by JD Monroe
“What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing,” she said. She murmured something under her breath, but he didn’t quite make it out. After depositing her bags on the floor at the foot of the empty bed, she hurried to the bathroom and turned on the water. Under the harsh fluorescent light, he could see the feverish flush to her cheeks. She was embarrassed. Was it him?
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Being Kadirai meant frequent transformations between human and dragon form. Clothes didn’t survive, so he was used to being naked both before and after the transformation. It didn’t bother his kind, but something about him had Gabrielle flustered. The younger dragons under his command bragged constantly about how human women fawned over them on their trips into the city. Was he displeasing to look at by human standards? He frowned, feeling oddly self-conscious as he examined his reflection.
The door opened again, and he jumped in surprise, hoping she hadn’t caught him checking himself out in the mirror. She pointedly ignored him and walked past with a stack of white towels in her arms. After dumping the towels on the empty bed, she took a box of rubber gloves from one of the bags and removed a pair. As if she’d forgotten he existed, she began looking over Ashariah.
As the doctor inspected the princess, Tarek’s gaze was drawn to her. Her long dark hair was pulled into a ponytail that waved gently, revealing the graceful line of her neck. Her brown eyes were concerned, squinting under furrowed brows as she pressed a stethoscope into the princess’s chest. She checked her eyelids, shining a bright light into each of her eyes. Her touch was gentle as she moved around, then pressed her thumb into the sole of Ashariah’s foot. The princess twitched her toes. That seemed to satisfy Gabrielle. She rearranged the flimsy gown, then carefully covered her with the sheet again.
He could have watched her all day. With the way she worked around Ashariah, it surprised him that she had no idea who she cared for. The woman in her bed was a princess of the Stoneflight, the daughter of the renowned and feared Queen Halmerah, arguably the most powerful of the dragon queens. The position of court healer, the one who normally would have cared for the princess, was a coveted and respected position, yet Gabrielle had no idea. Though he had barely met the woman, he knew with absolute certainty that she would have given the same care to anyone she met.
“What’s her name?” Gabrielle asked.
The sound of her voice after so much quiet startled Tarek. He shifted uncomfortably, biting back the pain so she wouldn’t hear it in his voice. “Ashariah.”
“Ashariah,” she murmured. “All this time, I’ve been calling her Jane Doe. It’s a beautiful name.”
“You say it beautifully,” he said, suddenly feeling bold. It sounded natural on her tongue, the way her voice lilted and clipped the .
She looked at him strangely. Under her analytical gaze, he felt even more naked. He couldn’t read her expression. Was she baffled, intrigued, or utterly uninterested? As if she’d only just remembered him, she shook herself. “Let’s have a look at you.”
She sidestepped him and shook out a towel on the bed. “Lay down,” she said. Her arms were folded across her chest as he stood. Again, her eyes traced the lines of his body. She offered him her hand as he stood, but he gritted his teeth and managed to flop ungracefully onto the bed. There was something oddly vulnerable about lying on his belly, his entire body exposed to this strange human woman that had him so off-balance. He jumped in surprise when her hand brushed over his back. They moved dangerously close to the scars across his back.
“Did that hurt?”
“You surprised me, that’s all,” he said.
“Sorry.”
Her fingers were gentle and feather-light, touching the tender area around the bullet wound. “With you being…uh…what you are…”
“Kadirai.”
“Okay, so that completely didn’t answer my question,” she said.
“It’s what I am,” he said. “The word means children in my native tongue.” In ceremonial settings, the dragon shifters were referred to as kadirai dar Isina, the children of the Skymother.
“Getting closer. You’re a…” She sighed. “I cannot believe I’m saying this. You’re a dragon.”
“Yes,” he said. She’d already seen him transform, so what was the point of trying to lie his way around it? When the situation had been dealt with, and Ashariah was safely home, then he would return and gently push Gabrielle’s mind. It would be just enough that she would think she had dreamed the whole thing.
“Do you heal faster?”
“Than you, yes. But my healing is still slow here. How do you know that?”
“Her,” Gabrielle said. “I took care of her from the moment she was brought in. Some of her wounds showed days’ worth of healing in a couple of hours.” She patted his shoulder and said, “Okay, this is gonna be cold.” He braced himself, but it was merely a cold touch of metal on his shoulder blade. “Take a breath.” He obliged. She moved the metal. “Again.” They repeated the process several times. Whatever she was looking for, she seemed satisfied. “I have good news and bad news.”
“Okay.”
“The good news is that the bullet is kinda wedged between your ribs. It didn’t affect your lungs at all. I can get it out.”
“And the bad news?”
“Bad news is that I have needle and thread, but nothing to numb it. If you want it to not hurt, then it’ll take me another few hours to go back to the hospital for supplies.”
“Do what you have to,” he said. “I trust you.”
“I’m going to quote you on that in a few minutes.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
It took Gabby a few solid deep breaths to get past the sight of Tarek naked. Her imagination hadn’t even come close to doing it justice. Yes, she was a doctor, and she saw people of all shapes and sizes in various states of undress. That was detached and clinical, like this should have been. But it was safe to say she’d never seen someone like him on the table. Thankfully, she’d had the presence of mind to cover his bare ass while she inspected the bullet wound on his back, but there was plenty more for her to look at.
His skin was golden tan, and strangely smooth. His broad shoulders were thickly muscled, joining the gentle slope of his back. It took a considerable amount of willpower not to run her finger along the carved line where muscle met along his spine, as precise and smooth as if it had been worked from marble over months of chiseling and polishing. Spreading across the planes of both his shoulder blades were old scars. Slightly raised, they had the rough texture of burns, but they blended into his coppery skin.
And for a man who’d probably been sweating and marinating in adrenaline, he smelled strangely good. Maybe dragon-dudes emitted a pheromone that appealed to female doctors who worked too many hours to date.
Focus, Gabby. You’re a professional.
She emptied the closest shopping bag. A soft peach terrycloth robe tumbled out in a heap. She reached over and set it neatly on Ashariah’s bed for later. The rest of the bags contained first aid supplies and a sewing kit. Doctors no longer carried the iconic black bags she used to see on TV as a kid. Even so, she always kept a large toiletry bag in her car stocked with basic first aid and over the counter medications, thanks to a worrying mother who had ingrained in her from a young age that it was always better to be prepared. But Gabby was prepared for the occasional scrape or upset stomach, not stitching up a gunshot wound.
Trying not to think too hard about the naked man—dragon—inches from her, Gabby spread out a towel and arranged her supplies: large bottles of sterile alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, gauze pads, and a sewing kit. After taking a needle from the sewing kit, she threaded it with a double length of black thread. She added a glass from the ice bucket set and poured an inch of alcohol into it. After tearing open the blister pack, she put a pair of oversized tweezers into the alcohol. Finally, she changed gloves and regarded Tarek. He was oddly calm as he watched over his shoulder. His eyes met
hers, sending a shock down her spine. God, he was gorgeous. And naked. It was kind of impossible to ignore.
With her hands trembling a little, she grabbed the bottle of alcohol. “This might sting,” she said. She took a breath and doused the wound on his back.
His back arched as he sucked air through his teeth. But he was silent and stoic as she gently dabbed away the dried blood encrusting the bullet wound. The entry wound was a neat hole. Lodged against his ribs, the bullet had simply flattened and stayed put. It was an ideal situation.
“Where are you from?” she asked. She took the tweezers from the glass of alcohol and eyeballed the wound, trying to mentally plan the angle she’d use to get it out.
“It’s better for you to know as little as possible.”
She scowled at the back of his head and nipped her tweezers at him. “You called me,” she said. “And I should bill in the thousands for a visit like this. You’re getting off cheap. Hold on.” With a deep breath to steady her hands, she used the tweezers to grab the bullet. He jumped a little in surprise. She squeezed tight on the tweezers and maneuvered the bullet out as carefully as she could. Fresh blood bubbled up from the wound.
He groaned, an insistent sound that said he wanted to shout obscenities but was too polite. She ignored him, grabbed one of the washcloths, and pressed it hard to the wound to soak up the blood. With her other hand she held the bullet in front of him. “One down. So?”
He sighed. “You are very insistent.”
After a few seconds, she took the washcloth away and inspected the wound. It was relatively clean, although he’d certainly dislike what came next. She doused the open wound with hydrogen peroxide. He groaned again, and shifted his shoulder slightly like he was trying to get away from the burning sting.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice strained.
Before she realized what she was doing, she peeled off her right glove and stroked the back of his shoulder, relishing the warmth of his skin underneath. His skin pebbled with goosebumps at her touch. The tension in his muscles relaxed, and he flattened onto the bed. As her fingers traced the fine lines of his back, her gaze was drawn to the curve of his neck, the way his dark hair curled slightly at the nape.
Her cheeks flushed at the thought of twining her fingers into his hair. This certainly did not fall under the umbrella of good bedside manner. She cleared her throat and put on a clean glove. “Well, now that I see it, I think you’ll be all right without stitches,” she said. “So that’s a plus.”
“Oh,” he murmured. “Good.”
After packing several pads of gauze tight against the wound, she taped it thoroughly. Satisfied with her work, she moved on to the second shot. It had struck him high in the thigh, and considering he was still alive, it hadn’t hit the femoral artery. The movies always showed people getting hit in the chest or the throat, but the leg was every bit as dangerous, with a thick artery running down each thigh close to the groin. A wound to the femoral artery would bleed out in a matter of minutes if not treated.
“So you never answered my question,” she said as she moved down to check the wound. She folded the towel up a bit, revealing the subtle curve of his glutes. Wow. Her cheeks flushed again as she realized how well-built he was.
“I come from a place called Ascavar,” he said. She readied the alcohol. “Though I currently live in your—ouch!”
“Sorry,” she said. “Continue.” She dabbed away the fresh blood and inspected the wound. The bullet was buried in the dense muscle, and she could only see a glint of it through the glistening red. “What is Ascavar? A city?”
“A whole world,” he said.
As she inspected the wound, she wished again for a local anesthetic. This was going to hurt like hell. “So you’re from another planet?”
“Not precisely,” he said. “Well, in a manner of speaking. It’s hard to explain. I barely understand it.”
“Sorry,” she said. She gritted her teeth and grabbed the glint of metal. Her distraction technique wasn’t going to work here. “Gotta pull.” The muscles in his back shifted, coming into sharp relief as he clenched his fists. Fresh blood bubbled from the wound as she extricated the second bullet. He groaned again. “So how did you get here?”
He was silent for a long stretch. Finally, he took a hitching breath and spoke. “Through a gateway,” he said. He sounded tired as he spoke. She couldn’t blame him.
“So in Ascavar, everyone is like you? Are they all dragons?”
“No,” he said. She readied the peroxide and waited for him to speak. “Only the most powerful are Kadirai. There are others who can change their form, but into lesser creatures. Most cannot change at all.” He breathed heavily as the peroxide finished bubbling.
“People like me?”
“I’m not so sure.”
She paused with a stack of gauze in her hand. “What do you mean? “
“I think you are more than you seem.”
She continued bandaging, making sure to pack the wound tight. When she had finished, she realized she’d been holding her breath. “How so?”
He propped himself up on his elbow, finally turning to look at her. His amber eyes seemed to drill into her. “You have a warrior’s heart.”
She snorted derisively. “Not me. I’m a wuss.”
“A wuss?”
“A coward,” she said. “I’m not brave.”
He raised an eyebrow and flipped over onto his back. The towel didn’t quite make it with him, giving her an up close view of his equipment. His eyebrows perked as he followed her gaze down to his groin. With a little cough, he snagged a pillow to cover himself. Still, the glimpse had been enough to set her mind spinning. It wasn’t like she wanted to jump his bones right there, but most of the time when she was sitting in bed with a naked man, it was headed somewhere.
Resting his elbows on the pillow, he shook his head. “You are certainly not a coward.” He chuckled. “You were ready to fight me off to protect her.”
“That’s my job.”
“See? Warrior’s heart.”
What was it about him? She still wasn’t entirely convinced that they were both sane, but she liked the way he described her. The way he spoke to her wasn’t flattery, the slimy insincerity so many men used in attempts to disarm her and get close. The way he spoke was matter-of-fact, as simple as if he’d told her she had brown eyes.
She cleared her throat. “Who is she to you? Not your sister, I don’t think.”
“She is a princess. The daughter of a queen.”
She stared at Ashariah for a long time then. All of it was hard, almost impossible to believe. But she’d seen him transform with her own eyes, and she couldn’t deny hard evidence like that. And if she could accept that, then it wasn’t so much of a reach to believe that there were other worlds, and that in one of them, this lovely, young Jane Doe was a princess.
Like she’d taken the last of her waning energy to accept what Tarek had told her, her body suddenly felt heavy and exhausted as the last of her adrenaline ran out. She slumped. “I should probably get going.”
Tarek’s brow furrowed. Maybe she was a silly little girl, but the look of disappointment made her heart soar. “Would you stay? In case something happens? With Ashariah, I mean.”
Did she want to go? There was a part of her that wanted to sleep off the craziness of the day and wake up to a world that was orderly and predictable, just as she liked it. And yet, there was another part of her that wanted to stay in Tarek’s presence, in the presence of something so foreign and utterly magical that she’d never even imagined it was possible.
She nodded, too quickly to be cool or casual. “I’ll change. And you have to put on clothes.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
While Gabrielle showered, Tarek rooted through the bags she’d brought him. Inside there were some strange, thin black pants that made a rustling sound when he shook them. There were a few t-shirts—his siz
e, which impressed him—and two pairs of blue jeans. She’d brought a pair of rubber shoes, which wouldn’t do much to replace his nice leather boots, but that was his fault for changing on the fly and not taking care of his things.
He winced in pain as he bent at the waist and flexed his injured leg to pull on a pair of boxers. Raising his arm to put on a shirt reminded him of how his attacker had nearly wrenched his shoulder out of its socket. The joint caught, and he found himself stuck with one arm overhead, a sharp pain throbbing in time with his heart. When the bathroom door opened, he was still sitting on the edge of the bed with his arm tangled in the shirt and his head halfway through the neck opening.
Gabrielle emerged, wearing a pair of form-fitting black pants and a turquoise t-shirt. Through the stretched neck of the undershirt, Tarek gazed at her appreciatively, taking in the sight of her lush curves that were thoroughly accentuated by the snug pants. It afforded him a much finer view of her body than her loose hospital clothes had. She caught his eye and burst out laughing.
Had she caught him inspecting her? His cheeks flushed as he retorted, “What?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her lips were still curved up in a smile as she composed herself. He realized it was the first time he’d seen the expression, and he quite liked it. There were little fine creases around her eyes, and a faint indentation on her left cheek as she smiled. He could have watched it all day. “Very unprofessional of me. Do you need help?”
“Yes. My shoulder,” he muttered. She approached him, and with her came a rush of clean floral scent. He tried to maintain his composure as she got close enough to brush against him. Her hands were gentle but strong as she took his arm and pulled it up high. She gently pushed on his shoulder joint with one hand. There was an audible pop. A fleeting moment of pain gave way to a warm relief.
As she pulled the shirt down over his chest, her hand brushed against his stomach and grazed his groin. She didn’t seem to notice, but his body certainly did. Heat surged down his spine and pooled in his groin. He shifted uncomfortably and nodded to her. “Thank you.”