Ivoth (Scifi Alien Weredragon Romance) (Dragons of Preor Book 7)

by Celia Kyle

  Triem. Triem with his overwhelming guilt. He’d been the male to interrupt them and remind Elle of Ivoth’s purpose on Earth. The younger male refused to accept that it was Ivoth’s own actions that drove Elle into the clearing—not Triem’s discovery.

  But the truth could not eliminate guilt.

  Another lowered to the seat, the rustle of wings telling him it was a Preor, and the heavy scent of cleansers identifying the male as a healer. Ivoth lifted his attention from Elle’s chest but kept hold of her wrist. He would not take his attention away from her fully. Not ever again.

  “Ivoth,” Healing Master Whelon murmured. The male had rushed from Penelope the moment he learned of a female’s need.

  “I will not depart. I will not rest elsewhere.” He repeated the same message he’d given others and then dropped his attention to Elle.

  “That is not my purpose. A Preor can withstand much. Your behavior is destructive, but not fatal.”

  Whelon said no more, and Ivoth let his mind wander once again. He drifted in Elle’s thoughts, allowing his to be dragged along the lazy river of her imaginings. She shied from the pain—as did he—but she also brought forward memories. Memories that shamed him.

  When they first met and he growled at her.

  When she gifted him with the first of many smiles and he scowled.

  When she caressed his bare skin and he…

  He pulled away from the recollections, but dream-Elle beckoned him to return. She encouraged him to experience the events once again and feel… her happiness.

  Her laughter.

  Her joy.

  Her hope.

  Shaa kava… Elle’s voice drifted through his mind, barely a whisper, but he was sure he heard her.

  “I have come to discuss Elle’s health and the presence of the quasti called Charlie.”

  His growl came on instinct, the rumbling roll of his displeasure and fury kindling in his chest before he had a moment to silence the sounds. “CharlemKle’phi-juewee is not to enter.”

  He wished to be clear about the identity of the denied and used his full name.

  “The quasti is her companion.”

  As if Ivoth needed a reminder of the animal’s place in Elle’s life. But that was before he attacked her—betrayed her.

  “He injured her.”

  “To discover the source of her deficiency.”

  “She is not deficient.” He bared his fangs at Whelon, but the Healing Master did not react to Ivoth’s obvious threat.

  “Anomaly, then.”

  “If she wished to be tested by the Preor, she would have made the request.” And being told of her genetic anomaly had sent him to his knees. That the ryaapir unit could not mend her. That she had still been injured when she’d healed him with the torr. Bile churned in his stomach, and self-hatred at his selfishness tightened around his lungs. The only thing—one—capable of healing her was the quasti, and Elle had not reacted well to his presence.

  “Do you wish to argue about semantics or discuss findings?”

  “Discuss findings? Can you heal her?” He did not wish to allow hope to rise, but he did.

  “I believe she can be healed.”

  “Then—”

  “But I cannot do so without the permission of another.”

  Ivoth gritted his teeth and glared at the male. “I give permission.” He released Elle’s wrist and pushed to his feet. “Any other Preor will give permission.” He leaned over her supine body. “All will give you permission, or I will see them in the skies!”

  Whelon simply stared at him, face expressionless. “Have you finished?” the male drawled, and he fought the urge to hit the Healing Master.

  Though, if he did, Ivoth believed War Master Taulan would grant him pardon. Whelon toyed with a male with an ill mate.

  He froze in place.

  Mate.

  His heart ceased beating.

  Mate.

  His lungs no longer filled with air.

  Mate.

  Ivoth collapsed back into his chair.

  Mate?

  No.

  Shaa kava…

  “Heal her, Whelon.” He would never admit that he begged, but he did. “Please. I cannot survive…” Ivoth shook his head and leaned forward in his seat. He brushed his lips across the back of Elle’s hand, drawing her scent into his lungs, and then whispered against her skin. “I cannot survive without you.”

  “Why can you not?” Ivoth lifted his gaze to the Healing Master and shot the male a dark glare. “Your scowl does not scare me, Ivoth sen Pezet’li. The question remains. Why can you not?”

  “I…” He swallowed hard and made his decision. The one that would damn him forever. “I cannot breathe without her. I cannot think without her presence in my mind.”

  “You speak with her? In your mind?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I sense her feelings. It is why I have left the last two choosings. Elle needed me.”

  “You could have ordered another to go to her. You did not have to lose your time at the choosing.”

  Ivoth shook his head. “You do not understand. She required me.” He could never trust another with her care. Never again.

  “And can she sense your emotions as well? Your need?”

  Ivoth frowned and played their time together over and over in his mind. The times she’d gently brushed hair out of his eyes, and the treats she brought him. When she’d say the perfect words to brighten his mood.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, she did, though she might not have understood. I read texts that indicated humans might eventually experience the same human-Preor connection, though a Preor typically feels it first.”

  “It is something only shared with mates.”

  Ivoth rolled his eyes as Elle often did. “Preor mates. None know all about human-Preor matings. I am not Elle’s mate, but I care for her.” He caressed the back of her hand and slipped his fingers around her wrist, pressing gently to monitor her heartbeat once more. “I care deeply. I would…” May Syh forgive me. “I would break my vow to my sire, Whelon. I would do everything to avoid a true mate if it meant having Elle healthy and in my life. Find a barren planet, and I would find joy there with no chance of encountering another female—potential mate.”

  “You would give up siring your own dragonlets? The true happiness and joy that comes from finding a mate and sharing the Knowing? You would have a half-mating with her?”

  They were questions he’d asked himself, and his answer remained the same. “Yes. I would end my line and live without dragonlets or the Knowing if it meant having Elle’s love. I would claim her and keep her no matter the cost.”

  “Say the words, Ivoth sen Pezet.” Whelon did not add ‘li, but Ivoth did not have the energy to correct the male. “Say the words and claim your mate.”

  Ivoth shook his head. “No, I would not without her permission.”

  He had not lost all honor. He had not.

  “Did she not state her love?”

  He nodded. Also, that she’d lost love for him.

  “Then say the words. After, I will tell you of our findings and the decisions that you—as her mate—must make.” Whelon leaned forward. “Human laws require that medical choices come from mates and then family. If it is not you, then we must go to her sire and brother.”

  The sire and brother that wished her dead. He would not allow it. Even if she hated him for his next actions until he took his final flight, it would be worth it.

  Ivoth didn’t respond to Whelon and instead rose to his feet. He leaned over Elle and pressed his lips to her forehead. Their bodies touching with the chaste kiss, he whispered the words that would make her his.

  “By Earth treaty, I lay claim to Elle Kathleen Davenport as kouva to Ivoth Pezet’li, now Ivoth joi Elle, warrior within the Preor Third Fleet.” He pressed one last kiss to her warm flesh before returning to his seat. “Do what must be done. Save her.”

  “I shall.” Whelon tipped his head in acknow
ledgement. “But first we must kill her once more.”

  17

  It required five warriors to keep Ivoth from killing Whelon. Then a sixth—Yazen, the ship’s Primary Healing Warrior—to administer a sedative that merely enraged his dragon even more. That fury quickly burned through the drug, leaving an incensed beast in its wake. The only thing that kept him in skin instead of scales was the fact that Elle would be injured if he shifted while inside Preor Tower.

  But Whelon would not be in Preor Tower forever, and the moment the male stepped outside the building, Ivoth would be there. Watching. Waiting. And thirsty for blood.

  “I will end you Whelon sen Autyr!” Ivoth snarled. “Favored by the emperor or not, I will end you if you harm her!”

  He struggled against the hands holding him captive. He pulled on his left arm and then right, males grunting with the effort to keep him contained. He leaned forward and shook in an attempt to remove the male from his back. Thick arms encircled his chest, constricting his movements and making his wings useless. The hands on his chest curled slightly, dragon’s nails piercing his skin. Good. The pain would help him fight. It was a reminder he still lived, and he would not stop until his opponent took his final flight.

  Or until Ivoth took his own.

  He fought for freedom once again, choosing to curl in on himself before he shrugged the males off—except the appearance of a blade at his throat kept him from even doing that. The metal shone in medical’s bright lights, the reflection so glaring he was nearly blinded by the flare.

  “You will cease, Ivoth joi Elle. Now.” That voice… it was familiar yet not, and it was enough to draw his attention from Whelon.

  He turned his head, searching for the speaker, and met Triem’s gaze. Yet at the same time, it was not Triem. He was not the young, carefree male he often chastised for drinking so-dah while piloting a shuttle. He was hard… worn… weary. And deadly. That was the gleam in his blue eyes. They were so cold they’d nearly turned the white of Earth’s frozen waters.

  Ivoth should retreat from Triem’s obvious threat, but he did not. He needed to be free. He needed to protect his female. His… his mate. He had claimed Elle. She was his now. His to care for. Killing her was not caring.

  Ivoth pushed against Triem’s blade, shoving his chest forward. He would allow his throat to be cut if it ended with Elle’s life. “He wishes to—”

  “We all heard his words,” the blue male snapped back. “Now you must listen.”

  “I will not allow him to harm her.” His flesh burned, the dragon’s fire gathering and growing inside his body. “I will kill him if he hurts her.”

  “He must kill her—”

  “No!” He would not allow that to happen. He would not. Ivoth had been unable to save his dam and his sister. He would not lose his mate. Not to a healer.

  “—to save her. Damn you to the skies, Ivoth, listen.” Triem’s blade pierced his flesh, cutting a shallow line across his throat. When Ivoth continued his fight for freedom—he would fight until his last breath—he pushed it even deeper. “I do not wish to kill you, but I will if you do not cease. Do you wish to leave your mate only moments after claiming her? Do you?”

  The last words came out with a roar that rivaled any Ivoth had ever released, and it was enough to snap him from his boiling fury. He pulled his attention from Whelon and Elle, meeting Triem’s icy stare.

  “How is killing her, saving her? Tell me Triem sen Chor’li—male with so much knowledge. How?”

  Those eyes whitened further, but Triem did not speak to him. Instead, the male looked to the other at his side—Healing Master Chashan.

  “Shall you tell me, Chashan?” Anger continued to pound against him, and the words came out with a harsh rasp. Each syllable held a hint of his anger, but in reality, it was so, so much stronger.

  Deadlier.

  “Not if you cannot calm, Ivoth. We will remove you and see to the procedure without you. You will not be here to comfort your mate. You will not be here to see her eyes when she wakens.”

  “You forgot one possibility, Chashan. I will not be here to watch her die.”

  “We are not such poor healers that we cannot solve such a simple problem.”

  “Simple?” Ivoth chuckled once, then twice and then more. More and more until the small chuckles turned into hysterical laughter, a mixture of hysteria and anger consuming him at that moment. “So simply you have to kill her?” Ivoth shook his head. “You know no more now than you did during the Great Conflict,” he spat. “How many females did you lose during the Great Conflict, Chashan? Whelon? How many females died in your arms, and now you wish to take mine?”

  Ivoth’s rage renewed, the fury from his dragon fueling his two-legged body. His blood pumped with adrenaline—the craving for blood—and he snapped his teeth at the closest male. Triem jerked out of the way quickly enough, but that did not mean the others were just as fast. He would get his blood. The dragon’s thirst would be sated.

  The hit, when it came, silenced Ivoth in an instant. Not because of its strength or the power of the blow, nor because of the pain that came with the strike.

  No, it silenced him because of the one who attacked. His cheek stung, the burn of pain nothing compared to the injuries he’d suffered in the past, and yet… it was so much worse than any other he’d experienced. He snapped his mouth closed and stared down at his attacker, the small body that’d found its way through the mass of males holding Ivoth captive.

  The small female body at the center of a mass of muscle, male, and scales.

  “You. Will. Stop.” The female glared at him, every line of her body stiff and filled with a fury that had to rival his own. Her arm hung stiffly at her side, and she curled her hand into a tight fist before relaxing her fingers. She repeated the process over and over, probably trying to banish the harsh sting that came from delivering a slap to the face.

  No sound came from the others, the room silent while he stared at the small female who dared strike a Preor warrior. He would never retaliate, but she did not know of his level of honor.

  Ivoth growled low. “You—”

  “Silence,” she hissed long and low, the sound so like a Preor female that for a moment he forgot he stared at a human female.

  The human female named Liquid Knot. She was a hacker who’d become a close friend of Preor and the one who had reprogrammed the ship—Penelope.

  “You’re not the only one hurting. You’re not the only one scared and worried. And you’re not the only one who loves Elle more than life itself.” Furious passion consumed her voice, her body shaking with the riotous emotions inside her. He opened his mouth to question who dared love Elle as he did, but a flicker of movement on Liquid’s shoulder told him without words.

  “CharlemKle’phi-juewee.” A statement, not a question, his voice grim. He glared at the beast, no longer caring that it could destroy him with a single sound. The beast was at fault as much as Ivoth himself. They’d both betrayed her. They’d both done things that contributed to Elle’s condition.

  Mate F-am.

  Ivoth’s fire burned in his chest, the dragon struggling to send the whirling flames up his throat and out his mouth. Burn the quasti, it said. But he resisted. Barely.

  “I am Elle’s mate. I am not your fam.” He leaned forward as far as his captors would allow. “I will never be your fam, and I would happily throw you into the seas for what you did to her, CharlemKle’phi-juewee.”

  Less than done by Mate F-am. The words and posture of the small beast were strong, but Ivoth saw the twitch of the quasti’s tail. Proof of its unease.

  “And I will beg forgiveness until I take my final flight,” he snapped back. To his final flight and beyond. “And you quasti?” He sneered the last word, making sure the beast heard his disgust. “How will you beg to be forgiven for your betrayal? She trusted you, and you—”

  Did for good of cha. The quasti’s tail whipped back and forth, the small twitches gone and replaced with sw
eeping arcs. Save cha. Love cha. My cha.

  Like before, the quasti pushed its thoughts and emotions on Ivoth, sending wave after wave of love and caring into his mind—body—until it was a heavy weight on his soul. Charlie loved Elle as his own. She was the young he’d lost all those years ago. He wasn’t her friend, but her sire, and sires had to make difficult choices. Charlie had chosen to harm her to save her.

  Or try to save her.

  The quasti sent him a mental question. Did Ivoth understand?

  No, he didn’t.

  Yes, he did.

  Fekh, he did not know, and he released a rough sigh while he sought an answer inside himself.

  Hurt to save? He shook his head, unable to understand the concept. He could never hurt Elle.

  But to heal cha?

  It was that question that tore at him, that had Preor teachings colliding with the feelings in his heart. Females were to be cherished and protected above all else, but if saving Elle’s life meant they first had to…

  Ivoth looked past the crowd surrounding him and let his gaze rest on his mate. She was so small on the large ryaapir built for Preor warriors, her body hardly taking up half of the platform. A thin sheet of aczi covered her, hiding the curves he loved from view. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and he wondered if her heart still beat, if the muscle continued to push blood through her body and keep her alive.

  He did not know, and he would not know if he remained a captive.

  Harm to heal.

  “I…” he rasped and swallowed hard, his mouth and throat dry. He stopped his attempts to break free and sought Whelon. “What must be done?”

  “As I said we will first end her life—”

  “No.” Ivoth shook his head. “Every step. Every action. You will explain it all before…” He could not believe he even considered their plan, but Charlie also supported Whelon’s desires. And no matter what Charlie had done to Elle, the animal’s love was unmistakable. He returned his attention to Elle, unable to let his gaze be redirected for long. “And I—we—will be at her side. She will not go to the skies without the touch of my hand and Charlie’s fur. She will feel love, Whelon. Until Syh takes her, she will feel love.”