Dragon Lover

by Karilyn Bentley

  Was he that obvious? After years spent in a cell, he forgot how to hide his emotions from others. What had his jailers cared about his thoughts, his emotions? Not one thing.

  But Annaliese did.

  Healers.

  He would not transport away from her and admit to being guilty as charged. He would not. He was a grown dragon. Grown dragons did not run from their problems, they faced them head-on.

  Fafnir swallowed, as if that would help loosen up his dry throat. No such luck.

  Perhaps you are right.

  She blinked at him, a silent entreaty to continue. The almost-unnoticeable spell caressed his scales, his head, whispered for him to find relief by sharing his problems.

  His eyes closed. He wanted to tell her, to speak with her as he had all those years ago, to wallow in her comfort.

  But what if she didn’t offer comfort? What if, instead, she rebuked? What if she threw him out of the Temple?

  He shook his head.

  “You are the first Draconi I know of who was held captive for so long behind titanium bars. It is only natural you would feel like you didn’t fit in here anymore.”

  It is more than that. Did those thoughts actually slip out?

  Judging by the way her head cocked to the side and her eyes widened in encouragement, the answer was a yes. He shut his eyes, trying to work up the courage to say what he needed to, what he didn’t want to admit.

  She placed her hand on his side. “When you are ready, I am here. I am always here, Fafnir. You do realize that, right?”

  He drew in a deep breath, overwhelmed by the emotions her words provoked, the way they transported him back to when he was a hatchling seeking comfort. Without thinking, he answered the way he always answered her question.

  Yes, Leesie, I know.

  Her eyes flew wide, her lips parting, her whole body freezing as she clearly contemplated his words.

  Son of a goat. Was he an idiot or what? If you wanted to hide in a crowd, it helped not to say words that singled you out.

  Stop putting it off and tell her who you are. Before he could act on his own words, Aryana moaned. Annaliese’s gaze flitted to her patient before returning to his. “Ragnor?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

  Ragnor no longer exists. Because his embarrassment and cravenness obliterated his ability to call himself by his given name. Better he choose another than admit his failures.

  “Annaliese?”

  Both he and Annaliese turned to look at Aryana, who had rolled on her side to face them.

  “Ah. You are awake.” Annaliese glanced at Fafnir as she placed a hand on his snout. Please don’t leave until you’ve talked to me.

  He closed his eyes, unable to look her in the eyes, unable to see either acceptance or rejection written in their depths. He gave a quick jerk of his head.

  “How do you feel?” Apparently satisfied with his answer, Annaliese walked to Aryana, leaving Fafnir to his thoughts.

  What had he done? What you should have done a month ago, fool. Was he really going to tell Annaliese who he was? Yes, you blithering ninny. Was it a sign of insanity if he answered himself? Probably. But what did he expect after all those years in a cell with no one to talk to? Perhaps Annaliese would understand. She did, after all, ask him not to leave until she had spoken to him.

  That had to be a good sign. Her concern slid across his scales, burrowing deep into his soul, comforting him as it had so many times when he was young. He wanted to talk to her, needed to express his guilt, his shame. He wanted forgiveness from the one person who always gave it to him growing up.

  His sister.

  Chapter Five

  Aryana watched Annaliese walk toward the bed, her face the pale shade of a light-colored sheet, her normal serene composure shattered. What had happened? Had someone died?

  Slipping into her friend’s mind took less effort than expected. Encountering a mental wall around jagged memories gave her pause. Clearly whatever upset Annaliese had nothing to do with the current attacks on Draconi villages and everything to do with the past. That much she could tell. But what made the past appear?

  And why was Annaliese blocking the memory?

  Too painful? Or did her friend know she’d try to read her mind?

  Probably the latter.

  Whatever bothered Annaliese would eventually be told. Neither kept secrets from the other for long. As much as she wanted to comfort her friend, Aryana decided to wait.

  “I’m feeling much better. Thank you for the healing. How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” A lie on so many levels. Annaliese’s hand shook as she touched Aryana’s arm, her eyes staring at the fresh pink scar as if she’d never seen one like it.

  “How are the refugees? Has the Council talked with any of them yet?”

  Annaliese drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes and gave her head a small shake. When her eyes opened, only lingering memories showed in their depths, proof she won the battle over her past. “They are doing as well as can be expected. I have not seen a Council member, but then, I have not spoken to the refugees this morning.”

  “Then how do you know they are well?”

  “The other priestesses have interacted with them. Their injuries have been tended to. Mostly they were frightened.”

  “As well they should be. Any word on who attacked?”

  “I have heard nothing.”

  The “as usual” went unspoken. Aryana sighed.

  “I will need to go speak with the Council.” She’d rather clean the latrines with her tongue.

  “Only if you are healed.”

  “Oh, I’m healed all right. I feel fine.” She tried to shove Annaliese’s hand off so she could get up, but her friend grasped her arm like she was an anchor in a rocky sea. “Annaliese?” Aryana looked at her arm and up to her friend’s eyes.

  All right, then. Perhaps the battle within still raged. Annaliese’s haunted gaze cut like shards into her soul.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I believe you are well enough to visit with the Council. Perhaps they can tell us who is attacking our villages.” Annaliese released her grasp on Aryana’s arm and began sorting through the vials sitting on the bedside table. One bottle went to the back of the table while another one came to the front. Over and over, the work of a distracted mind.

  Aryana swung her legs out from under the covers and placed a hand on her friend’s arm.

  “I’ll be all right. I just need some time to myself.” At Annaliese’s whispered words, Aryana squeezed her friend’s arm.

  “I’ll be here when you need me.”

  “Thank you.”

  With a wave of her hand, Aryana dressed in the set of white robes she wore around the Temple. On rare occasions, she used magic to dress, preferring the way the material flowed through her fingers as she wrapped it around her body, the smoothness of the cloth as it brushed her skin. But her use of magic this morning was twofold.

  She, the uninhibited priestess, felt shy undressing around Fafnir. Perhaps she should have Annaliese examine her head instead of her arm. Or not. Feelings were feelings after all, no matter how strange. Shyness aside, she needed to appear before the Council with due haste, and using a snap of the fingers instead of the physical act of dressing sped up the process.

  The quicker she could persuade the Council to tell her who attacked, the quicker she could help her race set up defenses against the invaders. Provided they talked to her.

  Thank you, Alviss. Her disagreement with the elderly Draconi affected her ability to address the Council, even with her sister’s husband and now her nephew, Thoren, warming two chairs in the stone chamber.

  But the attack on the villages would be top on their agenda this morning and she needed in on the discussion. The fear of standing in front of the group of males needed to disappear. She was the High Priestess, and fear was not an option.

  Liar, liar.

  “I will be back and give you a report. Fafnir, would yo
u like to come with me?”

  The dragon’s eyes widened. I do not wish to appear before the Council, but I will escort you to their chamber.

  “Have you appeared to them since you have returned home?”

  He licked his lips and focused on a corner of the room. I have not had that privilege.

  “I don’t blame you. Are you ready?”

  “Will you return, Fafnir?” Annaliese asked, a vial clutched in her palm.

  Fafnir swallowed. I will.

  What was that about? Why did her friend need to speak to Fafnir? Maybe he was injured too? He hadn’t mentioned anything, but then so often males didn’t talk about their injuries.

  At least not while still injured.

  “All right then. Let’s get this over with.” Aryana walked to Fafnir, touched his side and together they transported to the stone chamber of the Council.

  Bright sun blazed into her eyes and she squinted in self-defense.

  I will wait for you here.

  She looked up at Fafnir, glad he stood away from the sun. “It might be awhile if you need to speak to Annaliese.”

  I will wait.

  “Thank you. Wish me luck.”

  Luck to you. He brought his muzzle close to her cheek, his breath hot upon her skin. She felt what seemed to be lips, human lips, kiss her cheek. Warmth flooded her veins, dashing to her core, giving buoyancy to her limbs.

  Fafnir belonged to her.

  Now where did that thought come from? In no way did he belong to her. Obviously, her bored-with-males mood had spilled over into her current situation, forcing Fafnir into her mind’s eye as a potential cure for her boredom with a bed-romp.

  Not like she could have romp with a dragon. Not in her current form anyway.

  She refused to think about changing into a dragon. Not now. Not when she was about to see Alviss. He might attempt to view her mind and the last thing she wanted on it was her attempt to fly and fight as a dragon.

  The less the old male knew of her personal life, the better.

  Which meant she needed to push Fafnir from her thoughts too. A little hard to do when his kiss lifted her feet from the ground.

  She glanced at her feet firmly planted on the ground.

  All right. So his kiss hadn’t made them float, but it sure felt like air between her soles and the grass.

  As soon as she finished talking with the Council, she would start researching turning Fafnir back to human form. Selfish? Yes. But no one had to know that little fact, did they?

  Sometime during her parade of thoughts, Fafnir took a step back, watching her like a wolf would a rabbit. Leaving her trembling from his touch, a continuing rush of feelings coursing through her, giving a lightness to her step as a wave of empowerment swept over her. Face the Council? Not a problem. As long as she knew Fafnir waited for her, she could do anything.

  Giving the dragon what she hoped wasn’t a besotted smile, she opened the tall, wooden doors and entered the stone realm of the Council.

  Only to come to a complete stop.

  Where was everyone? Shouldn’t someone be in the chamber?

  “Hello?” Her voice echoed off the stones, bouncing around the room, encountering a whole lot of air and empty chairs.

  Sunlight sliced through the open doors, shining sparks of light on dust motes floating through the air. Thirteen carved wooden chairs sat in a semi-circle opposite from the door. A table sat against one curved wall as if someone shoved it into place.

  Nothing moved but the specks of dust in the air.

  So much for talking to the Council.

  She stepped back out, closing the doors behind her.

  That was quick.

  “No one was there. I’ve never seen the place empty.” And it worried her. Where was everyone?

  Shouldn’t someone remain in the chamber?

  “That’s my thought, but I guess not. I’m not privy to the way they work.” If only tension didn’t exist between her and Alviss, she might know why the Council disappeared. Temperamental old male.

  Where do you think they went?

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  I’d guess back to one of the villages.

  “All right. Which one first?”

  Tyne. That’s where it started. Although the Council could have split so half of them are at Goleb.

  Her thoughts exactly. Nice to know her mate held the same thoughts she did.

  Wait, wait, wait. Fafnir was not her mate. Her mate had died many years ago. So why did she feel like Fafnir belonged to her?

  Clearly it had something to do with turning into a dragon. Memories she needed to banish from her mind prior to talking to Alviss.

  Perhaps if she found the Council and forced them to tell her who attacked the villages, all these Fafnir-is-mine thoughts would leave her alone.

  But did she really want them to?

  Aryana gave herself a mental shake. Focus, focus, focus. “Let’s try Tyne. Ready?”

  ****

  Throughout his life, Fafnir had heard tales of a mated male following his female around like a half-witted fool, a behavior said to be pure instinct, unavoidable. A behavior he never thought to exhibit.

  Accompanying Aryana to Tyne, however, placed him among the rank of besotted fools. The last thing he needed to do was run into a Council member. He’d managed to avoid appearing before any of them since his return, despite repeated requests to drop by for a chat. After a month of refusing their invites, it surprised him they hadn’t tracked down his avoiding arse and hauled him in for questioning.

  Although he supposed other things of greater importance occupied their attention. Like villages being attacked or a banished Draconi returning to terrorize and invade Draconia. All things much more important than one renegade, previously captured dragon with self-esteem issues.

  Still, why press his luck and appear anywhere in their vicinity?

  Being with Ari tended to make him forget things, forget he failed his daughter, forget he lied to everyone he met about his identity. He needed to remember his failures, remember why he could never admit he was her mate, remember he could not be who she needed him to be.

  A loser. A failure. A craven male.

  Or maybe he wasn’t such a poor excuse for a male. Following his mate around and attempting to keep her from harm ranked under actions of a real male. Perhaps he needed to modify some of his thoughts.

  What a novel idea.

  One he’d consider once he successfully avoided Council members in Tyne.

  Which happened to be a problem he shouldn’t have wasted time worrying about. They arrived in Tyne in the same place they appeared the night before, right outside the village on the path leading into the circle of homes.

  Sunlight warmed the ground, brightening the streaks of charcoal shadows that darkened so many of the houses. The charred remains of the Harvest festival bonfire smoldered in the middle of the square, the scent of death hanging in the still air.

  Males and females scurried between houses, knocking down the damaged parts of their homes, dragging the remains of buildings to the center of the square where they stacked the wood into a pile. Using magic might make the process go faster, but hard work helped calm a grieving mind.

  Opposite from where he and Aryana stood milled a group of Draconi Council soldiers, talking to a group of Watchers. A brief glimpse around the village showed no signs of the thirteen Council members.

  Thank goodness.

  “I’ll go ask them where the Council members are. Did you want to walk over there with me?”

  If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay here.

  “As you wish.” Ari took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and started walking through the ruined village.

  He watched her stop and talk to the villagers, offering little touches on their arms and backs, her smile visibly relaxing a few of the females. Did she enjoy being High Priestess, dispensing wisdom and peace to those hurt or ill? As a youngster, she wanted the pos
ition for power, for a way to strengthen her magical abilities, to gain knowledge of the arcane energies coursing through Draconia. Did she still feel the same or had her reasoning changed as she aged?

  Maybe he’d ask. Right after she told him how she changed into a dragon.

  “They aren’t here.” Fafnir started at Aryana’s words. “Sorry, I thought you saw me walk up.”

  Daydreaming halfwit.

  He offered her a half-smile. Did you speak with the soldiers?

  “Didn’t have to. The villagers said that the Council members who were here left a few soldiers to guard Tyne and disappeared to Goleb shortly after dawn.”

  That still doesn’t explain why no one is at the Council Chambers.

  “I know. It’s a bit odd. Maybe they’ll tell us when we arrive at Goleb. Are you ready to go?”

  As ready as he’d ever be. Perhaps no one would notice him. It could happen. Mated males were such fools.

  As soon as she touched his flank, they transported to Goleb, arriving to a frantic buzz of noise. Voices raised in anger, coupled with females wailing, sent a shiver of unease through his scales. What had happened? When they left last night, it seemed as if the villagers had things under control and that was before the Council’s soldiers arrived.

  Clearly, some terrible event had occurred since then.

  Aryana stiffened, her eyes seeking the source of the wailing, her head tilting to the side.

  Can you tell what the problem is?

  “Grief.” She started walking toward the sound. “But I don’t understand. I saw the villagers chasing down the ones who attacked. They were dragons, for Goddess’ sake, not in human form.”

  You were hurt.

  The glare turned on him could melt ice. Fafnir shivered and took a step back as Aryana’s voice burst through his mind. My scales aren’t as thick as a male’s. And it would do you good to keep that knowledge to yourself.

  Of course. Just because he was a besotted fool over his female didn’t mean he was a complete and utter idiot.

  Her skirts flared as she whirled an about-face and marched around the corner of the nearest house. A jolt of lust shot through him, a silent vibration across his scales. Since when were angry females attractive? No wonder mated males became besotted fools, nothing their females did upset them.