by Cara Bristol
Certainty slipped. It had been said dogs could smell fear. It wasn’t exactly true. People perspired and released adrenaline when they got scared; it was the sweat and chemicals dogs detected. What if other emotions released biochemicals?
Shit. It might be possible. “What does a lie smell like?”
A demiforma dragon, an insignia pinned to his gray uniform, approached from the far end of the corridor. He thumped his chest twice in salute then passed through a door on the right.
“That was the captain of the ship,” T’mar said. “To answer your question, a lie reeks of decay.”
She screwed up her face. “Yuck. What about anger?”
“Sour.”
“Sadness?”
“Like rain.”
“Fear?”
“Spicy. An enemy’s fear smells…appetizing,” he said.
“Appetizing…like supper? Do you eat your enemies?” she asked in jest.
He looked uncomfortable. “Not as a general rule, but it happens. When we engage in face-to-face combat, we shift into dragon form. Shifting and fighting burns energy, and it takes a lot of calories to sustain a full dragon, which prefers live food. Sometimes it’s expedient to kill two birds with one stone. But usually, we would just immolate an opponent.”
Not comforting. “So if I was afraid of you, it would smell appetizing to you?”
He hesitated. “No. No, it wouldn’t.” Another pause. “We’re not enemies. At least, I don’t wish us to be.”
She noted several other demiforma dragons out and about and surmised they’d left the prisoner sector. “Me, either,” she replied. It would be so nice to relax, to just live, accept people for what they were.
Maybe a first step toward that goal would be to turn the conversation away from fear, animosity, and becoming a dragon snack. “What about happiness?” she asked. “What does it smell like?”
He smiled. “Warm. Sweet but in a good way.” He motioned with his head. “We turn here.”
She halted, squinting at this new passageway. Absorbed in the conversation, she hadn’t been paying attention to the route, but something struck her as different.
“What’s wrong?”
“There are doors! Lots of them!” She realized she’d been seeing them since they’d left her cabin, along with signage, computer panels, even portholes.
“How else would we access the various ship compartments?”
“But I see them!” Until this tour, everything had been one solid, unbroken disorienting gray-green.
“Yes, I made them visible to you.”
“Are there doors in my quarters?”
“A few.”
If this didn’t take the cake!
“Why are you angry now?”
“I’ve been groping around like a blind woman trying to locate the wardrobe, the exit, the food replicator, and now you’re telling me everything could have been in plain sight all along?”
He looked chagrined. “I apologize. My security was…overzealous.” He flicked his wrist in a commanding gesture. “When you return to your quarters, you’ll be able to view and access what’s there.”
“What about my friends? Will they have visibility, too?”
He hesitated and then sighed. “All right.” He gestured. “It’s done.”
“When will it happen?”
“It is in effect now. They can see what’s in their respective quarters.”
She wondered how startled Patsy and Henry would be when objects appeared out of nowhere. Then she frowned. “You did that with your hand motion?” She mimicked the flick of his wrist.
“Our ships are intelligent vessels, and our DNA is encoded within their programs. The gesture signaled the ship I had a command for it.”
“I didn’t hear you issue a command.”
“It’s done telepathically. I can talk to the ship, the same way dragon mates communicate with one another.”
“So if I go like this”—she flicked her wrist—“I can talk to the ship?” Could she order it to open doors?
He chuckled. “Nice try. First of all, the gesture is more subtle, and second, the vessel doesn’t recognize your DNA. With a few necessary exceptions, the ship is deaf to you.”
He stopped at a wide portal, which slid open to admit them into a massive half-moon shaped auditorium, the curve transparent to reveal outer space. Stars dotted infinity.
“This is one of the observatories,” he said.
“This is incredible.” The vastness of outer space uplifted and humbled her. No matter what the outcome of hostilities, the universe would continue. Dragons might obliterate humans, humans might kill dragons—although the latter was improbable—but the cosmos would continue its expansion. The populations of both planets didn’t amount to specks in time or space.
“Why are we fighting?” she murmured.
“Because your people have—”
“That was an existential rhetorical question, okay? Don’t spoil the moment.” She turned her back to the expanse and focused on a small table draped with a white cloth, topped by two grayish-green platters, two heavy silver goblets, a couple of lethal mini-pitchforks, and a carnivorous-appearing plant. “What’s all this?”
“A date?” he said as if unsure.
“You set this up for me?” Her throat tickled. The scene looked romantic, a private table set for two with an incredible view of the universe. It was so unexpected, so…sweet. She couldn’t recall the last time a man had surprised her with such a gesture.
“The dragon has advised me Earth couples spend private time together,” T’mar said, nodding.
He did this for me. Unlike his presentation of the jewels, this showed he was thinking from her point of view—trying to please her. A much less-grand gesture—and all the grander for its simplicity.
She tried to shore up her crumbling shields. Remember, he intended to abandon you in the harem then announced he’d expect conjugal visits and tried to buy you with jewels!
So why did this gesture feel genuine?
Because he’s good at it. Don’t let your guard down!
“I have displeased you again in some way. You are angry with me again.”
Every time she lied, he knew it, so she ignored his comment, and eyed him warily, taking in his blond hair, model-perfect features, kissable lips, glowing topaz eyes. That inconvenient fluttery feeling came back, and she had to focus to breathe normally. “Would you shift into demiforma?” she asked.
“Why?”
So I won’t forget who you are. “I feel like you are your truer self when you’re in demiforma.”
“As you wish.” His body transformed, growing slightly larger, more scaled. The beginnings of a frill thickened his neck, and small horns erupted from his skull. “Better?” He grinned, flashing fangs and dimples. He still had hair, and a lock of it fell over his forehead. Shit, he looked sexier.
The most aromatic, enticing smoky clove scent wafted off him, beckoning her to inhale, lean in. His gaze locked on hers, and the desire in those topaz eyes ignited heat in her core, threatening to melt her resolve by reducing the equation to the simplest terms. He wants me. I want him.
She channeled Patsy, trying to dredge up some fear and revulsion to quell the desire, but her body didn’t care his people were predators. She clasped her hands, squeezing her fingers hard. “How would your dragon know about dating?”
“He’s listens quite intently to Princess Rhianna.” He pulled out one of the heavy, split-back chairs. “Have a seat.”
A dragon man with manners? His enticing musk enveloped her as she adjusted herself on the chair so she didn’t fall through the gap. “Thank you,” she replied, squeezing her thighs together. What the hell is wrong with me?
He took the opposite seat. “Our meal will be fresh, rather than reconstituted by a replicator,” he announced, and as if he’d been cued, a demiforma dragon entered the observatory. He glanced at Helena befor
e focusing on the prince. They exchanged a string of harsh, guttural syllables then the man bowed and departed.
“I have ordered a meal for us,” T’mar said.
She felt contrarily pleased and irked. “How do you know what I Iike?”
“I assumed you would be unfamiliar with Draconian cuisine.”
There he went—assuming again. “I’ve used the replicator.” Once. “I’ve eaten your foods. Number one-three-four was quite tasty.” She mimicked punching the symbols, which she hadn’t been able to read.
“You mean lava worm patties?”
“Lava…worm…” Her stomach roiled, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Lava worms are quite a delicacy, worth many times their weight in platinum. They’re near extinct on Draco, due partly to environmental changes, partly to overharvesting. The reconstituted ones don’t taste the same as fresh, but we collected a clew of them on Elementa so we have them available on the ship. “I didn’t think you’d like them. The human squatters avoid them, and even Princess Rhianna won’t touch them. But I’ll order some if you’d like—”
“No!” Good god, she’d eaten lava worms? She forced back the bile that belched into her throat. “I don’t suppose you have chicken? Fish? Tofu?”
He shook his head. “Those exist only on Earth. I ordered foods Princess Rhianna likes, figuring humans would enjoy the same cuisine.”
Normally, she’d be insulted he would assume all humans were alike, but in this case, she’d give him a pass. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Even as her stomach roiled, her core fluttered with arousal. She toyed with her fork, its sharp, wicked tines making it appear more like a weapon than an eating utensil. She’d have to be careful not to stab herself in the gums. Keep thinking about self-inflicted stab wounds and not how hot he looks, how thoughtfully he acted. She pressed her thighs together.
“Did the dragon tell you what Rhianna likes?” She recalled him mentioning the dragon had been “listening” to her.
“He didn’t have to. Since she’s a member of the royal court of Draco, her wishes are accommodated. We ensure we keep on hand what she might want.”
Thank goodness Rhianna had paved the way. Otherwise she might have starved. Knowing what they were, no way could she eat lava worms. Patsy and Henry would freak when they found out.
“So tell me more about you and the dragon. When you said he had listened to Rhianna, it almost sounded like you weren’t there.”
“I don’t recall the specific conversation. Most likely I was in a group situation where several discussions occurred. I focused on one conversation, while he listened to another.”
“You’re separate beings?”
“We are one, and we are two. Two consciousnesses sharing a single fyre and one body that can assume different forms.”
“Who’s in control?”
His lips quirked. “He would say he is, but it depends on our form and the situation. It’s a complex give and take.”
“Fyre is like a soul?”
“It is the source and force of our lives, our essence, our existence.”
She canted her head. “What’s the life span of a dragon?”
“Forever.”
“Forever?”
“Unless something causes us to die.”
“So, you can be killed.”
His lips twitched. “Are you going to try? You should know it’s not easy to kill a dragon.”
“I never thought it was,” she huffed.
“As long as the Eternal Fyre burns, we will live. The Eternal Fyre is the sacred flame formed by the fyre of every dragon alive.”
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Four hundred and thirty-five of your human years.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’ve lived for more than four centuries?” She would have put his age at early to mid-thirties.
“I’m the oldest of my siblings, but I’m still considered young. How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
“If you were Draconian, you’d still be in the nest. But humans’ short life spans force them to mature faster.”
Nest? “Are your people born as eggs?”
“We are born live. The nest is what we call the nursery.”
The door slid open, and the server wheeled in a cart. Helena had attended many dinners with foreign dignitaries and had forced down a lot of gross foods to be polite—insects, century eggs, balut, corn smut, haggis, puffer fish, stink heads. Dragon cuisine couldn’t be much worse, could it? She’d enjoyed the lava worms until she found out what they were.
The waiter started to serve the prince, but T’mar said something in his language, and the man piled Helena’s platter high with unrecognizable items. “Wait! Stop! I can’t eat all this!” she protested. It emitted a rather savory aroma, but she wanted the smallest portions possible in case she had trouble getting it down.
T’mar said a few words, and the waiter stopped and loaded up his plate. She gawked at the quantity—triple the mountain on her dish. The waiter snapped a fist to his chest and departed.
Her stomach rumbled with hunger—it did smell good—but her mind cast doubts. She still couldn’t get over the lava worms. Thanks a lot, Henry! Sooner or later, she would have to eat or starve. This is as good as it’s going to get. At least Rhianna has vetted this stuff. “Rhianna eats all this?” she verified.
“You are hesitant to try it?”
“I don’t mean to be rude.” Like table manners were the biggest problem she faced.
T’mar hesitated and cocked his head as if listening. Then, using his utensil, he reached across the table, speared a morsel on her plate, and held it to her mouth. “Try this,” he coaxed with a smile. Those dimples were hard to resist. Not to mention, he smelled more delicious than the meal.
Hesitantly she took a bite. Chewed. Not quite chicken but chickenish. She swallowed.
He offered her a small forkful of something else. She took a bigger bite. “Not bad. I mean, pretty good.”
His smile broadened. “Now this.” He fed her a purple cube.
“It tastes like sweet potato!” she said. “It’s not, though, is it?” She licked her lips.
The fork slipped from his hand and clattered onto the table. Quickly he grabbed it. “No.” Golden eyes riveted on her face. His smoky clove scent filled her head and her senses. Her entire body throbbed with arousal. She was pretty sure she was going to have to change her panties after the date. Ignore it. Ignore it. Because ignoring things made them go away, right?
“Now try this.” He continued to offer different items until she’d sampled everything.
“You chose well! It’s all very tasty.” She pronounced it good with a smile.
He laughed, and the rich vibrating rumble shot straight to her core. His laughter was his most attractive attribute…well, besides his physique, his male-model features, his topaz eyes, those dimples, his powerful dragon form, his attentiveness, and the effort he’d expended trying to please her. Despite her reservations, their differences, he had aroused her…respect.
“I’m sorry.” She grimaced. “I don’t mean to sound so surprised. I meant to be complimentary.”
“The fact you enjoyed it is more than complimentary.” He began eating his own meal.
She picked up her fork and dug in.
Chapter Fifteen
The scent of her arousal drove him crazy, storming his senses and laying waste to his caution, his good sense, his plans. He clung to control by the thin tether of knowledge she was too fragile to handle all he wanted to do with her.
She is human.
She is human.
Perhaps if he repeated the mantra often enough, the burning would subside. It was all he could do to remain seated and eat his dinner. Hot need flared and curled, snapped and exploded, shooting streams of molten lust through his veins. His cock ached. His balls hurt. Had she noticed his hand had shaken as he’d fed her mo
rsels from her plate?
He wondered now if she’d donned that particular garment to torment him. Orange—the color of fire, of mating, of sex. The pique she wore, her flashes of irritation, aroused him even more. Was there anything better than angry sex?
Sex with one’s mate? the dragon suggested.
He pretended to not hear.
They’d strolled through the ship, her scent enflaming his lust, while their conversation engaged his mind. Her genuine curiosity with Draco and its culture enticed him to share his life with her. Draconians did not reveal emotions through facial movement, so her reactions fascinated him. Her delighted surprise as she sampled the dinner almost made him jealous of the food. He wanted to create those expressions on her face.
She’d been wary after he’d revealed she’d eaten reconstituted lava worms, and he’d feared she would not eat enough to sustain herself. The dragon had urged him to pick up the fork and coax her. The flashes of her tongue, the movement of her lips, her mmmm sounds, the dainty way she chewed contrasted sharply with how females from his planet tore into their food like ravenous beasts. Helena savored her meal. He wanted to savor her—and pound into her like a ravenous beast.
Draconians didn’t kiss, although he’d caught Princess Rhianna and his brother doing it once. He’d been repulsed. Watching her eat, seeing her soft pink lips move stirred urges he’d never had before.
Claim her now. The dragon shot him a vision of T’mar sweeping the dishes from the table, bending her over the white linen, shredding her clothing, and mounting her from behind. T’mar gripped the table edge until his talons gouged the wood.
Stop it! With difficulty, he blocked the sexual images.
She wants us! We want her, the dragon argued.
Her arousal perfumed the air, and that orange shirt she wore screamed sex. She lifted a forkful of moctaw to her lips and chewed. Her pink mouth moved, and he almost lost his grip on the table and his self-control. What would her lips feel like pressed to his?
Find out!
Or around his cock?