by Celia Kyle
And his Lana was not the only bearing female.
The third fleet had truly been blessed, and he thanked the skies every day for the gifts from Syh. Every day other males discovered their mates, embracing the Knowing that signified the discovery. Then came the task of building an unbreakable bond between Preor and human.
The clenching of his middle finally eased, and he released a long, slow breath as the muscles unknotted. While the pain remained at bay, he reached for another crag, digging his nails into the notches. Taulan did not have wings, but that did not mean he did not enjoy the heights of the aerie. It merely took him longer to get to his destination.
He reached for another, the rough surface scraping his palm, and he welcomed the pain. It drew his mind away from the tightening around his center. If it did not cease soon, he truly would be forced to enter medical.
He hated medical. Whelon and Yazen constantly wished to run tests to see if being mated to Lana affected him physically. It did. Especially when he was physically inside her and physically found his release while clasped in her wet heat, though he did not tell them so. Instead, he avoided the place unless his mate was there for an examination. Taulan’s dragon grumbled its agreement. That feral part of him hated medical as much as his logical mind.
Taulan clasped another jutting rock and shifted his weight, placing more on the mound while he sought another handhold—only to have another of those pains strike without warning. The overwhelming wave was sharper than those in the past, and it arrived more quickly as well. Beyond the surprising event—and more important to Taulan’s mind—the quick stab stole his breath and strength.
His fingers uncurled without thought, claws no longer scraping against stone, and he lost his hold. His fingers slipped and unbraced feet slid out from beneath him. He scrambled for the porous rock, long deadly nails gouging the stone as he sought to slow his descent from high above the aerie floor.
But the pain continued. The pain and the throbbing hurts wrapped around his head and traveled down his legs, as if the agony sought to encompass his body. It stole his control, nerves too focused on the pain to respond to his need to save himself.
“Fekh.” He spat the word, one of his mate’s favorites. A tearing, his nail ripping away as he sought purchase, sent a new wave of pain through him—one that distracted him from the unending tightness around his middle. One that wrenched his mind free of dealing with the agony and allowed him to focus on saving himself.
Taulan changed his tactics, transitioning his fight to halt his progress to one of simply slowing himself. He flexed his fingers and feet and pressed them tightly against the rock wall, tight enough to cause friction but with no chance of ending his descent. It was too late to stop himself.
Rock rained down on the grass below, the overgrown green a favorite of his mate’s, now dusty with crumbled stone. He would apologize for nearly killing himself and dirtying her favorite spot later, after he ensured Lana would not have to be told of his death. He imagined that knowledge would make her cry, and he hated her tears.
Gradually, inch by inch, his rapid fall slowed to a grinding descent. His feet and hands pounded with pain to the beat of his heart while his middle…
His middle flexed so hard he believed his own body would cut him in half.
Movement out of the side of his eye drew his attention for a brief moment, a flower blooming at the highest point of a nearby tree drawing his gaze—which meant he was no more than thirty or forty Earth feet from the grass. He could easily fall from that height without causing injury.
Which meant he let go.
And fell.
On his ass.
All air whooshed from Taulan’s body and he rolled to his side, fighting to draw air into his lungs and keep himself from losing consciousness at the same time. The pain… it clouded his mind to any other thoughts. It blinded him to the murmuring voices that surrounded him and the bodies of other warriors as they darted past his crumpled form.
He would order them to forget ever seeing their War Master curled like a dragonlet once he could speak again.
Perhaps in a year.
“Taulan?” A rustle of wings immediately followed, and soon a blur of teal filled his vision. Or part of it. Taulan was too busy attempting to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. “Do you need a healer?”
“No.” He grunted at Kozav. At least he believed it was Kozav.
“Taulan.” Kozav sighed.
“What happened to Taulan?” Taulan barely heard the male’s voice through the roaring in his ears—Rendan.
“Did Tyff knock Taulan from the walls? I have been training the male, but he is… young.” Zadri followed his words with a frustrated growl.
The blurry blob of teal shifted in place. “Taulan, is this meant to make Lana feel sorry for you so she will cease banishing you from your rooms? I informed you it was best to require her assistance when she is near. Falling from such a height does not solve your problem if she is not present to witness your injuries.”
Taulan would kill the male. Kill. Him. Dead. For now, he sought to push past the pain and merely curl his lip at Kozav. “I am fine.”
By the skies, now he sounded like Lana.
He refused to admit that truth and instead focused on his breathing, on pushing past the pain so it could not rule him. He was stronger than any other. He would not be defeated by his own body. He gritted his teeth and held his breath, forcing himself to lift from the ground. The throbbing of his hand took away from the unending cramping that wrapped around his middle, and he managed to roll to his feet—only for another wave to attack and nearly send him tumbling again.
Taulan wavered, swaying in place, and his knees seemed soft and… gone. His legs could not support his weight, body folding in on itself and threatening to send him back to the grass.
If not for the firm grip of two males, he would have found himself weak and helpless in the middle of the aerie. He was bracketed by a peach and a pink male while the teal issued orders.
Rendan and Zadri would escort Taulan to medical while Kozav ensured their path remained clear.
The males were determined, and there was no argument Taulan could make to halt their progress, mainly because Taulan could not speak.
Lana paused in the corridor and leaned into Carla, allowing the woman to take her weight, though “allow” was more like “forced.” Another contraction surged and she reached for her stomach, rubbing soothing circles over one of the tightest spots.
“Remember your breathing. Hee hee hee whooo…” Carla murmured.
“I’ll tell you who,” Lana grumbled and followed that up with a groan as the cramp continued on and on. “What the hell is with that breathing crap? Thousands of years and no one can come up with a better ‘natural’ way to deal with pain?”
“Come on, Lana, you can do this.” Grace joined the badgering. “Hee hee hee whooo…”
“I want Whelon and Yazen on this as soon as possible.” She pulled free of their grasp and bent at the waist, gripping her knees in a white-knuckled hold. “And Chashan on Earth. All of the medical-knowledge-holding males.” She wheezed and then fought to draw in air. “They want to study human females. As War Mistress I order their winged asses to make natural childbirth less painful.”
“They’d give you drugs, and then it wouldn’t be natural childbirth.” Carla stroked Lana’s back in what was probably meant to be a soothing motion.
Lana wanted to claw Carla’s eyes out. Anything to take her mind off the fact that her uterus hated her. “I would naturally have drugs, which would make the birth natural.”
The grating that made up the floor of the hallway trembled, the heavy tread of approaching warriors vibrating through the metal and transferring to her body—her pain-wracked body. She whimpered and tilted sideways, balancing her own weight no longer an option.
Carla grunted and caught her weight—barely. The two women worked to keep Lana from collapsing and instead urged he
r to lean against the wall.
The wall. Hard. Solid. Something even her massive pregnant size couldn’t move.
Lana straightened and rested the back of her head on the metal surface, soaking in the coolness while she fought to re-center herself. The contraction eased, slowly retreating back to an uncomfortable, consistent pounding in her blood. As some of the pain drifted away, her ability to think returned-ish. It let her focus on the strengthening trembles that traveled from the ground and through her, scraping her already frayed nerves.
Distantly, she knew Carla and Grace spoke, their murmurs acting as a lulling cadence she wanted to just sink into, to allow her to get lost in the quiet whispers. She sighed and let the combination of vibrations and soft tones soothe her.
Deeper voices soon joined, those trembles drawing nearer and adding to the jumble until she could no longer hide from the world around her. Lana opened her eyes and carefully glanced around the now crowded space—several Preor warriors in their group along with a new human female—Delaney. Delaney, who recently went through labor herself and had a happy little baby cradled in a sling that crossed her chest.
Delaney got drugs, so why couldn’t Lana? Oh. Right. Delaney’s happy little baby was one hundred percent human while Lana’s were… not.
“She should go to medical.” Lana recognized that voice. A mixture of confusion and demand in one. Vende—the Engineering Master—knew the ship and everything involving the bucket of bolts better than anyone else. That didn’t mean he always understood the actions of women.
“We’re taking her to medical.” Grace had the patience of a saint and spoke slowly so all of the glaring Preors could understand her.
“Now. She should be carried.” Argan—a bright ray of walking, talking, cranky sunshine—crossed his arms over his chest. His golden wings trembled, his agitation unmistakable.
“She doesn’t need to be carried. Walking helps her labor progress.” Carla. Stupid Carla. Lana was going to… do something when she was done being in agonizing pain. Walking didn’t do shit.
“I shall carry her.” Vende again. His heart was in the right place. “Step aside.”
“No, I shall.” Choler, adorable and hilarious; he often joked with her. Even then, as her body remained wracked with pain, he tried to tease her. He waggled his eyebrows. “I have been waiting to get my hands on the War Mistress since Taulan brought her aboard.”
And that suggestive comment was one step too far for both Argan and Vende. The males were honorable and strong with a sense of right and wrong that was unbendable, which meant that when Choler—who’d spent a lot of time on Earth learning human ways—teased and flirted with her…
They took offense on Taulan’s behalf.
Violently.
Lana didn’t have the patience to break it up either.
The bickering turned into an all-out shouting match, Carla and Grace yelling at Argan and Vende not to hurt Choler because Whelon and Yazen needed to focus on Lana, not his stupid ass. And Choler? He just laughed and threw off his attackers.
As for Lana…
Lana’s world grayed for a moment, the dark threatening to overtake her vision while nausea churned in her stomach. Pain rose, muscles knotting and squeezing until she turned into one massive contraction. The aches radiated from her middle, the agony digging their claws into every nerve in her body.
She remained upright—barely—and tipped her head back until it rested against the wall. Staring at the smooth surface above, she took shallow breaths, unwilling to risk more pain that could come from breathing deeply. There was no telling what would set her off. She counted as she filled her lungs…
One. Two. Three. Four. Hold it.
Then out again.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Four in and four out and maybe she wouldn’t collapse into an agony-encrusted pile of pregnant goop.
That’d be good.
“Lana?” The voice was soft, like a gentle whisper amid all of the harsh shouts.
Even the soft gurgle of an infant was calming, and she gradually turned her head to the side. She forced her eyes open and met Delaney’s stare, noting the worry in the woman’s eyes.
Lana wanted to be polite and answer the woman, but all that came out was a grunt.
“Do you want to move? To medical?” Delaney raised her eyebrows.
Want was a stretch, but she knew she needed to be on a ryaapir unit and under Whelon’s care. As much as she whined about the Healing Master, he was excellent at his job, and the ryaapir unit could at least monitor her while her labor progressed.
Instead of verbally answering, she gave Delaney a short nod.
“Good. Let’s go this way.” Delaney held out her hand and waited for Lana. No glares or demands, just a quiet anticipation and request.
They’d get to medical at Lana’s pace and Lana… really needed to do things her way.
Lana grasped Delaney’s hand and held it tight, her free one going to the firm mound of her stomach. The twins shifted and turned inside her, the babies unsettled with their impending birth. Yeah, well, she was unsettled too. They could get in line.
She reminded herself—again—that everything would be fine. Fine. Everyone had told her often enough, so it had to be true, right?
“We’ll use this maintenance shaft,” Delaney murmured. “It’s warm and quiet and we can go at your pace, okay? No one will bother us.”
Lana grunted. Her uterus wanted the babies out. Now. Speech was not necessary to be rid of the parasites growing inside her. They were like a Jixinian Oug—similar to an Earth slug but fifty times the size and with an unending hunger for blood. Ick. Also, deadly.
One press of Delaney’s thumb to the identipad and the door to the maintenance shaft slid open, revealing a dim interior with a soft, glowing light every few feet. Delaney still held Lana’s hand as they stepped over the threshold and then the woman allowed Lana go at her own pace.
Her own very slow pace.
They shuffled down the hall, nothing but the soft hum of the ship, the brush of their feet on the bare grating, and the soft coos of the baby strapped to Delaney’s chest.
“Tell me about giving birth,” she rasped while she eased along the path. Her fingertips hardly left the wall, too worried a contraction would hit and she’d end up sprawled on the ground.
“Oh, everyone’s different…”
Lana snorted. “Yeah, you got the good drugs.”
Lana would get… nothing. There was no telling how human-Preor dragonlets handled human drugs or Preor technology. Which meant she—and other births in the near future—had to go it alone.
“Just tell me. Distract me. What was the best part? What was the worst? Anything.” She breathed deep and released the air slowly, hating the approaching contraction. It lurked in the shadows of her mind, waiting for a chance to strike. They came closer together, one on top of another, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could remain upright. Getting to medical—now—seemed like a good idea.
“Everything,” Delaney whispered, and Lana paused to look at the other woman. Delaney stared down at the bundle against her chest, tracing one chubby cheek with a single finger. “Everything was the best and everything was the worst. And all of it…” Delaney lifted her attention to Lana. “All of it was worth every amazing, agonizing second since it ended with my mate by my side and our young in my arms.”
Delaney grasped her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’ll hate every second of it, but the moment you hold those babies, you’ll forget it all.”
Lana nodded and squeezed Delaney’s hand, her newest contraction sucking the air right from her lungs. Okay, maybe she’d forget it all someday. Maybe the pain would become a distant memory.
She’d never forget the feeling of amniotic fluid soaking her pants, though.
Ever.
And she would remind her kids of that moment.
Forever.
3
Lana took a breath with e
very step. That either meant she was panting like an ancient steam engine or breathing slower than a sloth’s movements. She wasn’t sure which, and when another contraction hit as the doors to medical parted, she didn’t really care.
Joy filled her, tamping down some of the pain for a moment while she basked in the sterile scents of medical. Here they’d strap her down and get the vile demons inside her belly out of her.
Er, she meant they’d help her birth the lovely darlings she’d carried so carefully.
Right.
Parasites, she mentally grumbled.
Delaney remained at her side, hovering but not touching, and she was thankful for the woman’s restraint. It was like Lana’s skin was a great big tuning fork of pain, and she wanted drugs to make it all go away. The good ones. The ones developed by Preor for their own females. Except… she wasn’t Preor. Though, at the moment, she thought she could muster enough strength to take on an entire Preor quad if it meant she’d get those happy-happy pain inhibitors.
She opened her mouth, ready to demand them no matter what the consequences, but snapped her teeth back together. Whelon and Yazen hadn’t even glanced her way, their backs to the entrance while they remained bent over a warrior. Even with the trembles of agony shaking their way down her spine, a jolt of worry assaulted her.
It was reactionary, the War Mistress concerned for one of her crew. Lana fretting for one of the males she called friend—even if Taulan grumbled every time she talked with an unmated male.
With contractions and debilitating hurt pushed to the back of her mind, she shuffled toward the two males frantically examining their patient.
Their patient with shimmering—purple—scales that slid over his skin. At a glance they were purple, but if one watched the transition, they’d see the hint of blue that lingered before they retreated fully.
Those colors were individual to each Preor—and also very, very familiar.
“Taulan?” She thought she whispered, but it could have been a shout. Lana wasn’t really sure. Not when the overwhelming certainty that her mate was ill rolled over her. Ill, hurt, sick… something—something that had him motionless while Whelon and Yazen looked him over.