying to find him, all while amassing power so that she’ll never be forced to make that choice again. She’d just about found Thruk when he tested positive. Her plan, formed out of desperation, was to accede to the High Empire’s request, program Thruk’s stasis pod to open, and smuggle him out three months later on the Cindifin miner shuttle. It wasn’t a great plan, but then again, she had been under an incredible amount of pressure.
She had ordered the battledroids to kill me—she couldn’t afford witnesses that might talk to the High Empire—but I can’t really hold that against her. She was trying to protect her lost child. I will not sit in judgment of her—I don’t know how I would react in that situation.
My comm chimes. It’s a message from Naomi. First day went well, she writes. Heading back home now.
“She’s on her way,” I announce to everyone. “I’m turning off the lights.”
The hum of conversation cuts off. The room plunges into darkness. I wait with bated breath for Naomi to arrive.
The front door slides open. “Honey, I’m home,” she calls out. “Danek? Why are the lights out?” She flicks the switch on and…
“Surprise!” Everyone in the room cries out.
She jumps in the air like a startled floof. For a second, she just stares at the room. At the pink flowers everywhere. At the Happy Birthday banner pinned to the wall, and the balloons and the platters of food on the table. Her mouth falls open.
I step forward with a smile. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She steps close to me. “Danek,” she says in a whisper. “It’s not my birthday.”
“You told me that you spent your fortieth birthday in captivity.” I take her hand in mine. “I thought you should have a real celebration.”
“You what?” Her eyes start to fill with tears. “Oh, Danek—”
Later on, she’ll be embarrassed that she teared up in front of everyone. “Don’t cry just yet,” I tell her teasingly. “You don’t even know what the cake will taste like.”
“Cake?”
“Cake is traditional for human birthdays, yes? That’s what I’ve been told. After the hours I’ve spent practicing, if Alice was joking—”
“Hang on. You made cake? You baked?”
“With ingredients. Not syn-made.” Okay, I’m bragging. “It has pink icing.” I smile at her. “I’ve been told pink is your favorite color.”
I tug her to the table. Well, I try. Naomi digs in her heels. “You were practicing? When? Where was I?”
“Asleep,” I admit. “Every night, when you were fast asleep and nothing could rouse you, I baked.”
She stares at me. “And I never knew?” Her mouth falls open. “I smelled cake once, when we were in Noturn. I thought I was imagining it.” Her expression softens. “You’ve been baking all that time?”
Everyone’s watching us, but if Naomi doesn’t care about that, neither do I. “Well, I haven’t really done a lot of baking the last few weeks.”
“Yes, recovering from a virus that almost killed you will do that.” Her voice is dry. “Okay, but I never saw any leftovers. What did you do with the cake you made?”
I grin. “Let’s just say Pumpkin, Plague, and Pestilence were very happy with me.”
“Oh my God.” She puts her hand over her mouth, and then she starts to laugh. That’s my cue. I tug her over to the table, where the pink-frosted cake, its surface covered with lit candles, takes the pride of place in the center.
Alice starts to sing a birthday song, and the other humans pick it up. I wrap my arm around her waist. “Happy birthday, Naomi.”
Naomi eats cake and pronounces it delicious. I can’t help it; I beam with pride. Pumpkin, Plague, and Pestilence, who retreated to their cage when people started trickling in, are attracted by the smell of cake, no surprise there, and patter out to beg for some. The floofs are adorable, staring appealingly at our guests with big purple eyes, and they scam everyone into believing they’re terribly underfed and deserve to be fed from the table.
There are presents, of course. Everyone who attends the party brings Naomi something. She gets clothes, books, a wide variety of food items from the Exchanges, and so much more.
The party goes on for hours. We laugh and celebrate.
Finally, when everyone goes home, I pull out my present for Naomi, the one I held back until we’re alone. I hand her the small package.
“What’s this?” she asks.
“Open it.” Bast, I’m nervous. I think I know what her answer is going to be, and I’m still so nervous.
She tears the wrapping paper off and pops the small jewelry box open. Inside is a ring, made of solenium, studded with diamonds from Earth and moonglow stones from the Homeworld.
“I thought we’d make it official,” I tell her, holding my breath. “If you want, that is. Alice told me that the ring is what humans do.”
She looks up, her eyes shining. “Is this what I think it is?”
I take her hands in mine. “My favorite color is grey, which is pretty boring, I know. I didn’t used to have a favorite food, but I would eat the curry you make every single day. My favorite place is with you. I don’t have a favorite flower, or a favorite game, and you already know my favorite activity.”
She laughs softly. “I think I do, yes.”
“Most importantly, I have a favorite person.” I stare into her deep brown eyes. “You.” I g
et down on one knee, the ring in my hand. “Will you be my mate, Naomi Knoll?”
She throws her arms around my neck, her smile as bright as the stars. “Yes,” she says. “Yes. Always.”
Epilogue
Liz
When I was a little girl, my grandmother and my mom got into a fight about something, something they did a lot, and Grandma yelled to my mom, “This wouldn’t happen if you knew how to cook, Jessica. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
That’s the moment I decided to be a chef when I grew up.
That was a very long time ago.
I spent my early twenties learning to cook. I worked in the kitchens of Michelin-starred chefs. I worked in olive farms in Italy, eating the meals the nonnas produced for their farmhands. Pasta tossed with pesto made from sun-kissed basil, tender lamb redolent with rosemary and garlic, meals cooked by people whose names you’ve never heard of, but whose food put tears in my eyes. I bounced around from place to place, learning by doing, soaking it all in.
Somewhere along the way, life took a detour.
Now I’m here, far, far away from home. I’m on a planet called Ilinda, the new headquarters of the Rebellion.
They’re on the brink of a catastrophe.
A deathly virus has been unleashed. It’s killing wide swaths of people and maiming even more.
The people that should be in charge are in denial. Instead of fixing the problem and looking for a cure, they’re too busy pointing fingers at each other, trying to assign blame to everyone but themselves.
Back home, I was too busy in the hustle. Too busy for things like dating. I was blogging, podcasting, writing recipes, testing them, trying to build my ‘brand,’ all while working a fulltime job.
All of that has fallen away.
What does one do in a pandemic?
We act for the greater good.
We hug our loved ones close.
We feed our families. Take comfort in the simple things. The smell of fresh bread baking in the oven. Pickling vegetables and stacking them in Mason jars. Stirring giant saucepans of soup.
We seek people. We seek love.
There is a man here. A Draekon, a dragon-shifter. He’s lean and strong. His eyes are a shade of purple-blue that reminds me of the ocean at midnight. When he shifts into a dragon, he is crimson red in color and utterly intimidating.
I might, just maybe, have a huge crush on him. A huge, unrequited crush.
Because he doesn’t see me. He knows I exist, but that’s about it. I’m part of the background to him, a bit of plump scenery with frizzy hair. He’s worried about more important things. He spends all his time in laboratories and meetings, and I spend my time eating my way across this new world.
I pull the loaf of bread out of the oven. I’ve kneaded nuts and berries and herbs into the dough. It smells like Sunday morning in winter. It smells like home.
While I wait for the loaf to cool, I assemble the other ingredients of my basket. Cured meat. An almost tapenade, some cheese. A couple of chopped salads, a mélange of colors and textures and flavors. A cluster of bottle-green berries. Cookies.
Then I set out before I can talk myself out of it.
Sixth is alone in the lab, studying something with a frown on his face. He looks exhausted. His jaw is covered with stubble, and there are shadows around his eyes.
They all want something from him. They want him to solve this virus. Make things right again. But who’s making sure he’s eating? He’s resting? Who’s giving him a soft place to land?
Me. That’s going to be me. I would like to audition for that role. He might not know I exist, but my grandmother’s words ring in my ears. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
He looks up when I enter, blinking in confusion. “Hey,” I greet him.
He’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before.
“I’m Liz Roben. I’m the human.”
He doesn’t say anything. Words pour from my mouth in a nervous babble. “I’m the chef from Berkeley.” Idiot, Liz. As if he knows where Berkeley is or cares where I’m from. “You found our stasis pods, remember? You rescued us?”
“I know who you are.”
I thrust the picnic basket forward. “For you,” I say awkwardly. “It’s food. I made it. Not from a syn, I mean.”
He doesn’t reach for the basket. “Why?”
“Umm…” Because you’re so very attractive, and I’m jilling off every night to the thoughts of you, and I desperately want you to notice me. “Well, I’m a chef.”
He smiles then, and it transforms his face. “Am I your test subject?” he teases. “Seems fair.”
“God, I hope my food doesn’t torture you,” I blurt out. “I mean, the tapenade might be too spicy, can you handle heat? Crap, I never asked. Never mind, don’t eat that. I’ll take it back.”
I reach for the basket to grab the spread before the heat burns his tongue. I would never be able to live that down, can you imagine? I can read the headlines now. Liz Roben poisons the scientist who is our best hope against the pandemic.
But he moves the basket away as I’m trying to take it, and my hand collides with his…
Penis.
I smack my fist into his penis.
Kill me now.
Thank you for reading Draekon Warlord!
The Rebel Force adventures end with Draekon Guardian, Liz and Sixth’s story. Click here for more information and to purchase it.
Are you all caught up with the Draekons? Don’t miss any of the books.
DRAGONS IN EXILE
Draekon Mate - Viola’s story
Draekon Fire - Harper’s story
Draekon Heart - Ryanna’s story
Draekon Abduction - Olivia’s story
Draekon Destiny - Felicity’s story
Daughter of Draekons - Harper’s birth story
Draekon Fever - Sofia’s story
Draekon Rogue - Bryce’s story
Draekon Holiday - A holiday story
REBEL FORCE
Draekon Warrior - Alice & Kadir
Draekon Conquerer - Lani & Ruhan
Draekon Pirate - Diana & Mirak
Draekon Warlord - Naomi & Danek
Draekon Guardian - Liz & Sixth - coming soon!
The Must Love Draekons newsletter is your source for all things Draekon. Subscribe today and receive a free copy of Draekon Rescue, a special Draekon story not available for sale.
A Preview of Draekon Mate
Crashed spaceship. Prison planet. Snarling, lethal predators. Two big, hulking, bronzed aliens who turn into dragons. The best part? The dragons insist I’m their mate.
The Zorahn wanted women for some kind of super-secret science experiment, and I volunteered. Dumb move, right? But they promised we’d be safe, and they offered a lot of money. Money I needed desperately.
Of course, everything went wrong.
Our spaceship has crashed on a prison planet, one where the Zorahn exile their most dangerous criminals. My friends are injured. I’m all alone on a jungle planet where everything is designed to kill me.
Then I run into the Draekons. When they see me, they change into dragons and burn the predators threatening me to a crisp. They feed me and care for me, and they keep me safe.
But there’s a catch. The Draekons insist that I’m their mate. And the only way they can shift into dragons again to save my friends? Both of them need to mate with me. At the same time.
This isn't the space vacation I thought it would be.
CHAPTER ONE
Viola:
I thought it’d be bigger.
This is the first thought I have when I enter the gleaming golden spaceship of the Zorahn.
That’s what she said. I hide my grin at my stupid little joke. I always joke when I’m nervous, and it turns out stepping onto an alien craft to be carried off to a planet several light years away is about a thousand times more nerve-wracking than giving a dissertation to a panel
of world-renowned botanists. About several thousand times more nerve-wracking.
It took countless pep talks from my dad and a slug of whiskey to get me over that last hurdle to my Ph.D. It’s going to take a few bottles to get me comfortable on this alien ship. The Zorahn craft isn’t even as large as a commercial airliner. It’s ten feet across, and forty feet long, and the insides gleam with the same golden hue as the exterior. Even more worryingly, there are no seats to be seen.
This is not going to be a comfortable trip.
Then the reality sinks in. There is life out there in the universe—we are not alone. Aliens exist. I’m on a real, live spaceship, heading to the planet of Zoraht, home of the Zorahn. I won’t see Earth again for six months.
I look around, and the faces of the women next to me all betray the same emotions. Awe. Fear. Excitement. Up until a few weeks ago, we were just civilians going about our normal daily life.
Now we’re astronauts. Insane.
Major Schultz, the US Army officer who’s been functioning as a liaison between the Zorahn and us, clears his throat for attention. “As you know,” he begins, “this is a momentous day for humanity.”
The woman next to me, a tall, lean blonde, rolls her eyes. “God, he likes to hear himself talk,” she mutters under her breath. Her name is Harper, I remember, from the team-building exercises the Army made us participate in once we’d been chosen by the Zorahn. She’s a swim coach in California who almost made the national team in college.
Hector Schultz either doesn’t hear her or pretends not to. “The ten of you,” he says, “have been chosen by our honored guests, the Zorahn, to travel to their planet and discover the wonders of their world.”
The way Hector Schultz makes it sound, we’re space tourists. That’s not even close to the truth.
