by Celia Kyle
“Taulan?” she repeated, and this time she was sure it was a yell—a yell consumed with panic. His feelings—physical and emotional—flowed through their connection. Pain. So much pain that he felt the desire to lose himself rather than experience the agony. Worry over her and how she’d react to his loss. Worry for their dragonlets growing without a sire.
Another contraction threatened, the pain increasing in gradual increments, but she didn’t have time to give birth, dammit. Her mate was… dying. A sob gripped her chest, grew into a large knot, and lodged itself in her throat. Tears stung her eyes, vision clouded and blurred by the moisture, but she didn’t have time to cry, either.
“What’s going on? What happened?” She yelled once more while the contraction shoved air from her body.
“Lana, wait.” A gentle hand landed on her arm, but she jerked away, intent on getting to Taulan.
Then two massive bodies blocked her path and she stuttered to a stop. She tilted her head back to glare at the males who dared block her. Kozav and Rendan, their wings slightly spread and shoulders broader than normal due to the presence of their inner dragons. There were determined warriors, intent on delaying her.
And then she remembered—Taulan was training in the aerie with some of his higher ranking warriors—Master warriors—that morning. Kozav, Rendan, and… Lana glanced around, searching for the fourth male of their group. She spied Zadri slightly behind her, the massive peach warrior leading his mate—Delaney—away.
Out of harm’s way? Yes, because in labor or not, Lana would do whatever it took to get to her mate. Something deep inside her told Lana that she was the only one who could help him. She was the only one who could heal him and they…
Lana swallowed, pushed down the knot in her throat, and adopted the demeanor she’d worked hard to perfect once she’d fully accepted her position as War Mistress.
She tipped her head back a hint more, jutted out her chin, and looked down her nose at the two males—well, as much as she could. “Step aside.”
“War Mistress.” Kozav shook his head as if to say no.
“Step. Aside. Both of you.” She wouldn’t be denied. Not when it came to her mate.
“Lana…” Rendan wheedled. “It is best—”
“It’s best—” she spoke through gritted teeth and fought to push the sharp pains aside. She could be strong. To assure herself of Taulan’s health, she could be strong. She’d fall apart later. “—if you move your wing-having asses out of my way. Now.”
“Truly, Lana. Let us take you—” Kozav tried again.
“Primary Warrior Kozav joi Grace Hall, move your ass. That’s an order.” Lana hated giving orders. She’d done nothing but mate Taulan to become War Mistress. She didn’t deserve the title, but she’d damn sure take advantage of her power.
Kozav’s teal wings rustled while Rendan’s dark pink ones did the same, revealing their obviously high emotions. Well, she had some high emotions for them.
Lana lowered her voice and mimicked one of her mate’s favorite “don’t fuck with me” expressions along with his casual yet diamond-hard tone. She even managed to raise a single eyebrow. “I don’t see you moving, Primary Warrior.”
“Lana,” he pleaded with her with both his eyes and his pitch, asking her to understand and not force him to move.
Lana breathed deep and clenched her fists while she gritted her teeth even harder. She wondered if they’d crack. Pain still attacked her—her own and Taulan’s—and the contraction still hadn’t ceased, the tightness still present and spreading. The weight of her babies settled low and she cupped the underside of her stomach.
Lana tried speaking directly to them. Taulan had been able to communicate with their dragonlets, but it wasn’t something that came naturally to her.
Mommy isn’t ready for you to be born yet. I need to make sure your daddy is okay.
A vague hint of distress reached for her mind, but she wasn’t sure if it was the twins or Taulan.
“Offense Master,” she snapped and curled her lip as if she had dangerous fangs to flash. “Move.”
Rendan opened his mouth and then snapped it closed only to open it again as if he was a fish attempting to breathe on land, but nothing came out—at least, not until medical’s doors parted once more and an arguing, shouting, cursing group entered the area.
Lana sighed and closed her eyes, dropping her head forward until her chin rested on her chest.
They’d found her.
“There she is!” Grace.
“Lana, I can’t believe—” Then Carla.
“It was not my offer to carry her that sent her hiding in the maintenance tunnel!” Choler, and he sounded thoroughly insulted.
“Then whose was it? You did the human flirting and then—” Argan was still scandalized. The male was adamant about following protocol and giving females the respect they deserved.
“She appreciates my flirting!” Choler was right. She did. Especially when it annoyed Taulan to no end.
Taulan…
Taulan, contractions, the babies, and her entire world existed in medical, and no one would do as she ordered. She just wanted to touch her mate—to feel his scaled flesh beneath her palm before she gave in and allowed her labor to progress. She’d cross her legs and hold the kids in until they told her what was going on. Just see if she didn’t.
“Silence!” This time, she bellowed the word and everyone fell quiet, including Whelon and Yazen. They continued their work, but no longer exchanged a word.
She had everyone’s attention. Good.
“I want every-fucking-one to get the fuck out of my fucking way. I’m going to go to my skies-damned mate, and I will kick anyone’s ass if they even try to stop me.” She let her glare encompass the room, sliding from person to person until she stared at Kozav once more.
“I do not believe she can kick as high as our asses. I have calculated the distance—” Vende fell silent with a grunt and she wondered if it was Carla or Grace who hit him. Poor, literal Vende.
“Your anger and words are not good for the dragonlets, War Mistress,” Whelon murmured.
“I do not believe they are ever good. They did not sound like the words for a female.” Yazen’s voice was a mixture of scandalized and confused.
But above and beyond the reactions she received, she didn’t see anyone moving.
Lana was wet, in pain, and ready to push two watermelons out of a hole the size of a lemon. She’d decided desperate times meant desperate measures, and she called on one irrefutable ally on the ship.
The ship itself.
Lana lifted her gaze to the ceiling. She wasn’t sure where exactly the ship’s sensors were, but “up” seemed as good a direction as any. “Penelope!”
“She has lost her mind to the dragonlets.” Whelon frowned and shook his head. “Ship, notation. War Mistress Lana—”
“Nope.” The mechanical voice interrupted Whelon and Lana smiled. “Hard pass.”
That was when everyone—the Preors, anyway—frowned as well. The human ladies all snickered, snorted, or chuckled.
Whelon tried again. “Ship—”
The mechanical voice was now feminine instead of the sexless tones it’d had when she arrived. “Lana, the Healing Master is hard of hearing. Should I see if his head is in his ass?”
God, skies, Syh, she needed that. Even through the continued aches, the lighthearted teasing was a balm to her anxiety-driven soul.
“No, I’m looking at him. It isn’t.”
The ship harrumphed as if it didn’t believe her.
“What is wrong with the ship?”
“Humans talk of viruses. Does the ship have a human virus?”
“We are in medical. Whelon, fix the ship. Get rid of this virus.”
Male voices flowed over male voices and Lana exchanged a brief grin with Delaney before she transferred it to Grace and Carla. They’d all gotten tired of the joyless, emotionless voice of the ship plus the fact that it was simply ca
lled “ship.” So they’d set out to remedy the situation—with a hint of Earth-based hacker help.
“Preors are not susceptible to human viruses. How does that not include the ship?” Vende murmured. “Ship, run a diagnostic on—”
“Nope. I’m running five by five. Lana, I can’t even…”
“Penelope, can you summon a quad to have Kozav, Rendan, Argan, Vende, and Choler removed? Actually, make it five quads. They might put up a fight.”
“As if you have to ask. Give me two secs.”
“I do not understand.” Vende’s voice was low, but Lana heard him.
“I do not believe we are meant to understand.” Argan replied, confusion and something else in his words. Suspicion?
A suspicion she didn’t want to address. She did want to give them fair warning, though. “Five quads are on their way to remove each of you—physically.”
“But not Zadri,” Kozav pointed out, eyes narrowed.
“Considering he hasn’t tried to stop me and has simply kept Delaney out of the way, he can stay. So can your mates.” She gave him a close-mouthed, frustrated smile. “But I’m going to Taulan, and then I’m having these babies—in that order—and Penelope and the other warriors will do all they can to make sure that happens.”
Another contraction embraced her, the tightening stealing her very breath, and she fought to draw air into her lungs. “Hee hee hee whooo…”
She didn’t care if she sounded funny because for some reason, focusing on the cadence helped.
It was at that moment that several things happened at once: the doors to medical parted, a rapid beep came from the medical platform that held Taulan, and the ship’s voice rose above all other sounds.
“Lana, Taulan is dying.”
4
The world around Taulan remained muffled and gray. Large callused hands on his skin kept him grounded in life while the skies tempted him to take his final flight to avoid the pain.
Pain.
It was his constant companion. A never-ending tightness that would not leave him be. Yes, his hand still throbbed and wetness coated his flesh, but it was nothing compared to the all-consuming agony that continued on and on.
Voices filled the air, one not discernable from another, but each carrying the deep, masculine tones of males. Occasionally a female voice overlaid them, the sharp edge telling him the female—females?—were agitated and angry. Why had the males not given the females all they desired? Why did they continue to upset the females?
Why…
The tightness struck once more, wrapping around his abdomen and encompassing his body from chest to knees. It squeezed and constricted, encouraging him to curl into a small ball.
Instinctually, he fought to do just that, to roll onto his side and condense his large size as small as possible, but…
But when he pulled, he found himself bound. Bound? Who would dare bind the War Master? Had he been taken captive?
Taulan tried once more and a moan escaped his lips. Damn his weakness to the skies! He had not whined like a dragonlet when he’d lost his wings. He should be stronger even as he suffered this torture at his captives’ hands.
The voices surrounding him increased, murmurs transforming into… shouts? He was not sure. Not when his mind remained muddled and blanketed by dark clouds. But one voice, one feminine tone edged with a hard line of determination, reached out to him. It stretched for his mind and gave him the strength to fight past the overwhelming pain.
“Shaa kouva,” he whispered the endearment, pushing the three syllables past dry lips.
Grunts and growls filled the air only to be followed by female voices he recognized—recognized, yet didn’t? Was that possible?
He did not know. In truth, he did not want to know, not when a set of scratchy hands were replaced by the delicate caress of his mate’s fingers. He sighed and turned his head, leaning into her gentle touch. The feel of her hands on his body—sliding over his chest, up his neck to finally cup his cheek—did nothing for the pain, but it gave him the strength to push past its unending assault.
Taulan should regret Lana’s presence. He should rage that she’d also been captured by the ones who hurt him so badly, but… but he truly was a dragonlet at heart, a young male in need of comfort.
He nuzzled her palm and breathed deep, drawing her scent into his lungs. He savored the sweetness tinged with a hint of other that came from their dragonlets still resting inside her.
“Shaa kouvi,” she murmured in return and then warm, moist lips caressed his forehead—a gentle kiss that did much to soothe the rampaging aches that continued to plague him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Her voice sounded nearly as strained as his own, and he wondered if it was a trick. If his captors somehow pretended to be his mate and yet…
Yet her mind brushed his, that connection calming the raging even more. It was a tie they shared, one that grew day by day, and he welcomed each new strand that tied them together.
Some of the darkness receded, the knots of his muscles slowly relaxing until the desire for his final flight was no more. Shadows became dim lights, blurred figures hovering over him, their attention intent on his body. His mate remained on his left, her face nearest his, her eyes filled with worry and… pain? Why was she—
“Taulan?” The masculine voice came from the right, and he slowly turned his head. A swath of gray—even down to the male’s scales spread across his chest—met his sight.
“Whelon.” Did he say the male’s name aloud? Or merely in his mind? “Captured as well?”
Those few words exhausted him, but he would not let fatigue steal him away again. His mate—their dragonlets—were in danger as long as they remained with an enemy.
“You are not captured, friend, merely in medical.” The male drew closer, stormy eyes gradually coming into focus. “You are injured, but the scans do not reveal the cause. Where is the source of your pain?”
Taulan frowned. Injured? A memory prodded him, pushing past the haze caused by a new, growing tension inside him. He moved to lift his hand, but the bindings kept him restrained. “Hand.” How did they not see the blood that still flowed from his wound? “Bound? Why?”
Lana’s grip on his hand tightened, her squeeze growing in strength with each beat of his heart. He found he did not care about the answer to his questions. Instead, he pulled his attention from Whelon and focused on Lana once more. Her lips were pressed together so hard they merely formed a white slash above her chin. Those sparkling eyes were now dull, the wrinkles at the corners revealing her pain.
“Shhh…” He could not pull her into his arms, but he could rub his cheek over her palm. He did just that, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin. “Am well, shaa kouva.”
It was a lie, and he recognized the dishonor in lying to his mate, but a bearing female had to be protected from all harsh realities—including the death of her mate, for he surely had to be dying.
The pain reached for its peak once again, body attempting to turn itself inside out, and he gritted his teeth against the need to roar with the agony. He forced his eyes to remain open, demanding his body not succumb to the torture and keep his mate within sight. If he was to die, it would be with the memory of Lana fresh in his mind.
Which allowed him to see that she was not merely in pain. No, she experienced his. It wracked her body, her form trembling, hands shaking, and her face hardened into a firm mask. She did not merely sense his agony, she felt it.
Unacceptable.
“Whelon,” He fought past the need to remain immobile. “Remove her.”
“No.” Her tone left no room for argument, but the war master did not have to argue. He merely had to order.
“Yes.” His voice was harder, more determined. His Lana—how he loved her—could never be as hard as he. “Remove her from medical.”
Murmurs and growls came from behind the healing master, and the blur of red that hovered at Whelon’s side disappeared. Red… Yazen. The prim
ary healing warrior. Of course the male would be present. He was always present and would make a fine healing master someday.
Too bad Taulan would not be alive to see the male attain such a position.
Whispers rose, murmurs and growls countered by female hisses. Humans were not the same as Preors, but he had discovered that females—no matter the race—were similar. Preor females hissed to announce displeasure. Human females hissed while putting their displeasure into sharp words—sharp words he had received from Lana more than once since they had mated.
He’d loved each and every one.
“Taulan.” Tight. Strained. Low. Rasp. Her tiny nails dug into his flesh, not breaking skin but nearly so. That edge of pain drew his mind from the mounting agony and allowed him to focus on his mate.
“Shaa kouva, please. Do not stay and experience this with me.” He swallowed hard, shoving back the nausea that consumed him. It was getting worse. Whatever it was. It had grown to a point that his body betrayed him, so strong his stomach wished to depart his body.
“I won’t leave you.” She hissed those words. Out of pain or anger. Staring into her eyes filled with both determination and fury while her jaw remained tense and clenched, he decided it was a mixture of both. “Not now. Not ever.”
The whispers caught his ear, feminine tones he’d heard in the past, ones filled with authority and demand as she ordered others to do her bidding. “Grace.” He turned his head toward the voices. “Make her leave. The dragonlets…”
His mate and dragonlets should not experience the strain of his death. Not when she was so near presentation.
More whispers. Harsh. Low. As if he wasn’t meant to hear. But the tightening of his center eased and his dragon ventured forth, determination in its every movement. The beast had suffered worse—his wings burned away during battle. This pain was a minor inconvenience.
At least, that was the impression it tried to give. Taulan knew better. Taulan knew he faced death just as the dragon refused to acknowledge.