Whelon: Dragons of Preor

by Kyle, Celia

  “Let us head to the roof. Perhaps a flight will help.”, Radoo suggested brightly, probably trying to rouse Whelon.

  He figured he would go with the other male for no reason other than he had nothing else to occupy his mind. He stood and followed, barely noticing the crowd of Preor warriors that shuffled around him. When they reached the top of Preor Tower, they each jumped, one by one, shifting and taking to the crisp ocean air.

  Whelon followed, his dragon form heavy and numb around him. He knew it was his beast’s defense against the Knowing sickness, something his body did to ensure he remained in fighting shape. It would not last forever and part of him was ready to give in to the Knowing sickness.

  We will never find her, his dragon’s mind whispered. He had not realized the bestial part of him was so fatalistic.

  The buildings that swept beneath them gradually began to change and Whelon’s eyes focused as they flew from the central part of the city to its outskirts. For a few moments, Whelon believed his eyes had been affected by the Knowing sickness and he had to be seeing things, but…

  But he wasn’t.

  The clean, neat buildings fell away, street by street. First the houses were simply a little dirtier or in need of slight repairs. Then a few streets beyond, there were broken windows and holes in walls. Long rushes of grass were peppered with vehicles propped up on bricks and poorly written signs saying things like “free kittens” or “will trade tools for food.”

  By the time they reached the furthest edges, Whelon could not believe his eyes. The buildings were not fit to be lived in. The people were thin and dirty. He consoled himself that it must be a prison of some kind, but… but then he saw the children.

  His wings faltered, his progress slowed, and his beast and mind focused on something other than the loss of his mate. For the first time since he’d lost Sasha, something tore through the pain of watching her taken from him. He was enraged that anyone lived in such a manner, let alone children. As he and the rest of those accompanying him spiraled down onto a cul-de-sac, he took in his surroundings.

  It was exactly as it appeared. Not a prison—these were not unwelcome refugees—this was a place of free people. He understood they did not choose to live in this way, they did so because they had no choice.

  Wealth. Class systems. His mind worked properly once more, processing information from the Knowing. A terrible surge of rage at the rulers of the city overtook him because they knew of this place but did nothing because it was “too expensive.”

  Whelon shook his head. There were always more riches. The only thing that mattered were people. They were finite. Priceless.

  The four other warriors, including Radoo, soon grew nervous as the residents approached. Whelon’s dragon wanted to fly on, to fly forever if necessary, but his healer’s heart would not let him leave.

  “Hello.” A little girl shyly waved. “You’re a pretty dark dragon. I’ve never seen one with such deep colors! Well,” she cocked her head, “I’ve never seen one before, really.”

  Whelon’s heart broke. The child’s hair was twisted in dirty locks. She wore a filthy rag of a dress, had no shoes and was far, far too thin.

  A crowd had gathered around them now and the other Preors’ wings fluttered, revealing their nervousness—probably because of the gathering growing in size and Whelon’s mental state. Whelon held up his hands, calming his friends as best as he could because he did not believe the humans were hostile.

  The little girl took a step away and took the hand of an even smaller boy. He had dull, blank eyes and could hardly stand. Sores had broken out across his small lips and his skin was dry and flaked.

  “This is my brother, Jenkins,” the girl introduced the small boy. “He’s sad.”

  Whelon crouched down, spreading his wings slightly for balance as he took in the boy, and his heart twisted in his chest. The child was literally starving to death. A quick sniff of the air around the child and Whelon scented infection in him, bacteria burrowing into the soft tissues of the child. The young one should have been able to fight off the ordinary, everyday bacteria easily—if he had been properly fed.

  We live in luxury in the tower! he thought in shock and distaste. Feather beds and satin pillows… We throw away food every day and they have nothing. Nothing!

  The rage he experienced in that moment almost obliterated his good sense. He was too stretched emotionally to react well. Fighting his dragon’s desires and the Knowing sickness was taking the last of his strength. When he stood, he did not see a single hostile face, but he did see desperation, pleading and hope.

  “Radoo,” he snapped. “Go to the nearest store and secure food. Lots of food. Bottles of drinks with electrolytes, juice, soda, vitamin water. Secure transport if you must, but bring it here as fast as you can.”

  Radoo ran his hand through his maroon hair. “Ah, Whelon—”

  “Do it!” he snapped, his status as healing master still overriding the male’s simple warrior status.

  Radoo sighed, shrugged, and took to the air. The crowd of people murmured and looked around in shock. Whelon knew they hoped he had come to save them and he was going to try.

  “You!” He pointed at one of the other Preor warriors and realized he did not recognize a single male. All the others he knew must be back on the ship, fulfilling duties left open by mated Preor. “What is your name? Rank?”

  “I’m Amryn, Third Healing Warrior, Healing Master Whelon.” A young Preor with pale, milky wings and equally pale hair saluted, pressing his closed fist to his chest.

  “Good. You will know what is needed. Go to Preor Tower. Get a carrier and load up with medical supplies. Tell Chashan he can resupply the clinic from the ship’s supply. I want everything brought back here to me.”

  Amryn saluted once more and smiled, his face tightening as he glanced at the children. “I will return swiftly, Healing Master.” He took to the sky, not shifting until he had put greater distance between himself and the humans.

  Whelon took a look around and spied a vacant lot that held a mostly crumbled house. It had two remaining rooms with a roof still on top, and he saw that it was fortified with extra beams. Other, newer parts of the building had fallen in, but this older section was still secure.

  He raised his voice to be heard over the growing murmurs of the crowd. I want everyone to line up over here. I will see you one by one. Food and medicine is on the way.”

  A few people cheered, but for the most part, the reaction he received was tears that touched him so deeply he almost cried as well.

  “What would you have us do, Healing Master?” One of the other young Preor questioned him.

  “Two of you, search the area for my mate.” Whelon was certain she wouldn’t be nearby, but it didn’t hurt to search. When he thought of her, his heart twisted and his dragon screamed, but Whelon pushed the feelings aside.

  “You,” he pointed at the last remaining Preor. “Boil water. Find rags. Basic supplies.”

  The Preor saluted and took off.

  Whelon dragged his attention back to the crowd of people, the group growing by the second as more came out of their homes along the street. He knelt beside the little girl again, attempting to keep both his rage at their circumstances and the Knowing sickness at bay.

  “Your brother is Jenkins,” he spoke softly and attempted not to stare at the boy’s sores. “What’s your name?”

  “Katie.” She smiled at him and Whelon’s heart broke. How could she still smile when she was in such a poor state?

  Whelon took her hand and stood, leading her toward the remains of the building. He would set up an emergency clinic and free dining room right there. His heart might yearn for his mate and his dragon might be full of fury… but his duty held sway over all else.

  Whelon had the soul of a healer. He could not ignore suffering.

  I will not waste time here, he swore to himself and his dragon, but I could never be so selfish as to put my own desires above those in despe
rate need!

  Chapter Eleven

  Sasha continued to suffer as the sun climbed higher in the sky and painted the room with a deep gold glow. Coated in sweat and her mouth dry, all of her muscles ached and the headache pounding in her temples blurred her vision.

  She heard her mother moving about the room but didn’t bother to open her eyes. Her mother could give no help. Jenna had not even asked if Sasha was feeling better, or worse, or brought her water. The mercenaries Jenna hired were outside, and most seemed scared to come near her because she was “contaminated.”

  Even if I were, she thought furiously, it’s not like you could catch it!

  A wave of pain rolled through her, her stomach clenching into had knots, and she moaned and squeezed her eyes shut. She just wanted it all to be over.

  She also knew it would never end. The Knowing rewrote her memory, and it was almost as if part of her mind opened, made room, and was stuffed with the complete history of the Preor in the tiny spaces of her brain.

  The Knowing sickness had killed several in Preor’s history, but not many because the aliens understood the Knowing sickness so well. It had taken extreme catastrophe for the Preor to realize the deadly force of the Knowing sickness. And even though efforts were made to keep mates together, sometimes horrible accidents happened.

  Sasha was amazed that in the thousands of years of Preor history, only a handful had died of Knowing sickness. Yet the Knowing did not lie—could not lie. Everything it told her was as real and solid as her bones. The illness she suffered would abate as soon as she and Whelon were together. Her disordered nervous system would pull itself back into working order as she responded to Whelon’s presence.

  After she was claimed and mated, the deadly danger would pass. Mates could sicken if they were apart, yes, but it wasn’t deadly. The Knowing sickness was so dangerous because the mystical force that made up the Knowing needed both mates to rewrite their memories. They had to share the mental load of so much history of both races.

  If they couldn’t be together when the Knowing worked, their bodies simply could not support the neural load.

  A sharp hand invaded her world of painful, dark silence. She tried to struggle but her own hands merely flapped weekly.

  “That looks fantastic!” her mother breathed. “Like someone who’s brain damaged. Can you do it again?”

  Sasha whined, a sound of pleading that rose in her throat. She was ashamed of the utterance after she let it loose, and when she opened her eyes, she found her mother’s cross frown that always met her when she was weak.

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” she murmured automatically and her mother’s frown deepened.

  Jenna stood over Sasha with her hands on her hips while she looked over the bed. She reached over and ruffled Sasha’s hair, leaning back to view her handiwork from a distance before returning to mess the strands some more.

  “Mother,” Sasha whispered weakly. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything,” her mother muttered with a frown. “Just lie there like a fucking invalid. I’ll take care of everything. You’re always letting me down with your weakness. You know that, right?”

  Sasha blinked away the tears that threatened, her chest full and trembly. She wanted to cry but wasn’t sure if she had the strength.

  “You’ve always been dramatic, Sasha.” Her mother went on in what might have been an attempt at a soothing tone.

  It felt like daggers to the chest for Sasha.

  “It was essential for your career that you be dramatic and I allowed it whenever you had these hysterical fits, but really… enough is enough!”

  “I’m not faking, mother!” Sasha attempted to sit upright and then flopped back down again just as quickly as her stomach leapt into her throat. “I need Whelon.”

  “You need what?”

  “Whelon. He’s my mate.”

  Her mother laughed and waved off Sasha’s words. “You can’t need another person. It’s just not possible. You’re under a spell or poisoned. One of the doctors even said so. You could shake it off if you weren’t so self-centered.”

  No, one of the doctor’s said it was the Knowing sickness. But Sasha kept her mouth shut. Her mother wasn’t interested in listening now, if ever.

  Jenna picked up a small camera, fiddling with the settings, and Sasha suddenly realized what her mother had planned. “Mother?”

  “Shut up, Sasha. Just lie there and be sick. Look even sicker, if possible. Since that’s all you think you can do, just do it. I’ll save your career and finish your story. All I ever do is clean up your messes, Sasha. I swear.” Her mother’s voice was so hard, so uncaring and hateful, that tears finally ran down Sasha’s cheeks, stinging her eyes. Yet her mother didn’t seem to notice—or care.

  Instead, Jenna positioned herself a short distance from where Sasha lay on the bed and began filming with the camera. “As you know, beloved big-time celebrity Sasha Dane was abducted by the Preor. The mate Choosing process is not voluntary for the women at all. They are exposed to some kind of poison in the air. Then they become convinced that the nearest Preor to them is their mate.”

  That’s not correct, Sasha thought with exasperation.

  “This is not a cognitive process!” her mother cried. “Look at my beautiful daughter. Look at what they’ve done to her! Only a day ago she was vibrant and full of life. This is what Preor poison does to women. No medical treatment can help her now. If we want help, we will have to go back to the Preor for answers. My Sasha didn’t choose this and now they force us to deal with only them!”

  Sasha had to admit that her mother played up the role nicely. She was convinced of the truth of her words and Sasha knew that kind of certainty would attract other believers or those on the fence about the Preor.

  Even though everything she said was wrong.

  Sasha needed Whelon. Her body cried out for him. The only thought in her mind was the desire to press herself against him and feel his skin on her own. The imagined relief was nearly as good as the real thing, and tingles danced across her skin, causing her to moan softly.

  She had to admit, her mother’s words frightened her. There may well have been a tiny nugget of truth in what she said. Sasha’s mind was no longer her own. Was she forever changed? She didn’t truly know. Her opinion on the Preor had been altering while she was at the Choosing, but she certainly hadn’t been ready to have their babies.

  Dragonlets… the Knowing supplied. Cuter word, but she still wasn’t ready to pop out dragonlets.

  Her eyelids flickered, open and shut, and the glow from the window began to sting her eyes. Yet her mother kept shooting, doing several takes from different angles. Sasha gasped in exasperation, the small sound all she could muster to illustrate her feelings. When she thought about Whelon, she couldn’t stop trembling.

  Even though she was afraid her mind was not her own, she craved him, and she knew she had to get to him to save her life. She would find him, touch him, and all would be well. She couldn’t think her way out of this in her current state, but maybe, if she got to Whelon, she could work something out.

  The only way to discover more about the Choosing process and the Knowing sickness was to ask the Preor. She considered it a small concession to getting well—to living.

  Sasha grit her teeth and put all her effort into getting up, yet she didn’t even manage to raise her head. A horrible wave of nausea gripped her and she rolled to her side, leaning just over the edge of the bed.

  “Wait!” her mother cried and grabbed the camera.

  Sasha could hardly hear her mother as vomit bubbled up in her throat. She gagged and threw up all over the floor, idly wondering how she was supposed to eat to keep herself alive. She kept vomiting even when nothing was left in her stomach.

  She clung to the bed, shivering and waiting for her stomach to decide if it was done.

  “I didn’t catch that,” her mother snapped. “Can you do it again?”

&
nbsp; Chapter Twelve

  Nausea assaulted Whelon as he leaned over to examine a small child, the angle making him feel as if every meal he had ever consumed now desperately tried to escape his stomach. He took a deep breath, held it in his lungs for a moment, and then bent to listen to the boy’s chest.

  The young one had a very simple-to-treat lung infection caused by dusty, damp living conditions. This kind of bacterial infection was nonexistent in places that were clean and free of airborne allergens. It was quickly turning into full-blown pneumonia, and he hoped Amryn would arrive soon with supplies from Preor Tower.

  Radoo had returned with some food and had a truck traveling to them with more. So far, they had bread, meat, and salad, but Radoo promised soup and barbecue when the delivery truck arrived. From his position inside the rundown home where he’d setup a small clinic, he could hear the happy cries of the children as they tucked into the food.

  The woman standing over the boy had her gaze turned down, hands twisted with nerves. As he finished examining the child, he stepped toward her and her attention flicked over him furtively.

  “Are you his mother, lady?” Whelon attempted to be as respectful as possible. She may be underfed, dirty, and in a threadbare dress, but she was still a woman—a mother or caregiver, too—and worthy of utmost respect.

  She nodded, her face drawn as if she was too tired to even cry any longer.

  “Do you have a clean, dry place for the boy to sleep?” Whelon knew that with a suitable place to rest, and good food, the boy would recover on his own. From the way she shook her head and chewed on her lips, he knew she tried her best and was dying inside because she could not provide for her boy.

  Whelon had a difficult decision to make. He wanted to send some of these children to Preor Tower or the ship. They would need a few days to get well and the Preor would never turn away children. The Ujal would be appalled to see these conditions and would open their doors to the young ones in a heartbeat as well.