by Celia Kyle
Hannah was good at playing pretend. She’d been doing it for years, from the moment she’d realized what her father did when—
The taps turned into a pounding, Eric’s fist on the metal frame of the door. He wanted in, and delaying the inevitable would just piss him off even more.
With a sigh, she nudged the register closed and rounded the counter, padding across the scraped floor and toward the entrance. Her feet protested every step, and with each one, the idea of dipping into her Cole-Daven money looked better and better.
Eric’s glare remained in place, not easing until she disengaged the lock. That done, she turned and carefully retraced her path. She listened for the door to slide fully open and close softly once more. Then came his stomping steps, and she increased her pace. She didn’t want him to get too close. Not because she was afraid of Eric—he’d done so much for her over the years. He just… set her nerves on edge when he’d had more than a shot… or five.
“Hannah,” Eric snapped off her name, frustration and fury in his tone.
She simply sighed and tapped the keys on the register to open it once more. “Hi, Eric. How are you?”
He growled, almost like one of the Preor warriors who stood guard over the tower and were responsible for keeping them safe. Almost, but not quite. His growl annoyed her. Theirs… Well, the growl of one specific Preor did something else to parts of her.
“When are you going to stop all this?” His snarl was a poor approximation of a Preor’s, too.
When had she begun comparing human men to Preors? She shook her head and grabbed a stack of credits, ready to try counting them again.
“That doesn’t tell me when.”
Hannah needed to be nicer to him. He’d done so much for her. Every time her father’s followers found her… He deserved respect even if she hated what he had to say.
“Define ‘this’?”
He glared. “You know what I’m talking about—Cole-Daven.” He placed his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “It’s too high-profile. What if—”
She dropped the stack and gave up on counting. She’d get rid of Eric and then try to finish her work. She held up her hand, silencing him. “You know I look nothing like him.”
Him. She hadn’t said his name in… she wasn’t sure how long.
“You have his eyes, Hannah.”
Hannah broke their stare and dropped her attention to the scarred counter. “I know. Once I make enough, I’ll have them modded, too.”
Eyes hadn’t been on their list of priorities over the years. They’d focused on cheeks, nose, brows… Physical characteristics that healed easily. Changing eye color was a different—expensive—beast.
She could take some of the Cole-Daven money. They’d given her enough, and she could blame the gen mods on poor eyesight. She wouldn’t have to tell them that her eye color was the last connection between her and her father—that it needed to be destroyed like everything else had been.
“Before or after the public sees your face plastered on every vid screen? Before or after his people see you and connect the dots?” He shook his head. “If they find you, you’ll be spending those credits on a whole new face and reworked body. There won’t be anything left over for your eyes.”
Hannah hated that he was right, but the good she could do with Cole-Daven outweighed possible discovery. Right? “They need me. There are so many who don’t believe that Elle joi Ivoth Davenport is going to cure Pol Mutation for free. They need spokespeople who are like them.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Ones who work in shitty diners for crappy pay.”
Elle was sweet but came from a rich family, one who was seen as out of touch and above the working man and woman. Elle had the money and Preor’s technology thanks to her mate, Ivoth. She needed others like Hannah to make things work, to earn the trust of the public.
“And what do you think the honorable,” he sneered and she suppressed her sigh, “Preor will do when they discover who you are? How your mere presence has hurt their cause?”
Eric hadn’t only been pissed about her taking a public position with Cole-Daven, he’d hated the fact that she moved to Preor Tower. When she’d tried to explain a Preor’s honor and how they wouldn’t lay a hand on her if she wasn’t their mate… Well, that hadn’t gone over well either.
“What will they do, Hannah?” Another sneer.
It was a question she’d asked herself more than once—a question she still couldn’t answer. Hannah shoved the drawer closed and locked it with a press of her thumb before giving Eric her undivided attention.
She matched his stance, hands on the counter and leaning forward. “Look, Eric, I understand what you’re saying. I do. But—”
Eric snatched her wrist, forced her to turn her hand over and expose her palm. He clutched her in a tight grip, so tight that a jolt of pain—new and old—speared her. After all this time, the joint still ached as if it remembered losing part of itself years ago.
“Do you remember this?” He jabbed the flesh just beneath her inner wrist and she gritted her teeth, refusing to buckle beneath the agony.
The only good thing about the pain he caused was that it took her mind off her throbbing feet.
“Yes.” She hissed the word, pushing it past gritted teeth.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “I. Remember.”
“I’m not sure you do. I paid—” He cut himself off, his glare deepening. “The government paid a pretty penny to reattach your hand, Hannah. Is this how you repay everything that’s been done for you? The gen mods? The ever-changing identities? Constantly moving? I’m trying to look out for you, and you’re making that damned hard.” He pressed harder, tears rushing forward to fill her eyes. “So hard I don’t know how much longer they’re willing to stay involved in your case.”
A single tear spilled over the edge, and she convinced herself it was due to pain, not heartache or fear. What would happen if they abandoned her?
“Eric,” she rasped, unable to say much more than that single plea. “Stop.”
“When—” He scratched her, short nails digging into her skin and dragging across her palm as he let go.
No. Wait. He didn’t let go. He was pulled. Not even pulled but tossed. He went flying across the diner, his large body crashing into stacked tables and chairs. He hit the ground with a heavy thud and continued to knock furniture to the ground as he slid. His travels didn’t end until he finally struck one of the booths, his upper body beneath a table top, nothing but his legs visible.
Movement drew her gaze, and she swung her attention from Eric to… “Brukr?”
Fury filled every inch of his massive, winged body. The alien warrior vibrated with his anger, blue-gray scales sliding over his skin while his eyes flashed with the presence of his inner dragon. He wasn’t the patient Preor she’d come to know but all warrior. Brukr didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to—the scales and smoke emerging from his nose said enough.
He reached for her injured hand and cradled it in his scarred palms. His fury burned hot, but his touch was gentle and his voice soft when his dragon released a soothing trill. His warm, moist breath fanned her throbbing skin, hints of smoke joining in while the sounds continued.
She found herself swaying forward, leaning her hips against the counter’s edge while she was drawn into Brukr’s dragon’s spell. The beast remained close, furious eyes focused on her hand and the bruising that gradually formed on her skin.
Damn Eric for his stupidity.
A scuffle and groan came from her left, Eric stirring, and the sounds popped the calming bubble that’d formed around Hannah and Brukr. The warrior whipped his attention to Eric with a snarl, lip curled to expose a lengthening fang—one she knew Brukr would gladly like to sink into Eric.
The Preors didn’t tolerate the abuse of women—ever. It was dishonorable to harm a female, and she’d discovered that the warriors assigned to the other Cole-Daven women had decided that they were
their females. An attack on them was taken very, very personally.
They might not be Preor mates, but they had protectors—strong, fierce, deadly protectors.
“What the hell?” Eric murmured, a slur in those few words, and Hannah groaned.
Eric would have been better off remaining silent. Now that he was conscious, Brukr would feel that Eric was capable of meeting a challenge.
Brukr carefully lowered her hand to the counter, giving it one final caress that did anything but hurt. In truth, it almost… aroused her.
The moment their connection ended, Brukr turned to face the fallen Eric. Smoke flowed from his nose, a dark cloud expanding to stain the air, and his shoulders broadened. More of his scales came into view and his wings spread slightly.
This was a Preor warrior with menace on his mind. “Hell? I shall show you, hell.”
Then he took a deep breath.
Chapter Three
Brukr’s dragon’s fire burned within. He did not know much of this hell, but he did recall it involved great heat. A Preor excelled at creating heat—fire.
He gathered his flames, his dragon wishing to burn the human and turn him into ashes. Hannah’s pain beat at him, his wrist and arm feeling as if he had been the one harmed. But no, a female was damaged by this male.
Unacceptable.
Brukr believed War Master Taulan and Esteemed Warrior Jarek would agree. They would grant him great honors for ridding the Earth of a human who dared harm a female. The truth resonated in his mind, and he made his choice.
He would send this human Eric on his final flight and then decide which uniform to wear for the awards ceremony. These would be honors he had earned—deserved. Not those granted after an act of cowardice. His dragon recoiled from that memory, from the shame that weighed heavily on him.
He drew in more of the air around him, ignoring the scents of heated oil and fried food. He did not know how humans consumed such meals, but the War Mistress assured him the items were flavorful and, at times, cherished.
Chest swirling with the flames of his dragon, he took one step forward and then another, his heavy boots thudding against the diner’s solid floor. He did not wish for much space to separate him from Eric. He did not wish to give the human an opportunity to escape retribution.
The soft patter of feet, the rapid approach of another, caught his ear, but he did not pause in his stalking of the human. Whoever drew close did not weigh much. The being could not detain him.
Though, in that, he was wrong.
A soft hand, much smaller than his own and cool against his dragon’s flames, stroked his arm. Thin fingers encircled his wrist, followed by a gentle pull.
Another touch, cool palm on his chest, fingertips teasing the edge of his katoth strap. It was the piece of his uniform that disclosed the honors he’d earned during his years as a warrior—many he’d earned, one he did not deserve.
It was that daring touch that caused his approach to slow. It intrigued the dragon and drew its attention as well. The swirling flames remained gathered in his chest, prepared for release, but he held them back as he lowered his attention to… Hannah.
“Brukr, wait.” Her tinkling voice remained edged with a hint of pain.
He lowered his gaze further to the hand on his chest and the darkening of the flesh on her wrist. Her pain would continue until they reached medical and the Healing Master.
He lifted his attention and met her stare. “No.”
He did not wish to wait. Hannah had been harmed, and his soul… called for retribution. More than called, in truth. It demanded he defend her. His Hannah should never experience pain. Ever.
Brukr’s dragon’s soul calmed slightly with that thought and the reason struck him in the gut. Hannah was not his. She remained under his protection, but she was not his.
“Brukr, it’s an old wound. It’s not his fault his grip hurt me.” She tried once more, her smaller body moving into his path.
He paused, but only because he did not wish to hurt her even more. It would not be difficult to move her with one push, but then he would be no better than this Eric. “That is a lie, Hannah.”
She narrowed her eyes, and her thoughts were plain on her features. She was not sure if he spoke the truth. If he could truly see through her untruth.
“Do not attempt to lie again. I heard the pain in your voice and smelled his enjoyment of the act.” The scent still burned his nose, the aroma of joy in violence an unmistakable aroma. “I will show him how he erred, and then I will escort you to Preor Tower.”
Movement drew his gaze, the human Eric slowly crawling to his feet. He used the table to brace his wavering body. A small drop of indecision slipped into his mind. The male did not appear able to defend himself should Brukr attack. It was possible that fact would negate the honor earned through his actions.
“I can’t tell you what to do.” Eric’s growl annoyed Brukr’s dragon. “But this thing can? Are you an alien’s puppet, Hannah?”
The sneer pushed his dragon’s emotions beyond annoyed and closer to enraged. He did not like the way Eric spoke to Hannah either.
“Dammit, Eric, I’m trying to save your ass here,” she hissed over her shoulder, and an odd feeling of jealousy—possessiveness—assaulted him. He did not like her giving another male attention. A dishonorable male. Perhaps that was the reason. He did not like her wasting her time on a dishonorable male.
Yes, that was the cause.
“Another word and I will send you on your final flight.” Smoke emerged each time he parted his lips, and he exposed his fangs, showing the male who he faced.
“Is he going to protect you, Hannah? Will they protect you when they find out—”
“Enough, Eric!” Hannah’s snarl rivaled any Preor’s. Even Brukr would pause his actions with that tone.
“They’ll—”
Brukr leaned forward, torn between pushing Hannah aside and remaining in place so he did not injure her further. “Silence,” he hissed long and low. “I will burn your tongue from your mouth.”
His dragon recoiled. It did not wish to be so close to the human male that they could do such a thing.
“Both of you stop!” Hannah’s shout echoed through the small diner, voice bouncing off every hard surface. It was enough to not only silence the male named Eric, but Brukr as well.
If he was truthful, he fell silent because she retreated from him. Hannah withdrew her touch and spun to face Eric, an action his dragon found unacceptable. His dragon found much of this situation to be unacceptable.
Her body trembled and he scented the air, searching through the scents to find her emotions. It was not fear that made her shake, but true anger. Anger and… exhaustion. She was tired, the fatigue surrounding her in a heavy cloud, and he sensed she neared collapse.
She wavered in place as if she fought to remain upright, and he took a single step forward—not to pull her away or block her, but merely to provide support. He did not make a sound when he moved, drawing just near enough for his chest to brush her back. She was equally quiet when she gave him her weight, and he wondered if she recognized the trust she showed with the action. Wondered, too, if she realized what she’d done.
Part of him hoped the move was voluntary, hoped she truly did believe in him and his ability to care for her.
“Eric, I hear what you’re saying, but for now, I’m staying put.”
Brukr did not like the words “for now.” He would tell her so when they were alone.
Eric shook his head, and Brukr’s hands tingled with the urge to transform into claws. He would get the male’s agreement by any means.
“How many times do we have to go through this before you’ll trust me? How many times do you have to get hurt until you realize I know what’s best?” Eric glared at Hannah.
If Hannah did not allow Brukr to strike the male, perhaps he could simply pluck out his eyes with his dragon’s claws. The dragon agreed to the plan.
For now, he would yell
at the male once more. “Do not insult the Preor. We would not allow harm to come to Hannah. We would never harm Hannah as you have this night.”
Brukr’s eyes warmed, his dragon surging to reveal its presence, and he did not attempt to suppress its ferocity.
“You scaly,” Eric pushed away from the table he clutched, “son of a bitch. I’ll—”
“You dare—”
“You can measure your dicks later! Enough!” Hannah roared. Again. He wondered if she spent many hours in the senchamber to learn how to yell so like a female Preor.
She pointed at Eric. “I want you out of here. I’ve heard your objections, and my decision remains the same.”
“I can’t guarantee they’ll help you when the time comes,” Eric snapped in return, and Brukr’s fire bubbled in his chest.
“Whatever happens, happens, Eric. Now go.” Her shoulders curled forward, reminding him of her tiredness.
The human glared at Hannah, then Brukr, before returning to Hannah once more. Fury was not a strong enough word to describe his expression—not nearly. He did not believe the human language could begin to describe the emotion he saw.
Eric turned on his heel and stomped toward the entry, striding through the portal and into the night’s blackness. The moment the human was out of sight, Hannah spun to face him.
And Brukr hated himself for what he’d done. He had prolonged a confrontation with the human when Hannah needed gentle care.
“Hannah.” He murmured her name and lifted his hand to cup her cheek. He rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone, brushing the dark smudge beneath her eye. “Forgive me.”
She accepted his touch for a moment, turning her head and softly nuzzling his palm before pulling away. She stepped back, shaking her head a moment before she ran her cheek on her shoulder.
To wipe away his touch? His scent?
Of course. Why would she want to carry the mark of one like him?
He ignored the pain caused by her action and focused on caring for her. “You are tired. Let me escort you to Preor Tower. I brought a shuttle for transport.”