“The signs actually read dragon and fire. So yeah, dragon shifter is my guess.”
“Seems like a safe bet,” Diablo croaked.
“Latent?” Gunn hardly recognized the harsh rasp coming from his throat.
“I guess,” his brother said, adding a muttered, “Maybe she won’t change. Transition usually happens at puberty if it’s ever going to.”
“If I’m right about what she is then she’s just now entering adolescence.”
“Am I robbing the nest?” Diablo’s face lengthened and his eyes glinted with pain.
Gunn shrugged, taking. in his brother’s stricken expression.
“Once sexual maturity begins, it goes fast.”
“She’s legally an adult, right?”
“Bloody dragons, you’re one stubborn male.”
Diablo gave a rusty chuckle. “Better watch your language. She might take offense.”
Gunn snorted, an occasional derogatory dragon curse was the least of their troubles.
“Any mating sign?”
“No.”
Thank Safara, Goddess of fire.
“That’s good then.”
“Don’t count on it lasting. She hasn’t even regained consciousness. I don’t think I’ll have much choice.” Diablo gave him a sheepish smile. “If she’ll have me—I’m hers”
Gunn shook his head, trying to clear it.
“She could reject you.”
“Yeah, she might send both of us packing.” Gloom darkened Diablo’s hard expression. “Can mating happen one-sided? You know, like I want her and she doesn’t give a shit?”
The question chilled Gunn’s hot blood. If she rejected Diablo, he’d still fight to the death to claim her. And if the male felt half of the craving gripping Gunn, then he couldn’t blame him.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, clinging to the thin comfort that so far, neither one of them exhibited mating sign. “Did you taste her?”
Diablo lifted his chin. “Yeah.”
No point in pushing further, his brother’s attitude said it was already over and Gunn and the dream of a pan-galactic alliance had lost. Soon the bonding marks would appear.
Gunn had a chance to escape, if he got away and stayed far enough from her until the bond with Diablo became permanent, and if the connection went both ways.
A few too many ifs for his comfort or safety. Even if he managed to avoid enslavement to the tiny dragon shifter, he couldn’t run Skynet by himself.
The base of his horns itched. What a mess. He had to leave while he had a choice.
Before he’d taken two strides, she moved. A flutter of her eyelids held him in place like a tractor beam. Her skin was damp with sweat—a fever?
“Why is she burning up? What did the medi-unit say?” He glowered at Diablo. Aware that he was a whole lot more bothered than he should be by the thought of her discomfort.
“Concussion, couple of broken ribs—the usual bumps and bruises.” Diablo frowned, watching her. “I fixed the bones, reduced the swelling, and healed the surface damage. You’re right, she’s too hot. I don’t like it—makes me think the unit missed something.”
“Sponge her off with a cool cloth—that’ll help bring down her temperature.”
Diablo nodded while crossing to the replicator. He keyed in the order. “None of her injuries should make her burn up. There’s something else wrong.”
“Might be part of her transition,” Gunn knew Diablo was hiding something, but he was afraid to probe too hard. What could be worse than an imperial dragon shifter? He shuddered.
His brother pulled out a tray of wet linens and headed for the female. “Maybe, maybe not, she’s past puberty and still latent. She might never change.”
It took Gunn a second to remember what they were talking about, her first shift. The transition might kill her.
The solution to their problems made Gunn feel sick, weak, and almost faint. Demons were strong, always. The unprecedented reaction shook him to his bones.
“I’ve got to check out what’s happening topside. If you leave, be sure to secure her.” He forced himself to cross to the exit.
Diablo scowled, sponging her arm.
“Give me two seconds. I’ll be right behind you.”
Gunn didn’t ask if he wanted to bring the shifter. Why start an argument he’d never win? He already had enough problems.
Chapter Four
A steady chime roused Zaynah. Not loud or harsh, the sound still registered as a warning, penetrating her exhaustion. Beneath the gentle chiming deep male voices rumbled in argument.
Careful to keep her breaths slow and even, she peered through her lashes. Her head throbbed like a percussion instrument. Turning her head a fraction of a kiltron sent waves of nausea to her clenched stomach. She froze, sticking with the current slice of her environment rather than risk moving again. The sparse room told her little. A lack of windows ruled out location clues or even whether it was day or night.
Moving only her eyes, the dispute, an arm’s length from where she lay, riveted her attention. Their harsh tones and gruffness made it hard for her understand what they said. Nothing in the sterile space, especially not the men looked familiar. Taller than the biggest warriors and rippling with powerful muscles, their attractiveness made looking away a challenge. The closer of the two glanced in her direction. Long, thick lashes fringed hazel eyes, matching dark eyebrows winged in wicked suggestion over a wide forehead. Inky black hair curled over the neck of a standard one-piece. The second man scowled at her. His fierce expression didn’t detract from his chiseled features.
They shared the same strong bone structure, but he had midnight-blue eyes instead of hazel. They could’ve been clones other than for slight differences in size and eye color.
She blinked and the masculine beauty vanished. Red scaly monsters complete with pointy ears, horns, hooves, and a dangerous barbed tails replaced the tall, dark, and handsome pair.
Demons, she swallowed a gasp of sheer terror as her heart accelerated. Location, time, and purpose remained a mystery, but she recognized danger.
They kept snarling at each other. To her relief, they ignored her while their discussion continued without escalating into mayhem.
She took advantage of their distraction to study the males. At least, she assumed they were male. Scales covered them from head to toe, so she’d based her gender guess on their size and unsupported feminine intuition. They were the first actual demons she’d ever seen.
After watching for several minutes, her heart rate slowed to almost normal. She began noting small differences. Both topped two milors in height, hazel eyes a bit taller than midnight-blue. The shorter had slightly broader shoulders. Glistening scales emphasized their heavy musculature. Large, powerful, and angry they intimidated her. Had she been well enough to move, she would’ve hidden.
If they’d been human, their size would’ve made them slow and clumsy. Rumor said demons, even the largest adults, especially high-level males had incredible speed and smooth coordination.
Forced to stay put, fear raised chill bumps on her arms and chest. She willed away the dread that would only hamper any action, forcing herself to take deep, calming breaths.
The taller one’s attention flickered over her again.
Their scent wafted past her nose, catching her off guard. The aroma invaded her sinuses, leaving her dizzy with an insane craving. Unable to resist the intoxicating fragrance, she inhaled, savoring the nuances of two distinct, but equally delicious chocolates. The eternally appealing smell held the irresistible lure of her favorite sweets and not the inexpensive syn stuff either. Their brand of seduction hit her like the high-priced, full-flavored, one-hundred-percent decadent indulgence she’d only sampled on feast days.
The closest scent had a base of rich, dark chocolate with sea salt and a kick of cayenne that made her burn. The other male’s flowed from bittersweet blended with a layer of her favorite green tea, and something sinfully erotic that oug
ht to be a controlled substance.
Their combined aroma made her mouth water and her skin itch to rub against their deliciousness. She fought the seductive bouquet, which must be a demon trick designed to lure innocent women to their deaths or worse.
To distract herself from the dangerous rogues, she turned her gaze back to the sparse room, scanning the area as thoroughly as possible while maintaining the illusion she remained unconsciousness.
The rolling bed she rested on suggested a medical facility, although no physician or even diagnostic hologram appeared. A simple droid tech, in sleep mode, filled one corner. The demons blocked the only visible exit.
A memory floated on edge of her mind, dancing maddeningly out of reach. Perhaps she’d been in this kind of facility before. Aside of the vague, almost-remembered, experience nothing seemed familiar.
She had no recollection of coming here—wherever here was.
In fact, a lot of vital information seemed to be missing. She frowned then quickly smoothed her brow and slowed her breathing, praying they hadn’t noticed the lapse in feigned slumber.
A few moments of unproductive scouring of her frighteningly blank mind, she decided to concentrate on indisputable facts. Demons were dangerous. The unbound males, called rogues were the most unpredictable, and the deadliest of a vicious species.
She didn’t recall when or where she’d learned these basic tenets, she ignored another disturbing gap and surreptitiously, she checked herself for injuries.
Gauging by her killer headache and extreme fatigue, she braced for major damage. Nothing. Not a scrape or a bruise. She clenched her molars to keep from laughing. Certain if she gave in giggles would slip into hysteria.
Even disoriented, exhausted, and possibly brain-damaged, she knew enough not to draw the demons’ attention.
Neither of them carried an owner’s mark, which made them rogues—lethal menaces—in need of immediate extinction.
Uncontrolled demons drank human baby’s blood for first meal and used women in unspeakable ways before killing them. She didn’t understand exactly what their torture involved, but that hardly mattered. They were a deadly threat. Something about this particular pair niggled at the edge of her thoughts. Unable to grasp the elusive data, she let it go, accepting another unsolved mystery.
She shook her head, trying to clear her mind and regretted the demon-begotten impulse before the ill-considered movement ceased.
Her stomach lurched and her skull throbbed like a smashed gourd or at least how she imagined a smashed gourd would throb. The tangible signs of a blow to the head gave her an odd hope. Injuries healed. With time, her memories might return. She hoped so, she missed things she must’ve had — friends, family, a past.
With a painful start, she realized she had no idea who she was, what she did, or where she’d come from. She didn’t even know her name. For some reason, the loss of identity hurt more than the brutal headache. She grieved as if her dearest friend, who she didn’t recall either, had been ripped away from her.
One of her captors shot an unhappy glare in her direction before leaving.
The other demon crossed to where she lay helpless. After placing the back of his hand on her forehead and checking her life signs, he left too.
His touch had been caring—tender. For a few seconds, she kept as immobile as the pale green walls, afraid to breathe, certain that leaving her unguarded was a trick.
Several seconds ticked by without either male reappearing.
She lifted her head very slowly, anxious to avoid another wave of nausea. Her wrists and ankles had been bound to the table. She didn’t remember her name, but the thick syn-leather straps told her what she was—the demons’ captive.
The fastenings holding her in down had enough slack for her to prop up on her elbows. A damp cloth fell. A sip-bottle of water teetered close to her right hand.
A cloudy recollection of being treated for training injuries flitted through her thoughts. She grimaced when the effort to hold the memory made her head pound harder.
She examined a small lump on her temple. She found a few other tender spots along with smooth patches of new skin. Someone had healed the worst of her injuries.
One of the demons must be a healer. The idea of them taking care of her was more disturbing than her damage. Unable to wrap her head around the contradiction of a kind and helpful demon, she took another inventory of herself. She wore a plain, unfastened, undershirt and utilitarian panties. She discovered no obvious sign of sexual assault. Not raping her didn’t exactly make them heroes. Perhaps they had other preferences for bed sport partners. Someone had stripped her outer clothing, including shoes. Worse, she had no weapons.
A frown of concentration creased her brow as she puzzled over why she’d assume that her armament had been confiscated—another addition to the growing mystery list. Logical or not, she was certain she’d be much happier free with a good knife concealed in her boot.
She’d been restrained for a reason. The why continued to dance out of reach, increasing her frustration. Her memories would return. They had to. In the meantime, she needed to rely on her wits to protect herself from the monsters.
With a bit of luck, she’d discover amazing skills or hidden strengths, which improved her chances for escape. She brought her bound wrists to her mouth and tried gnawing. To her shock the tough syn-bands parted. With some painful contorting, she chewed through the ankle straps. Free, she rubbed an exploratory fingertip over her canines and drew blood. She beamed. Sharp teeth qualified as an unexpected asset, unless they just arrived. Did they make me a demon?
She peered at her body and patted the parts she couldn’t see, finding no other useful attributes. She combed through her hair with trembling fingers, paying particular attention to the sides. No horns and her ears seemed reassuringly rounded. At least she hadn’t been turned into a monster. She sighed in relief.
She didn’t even know if a species conversion was possible, but she feared finding out the hard way she’d become her own worst nightmare.
Her impressive dental equipment could have a million explanations. For all she knew she’d been born with honed canines.
A trace of the monster’s intoxicating scent teased her nostrils, distracting her from the tooth issue. She added a keen nose to her plus column.
She climbed down from the table with slow and careful movements, intending to explore the medi-center more thoroughly.
The droid whirred to life before she’d taken a second step.
“May I be of service, Miss?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you—just a little sore and hungry.”
“There’s a replicator next to the wound care cabinet, an analgesic should help alleviate your soreness. Is there anything else I can do to assist you?” the mech asked.
“No, I’ll take it from here. Thanks.”
She took a couple of moments to locate the replicator hidden behind a panel. Quickly, she put it to work, producing cool water, olive oil, a pile of crispy pork sides, sturdy knee-boots, the better to conceal a blade, and one-piece that fit. On a whim, she rejected the default setting for the garment—basic black, choosing a ruby red.
When she tried to order a knife, the demon-cursed machine informed her, replicating weapons required a security code. She keyed in random number sequences. After half a dozen tries, the blasted device shut down. The access key was one more item on the long list of useful information she lacked.
More disturbing, she’d begun questioning the few things she thought she could count on. Basics, such as demons are evil, rabid, people eaters. The standard definition just didn’t match up with the males, who’d healed her injuries, cooled her fever, and provided a sip-bottle of water.
They’d bound her hand and foot. Better not get carried away with empathy or I’ll wind up on the menu when they grow bored with whatever they intend to do with me.
She shivered, wondering if demon’s cruelty to women involved erotic torture. The idea hel
d way too much appeal. The head injury must be more serious than she’d realized. She needed to find a way out of the building.
The exit panel slid open at her approach. She peered hopefully into the corridor beyond, hoping for location clues. Nothing in the passageway resonated as familiar.
She shrug off the disappointment and prowled down the utilitarian hall, sniffing.
After a few impromptu turns, she picked up a trace of the taller demon’s delicious dark chocolate. Seconds later, she caught a whiff of bittersweet.
Her lips curved. An attraction to demons went beyond foolish straight into insane, but enjoying the males’ intoxicating fragrances seemed harmless. Her mouth softened and watered when she thought about tasting them. So what if they had sharp teeth? She had a set of her own. Perhaps she’d bite first. Might be fun.
The wall in front of her vibrated. Saved by that slight warning, she took a giant step backward, a good choice. A seamless panel parted and the two dangerous males from the medi-center strode through the opening.
Still larger than the average man back on Basilisk Prime, they exhibited no monster signs. She scanned them carefully again. The horns, talons, and pointy ears had vanished. They were exceptionally attractive, powerful men—not demons.
Just how hard did I hit my head?
Aside from being bigger than other warriors, better looking, and smelling utterly lickable there was nothing out of the ordinary about either man.
“You’re up.” The taller narrowed his eyes, evaluating her, but his rough voice held reassuring notes of tender concern. He didn’t mention her missing bonds.
Bittersweet stepped closer. “Where’d you get this?”
She glanced at a slim metal cylinder he held and shrugged. “I don’t recognize it. Does it belong to me?”
“It was in your pocket,” he muttered and disappeared the devise. “It carries Xeth’s scent.”
The name meant nothing to her. She finger combed her already smooth hair.
“I’ve got a few memory gaps.” A slight understatement, but they don’t need to know how little she recalled.
“What’s the last thing you remember, babe?” Dark chocolate, slid between them, cutting off bittersweet’s access.
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