by Celia Kyle
Hatched
Dragons of Preor
Celia Kyle
Erin Tate
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Contents
Hatched
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
About the Author
Hatched
Taulan joi Lana Coburn, War Master of the Preor third fleet, is finally having his wishes granted. He has a mate and will soon have two dragonlets to protect and love. But only if he can live to see them born. Or, as his Lana says, hatched.
1
People who tell pregnant women to walk during labor because it will make things “easier” had never pushed a watermelon out of a hole the size of a lemon. Lana was fully prepared to take a watermelon and shove it up the next person’s hole if they even talked to her—though she did stop short of imagining what she’d do if they gave her additional advice. That was one bloody fantasy she wouldn’t mind indulging.
Unfortunately, it’d have to wait a little while. Specifically, until she gave birth and recovered. Then she was all over being War Mistress and mate to the Preor War Master, Taulan.
All over it.
She’d bloody him up, too, while she was at it. He was the one who’d gotten her pregnant, and not with one alien baby, but with twins.
Twins. Two. More than one. She still hadn’t quite wrapped her head around that concept. Twins didn’t run in her family and the Knowing—the blood history of the Preor that she gained when she met Taulan—couldn’t provide her with probabilities since human-Preor matings were still a bit of a mystery.
She breathed deep and reached for a nearby piece of furniture, one of the chairs she’d had brought to the ship from Earth. Since her mate didn’t have large dragon wings like other Preor, they hadn’t needed the backless seating that populated others’ quarters.
Wings… tears stung her eyes when she thought of all her mate had lost. Even more blurred her vision when she realized she was crying—again. She cried because she was crying. And then she cried harder because hormones made her cry.
But how could she not shed tear after tear when she knew…
When she knew that Taulan’s great purple wings were gone because of the hatred and disdain of others. The males who’d attacked the ship—initiating a battle that’d cost Taulan his wings—were dead and gone, but how many others remained? Lana ran her hand over the large, hard mound of her stomach, gritting her teeth when yet another tightening rolled through her mid-section.
She breathed through the resulting pain, digging deep for the rhythm that was supposed to make labor more tolerable. She called bullshit on that.
The cramp gradually eased, releasing the strangle-hold on her pregnant belly and allowing her to draw in a slow, complete breath once more.
She fought to calm the rapid beat of her heart and sought inner-peace—one that lingered just out of reach. But she had to find her center and relax before she tried to walk again. Because, damn, she had a long walk.
Long.
Like, from the War Master and Mistress’ suite and all the way to medical. She should have given in when Taulan demanded medical be relocated and moved to one of the nearby quarters. She hadn’t wanted anyone to be displaced and blah, blah, blah… Fuck being considerate. She really hated all those blahs. Like, a lot.
Lana leaned into the seat—neck propped on the back of the chair, hips resting right on the edge of the seat cushion—while she caressed her stomach. The clock projected on a nearby wall by the ship allowed her to time the things that weren’t contractions. She wasn’t ready to be in labor so… she wasn’t.
She was simply relaxing, smiling when her attention landed on Taulan’s couch and she recalled how much fun they’d had there. And also the wall to the left of the entry. And the kitchen table, which he thought was unneeded until he draped her across the surface and discovered the joys of synchoc syrup.
It wasn’t just sex that crept into her thoughts. There were the quiet times too. When they’d had a rough day and simply had to be close to each other. When she’d simply needed to be held while he needed to hold her.
Every event, every emotion, suffused their quarters, and a soft smile teased her lips. Happiness. Happiness lived and breathed in every nook and cranny of their space. Sure, they’d had troubled times, but now… now life was good.
Until another contraction hit. The roll of pain gradually crept forward, sliding around her waist and slinking those pain-tinged fingers across her stomach. The mound hardened, muscles squeezing tight, and she breathed through that one as well. Breathing, breathing, and more breathing. She rubbed the firm roundness, wishing the pain away just as much as she welcomed its presence.
She was seriously tired of being pregnant. She was also seriously not looking toward becoming un-pregnant. That whole transitioning part? She could do without that bit.
No matter how much she wished, no one had developed a method to safely remove the child from her body so it could finish growing inside a gestube. Sure, they could have created a kid in a small dish and then injected the child into a gestube, but…
The tightness slowly eased, releasing her from the tight grip of pain, and she exhaled with a strained whoosh.
If they’d gone that route, the twins wouldn’t have been created with all the love she had for Taulan.
Now that the pounding ache receded, she could think of her mate without a single drop of rage for getting her pregnant.
Taulan, she sighed and whispered his name in her mind.
A gentle, invisible brush ghosted across her cheek. Shaa kouva… You are well?
Shaa kouva. She smiled with those two, simple words. A sweet endearment in the Preor language, a lyrical and touching message from her mate.
My beloved.
Distantly, she recognized that another contraction approached, the tightness building with each passing beat of her heart, which meant she had to mentally speak to her mate—and snap that connection closed—before he sensed her agony.
Okay, yes, agony. There, she admitted the truth aloud… -ish.
Very well. She answered him and asked Syh—the skies—to forgive her for her lie. Syh was a woman; she had to get that sometimes a lie was better than the truth.
A lot of times, really. Especially when lying to an overprotective, alien, dragon-shifting warrior who panicked when she burped.
Heartburn was a bitch to both endure and then explain to a Preor. She was supposed to be immune to fire, so how could her heart burn?
Syh love Taulan because sometimes she didn’t.
A new pain arrived that had nothing to do with the children inside her. It was a quick pulse that struck her knuckles, a new ache that zinged up her arm. Her mate’s anger reached out and whipped at her mind. She shied from the heat even though he’d never hurt her—physically or otherwise. Feedback of his pain was just more than she could bear at that moment—and that’s what it was, his throbbing ache and not her own.
Taulan?
Syh-damned son of a—Taulan’s words cut off and she got a quick flash of his thoughts. Anger at himself for getting distracted and at Kozav for striking when he was distracted. I am sorry shaa kouva. Are you well? Should I send Healing Master Whelon to—
The last thing she wanted was the healing master around before she was ready for him. Every single Preor she’d met was nice and cordial… if overprotective. She wasn’t ready for fussing.
I’m
fine. Go kick Kozav’s ass. I’ll see you at dinner.
She had to give birth by dinner, right? Then it’d all be said and done, and she wouldn’t have to deal with a fretting mate. Only fretting medical staff.
A low ding, the beep soft and gentle, filled the air. The first time Lana had winced with the ship’s default sounds—blaring to draw attention—Taulan had every single one changed. She’d managed to stop him just short of altering the alarms. They needed to be loud so everyone would know shit was hitting the fan.
Taulan told her the ship did not have fans, though they did have air systems that could be altered…
She’d cut him off with a kiss. Then sex. Then—
The ding came again and she looked at the door—the one on the opposite side of the room. In truth, it was eight feet away, but for a pregnant woman carrying twins and in labor, it was like a million miles.
“Identify.” The ship immediately projected an image of her visitor—visitors—Carla and Grace. Both women were human nurses, mated to Preor warriors, and annoying as hell. Really, everyone was annoying since Lana was pregnant with twins and all that.
Grace was mated to Primary Warrior Kozav, who apparently was a Syh-damned son of a something according to Taulan. Carla was mated to Rendan, the ship’s offense master.
More importantly, her mind circled back to the fact that they were both nurses, which meant the next few minutes could go two ways—a mad dash to medical or a slow meandering that ended with her strolling into medical when she was ready to push.
Lana voted for a meander. She was too big for a dash.
“Enter.” She gave the ship another order and the doors slid apart to reveal the two women.
Two women searched the living room with their gazes and then finally zeroed in on her. They narrowed their eyes, giving her one of those stares that said they knew she was hiding something. Something medical-y. Or maybe that was just her guilty conscience.
Carla tilted her head to the side, the squint still in place. She was the one Lana had to worry about in her current situation. The woman had worked as a nurse in emergency services at East Fortuna Medical before finding her mate, but her specialty on Earth was obstetrics.
“Have you been tracking your contractions?” Carla lifted a single brow and strode forward.
“Ah, that’s what I’m seeing there.” Grace immediately followed. “Has your water broken?”
“On a scale of zero to ten, zero being no pain and ten being the worst possible pain, how would you rate your pain at this moment?” Carla rattled off the words, coming to Lana’s side and gently grasping her wrist. The woman stared at the digital time keeper projected on the wall, and Lana knew Nurse Butler was in effect. “Grace, can you grab the sareslia from that end table?”
Grace was already halfway across the room before Carla finished the question. Both women worked in sync, asking and answering each other while they fluttered around Lana.
What grabbed Lana’s attention was the mention of a sareslia. Lana wasn’t sure of the English translation, but it was essentially a portable med monitor. One she’d absolutely refused to wear throughout her pregnancy. Taulan jumping at every hiccup had been bad enough. Whelon and Yazen would have been more than she could have handled.
“Where did that come from?” Lana jerked back and ducked when Grace attempted to drape it around her neck. “And how did you know it was here?”
Carla took the device from Grace and attempted to put it on Lana as well, but Lana had learned to dodge out of the way. True, she’d learned the hard way at the abusive hands of her ex, but that didn’t change the fact that she knew how to evade.
Lana wiggled and scooted deeper into the seat, not stopping until her ass was no longer supported and the edge dug into the upper half of her back. She shifted her weight forward and went to all fours, crawling from between the two women before they’d even realized she’d disappeared.
Twins or not, she was one momma who could move—not very far though because the twins did suck every ounce of energy out of her. She managed to make it to the center of the room before she lost what little steam she had. At least she was far enough away that she could lurch to her feet and face the two women. She extended her arms, staving off their approach.
“Now, wait a minute.” She took a step back. “No one has explained how a sareslia got in here when I specifically told Whelon and Yazen I didn’t want one.” Whelon—the Healing Master—hadn’t been happy about her choice, while Yazen—the Primary Healing Warrior—had tried to be sneaky and slip it on anyway.
Much like the two nurses.
“I made it an order and everything.” Lana swallowed hard, gaze darting between Carla and Grace while she wondered if she could make a break for it.
Because the moment the sareslia slipped over her head, alarms would go off, men would yell, and those fluttering healers would flutter. As if women didn’t give birth every single day.
Lana hated to admit the truth, but human women didn’t give birth to human-Preor babies every single day.
Except, babies were babies, right?
At least, that’s what she was going with.
Grace quirked a brow and Carla snorted, but it was Grace who spoke. “Lana”—they’d dispensed with the War Mistress crap the moment both ladies crawled beneath a paper sheet and stared at her vagina. Hard to get respect out of women who’ve seen a person’s hardly landscaped girly business. “You rejected the idea of a sareslia, and I didn’t argue because you still had time. Plus, I know I don’t want a monitor—”
Perfect distraction. “Are you pregnant, Grace?” Lana smiled. “That’s so great. When do you think you’re due? Our babies can have play da—”
“Not happening. We’re still talking about you.” Carla pointed at her, and Lana was tempted to bite the woman’s finger off.
Nom, nom, nom… ew. Gross.
The babies were really screwing with her head.
“But,” Grace gave her a meaningful look. One that told Lana that the nurse was gonna get her way. “You’re also in labor. Now. Outcoming babies trump wants. How it got here isn’t important.”
Outcoming. Blech. They were going to come out of her. Had she mentioned she really didn’t look forward to the transition period between pregnancy and poof babies?
The growing tenseness in her stomach finally pushed forward, shoving past her thoughts and consuming every ounce of her attention. The pain encircled her stomach and she bent over half-way, one hand on her lower back and the other on her knee. She braced herself while the pain continued, the growing agony finally peaking before gradually slipping away.
Through it all she panted, moaned, groaned, and cursed the male anatomy.
“And that’s why the sareslia goes on,” Grace snapped and strode forward, determination in every step.
Lana still backed away, not ready for the ensuing panic once that little bit of tech touched her skin. “I’ll make a deal with you.” She kept shuffling and lifted the hand from her knee. “I’ll go to medical if you don’t make me wear that thing.”
Grace paused and Carla stepped forward. “No arguments? No wheedling to stop and visit with anyone?”
Had Lana been so obvious when it came to visiting with Whelon and Yazen? Apparently.
“No arguments. No wheedling.” Lana didn’t say “no slow waddling” though. She’d take every advantage she could get.
The two nurses turned and bent their heads together, voices low so Lana couldn’t hear what they said. If she didn’t feel an oncoming contraction, she’d growl at them to speak louder.
But she did. So she didn’t.
Both ladies gave her their attention once more, Carla giving her a hard stare while Grace tucked the sareslia into her pocket. Its nearness meant the woman could whip it out at any time. Lana didn’t like that situation much, but she didn’t have a choice. The baby was coming and Lana needed medical—minus all the panic that could possibly come with it.
“Then l
et’s go before you drop these babies in the middle of your living room.” Carla smiled wide and moved closer. She hooked one arm around Lana’s left and then Grace was on her right, both ladies bracketing her body.
Their grips tightened, their message clear—Lana was going to medical whether she liked it or not.
Now.
2
Taulan grunted and gripped the rock beneath his palm a little harder, holding it firmly until the rolling ache passed. The tightening of his muscles came at him in waves, cresting and then retreating as slowly as they had come. All morning he had been plagued with the hurt, but he had pushed beyond the unending aches.
He would not be a weak male who sought medical for simple pains. He was not bleeding. He was not about to take his final flight.
He would be fine, as his mate often said—though she typically repeated those words while she pushed him from their rooms. He admitted she had a certain tone at the same time, as well.
Kozav—the third fleet’s Primary Warrior—informed Taulan the tone indicated Lana’s frustration or desperation for him to be gone.
Taulan had thrown the male off the training platform that hovered high above the Gulf of Mexico.
Then he ordered a laughing Rendan—the fleet’s Offense Master—to ensure Kozav did not drown. Kozav’s death would upset the male’s mate, Grace, and since Taulan’s own mate called Grace a friend…
Taulan frowned at the craggy wall mere inches from his face. Based on his research, the personal connections and rippling effect of events somehow involved a male named Kevin and the old Earth food “bacon.”
With a shake of his head, he pushed Kevin and bacon from his mind. He was within the ship’s aerie to train and condition his body, not obsess over his mate and her condition.
Her pregnant condition. Pregnant with two dragonlets. The truth still sucked the air from his lungs. Two dragonlets borne by a single female—after their race was sure of their extinction—was an event to be celebrated.