by Kyle, Celia
“Sorry,” the woman whispered. “That was… He…”
Lana pasted a smile—no matter how fake—on her lips. She waved away whatever the Ujal attempted to say. “It’s fine. I imagine most of the men—males,” she quickly corrected herself. The term man was for humans. Aliens were males. A subtle difference that mattered. “Are all a little intimidating. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.” The last few words replayed themselves in her head and she winced. “I mean, if I’m hired.”
The Ujal’s unease gradually dissipated, and she found that the woman’s smile edged from fake to real as she calmed. “I’m sure. They’re not bad, it’s just…”
“Different?”
The Ujal female nodded. “Yes, different. We’ve all been on edge since the destruction on the Preor ship, and only investigated individuals are permitted entrance to the station.”
Lana raised her eyebrows and gestured at the door. “I walked right in.”
The smile wasn’t condescending per se, but it did have a little “bless your heart” in it. “The systems scanned your face and identified you before unlocking the door. We’d already researched you prior to requesting your presence. The technology does the rest.”
Well, at least her identity stood up against the Ujal. Money well spent, then.
“Charlotte communicated with the station earlier and indicated she’d be approximately thirty minutes late. The younglings in her care became distracted by a pod of dolphins and several younglings followed without permission.” Lana could just bet. Kids would be kids whether on land or in the sea. “You’re welcome to wait here in the lobby.” The Ujal female gestured around, and Lana noted the distinct lack of anywhere to sit. “Or walk the beach. She’ll be entering through the covered bay, and she and a few younglings will join you on the sand.”
Right. Because the people—aliens—she wanted to work for lived in the sea and were at home on the beach. Considering they essentially turned into mermaids, she could understand their love of the water. It looked like she’d have to learn to love it as well. With eighty-five percent of the station occupied and operated by Ujal, she’d probably be involved with a lot of sand-based activities. Plus, really, her job was—would be—to help rescued younglings transition from a land-based life to one that involved the ocean.
Lana nodded. “Sure, it’ll be nice to take a walk on the sand. It seems beautiful out.”
The woman gave her a true, joyous smile. “The sea is cool and the sand soft today. I’m sure you’ll love it. Charlotte will locate you upon her arrival.”
“Perfect,” she lied. It was anything but perfect. She didn’t want to traipse across the beach. She wanted a job. She wanted to get paid. She wanted… Her stomach grumbled, and neither woman said a word about the sound. She wanted a job so she could get paid and eat.
Instead, she got salty air, sticky sand, and a half-hour wait.
“It sounds perfect.”
3
Just because Taulan no longer had wings did not mean the temper and fire of his dragon was gone as well. The skies were lost to him forever, but the burning need for air on his scales had not lessened. It remained firmly entrenched in his heart, his flesh and bones seeming to call for the freedom of flight. It’s what brought him to Preor Tower, drawing him to the uppermost levels occupied by the War and Defense Masters and their mates. He could stand on the balcony, spread his arms, and bathe in the strong winds that flowed from the seas. His skin instinctively reacted to the salty air, as if he still had wings to be dried out by the briny breeze. Now he was nearly as human as Earthlings.
He leaned against the removable railing that lined the War Master’s balcony, leaning over the metal bars and closing his eyes. He could almost imagine flying above the city below, taking to the air over Tampa and releasing his fire into the skies.
But he could not—not ever. And not only because the practice had been forbidden by War Master Jarek after his fight against a dozen hateful Preor sent the city into mass panic.
The sliding glass door rumbled as it was shoved open and a high-pitched giggle reached him a split-second before a tiny body barreled into his legs. He leaned away from the railing and turned his attention to the dragonlet—youngling—clinging to him. Her wide smile and delicate scales, as well as the sparkling eyes, reminded him of her dam—the Ujal principessa.
It wasn’t the principessa but Melissa who quickly chased after the child. “Theresa fa’Vyl-Zeret, how many times…” Melissa stomped into sight. She was a true War Mistress and perfect counterpart to the Preor War Master. Where his superior was well-aged and strong, capable of defending against any attacker, his mate was slight but no less fierce. Together, they’d conquered those Preor warriors.
A fight he wished he could have seen. But he’d still been unconscious, still held in stasis while the healers… tried to find an answer that would never appear. It wasn’t long after that bloody fight that Taulan was brought out of the healing sleep, body repaired yet missing parts.
Missing wings.
He’d gone from Taulan sen Pavon, Primary Warrior to Jarek joi Melissa, War Master of the Third Preor Fleet, to simply… Taulan, son of no one, beloved by none. No one had demoted him—yet—but he’d lost that integral part of himself when two explosions rocked the Preor ship. They shook the entire vessel and injured or killed many when all was said and done. Senseless violence. Stupidity. Ignorance. Choose any descriptor and it would apply to those who’d attempted to interfere in the alliance between the Preor, Ujal, and Earth.
Melissa’s gaze fell on Taulan, her anger softening slightly before she turned her attention farther south—to the youngling still clinging to his leg. “Theresa Melissa fa’Vyl-Zeret.”
So many names for such a little female. Then he recalled War Mistress Melissa’s words. “What the Preor desire isn’t about taking mates. It’s about blending our lives together just as the Ujal and humans have in the past. The Knowing allows us to find each other, but compromise will be what ties us.”
Compromise. A strange thing for a Preor to consider. Especially when it was put alongside the Knowing.
The Knowing. The genetic recognition between a male and female that identified them as mates. It also granted the couple the genetic knowledge of the Preor people. Every event, every thought, every question, would be answered in a moment by the Knowing. It brought the couple closer than any human marriage and gave them the tools to form a relationship that would withstand the passage of time. It… was a thing he would never experience for himself. It was why he’d come to Preor Tower, why he’d requested entrance and why he still waited for War Master Jarek.
Finding a match on Earth was an impossibility, especially after losing his wings. He was no longer a worthy male. Not when he was unable to take to the skies and defend his mate if necessary.
Taulan smiled down at the youngling, hiding his envy while he ran his fingers through the young one’s hair. He ruffled her curls and treasured Theresa’s laugh. “You must listen to Miss Meli, young one.”
That smile turned into a tiny frown, her bow-shaped lips forming a small pucker. She would be dangerous when she came of age. She would have every male sniffing after her even if the male knew Theresa was not their mate. All would still crave a taste of the older fa’Vyl-Zeret. Theresa turned her attention to Melissa, and the youngling smiled widely until her dimples appeared.
“Miss Meli, I’s saying hi to Unca’ Taulan.”
Uncle Taulan even though he was not much more than a stranger. Yet in a short time, he’d become ensnared by Jarek and Melissa, by the Ujal prince and his principessa—by Theresa herself. Tave and Rina fa’Vyl-Zeret welcomed him with open arms, and he’d gone from simply Taulan to Uncle Taulan.
Melissa did not appear to be accepting of the youngling’s explanation. “Uh-huh. Inside, young lady. Just because Uncle Taulan is out here doesn’t make it okay for you to barrel into him. What if the railing hadn’t been secure? What if you’d hit him and it gave way
? He doesn’t…”
Her voice trailed off at the end, but he knew her next words even if she didn’t put them to voice.
He doesn’t have wings.
The reminder brought him back to one of the reasons for his visit. Jarek. Preor. Home.
Taulan reached down, grasped young Theresa, and hoisted her into his arms. He curled one so she could rest on his forearm, and she quickly encircled his neck. Her laugh bounced off the walls and echoed through the air, and he found himself smiling with the young one’s joy. “Come, let us go inside and stop scaring your Miss Meli.” He could not call the War Mistress by her true name. It seemed like a betrayal to speak with such familiarity. He was a warrior—a Primary Warrior, but a warrior, still. He did not have the right to speak the word. “If you are good, I will—“
“I go b’ch?” Such excitement lingered in her eyes, the Ujal princess’ joy nearly a tangible thing. She vibrated, her anticipation and wonder thrumming through him. The youngling was always anxious to go to the sea, even if she did sleep beneath its waves each night.
He raised a single brow, his attention shifting back to War Mistress Melissa. Melissa acted as the youngling’s minder while her parents ruled the Ujal on Earth, even though her own position within the Preor put her above such tasks. Her permission was necessary. At her nod, he spoke. “I will take you, but you must not stray from the dry sands. If you enter the waters, I cannot assist you and I will not take you ever again.”
“No water?” Her plump lower lip trembled. If Taulan wasn’t so familiar with Theresa’s attempts at subterfuge, he would have fallen for the expression.
“No water.” His tone brooked no argument. Theresa, looking and sounding much older than her handful of years, harrumphed and crossed her small arms over her chest. “Take it or leave it.”
It was an expression he’d learned recently from Earth television.
“Fine,” she grumbled and pouted just a little more, but he wouldn't relent. Not when her care would shift to him once they stepped from the War Master’s condo.
“Good.” He tightened his hug for a spare moment and tried to pretend he wasn’t envious and aching to have a youngling—dragonlet—of his own.
Taulan followed Melissa through the home, carefully stepping over scattered toys and overturned furniture. The youngling definitely had a wild streak.
Once they reached the front door, he waited while Melissa tugged the portal wide, but he stopped before he stepped through.
“You will notify him…”
There was no question about the him.
“Tell him? Who him?” Melissa raised her eyebrows.
He leveled a heavy stare at Melissa. “You know why I wish to speak with the War Master.”
He hated the gruffness in his tone.
“I know why you think you need to speak with him. Reality is different.” Melissa reached for him, and the wall at his back held him immobile. “You are a good and worthy—“
Taulan darted to his left and out the front door, unwilling to hear her words. He’d made his choice. He would return home to lick his wounds and then finally throw himself off a high aerie like any other male in his situation would. “We will be at the water’s edge should any wish to find us.” He stepped farther into the hallway that led to the elevators. “When we are finished, we will walk back to UST. If the prince and principessa are not in residence, I will return her.”
He would not allow anything to happen to the youngling. He might not have his own—ever—but he would forever be careful with the future of all Preors. Joyful relations between the Ujal and Preor dictated their future.
Not waiting for a reply, he strode toward the small metal boxes that would take them to the ground floor. If he had his wings, he would have simply…
But he did not have wings. So when Theresa begged to press the down button, he lowered and allowed her to stab the plastic disk with her chubby finger. His smile matched hers when she released her scream of victory. Such small things were so precious to young ones. Pressures and heartache didn’t weigh on younglings.
No, that waited until they’d gained two hundred years, when they’d attained their life goals. That was when the world pulled the sky from beneath their wings and sent their lives into an unending spin.
Taulan held his breath inside the elevator, hating his dependence on rudimentary Earth machinery. If he had his wings…
He wondered if there would ever be a day that the simple words did not cross his mind.
As though his body remembered the path while his mind was distracted, he found himself striding across the pale sand on Tampa’s shores. The waves rolled in and out, the slow tempo scraping against his nerves. It soothed both humans and Ujal alike, but the sound was simply a reminder of a Preor’s most deadly adversary. Once water touched a dragon’s wings, once it got ahold of those scales, the male would be lost. Something so innocuous yet so fatal to his kind.
Theresa wiggled and twitched, small hands pushing against his chest while she tried to pry herself from his grip. “Unca’ Taulan, Unca’ Taulan, w’nna see.”
He lowered the wriggling girl to the sands. “Don’t go into the—“
He should have saved his breath. Because the moment he set her on the ground, she was gone. It was no more than twenty feet to the ocean’s edge, and she crossed it between one blink and the next. Had she been a human child, he would have caught her in the shallows.
But she wasn’t a human child—she was Ujal. So the moment her feet hit the ocean waters, she was gone.
Leaving him, as always, alone.
Until a high-pitched voice nearly shattered his eardrums. Two such voices, actually.
One young and fearful. “‘elp!”
One older and alluring, despite the rage filling each syllable. “Are you fucking crazy?”
No. No he was not. At least he did not believe himself to be. It was hard to say, in truth. Because as the human word fucking echoed in his mind, so did something else. Something ageless and unknown. Or rather, known.
It was the Knowing, and it brought Taulan to his knees.
4
Lana watched the events unfold as if it were a movie. The opening scene had a hot guy holding an adorable toddler, tickling her and laughing with the child. A pang totally unrelated to hunger struck her, one that begged for a perfect life that involved a husband and children. It wasn’t something she could waste time on. Not when her attention should rest solidly on feeding and clothing herself, on securing a roof over her head.
Which she could have if her interview went well and she prayed it did.
The toddler wiggled her way out of the man’s arms, and his deep baritone rose above the waves. It resonated against something deep inside her. She shivered with the sound and fought to squash the flare of desire that blossomed to life. She could ogle the hot man later.
Then…
The child darted for the waves. No, not just darted, she raced as fast as those short, chubby legs could carry her. And the hottie… did nothing but prop his hands on his hips and watch the kid disappear beneath the ocean’s surface.
The child didn’t come back up.
Lana took one step and then two, gaze darting between the man and where the girl vanished. He still hadn’t moved, and his inaction spurred her into motion. Even if the toddler could swim like Michael Phelps, she would still be no match for the tumultuous seas.
The pale face of the girl appeared between the waves, and Lana realized she was a good hundred yards out.
A strangled child’s voice had her digging for strength. “‘elp!”
How the hell did the kid get so far?
She lost her shoes between one step and the next, her suit jacket quickly following when she wrenched her arms free of the fabric. She couldn’t do anything about the skirt still encasing her thighs, but she’d worry about it once she held the youngster close.
Adrenaline fueled her race, the hormone sending her heart rate skyrocketing and b
lood rapidly pumping through her veins. It bolstered her muscles, giving her more strength and speed.
“Are you fucking crazy?” She snarled the words at the motionless man, furious that he’d allowed a toddler to…
Lana took a deep breath and dove into the waves. The current snatched at her clothes, weighing her down and tugging her this way and that. She yanked the fabric of her skirt higher up her legs until it bunched around her waist, leaving her free of its confinement. Air remained locked in her lungs, fueling her body as she swam into the salt water and toward where she’d last seen the child.
Something tickled her mind, pressing and pushing in on her thoughts, but she battered it back. Her focus had to remain on the toddler—on getting her to safety.
She surfaced and paused, gaze searching the turbulent sea. The bobbing head peeked above the water to her left, another fifty feet.
A deep breath in and then she was off, legs kicking and arms moving, body doing as her mind demanded. Her mind… Something still pushed and pressed. Thoughts? Memories?
The Knowing.
What the fuck was that?
A recognition of…
Lana pushed the thoughts away and strengthened her mind.
She let soul-deep determination into every part of her body. She would get to the girl. She would save her. And no amount of interference would stop her. Not mental, not physical. So if an alien attempted to distract her with the weird knowing thing, they could try their games on someone else.
She lifted her head once more and saw that less than ten feet separated her from the child. In a blinding rush, she put all her strength behind the next stroke and the next, and then she held the girl close, soothing words leaving her lips in a panting rush.
“I’ve got you. Hush. I have you. Rest easy. Relax,” she babbled, syllables tripping over themselves between heavy gasps as she sought to calm the toddler. When her pulse slowed, so did her breathing and that was when other things became obvious to her.