by Celia Kyle
“Do you want to sit?” She gestured at one of the backless seats, the design making it easy for a Preor to rest. “Maybe talk a little?”
Rendan wished to do more than talk, but that could wait, for now. He strode to the chair, leaving the sliding door open to continue cooling him as they talked. He lowered himself to the cushioned surface, internally grimacing at its softness. He was more used to the hardness of his fleet-issued belongings, but Kozav warned him he’d have to adapt to having a female. They required softness. He would adapt.
“What is it you wish to know?” He braced himself for her questions.
Carla shrugged. “Tell me about yourself? Anything. Or ask me questions. We should get to know one another if we’re going to mate.”
“There is no ‘if.’ There is only when.” He refused to allow the word “if” to exist between them.
“Uh-huh.” The sound made him think she agreed, but her expression did not. He was sure this was a trick.
If Kozav was right about female trickery, he knew he would have to use his battle tactics to research his quarry before engaging. It was a basic tenet of all offense warriors—know the enemy better than a warrior knows himself.
“Were you presented in Tampa?” he murmured the question, palms resting on his thighs.
Carla furrowed her brow for a moment. “You mean, was I born here?”
Rendan nodded slowly, unsure of the accurate translation, but he felt confident that was the intent of his question. “Yes.”
That was when she revealed much. Once more, Kozav was correct and his warrior teachings served him well.
“I was born in Alabama, but we moved around a lot.”
“We?” Was there another who held her affections.
“My dad and I.” Ah, her sire. He would not kill her sire for commanding her fondness.
“He was a four star general.” She wrinkled her nose and he would never admit he found the expression arousing. “He would have been a war master in the Preor military, I think. That should have meant he had a cushier job in an office, but he…” Carla sighed, the sound sad, and he cursed himself for making her speak of herself. He opened his mouth to halt the discussion, but she kept talking. “He liked the action. He liked being on the ground with his men.”
“During war?” Rendan respected the male. He had heard of many human military males remaining safely in their offices. A Preor war master was always present. He could not lead without leading. The same was said of each master—Offense and Defense included.
“Any conflict, really.” She gave him a sad smile. “Any skirmish, any hint of hostilities between countries or factions that required intervention, and he was there.” Her voice softened to a near whisper. “I was there.”
Rendan jolted. “He brought his dragonlet into war?”
“I wasn’t at his side, but I was in the city. Sometimes on base, other times not. It just depended on the country.”
“And your dam as well?” He could not believe what he heard. “The Preor do not allow such things, Carla. We could never bring a dam and dragonlet into an unsafe part of the planet.” He could tell she disliked that portion of her past and he made a vow he did not doubt he could fulfill. “I would never bring you into battle.” He did not mention dragonlets since… they would never have any. “The idea that you were once in such danger.” He could not suppress the horror in his voice and he hated that his reaction insulted his mate’s sire.
The expression on her face could only be described as… sad. “But you’ll still travel, won’t you? You’ll move around the planet, or the galaxy, and fight. You’ll be gone all the time.”
“I go where I am ordered. I fight when I am ordered. As all Preor warriors do.”
“Right,” she whispered, her pain pummeling him and he was not sure what he did wrong. “So, I’ll be home with our dragonlets—alone—while you’re off getting yourself killed.”
“Carla, Preor has not warred—“
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, no longer looking at him. “I did it, didn’t I? My whole life I’d promised myself I wouldn’t be with someone like my dad. I wasn’t going to be forgotten and left alone and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be dragged around the world because of honor or glory. A house. A white picket fence. Two point five kids. That’s what I promised myself. And what did I get?” The question was sneered. At him? Or herself?
Rendan did not know how she could bear half an offspring, so he focused on the rest of her rant. He pushed to his feet, back straight.
“You got me, shaa kouva.” He said the endearment as a reminder of her status as his mate. He did not like that the first time he said the words were with anger, but he could not stop himself. What did she get?
Him. A warrior. A male who traveled. A male who fought. A male with many honors and unquestioned dedication to his people.
A male who would never have dragonlets.
He could not remain in her presence, not when she sneered at all he’d accomplished in his turnings. Not when she hated who he was while hoping for something he’d never give her.
He pushed to his feet, not waiting for her response, and strode to the door that separated their apartments. His palm on the identipad forced it to open, and he stepped through the portal. He remembered one of his master’s teachings—words he had not understood before now.
There is victory in retreat.
The distance would give him perspective and space to develop a new method of luring her to his side. It would also give him time to come to terms with the knowledge that he was not what she desired in a mate. At all, it seemed.
He paused, drinking in her appearance, the frustration and anger on her features. She was still beautiful, even in her irritation. Her blonde hair glowed with the sun’s disappearing rays and her eyes were bright—flashing with the fire of her aggravation.
He repeated himself, punctuating his statement with a fist to his chest. “You got me.”
6
The Trials of Syh—a Preor ceremony as old as time. When Rendan’s people first established themselves as a race, evolving and developing their methods of protection, they’d also created the trials.
A test—a battle in the skies—to find a Preor’s perfect war partner. Not all needed another, but offense and defense were two halves of a whole, one of the integral parts of the machine that helped their race thrive.
When they weren’t fighting to destroy themselves as they had during the great conflict.
Rendan remembered his trial with Evuklar, when he’d battled the male through the air, transitioning from scales to skin and back again. The flight had lasted as long as it lasted, the males well-matched in mind and body.
He had yet to find another like Evuklar and he’d spent weeks experiencing the trials over and over again. Damn Evuklar to the skies.
No, he could not curse the male. Evuklar had decided to remove himself from the fleet and settle on Earth with his mate as well as his closest friend—Jarek. Jarek who’d mated a human female.
Jarek who’d given up his career in the Preor military—his position as war master—for a human female. He’d relinquished it all for Melissa joi Jarek Walker.
Rendan stared down at the world below him, the twisting waves of the Gulf of Mexico churning a thousand feet in the distance. The sea wind whipped at his wings and he stared out over the unending swath of water. He breathed deeply, drawing in the air, sifting through its essence while his dragonish nature dissected each aspect.
It would rain later in the day—dangerous for a Preor—but for now they would be well.
A gust of wind whipped over the training platform, but the massive metal pad remained unmovable—stationary against the elements. The engineer masters were proud of themselves for such an accomplishment though they hoped to test it against a large hurricane. They’d pouted like dragonlets when their request to create a hurricane had been denied.
Rendan shook his head. Pouting warriors.
>
The skies brightened further, the day beginning, and he sighed. Soon the others would arrive. Hopefuls who wished to claim the position of defense master, who wanted to work at Rendan’s side to protect the fleet.
And Rendan… was tired of the constant battles, the scrapes, and the broken bones—his and others.
But he would continue as all had before him.
Another whip of wind and he stretched his wings, letting them catch the gusts of air. He opened his arms, body exposed to the skies. His muscles burned, elongated and held immobile by the air. He tilted his head back, the sun caressing his face and his chest.
He vibrated, his body preparing for the upcoming fight. The violence within his dragonish soul surged, suppressed by the strength of his mind alone. He was a machine, a means of protection and destruction, a battle-ready male who lived and died for Preor.
Except, if he died for Preor, where would that leave Carla?
Rendan pushed the question from his mind. It was a discussion for another time—not when he was preparing to launch himself into the skies with a male intent on destroying him. They would do their worst and hopefully they were equally violent.
Then this entire process could be at an end and Rendan could court his mate. He’d walked out on her the previous night, furious over their situation. Carla wanted nothing more than a home and dragonlets. Rendan had never wanted dragonlets and a battleship was his home.
The soft thud of feet on metal and the rustle of wings had him lowering his arms and folding his wings. He turned his attention to the approaching male—Ballakin.
Rendan was not sure how Evuklar tolerated such a male as his primary defense warrior. He was hotheaded, overly violent, and one to act without knowledge of the full truth.
“Ballakin.” He acknowledged the other male but said nothing else, waiting to see why his morning purge had been interrupted. This was the time for a male to cleanse his mind—clear it of negativity—before undergoing the trial.
“Warrior Rendan—“
“Offense Master Rendan.” The lapse was intentional, the male frustrated over being denied the position of defense master twice.
Ballakin jerked his head in a brisk nod. “Warrior Argan is prepared.”
The male moved to depart, but Rendan’s nerves were already on edge, his mind unable to tolerate blatant disrespect. “Ballakin, have the Trials of Syh altered since it was first performed?” He did not allow the warrior to answer. “Then tell me why I was interrupted during my time of syh nihon?”
Sky cleansing, when the clouds and air washed away all else.
Rendan glanced across the platform, at Argan holding a position Rendan had so recently experienced. The male’s scales glittered with the golden rays of the sun, his scales reflecting the light until it almost appeared as if he glowed.
Rendan gestured toward the day’s opponent. “And it appears you are incorrect. Argan is still engaged in his own syh nihon.”
Ballakin kept his face a blank mask, as if he could hide his true emotions. Rendan joi Carla Butler was an offense master. It was his job to know his opponents—his enemies. Ballakin was not an enemy of Preor, but he did spark something in Rendan’s heart that had him wary of the male.
Now, Rendan saw the true emotions in the male’s eyes. Anger, resentment, and pride. At interrupting Rendan’s syh nihon? Yes. The male probably sought to enrage and disrupt his ritual.
What the male did not understand was that no matter how long he communed with the skies, his mind would not be cleansed of negativity. Not while he still argued with Carla.
As they spoke, Argan collapsed his wings and lowered his arms, gaze reaching across the platform and meeting Rendan’s. They bowed their heads in acknowledgment and he returned his attention to Ballakin.
“Return to your duties.”
“All Preor may watch—“
Yes, all Preors could watch the Trials of Syh. With one caveat. “If permitted by both participants. Request to observe denied.”
Petty? Yes. But Rendan did not care. Instead, he withdrew his focus from Ballakin and fixated on his upcoming opponent, striding across the platform toward the yellow male.
Argan moved with a fluid stride, his muscles loose and face relaxed. He stared at the male, drawing in each flex and contraction, each bend of his joints and the smoothness of his steps. He ignored the massive scar that bisected the male’s face. It was immaterial. Probably good for intimidation, but it would not benefit him during the trial.
They met in the center of the massive platform, the metal scarred by Preor claws and a short flight that’d crashed recently. Fresh silver showed through where dragon nails had dug into the surface, random splotches of black showing where fire had burned the material.
Engineering had yet to perfect the surface. If they were on Preor, they could easily produce such a metal, but on Earth, they were restricted by what was present. Someday a complete sky-bound training station would be erected, but they made do with what was available.
Argan stopped before him, fist pressed to his chest in a salute and Rendan mimicked the moved. Now, they were equals, two males intent on discovering whether they overpowered one another or could work together.
The warrior matched Rendan in size, his wingspan and shoulder-width similar. They were the same height, their muscles comparable. But those were not what determined a defense master who was meant to be paired with Rendan. It was something mental, not physical. It was all in their minds.
And soon to be in the skies the moment the trial began.
But first… Rendan and Argan spoke together—a blessing before the trial.
“So ryu syh guva douh.”
May the skies welcome you.
“So ryu beb gict douh.”
May the wind lift you.
“So ryu soibz avai douh.”
May the clouds comfort you.
“So ryu tyh soilano douh.”
May the stars embrace you.
“La kaosado.”
For eternity.
With those last two words, they split, both racing for opposite sides of the platform. Rendan’s feet pounded on the metal, each stomp reverberating up his legs, and his inner dragon stretched and pushed against his flesh. Scales rippled over his arms, the beast anxious to be free, to do battle. But not until the skies welcomed him.
The edge of the training platform grew nearer, the line where he could abandon his legs and embrace his claws.
He remained ten feet from the rim, then seven, then three, and with a final bellowing roar he leapt…
The Trials of Syh began.
7
Carla pasted yet another fake smile on her face, the muscles in her cheeks protesting the wide pull of her lips, but she did it anyway. It was hard to look happy when part of her was battered and bruised. A part of her that no one could see. She recalled her argument, the quick way Rendan had gone from a hesitant and cautious mate to storming out of her apartment. She was sure that if the place had actual, antique doors instead the automatic panels, he would have slammed it shut.
The silence had been worse than a yanked door could ever be. The quiet had felt almost final. A noiseless exclamation point to their disagreement. And he hadn’t stopped by when he left. He hadn’t come to her door or even comm’ed her. Nor had he left a note via e-mail. Nothing.
The silent treatment. To her, with the way she’d grown up, the silent treatment was worse than any shouting match could ever be. It created a ball of dread in her stomach, a knot that would tighten and tighten until the argument was settled. Even if it meant she apologized although she wasn’t at fault. The tension made her physically ill and she was the people-pleaser who would do whatever needed to be done to smooth things over.
“Healer Butler?” The masculine voice reminded her that she wasn’t alone. She didn’t have time to drift off and dwell on her problems. She was working—she needed to focus.
She mentally shook her head and gave Chashan her attentio
n. He was a healing master who’d recently arrived on Earth with his mate. “I’m sorry, Chashan. I let my mind drift and—“
The Preor male grinned, his dark eyes sparkling. “Thinking of your mate? I remember when I first met my Khaza. I do not know how you are able to be parted from Rendan. It is proof that your mating is strong—that you are both strong.”
Yeah, Carla wasn’t so sure about the strong part on her side. She ignored his teasing and focused on his question instead. “I told you to call me Carla,” she chided. “What did you ask me?”
“War Mistress Lana has requested an ah-poynt-ment with us the day after tomorrow.” Chashan frowned. “I do not know the meaning of this word, but I told her we were available at her convenience.”
“Preor don’t schedule exams? Or block off time for specific patients?” She raised her eyebrows. “She’s asking for our time for an exam.”
He frowned harder, eyes narrowed. “Our females are seen whenever needed, no matter the time. Females—bearing and not—as well as dragonlets are priority. Males will be seen to after. Though males typically only need a healing warrior when they have injured themselves.”
Typical men.
“Human doctors usually have very full schedules and require their patients to make appointments. If you need immediate care, you go to the emergency room.”
“Where you previously had employment.” The healing master sneered. As if a woman working was disgusting.
“Do you have a problem with women healers, Chashan?” she snapped and then froze, wondering where the hell her sharp tone and brass balls came from.
His denial was immediate. “I only object to the conditions and men you were forced to work with, Healer Bu—“ he quickly corrected himself. “Carla. I take issue with a female being forced to work to survive. Females should be… cherished above all else. If she wishes to share her gifts, she is welcomed by the warriors, but it is not necessary in order to feed or house herself.”
Cherished. Right. Was that why Rendan had—