A Cerridwen Press Publication
www.cerridwenpress.com
The Last Queen ISBN 9781419909733 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Last Queen Copyright © 2007 Christine McKay Edited by Jaynie Ritchie & Ann Leveille. Cover art by Philip Fuller. Electronic book Publication July 2007
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc., 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. Cerridwen Press is an imprint of Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.®
THE LAST QUEEN Christine McKay
Dedication For Kim and Kate, the co-authors of my very first story, written way back in sixth grade. I pray that monstrosity never surfaces.
Trademarks Acknowledgment The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson Corporation
The Last Queen
PART ONE
Chapter One Adrianne Harris hated flying. The long waits at the terminals, the near-strip search at security, the inevitable child who kicked the back of her seat throughout the flight, the fat man who should have booked two seats whose rolls she ended up sharing in her already cramped seat, the woman who believed perfume was meant to be bathed in, the clichéd crying baby; she detested it all. Today’s show happened to be “woman with colicky baby”. Thankfully both mother and child spent much of their time walking the aisle. Home was too far away yet. Dallas to Minneapolis. Minneapolis to Green Bay. She longed for the last connecting flight where exhausted travelers like herself simply collapsed in sleep. No necessary conversations between seatmates, no networking required. Closing her laptop, she glanced out the window. Another one of her peeves was being put in the window seat. She preferred the less claustrophobic aisle seat, but the flight was packed with travelers heading home for Thanksgiving. She gritted her teeth. How did other business travelers handle this din? Probably traveled first class or wore earplugs. She had enough frequent flier miles to upgrade to first class, but she wanted to save them for a trip to someplace warm. One more class to teach, one more bored, bleary-faced group of techies to face, then she’d have a quiet few weeks off to sequester herself from the holiday festivities. She had no family to celebrate with. Her adoptive parents had been in their mid-forties when she came into their lives. Mom died of breast cancer when Adrianne was twenty. Dad pined away after that, leaving her alone at twenty-two. Luckily, she stumbled across Nikki, her current roommate, confidante, sister and sometimes mother. They made the best of it. And there was Doug and his family. She made a face. It took a lot of wine to make Doug’s family tolerable. Doug was a hotshot in bed. Nikki referred to him as Adrianne’s “boy toy”. Their relationship had waxed hot and cold for two years now. Despite that, she picked up a pricey pair of cowboy boots for him while in Texas. Her lips curved. She couldn’t wait to see him in them, wearing nothing else. The plane lurched. The flight attendant caught the headrest of the seat beside her, her smile firmly plastered on her face. “Just some turbulence, nothing to worry about. We’re probably heading into a snow squall.”
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The baby beside her woke with a start, lifted its head from its mother’s shoulder and began fussing again. Adrianne sighed. The mother gave her a harried apologetic frown. “Heading home for the holidays?” Adrianne tapped her notebook. “Business.” The mother bounced the baby. It made Adrianne nauseous just looking at the motion. “Young single career woman. I envy those days,” the mother muttered. “Karen Anhalt, former associate of Bruins, Baker, and Shimek. I’d give you my hand but it’s covered in baby slime.” “That’s quite all right.” Adrianne knew she should have kept her face to the window. So many conversations on planes went nowhere. She had a tension headache building at the base of her skull, a sure sign a migraine was on its way. Sighing, she resigned herself to being polite. “So what do you do?” Karen persisted, waiting while Adrianne worked the tension out of her neck with her fingertips. “Excuse me?” Karen gestured to the laptop. “Day trader, travel agent, secretary to some mucketymuck in first class?” “Nothing nearly so exciting. I teach computer classes.” “Oh.” A blank stare from Karen as she struggled for common ground. The plane lurched again. “Damn it,” both said in unison. Ah, common ground. They smiled at each other. The headache continued to build. Adrianne switched from kneading her neck to rubbing her temples. “Heading home?” she asked. “No, the in-laws.” Karen pasted a false smile on her face. “I haven’t seen my husband in two weeks, though, and he’s meeting me there.” She switched the baby to her opposite shoulder. “Sometimes I envy the baby-free single years.” Adrianne couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She’d seen so many of her coworkers go through the same thing. “I’ll hold your baby if you want to take a moment to wash the cottage cheese out of your hair.” She put a hand to her hair. “That bad? I wondered if she missed the burp towel.” Adrianne wrinkled her nose. “Not very appealing. Especially since you haven’t seen your husband in a while.” “I appreciate the thought.” She carefully handed her child to Adrianne. Adrianne didn’t have much experience with children but at least she knew how to hold a baby, thanks to all her coworkers’ voyages into motherhood. She hoped the baby slime could be washed out of her wool coat. Karen rose gracefully on three-inch heels and headed for the plane’s lavatory.
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The baby fussed and Adrianne bounced her, trying to keep the drool off her tweed pants. Thankfully her hair was braided, well out of reach of chubby fingers. She glanced out the window. Snow sliced the sky in jagged popcorn-sized pellets. Sleet. A fair bit of it coated the plane’s wings. The red lights on the wingtips bathed the triangular expanse of silver in blood light. Adrianne bit back a stab of panic, chalked up the nervousness to an overactive imagination and cursed her father for reading her Stephen King novels as bedtime stories. The pilot probably flew in this stuff all the time. There was nothing to worry about. The plane jiggled again. Karen returned to her seat, with damp hair and a worried expression on her face. “Thank you. That was disgusting.” Adrianne smiled politely and handed back the baby. “No problem.” There, she’d done her good deed for the day. Now she just wanted to land safely and get on with the last leg of her flight. The “Please Fasten your Seat Belts” light flashed. Adrianne tucked the laptop in her carrying case. “My husband’s meeting me at the airport.” Karen held her baby tighter. “How much farther, do you think?” The airline stewardess heard the question. “We’re circling the airport now.” She looked unconcerned. “We’re not the only one circling,” Adrianne said in a low voice. She leaned back in her seat. “Take a look.” Karen tilted forward as far as her seat belt and baby allowed. Winking lights dotted the sky around them. The baby fussed inches from Adrianne’s face. She prayed she wouldn’t be spit up on. Her silk tee cost her sixty dollars and was dry clean only. “Dear Lord.” Karen sat back, her face pale. “How many times do we have to circle?” Adrianne whispered. The fat man behind them grumbled about being late. In front of them, the elderly woman’s rosary beads clattered on the serving tray as she set them down to fasten her seat belt. The pilot’s voice came over the speaker, loud and too cheerful. “We’ll be descending shortly. The flight attendants will be going through some procedures to ensure a safe landing. These are just precautions due to the weather. The runways are a bit icy.” “And we don’t have enough fuel to fly to another airport?” Adrianne grumbled. How long would they circle? She just wanted to be home. To have a warm bath in her own bathtub and sleep undisturbed for ten to twelve hours. Was that so much to ask? “O’Hare could be closed down too.” Karen flipped out her cell phone. “My husband will know what’s going on down there.”
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“Sorry, ma’am. No cell phones or laptops may be on at this time,” the stewardess instructed. “Yes, of course.” Karen cradled the phone between her chest and the baby, but did not put it away. “You will be assuming a crash position with your feet flat on the ground, head in your lap, hands laced over the back of your neck. You may continue to hold your baby but we’d prefer if she was secured in a car seat. There is an open seat behind you.” The stewardess held out her arms. “No, you certainly may not take my baby.” She cupped the child closer to her, cradling its head with her hand. “What is wrong with the plane?” Karen demanded. “Ma’am, please keep your voice down. You’ll distress the other passengers.” The flight attendant gave her a stern look. A bead of sweat ran down the edge of her face, tracing a track through her makeup. “I’m a damn passenger too.” Adrianne’s head began to throb. Oh, it was going to be one heck of a headache. She fumbled for the bottle of ibuprofen in her purse and swallowed two pills down dry before a stewardess could remind her to secure her purse. Beside her, Karen argued with the stewardess. Adrianne glanced over her shoulder. The fat man was having trouble following instructions. A stewardess gave him a pillow instead, something to cover his face with. Adrianne’s ears popped. The stewardess left them to buckle herself up. Karen pulled free her cell phone and dialed a number. The baby continued to fuss. “Eric. I’m so glad you picked up. What?” Panic laced the last word. “They can’t be for our plane. Yes. Yes. Oh God. Yes, I love you.” Her voice elevated, high-pitched, frightened. “I love you,” she repeated, then abruptly calmed, the lawyer’s mask settling over her features. “I have to go now. I’ll see you on the ground.” The phone clicked off. Karen turned to Adrianne. “We’re going to die,” she said calmly.
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Chapter Two Adrianne swallowed back the bile at the base of her throat. It was just the coating on the pills, nothing more. “What do you mean?” Her head rested in her lap, as instructed, but she turned it enough to see the quiet angst on Karen’s face. “There are fire trucks and ambulances on the runway. Airport personnel cleared out one of the terminals.” Adrianne sat up so quickly her head spun and she almost vomited. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she glanced out the window. The ground loomed up before them. Red and blue lights gleamed as far as she dared to look. She hastily put her head in her lap. “What did you see?” “Hang on!” The plane lurched, bounced, hit the runway. She had flown enough times to know it was all wrong. The shrill scream of metal meeting pavement filled her ears. Oh lord, no tires, she thought, the plane has no running gear. The plane belly-flopped down the runway, the shriek of metal cutting through her like a knife. Passengers screamed. In front of her, someone quietly recited prayers. It was this voice she heard, over the highpitched whine of the engines, the hiss of shredding metal. An oasis of peace in the midst of chaos. “Remember, oh most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, that sought your intercession was left unaided.” Please, God. Please, God. Adrianne couldn’t help herself. She looked up. They were sliding sideways down the runway, heading straight for the terminal. All she could think about was how bad her head ached. Karen was quietly sobbing, face pressed to her baby’s neck. “I fly unto you, oh Virgin of Virgins, my mother, to thee I come, before thee, I stand…oh God.” The voice choked on a sob. Stop it. Stop it! Adrianne’s vision blurred. The pressure was unbearable. Stop it! They stopped. Abruptly, as if hitting a wall. Her seat belt cut into her, her body thrusting against it until she thought she’d be cut in two. She raised her head and looked out the window. The terminal loomed before them. They had stopped before striking it. “Despise not my petitions, but in your mercy, hear and answer me, I pray.” A rhythmic mantra, not unlike what she recited when doing yoga. Adrianne held on to
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that, forcing herself to breathe calmly despite the screams echoing around her. She would not vomit. She would not! For the briefest of moments, silence reigned. Her head throbbed. She tasted metal. Karen raised her head. “Are we dead?” “I hurt too bad to be dead.” The smell of smoke assaulted her nostrils. So much for deep calming breaths. She coughed, covering her nose with the sleeve of her coat. The flight attendants were mobile again, instructing people to move. Side doors kicked open with popping noises. She couldn’t see straight. The smoke clogged her vision and her lungs. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the window. Rescue vehicles, lights blaring, sped down the runway. Somehow she knew they’d be too late. Beside her, Karen fought with her seat buckle. The baby was finally silent. Adrianne reached over and freed her. Flames licked the seats. People collapsed on top of each other in their haste to escape. Flight attendants shouted unheeded instructions. I’m going to die. Adrianne tugged on her seat buckle. It was stuck tight, button depressed. She jerked on the strap again. The webbing was twisted not once, but twice, the kink jammed in the seatbelt adjuster. If she was truly going to die, she didn’t want to be found sitting calmly in her seat, like she was waiting for the bus to Purgatory. If Nikki had been with her, she’d have a knife or at the very least, a scissors, something she could use to hack away at her strap. Behind her, the fat man shrilled. A roll of his own body engulfed the seat buckle, his sausage fingers fumbled, uselessly seeking the strap. Flames crept up his pants legs. Polyester, she noted with a sick sense of detachment, as the pants ignited immediately. Great gobs of flesh blackened and dripped off his thighs. She turned her head away and vomited. “Come on!” Karen called to her. The acrid taste burned her throat. “My seat belt’s stuck. Go on. Get out of here!” To her credit, Karen looked torn. “Hurry!” Adrianne gave her a shove into the aisle. “I’ll tell the stewardess,” Karen promised, but both knew the uselessness of those words. Karen elbowed her way into the throng and was crushed against the seat in front of them. Adrianne saw blood trickle out of her mouth before the smoke hid her from view. Oh lord. She wanted to cry. She really did, but the tears wouldn’t come. Instead, she rested her forehead against the seat in front of her, unable to force herself to watch anything more. The flames crept over the toes of her sensible running shoes. She should have worn a nice pair of dress boots. Now Nikki’d have to identify her body in a mismatched
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outfit. She could just hear Nikki clucking in distress. The shoelaces ignited. The plastic and rubber melted around her feet. She felt nothing. Was this how death felt? An absence of pain? If so, why was the fat man still screaming? Or was she so in shock she felt nothing? On cue, the fat man’s voice died. The cuffs of her pants smoldered. Pressing her face to the glass, the last remnant of coolness, she closed her eyes and prayed death would be quick.
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Chapter Three In the quiet stillness of a never-changing dusk, in an abyss where nothing dwelt only slept and waited, twenty pairs of brilliant crimson eyes opened, then blinked in unison. The strum of a heartbeat began, faltered, started again and steadied. Several lifetimes away, a mechanical bird came to a screeching halt on an expanse of blacksheened ground. The Hunter opened his eyes. They shone in the dark light, casting their own beams of light. He flexed each finger, formed a fist and released. His chest rose and fell. Stale air flushed through his system, sent blood pumping to his dormant extremities. The air swirled around him, yet the movement was soundless. As one, everyone listened. There was another heartbeat. Faint. Somewhere, a Dragoness lived. How was that possible? He tipped his head, shifting in his formless gray couch. He had killed them all, had hunted the Dragoon to extinction. His lips curled into a smile at the memories, the taste of hot blood upon his lips, the hiss of breath as a nearly immortal creature died in his grasp. Twenty pair of crimson eyes watched his every movement. Impossible. No female of their race survived. Yet, here he was awake and the hounds as well. The hounds lolled around him, still, eyes focused on him for confirmation of what they sensed as well. Where did she now hide? What planet’s genetics could have possibly given birth to her? And most importantly, what feat of strength had she performed to rouse him? A single transformation may have gone unnoticed. He had lain asleep for so long this time. What powers did she possess? Each Dragoness was slightly different, some telekinetic, some prophetic. All died the same. He frowned. The high psi presented a challenge but they were so rare the possibility could almost be dismissed immediately. Almost. He had killed a high psi once, paid her lover to drive a blade into her heart. The shock of betrayal wounded her as much as the kiss of steel. His bloodless lips stretched into a smile. When he and his kind were birthed, it was for the sole purpose of the eradication of the Dragoon. Like vermin, the Dragoon multiplied, conquered and spread. Then they chose to challenge the Shindar. His maker. The Ancients. He was the last of his kind, a fact that did not escape his notice. A Dragoness possessing all the psychic gifts would require him to be at his peak. He was not. He hungered. His hunger made him weak. That needed to be remedied.
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The universe spread out before him in an infinitesimal number of burning specks of light. As he watched, one began to burn brighter. The second heartbeat in the chamber strengthened. The light in the sky blazed, swelled to the size of a small star, then shrank. There. She lived there. He stood. His hounds crept forward on their bellies, then crouched at his feet. Black as a starless night, their collars were tanned bits of dragon flesh spiked with gruesome trophies—teeth, finger bones, claws. His cell was a mere bubble of air on a dead planetoid, nestled and camouflaged in a crater. Two strides to his left was his ship. The irresistible urge to be off, to find her, grew. As did his hunger. The Hunter stroked the bravest hound’s head. He needed to feed first, to regain his strength. Only then could he extinguish his ancient enemy. He felt her heart beat like it was his own. When he held it in his hands and watched it take its last beat, his job would be done. Until then, the craving for the last Dragoness’ blood was impossible to ignore.
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Chapter Four Adrianne drifted. She vaguely heard someone shout, “Damn it all, this one’s alive. Help me.” Too many hands touched her. She tried to push them away. Tried to speak too, but she couldn’t find her voice. It came out as a croak. Straps were laid over her body. Her arms were bound flat to her sides. She fought, twisted, screamed in that croaking voice she didn’t recognize as her own. A cool hand touched her forehead. Soothing words surrounded her like a mantra of prayer. Time blurred. Harsh lights, the antiseptic glare of what she guessed were surgical lights greeted her. Her senses seemed hyper-alert. She could feel her heart beat within her, the scratchy fabric of the gown against her skin, the whispered breath of someone beside her. “Not a thing wrong with her. Not a mark.” More murmurings, more awe, the pulsation of an X-ray machine tickled her senses. “Minor smoke inhalation. Shocky.” “You’d be in shock too if you were buried beneath a pile of burning bodies.” A brusque voice. “How did she escape? That’s what I want to know.” “Not a clue, not a frickin’ clue. I think, gentlemen, we just witnessed a miracle.” Someone snorted. “Let’s keep that out of the media, shall we?” “Too late for that. It’s already on the news.” All the voices paused. She could even hear the scrape of their feet as they turned to watch the television. She opened her eyes. Four men or women, she couldn’t tell, dressed in scrubs, faced away from her. A police officer faced the television as well. And on the screen, the smoking ruins of her plane. The all-too-cheerful face of a reporter smiled back at her. She despised how they could talk murder in one breath and switch to teasing about the weather in the next. “And here it came to a sudden stop. Mrs. Alice Sebring was an eyewitness to its amazing, and some say, miraculous halt,” the reporter was saying, her bright yellow ski jacket flecked with snow. An older woman, her hair heavily sprinkled with gray, clutched a red purse in one hand, a rosary in the other. Her face wore a beatific expression. “A miracle,” she said, raising her hands and looking upward. “The plane was heading right for us.” She gestured to the terminal behind her. “Then it stopped. Like the hand of God swooped down and stopped it. It didn’t hit anything. It just stopped.” “A miracle,” the reporter repeated. “Even more amazing, we have reports that there is a survivor.”
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Adrianne’s photo ID from her work badge flashed onto the screen. They would have to pick that picture, she thought. Her only chance of ever being on the news and they had to pick a crummy photo. Her shoulder-length blonde hair looked washed out, limp, her skin sallow instead of cream-colored. The picture was taken shortly after her dad died, before she met Nikki. When she felt there was no one in the world left for her. It didn’t show the slash marks on her wrists. The film cut to the wreckage. The plane had split in two. Its roof buckled from the intense heat of the flame, the sleek hull flattened. The wings were bent like an origami crane’s. Fire trucks were still dousing water on the smoldering ruins. Adrianne began to shake. The surgical stainless steel equipment on the table adjacent to her rattled. Five heads turned to her. She couldn’t meet their eyes. The bile rose in her throat. A sickly sweet metallic odor filled her nostrils. She retched. The nurse closest to her rolled her onto her side even as she choked. Her throat burned. The flesh dripped from the man in the seat behind her, dripped off the gurney she lay on. She screamed. Screamed until there was no air left in her world and she slipped into blackness. Someone called her name yet again. Not just her first name, her full name, Adrianne Benedicta Harris. Few knew her middle name, taken from her adoptive grandmother. She hated it. What name had her birth mother given her when she lay cradled in her arms? She wondered that many times. Names seemed to hold so much power. It defined one as a person. Billy Bob would never make president but William might. Now she was being pulled back to awareness by the sheer power of her name. Around her, the world rushed by in shades of gray, a stream of soundless motion, dizzying to watch. She was tugged beyond the cities and towns then, a part of the very cosmos, with the stars and the moon she knew so well blurring by until she felt as if she were nothing more than a streaming bit of light herself. “Erifydal.” She felt recognition of the word deep inside her, but did not know what it meant. At its calling, though, the rush of the world around her froze. She held herself like a glimmering orb, suspended in space, stars mere streaks of light beside her. Her hand reached out to caress one of the bits of light, fingers closing around nothing but warmth. Whatever drugs the doctors had given her at the hospital created some frighteningly vivid hallucinations. Nikki would be so jealous. Someone approached. She heard his footfalls as if he walked down an empty linoleum hallway. Click. Click. Click. Then a pause. She craned her head. Nothing but blackness and the tails of streaming stars greeted her. When she turned forward again, he stood before her. Quiet and unassuming, as if he were simply waiting for her to notice him.
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The man before her wasn’t human. She knew that by casual glance. His presence spoke of ancientness, while his body held the mask of youth. She focused on his feet, tried to clear the sludge out of her mind and willed herself back to her hospital room. “Please don’t.” She flinched at the sound of his voice and kept her gaze lowered. Black leather boots caressed his calves, slid over his knees and ended mid-thigh. A pair of dark gray breeches met the boots and from there, a tunic, belted at the waist with a belt that shimmered iridescently like snakeskin. Everything was filled out by an incredibly wellbuilt body. She stopped her gaze. If she was hallucinating—or worse yet, dying—she couldn’t have conjured up a more exquisite angel to meet her than the man standing before her. “Don’t go,” he repeated. She held herself still, hugging her body with her arms. Her hair draped over half her face. He took a step closer. His perfect body, coupled with a smooth deep voice, made her want to melt in place. She sighed. Wait a second. Her head jerked up. Somehow he’d closed the distance between them. She had but to stretch out her hand to touch him. She had the irrepressible urge to reach out and pinch him, just to see if he was real or not. What if he was her guardian angel? Well, then, he should be slapped for not being able to unlock her seat buckle. Of course, she might not be dead. She kept her hands to herself. Their eyes met. His face was oddly familiar, his look patient. His eyes were disquieting. Brilliant green with flecks of shimmery gold, his pupils were slit like a cat’s, his eyes framed by brows arched more sharply than any other person she’d known. High cheekbones outlined those tanned features. The sweep of his blond hair, a shade like deep burnished gold, caught her eye. He tipped his head. Light struck copper highlights in his hair. “Have I met you before?” What a stupid question. Yes, she met aliens or angels every day. He looked startled. It was satisfying to see a crack in his self-possession. “I think not. Do you recognize me?” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen an alien or an angel before.” “Do I frighten you?” He held out his hand, as if to touch her. She pulled back. “No.” Liar. “I cannot hurt you here.” Okay then, he’d neither confirmed nor denied that he was an alien or an angel. Nor had he tried to reassure her that he would not hurt her. “Just where is here?” He glanced around, surveying the nest of space she’d cocooned around herself without really knowing why. “A place of your own making.”
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“And you, a dream?” What a delectable dream, at that. Why couldn’t she meet a real man possessing this much charisma? She felt a sharp stab of guilt at that thought. Doug just didn’t measure up. “A dream here, real elsewhere.” He paused. “Erifydal, I must warn you. We do not have much time.” Then he reached out and touched her lightly on the shoulder. The touch was so achingly familiar she felt as if some lost piece of her had finally found its way home. It was her father’s touch, full of strength. It was her mother’s touch, sympathetic and reassuring. She resisted the inexplicable urge to fling herself into his arms. She took a step back, breaking the contact before she broke down and wept. “I don’t recognize that name, this Erifydal.” “It is what I called you here with.” “Excuse me? Aren’t you in my hallucination?” He looked puzzled. “What do you call yourself in your world?” The tone was commanding. She was unable to not answer. “Adrianne Benedicta Harris.” She frowned, felt some sort of pressure release when she finished speaking. “I heard you call me with that name. Who are you?” He hesitated a moment. “Navarre.” Navarre? Just one name like Cher or Madonna? Well, Michael the archangel had but one name too. And look at all he accomplished. She shook her head. If he was her guardian angel, he would have known her name, wouldn’t he? This Navarre only confused her. She was afraid if she let him touch her again, though, she’d lose all sense of her self. “Well, Navarre. It’s been nice talking to you and you aren’t bad to look at either, but my delusional self and I need to move on. Either I’m dead or I’m in a hospital room somewhere probably wishing I was dead.” “Erif…Adrianne,” he fumbled and she had the satisfaction of seeing him lose his serene mask again. “This is no dream, just a meeting place between worlds. You are in danger. The Hunter and his hounds have been awakened by your activity.” Adrianne threw her head back and laughed. It felt so good. She crossed guardian angel off the list. “Right. Okay, let’s go with that. So, I’m between worlds. Tell me, why would you, obviously an alien, be contacting me?” “Because you are our Queen,” he said simply, clearly dismayed by her flippancy. Her world shattered yet again.
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Chapter Five Adrianne opened her eyes. Nikki Kitzerow, her roommate, sat beside her in the hospital room, stroking her hand. Despite running a bar called The Beast and having a rampant sexual life, forty-five-year-old Nikki had a motherly, down-to-earth air about her. Her black hair was closely cropped, tucked behind her triple-pierced ears. Normally she wore contacts, but today her dark brown eyes were framed by a tiny pair of gold-rimmed glasses. Never without makeup, her eyes were lined with thick chocolate color, her lids smoky with hints of silver, her eyelashes long and black-tipped. She had a bad girl aura about her, but Adrianne knew her better. Nikki walked a pretty straight line, kept her checkbook neurotically balanced and her underwear color-coordinated in her drawer as well as on her body. She was the only woman Adrianne knew with enough colored underwear to match a sixty-fourpiece box of crayons. Her secrets were safe with Adrianne. Nikki’s voice was light, but her eyes worried. “Good morning, sleepyhead.” “Morning?” “They drugged you up pretty good.” Nikki had no idea. The scent of Adrianne’s alien angel still lingered in the air. Musky, wild, with an underlying current of danger running beneath the surface of his cool gaze. She reluctantly banished him to her dreams. “How long have I slept?” Nikki gave her a guarded look. “A week.” “A week!” How could that be? She’d been in the emergency room. She closed her eyes for just a moment. Then came the alien dreams. Where had she lost a week? “I came as soon as the police called. I drove,” Nikki added. “No more flying for me.” “Oh thank God.” Adrianne pulled herself up into a sitting position. “When can I go home?” Nikki hesitated. “There’s nothing physically wrong with you. The doctors are more concerned about your mental state.” She thought about the wild dreams and secretly agreed with the doctors. No way was she going to voice those concerns. They’d never let her go. “I freaked out. You would too if you’d seen what I have.” Just how badly she slipped she didn’t know. Had she talked in her sleep, spoken to her alien angel out loud? How far back had these doctors dug into her past medical records? “I know. I know. You hallucinated pretty bad. They had to tie you down.”
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Adrianne glanced at her wrists and arms. They were bruised, perfect chocolate brown circles ringing her arms like bracelets. She’d seen those marks before too. “Your blood work is all over the chart. Your heart rate is so slow it’s frightening but they can’t find anything wrong.” She said everything in a jumble, paused for air and promptly burst into tears. “I saw the news. I saw the plane. I thought you were dead. Nobody lives through that. No one.” She buried her head against Adrianne’s chest. “It’s okay. I’m still here.” She rubbed Nikki’s back awkwardly. She’d never known Nikki to break down like this. She tried to keep her tone light. “I’m not letting you off the hook, even if I did miss Thanksgiving. I still want the annual shrimp and cookie food-fest.” Nikki sniffled, pulled back with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that. I promised myself I wouldn’t do that to you.” She smiled through her tears. “I smuggled sandwich cookies in, although their numbers have rapidly dwindled each day I’ve been here.” She lifted up her oversized purse and patted it. It made a crackling noise. “How about clothes? Help me get dressed and we’ll get out of here.” She started tugging at the wires attached to her. Nikki glanced over her shoulder, then leaned forward. “There’s a police officer posted outside your door.” “Why?” She paused, mid-tug. “For your own safety,” she added hurriedly. “You’re the sole survivor of the crash. The reporters are crawling all over the hospital looking for a photo op or a chance to talk to you.” “Wanna make a few bucks? Take my picture.” Adrianne struck a pose, arm flung across her forehead dramatically. “I’m serious!” “So am I. How much will they pay you for one?” “Adri!” Nikki stood and strode to the window. The blinds were drawn. “Sole survivor, did that part sink in?” “I saw the crash on television,” Adrianne said quietly. “I just don’t want to think about it right now, okay?” Nikki turned back to her, eyes softening. “Okay.” “Does Doug know?” Nikki dropped her gaze so Adrianne wouldn’t see the anger warring there. “Yes. He had a bowling tournament, said the team needed him and you had me.” She kept her voice neutral. “The bastard,” Adrianne said mildly. She was hurt by his indifference, no doubt about it, but she wasn’t about to let Nikki see that. Nikki already disliked him. Nikki chewed on her lip, but kept silent.
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She didn’t want to think about Doug at the moment. Her thoughts kept straying to the blond sweep of hair her dreamy alien possessed. “Let’s go home.” “Now?” Adrianne swung her feet over the side of the bed. Whoa. Just a little bit of vertigo. She pulled the heart monitor off her finger. “Now.” “You can’t just walk out of a hospital.” “You said there wasn’t anything wrong with me.” “The police want to talk to you.” She followed Nikki’s gaze and saw movement in the hallway. “Busted.” A nurse rushed in, a plainclothes police officer two steps behind her. “I need to use the bathroom.” Apparently the heart monitor she just pulled off was wired to some central desk. “Stay put. I’ll get a bedpan,” the nurse instructed. “Like hell.” Adrianne stood wobbly, gripping the side table for support. The nurse grabbed her arm in a viselike grip, her strength cleverly disguised by her petite frame. She reached Adrianne’s shoulder, maybe five foot two, and wore her blonde hair in a spiky cut. “Stubborn, aren’t we?” “You have no idea,” Nikki muttered. Being escorted to the bathroom made Adrianne feel utterly incompetent. The nurse eased her down on the toilet. “You should have had your friend get me.” Her face shone with a slick sheen of sweat. “I’d be peeing in a bedpan then, wouldn’t I?” A smile touched the nurse’s lips. “Yes. I’ll be just outside the door. Call when you need me.” She tried to pee or make some sort of noise, then waited for a while feeling foolish. Finally, she leaned over and turned on the faucet. The sound of running water moved things along and camouflaged her own sounds. How embarrassing to have three people listening to her pee. When she finished, the nurse bustled through the door. “Excuse me?” She was poised just above the toilet, tissue in hand. “I see it every day,” she remarked. “Well, I don’t.” Adrianne tried to shrug off her assistance. “We’re lowering your pain medication. That’ll take the wind out of your sails.” “You’re not intimidating me.” “It’s my job to make sure you get better.” “I am perfectly fine. Thank you.” She made her way back to the bed on her own, the nurse hovering at her elbow. Edging by the officer so he couldn’t see her bare backside, she slid onto the bed. Damn hospital gowns. She wanted her own clothes, her own bed and to be out from beneath everyone’s scrutiny. The nurse bustled around her, reattaching monitors. 20
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“Agent Haynes,” the officer said when she finally settled herself into bed, upright, covers tucked tight around herself. He extended his hand. Not bad-looking. His grip was firm, eyes wary but a warm rich brown. Worn brown loafers, khakis neatly pressed, and an olive-colored cotton long-sleeve shirt coordinated with the hint of sock she spied when he sat down beside the bed. His hair was of a utilitarian cut, slightly longer than military, but not much, his jaw wide, cleanshaven. He looked boyishly thirty but his eyes were aged. Pushing forty, she guessed. Way too old for her, but he had potential for Nikki. She glanced at Nikki. Nikki raised an eyebrow. “Am I in trouble?” “No, but I do have a few questions we need to ask. Part of the routine. Do you want to be alone?” Nikki, leaning against the window, flashed her a wicked grin of white teeth against her dark complexion. No, she didn’t want to be alone for a long, long time. “Shoot.” “Excuse me?” “Go ahead, ask away.” He hesitated. “Are you aware you are the only survivor?” She cut him off with a terse “yes”. “Have you seen photos of the crash?” He reached inside an envelope he carried. “I saw it on the television.” He paused, dropping his hand. “We don’t know how you lived through that,” he said bluntly. “That makes two of us.” “Anything you can tell me?” “We hit turbulence before we landed. The flight crew gave us the crash lecture. We all assumed the position. We crashed.” He flashed her a quick smile, all even white teeth. He took no notes and kept one hand on his envelope, the other, resting on his knee. She saw the muscles twitch in the hand cupping his knee. “Tell me what you can about the crash.” She shuddered, trying miserably to keep her emotions hidden. He wanted facts. And yet, all she saw was blood trickling out of Karen Anhalt’s mouth. She swallowed, fought down the bubble of panic. “I saw the terminal coming toward us too fast. I thought we were going to hit it.” And remembered her mind gibbering stop, stop, stop. “We stopped before we hit though. I don’t know what we hit, but it was big enough to stop a plane.” “The plane didn’t hit anything.”
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Adrianne shook her head. “I felt it. My seat belt almost cut me in two. If we didn’t hit the terminal, what stopped the plane?” Frustration crept into her voice. “I don’t know.” He watched her closely. “A plane sliding sideways doesn’t just come to a halt on its own.” “You’re echoing my thoughts.” “I remember the screeching noise, metal groaning, the smell of something burning.” Burning flesh, hair, seats. “Screams, doors opening, people trampling each other.” Her world was pitching dangerously again. Her heart monitor beeped a staccato rhythm. The blonde nurse poked her head into the room, frowned at Agent Haynes, then backed out. Nikki stepped beside the bed, started stroking her hand. She was caught in the images. “I don’t remember much more.” But she did. The fire eating up her pants legs, the bob and nod of the flames so mesmerizing, its insatiable hunger. “You have bumps and bruises, no broken bones and remarkably no burns. Everyone and everything else burned. Why?” “Ask the doctors,” she retorted, meeting his accusing eyes. He dropped his gaze and toyed with the envelope. “Do you want to see photos?” he asked quietly. “No,” she retorted. “I want to know why the plane crashed.” “Preliminary report blames the ice.” She remembered seeing ice coating the wings. He continued. “After 9/11, we can’t rule out an act of sabotage.” “You’re nuts,” she said, jumping to his conclusion. “I’m a teacher, not a terrorist.” “You lived,” he said simply. “How? Maybe hiding beneath a nonflammable blanket or spraying some sort of fire retardant on your body.” “Get out,” she said in a harsh voice. “Get out of here.” “Ms. Harris.” “Am I under arrest?” “No.” “Then get out.” She pointed, jabbing her finger at the door. “I have a right to ask that you inform the authorities prior to you going anywhere.” “To hell I will.” She raised her chin. “I’m the victim, damn it.” She felt her resolve slipping. A few tears slid down her face. She swiped at them with her gown’s flimsy sleeve. “All we want is answers,” he said evenly. “Me too.” He stood as a doctor entered the room, her nurse in tow.
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“Glad to see you’re awake, Adrianne,” he said and she recognized him from the emergency room. Nearly bald but for a fringe of hair over his ears, mid-fifties with a nononsense air about him. He frowned at Haynes. “She’s been through a very traumatic ordeal. I would like to see her rest.” “I was just leaving.” He reached into a pocket and laid a business card on the bedside table. “If you want to talk or think of anything else, give me a call.” At Nikki’s tightening grip, she bit back a retort and simply nodded. She had a feeling she’d see Haynes again. When he’d left the room, she turned to the doctor. “I’d like to go home.” He examined her with a critical eye. “There’s no reason to technically keep you here any longer and your insurance company will be pleased you want to leave. I prefer to keep my coma patients a few extra days to make sure they don’t regress.” He walked to the window and lifted a blind between his thumb and forefinger. “I understand your need to escape the scrutiny of the police and media hounds. But you cannot hide from everyone. Are you ready to deal with them?” “Is anyone ever?” She didn’t want to think about that. She wanted her normal life, her bed, a nice long bath and maybe even a glass of wine. “I’ve had a chance to review your medical records.” His tone was light. He turned to her, his face noncommittal, but gaze sharp. “You stopped filling your prescription over a year ago.” “My body, my choice.” “How are you feeling, Adrianne?” The tone of his voice changed, grandfatherly, as if offering her a butterscotch candy. “Like I fell out of a plane,” she retorted. Nikki didn’t know what she had done to herself when her father died. She couldn’t let Nikki know. She wasn’t that person anymore. She had picked up the pieces and forced herself to go on. He pressed his thin lips tight, his brow furrowed. “Get Ms. Harris a set of scrubs.” He waited until the nurse left the room. “I’d like to know how you survived. Everyone would.” He held up his hand to forestall her protest. “What is difficult for us, especially for a man of my profession, is that sometimes we just don’t have an answer. Consider your life a gift, Ms. Harris. Use it wisely.” He crossed the room, scribbled a prescription on a piece of paper and laid it on the bedside table. “See that you get this filled.” “Thank you.” Fill it, no problem, use it, she doubted it. The nurse returned with the scrubs and a pair of ridiculously thin slippers. “I don’t like seeing my hospital turned into a circus. Use the service elevator. You have one hour. After that I’ll announce that you’ve been discharged.” He left. “Wow, warm bedside manner,” Nikki remarked. Adrianne was already pulling off her gown and dressing in the scrubs. The doctor hadn’t pushed. Nikki hadn’t pried. Her secret was safe. That was all that mattered. 23
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She headed into the bathroom, a bit woozy, and splashed water on her face. Her hair was in desperate need of a wash. She braided it tightly, securing it with a rubber band. Hazy blue eyes stared back at her from the mirror. She frowned at the bags. Nikki popped in and handed her a compact. “You need some color.” For once, Adrianne agreed. “How do I look?” A touch of blush added life to her cheeks. She disguised the shadows beneath her eyes with as much powder as she dared. “Like you just worked two back-to-back shifts.” Quiet concern filled her eyes. She touched Adrianne’s shoulder lightly. “You ready? You could stay here another night. I won’t leave you alone.” “No.” “All right then.” She eyed her critically. “I think we’ll make it.” They slipped down the hallway, chatting amiably as if the pair had indeed just gotten off shift and were making plans. They passed Agent Haynes at the nurses’ station. His lean body was draped over the counter, badge displayed beside him, as he tried to read something on the nurse’s computer monitor. The nurse’s voice was raised. Her hand shielded the contents of the monitor from view. They did not notice the pair. The service elevator opened. The doors whooshed closed. Silence closed around them. Nikki cleared her throat. “I’m not one to pry.” Adrianne snorted. “What did the doctor find in your records?” She swallowed hard. Nikki must never know. No one must ever know she lost herself once. She was whole now. Or was she? Was the whispering voice of an alien a sign she slipped? She’d made a life since then. A life filled with a sexually fulfilling relationship and friendships she treasured. She had a career, paid her bills on time and even went to church from time to time. But most importantly, she had Nikki. “Nothing to be concerned about,” Adrianne replied, trying to keep her voice steady and light at the same time. “You can trust me.” “You know I do.” Nikki gave her a hard, long stare. “Okay. When you’re ready, we’ll talk.” Like hell. She smiled. “All right, we will.” “You can be incredibly pigheaded,” Nikki muttered. “I learned from the best.” The elevator doors opened. They turned away from the lobby, quickly enough to only glimpse the reporters lounging there. Over the course of a week, their watchfulness had ebbed. Other stories took precedence. What remained in the lobby 24
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were the last-chance reporters, those seeking their big break. And they were watching for a beat-up blonde-haired woman with a sallow face and haunted eyes, not a nurse with greasy hair accompanied by a raven-haired woman of Latino origin. Nikki pulled the keys from her pocket as they headed out the door. Her beat-up gray car was parked in two-hour parking. Typical Nikki. She, no doubt, played the concerned friend role to the hilt, and the law relented. A note fluttered beneath her driver-side windshield wiper. Adrianne snickered. “Looks like you didn’t escape a fine this time.” Nikki smiled, a predator’s smile, pulled the note loose and read it. “One of the security guys asking me for a date.” She crumpled the paper up and tossed it in her backseat. “Sometimes I hate you. Hand over those cookies.”
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Chapter Six Navarre felt the pressure ease even before he opened his eyes. He turned his head, willing his dormant body awake. His fellow comrades still slept, cocooned in their traveling beds. The gray walls around them rippled imperceptibly, as fluid expanded through the walls of the ship again. His toes tingled. Taking off his oxygen mask, he sat up slowly, letting his body adjust to normal pressure. He intensely disliked space travel. The Dragoon had been on the move for the past seventy-five years. He prayed Adrianne Benedicta Harris was truly their Queen and their quest could finally come to an end. Home, a place to stretch one’s wings and caress the sky. He didn’t ask for much. None of them did anymore. Family, friends, their very race, was annihilated. All they had left were each other. Little comfort that was. The craft settled, purring in contentment. It had been traveling far too long as well. Navarre touched the spongy wall. “Thank you,” he murmured. While they slept, the ship had analyzed the environment and deemed it safe for its inhabitants. Navarre was one of the few who never forgot the importance of their sentient ship. “Ramp?” A hole opened at his feet with a hiss as pressurized air met the atmosphere of a new planet. He should wait for someone else to rise. As the last of their race, they had an unspoken agreement to travel in pairs for safety. A glance down the row of couches revealed twelve other sleeping forms. Running his fingers through his hair, he took a step toward his brother’s couch. Altarre’s mouth was open. He snored softly. Let him sleep. Altarre was an empath. The last couple of months had been particularly hard on him. Navarre did not hesitate to descend. The ship sealed itself shut behind him. No sign of an opening remained. The ship’s body was shaped like a whale’s, with a large blunt front end tapering in a streamlined fashion to a pointed rear. It had already begun to burrow into the frozen soil around it. In a few days there would be no trace of its presence. Anything in its burrowing path it could consume, it would. That which could not be consumed, was expelled and used to cover itself. An effective craft and one of the last of its kind as well, its symbiotic relationship with the Dragoon pretty much heralded its extinction. Navarre drew his cloak around him. To his internal temperature, it was bitterly cold. What forsaken area had they landed in? His feet made crunching noises as he moved, the ground white beneath him. Above him, woody plants extended nude arms skyward, as if beseeching a cruel God for more warmth. A lone sun sullenly lit the sky.
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The cold air seared his lungs. A single exhalation created a cloud before his lips and dissipated before he could touch it. Wonderful. This planet’s ambiance would certainly elevate all their moods, he thought sarcastically. But this was the planet of their Queen. That thought alone propelled him forward. Tipping his head, he listened for sounds of life, letting his mind play out lightly. Creatures touched his thread, tentative at first, chittering softly. He caught the image of a small gray furred body, every muscle constantly on the move. Another touched his mind, slow and as thick as molten earth, as white as the ground around it, ears pointy, and incredibly well-tuned. A sleeping giant’s rhythms tickled his sense, a large black creature curled in a den to his south. He played out farther and found what he sought. Humans. A mental signature like and yet unlike their Queen. His Queen’s mental touch was tinged with self-awareness, yet wild, as if she could spin away from herself, never return, and not fear that escape. Unpredictable and reckless was more like how others of the Dragoon would describe that characteristic. He found it intriguing. His Queen. With blonde hair as light-colored as a newborn dragon’s underbelly and piercing blue eyes that sought to sear into the very soul of a person. He wondered if she knew what she could do to someone with that clever brain tucked behind those eyes. Was she so new to her talents that she did not know? Or had she managed to hide her psi signature from them all these years? Either possibility meant she was dangerous. It thrilled him. The human minds that he found were focused on pleasure, their senses and wits dull. He felt sullied just touching them. He had no more desire to interact with them, yet in order to gain what he needed, he must. With a sigh, he moved in the direction of these humans, then paused. His footfalls were so noisy. He wanted to fly but the ripple in the environment’s aura might be enough to attract unsavory characters. The Dragoon would be weak after such a long, quick spaceflight as well as the ship itself. And he was alone. He could not risk drawing predators to the ship. He moved through the arc of woody plants, unsure of how the time passed here, intent only on his prey. A shelter eventually came into sight, hewn from the woodland around it. Square in shape, an exhaust pipe stuck out of the roof. Exhaust in the form of smoke puffed out of the pipe. Panels set into the frame of the shelter looked translucent. He approached as close as he dared, hid himself behind a stack of chopped wood and collected his thoughts. He sensed two occupants in the shelter. A third stumbled through the snow into Navarre’s line of sight, his movements jerky as if injured or impaired. “Hey,” he called to the other inhabitants as if they could hear him. He pulled down his breeches, whipped out his manliness and began to pee. He moved as he peed, scrolling burning yellow into the white ground covering. “Hey,” he called again. “I wrote my whole
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name in the snow!” Pants still half down, the crack of his buttocks showing, he trudged back to the shelter, calling out to the others again. The intelligence level of that one was frightening. Navarre dismissed it immediately, praying one of the other two possessed a shred of sense. He eased all three minds into a rhythm of sleep and waited several minutes. Then he stepped from his hiding place and slipped into the shelter. Was this how his Dragoness lived? He inwardly cringed. Clothes draped nearly every surface. There was an unsavory odor to the shelter which made him wrinkle his nose. One man’s body was collapsed by the door, pants half done. The other two were slumped over a table, pieces of paper strewn around their bodies, stacks of metal cylinders beside them. He picked up one of the metal cylinders, sniffed at the contents and smiled. Some sort of fermented ale. Ah, the others would be pleased to know the humans favored that as they did. But he was not here to assess their eating and drinking habits. He needed their language. He poked around in one of the sleeper’s minds until he found his center of speech, then stole the knowledge. Mind speech would get them only so far. They needed the language to blend in and to communicate properly with their Queen. He rummaged through the cabin, snatching a cache of garments and a stack of printed material. Perhaps Vespero, their historian, could extract some measure of their culture from the literature. The building was warm. It pleased him to know she would require warmth as well as they did. He found its source. As he suspected, they burned the woody plants. Back outside he took a deep breath of clear air, pleased to be free of the sweatstenched and greasy food-laden air. Death clung to the air. He turned his head. A large furred animal hung from a set of posts behind the cabin. He touched it, felt its stiff brown body and knew it had been dead for some time. That the planet supplied animals large enough to satisfy the Dragoon’s appetites was good to know too. The humans would ease out of their sleep no worse for wear. He pushed the sleeping man into the cabin just far enough so he could close the door. He started to follow his footprints back to their ship, then froze. If he could find his way back, so could others. Bending down, he blew lightly across his tracks. His hot breath melted the footprints, blurring them seamlessly into the snow around him. Snow. He now knew the word for the crusty white stuff he stepped in. It meant the ground and air were cold and moisture-laden, a good warning sign. The Dragoon preferred a warmer, more desert-like climate. Armed with the words of his Queen, he took his time returning to the ship, pausing to hide his tracks, marvel at lichen on a tree, and watch the industrious habits of a woodpecker. Such miniature flying creatures fascinated him. By the time the ship came into view, darkness shrouded the landscape. The ship had already burrowed about a foot into the earth. Several large rocks scattered the area, apparently indigestible.
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When he entered the main chamber, he heard the rest of his comrades shaking off their travel-induced slumber. He dumped the contents of his scouting onto a table the ship formed out of the wall for him. Altarre was waiting, leaning in the frame of the open panel. He stood as tall as his brother, but was a darker shade, hazel eyes, ruststreaked chocolate hair, a bit leaner as well in the chest. Navarre was a master swordsman. Altarre, a healer, had no need to develop the muscles necessary to play with steel. “You should have woken me,” Altarre scolded. “The others will be irate.” His brother radiated worry, his brow furrowed, eyes flashing. Unspoken was how the others already resented Navarre for being the first to detect and contact their Queen. Now he’d just made himself the first to speak her language as well. “I am safe. I have been productive.” Navarre indicated, with a sweep of his hand, the stolen objects. “At what cost?” Altarre asked, a sharpness in his tone. Navarre glared at him. He didn’t need praise, but a little appreciation would be nice. Altarre relented, dropping his gaze. “I know you take care but you worried me.” He raised his eyes. “You are the only one who has touched her. We cannot lose you.” His brother was right. It was a point he had overlooked. Navarre kept silent. His pride might have stolen the Dragoon’s only chance. He had taken an unnecessary risk, not that he’d admit it to anyone, even his brother. Altarre held up a garment between thumb and forefinger. “It smells.” “Aye.” Navarre paused. “I captured their language too.” He waited for the backlash, but there was none. Altarre merely raised an eyebrow. “You will share that.” An order, not a question. When Navarre did not rise to the challenge, he added, “The others will be pleased. My thanks as well.” The others be damned. He needed the language to entice his Queen. His genetics would not die with him and Altarre. Their family was already disgraced. If he wooed and mated the Queen, it would be his line that resurrected the Dragoon. His family line would no longer be known as a failure. His sister, Mirium, could finally be forgiven for her inability to fly and mate. That he found the Queen intriguing was a pleasant benefit. Already he felt the stirrings of possession. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to share her with the Dragoon. Damned difficult, as he fashioned an image of her within his mind. But necessary if he wanted to keep himself from getting murdered by the rest of them for even thinking of stealing their Queen away. Benito, the eldest member of the Dragoon, entered the side chamber. His jet black hair was generously sprinkled with gray. Fine lines wove a tapestry at the edges of his eyes. His eyes, themselves, were a tired gold, as bronzed as his skin. There would be no redemption for Benito’s bloodline. Age now made him impotent. 29
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Benito scowled when he saw the objects. Reaching for one of the printed books, he opened it, then dropped it immediately. “They display their females nude?” he choked, shocked. “Where?” Altarre reached for the fallen book. Benito put his boot-clad foot over it. “Which of you brought this into our midst?” Altarre looked pointedly at Navarre. “Knowing their culture is necessary to integrate into their society,” Navarre protested against Benito’s accusing stare, all the while wondering if all humans were as comfortable with their nudity as the female half-hidden by Benito’s boot was. What a tempting thought. “If we fail to find her before the Hunter does, it is moot. Have you tried to contact her here?” “No.” “That should be our first priority. Have you the strength to do so yet?” Benito did not mean to insult him even though it sounded as such. Navarre swallowed his pride. “She is not accustomed to sharing her mind, even when trapped within the confines of sleep. How do you propose I contact her if she is awake?” “I do not know, but you must try,” Benito replied. Altarre shot him a warning glance. Her discovery is both a blessing and a curse to him, he said quietly in his brother’s mind. Speaking mind to mind was the only way one could safely be assured that no one was overhearing a private conversation in the somewhat tight quarters of the ship. A blessing in that Benito would not witness the Dragoon’s extinction. A curse in that his genetics would die with him while the others continued on. Navarre merely nodded. “I will attempt to contact her immediately.” He wanted no strife with Benito. The ship, anticipating his need, extended a portion of itself into the room, forming a couch of sorts. Navarre settled himself into its warming folds, letting the ship envelop him and warm his chilled body. He felt the thrum of the ship’s heartbeat within the material covering him. If their ship mourned over its inability to pass along its own genetic material, it never let Navarre know. With a sigh of resignation, Navarre closed his eyes and let his mind spin free. Benito was right. He had to try. She was all they had left.
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Chapter Seven Adrianne dozed on and off throughout the ride home. Highway 29 had that lulling effect, a mostly flat strip of road that wove its way through trees and half-abandoned towns. The car’s headlights reflected off the sparkling snow banks. Hard rock music pulsed through the car. That she could sleep through its bass rumble was a testament to how much her body had adapted since moving into the apartment about Nikki’s bar. Yawning, she rubbed sleep from her eyes. “Do you need me to drive?” “Not a chance.” Nikki glanced her way and turned down the radio station. “Feel any better?” Adrianne caught the gleam of eyes in the ditch and straightened. “Watch out!” A large black body bounded across their lane. “Shit!” Nikki slammed on the brakes and swerved, sliding onto the road’s shoulder. The vehicle narrowly missed the creature as it vaulted into the snow-covered strip separating the lanes of traffic. An oncoming car swerved as well, coming to an abrupt halt sideways in his lane. The headlights of both vehicles glared balefully at each other. “What was that?” The car’s seat belt cut into her already bruised shoulder. Adrianne unfastened it. “A dog,” Nikki said. “I almost hit someone’s dog.” She was shaking. “Couldn’t have been. There are no houses around.” Her mind failed to process what she saw. It moved like a dog, with a long, loping stride, but it was too big to be any sort of dog. And she could have sworn those eyes glowed red in the headlights. She shook her head, clearing the last shreds of sleep. “We better see if the other driver’s okay.” “I don’t want to see someone’s pet squished on the road.” Nikki kept her hands on the steering wheel. “I’ll check.” She leaned across Nikki and turned on the car’s hazard lights before getting out. She heard another car door slam. “Are you all right?” she called, crossing in front of the car. The snow in the median strip was deep with a crusty top layer. She took only a few steps before her foot broke through and she sank up to her knee. “Yeah!” a man yelled backed. “I think I hit a wolf.” The loose snow beneath the crust slid up beneath her scrubs’ pants legs. She shivered, pulled her foot back out, and paused. A wolf? In this area? That made sense.
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“Be careful. Is it dead?” She could see the shadow of the big dog or wolf’s form in the car’s headlights. The length of its body was as long as the car’s width. The car’s driver approached the body, then nudged it with the end of a tire iron he held in one hand. It didn’t move. He crept closer, dropping to one knee to get a better look. “Holy shit, it’s huge!” he called back, excitement in his voice. At the sound of the shout, the wolf-dog leaped up, its movements a blur of black and crimson. The man screamed but once. Adrianne heard the tire iron clank as it struck the pavement. She scrambled backward, her feet breaking through the brittle snow. Nikki opened her car door and poked her head out. “Is something wrong?” “Get back in the car,” Adrianne hissed, keeping her eyes on the creature’s movements. It had the man’s neck in its mouth. It lifted up its head, shook the limp body, then turned toward her. Its eyes gleamed crimson. Adrianne’s thighs bumped against the car. She froze. “What’s wrong? Does he need help?” Nikki spotted the wolf. “Omigod. Should I call 9-1-1?” “Get back in the car,” Adrianne repeated. She took her eyes away long enough to scoot around the vehicle and slam the door behind her. The sound caused the wolf to drop the man. It padded through the median strip, cruising on top of the snow with a long, lanky stride. Something that big should have broken through the crusty snow. But it didn’t. “Straighten us out,” Adrianne demanded. Nikki didn’t have to be told twice. She backed up, pointed the nose of the car forward and began to inch along the road. Headlights from another car reflected in their rearview mirror. Thank God someone was coming. “Shouldn’t we help him?” Nikki asked. “He’s dead.” The wolf-dog padded onto the road and faced them, tongue lolling. Nikki cursed softly. “What is that?” “It killed the other driver.” Adrianne held as still as she could, hoping it couldn’t see her within the car’s interior. It looked like a black greyhound, the body long and wiry, but its chest was twice as wide as its head. White teeth gleamed against its hide. Its muzzle was matted and dripped. Blood, Adrianne thought, shivering. It sat. Tongue lolling, its eyes glowed crimson in the car’s headlights. “Umm, Adri?” Nikki’s voice seemed very small. “Why are its eyes red?” “Don’t look at it. Floor it.”
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“I can’t. It could be someone’s pet. It’s wearing a collar.” Adrianne didn’t bother to look. “That’s nobody’s pet.” She covered Nikki’s foot with her own and slammed down the gas pedal. The little car lurched forward. The wolf-dog never moved out of their way. Nikki blinked and regained some semblance of self-control. She jerked the steering wheel to miss it. The wolf-dog rose and leaped. Its body slammed into Nikki’s door, face smashing against the glass. Adrianne saw teeth and bloody jaws. Both women screamed. A streak of blood smeared the window. Flecks spattered across the windshield like an abstract painting. Nikki’s foot pressed down the accelerator. Adrianne sat back. The car shot forward, headlights bouncing down the highway. Nikki kept her foot on the gas pedal until the needle crept to eighty. “Easy, leadfoot.” Adrianne put a hand on Nikki’s arm. Nikki turned on the windshield wipers and washed away the blood specks. The car slowed. “What the hell was that?” Adrianne prided herself on keeping her voice steady. “Probably someone’s wolf hybrid.” “With red eyes?’ Her hands clenched the steering wheel. “An illusion.” But a creepily effective one at that. She could have sworn it was looking right at her. Nikki was stiff beside her. “For God’s sake, Nikki, breathe.” Nikki kept her eyes on the road. “We should call the police.” “It’s a busy road and there was a car right behind us.” She glanced in the side mirror. The car she had seen was either stopped or they simply outpaced it. She peeked at the speedometer. It was back down to sixty-five. “There’s a person bleeding out…” “He’s dead. That car already stopped for him.” Deep breath, deep unbroken breath. Adri slumped in her seat, aching all over. “I know what dead people look like,” she muttered. Nikki did not reply. “Thank you for coming to get me,” she said when the silence continued. Nikki let out an exasperated snort. “I’ll make it up to you. The very next time your plane crashes, I’ll be there.” Nikki gave her a sidelong glance. “This isn’t funny.” “I’m not disagreeing with you.” She fiddled with the radio dial, then turned on Nikki’s favorite station. The car slowed. “What are you doing?” Adrianne sat upright.
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“Checking to see if someone stopped.” Nikki made a U-turn directly in front of the “No U-Turns Allowed” sign. Adrianne couldn’t put a name to the fear that sparked through her. “Don’t!” “I don’t plan on getting out of the car.” She drove back at a steady pace, obeying the speed limit. “Nikki.” Nikki turned up the radio and deliberately began to sing along with the song. Adrianne was well accustomed to her friend’s stubbornness. “You’re pissing me off,” she yelled over the blare of the radio. “And you’re not acting like the person I know,” Nikki retorted. Nikki was right. If they didn’t go back, she’d regret it later. Something inside her, though, sounded warning bells. If she was driving, it would have been physically impossible for her to head back to the scene. Call it shell-shock. Post traumatic stress syndrome. Whatever it was, she felt the hair stand up at the nape of her neck. Adrianne drummed her fingers against the dashboard. The closer they came, the faster she drummed. She squirmed in her seat and sent a pleading look in Nikki’s direction. Nikki ignored her. Two cars had already stopped by the time they reached the scene. Someone had draped the man’s head and shoulders with a coat. “See!” Adrianne exclaimed with an explosive breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Nikki sighed and drove by slowly. “Maybe we should get a hotel room. I need a drink.” She ran her hand through her short dark hair, spiking it. “I need a couple of drinks.” “Can we get a room with a whirlpool tub?” “This isn’t a vacation.” She caught the look in Adrianne’s eye. A relaxing bubble bath and a bottle of wine might be the best remedy for both of them. “My treat,” Adrianne persisted, seeing Nikki’s resistance crumble. “Did you happen to hide a credit card in a body cavity?” Oops. No purse, no credit card. She smiled sweetly at Nikki. “I’ll pay you back.” Nikki glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “My treat. Just don’t go and try to die on me again.” “That’s an easy promise to keep.”
***** Adrianne poured herself a glass of wine, actually a coffee cup since the room they rented only carried paper cups and thick unbreakable ugly ceramic coffee cups, but that didn’t really matter. She took a tentative taste. It probably wasn’t wise to mix alcohol with painkillers, but judging by how she felt, her medication wore off. And they hadn’t 34
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taken the time to fill the prescription the doctor wrote for her. Alcohol was a cheap and easier-to-be-had substitute right now, although with Nikki’s choice of wine, the medication just might be the more affordable of the two. Nikki ordered a pizza, then dashed out to find Adrianne some clothes other than scrubs. The whirlpool bath was about half full. She tested the water, impatient to indulge herself. Emptying her coffee cup full of wine, she poured herself another cupful, and propped it on the edge of the tub. Shucking her scrubs, she stepped in. Heaven on earth. She slid deeper, the water lapping her neck. The alarm clock radio played quietly in the background. The hotel was nearly empty on a Tuesday. The few occupied rooms held business travelers nearly as weary as herself. She glanced at the clock. Seven p.m. It felt so much later. She eased deeper into the tub, let the water hide her to her chin. The tub’s jets massaged her aching muscles. The wine, the warmth, and the soothing silence all conspired to lull her into sleep. The hotel room door opened and shut. Nikki laughed quietly. “Comfortable? I’m going to go wait for the pizza in the lobby.” Adrianne roused enough to lift her hand and wiggle her fingers. Nikki laughed again. She detested the silence. “Don’t drown on me,” she called as she left. Adrianne grunted a response and dozed off. When she roused again, it came with a painfully sharp awareness. The hair rose at the nape of her neck. Her watery oasis felt more like a prison than a soothing retreat. With a sixth sense she didn’t know she possessed, she felt another presence. It didn’t alarm her as much as it surprised her. Didn’t some people have strange premonitions after surviving their own near death experience? Her eyes flicked open. “Who’s there?” Her hotel room was still empty. She heard laughter down the hall, Nikki teasing the clerk. Easy now, Adrianne. The voice echoed in her mind. Masculine, familiar. Adrianne bolted upright, water splashing across the floor. The presence remained, tickling at the base of her skull. Mind speech, lady. It is Navarre. Navarre, as in the incredibly good-looking hallucination from the hospital? She heard a quiet chuckle in her mind. You are very flattering. “Where the hell are you?” she said out loud, snatching a towel into the tub and covering her breasts. Not there, he replied, amused. Although judging by your predicament, I wish I was.
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Both flattered and mortified, she clutched the towel tighter. “How do you know what I am doing?” You are broadcasting distress at every level. She paused at that, clamping down on her thoughts as she forced herself to breathe calmly. In through the nose, fill the lungs, out through the mouth. She cleared her lungs and her head at the same time. Much better. She heard approval in his voice. “Am I going crazy?” I assure you, you are quite sane. We are here now. We need to know where you are so we can protect you. “Who is we? And what are you trying to protect me from?” But the image of the wolf hybrid with crimson eyes jumped unbidden into her mind. Exactly. And not a wolf. A hound. You do not wish to meet the Hunter, its master. “Prove to me that I’m not crazy.” That she hadn’t hit her head too hard. That she wasn’t freaking out from possibly mixing pain medication with alcohol. Have you a flame? A flame? Fire. After she had nearly burned to death in a plane wreck, he wanted her to play with fire? “No!” But she knew Nikki carried a lighter in her purse. Her gaze darted to the hotel bureau where the purse slumped, half opened. “No way.” You did not burn. His voice was very soft. The touch of his mind tried to be soothing. You will not burn. “No.” She felt his sigh, then a pause as he thought about what to suggest next. Do you have access to a black light? “Not here, but I could get one.” Find one and shine it on your skin. “And that will prove I’m not crazy?” She relaxed against the edge of the tub. Just thinking of actually finding a black light was probably proof enough that she had lost it. Crazy or not, though, she liked the feel of Navarre’s presence. I suspect what you will see will raise many questions. His tone changed. Will you tell me where you are? “Not until I know I’m in danger, pal,” she muttered under breath, trying to project a more upbeat attitude toward him. You are not that good yet and mind speech is not a place for deceit. His voice was grim. Find that black light and get back to me. “Sure, I’ll just give you a call on my cell phone. Oops, it burnt up with the rest of my belongings.” I will be listening. “In on my thoughts?” She was indignant. 36
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He didn’t respond, but she felt his presence fade so she suspected he gave her some small measure of privacy. She had to be losing her mind. Nikki might think it was hilarious, just a bad trip. Adrianne couldn’t be sure. She climbed out of the bathtub, dripping towel wrapped around her, and padded to the shopping bag Nikki had left behind. Great. She held up a pair of matching red lacy bra and panties between her thumb and forefinger. She wrinkled her nose. They were something she’d never choose for herself, but Nikki was a stickler on coordinating undergarments. A pair of jeans, a turtleneck and some socks accompanied the impractical underwear. She dressed, then padded sock-footed down to the lobby. Nikki was chatting with the pizza delivery man. Uh-oh, she’d seen that smitten look on the faces of countless men who paraded through her roommate’s life. Even her Doug. She brushed that thought aside. “What does a woman have to do around here to get a warm slice of pizza?” Adrianne loudly complained. Pizza boy jumped as if he’d been shot. Nikki glanced lazily over her shoulder. “So you didn’t drown?” She surveyed the outfit, a wicked smile playing at her lips. “I didn’t think I’d ever get you to wear lace.” “You’ll pay for it.” She shook her finger at her, then snatched a piece of pizza and headed down the hallway. “I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder. “Just want to see what the pool looks like.” “Knock first,” Nikki called back. Adrianne had been her roommate long enough to figure that out on her own. She padded around the corner, looking not for the pool but the video arcade. One of the games had to have a black light. On a Tuesday night, the arcade was understandably empty. Still, she glanced around. One of the race car arcades was silhouetted in fluorescent light. She sat down inside it, a bit cramped. Feeling stupid for listening to voices in her head, she nonetheless pulled up her shirtsleeve. Her skin glowed a pale white. A web of lines shone back at her. She dropped the piece of pizza and froze, mind blank. Like…like…scales? An intricate mosaic of scales ran from her fingertips to the pushed-up edge of the shirt. She jerked her arm out of the black light’s glow. Her skin was flawless. She turned her arm over. Nothing. She stuck her arm back into the game’s light. A pattern of scales glimmered back at her. She bolted up, smacked her head on the “roll cage” of the game, then stumbled into the hallway. Nikki was no longer chatting with pizza boy. She ran down the hall, fumbled with her room key and slipped in. Nikki was relaxing in the tub, television blaring, a pizza box propped on the edge of the bathtub. “You didn’t knock,” she reminded her. “I was going to come looking for you in a little bit. Any good-looking men in the pool?”
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“None. I need your lighter,” she blurted out. Her heart was racing badly. Nikki shrugged. “In my purse.” She took another bite of pizza, then sipped the wine. “Taking up smoking?” “When will you be through?” “When my hands shrivel or the pizza is gone, whatever comes first. You okay?” “Yeah. Yeah.” She grabbed the lighter. “Be right back.” Shutting the door, she leaned against it for a moment. She listened to a man talking in her head. Her arm looked like she was some sort of comic book character. And now she was about to set herself on fire. Insanity crept ever closer with each step she took. She should have taken the doctor’s advice and stayed a few more days in the hospital. Too late now. She padded down the hall and out the side door. Propping the door open with her foot, she flicked the lighter. The flame sputtered, then came to life. Surprised, she almost dropped the lighter. Swallowing the sudden burst of fear, she quickly stuck her right pinkie into the flame, wincing in anticipation of the pain. Nothing. She stared, repulsed and fascinated. The little flame lapped on either side of her finger. She felt warmth, no more. Her finger remained untouched, no smoldering, no smell of burning flesh. “Navarre?” A whisper? A prayer? She didn’t know what to think or say. She tucked the lighter in her pocket. The hotel door closed behind her. She felt his comforting presence immediately. Here. “Who are you? What’s wrong with me?” She wished she had someone to confront, to demand answers from. There was no one but the empty parking lot. We are the Dragoon. You, I believe, are our Dragoness, our Queen. “Aliens. I am talking to a voice in my head who says he’s an alien.” Navarre’s voice was patient. It is a lot to digest. I understand. But you are in danger. Adrianne, you are so very special to us. We need to protect you. “How many of you are here? By here, do you mean here on Earth or here in Wisconsin? Or lord, or here outside my door?” There are but thirteen of us left. A weighty pause followed. In the entire universe. “Thirteen total? Men, women and children?” He paused. Thirteen males. Thirteen men seeking a woman? And they thought she was that woman. She slumped against the glass door, sliding down until she felt the cold concrete through the seat of her pants. “I’m having a hard time with all this.” Understandably. She felt his regret for not being there, for springing this upon her and leaving her alone. Adrianne? 38
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“Can you meet me at my apartment?” If you are safe, I would prefer you stay where you are. Let us come to you. Motion at the edge of the parking lot caught her eye. A black shape detached itself from the shadows and padded across the lot. She began to shake. A second form followed, then a third. Feeling her heart begin to race, Navarre asked, Adrianne, what is amiss? “Hounds.” She slid up the door, keeping her eyes on the creatures. Groping for her key card, she flashed it across the door. She heard the lock click. Yanking the door open, she slipped inside. And not a moment too soon. A body struck the glass. The door shook in its jamb. Adrianne, where are you? Panicked now, his calm façade crumbled. “The Sunset Motel in Wausau.” Pictures, a map, give me something, he demanded. Words and titles meant nothing to him. She tried to focus, but her heart hammered in her chest. There were more hounds than she could count, all snaking their way through the parking lot. She backed away from the door, moving down the aisle. Adrianne! She pictured a road map in her mind, narrowed it down as best she could with the images she remembered and more she didn’t remember but which he plucked from her mind. His touch was no longer gentle. She felt his concern as if it were her own. It spurred her to move. Turning, she ran down the hallway, turned a corner and skidded to a stop by her door. Keying her door open with her card, she burst into the room. Nikki lay on the bed, wrapped in a towel, television and radio still blaring. Nikki raised an eyebrow. “You look like shit.” Adrianne slid the bolt lock across the door. Nikki sat up straighter. “Reporters?” “Hounds. More of those black wolf things.” “In here?” Nikki was on her feet before she could finish her sentence. “What’s going on?” “I don’t know.” Exhaustion washed over her in the wake of the adrenaline rush. “Look.” Pulling the cigarette lighter from her pocket, she flicked it open, and stuck her finger in it. “Are you nuts?” Nikki grabbed for her hand. Adrianne jerked back, out of her reach. “Look at it!” They watched as the flame danced on either side of her finger. Nikki batted the lighter out of Adrianne’s hand. It hit the wall and fell to the floor. Taking Adrianne’s hand, she turned it over in her own. The skin wasn’t even reddened.
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“That’s how I survived the crash.” She watched Nikki closely. “How? Why?” Nikki bent down, retrieved the lighter and passed the flame under her own palm. “Ow!” “It’s not a joke.” “Okay. Okay. I can believe this because I am seeing it. It makes sense. A hell of a lot more sense than a miraculous reprieve from a burning plane. Ever sunburn?” “What?” “Did you ever get a sunburn? I’ve seen you slather on the sunscreen, but I’ve never seen you with a burn.” She had to think about that. No, she’d never been burned. Not cooking. Not by the sun. “No.” “Hmm, well, that explains that. I didn’t like thinking there was a God up there playing roulette with our lives.” Nikki dropped the lighter in her purse. “You’re getting your color back. Now, are you sure you saw another one of those wolf things?” Adrianne nodded, too shocked by Nikki’s casual acceptance for words. And why not? Nikki dealt with the fringes of society and their fetishes nearly every day in her bar. But a foot fetish was a far cry from someone who couldn’t burn and who seemed to attract giant wolf things like moths to a lantern. Nikki stepped to the phone and punched a button. “Hey, Brian, yeah, you’re right, it was the best pizza I’ve had in a long time. Look, my friend was just outside and thought she saw a big stray dog.” She paused, listening. “It’s a big dog, Brian. Can you take a peek? Thanks! Thanks so much.” Adrianne flicked off the lights closest to the window, leaving the room lit with just the bathroom lights and the fluorescent glow cast from the television. Nikki turned to her, still holding the phone. “He’s checking.” Numbly, she pointed to their window. She felt the blood drain out of her face. Nikki followed her finger. Four-legged shadows moved across their curtains, their oversized images cast from the parking lot lights. Adrianne managed to put her hand over Nikki’s mouth before she screamed. Adrianne was having a hard time not screaming too. “We’ll get through this,” Adrianne said evenly, trying to make herself believe it. She desperately wished for Navarre’s supportive presence, but he was gone. He’d deserted her. Adrianne dropped her hand. If he even existed at all. “I don’t know what they have to do with us,” she lied, “but I saw what they did to that guy on the road.” Nikki swallowed hard. “Me too.” She reached for her discarded clothing. “I feel like I’m in a bad B movie. All we need is a shower scene and a psycho with a knife.” She pulled on her jeans. “Then I’ve got some bad news. We’re locking ourselves in the bathroom.”
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Chapter Eight “Okay, you win,” Nikki teased, although it sounded forced. “I never thought I’d be eating pizza off a toilet lid,” she whispered nervously. Her cell phone lay beside her. The half-dozen calls she’d placed to Brian at the front desk went unanswered. The pizza was cold, but Adrianne forced herself to eat another piece even though her stomach insisted it was too upset to eat. She was starting to get twitchy, a sure sign of low blood sugar. It’d been nearly an hour since she spotted the hounds. From occasional forays back into the main room, she knew their shadows hadn’t ceased their roving. If she believed in Navarre, then she had to believe those were hounds. And Navarre didn’t want her to meet their master, the Hunter. What kind of creature commanded those hounds’ obedience? She shuddered, pizza untouched. With her head buzzing with wine, the bathroom’s heat light on, and curled up in the coverlet from one of the beds, she fought back the urge to sleep and lost. Her body could only endure so much. She didn’t know how long she had dozed when Nikki finally shook her awake. “Listen!” Nikki hissed. Footsteps echoed down the hallway, a set of hard, fast steps followed by the patter of many light feet. The fire alarm went off in a rush and was abruptly cut off midsqueal. The bathroom lights flickered, then went out. Nikki grabbed her arm. More light footsteps were accompanied by one set of heavy deliberate steps. They heard knocking and muffled voices. “Probably Brian checking to make sure everyone’s okay.” “Could be.” Adrianne pressed herself between the toilet and bathtub, as far away from the closed door as she could get. Both women flinched at the rap, but neither moved. The handle jiggled, then unlocked. The door hit the bolt lock with a clank, then shut, then opened again. This time there was no reassuring sound of a bolt lock offering resistance to their intruder. If an alien could speak within her mind, then another one should be able to undo locks without breaking down doors. What a stupid place to hide, she realized. Trapped. Whoever it was might not recognize her, unless he had a black light or could see her phosphor. Then again, he’d managed to follow her here, hadn’t he? And his hounds had been holding vigil until he arrived. Obviously they recognized her. Nikki flicked open the cigarette lighter and held it up. It lit the bathroom in an unsteady glow, reflecting off the mirror above the sink. The bathroom door handle moved imperceptibly. They watched as the lock flipped to an open position.
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Adrianne met Nikki’s terrified gaze, made a pushing motion with her hands and pointed to their only exit. Nikki nodded. The door moved outward, open. They slammed their full weight against it, flinging whoever was behind it against the wall. Adrianne seized Nikki’s arm and tugged them both into the hallway. The bathroom door smashed back against its hinges. Something or someone growled in frustration. The growl built into a roar, the sound biting into Adrianne’s skull. She wanted to lie down and die right there. The sound ground on. She clamped her hands over her ears as she ran. Nikki shoved her forward when she stumbled. They passed the empty clerk’s desk, dashed through the lobby and paused, gasping for breath, in the parking lot. The winter air was crisp, searing their lungs. Their breaths created puffs of frost in the air. The roar within her skull dimmed. She could at least hear her thoughts now…and her racing heart. “Call 9-1-1, tell them there’s a fire,” Adrianne panted. Nikki complied. “They’re already on their way. Where now?” Where indeed? She glanced around. There were no hounds in sight. She crossed the parking lot at a jog and headed toward the decorative shrubbery separating the hotel from the strip mall next door. “We wait for the police?” She knew they couldn’t outrun the hounds. “Sounds like as good a plan as any.” They crouched behind the shrubs, watching the entryway to the hotel. After what seemed an eternity, but perhaps only five minutes, a police cruiser pulled up slowly, took a pass around the building and finally parked at the entrance. Two officers got out and entered the hotel. Less than two minutes after the police officers entered, someone walked out. He ducked his head as he went through the door. Nikki gasped. Built like a football player, he wore all black. At least it seemed like black. The colors continually shifted, sometimes a shade of gray, then almost purple as if deliberately taunting the human eye. Adrianne shuddered. This was Navarre’s nightmare. This was the unnamed terror that lurked at the edges of one’s peripheral vision when alone in the house or walking down a darkened street. This was the Hunter. Adrianne felt a warning tingle at the base of her neck, almost like the pre-throb that heralded her migraines. The Hunter’s head swung in their direction. She felt rather than saw his searing gaze. If he caught them, she knew they’d both die. She broke cover. “Run! Don’t look back, just run!” They spun around almost as one and ran. Adrianne could feel the debilitating roar building in her skull again.
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The Hunter laughed. His laughter crippled her. It felt as if her feet were churning through mud. Her movements slowed. Nikki grabbed her arm. “Come on!” Crossing through the mall’s parking lot, they headed for the highway. They hurried across the pavement, stumbling into the clump of scraggly brush separating the highway from the frontage road. The laughter continued on in her head, paralyzing her. Her feet continued to slow, tripping her up. Nikki was a step or two ahead of her. Get out of my head! Adrianne silently screamed. The Hunter’s laughter stilled. Adrianne hit a chain link fence and switched direction, running parallel to it. Gravel and chunks of dirty road snow churned beneath her feet, all conspiring to slow her down. The brush snapped behind her and beside her. The hounds! Her lungs ached for air. To her left, Nikki suddenly screamed, then was silenced mid-shriek. “Nikki!” She stopped, spun around, and searched wildly for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing. “Nikki!” she called, frantic. “Easy, lady,” a voice said close to her ear. Whirling, she raised her fists. Her first blow struck a leather-clad chest. She hissed in pain, but it didn’t stop her from striking out with the other hand. That shot met air. Arms closed around her. She flailed in the Hunter’s grasp, hands fisted, striking out where she could. Her arms were seized, pressed tight to her sides. Pressure built at the nape of her neck. She felt as if she were going to implode. “Adrianne, we are here.” A hand folded over her mouth, restrictive, but not overwhelming. It took her a full minute to recognize the voice. “Nikki?” she hissed against Navarre’s palm. “We have her. She is safe.” “Oh thank God.” She sagged against him, the strength draining out of her. Then she jerked up, not sure if she still might be trapped. Dropping the hand over her mouth, he touched her mind then, softly, as he had before, and turned the touch to a caress that made her want to dissolve in a puddle at his feet. Her body leaned limply against his. She marveled at that ability, his skill in disabling her so effectively. She knew instinctively that the Hunter could have done the same. He had been toying with them, like a cat with a trapped mouse. Navarre scooped her up. She couldn’t have fought him off even if she possessed the muscle to do so. Nor did her treacherous body want to. “Where are we going?” she asked wearily. She looked up, finally searching his face. It was hidden in the shadows. 43
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“To safety.” She felt his breath against her cheek. He smelled earthy, of wild things, woodlands, a wind-laden scent that stirred to life some portion of memory which lay dormant until this moment. This was safety. This was rightness. This was someone who did not burn, who bore a webwork of scales across his body as well. Family. Though she loved her adoptive parents fiercely, she was a woman who felt the safest with black-and-white answers. And there were just too many unanswered questions surrounding her birth. She was but a toddler when she was abandoned in the entryway of the hospital on a wintry night. Security cameras caught nothing. One moment the lobby was empty, the next, she lay there curled in a blanket. She’d seen the video. Abandoned. Left without even a name. Yet here was a man that offered her a piece of her heritage and perhaps answers. Was she an alien like him? She wanted to laugh. It came out a croak. She wondered if he could read her thoughts. “If you so desire. I am trying to grant you the privacy your society seems to crave.” “What have you done to me?” Cradled in his arms, she felt so safe, so relaxed. “Loosened your muscles. Eased your flight reflex. Your race is incredibly feckless. Hold on.” Something loomed large in the brush. She squinted in the wan moonlight and made out an oblong mass of taupe, lying like some giant boulder discarded by the last glacier. The boulder had an open mouth and within that, a gray ramp. They moved up the ramp and entered what could only be the Dragoon’s craft. She was set upon a gray blocky-looking couch. Did they have no color other than blacks, grays and browns in their world? For all its plainness, though, the couch was incredibly comfortable. Navarre draped a blanket around her body. Surprise, it was gray. Nikki sat beside her, looking flushed but otherwise unharmed. “Pinch me. Were we just rescued by a horde of gorgeous men? Why? Where are we going? And why is that one looking at you like you were some delicious kind of truffle?” “I don’t know.” What could she tell Nikki? What would she believe? “Are you scared?” Adrianne said in a low voice, eyes focused on Navarre’s back, now turned to them. Other hooded figures retreated behind a panel in the wall, their fading footsteps the only indication they ever existed at all. “Are you kidding? Take me now.” She flung her arms wide across the couch. A blob of gray rose from the floor like thick ink and formed itself into a crude chair. Adrianne was about to bolt when Navarre took a seat in it. The gray ink flowed into chair arms and a backrest. Navarre appeared unperturbed by its motion. Adrianne shrank back. Nikki watched in fascination. “Isn’t that handy?”
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Handy wasn’t exactly how Adrianne would have described the gray liquid. Downright disturbing, and perhaps a sign of delirium, was more like it. And yet, if she wasn’t questioning her own sanity at the moment, she’d be just as fascinated as Nikki. Screw sanity. She reached toward the newly formed chair, and fingered the material. It was warm, yielding to her touch. Her fingerprint remained embedded in the substance. Yanking her hand back, eyes wide, she asked, “What is it?” “Part of the ship itself is malleable. It is completely safe. Your couch is made of the same.” Navarre watched her with veiled amusement. Adrianne rocked back, lifting herself slightly off the couch. An impression of her butt remained. Nikki snickered. “This could be fun,” she murmured, then recovered herself. “Is this an alien abduction?” She appeared more captivated than scared by the prospect. “Abduction?” He raised an eyebrow, sounding out the word. “I do not know what you mean.” “Stealing us away. Taking us prisoner,” Adrianne offered. Surprised, he sat back for a moment, then leaned forward. “We just saved you from the Hunter.” Confused now, he asked, “Why would we steal you? You came to us willingly.” Nikki gave Adrianne a sidelong glance. “So you’re not taking us off the planet? Torturing and then dissecting us?” She sounded curiously disappointed. “No.” His answer was flat and perhaps a bit disgusted. “We have identified a wooded area that is secure. We will not travel far.” “Can those hounds track us?” Adrianne asked. “The ship blocks any signals you may be unconsciously emitting.” He still seemed somewhat irritated by Nikki’s abduction comment. “Adrianne, you provided me with your location. We have no wish to harm you.” “Timeout.” Nikki made a T with her hands. “Do you know each other? Fill me in, guys. Adri neglected to tell me about you.” She shot her a threatening glance. “To think, all this time I worried and fussed over you because you had no one but that loser, Doug.” Adrianne sat up straighter. “What do you mean?” “Come on! You’ve obviously met before. Who are these guys?” “We have met. Briefly.” She glanced at Navarre. “But not in person.” “And he,” Nikki waved her hand at Navarre, “wasn’t worth telling me about?” Navarre appeared entirely too pleased with himself. Adrianne shrugged, unwilling to pick a fight or take the time to explain. “I thought he was a dream. I met him in the hospital.”
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“I have sat through umpteen one-sided techy conversations, nodding and making sympathetic noises. Do you think you could have bothered to share something like this?” “I said I was sorry,” Adrianne muttered. “No, you basically said you didn’t trust me enough to believe you.” She crossed her arms. “That hurts.” Adrianne rolled her eyes. “I am sorry. I thought I was hallucinating.” Nikki made a disgusted noise low in her throat. She waved her hand at Navarre. “You can’t possibly dream up something like that.” “We are the Dragoon,” Navarre offered finally when it became apparent there was to be no compromise between the two. “Adrianne came to our attention as well as many others when her plane crashed. The Hunter and the hounds being one of the more unsavory creatures. Adrianne carries our bloodlines. We believe her to be our last Queen.”
***** In the whirling red light cast by the fire alarm, Agent Haynes examined the hotel desk clerk’s body. Someone had attacked the man while he was pulling the fire alarm. Clearly the body had been savaged. By what was the mystery. His throat and his heart were torn out, the heart being the more puzzling of the two. It apparently came out right through his shirt and sweater. And it was missing. How Adrianne Harris and Nikki Kitzerow had escaped their surveillance yet again irritated him. Their hotel room was empty. Nikki’s beat-up car was still in the parking lot. That meant they either escaped on foot or were picked up. Neither prospect was something he wanted to file in his report to his supervisor. One of the police officers cleared his throat. “Agent Haynes? The medical examiner is here.” “Send him in,” Haynes snapped. He leaned over the body without touching it. The blood from the missing heart did not trail past the corpse. If it was taken as a trophy, it had to have been bagged up right here. Haynes straightened. Let the coroner deal with the details. His most pressing concern was the lack of Ms. Harris and her accomplice. When they found them, maybe they’d find the hotel clerk’s heart. “Agent Haynes?” Another man approached, winded, but excited. “You’ll want to take a look at what we’ve found across the street.” He inwardly groaned. Not Baker. Fresh-faced and right out of the academy, Baker grated on Haynes’ nerves. How’d the kid manage to get here so quick? Wasn’t he supposed to be dealing with the other body Ms. Harris left behind on the roadside, the one with its throat ripped out? Tonight was just brimming full of weird corpses. 46
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Looking up at the sky, he glanced at the moon. Not quite full. What god did he piss off to be assigned to this case? They crossed the street together, Baker chattering away at him. “We figure they ran through here. We’ve gathered some threads from the shrubs. They entered the highway at this point, still on foot.” Baker paused, glanced both ways for traffic and Haynes rolled his eyes. When he saw nothing but empty road and a few early morning gawkers, the younger agent resumed his monologue and his half jog. “So they either fled or were chased to this spot.” The bushy overgrowth was an unlikely location to hide a getaway vehicle. It afforded poor coverage and with the chain link fence, but one way in and out. Baker scratched his buzz cut, guessing Haynes’ thoughts. “The chain link is uncut.” There were two points of entry into the brush. Broken branches and footprints in the crusty snow marked their paths. “Baker, are you telling me they went in here and never came out?” “Yes sir, in a manner of speaking.” Haynes followed one of the paths. “Lots of footprints around here, bigger ones than what the two women made back there.” “No sole pattern on the shoes,” Baker pointed out. Puzzled, Haynes bent beside one of the prints. There was a deeper indentation in the snow where the heel landed, but Baker was right. No sole patterns. “Take casts anyway.” “Already done. Anyway, this is what I really wanted to show you.” Baker parted the brush. Haynes’ mouth dropped open. The brush was smashed along side the chain link fence for an expanse of five hundred feet or more. Baker wore a smug grin. “What the hell?” He started to walk the cleared length. “Sir,” Baker was all but exploding with pent-up excitement. “I don’t think they escaped on foot. I think they flew.” Flew? Impossible. The snow beneath the brush was melted, but the crumpled branches were not burned. Nothing in his experience trained him for this. “Start interviewing the neighbors. See if anyone heard anything. Something of this size had to make some sort of noise,” Haynes commanded. He studied the area and realized it was primarily a business district. Damn it. Not a home in sight. Well, there were enough fast-food joints. Maybe one of the employees saw or heard something. Baker began to protest, then, after glimpsing Haynes’ face, thought better of it. “I’ll get right on it.”
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Where did a teacher and a bar owner fit into all of this? A plane sans running gear sliding down a runway suddenly halts. A man along a highway gets mauled by a huge dog or wolf. A nineteen-year-old desk clerk has his heart ripped out and although they wouldn’t know for certain until the lab results were back, was probably mangled by the same doglike animal that killed the man on the highway. The pieces were too spread out, too jumbled. But everything seemed tied to Ms. Harris. Did she have a big dog? He hadn’t seen one in their vehicle. Why bother to kill both men? For that matter, why take the heart of the second man? Haynes liked puzzles. All he needed now was the key piece. He needed to find Adrianne Harris.
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Chapter Nine “A queen? Yeah right.” When she saw that Adrianne wasn’t smiling, Nikki’s laughter died in her throat. “He’s serious.” “He certainly thinks so.” Adrianne shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The couch tried to accommodate her, morphing before she’d even resettled herself. She wished it’d quit doing that. “Well, that puts a whole new spin on things, doesn’t it?” Adrianne glanced around her, looking for a way out, or a hidden camera that might reveal they were on some new reality show. There was neither. “You can’t possibly believe this is really happening?” she asked. Nikki shrugged. “I’m here, aren’t I?” Where were the others that had rescued them? Only Navarre remained. It meant only one thing to Adrianne. The Dragoon were deliberately trying to keep her at ease. Pair her up with one of them. Let her develop a friendship in the midst of chaos, as terrorists often did to their hostages, then pow, throw their demands into the mix when they felt she was suitably influenced by them. Well, they were in for a surprise. She wasn’t dumb enough to fall for that. Navarre’s eyes flashed jade fire as if he were listening in on her thoughts and disagreeing. She tried to tuck them back behind her eyes. Damn him. He was too easy on the eyes. His presence was both reassuring to her body and unsettling to her mind. Couldn’t the Dragoon have sent her some homely-looking character to mediate instead? Her gaze roamed over Navarre, the coppery-tinted blond hair closely cropped and unruffled. He appeared nearly the same as he had in her dream in the hospital, save for a thick leather vest, strapped on at the shoulders and the waist. His dark breeches hugged his muscled thighs and oh my, his perfectly formed butt. She wasn’t a buttocks connoisseur, but watching him, she could quickly become one. “Where are the other twelve?” she finally asked when it was apparent Navarre was enjoying her attention just a little too much and had no intention of providing any unnecessary details. “We do not wish to overwhelm you.” She bet not. Capture her, lock her in their ship, offer her Navarre as a “friend” but God forbid they trounce on her delicate psyche. Nikki nudged her. “Mine was tall, dark and handsome.” She turned to Navarre. “If she’s your Queen, does that mean you’ll do whatever she asks?”
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He raised an eyebrow. “Within reason.” The tone in his voice hinted at requests of a more personal nature. Adrianne colored and hoped she was managing to keep her thoughts to herself. Nikki leaned back, clearly impressed. “Cool.” They seemed to live in separate realities at this moment, she and Nikki. Navarre’s gaze was entirely too prying. Adrianne tried to keep from fidgeting. “What do you want from me?” she asked. “Everything,” he replied, equally as quiet. “You’re the last of a species. You expect me to reproduce.” Her tone accused him of crimes he had yet to commit. “You think entirely too much,” Navarre murmured. Nikki nudged her. “He’s known you for how long?” Navarre kept his eyes locked on Adrianne. Unperturbed, he said, “Nikki, this conversation has turned private. Would you mind if Quince returned and gave you a tour of our ship? I assure you, no harm will come to your friend.” Adrianne wasn’t sure if that was meant to put her or Nikki at ease, but she was certain she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. Whether she didn’t trust her hands or his, she didn’t know. “No.” Nikki ignored her. “Quince is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?” Navarre’s lips quirked again. “Yes.” Nikki jumped to her feet. “Where’s he at?” “Nikki!” Adrianne turned on her friend. “Sorry, honey. You heard the nice alien, you’re safe.” “This is some bad hallucination. Maybe someone spiked our wine. You can’t leave me here alone.” Adrianne grabbed for her arm. Nikki stepped just out of reach and shot her a disbelieving look. “Things like this don’t happen when you’re tripping,” she said, with an air of authority. “That leaves two possibilities. Either we’re dead or this is real. In any case, I’ve just been offered the chance to be escorted around by a delicious-looking man who swears he’s an alien.” She winked at Adrianne. “I don’t get this chance every day.” Adrianne sat back, shocked. “I don’t believe you!” A panel slid open in the wall and Quince appeared. He offered her his arm. “M’lady.” Nikki put a hand to her heart and turned to Adrianne. “Doesn’t that just make you want to melt in place?” “Yeah, yeah. They’re trying to separate us. Can’t you see that?” “Mmm.” Nikki gave Quince a frank appraisal. She grinned, patted Adrianne on the head, then linked her arm through Quince’s. “Be a good girl.” “Go to hell.” Adrianne stood. 50
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“Relax, I’ll be back. Don’t look so worried.” The panel slid shut, cutting her off from her friend. Adrianne turned on Navarre. “Pretty sneaky. You think you’re so smart.” Navarre appeared unperturbed. “Please sit.” “I will not.” “You have had a traumatic few days. Do not unduly stress yourself.” His voice was mild, expression bland. “You’re looking for a breeder.” That sparked a fire in his eyes, but his face remained composed. “It is very complex.” “Try me.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Will you not sit?” He indicated the couch. Did she finally catch a hint of annoyance in his voice? Good. “No.” “Very well. We are shapeshifters. This is one form. We mate and reproduce in another.” Adrianne sat. “What?” Satisfied that he now had her undivided attention, he continued. “Our base form is what your language terms a dragon. This is a more efficient form for traveling.” She shook her head, unable to grasp all the implications his statement created. “You’ve lost me.” “Your friend could dally weeks on end with Quince and never become pregnant. We breed in our true form only.” She couldn’t hide her confusion. “Then you have no use for me.” When Navarre didn’t immediately respond, she stilled. She had scales on her arms, didn’t she? She slid up her shirtsleeves and ran her fingers over her forearms. In this light, she saw nothing unusual. “You’re trying to tell me I’m one of you?” she choked. Navarre leaned forward and tried to take her hands. She pulled back, twisting them in her lap. “Yes, it is our belief you are able to shapeshift as well.” Adrianne snorted. “You’re crazy. If Nikki wasn’t with me, I’d think this is another hallucination.” “But you are thinking that I am but a delusion. You are humoring me.” He was reading her mind again. “Will you stop doing that!” “Do not broadcast, then,” he retorted, a hint of a sharpness in his voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She preferred annoyance to the blanketing mildness he cloaked himself in. “Don’t you think I’d know if I was an alien?” “Does a monkey believe it is a monkey when raised with only humans? What of your parents?”
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“I never knew my real ones. I was adopted.” Her stomach clenched. She knew he must have picked that knowledge from her brain. It made her angry. “Adrianne, you stopped that plane on the runway. With the power of your mind.” “No.” She shook her head. No. “Yes. You did that. When you are roused, you toss your thoughts and emotions all about. One cannot help but hear you.” Navarre stood and held out his hand. “Come. I wish to show you something.” She eyed his hand warily. “Lady,” he said, finally exasperated. “If we wished you harm, we would have left you to the Hunter.” He looked like that was his greatest desire at the moment. “That Fate has wrapped a comely cloak around one so suspicious and cynical is infuriating. Doubt me not or the Dragoon will choose another to deal with you.” “Fine. Why waste your time with me?” “Because we are meant to be,” he hissed out on a breath. “You recognized me.” She tried to deny him, but the words lodged in her throat. Some part of her did respond to him, as if he were a comfortable friend, no, more than that, as if he were her lover. She colored. She had never met him before. She hid her face in her hands. His hand ruffled her hair. “I was harsh.” Her body knew that touch, had ached for it for centuries. No, she was picking up Navarre’s thoughts and they were muddling with hers. He knelt beside her. Taking her wrists in his hands, he pulled them down until she was forced to face him. His eyes were still that brilliant shade of green. This close to him she could see the swirl of color in their depths. Despite the inhumanness of them, the odd slit to the pupil, she recognized compassion. “What is happening to me?” she whispered. He brushed a stray strand of hair away from her eyes. “You have found your missing self.” “I’m falling apart.” She bit her lip. “Everything is falling apart.” He shook his head. “I will protect you. Come.” He straightened, offering her his hand once again. She reached up and took his hand. Her hand trembled. Something deep inside her unfurled wings, calling to him. His hand closed around hers before she could pull back. Need and duty tore at him. She could feel it through that shared contact. He wanted to taste her, to silence her protests with his lips. She shuddered. Abruptly his emotions were closed off to her. “How did you do that?” He stared at her with a mix of surprise and anger. “Do what?” she asked. He pressed his lips flat. She had the distinct feeling she’d just lost a valuable ally. “Please. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
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“You have a very sharp mind.” The mask of politeness was again in place, but his tone bit like a paper cut. “It’s weak,” she insisted. “It’s broke before.” He paused, his jade eyes probing. “How so?” She hadn’t meant to let him know. His eyes narrowed. She felt his mind touching hers and it was devoid of the tenderness she’d felt before. Flipping over her wrist, he ran his thumb across the scars on her left wrist. “Why would you seek to harm yourself?” She broke his gaze. “My life wasn’t worth living?” “You will not be permitted to hurt yourself here.” What had she expected from him, an alien? Sympathy? She swallowed the lump in her throat. He continued to stroke her scars. “What do you call this refusal to live?” The way he phrased it made it sound like she was a coward. She’d never thought of it as that, only as a release. “Forget I said anything, okay?” She tugged her hand free. Navarre was silent so long, she was finally forced to look at him. His gaze was directed inward, as if she were, as she suspected, forgotten. “We have a word for it,” he said finally. “Trulay.” He led her to the panel Nikki had exited. “Had we not found you, this too, would have been our decision.” His words were like dropping batter into hot grease. She flinched. “Oh.” Her existence kept them from killing themselves. She didn’t want that kind of responsibility. “Why tell me this?” “To make you aware of your importance to us.” To keep you from trying again, she heard. It was as gentle a chastisement as he seemed able to make, laced with understanding. That quiet understanding was more powerful than any drug the doctors had given her. They were in a windowed hallway, the windows looking out onto a forested area. Adrianne stared, open-mouthed, as the ground appeared three stories below. They wound around the edge of the ship, moving continually lower, until they reached a ladder. “You don’t have a tool that just beams you down wherever you wish to be?” she asked. “That is the stuff of fiction.” His tone was once again polite, distant. And this wasn’t? Adrianne stifled a laugh. He lowered himself down, then waited until she’d reached the ground as well. Once down, he took her hand again, and led her to a clearing beside the ship. “Watch.” Dropping her hand, he took two steps away from her. Adrianne blinked, then blinked again. In the moonlight, his form seemed to shimmer and blur. He threw his arms up and back. They split down the middle. One set
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lengthened and became wings, copper membranes edged with jade, the other, short arms sheathing themselves in scales and ending in claws. His body was a deep green, each scale a slightly different shade, so the overall effect was as if one were looking at the dappled canopy of a forest. His underbelly became a shimmer of coppery blond, the shade of the highlights in his hair. A row of overlapping spiked scales ran from his neck, along his spine, to the tip of his tail, the only sign of his emotional state being the nonstop flicking of the tail’s end. Multifaceted eyes, like that of a diamond, but reflecting moonlit rainbows, watched for her reaction. “Oh lord.” Her voice squeaked. She looked up. On all fours, the dragon before her was the length of a bus. When he reared back, he towered over her. Fly with me? he inquired, a now-familiar amusement-tinged voice within her mind. She gave him a bleak stare, trying to recover herself. Fantasy and reality now turned down completely separate paths. She chose the fantasy. He chuckled. Dress warmly. There are leathers beside the ship. She spun around and saw there was indeed a pile of leather at the base of the ladder. “You don’t scare me,” she said, but her insides trembled. She felt his presence within her mind, but he wisely remained silent. She slipped into a pair of fur-lined leather pants and jacket, pulled up the hood and fastened the clasp to hold it shut. A pair of boots and thick leather mittens completed the ensemble. The fur was soft on her cheek, like that of a rabbit. She cringed, wondering what animal it may have come from. “How did you know my size?” You have the same build as Adonthe, one of the Dragoon. She hesitated, then walked to his side. His eyes whirled, a kaleidoscope of color. He extended a forepaw, four claws forward, a fifth claw pointing back. He could rip her apart with one careless move. I will be very careful. His voice rang with indignation. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she closed her eyes. “Okay. I’m just a little worried. I don’t like to fly,” she trailed off. That probably insulted him even more. You will enjoy this, I promise. He clasped her about the waist with one paw, locked her legs with the other and tucked her against his chest. She turned in his grip, pulled off a mitten and laid her hands against the scales. They were smooth to the touch. She ran a finger against the scales. Take care. Too late. The scales were razor-sharp. She never felt the cut, but her skin parted and a single drop of blood welled at its tip. You are hurt.
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“No.” She put her finger to her lips, tasting blood. If she was indeed dreaming, it was entirely too real. Are you ready, then? She’d never be ready. She was terrified. And yet thrilled. Her heart hammered, whether from fear or anticipation or a combination of both, she didn’t know. “Yes.” She slipped her mitten back on. I will not be able to hear your voice speech while we fly. You must speak mind to mind. She swallowed hard again, focused. Like this? Well enough. He boosted them off the ground with a thrust from his hindquarters. Then they were airborne. Her stomach lurched. Nausea set in, her customary flying companion. Close your eyes. For once, she didn’t argue. The pressure in her stomach instantly eased. Stretch out your arms, he commanded. Her hands were wrapped in a death grip around his upper claw. Even cocooned in a plane, she hated to fly. He was asking too much. I will not drop you. Mild reproach filled his voice. Easy for him to say. Really, what did she have to lose? She already survived a plane crash. What were the odds she’d fall from a dragon’s embrace and die? Keeping her eyes closed, she took a deep steadying breath and threw her arms wide. The air rushed around her. She was flying. She lost her fear as she indulged in the sensations around her. The wind caressed her body, whispering a language she didn’t understand. She felt unencumbered, so totally free that she lost sense of her own body. She was but a part of the breeze, like a hawk that dipped and soared in invisible currents. She wanted this, no, needed this. A hunger grew in her, possessed her with a ferocity and desire she had no idea how to soothe. Open your eyes. His voice, although soft, startled her out of her reverie. She peered cautiously through squinted eyes. Her breath lodged in her throat. My God. Eyes wide open now. They were rushing over an expanse of water, his wingtips skimming the half-frozen surface on either side of her. Her heart beat in rhythm with his. She felt it against her back and thudding through her veins. She kept her arms outstretched, the hunger in her insatiable. He soared upward and did a slow roll where she saw nothing but the stars above her. The moonlight caressed her body. A hint of dawn gleamed in the distance. Navarre dipped to the tree line again, slipping through an opening so narrow the branches tickled her chest and arms. She felt him land, a jarring sensation that rippled through his body into hers. Don’t stop, she pleaded.
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Without answering her, he set her carefully free. She stumbled as if unaware she possessed feet. She didn’t realize she was crying until she pulled a mitten free and felt the tears’ heat as they spattered the back of her hand. Please. She didn’t know what her heart asked for. She folded her arms across her chest, leaning against his bulk for support. His wing cupped her body, sheltering her from the breeze. Turning, she dropped her mittens and laid her hands flat against the membranous tissue. Blood to blood, something called deep from inside her, yearning to give birth to wings. The tip of his tail flicked over her shoes. The tears continued to flow. She felt trapped. Sliding to her knees, she stretched out her arms as he had done before transforming before her eyes. Nothing answered her. His body rippled beside her, then he was human again. He dropped to his knees, took her arms and gently lowered them down, then cradled her to his chest. He did not know how to ease the pain he created in her, could only watch as it blossomed and exploded in her eyes. She could feel his guilt as if it were her own, but she had no idea how to wall herself away from him. He had pushed her too hard and too fast. But she had to be made to understand. She had to believe. I believe, she wanted to scream. She buried her head against his shoulder and sobbed. They racked her body, worsening when she tried to catch her breath and stifle them. He gave her no answers, merely stroked her hair and murmured words she didn’t understand into her ear. When she had finally cried herself out and held still, he pulled them apart. He wiped the last of her tears away with the back of his hand. Touching his lips, he tasted her salty tears. “The Dragoon do not cry,” he said softly. She sniffled, embarrassed. “I usually don’t either.” He brushed back a tendril of hair on her cheek with his knuckle. “I am sorry for that. I need you to believe.” “I don’t know what to accept as true anymore.” Flying dragons. A woman who did not burn. A forty-five-year-old woman with a sixteen-year-old’s libido. The last roused her. “Do you know who my birth parents were?” She had to ask. He shook his head, eyes full of regret. “The Dragoon were far-flung and prosperous for many centuries. Then the Hunters came. How your parents managed to escape the purging, I cannot answer.” She trembled in his arms, too afraid to give voice to what burned in her heart. “If they gave you up, it was because they were dying or had been found out,” he continued. Part of her always knew they were dead. She accepted it now. She could see the pain she was causing with the answers she forced out of him, but she couldn’t cease.
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“How did the Hunter find me?” And you, she wanted to ask. How did you dance into my dreams? His face was that of a bronzed god’s, immobile and immune to emotion, but his eyes and voice betrayed him. “You stopped hiding when you halted the airplane.” She stilled, suspended her disbelief and chose, finally, to believe. If this was no more than a deep drug-induced hallucination, she was willing to die in it. “Can I fly?” “I hope to Heavens it is so,” he replied fervently. Then he surprised them both, bent his head, and kissed her. His lips were firm, possessive and impossibly hot. His breath filled her and she tasted fire. The spark continued as he seized her lower lip in his. Their eyes opened, gazes locked for a moment. His were liquid green with the hints of the rainbows she’d seen dancing in their depths. She kissed him back, giving in to the purely physical desire she’d felt for him since she first saw him. She’d never been kissed this way before. The sensation of both being kissed and actually doing the kissing warred within her, his and her thoughts tangling so that she couldn’t identify which was which. His tongue gently traced the inner line of her lips. One hand tangled in her hair. The other cupped her cheek. His thumb stroked her chin and jaw. His mind touched hers, caressed her in places she didn’t know existed and sent hot shivers through her body until everything seemed on fire. She pressed against him, feeling his chest expand and contract. Her world narrowed to a single shared heartbeat between the two, the rise and fall of chests in unison, and a rush of blood in her ears. It was he who separated them. She ached for his touch. This was a hunger she knew how to abate. His eyes were a deep green, heavy-lidded, gold glints now sparking in their depths, lips glistening with her taste. “Forgive me. I should not have taken such liberties with my Queen.” His voice was husky, but his eyes gleamed, not at all contrite. All coherent thought had fled the moment his lips touched hers. “Um, sure.” She congratulated herself on even finding her voice. He pulled them to their feet. “I am remiss. It is nearly dawn and you have yet to rest.” “Rest?” He chuckled, pleased with his effect on her. Way to go, Adrianne. Way to stroke that man’s ego even more. Stroke. A very bad word to use in her current state of arousal. Oh, she wanted to stroke all right. Add devour, possess and ravage to that mix. If Nikki constantly lived with this type of desire, she pitied her. Back in the ship, he led her to a sleeping chamber, a darkened room with two beds. Nikki was already asleep in one of them. So much for her friend worrying about her.
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She sat on the edge of the bed. Navarre removed her fur-lined boots, massaging each foot as he did so. She couldn’t prevent the sigh that escaped her lips. He undid the clasp at her neck, eased off her jacket and then laid a kiss on the expanse of white that was revealed. Her hands crept to his hair, her fingers mussing the mass of gold. It was chenille to the touch, as fine as smooth-spun silk. Her breath hitched. He held completely still. Her fingertip traced the line of his strong jaw, lingering where his pulse beat fast and erratic. She was pleased he was as affected as she. “I don’t want to go to sleep alone,” she whispered. “You are safe here.” “I have nightmares,” she lied. “Don’t leave me alone.” “This is how we chase away the night terrors.” Unrepentant, he kissed her on the cheek, teasingly close to her lips. “Mmm.” She shivered. But he let her slip out of her fur-lined pants on her own. When she lay down, he drew a warm coverlet of gray over her. That was it? Her body demanded so much more. She knew his demanded the same. He stood and returned to the panel in the wall. “Rest easy, Dragoness.” His eyes flashed jade in the darkness. “Navarre?” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “You called me Erifydal once. Why?” “It was the name you gave yourself at birth. When you called, it is the name I heard.” “Did the entire Dragoon hear me or just you?” “Just I.” She was silent for a long moment. “We’ve met before.” “I’d like to think so.” She propped herself up on elbow. The darkness still hid his face from her. “In another life?” “Perhaps.” “Who am I? Erifydal or Adrianne?” “Only you can answer that, my Queen. Rest easy now and do not dream.” She heard the panel slide shut. “Navarre?” she whispered. But he was already gone.
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Chapter Ten Sleep claimed Adrianne quickly. The bed conformed to her body perfectly, cradling her in a marshmallowy down-like mattress. She said a quiet thank you out loud and felt the wall she was pressed against hum, like the purr of a satisfied cat. She had an uncanny feeling that the ship was sentient and made a mental note to talk to Navarre about it in the morning. That anything five hundred feet long could be alive was mind-boggling. And what in God’s name did it eat? She couldn’t imagine the size of the manure pile it must create. Before she could visualize being suffocated by a giant pile of excrement, she drifted off to sleep. In her dreams she was a sleek and silvery dragon, her body a gleaming iridescent bullet in the moonlight. She soared across the same expanse of water Navarre had taken her to, dipping and rolling in the air currents. The wind shared its secrets with her, whispering of comets slicing its sky, birds twisting in mating flights, fireflies winking away one more time before dying. This was nature’s freedom of choice. She reminded herself that such freedom came with a cost. Doug, for one. After tasting Navarre, though, the thought of Doug’s hands on her was repulsive. Nikki, number two. Nikki had a thriving little business, her bar, The Beast, catered to the fringes. The heavily tattooed, leather-clad, gothic types who listened to screaming music at a decibel level bound to cause permanent hearing loss came to her bar as well as those whose fetishes pushed them out of normal establishments. Nikki had been mother, confidant, counselor and so much more to her. She could not bear to lose her. Doug and Nikki, though, were but dreams within her dreams. She continued to fly. Where she was drawn, she did not know. She felt the strength of her beating wings, the teasing air as it nipped her scales. The night sky spread out above and below her, the stars tantalizingly out of reach. Could she soar that high? Tonight was not the time to tempt Fate. And still she was drawn onward. Eventually, she became aware of other bodies beside, above and below her. They were little more than ghosts in the moonlight, washed-out shadows of other dragons. Their auras were undeniably feminine. They played with her as she flew, shadowing her dips and rolls. An escort? Her personal bodyguards? Or merely spirits roused by her own midnight wanderings? Like Doug and Nikki, they soon faded into the dream’s tapestry. At last she grew tired and landed, settling deep in a nest of broken branches and brambles. Curling up with her tail over her nose, she slept. She woke to a soft noise. A muted light tugged at her eyelids. Nikki stirred, padding past her on her way to another room. Human sounds reached her, running water, the splashing of someone bathing. A bath would feel good, she decided, as 59
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would warm food in her belly. She drifted off again, awoke when Nikki tripped and stubbed her foot on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.” Adrianne rolled onto her stomach, nestled deep in the marshmallow covers. “Mmm, s’okay.” Stretching, she extended her forepaws, sitting back on her haunches. Her wings arched. And she panicked. Where were her wings? She opened her eyes and saw the small pale-skinned human hands before her. Pressing her face to the mattress, she let the last dregs of her dream flee. Only the yearning for her lost shape remained. “That looks relaxing.” Nikki examined her yoga pose. “But I really need to get back to my life.” Adrianne lifted her head. Nikki was up and dressed, her wet dark hair sleek against her scalp like sealskin. Adrianne sighed. “I should call the office. It’s not like me to be that irresponsible. They’ll start to worry.” With the accident, though, no one would expect to hear from her for some time. She was sure her manager had found a replacement instructor for her last class of the year. “At least you have an excuse. I trust Mark and the gang to keep the place running, but I need to do payroll and all those other mundane tasks.” Mark was the head bartender, a forty-something man who wore his gray-streaked hair shoulder length and insisted on calling Nikki “Nicole”. Nikki, for some reason, tolerated it from him even though she’d backhand Adrianne for the same offense. Adrianne propped herself up on her elbows. “You can just suspend disbelief, accept there are aliens and go on with your life?” Nikki rolled her eyes. “Have you seen some of the people in my bar? I wouldn’t doubt that I’ve been serving aliens for years.” Adrianne gave her a black stare. “You know what I mean.” “Well, I’m not somebody’s Queen nor am I being hunted down by some creepylooking dogs from another planet. I kind of figured you’d be hanging out here.” “I haven’t really given it much thought,” she lied. “Wait…let me write this down. You haven’t thought? You’ve managed to not psychoanalyze every little detail? I feel faint.” Nikki sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, yeah, Ms. Drama Queen herself. I mean it’s hard to believe this isn’t just some nasty trip I’ve taken. I feel like if someone pinched me, I’d wake up in the hospital.” Nikki promptly pinched her. “Ouch.” Adrianne grabbed her arm, sat upright and flung a pillow at her. Nikki dodged the projectile. “Still here.” She rearranged herself more comfortably on her bed, sitting cross-legged. “If I were you, and God forbid I was, number one, I’d worry about not ditching your best friend and then number two, I’d dump that loser of a boyfriend before he and the Dragoon meet. Much as I dislike the man, I wouldn’t wish him dead.”
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Would the Dragoon really kill Doug? She knew that happened in some species in the animal kingdom, the weaker male falling before the stronger. Were the Dragoon not that far removed from their animal roots? Really, what had they evolved from? Man? Beast? A bad genetic mix? Maybe they were prime examples of why people shouldn’t be messing with gene splicing. “Doug’s not a loser.” Adrianne sat up. If she admitted he was, what did that say about her? “He was convenient for you. No sense having him get caught up in this. And by the sounds of it, you can have whomever you want.” She shook her finger at Adrianne. “But not Quince.” Adrianne flushed, but shot back, “Pity. I was hoping to tie him up and leave bruises all over his body.” Not that she’d ever done that, but it was exactly something Nikki would and probably had done. “I want him,” Nikki said flatly. “Is this a long-term sort of thing or do I get him back when you’ve tired of him?” she pressed, teasing. She’d never heard such a possessive note in Nikki’s voice. “How can you not want a man like that?” Nikki gushed, sidestepping the question. Then she realized she had revealed too much. Adrianne’s eyes narrowed, but Nikki continued on hurriedly, “Thirteen men at your disposal and if they are all even half as cute as Quince and Navarre, I envy you.” How much had Quince shared with her? Did Nikki really comprehend that he was a shapeshifter? Ouch, she could picture Nikki requesting sexual favors that certainly crossed her own moral boundaries. Stop thinking, she ordered herself. Nothing might have gone on. She’d seen Nikki in action, though. Nikki went through men like some people went through cigarettes, knowing full well the habit would kill her some day and not caring. A month with the same man was the highest level of commitment she’d ever seen from her. And he’d been a Kama Sutra master, or so Nikki said. Pity it had only taken a month to get through all the possible poses. “Go with your gut.” Nikki patted her hand. “Despite the bedhead, you’re looking better than you have in a long time. Adrianne sighed. She did feel better. Just thinking about Navarre’s kiss was enough to make the heat slip through her body like hot lava. A smile crept up her lips, sneaking into her eyes. “Navarre is pretty hot.” “Hot?” Nikki laughed. “Just drive another stake through my heart. I know I’ve never heard you describe a guy that way.” It was Nikki’s turn for her eyes to narrow. “Just what were you and Navarre up to?” “Never you mind.” Adrianne stood. “If you haven’t used up all the hot water, I’m going to grab a bath before breakfast.” “Ha!” Nikki pounced at her, grabbing her shoulder. “You were up to something. Spill it.”
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Adrianne shrugged her off. “I’m bathing, sorry.” She glanced over her shoulder. Nikki was still standing where she left her, a thrilled expression on her face. “I’m so proud. You actually took the initiative.” “Flattery won’t pry any details out of me.” Adrianne turned on the water. “Where’s the—oh!” The bathtub drain sealed itself shut, like a whale closing its blowhole. “Well then, the way I see it, after breakfast you can drop me off at my car, make a trip to Doug’s to break up with him—gotta do that in person or you just look gauche— and then pick up your belongings at the apartment.” Her voice thickened, but she kept her tone light. Adrianne stepped back into the bedroom and gave Nikki a hug. “I won’t forget you. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but we will keep in touch. I promise.” Nikki tightened her embrace. “I’m not going to cry.” She pulled away. Adrianne left her to compose herself, touched that Nikki cared so deeply for her. After her bath, Nikki was waiting with a hairbrush and something that looked suspiciously like a blow-dryer. “I found supplies.” Her eyes were red-rimmed, lips pressed tight. “As their Queen, you need to spend a bit more time on your appearance.” “There’s nothing wrong with the way I look,” Adrianne huffed. She wasn’t a vain person, but that hurt. “Sit,” Nikki commanded. She sat, grumbling under her breath. “Don’t you want to look your best? Especially for Navarre?” She felt herself go hot at the mention of his name. Good morning, Dragoness. As if waiting for his cue, Navarre’s voice drifted lazily into her mind. I wish you wouldn’t do that. You called me. I did not! Are you ready to break your fast? he asked, pointedly refusing to argue with her. She smiled to herself. Almost. The others are anxious to meet you. Would you mind sharing this meal with them? Do I have a choice? You will always. She couldn’t read the tone in his voice, not exactly accusing, more reprimanding than anything else. Yes, I suppose I should. She’d feel safer facing them with Nikki at her side. “The whole crew is going to turn out to meet us this morning,” she warned Nikki. You have nothing to fear, Navarre persisted. Nikki continued to fuss with her hair. “Quince mentioned that last night.”
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But everything to lose. She fidgeted in her seat. “Seems you and Quince got pretty friendly. What else did you and Quince share?” Nikki grinned, her dark complexion glowing like sun-warmed wet sand. “Hold still, I’m almost done.” So much more to gain, Navarre whispered, drifting away. “I’ll share a secret with you, if you share with me,” Adrianne offered. “Tempting.” Nikki paused. “Not a chance.” There was a polite rap at the panel. “Come on in,” Nikki called. “Show time,” she said cheerfully to Adrianne. It seemed an eternity since the entire Dragoon had broke their fast together. They hadn’t exactly chosen each other’s company. As the last of their race, they bonded more from necessity than anything else. At their peak, there were many clans that warred amongst themselves. Queens were stolen and entire clutches destroyed just to exact revenge. Even when the Hunters began their killing spree, it was difficult to put their differences aside and work together. That was one of the reasons why it’d been so easy for the Hunters to kill them off. And just because they happened to inhabit the same ship didn’t make them all friends. Lancet, Graycet and Percet were all brothers, although one could never tell. They fought with one another constantly over petty differences. There was a longstanding underlying animosity between them stemming from their clan’s loss of their last Queen. They shared one common goal, to keep that shame as quiet as possible. Hennison and Henley had served as officers in the Galactic League. They’d given up their posts when they found out they were the last of their clan. Rumor had it that Quince had a Queen, but what became of her was unknown. Barth’s and Verlay’s pasts were even more shadowy. Barth was very jovial, but kept a close wrap on his emotions. Verlay heralded from one of the biggest clans and managed to survive the whole-scale slaughter of it by hiding beneath the body of one of his relatives. Then there was Adonthe. He was a water dragon, unable to fly, but quite agile when he took his flippered form and swam. Together, the remnants of the once-glorious Dragoon could provide a psychologist with a lifetime of fodder. Adonthe prepared the breakfast meal and arranged the seating area, a U-shape with five to each side so all could get equal viewing of their Queen. Each place setting was meticulously set, utensils polished until they gleamed, napkins carefully folded, and a color scheme that would have impressed even the most anal interior designer. Generations of Queens had eaten off the very same plates. It was Adonthe who looked after the more mundane homemaking tasks, the cooking, the cleaning, the mending and the preservation of innumerable Dragoon emblems, all carefully embroidered into tapestries just waiting to embellish their new home. Everything had to be just so for their Queen. 63
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The room buzzed with quiet anticipation, speculation and out-and-out rumor. Navarre paced beside the panel. “You have done well,” Benito congratulated, patting Navarre on the back. “Vespero will chronicle this moment in our history annals. Your name will be spoken upon our children’s children’s lips.” “And if she runs away instead?” Navarre said. Benito laughed. “He will chronicle that as well. Do not spoil this day with worry. This is a time of celebration. We have our Queen. I thought I would not live long enough to see this day dawn.” Would she come to hate him for finding her and revealing her true identity? Navarre could not bear to think of her turning away from him. Not with the taste of her still fresh in his mind. He would be her Chosen. No other. The panel slid open. Navarre stepped forward to take Adrianne’s arm, halted instead and tried not to gape. Nikki caught the break in his composure and smirked. Adrianne’s shoulder-length blonde hair had been pulled back and secured in a knot at the nape of her neck. Loose silvery tendrils framed her face. Her skin was a smooth peaches ‘n cream shade, blue eyes darkened around their edges with a smudge of charcoal. It brought out the gray flecks in their blue depths. Her full lips were painted a soft coral, shiny and wet-looking. A far cry from the frightened woman he had fetched out of a hotel parking lot. She held herself with a quiet confidence. He went alternatingly hot and cold with desire. “Good morning, Dragoness,” he said finally, stiff with formality. He offered her his arm. “I clean up well?” She raised an eyebrow, ruining the effect. By the First Egg, yes. She threw him off-kilter with her candidness. So much was riding on her bonding and mating with one of them. And she understood so little of her role here. He could feel the tremor in her limbs, though, as if she did comprehend, yet her face was composed, her actions measured. She had the makings of a fine Queen. He was proud. “Yes,” he answered. “Every measure our Queen.” She flushed. “Good.” Her nervous smile was for him alone. She glanced around the room at the men waiting for her and smiled as well, but this smile was cool and unruffled. They seated themselves at the center of the U in the tables. He held out her chair for her, and drew it in as she sat. Everyone else then sat as well. She rested one hand on his knee, almost teasingly, he thought, then realized it was for reassurance. He wanted to touch her mind and soothe those taut nerves, but with
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the entire Dragoon assembled to see her, she needed to be able to present herself adequately on her own. He laid his hand over hers. Her thoughts were closely guarded. What did their Queen think of this motley crew? The last of her subjects, they were desperate enough to die for a chance to pass on their genetics through her. He did not pry. Every eye was focused on Adrianne. A thin edge of panic lanced through her closely guarded thoughts. She visibly fought it back. Her hand clenched beneath his. He smoothed it, flipped it over so he could trace the fine lines in her palm. Benito stood. “Dragoness.” He inclined his head. “Benito,” Navarre murmured to Adrianne quietly by way of introduction. “As the eldest member of the Dragoon, please allow me to give you a formal welcome. Forgive our overeagerness. Some of us have waited centuries for this moment to occur.” Adrianne bit her lip, unnerved by that new bit of data, then straightened in her chair. “Thank you, Benito.” Her voice was soft, but grew in volume as she continued. She slipped her hand from Navarre’s and stood, fingers tented on the tabletop. “I would ask your forgiveness as well…and your patience,” she added. “I… This comes as a shock. Please, I wish to meet with each of you, to better understand what I’ve suddenly become a part of. My family has always been very small. To find that I now am blessed with thirteen family members is both heartwarming and somewhat terrifying.” Navarre saw only her, a shining beacon in the room. Courage came in many forms. Her willingness to face them, and to empathize with their situation, went a long way toward their acceptance of her. Although acceptance or not, she was their only chance. She sat then and kept her hands to herself. With her flushed skin and hands twisted in her lap, she looked so vulnerable, yet determined to be strong. Navarre felt some indefinable emotion take possession of his heart. She would be his, he hers. Each member of the Dragoon took their turn, offering their words of welcome, and tried to form a favorable impression with their new Queen. “Like a dessert buffet. Where does one begin?” Nikki remarked quietly. “Shh.” Adrianne focused on Vespero, the last of the Dragoon. “Dragoness, like Benito, I am too old to woo your hand.” Navarre knew Vespero preened like a peacock, to the point of dyeing his gray hairs a dark black. Given the chance, he’d try to bed her. “But I am our chosen historian. This day and all days forward will be chronicled so all will know of the sacrifices you made to bring the Dragoon back from extinction.” “Oh dear,” Adrianne muttered. “Your own personal poet.” Nikki turned a laugh into a cough. Adrianne smiled politely. “And you will fill your books with praise? No descriptions of my bad days, the tantrums, my habit of cursing and saying out loud
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whatever comes to mind?” She said it all in such a serious manner she actually caused Vespero to stumble over his words. “Dragoness, history cannot be a one-sided portrayal of one’s best assets.” She regained some of the former confidence Navarre had seen in her at the hospital. “I’ll have to convince you otherwise, Vespero.” She flashed him a winning smile. Vespero sat, speechless. Altarre nudged him in the ribs, teasing him. They had never known Vespero to be at a loss for words. It was good to see humor restored to the Dragoon. Vespero gave her a small smile. “Your sense of humor will be noted.” “And her best friend’s incredibly good looks,” Nikki added under her breath. “I’ll make sure he adds that.” Adrianne turned to Navarre. “After breakfast, Nikki will need to be returned home. I wish to go along and pack some of my belongings.” The Dragoon would frown on her leaving. They couldn’t adequately protect her in her world. “We can replace your personal effects,” Navarre offered, knowing she’d argue. Adrianne shook her head. “Not all of them. I have to explain things to Doug too, probably make some plausible excuse for leaving work as well. You can’t expect me to abandon my life just like that.” That’s exactly what they expected her to do, but Navarre could sense her angst, despite the tight shield she kept over her thoughts. He kept his expression neutral. She wishes to go home, he said to Benito. Impossible, came the reply. To collect her belongings. Sever some ties. It would be too difficult to protect her. He would fight this battle for her. She needed some tie to her past to anchor her in her new present. Her mind is set on this. Ask the others. “Who is this Doug?” he asked, stalling. He chose that direction well. She colored and glanced at Nikki. Nikki paused, food halfway to her mouth. “You mentioned him, not I.” “A close friend,” she said warily. “Male?” he questioned, voice tight. He felt rage first. How dare someone else touch her? Common sense quickly extinguished that flame. He was foolish to assume she was untouched especially since he, himself, was not. “Yes.” She met his gaze, anger simmering in her eyes. So she wasn’t totally cowed by them. Good. “You cannot reveal our presence to him or your birthright.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “As if he’d believe me.” What was this Doug to her? He wanted to demand answers, but that was not his place. His jaw worked. It was his responsibility to bind her to the Dragoon, despite his 66
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own emotions. “Then you have nothing left to say to him.” He knew he sounded harsh and regretted the words immediately. Her eyes flashed fire. “You can’t censor who I talk to or tell me what I can or can’t do. Maybe now’s a good time to have a few questions answered. Do you expect me to leave Earth? Am I supposed to be content with being escorted by one of you at all times? What about this Hunter? Will he try to harm Nikki? Do you expect me to just smile and look pretty without a thought in my head?” “Good questions,” Nikki said around a mouthful of food. “How about this one? When do you expect her to start popping out kids?” “Nikki!” He had expected the denial and now the rage. What he wasn’t prepared for was the vibrating aura of wrath she projected without even knowing it. They knew she had psi talents. She wouldn’t have been able to stop the plane or hear him half a universe away otherwise. He was uncertain how to handle an irate Queen. If she was one of the Dragoon, he’d have walked away and waited until she could think rationally. He didn’t have that option. Conversation stilled. The Dragoon were a discreet lot, though. All eyes continued to focus on their plates and their meals. “We have not discussed a permanent residence,” Benito interjected while Navarre tried to keep his composure. The woman was maddening. Adrianne appeared oblivious to his state. Although he, himself, could not have defined just what he was feeling. Possibly it was the human equivalent to jealousy. If he could sense her emotions, why could she not discern his? She was their Queen, the only person standing between the Dragoon and extinction. He wanted to take her outside and fly with her, to drive her mad with her own hunger to soar. She’d seen reason then. Be careful, Navarre cautioned Benito although that was probably obvious to even the most psi-dense of them. “Arrangements could be made to remain on your planet. Perhaps in a warmer climate?” Benito offered. “The Hunter, however, is a grave concern. It is why we wish to keep you safe within the hull of our ship.” “Nikki has no need to fear him. He seeks only you,” Navarre added. “And children?” she prompted. Benito met Navarre’s gaze, wordlessly yielding the conversation to him. Coward. “When you have become more acquainted with us, we will, of course, discuss this.” Her plate of food was barely touched. The anger still simmered in her eyes, but she held it in check for now. “It is an important subject.” “To us as well,” Navarre answered, hoping his emotions weren’t as transparent as hers. He cursed to himself, then saw a flash of emotion in her ocean blue eyes that stilled his own. Fear. She was truly afraid of what they meant to do with her.
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Immediately contrite, his ire vanished. Of course, she was like a young dragonet now. It was his duty to assuage her doubts. “I promise to answer any questions you may have. Now is not the appropriate time.” She made an effort to eat and sipped at their rea, a warm coffee-like beverage. It was not like her coffee, but she was gracious in her attempt to sugar it down enough for her liking. “I wish to stay near Nikki right now,” she said. Her tone was firm, but not commanding. “And Doug?” he probed. The name seared his tongue, but he succeeded in keeping his voice neutral. She raised her chin a fraction, her look defiant but her voice smooth. “Yes, perhaps Doug too.” Benito shot Navarre a quizzical look. She has a mate. This Doug. He bit off each word. He did not have to censor his feelings around one of his own. A complication we had not considered. The others do not wish to release her, but her agitation eats at them all, he said to Navarre. Perhaps with familiar possessions around her, she will settle down and accept her fate. An agitated Queen does not make for a healthy clutch. Again, he sensed they were relying on him to keep her steady. They should have picked his brother, Altarre. He was the empath. “We will escort you home but we cannot leave you alone,” Navarre said. “But—” she began. Nikki elbowed her hard. “Sounds good.” She laid her fork on her plate and gave the roomful of men a winning smile. “When can we go?” Adrianne scowled at her plate, but kept silent. For once, Navarre was grateful for Nikki’s presence. She shot him a you-owe-me look. “They are trying very hard to please you,” Nikki said a little later on as they waited in the outer windowed hallway for their escort. Adrianne groaned. “I know. I know. I have this hunch that I’m nothing more than a little breeder for them. You’ll note that none of them conveniently answered that question.” “I noticed.” And it worried her too. Nikki smoothly switched subjects. “Even Benito is good-looking. And you have free rein with them all. I’m so jealous.” “Except Quince,” she replied, without turning around. She pressed her palms against the glass. “What will I tell Doug?” “That you found someone else?” Nikki offered, a trifle too gleeful. “I doubt he’ll be heartbroken.”
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True, but she didn’t want to think about all the time she wasted the last couple of years in a dead-end relationship. “How about my friends at work? Ernie at the diner? The police?” She turned toward Nikki and thrust her hands in her pockets. “I’m a lousy liar.” And she was desperately grasping at something to force her to keep her life as it was. The sad fact, in all its depressing glory, was other than Nikki there was very little tying her to her present life. “You’re getting married to someone filthy rich. You’re moving and when you know which house of his you’ll be living in, you’ll forward your address.” Adrianne rolled her eyes. “It’s a great lie,” Nikki insisted. “Do I look like a person who could fall in love just like that?” Anybody who knew her at all would see through that one. “No, but you are, aren’t you?” Nikki lowered her voice. “I can see it in your eyes. You wouldn’t have given in to them so easily elsewise.” “You’re nuts.” But she felt a niggling feeling of doubt creep in. She was staying with them to learn how to fly. That’s all. She’d decide what she wanted to do once she mastered that. “Navarre patronizes me. And I barely know him.” “He’s trying to protect you.” “He’s arrogant.” “And you’re not?” “I don’t want to be coddled.” She sidestepped Nikki’s question. Nikki threw up her hands. “Listen to you. They could cart you off to God knows where and no one would be the wiser. And no one could stop them. The point is, they haven’t.” “I didn’t ask to be anyone’s Queen,” she replied sullenly. “And I doubt you’d have been first on their list either.” Nikki sighed. “Why couldn’t it have been me?” “What would you have me do?” She flung herself away from the window to pace the hall. “Work with them. Try to understand where they’re coming from.” “I understand,” she said through clenched teeth. “What they don’t realize is I need independence, my own personal space—” She cut off her rant mid-sentence. The panel slid open and Navarre, Quince and Altarre emerged. Adrianne leaned against the wall, trying but failing to look nonchalant. Nikki let out a low whistle. They had dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Their footwear was still undeniably odd, more boots than shoes, but tucked beneath the hem of their jeans, it was unremarkable. And any woman with working hormones would never notice their shoes.
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Adrianne couldn’t help but notice how the thin cotton fabric hugged Navarre’s broad chest. His dark blue jeans fit him all too well, the denim cupping his snug bottom. Her fingers itched to run all over his body, and probe the shadowy muscles that rippled beneath his shirt. It was difficult to mask her thoughts from them. Nikki made no effort to do so. Altarre blushed under the scrutiny. He was his brother’s height, with the same tanned skin tone, but hair the color of dark chocolate with the same coppery highlights as Navarre. “Have we adequately disguised ourselves?” Navarre asked, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. You are broadcasting again. Bug off! she retorted, embarrassed. “You’ll draw attention wherever you go,” she grumbled. Navarre arched an eyebrow. She supposed he had no clue what the slang meant. Too bad. He could hear her thoughts. He should be adept enough to read between the lines. Nikki shot Adrianne a dark stare. “In a good way.” Altarre’s blush deepened. “We’ve decided your vehicle will be the least inconspicuous. We have a smaller craft which will drop us discreetly off.” Navarre offered Adrianne his arm. She refused it. He sighed. Nikki’s eyes twinkled. “Five people in my car?” It was Adrianne’s turn to sigh. At least she and Navarre had frustration in common. If this had been happening to Nikki, she’d be just as amused as Nikki was. Twice as disbelieving, but just as thrilled to be a part of the fantasy. Being crammed between Navarre and Altarre in the car would put her uncomfortably close to Navarre. Unless that was the Dragoon’s intent, to foster her off on Navarre as soon as possible. That was it, wasn’t it? Sure, he was really good-looking, and a great kisser, she grudgingly added, but beyond physical attraction, there was nothing more. She didn’t believe in reincarnation, did she? She straightened her shoulders, unable to even lie convincingly to herself. She knew him. She didn’t know how, but she knew Navarre intimately. Perhaps she’d stolen his memories from his mind without knowing what she was doing. No, every nerve in her body thrummed when he touched her, claiming him as her own, as if they were soul mates. What a ridiculous thought. She was sane and logical-thinking. The concept of being destined for just one person in the universe was not logical. It was inanely romantic. “I am eager to meet your mate, this Doug,” Navarre said finally, painfully polite. If his eyes flashed jade fire, she tried not to notice. “He is not my mate.” She stumbled over her words. “He’s…well…a good friend.” “Nikki is also a good friend, is she not?” Navarre asked.
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“Yes, but not that way.” Damn him. She shot Nikki a pleading glance. Nikki snickered. “We are looking forward to getting to know our Queen better. Please excuse our overeagerness,” Altarre said. Quince looked downright dangerous, dressed all in black with a face as still as stone. Navarre’s painfully polite expression hid anything he might be thinking. Only Altarre appeared truly optimistic. “I can’t wait,” Adrianne muttered. Less than an hour later, Adrianne found herself wedged in the backseat of Nikki’s car between Navarre and Altarre while Nikki chatted nonstop to Quince, seated beside her. The heat of Navarre’s body pressed against her. The scent of him surrounding her and the constant necessity of censoring her thoughts was making her irritable. Navarre, for his part, kept his hands to himself. That was even more frustrating. Why wouldn’t he touch her like he had last night? She gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t ask. She wouldn’t make the first move. Maybe last night had been a fluke. They’d both been caught up in each other’s emotions. “You have a beautiful planet,” Altarre offered when the silence became too much to bear. “Will you really let me stay here?” Adrianne glanced out the window. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Altarre was quiet for a moment. “Ours is destroyed, Dragoness. We have no home but the craft and even it has grown weary of traveling.” “I hope you are not pinning all your hopes and dreams on me.” Navarre shifted beside her. “We have none without you.” “That’s a poor backup plan,” she crabbed. Couldn’t he let her have a reprieve from her new melodramatic responsibilities for even one moment? Their extinction wasn’t her fault. Altarre was more sympathetic. “It is a great pressure we put on you?” She wanted to shoot back with a sarcastic comment, but she saw sincerity in his gaze. “Yes,” she whispered. She looked away. She couldn’t stand the sympathy any more than the overload of responsibility. Navarre tapped the clenched fist on her knee. She kept her gaze focused straight ahead. Altarre is an empath. He can read your emotions. She swung on him, teeth bared. He met her gaze with his expressionless mask. You can’t just pop into my head without asking permission first! Forgive me. I only wished to explain. His mental presence withdrew, leaving her yearning for it even more. And despising herself for wanting him so badly. “Can you hear what each other say in mind speech?” she asked Altarre.
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“I can tell you are speaking, but beyond that, no, not unless I am invited or forced myself in. That would be a breech of etiquette.” “Oh. Good.” Ah, common courtesy existed within the Dragoon’s social structure. Like saying “Bless you” after someone sneezed. She wondered just how many of them abided by the “laws” of courtesy. Why won’t you touch me? she asked finally, afraid to meet Navarre’s gaze. I should not take liberties with my Queen. You need to be able to objectively choose a mate when the time comes. Aha, Altarre and Quince were the dampening factor. You want me, she persisted. You have a mate, this Doug, he shot back. Did she detect a note of hurt in his mental voice? She discreetly reached for his hand, but he withdrew it. “Do you find us so repulsive that the idea of mating disgusts you? Or do you have another aversion to helping us?” Altarre asked. Beside her, Navarre went rigid. “What? No. You’ve kind of overwhelmed me.” And given her no chance alone to think things through. “We have waited so long.” Altarre’s voice was wistful, low and throaty, with an accent that turned her insides to mush. She wanted to curse them all. “Centuries,” Navarre added. Were we fools to wait so long? I can’t think with you dropping comments into my head. She aimed a venomous look, expecting him to be watching for her reaction, but he kept his face turned away from her. “Almost home,” Nikki called out cheerfully, and a trifle anxious. She’d been half listening to the conversation going on in the backseat. Adrianne’s frustration reached a fevered pitch. Her head ached from trying to tuck back her thoughts and guess just what Navarre was thinking. “Damn you, I wish you’d figure out what you want,” she exploded at Navarre. All the windows in the car cracked.
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Chapter Eleven The windshield crackled as if a baseball smashed it, only there was no offending projectile, just a spider web of fractures. “Omigod.” Nikki swerved. Navarre seized Adrianne and shoved her head into her lap. Quince grabbed the steering wheel and straightened the car out. The pressure instantly eased in Adrianne’s mind, as if a rubber band had just snapped. Nikki continued to drive, albeit more slowly. “Need air?” Altarre rolled down the cracked window as if nothing were amiss, but his voice was strained. The cool winter air washed over the exposed skin on the back of her neck, the wind’s caress soothing. “What was that?” Nikki demanded. “An emerging psi’s talents can be unnerving.” Altarre eased Adrianne’s head out of her lap. “Look at me.” She complied without protest. He examined her eyes closely, laid the back of his hand against her forehead and held her wrist for a few moments. She could vaguely feel him rummaging around in her head. The tingle at the nape of her neck became a fullblown brass band. Satisfied, he dropped his hands and gaze. The orchestra receded to just an irritating tinkle of bells. She rubbed the back of her neck. Navarre cleared his throat. “Forgive me.” She was too startled to do anything but nod. “I did that?” Terror warred with awe. This was a side of her she wasn’t sure she could accept. She felt as if she was standing outside herself and calmly viewing her handiwork. How could this skill serve any purpose? She could hire herself out to a demolition crew. She swallowed the nervous titter. How many more surprises were waiting inside her? So she could stop objects, obviously the plane, and now she could break glass as well. Well, well. Wouldn’t her parents have been pleased? Which parents? her insidious mind asked. Adrianne shuddered. “Quite a power-laden talent.” Navarre’s breath tickled her cheek. She pressed against him, her back to his chest. She heard the rumble of his words in his chest before he spoke again. “Some gifts manifest themselves only under extreme adversity.” “I could have killed us.” Dismayed, she met Nikki’s worried glance reflected in the rearview mirror.
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“Navarre would have prevented that,” Altarre replied in a slightly shaken voice. Would you not have? “I heard that.” She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. She surprised me. It will not happen again. To Adrianne, Navarre said gently, “Pardon this last intrusion, but I need to try to lock some of this skill away until you can be formally trained.” “Sure. Sure.” She turned in his grasp, trembling like a leaf and hating herself for being weak. He tucked her head beneath his chin. She felt a heaviness in her mind, then nothing more. She was acutely aware of Navarre’s arms wrapped around her and his solid chest lending her his support. So were her nipples. They pressed against him, painfully erect. “Don’t get too cozy.” Nikki glanced in the rearview mirror, still unnerved. “We’re home.” I want you, Navarre whispered in her mind. More than every breath I take. But what I want wars with what is proper within the Dragoon’s laws. “I don’t understand your laws,” she muttered, suddenly too tired to play mental games any longer. “I know.” He touched her cheek then, just a brush of his knuckles against her skin. She felt Altarre’s gaze on them. Adrianne kept her hands clenched, arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t trust the emotions coursing through her. She looked up at Navarre through the drape of her hair. He wore a stern, somewhat distant expression on his face. She understood it now. This was his public mask. What she’d glimpsed last night, washed in moonlight, was a true piece of himself. Did he share that with other members of the Dragoon? “It will get better. I promise.” Navarre shifted slightly so she was forced to pull away from him to keep her balance. Altarre opened the door and offered his hand to help her out of the vehicle. “I am the Dragoon’s healer. I can aid you as well with the headaches. You’ll probably have one later. Navarre always does. You need only ask for my assistance.” “Thank you.” With one thought she cursed them for finding her, with the next she felt indebted. “Does Navarre share this same propensity for randomly destroying things?” Altarre smiled. “It wasn’t easy to be raised in his shadow. Psi-born are a notoriously unsteady lot.” “But you’re his brother.” “Growing up, I practiced a lot of my healing on him.” Altarre drew her out of the car and laid a steadying arm on her until Navarre appeared and took over. “What talents we possess are either a blessing or a curse, depending on who you speak to.” She looked at Quince, Nikki’s arm tucked neatly through his, although he wasn’t fighting her. “What do you think?”
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“They are fine dragons to have at one’s back when the enemy knocks,” Quince said. “You guys need to loosen up around each other.” Nikki tugged on Quince’s arm. “Haven’t you been together for centuries? Shouldn’t you be a bit more relaxed?” “Our Queen is exposed. This is no time to let down one’s guard.” Quince stared at Navarre. Navarre tipped his head. “You are correct. It will not happen again.” The Beast was a brick-and-mortar building of bygone construction. Ground level served as the bar. The second story was Nikki and Adrianne’s apartment. Adrianne loved it as much as Nikki. From the curved bricks arching over the windows to the ornate gargoyles beneath the eaves, the building spoke of charm and class. Lace curtains peeked out of the upper-story windows while the lower-story ones were sheathed in leather shades. Nikki inserted a large key into the door and punched in the code to disable the security alarm. “I could really get used to having you around,” Nikki said to Quince. “Sure I can’t hire you on as a bouncer?” Quince smiled, a look that unexpectedly softened his dark features, but made no reply. Nikki’s heart surrendered. “Welcome to my baby.” She opened the door and flipped on the lights. The place was spotless. A caged stage stood in one corner, the silver bars gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. Barstools were sheathed in leather, with legs made of chrome. The bar top was polished chrome as well. “I love my employees,” Nikki murmured, seeing everything in the rigid order and standard of cleanliness she demanded. She headed for her office behind the bar. “They’re all getting fat Christmas bonuses.” “I am impressed.” Adrianne ran her finger down the bar. “You’ve never left it alone for this long.” Nikki poked her head out of the office door. “Well, there’s still things undone. I need to take inventory, order my Christmas party supplies, do payroll.” Her voice faded as she ducked back in the office. Navarre approached the cage. “What goes on in here?” Nikki entertained everything from semi-nude dancers to bondage performances. The level of detail depended on the private-ness of the party and the whims of its clientele. A large swing, bolted to the ceiling, was tucked away in one corner. The performances were usually not to Adrianne’s liking, but Nikki catered to a select crowd. “Umm…” Adrianne began. Nikki stuck her head back in the bar. “I’m not sure what your tastes are, boys, but some night you will have to come to one of my shows.” She winked at Adrianne.
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She couldn’t stop the nude image that came foremost to her mind. Adrianne had the satisfaction of seeing Navarre flush. “You engage in public acts of intercourse?” he hissed. “Me? No. Others, yes. And there’s a law against sex in public. Probably several of them.” Adrianne folded her arms across her chest. Altarre slipped up to the stage, fascinated with a set of chains and fur-lined handcuffs. “Women willingly submit to this?” “Men too,” Adrianne said. The room seemed suddenly uncomfortably warm. She didn’t want to know what they were thinking. “I live upstairs.” She headed behind the stage, her entourage in tow, and up a flight of stairs. She turned the doorknob. That was odd. The door was already unlocked. Nikki never left her door unlocked, even when they were home. She must have left in such a hurry that she forgot. While the six-paneled wood house door was original to the building, the living room was done in a sleek modern taste. Nikki usually entertained her boyfriends here. Few made it to her bedroom or even lasted overnight. The couch was red leather, the carpeting a plush white Nikki religiously cleaned nearly every day. A plasma TV wrapped around one corner. A silver faux fireplace stood opposite the couch. Out of habit, she slipped off her shoes, and padded across the carpeted floor stocking-footed to the kitchen. To the left was her bedroom, to the right Nikki’s, and a shared bathroom lay straight ahead, conveniently between the two rooms. Home. She didn’t realize how much she had missed it. She wanted nothing more but to crawl under the bedcovers and pray everything was back to normal when she dared to peek back out. She glanced over her shoulder. Copying her gesture, the men had just finished slipping off their boots. Wow, one point to the aliens. At least they could be trained. She almost laughed out loud. Opening her bedroom door, she froze. Nix the crawl-under-the-covers idea. Someone was already in her bed, actually two somebodies, and judging by the lingerie scattered about the room, one was female. The sound of Navarre’s approaching footsteps had her closing the door immediately. Well, that explained the unlocked apartment door. She couldn’t quite process what she saw. She hmphed to herself, brow furrowing. That was her Doug. She knew his body by first glance. The mop top of rumpled sandy hair he usually kept slicked back, now poking above the covers, was the giveaway. Oh, Doug. The wash of sadness was overwhelming. “What is amiss?” Navarre approached her while Altarre remained in the kitchen, examining the toaster.
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“Nothing.” The numbness gave way to white-hot anger. How dare he! Her emotions warred with dumping a bucket of ice water on the pair to just leaving Doug a note and walking away from it all. This was her house! She felt her cheeks grow hot. “Adrianne.” Navarre’s voice was low, gaze penetrating. “I am not a fool. What are you hiding?” She heard Nikki’s footsteps in the hall. “How’d you get in?” she called. “I didn’t know we had a spare key. I should have known you’d hide one.” She passed through the kitchen, took the toaster away from Altarre who was now holding it upside down above his head and peering into it, and pecked Quince on the cheek. “I can’t believe how great the guys were. Not even a whip or chain out of place…” she trailed off, spotting Adrianne’s face. Grabbing Adrianne’s arm, Nikki pulled her back into the kitchen. “The bastard,” she hissed, guessing what lay behind the door. “I guess it’s good news,” Adrianne said after a long moment. Navarre followed them, expression dark. Quince cracked open the bedroom door, then closed it as softly as Adrianne had. His face was impassive. “I don’t know what makes me madder, that he’s using our place as a bachelor pad or that he left the door unlocked.” Adrianne took a wineglass out of the cabinet, opened the refrigerator and calmly poured a glass of wine. She handed the glass to Nikki, then pressed the bottle to her lips, tipped her head back and took a long swallow. Nikki stared at her, open-mouthed. Yeah, she wasn’t normally a drinker. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” “Adrianne,” Nikki began, then lifted her glass toward Adrianne with a sigh. “You’re right. Not this way, of course, but it’s over with now.” Adrianne wordlessly nodded. The alcohol was doing wonders on the constriction she felt in her chest. She took another drink out of the bottle. “Bar’s closed on Tuesdays. Nobody should have been poking around last night. Nothing looks out of place.” Nikki set the wineglass on the counter, then took a quick peek in her room. Satisfied, she returned. “Kitchen’s too small for all of us, boys.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Why don’t you wait for us in the living room?” Altarre slipped out without protest. Quince did not budge, his arms folded across his chest. Navarre remained close to Adrianne’s side. Adrianne was again surprised that Quince was Nikki’s choice. Normally she fell for the more submissive types. Part of the reason Doug bugged Nikki so much was the way he spoke to her, as if she were but a servant to cater to his whims. Of course, he didn’t treat Adrianne like that or she wouldn’t have had sex with him. That didn’t make a whit of difference now. He was sleeping with someone else. And she didn’t care whether he treated that woman like dirt or not. Actually, part of her did care and did
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note he didn’t have any qualms about sleeping with someone else in her bed. What did that say about how he really felt toward her? Respect obviously fell out of the picture. To hell with his manners too. “Your mate is here,” Navarre guessed or did he read her thoughts? She was too caught up to worry about stray thoughts. “With another?” he asked. “He’s not my mate and yes, he’s here with someone else.” She spat the last words out, not realizing how bitter she felt. Navarre took one step back. “Do you wish our assistance in removing him?” Adrianne was too angry right now to care how it all looked to the Dragoon. “Not at this moment. Nikki.” Her voice was deadly. “Do you mind if I make a mess?” “In this case, no.” “Bring me two of your pillows.” “May I suggest a cane?” Nikki said teasingly, then noticed the tears starting to form in Adrianne’s eyes. “On their way. Have another drink.” Adrianne rummaged as quietly as possible through the cupboards, collecting supplies and polishing off the bottle of wine as well. “In our world it would not be uncommon for our Queen to burn the rogue and his whore alive,” Quince said. Adrianne stiffened. “No one will be dying over this.” She spun around, glaring at Quince and Navarre. “Do you understand?” Quince pressed his lips tight, obviously disagreeing with the seriousness of the matter. Navarre watched her carefully, as if uncertain how to treat her while she was in this frame of mind. “How about a finger as a souvenir?” “Ugh.” She turned away from the pair, and tossed back Nikki’s half finished glass of wine as well. Oh, that was going to be a mistake in a very short while. Nikki didn’t keep cheap wine in the house. Her head buzzed, but she felt deliciously warm. She wanted to kill Doug, figuratively, not literally. Although if he got hit by a truck while he was on the way home… She dismissed the fantasy. Right now, she itched for revenge, something to salve her pride. Later, reason would kick in, probably skipping hand in hand with the hangover. She supposed Vespero would be recording this in his blasted history of her as well. Not if she had anything to say about it. Nikki was right as usual. She didn’t really love Doug. It didn’t hurt her so much now to know he slept with another woman, that hurt would come later and wine wouldn’t easily wash it away, but to have him stoop low enough to do it in her own bed, that was unforgivable. He didn’t respect her. She was but a convenient toy for him, little more than an unpaid whore. She derailed that miserable train of thought before she burst into tears.
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She finished filling the water pitcher with cooking oil and food coloring. Nikki returned with two pillows. She handed them to Quince. “I’m going out to his car to help myself to his CDs.” Adrianne paused. “Nikki, don’t stoop to his level.” “Didn’t you buy him some of those? Isn’t he sleeping in your bed with some girl with low morals like myself?” “Would you sleep in another woman’s bed?” “Depends on how drunk I was.” She turned to Quince. “Slit the pillows.” She eyed Navarre’s stone face. “I think you need to join your brother in the living room.” “I will protect my Queen as I see fit,” Navarre retorted stiffly. She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Quince pulled a knife out of his pocket, flicked it open and slit the top of the feather pillows. “A childish prank for a serious crime,” he muttered. “No killing,” Adrianne repeated, wondering at how far she’d traveled in just a few days. She never thought she’d be uttering those words. Tiptoeing down the hallway, she opened her door again. The creep was actually buck naked and spooning his prize. His sleeping partner was wearing a garter and one stocking yet. Her bright red fluff of hair was tangled, a sign of their frantic lovemaking. What had Doug promised her? Had he whispered the same things in the redhead’s ear as he whispered in hers? Childish and immature, huh? She poured the cooking oil mixture over Doug’s form, snatched a pillow from Quince and sprinkled feathers all over a now-sputtering, upright and confused Doug. Immensely satisfying, that was what it was. She splashed the rest of the cooking oil in his face. Try getting that out of your precious hair, she thought. “What the—? Adri?” His voice changed when he saw her. The redhead covered herself up with a bedsheet, eyes wide. Her pale skin had red spots splattered high on her cheeks. “You, I gave the benefit of a doubt to.” Adrianne jabbed a finger at the redhead. “Collect your things and get out of my apartment.” “Doug!” The woman struck Doug across the back of the head, then made a face as cooking oil dripped from her hand. She drew herself up, head high, gathered her clothing and walked to the door, still mostly naked. She eyed Quince and Navarre. “Looks like you found your own playmates as well,” she said in a purr, licked her lips, then left the room. “You!” Adrianne pointed to Doug. “Wait a minute. Who are these guys?” Doug’s eyes narrowed. “None of your business,” she retorted. “Are you insane? What were you thinking, bringing another woman into my apartment?”
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“I was thinking,” he said icily, “that I hadn’t seen my girlfriend in over three weeks. Reporters have been hounding me since your plane crashed. I needed some sort of relief. She doesn’t mean anything. I just met her at a bar last night. There’s still us.” He glanced at Navarre and Quince. “Or isn’t there?” “How many others have there been while I was away?” “None,” Doug said sullenly, looking away. “It doesn’t matter,” she lied. “And I don’t believe you. Don’t bother getting your stuff, I’ll pack it for you.” She snatched his pants lying on the floor at his feet, crossed the room to the window, opened it and flung them on the sidewalk. “Fetch.” “Adri?” He switched tactics and began to cajole. “Do you really want to throw everything we have away?” She couldn’t believe his tone had actually worked on her in the past. What a fool she was. She picked up his shirt and tossed it out the window as well. “Adri, damn it.” He turned to Navarre and Quince. “Look, I don’t know who you are but my girlfriend and I need some privacy.” “They’re staying.” Adrianne threw his shoes out the window. Doug crossed room and made a grab for Adrianne’s arm. Navarre caught him by the shoulder before Doug could reach her. “This is between me and Adri. Back off.” Doug spun in Navarre’s grasp, shoving against Navarre’s chest to free himself. Navarre’s eyes sparked green, flared for an instant, then settled to a quiet simmer, a nice somewhat human normal green. “What?” Doug backed off, shaking his head. “Who are these guys?” Good question. She needed a scientific calculator, a protractor and one of those pointy things she used to draw circles with in geometry before she could figure that one out. A compass. Funny, they banned knives at school, but a stainless steel stake used to draw circles was okay. But she digressed. “Friends.” Heck, she called her mailman a friend. “Thugs more like it.” He snagged a shirt from the pile of clothes Adrianne started emptying from the closet. Pulling it on over his greased body with a grimace, he said, “What are you mixed up in, Adri? You know, the FBI was over asking me questions. Just dropped in for a visit while I was at work. How do you think that looks to my clients?” “I’m sure they were more discreet than you.” But his words caused her to pause. The FBI? So they really did think she was a terrorist? Visions of being held in a windowless room with a single light bulb sent her breaking out into goose bumps. Thank God for the Dragoon. She doubted the FBI ever had to deal with shapeshifters. She watched with perverse pleasure as Doug struggled into a pair of jeans. “What did you tell them?” “That you travel a lot, supposedly for business, teaching.” 80
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“I am a teacher,” she shouted. She saw Navarre flinch. Quince took a cautious step back, positioning himself closer to the door. She remembered the shattered car windows and took a deep breath. “What else did you tell them?” He shrugged, glancing at Navarre. “Obviously I don’t know you as well as I thought I did. I told them that while you were probably smart enough to be a terrorist, you lacked motive.” He rummaged through his growing pile of clothes. “Did you leave me any shoes?” “No.” “I guess this is it then.” He grabbed a bundle of clothing and walked to the door. “For whatever it’s worth, it didn’t have to end this way.” “You did it to yourself.” “You ask too much, Adri, you always asked for too much. I’m only human.” He passed between Navarre and Quince. “Good luck.” Adrianne stood rock still until she heard the apartment door slam. She didn’t ask too much. She had never asked for enough. Maybe if she had demanded respect from the start. Maybe if she’d listened to that niggling bit of doubt instead of letting lust get in the way of common sense. She shook her head. She couldn’t let herself cry, not in front of Navarre and Quince. She was supposed to be their Queen, their savior. She couldn’t even manage to keep a boyfriend from cheating on her. How was she supposed to live up to the Dragoon’s expectations? Suddenly drained, she sat in her desk chair, and looked around the room. What did she really have to pack? The furniture Nikki could keep, especially the bed. She tried not to wonder whether this was the first time he brought someone to her bed or not. She loved the room, the soft taupe walls with the suede finish she and Nikki painstakingly painted. The curtains were ivory lace, and matched the bed skirt and table linens. The worn hardwood floor, original to the building, bore the scars of years’ worth of previous owners. She had a story for every blemish the wood bore. It had seen her through years of yoga, of few bouts of rampant sex, and countless times she rearranged the furniture. But they were all things that had no place in her new life. Except maybe the unbridled sex part. Her books and photo albums had to come with her. They contained memories of her happy mundane childhood. Jesus, what would have happened if someone had discovered her inability to burn as a child? Would she have been locked up? Examined like the Elephant Man? Her car was still presumably at the airport, waiting for her return. Which she would never do, she realized with a start. She glanced at Navarre and read sympathy in his gaze. She looked away. “Are you able to pack what you need now? Someone can fetch the remainder of your belongings.” Navarre’s feet moved into her line of sight.
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“Sure.” She wanted to rage at him, to scream, “Are you happy now? I’m severing my ties one by one”, but she kept silent. It would do no good. And it wasn’t his fault. Her travel bags were burned along with her good business attire. Another sigh escaped her lips. Where was that happy alcoholic buzz? Nikki entered, several flattened boxes in hand, identifiable by her stylish yet sensible shoes, a rugged suede with a heel and grooved soles. “There’s a fancy blue sedan parked across the street and some very well-dressed men inside. Friends of yours?” she asked Navarre. He lifted the lace curtain and looked out. “No.” Nikki opened the boxes and set them on the floor at her feet. “Clothes first, c’mon.” She began to empty the closet, folding the clothes carefully. “Think some reporters are staking out your bar?” Adrianne asked those stylish shoes. “It’s the cops,” Nikki said, as if she’d already thought things through before bringing it to their attention. She continued to fold Adrianne’s clothes. Altarre joined them, took one look at the soiled bedding and started bundling it up. “Where would you like this placed?” “There is a laundry room off the kitchen. Thank you.” Nikki closed one box and started on the next. “I’m sorry he used your place,” Adrianne said quietly. She looked up. There was no pity in Nikki’s gaze, just sympathy and a smattering of rage. “Our place. He’s a jerk. Forget him.” Adrianne smiled weakly. “Not much of a choice there.” She stowed her photo albums in a separate box while Nikki started in on her shoes. She chose not to look at Navarre or Quince. She was their Queen. Apparently, their previous Queens’ wrath leaped way past tar and feathering and jumped right to torture and murder. She could no more be an appropriate Queen than Ghandi could be a sniper. What a disappointment she was to them. Navarre continued to stand at the window, Quince by the bedroom door. It was quite likely she’d never be truly alone again. “I can pack the rest of your books,” Nikki offered. Adrianne hesitated, set a book into her box, turned to Nikki and, without warning, burst into tears. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but it didn’t halt the soundless sobs that shook her entire body. She had cried more these last couple of days than she had in her entire life. Nikki caught her, pulling her to her shoulder while she cried. She heard Altarre’s rushed footsteps in the hallway. Poor man. Being subjected to her emotions had to be like taking a train trip through the Rockies without brakes.
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Navarre briefly touched the back of her neck. His big hand caressed the knot there. Then he bent down, picked up one of her boxes and left with it. Nikki rocked her. “It’s been a strange week, gotta admit that,” she said quietly. “But you’re not going through it alone.” When Adrianne remained quiet, she continued, “They could have been homely suckers.” Adrianne hiccupped, a laugh bubbling up. Leave it to Nikki to put a practical spin on it all. They pulled each other up. “Apparently that wasn’t waterproof mascara I loaned you. Go freshen up.” Adrianne emerged from the bathroom to find Navarre in the living room with Agent Haynes and two other men. Navarre wore a scowl. Quince looked ready to draw a weapon. “Going someplace, Ms. Harris?” Haynes asked when he saw her. “Eloping,” she replied, sliding into the lie with an ease she didn’t think was possible for her. She slipped her arm through Navarre’s. For once, she was thankful for mind speech. Police. In our world, one step down from the Hunter, she said to Navarre. Navarre’s arm dropped to her waist, tightening imperceptibly. “Didn’t I just see your boyfriend leaving?” Haynes asked in a conversational tone. One of his partners opened Nikki’s bedroom door and peeked in. “Hey, that’s my roommate’s room,” she said to him, breaking free of Navarre long enough to pull the door shut. “And you are?” “Agents Lampson and Byers with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Adrianne put her hands on her hips. It hid the fact she was trembling. “I don’t recall inviting you here.” “We have a warrant, Ms. Harris. And if you recall, I asked to be notified of your activity.” Haynes leaned too close to her, all trace of pleasantness gone. Quince, keep Nikki occupied, she thought. She didn’t want Nikki to be involved with them. Really too late for that brilliant brain wave. They were at Nikki’s bar, standing in Nikki’s apartment. Adrianne put on a bright smile. “Well, I’m sorry I won’t be able to visit here with you. I’ve a wedding to attend. This is my fiancé, Navarre.” Haynes did not fall for it. “We will make an itemized list of all the belongings we take. You could have cooperated with us, Ms. Harris. You forced our hand.” “Are you arresting me as well?” He coughed politely. “Not at this point.” “Well, then, if you excuse me, I have to go.” “You will not be allowed to leave the country, Ms. Harris. Your passport has been withdrawn until our review is over.” 83
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“I have no passport yet.” “You recently filed a request for one.” “To take a well-deserved trip to the Bahamas…where it’s warm! If you’ve done your homework, you’ll realize I work a lot, enough to justify a vacation once in a while.” Good healthy rage. She welcomed it. It cleared her alcohol and emotion-fuzzed mind. “Where were you the last day or so, Ms. Harris?” “Resting at my fiancé’s.” “Ah yes, Mr…?” Haynes turned to Navarre. He wants your last name, Adrianne warned. I dislike him. Then we finally agree on something. “Navarre,” he said. Haynes raised an eyebrow. “Navarre Navarre? Interesting name.” “You try my patience,” Navarre said evenly. “Believe me, your fiancée is trying mine as well. Where is your residence, Mr. Navarre?” “When will you be through here?” Navarre asked instead. “Your residence, an address?” Haynes persisted. “And where are you from?” He tipped his head. “Your accent is odd.” May I handle this? Navarre asked Adrianne. No killing. I am not Quince. She felt pressure, as if a wave washed over her and passed her by. Haynes straightened as did the other two agents, their expressions abruptly blank. She snapped her fingers in front of Haynes’ face. There was no response. “Neat trick. What did you do?” “I am removing their memory of you.” “Just like that?” She snapped her fingers again. Lords, how much power did the man possess? Nikki was right. They were catering to her. They could have simply wiped away her memory. “It is a bit more difficult than that.” The words came out slowly. He wore a look of concentration. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone.” She backed away. The sight of three blank-faced men was disturbing enough. Nikki burst out of the bedroom, Quince in tow. “I don’t know how you did it, but if you ever ask him to do that again…” She waggled her finger at Adrianne, then noticed the agents. “Who are these people and what’s wrong with them?”
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“They were just leaving. I would hazard a guess they belong to the blue sedan.” Adrianne tugged Nikki away from the agents. “Help me with my stuff.” “You aren’t going to distract me that easily. And you…” She turned on Quince, who remained impassive, like one of the great enigmatic statues on Easter Island. “I even bit him. He didn’t budge.” “I’m sure it turned you on,” Adrianne said dryly. “C’mon.” “Oh God, yes,” she gushed in a low voice when they were out of earshot of the men. “He has an incredible body. I took the liberty of checking everything out in my attempt to escape.” Adrianne laughed. “I’m sure your attempted escape was very thorough.” How was she ever going to live without Nikki? They crammed two boxes of clothes and one box of her favorite books and photo albums into the car’s trunk. Memorabilia from her parents’ house was in a storage facility, no need to claim it now, especially if they weren’t going anywhere for a while. “Now that’s a creepy sight.” Nikki straightened and closed the trunk. Haynes and the other two agents filed out of the building, their movements jerky. They climbed stiffly into their blue sedan and waited, staring straight ahead. Navarre followed them. “I need a location to send them to.” “Far, far away,” Adrianne said fervently. “If you wish.” His eyes gleamed. Form the location in your mind, so I may see it as well. She thought about all the places she’d visited before. “Wait a second.” She ran back to her room, then returned with a newspaper clipping. “Here.” The article was about a lighthouse overlooking Lake Superior. She kept it at the time, thinking she might want to vacation there. “It cannot be tied back to you?” Adrianne laughed. “No, but I’d love to see the expressions on their faces when they get there.” “It could be arranged.” She felt mesmerized by his gaze. “Um, no, that’s all right.” “As you wish.” He walked across the street and deposited the newspaper clipping in the driver’s lap. The car started and the blue sedan pulled quietly away. “They won’t kill anyone driving around that way?” Adrianne asked. “They are mindful of the road and your everyday laws.” “Like a hypnotist making a person think he’s a chicken. Wow, I’d love to learn how to do that.” “I would be honored to teach you. If it would bring a smile to your face, I will bring them back and make them cluck like chickens.” He said the last in a quiet manner, watching closely for her reaction. “Is that your mission? To keep me happy?” 85
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“Happy Dragonesses do not shatter glass.” “Ah, but angry Dragonesses do all sorts of unpredictable things.” She stood on tiptoe and, before she could lose her nerve, kissed him. “Thank you,” she whispered and escaped out of his reach before he could respond. She was rewarded with a thoroughly surprised look on his face. Her lips tingled with the taste of him. Altarre simply stared, mouth agape. “Not a peep from you,” she said, wagging her finger at him. He closed his mouth, looked at Navarre, looked back at her, then nodded. Quince remained impassive as usual. “Or you,” she said to Quince. “You are our Queen,” he replied smoothly. “I don’t want to forget this all,” Nikki blurted out. “I wouldn’t let them.” Navarre interrupted Adrianne. “You do not pose a threat to our Queen.” “Good,” Nikki said with profound relief. “Well, I have work to do. Time for you guys to shove off. Why don’t you show up some night at the bar so I know you’re still alive?” she added, a bit too casually. “It’s a promise.” Adrianne gave Nikki a quick hug. “You take care.” “I always do.” Can Quince stay with her? At least for a little while? Adrianne asked Navarre. He should have a fair chance to make a favorable impression with his Queen. He makes Nikki happy. For that, he is high on whatever list he needs to be on. But I won’t demand he stay. I would be honored to guard your companion, Quince interjected. “Mind if Quince stays with you for a little while?” she asked Nikki and shot Quince a grateful look. “To make sure those cops don’t show up again and you don’t get any visits by rabid dogs?” Nikki’s eyes widened. “Do I mind?” she asked in a whisper. “Oh Lord, I’ve been such a good girl.” “That’s a yes then?” “Yes, yes, and oh yes. Here.” Nikki tossed Adrianne the car keys. “Give Quince a crash course on driving and let him bring it back. That’ll give me some time to get ready.” “Play nice with him.” Nikki winked. “You bet.” She sashayed back into the bar, swinging her hips. Adrianne glanced at Quince. His eyes were riveted to Nikki’s backside. Men! Universally, regardless of species, they were all the same.
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Chapter Twelve Nikki leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen against her teeth. Quince sat in a chair on the opposite side of her desk, as stiff as one of the famous Swiss Guards. It was one thing to admire a stranger in a crowd. It was quite another to be left alone with him. And he was an alien to boot. Quite a looker, though. Dark, closely cropped hair, black as ink, framed a strong face with a bronzed complexion and eyes so shadowy they appeared almost black as well. His shoulders were broad, not like a bodybuilder’s, more so like a street fighter, not that she had an intimate knowledge of a street fighter’s build, but he reminded her of someone who studied judo or karate. Someone who was completely confident with his body and his abilities. Right now, he was busy examining one of her kinky sex etiquette books. It was upside down, she noted. So he was at a loss what to do too, huh? That was reassuring. “So.” She tapped the pen on her desk. “As my bodyguard, do you need to be walked through my building so you know the layout? How about keys? Are you going to need access to everything that’s mine?” The last sentence put her in a very sassy frame of mind. She expected him to drop the book like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Instead, he carefully closed it, replaced it exactly where it had been on her desk and focused his attention on her. “When you are ready, a close appraisal of your facilities would be wise.” She dropped the pen. Mind out of the gutter, she reminded herself. Not everyone thought in double entendres. Well, she was getting nothing done with him sitting here before her, all dark and mysterious, like some sinfully expensive piece of chocolate wrapped in gold foil. “How about now?” She rose gracefully from her chair, the need to seduce and taunt her sexuality too ingrained to be dispensed with now. She watched his eyes examine her. Pleased that she could attract the attentions of even an alien, she slipped past him, her skirt brushing his pants leg. He stood, as fluid and sinewy as a cat. Her skirt skipped a beat at that. She’d slept with male dancers before, but even they didn’t move with that kind of unconscious grace. He followed her out of the office and into the bar area. “Your clientele has extreme tastes, do they not?” She paused to face him. “If you mean are they the minority rather than the norm, that depends. I cater to all sorts. The public is more vanilla. The private parties, more 87
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often than not, walk on the wild side.” She’d be the first to admit that some people’s fetishes were way out there and not to her taste, but it wasn’t up to her to question someone else’s morals. “When are the private events held?” “Anytime. I like to keep Monday to myself though. Bar’s open Wednesday through Saturday.” “Do you trust all your personnel?” She hesitated, pursing her lips. “Yes.” Trust came in many forms. “Enough to reveal my nature?” “No.” She released her breath. He nodded his head thoughtfully. “Our Dragoness is your closest friend?” She turned away. “Sometimes she’s more a daughter to me than a friend.” She started to the front door. “Forget that. Some things I say to you should be kept between us.” “There should be no secrets between me and my Queen.” “Should and will are two different things.” She glanced over her shoulder, meeting his eye. “You intend to be completely honest with her? Every person in your group is going to bare their soul to her?” “I understand the distinction you are trying to make. I will practice discretion.” “Thank you.” She turned to the front door locks and fiddled with the electronic combination. She didn’t quite trust the electronic gadgets one hundred percent so she kept the front doors secured with standard door locks as well. The building, however, had a security system. Quince looked thoughtful. “Is it possible Doug has the combination and a key?” “You’re right. I should have the locks changed.” “Immediately.” Didn’t she just get rid of one neurotic overanalytical friend? That was cruel. She loved Adri to pieces, even if they did get on each other’s nerves from time to time. She was going to miss her. Hell, she already did. “Doug is only angry with Adrianne.” “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Her fingers hovered over the keypad. He continued to stare at her, waiting. “Are you always so macabre?” “Your safety is my concern.” “Adri’s safety is your concern. I am, hopefully, just a polite nuisance.” She leaned against the door, arms folded under her breasts. “Do you find me attractive?” He broke her gaze, looking away. “I am not familiar enough with your language to answer that.” “Bull.” That hurt, but she wouldn’t let him know it. She kept her body in excellent shape, despite her age. “Granted, I’m probably old enough to be your mother.” 88
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He didn’t quite meet her eyes. “What is your age?” “Forty-five,” she shot back, defiant. He looked amused. “I count my age in centuries, not years.” “I see.” That came out as a squeak. Silly her. Who’d have thought? So the aliens aged differently than humans. She’d have to remember to tell Adri that. It was her turn to look away. “I will change all the key codes. As for the other doors, I’ll have to get my handyman in to change the locks. Some of my employees have keys too.” Her mind wandered at that, better to let it take that track than wallow in his apparent disinterest in her. She was a big girl. She’d been turned down before. It’d been a while, though, and the guy turned out to be gay and had a boyfriend. Somehow, being turned down because one was the wrong gender didn’t hurt so much as out-and-out rejection. She headed toward the rear service doors. “Nikki.” The way he said her name made her want to rip open her blouse and throw herself at him. Of course, anything he said had her thinking naughty thoughts. She gritted her teeth. “Yes?” Her voice was polite, but disinterested. She wouldn’t let him know he hurt her. “I would be unable to conceive a child with you.” She stopped in her tracks and spun around. Quince neatly avoided her. “What?” His face was serious. “Conception between our species would not be possible.” She didn’t know whether to laugh in relief or just stand there with a shocked look on her face. She waved her hand around, encompassing the bar and the stage. “Does it look like I want kids?” “I am unsure of your motives.” Aha. So he did want her. Confidence bolstered, she sidled up to him close enough to inhale his primordial scent and he, her perfume. “My motives are purely sex-driven,” she purred. He took one step back to distance himself. “Always?” “Always.” “Are you and our Dragoness lovers?” Another blow. She rocked back on her heels. How did these guys think? “Adri had a boyfriend.” He shrugged, watching her. “No! I don’t swing that way.” “Mmm” was his response. Whether that enhanced or detracted from her appeal, she didn’t know. “I am prepared to have a sexual liaison with you,” he said finally.
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“Well, thank you very much. You flatter me.” She put her hand to her heart. He said it with about as much passion as he had when he instructed her to change the locks. “You misunderstand.” He strode up to her, picked her up by the elbows and kissed her thoroughly. His lips were rough, not unkind, but possessive in a way she never thought possible. She opened her mouth slightly, inviting in his tongue, but he was not about to be enticed. He set her down. “Let us examine the rear entry now.” Double entendre, be damned. She’d never been kissed to the point of stupidity before. Quince looked just a wee bit pleased with himself. “Umm, right this way.” She glanced over her shoulder once. His face was once again impassive, but the gleam in his eye was unmistakable. She was in way over her head.
***** Alone. The Dragoon had finally left her on her own. Granted, she was safely tucked in her own room in the belly of their ship, but right now she didn’t care. Adrianne wasn’t accustomed to having people pulling at her constantly. After another joint meal and some formal conversation with more members of the Dragoon, she had finally been allowed to escape to her room. Thank goodness. Having so many sets of eyes focused on her was unnerving. It was not unlike standing in front of a roomful of students only these men knew exactly what they wanted. She was the student and she had thirteen teachers all with their own agendas. A couple of boxes of her belongings and an empty room faced her. According to Navarre, the ship was alive, a sentient creature which could form whatever furniture she wished out of its malleable body. That alone should have been enough to freak her out. It said a lot about how far she had come that it didn’t. Right now, she wished for nothing more than a bed, but her mind was way more alert than her body. “Well then,” she said out loud, hands on her hips. She felt the ship patiently waiting for her request. Funny, when she finally had nothing to do but focus on herself, she heard and felt many little nuances in her environment she’d previously overlooked. With the television and radio always playing in the background of her former life, she missed these quiet voices. The wind, the trees, even the snow had voices, some more insistent than others, but presences nonetheless. She was probably better off not hearing them in her former life. She would have thought herself mad and the doctors would have agreed. Could Navarre have reached her mind through a drug-induced haze? Her room had no outside windows, she supposed for her own safety, but it was spacious enough not to be claustrophobic. Navarre had indicated that an opening could be made to face the inner auditorium-like space, but she wasn’t sure the Dragoon
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wouldn’t spy on her then. What a dumb thought. The room was probably filled with surveillance cameras. She glanced around. The walls, floor and ceiling were all a muted gray. “All right then, how about a chair?” A formless mass of inky gray rose from the floor beside her, and shaped itself into a boxy version of a chair, all blunt edges and no class. She wrinkled her nose. Functional, yes. Pretty, no. It probably wasn’t the ship’s fault. It had served the male members of the Dragoon for God knows how many years. “I think we can do better.” How detailed could she make her furniture? Could she communicate with the ship, mind to mind? She formed the image of an ornate throne, complete with curlicue arms and a red velvet seat. The boxy gray chair vanished to be replaced by the chair in her mind. “Much better. But I was just kidding.” The chair dissolved into a puddle of gray slime that melted into the floor. “That was really good,” she said, unsure how much the ship understood. “Thank you.” She paused. “Can we try something else?” As if in response, she felt the ship vibrate beneath her feet. A smile toyed at her lips, her eyes dreamy. She formed the image of a very unconventional bed in her mind. Why not? The Dragoon had said it was her own private space. The shape of a gray-skinned woman rose from the floor, head thrown back, arms which were no longer just arms, but dragon wings as well that curved back and up. She lost track of the time, focusing on that one woman, sheathed in nothing more than scales, a bare arm here, a finger half turned to claw there. Perfect breasts, the hint of ribs, a muscled abdomen. She longed for a body that goddess-like. She’d never sculpted before, but she now knew the same possessive pride of an artist. The woman’s head was thrown back, lips parted slightly, eyes closed. When she was finally satisfied, the sculpture stood just slightly taller than herself. “Can you make three more?” she asked, picturing the wings of each tangling to form a canopy. This was to be her bed. Three sculptures rose immediately from floor, mirror images of the first. A hint of a headboard etched itself along the wall between two of the stone women as if questioning her. “Yes,” she replied. With that, the headboard solidified, along with a mattress. The sculptured women colored, the shade of veined gray-hued marble. The walls turned a shimmery white pearlescent with a single thought. The ceiling became a panoramic view of the night sky, violet-hued, the northern lights captured in all their glory in one great sweep across her “sky”. Now her mind leaped ahead of her before she voiced conscious thought. Playful, the ship eagerly joined in. Romanesque columns twisted and were born in the corners
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of the room. A gothic style arch of brickwork framed the outer panel. Dark green vines crept up the columns. Buds formed and flowered in seconds. The nodding wine-toned roses froze in the peak of bloom. A herringboned paver path traveled from panel to bed, broke apart to circumvent the bed and trailed along to her bathroom. A wardrobe formed along one wall, a great hollowed tree trunk. Its tree branches scraped the ceiling, and vanished into the “sky”. The remainder of the floor became lush green grass, springy to the touch. She whirled around the room, laughing. The ship purred with her. She flung herself on the bed. There was a soft rap on the panel. Uh-oh. She panicked and glanced around the room. One wall started to turn gray in response to her unspoken request, but she didn’t have the heart to annihilate all her creations. The wall returned to its pearlescent state. They’d have to accept her sooner or later. They had no choice. “Come in.” The panel slid open. “Dragoness?” Altarre asked, taking one tentative step into the room. He looked around, eyes wide. “I was about to ask if you wished a tour of the ship to give you an idea of what you could create in your private sanctuary.” He touched a nodding rose close to his hand. “But we have nothing to compete with this splendor.” She rolled onto her stomach on her bed, carefully nonchalant, and observed his reaction from between two stone dragon maidens. Resting her chin in her hands, she waited for him to continue. “May I enter?” She waved a hand in acquiescence. He eyed the statues warily. “Do you dream of this?” he asked in a low voice. She couldn’t tell whether he was alarmed or awed. “Thank your brother for that. He teases me with flight. Now it haunts my thoughts.” “Like this?” Incredulous, he reached out to touch the statue, then dropped his hand as if the gesture was sacrilegious. She flushed and looked away. “Nay, my lady, no cause for shame. It is our greatest desire that you should fly.” “I would imagine so since it’s the only way your kind can reproduce,” she said dryly. It was his turn to redden. His lips pressed tight. “Does Navarre meet your needs or is there another one us you’d more willingly couple with?” She sensed his discomfort, but didn’t know how to salve it. “Sex has never been casual for me. You speak of it as a chore.” Altarre continued to look uncomfortable. She hurried on. “Look, I don’t even know if I want children.” Lord, she was only twentyeight. “I might not be an empath, but I know you’re desperate for them. Nobody’s bothered to explain anything to me or ask me how I feel about it.”
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A functional blocky chair rose out of the “grass”. Altarre sat, gaze thoughtful. “Our apologies. Ask away.” Adrianne sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, facing him. “How do you reproduce?” “Copulation and fertilization occur dragon to dragon in an aerial mating. The female dragon produces eggs two months after that. The eggs are laid in a warm cushioning spot and incubated by the mother and other dragons for another six months at which time the dragonets hatch. They remain dragonets until approximately five years of age. Of course, some learn to change sooner, others later. Queens continue to mate and reproduce as long as they are fertile.” She tried to not let her distress show. “How many eggs?” “Clutches were much larger in times past. Upwards of thirty-six were not unheard of when we were a young race.” “Thirty-six!” she squeaked. “Easy, lady, you’ll distress the others.” Altarre glanced nervously at the panel. “I am not certain how much I should be telling you. The situation, your discovery, has not been discussed between us yet. Of late, clutches have been no bigger than one or two, with three being a large clutch.” He rushed on. “And you don’t show the pregnancy in human form. I think that evolved to camouflage the pregnant, and hence more vulnerable, Dragoness. You would still feel pregnant, I am told.” “You’re told? Have you ever seen a pregnant Queen?” Her voice remained at that nervous elevated pitch. This was the Dragoon’s healer, basically her doctor now, and he was all but admitting his inexperience. Altarre’s brow furrowed. “Navarre and I were out of the last clutch.” He stood and the ugly chair from Neolithic hell vanished. “I’ve distressed you.” “Distressed me? Scared me is more like it.” She stood up and paced the length of the room, Altarre watching her warily. “Eggs? I pass eggs?” She shuddered. “Have any of you ever seen this happen?” “Our last clutch was a century ago, your time.” She reeled back, glad for the stone dragon maiden’s support. Navarre was one hundred years old? How old did that make Benito? “Many of us are reaching the end of our reproductive ability. It is for that reason we rush you.” “Right. No pressure or anything.” “Throughout our history, Dragonesses have been notoriously fickle. Partner swapping is not unacceptable.” Leaning against the wall, she put her head in her hands and took a moment to still her warring thoughts. What they took for normal ran completely against how she’d been raised. She lifted her head. “Tell me what you think.” 93
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“I do not understand.” “What would you do if you were in my position?” Again, the wary look came into his eye. “You and my brother seem to companion well.” “That’s because I know him. Like bloody reincarnation or something. I don’t understand it, but I’m beginning to accept that.” She approached him and he took a few steps out of her reach. She paused. “Do you think I could hurt you?” “I can heal others but not myself. You are in a very volatile mood. I should get Navarre.” She dropped her outstretched hand. “I didn’t ask for this,” she said softly. Of course he was afraid of her. She stopped runaway planes and cracked glass. “Are the others afraid of me?” “They are cautious.” He reached out then to touch her arm. “I would not step in Navarre’s way. I am content to let him claim you.” “I don’t want to be claimed by anyone!” “Easy, lady.” She didn’t realize she was shouting. “What do expect me to do? You ask me to leave everything I know and trust you. I’m here, aren’t I? Now I’m supposed to just calmly have sex with everyone, get pregnant and pass frickin’ eggs. Do I look like a caged bird to you?” She felt like one. The room was too still. She needed air. The panel slid open and Navarre stood in the doorway. He looked as if he had been sleeping. His hair was mussed and his shirt lay unlaced as if he’d thrown it on in a hurry. She turned to him. “Get out!” The coverlet on her bed danced, rippling in the storm of her emotions. “Come here.” He held out both hands to her, palms up. “I broke glass without even touching it, without even trying.” The words came out almost half sobbing. “What the hell am I?” She kept out of his reach. Altarre scurried to the safety of Navarre’s side. “I will leave you two alone. Good night, Dragoness.” The panel closed behind him. “I never asked for this and I don’t want it!” Navarre stepped toward her. “Stay away from me.” He caught her up in his arms. She fought him. The wardrobe teetered and collapsed into a puddle of gray goo around them before either of them could be hurt. “You are our Queen. Act like it.” She caught her breath. “Damn you.”
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There was a flush to his tanned skin. His eyes gleamed so brightly she no longer could see their pupils. She closed her eyes. He ran his hands up and down her arms, agitated. “Altarre is very sensitive. You do him harm.” She didn’t want to hurt Altarre. She truly didn’t. “I’m sorry. I…he’ll be okay, won’t he?” “Yes.” She sagged against him then, her cheek pressed to his bare chest. She could hear his heart hammering, but he kept his thoughts guarded from her. That was fine with her. She had enough to sort through herself. She heard the panel open and Benito’s voice. “All is well?” Navarre stiffened. She pressed tighter against him. She would not be pushed away again. “As well as can be expected,” he replied. “Dragoness, we will keep Altarre away since he distresses you.” “No, wait.” She pulled away from Navarre, tucking her hair behind her ears and straightening her clothes as best she could. “He spoke the truth. He was the only one who took the time to. I don’t want him punished.” Benito paused, waiting. Here was her chance to prove herself. “Do you keep your history written down?” Benito blinked. “Yes, of course.” “I think I need to learn how to read it.” She wanted to understand all their past, not just the parts they wished to share with her. “You must keep your history somewhere in the ship?” “Yes. Vespero can teach you to read.” Benito seemed surprised by the request. She hesitated, glancing at Navarre. “And fly. I need to learn how to fly.” “Navarre has already been chosen to handle that. He has enough tenacity to prevent himself from being killed by your emerging gift’s flare-ups.” “You were thinking tantrums,” she said distractedly. It was time to trust those who had sworn to protect her. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I should have someone teach me self-defense as well.” “You are safe here,” Navarre protested. “I will protect you.” “And if I should become separated from you?” “I will not let that happen,” Navarre said, his face drawn tight. She lacked the strength to argue with him. “Quince is the best,” Benito said thoughtfully. “We should have discussed your future sooner. I apologize. I was unaware of how you would react.” She waved off his suggestion. “Who else is capable besides Quince?”
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“We are all capable,” Navarre cut in. He stood with his arms folded, legs spread slightly apart as if in a fighting stance. “Quince’s days of fertility are few.” “Can’t you freeze it?” she asked, exasperated. “Save it to be artificially inseminated in some future Queen?” Benito shook his head. “We have tried.” “I can’t help him.” “You choose not to.” “I will not be tossed from man to man like a pampered toy. Nikki—” “She is of little importance in the grand scheme.” She gritted her teeth. “You idiots.” She wanted to stamp her feet, say she hated them all and storm off. If they were used to Queens killing cheating boyfriends, a tantrum should seem tame. Benito sighed. “Henley then. Keep in mind, Dragoness, there are many who seek your attentions and who would be happy to step in the moment your Chosen falls from favor.” She raked her hand through her hair. “No, it’s Navarre.” She searched Navarre’s face, quietly certain she had seen it a thousand times before, in a previous lifetime or perhaps only in her dreams. It was a face she could trust, a mind that lay open to her if she willed it. “It will always be Navarre.” Navarre’s gaze was unreadable. She glanced away. “I suspected as much,” Benito murmured. “Always is a long time, Dragoness. And Navarre but a stranger to you.” “Yes, I know.” She glanced at her watch, shocked at the time. How long had she remained enthralled in her sculpting? It was nearly three a.m. Benito took note. “It is late. You should get your rest. We will take our leave of you.” “But, Navarre—” she protested. “All is calm,” Benito interrupted. “Navarre can be of little assistance to you now.” He was wrong about that. She needed Navarre’s strong arms around her. She wanted to press her cheek to his chest again and hear him murmur soothing words to her. But she wasn’t a child. She was their Queen and they expected more from her. Too much, part of her cried out. She kept herself rigid. “I am sorry I woke you,” she said to Navarre. She forced herself to meet his eyes. His words were formal but his gaze was possessive, maybe even a trifle triumphant. Hadn’t she claimed him as her lover? “I will always come if you call.” Taking her hand, he turned it over and pressed his lips to her palm. “Sleep well, my Queen.” They left her.
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Her hand tingled where he had touched it. She laid her palm against her fluttering heart and closed her eyes. He would come if she called. He had promised so. She pressed her lips tight. She’d caused enough trouble for one night. Tonight, she’d sleep alone.
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Chapter Thirteen Nikki was grossly unaccustomed to living with a man. Especially with a man as gorgeous and unassuming as Quince. When she stumbled out of the bedroom at noon after catering a party that ran until four in the morning she was totally unprepared to find Quince sprawled out on her plush white carpeted living room floor. The smell of sugar wafted through the apartment. She opened the oven. Something that looked suspiciously like pancakes were stacked on a plate on the middle rack. She glanced at her countertops. Spotless. She peeked in her sink. Empty as well. “Your breakfast will grow cold if you continue to leave the oven open,” Quince said. She dropped her hand. The oven door slammed shut. Quince had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching her, dark eyes unreadable. It was too early in the morning for her to make brilliant conversation. A half a pot of coffee waited for her on the counter. She carefully took a mug out of the cupboard, poured herself a cup of coffee and drank it down black. “You are not as lively in the morning.” Quince seated himself on a stool beside the counter. His hair was damp and he smelled like her soap, peppermint mixed with that natural primeval scent nothing seemed to mask. Her fingers itched to run through his hair and see if it was really as silky as it looked. She carefully set down her mug. “You did this?” A smile briefly touched his lips. He glanced around the apartment as if to say, “Who else?” “Smart ass.” She opened the oven again. “Smells wonderful. I didn’t know you could cook,” she added inanely. “Thank you.” She reached for the plate. He caught her wrist so quickly she missed him getting off his stool. “It is hot. Sit.” He offered her his place, then fished out the plateful of food, oven mitt in hand. She sat, bemused. Placing the plate on a trivet, he handed her a fork. “In your current state, I hesitate to give you a knife.” “Very funny.” She hacked at the pancake-like stack, then shoveled an unladylike biteful into her mouth. “Mmm, what’s in this?” He gave her a napkin. “You do have cooking ingredients in your pantry.”
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“They’re Adri’s.” She, herself, never had the time or the urge to cook. The patties sort of tasted like pancakes, but they had a crusty exterior like waffles, and tasted sweet enough that they didn’t require syrup. “Will tonight be as late as well?” he asked. “Bar closes at two.” “Your group last evening was entertaining.” She wondered what he thought about last night’s private party. A group of sixtysomething-year-olds with a foot fetish, it was not the first time she’d catered a party for them. She spent the evening making pots of coffee and mixing drinks only to watch the drinks be drizzled over someone’s big ugly foot, and licked off. Okay, that was unfair. Not all the feet were ugly. The boot with the red leather spiked six-inch heel was chic. She’d even inquired where she could get a pair like that. Quince had remained discreetly in a corner of the room. Dressed in black, he passed as a bouncer. No one questioned his presence and she took that as a good sign. Although she could have removed any one of the partygoers herself had any crossed the line. The old men were the ones to watch and she’d learned early on in her career to watch her ass, quite literally. She could evade a probing hand while carrying a tray-load of drinks on spiked heels better than a diver dodging sharks. “What do you think of my job?” she asked around a mouthful of food. Now that she had a little bit of food in her stomach, she took a moment to savor another cup of coffee. He had added something to that as well. “Does it please you?” “Obviously or I wouldn’t still be in business.” “Then my opinion is of little concern.” He stood and padded back on bare feet to tidy up the living room. Heart be still. If she got a chance to see a body like Quince’s every morning, she just might think about becoming a morning person. Nah. She rose, cradling her cup of coffee. “I told you that you could use Adri’s bedroom.” “The floor suits me.” He picked a decorator pillow off the floor and set it back on the couch. “There’s my room as well.” A broad hint and a scary one at that. She shared her bed with no one. How’d Quince manage to circumvent that rule without ever knowing it even existed? Quince turned to her. “Do you not wish to become acquainted first?” She shrugged. “Sex without strings suits me fine.” “It is not our nature to give so lightly.” “That will suit Adri just fine then.” He made no response.
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She followed him into the living room and perched on the arm of the couch, her bathrobe hiked high to reveal a lean expanse of leg. Quince was discreet, but she caught his peek. “Okay then, tell me about yourself. What would make you feel more comfortable with me?” She watched him over the brim of her cup as she sipped. “Mmm and what’s in this?” “Cinnamon.” He sat on the now-tidied couch, just out of her reach, and crossed his legs. “You have had many lovers.” “Yes,” she said slowly, not knowing where he intended to go with that. “I have not.” “Oh.” A little thrill ran through her. She loved experienced men, but there was also something special about teaching an innocent lover. Although Quince’s kiss had been far from chaste. “Why have you not chosen a mate?” That startled her. She set the coffee cup on an end table. “I like men,” she said simply. “A couple at ease with one another is more apt to explore.” She shook her head. “Oh baby, that’s not true.” “It is,” he insisted. She slid off the couch’s arm and onto his lap. “I bet I could show you a thing or two.” Quince kept his hands off her, one arm resting against the headrest, the other propping him up against the couch’s arm. “And I could bring you to orgasm without laying a hand on you.” Nikki batted her eyelashes, then gave up when Quince appeared unaffected. He really meant what he said. How intriguing. “Okay, you win. So, do you want to date?” She cringed at the word. “You will share your bed with no other if you choose to share it with me.” “Yikes, exclusivity.” She put her hand to her heart. “That’s asking a lot. Can’t Adri sleep with whomever she chooses?” “She is our Queen.” Nikki stood, tucking her robe around her. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that queen part and everything,” she said dryly. Quince caught her wrist and pulled her back onto his lap. His arm settled around her back. The other kept her wrist prisoner. “She has many responsibilities.” “Promiscuity being one of them. Good luck with that. Adri’s not very adventurous.” She twisted in his grasp. “Let me go. You’re hurting me.” His eyes gleamed, a violet fire in their depths. “I am not.” “I’ll scream.” 100
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“You wish to make a scene. Go ahead.” She opened her mouth to do just that and he took her. His tongue tangled with hers. She couldn’t catch her breath. She felt herself go cold with a slick shiver of fear, then abruptly hot as she felt herself grow damp. His hand dropped her wrist to cup her cheek. She felt a pulling deep inside. What the hell was he doing to her? She arched toward him, begging for him to touch her now-aching breasts. The need inside her grew. Oh lord. Her breath hitched. He released her lips as she felt herself plummet over the edge, her body twitching. His breath was low and tickled her ear. “Choose, my lady.” “Touch me,” she pleaded. “Choose,” he repeated. She broke every rule she ever set for herself. “Yes, damn it, yes. There won’t be anyone else. I swear it.” He tweaked her nipple and she felt herself starting to bubble over again. “You are correct. There will never be another.” Then the blood swarmed through her ears, her eyes widened, unseeing, and she no longer cared whether she’d ever be able to hear or see or taste again.
***** His Queen had chosen him. Navarre wanted to announce it wherever he went, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept his face composed, his step steady and even. Benito would remain silent on the subject. Other members of the Dragoon would not be as pleased. He knew so little about her and yet, he thought he knew all there was to know. Last night when she reined in her emotions, he wanted so badly to praise her, yet by the flash of fire in her eyes, he knew she wouldn’t appreciate it. It wasn’t easy to tuck an uncontrolled tsunami of emotion-fed psi back into one’s head. In his younger years, he’d failed miserably at it. Altarre would attest to that. What twist of imagination prompted her to create that bed? Did she think of him when she lay in her erotic bed alone last night? He had slept badly. He wanted to touch her mind, to soothe her inner demons until she relaxed and fell asleep in his arms. His hands itched to rove all over her body, to reacquaint themselves with someone they lost in another lifetime. Soon. Very soon, he promised himself. He knocked on her panel. There was no response. He was certain she was awake. Tuned to her needs, he knew she was hungry. The panel opened. “Hey!” Adrianne shouted.
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It was too late. Navarre halted mid-stride, arms laden with a breakfast tray. Adrianne was framed in the dressing room doorway, nude, as still as one of her statues. Her hair was slicked back, wet with her bath, the curves of her body shedding droplets of water. His reaction to her was instantaneous. Her body was sinewy, soft creamy breasts, a narrow waist, round hips and muscled calves. The smooth skin was marred with the hints of deep bruises. One slashed across her chest, between her breasts, and ended at her hips, like a sash. A few spotted her hips, the remains of her plane crash injuries. He wanted to kiss away those bruises, to run his tongue and lips up the lines of her curves… He forced himself to focus and lowered the serving tray to conceal his desire. She couldn’t be allowed to see what kind of control she had over him. She snatched a towel and draped it around her body. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Bringing you a meal.” Rage warred with embarrassment on her face. “I knocked,” he protested. “I did not answer.” He inclined his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “It is not our custom to wait for permission to enter.” “Altarre adopted it. You had better too,” she warned. She grabbed another towel and bent forward to wrap it in her hair. He caught another glimpse of the rounded swell of her breasts. Desire flared. He wrestled to control his urge to seize her, to possess her lips, and take her body. Cradled beneath him, he could make her understand how much she meant to them all, but most of all, to himself. Words paled beside this ache. This was Adrianne—Erifydal, had she been raised by her birth parents. Both halves of the woman needed to be made whole before he would let himself take her. To do that, she needed to fly. She padded toward him and lifted the food cover. “Smells good. I’m starved.” The curved tops of her breasts were in reach, the towel tucked primly between them. One tug and she’d be free of that encumbrance. His fingers itched. Thank the First Queen the tray required both his hands. “Adonthe cooked it especially for you.” She dropped the lid she held. “Thank you.” She paused. “I’m not accustomed to being catered to. Please make sure to thank him.” She looked at him, eyes as dark as the watery depths a man might drown in. “I will be certain to tell him. He will be delighted.” Taking the tray from him, she deposited it on the bed and sat beside it. Freed from her mind-numbing close proximity, he looked around the room. Last night had not been the time for close examination of her bedroom. He had stormed into her room expecting to find his brother literally in pieces. Today she appeared calm. 102
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Mother of the First Queen, what were they going to do with the likes of her? He touched the statue beside the bed. The half-changed dragonesses looked like they were in the midst of orgasm. Was that how she perceived shapeshifting to be? Orgasmic? It was so much more, such an integral part of their being that he could not imagine being denied it as long as she had. “You will remain with me this morning,” he said. “Vespero is not feeling well. You will spend the early afternoon with Benito learning to read as you requested. Late afternoon you shall start your self-defense training with Henley. The evening hours are your own. I believe Henley has figured out how to pull in your television signals if you long for human entertainment.” He expected her to argue with him. She answered simply, “Okay.” He was thrown off guard by her acquiescence. What did the minx have in mind? Or was she thinking of something else entirely? He glanced at the stone maidens, mouths open and eyes closed. Adrianne smiled, as if reading his thoughts, and took a bite of warm buttered toast. Her psi talents were growing daily. He didn’t doubt she could read his thoughts and keep him unaware that she was. He had a hard time keeping his eyes focused on her face, another thing she seemed acutely aware of. Did she think this little more than a game? His subtle gaze roved to the expanse of leg her towel revealed. She shifted, hitching it a little higher. She did play the seductress. He stiffened. “Dress warmly. We will fly today,” he said, abruptly, and left the room. Her laughter followed him.
***** Describing how to fly was like teaching a blind man how to paint a tree. The blind painter could touch, feel its texture and shape, and even be handed the correct colors, but the actual version of it would always truly elude him. So it was with trying to teach Adrianne how to shapeshift and fly. Dragonets were born with an innate knowledge. Day after day she tried to please Navarre, but failed. After yet another heart-wrenching flight, Adrianne sat in alone in the great central chamber of the ship, one cavern away from the great beast’s heart. The ship’s steady pulse was lulling. The ship itself made no demands on her. Oh, yes, it wanted to be played with. She created something new almost every day with it. Yesterday’s dragonrunning-into-a-wall sculpture, complete with “cracks” in the wall’s smooth surface, was noticeably absent from the dining chamber’s panel today, but the ornate chairs she’d designed remained. Her humor seemed to constantly put the Dragoon on guard. She heard footsteps way in advance of Navarre’s approach, just a friendly warning compliments of the ship.
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Navarre seated himself beside her. She kept her eyes closed, head tipped back, knees drawn to her chest and arms wrapped around her legs. “Would I disturb you if I joined you?” She didn’t bother to move. The throb of the ship’s heartbeat flowed through her body solemnly. “I disappoint you all.” She could sense it in them every night when she shared their evening meal. “Your dedication is admirable,” he said awkwardly. “Oh, stuff your admiration,” she muttered. “As you wish.” “And your blasted tolerance.” He remained silent. She switched subjects. “Does the ship speak to you?” “After a fashion.” “It shows me the places it’s been.” She sensed his surprise. “Ask it how it was born,” he asked. The heartbeat in the room faltered for only a second, then resumed. “It won’t say.” “Do you dream of dragons, Adrianne?” His voice held such a wistful note, she opened her eyes and gazed at him. His eyes were centered on her breasts. “You saw my room.” She didn’t mean to sound so harsh. “You will kill me with that flying.” “The skill is within you.” “Part of me dies each day I am here and I fail you.” “Do you see yourself changing?” he persisted. Must he push her every second of the day? “Yes, damn it, yes.” She stood and flung herself away from him again. Turning, she pressed her forehead against the ship’s wall. A fingerless hand emerged from the wall, wiped away a single tear, then vanished as quickly as it’d been born. Adrianne pressed her palms to the wall. Thank you, she said to the ship. Each day she was here she felt she lost a little bit more of her humanity. Mind speech was now second nature to her. If she concentrated, she could bring objects to her hand and send them away as well, all with just her mind. Those lessons she could master. Why couldn’t she figure out how to shapeshift as well? Navarre was a patient teacher. She shouldn’t be angry at him. But she was. Navarre dropped his hand to her shoulder. She tried to flinch away from him, but his grip was firm. “Show me.” She didn’t move, didn’t even twitch. “Please.” The emotion in that single word broke her tenuous hold. She flooded him with her broken dream images, shards of a sleek silver-scaled female dragon, wingskin an ivory
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tone, belly coated with rose-hued scales. This dragon stalked her dreams. Deep inside, she knew it to be her alter ego, but finding her way to it seemed insurmountable. “Touch my mind,” he instructed. “And hang on.” Her mental touch was tremulous, like the caress of a flower petal against butterfly feet. He encouraged her with gentle words. How could a man who pushed her so relentlessly be so tender as well? “What are you doing?” she asked. He took several steps away from her and stretched his arms skyward. The chamber was plenty big enough to accommodate his dragon form. “Be with me,” he asked. She clung to his mind and felt the shift within it. His body blurred as if it were her own. Her arms ached, her scaled skin felt the subtle nuances of air shift around her, the ship’s own breath cupping her body. She opened her eyes. Navarre crouched before her in dragon form, multifaceted eyes whirling. She reached out to him, then saw her own delicate human hand instead of claw and scales. The bitterness of the loss was crushing. She fled to her room. Adrianne…Erifydal. Wait, he called after her, but she only put her hands over her ears as she ran. He didn’t try to soothe her mind. If he had, she might have stopped, might have begged for him to hold her and kiss the dreams away. But he didn’t. And she couldn’t bear that either.
***** “Dry your eyes, sh’niedra. There is much to learn.” Vespero entered her room. He might have knocked but she was too lost in herself to notice. Adrianne regarded him bleakly. The man before her was as close to portly as a member of the Dragoon could be. He stood no higher than her shoulder and was solid, like a tree trunk, rather than the others’ more willowy forms. His face was broad and clean, for no dragon man could grow a mustache or beard. Sage green eyes regarded her from a web of fine facial wrinkles. “Vespero,” she acknowledged, straightening when he frowned imperceptibly. “Enthusiasm and attentiveness, please. You did not even ask me what sh’niedra meant.” His voice was cultured and modulated as if he possessed the skills of an opera singer. The scolding timbre he affected now leaned toward the dramatic. “But you will tell me what the word means even if I do not ask.” “I certainly shall not,” he huffed.
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Well then, here was someone to fight with. Anything was better than the apathy she found herself slipping into. “So have you found something more interesting to write about than a Queen who cannot fly?” He surveyed her from head to toe. “That is not your color.” Her first impulse was to shoot back with a biting comment, but his actions were so exaggerated she couldn’t help herself. She laughed. It felt so good to laugh again. “Indeed.” He drew himself up. “We have a lot to work on. Come, follow me.” “I thought you were to teach me to read,” she said to his retreating back. She had spent a pleasant week being read to by Benito. Vespero, even with all his drama, was a poor substitute. He tipped his head back, uttered a litany of words in another language and raised his hands beseechingly. “Someone has to tutor you on becoming a proper Queen.” She glanced down at the sweatshirt and jeans she wore. Not exactly Queen material. The others had not seemed to care. “How can you fly like a Queen if you do not feel like a Queen?” he asked, without expecting an answer. “And how can you feel like a Queen when you are dressed like a commoner?” “My clothing is comfortable,” she said defensively. He snorted. “Here.” A panel slid open to reveal two stories of solid books. She looked up. “It’d take a lifetime to read them all.” “Fortunately for you, I have selected some of our better pieces of literature.” She scowled to herself. They probably wouldn’t come close to the legends Benito had been serenading her with. “We’ll start with history,” he said briskly. “I shall read and you will follow along. You should understand that an illustrious line of Queens precedes you.” He saw her frown. “I did pick a book with pictures,” he added, a bit more gently. “Take note of their cut of clothing. We shall have to do something about that. Adonthe can take your measurements.” If she were Nikki, she’d be ecstatic with the thought of having a new wardrobe…and new shoes…and matching underwear. Maybe Vespero had it right. She needed a shopping trip with Nikki. Without the Dragoon. She sat in a comfortable sofa. Vespero settled himself beside her, a thick tome on his knees. He flipped it open to a marked page. “This was our last Queen.” He jabbed his finger at the image and would have continued on if she hadn’t put her fingertips to the page. Benito had not shown her any pictures. “Navarre’s mother.” “Cerenth,” he approved. “You remembered.” Beautiful didn’t come close to describing her. Her hair was a fiery red, like the heart of a ruby and floated around her in a swath of curls to her waist. Intense eyes seemed to
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watch her from the picture, Navarre’s eyes, she realized with a start. Cerenth wore a jeweled jade gown and a thick necklace of gems set in a silver collar about her neck. Proud. Haughty. Imperial. Exactly like a Queen and entirely unlike herself. Little wonder the Dragoon seemed disenchanted with her. “Navarre and Altarre are clutch mates.” She knew that already. “How did she die?” “Beneath the Hunter’s hands.” Vespero bit off each word. Aha, now they were getting somewhere. If she could only get a few more questions answered. Benito had been entirely too skilled at deflecting her questions, all the while camouflaging the deflection in a swath of politeness that made her feel petty when she persisted. “Who made the Hunter?” “You jump too far into our legends,” he grumbled but he answered her nonetheless. “Our ancestors served as mercenaries. We were quite good at war. Too good. One of our enemies created the Hunter to obliterate us.” “Obviously effective,” she murmured. He shot her a dark glance and flipped the page. She looked closer. The book appeared handwritten. Flawless penmanship marched across the thick paper in straight neat lines. “The Hunter will not die.” He stopped at a pen drawing. A hooded figure rode astride what was almost a horse-like creature save for the bony armor it wore like a second skin. A horn sprouted from its nose like a rhinoceros. Men, women and children fled before him. “Why not?” Another hiss of disapproval from Vespero. “We do not know how they die.” A sliver of fear settled itself in her heart. He patted her hand. “You are safe here.” Maybe so, but she couldn’t live inside the ship forever. He took her silence to mean relief. “Many Queens of recent history possessed not even an iota of the psychic gift you’ve shown. It’s reassuring. We need your outside bloodline.” “You mean you’ve inbred?” Even the word was distasteful. Brother to sister? Mother to son? What was acceptable to them? Another hard look from Vespero. “What was done is done.” Ugh! It wasn’t an answer but almost an admission. He turned a page, saw the image there and started to flip to another. “Wait.” Here was a face she felt an instant connection to. A young woman stared back at her with haunted gray eyes. Delicately boned, her porcelain skin was a sharp contrast to the vivid Queen on the previous page. Adrianne had grown accustomed to seeing all the members of the Dragoon with sun-bronzed skin, but not this one. This one
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could have stepped out of a Renaissance painting. Her auburn hair was wound in an elaborate style on top her head. Where Cerenth had been fire, this one was ice, pride replaced with resignation. Vespero was silent. “Who is this?” she demanded. His gaze wary, he said, “No one of consequence.” He pulled the book away and brought out another. “Let us look at bloodlines.” “Name her.” “Until you fly many feel you are not our Queen.” His voice was reprimanding, his jaw set against her command. “Please.” He remained stiff. She knew she should’ve taken that as a warning, but she persisted. “She never flew either,” she guessed. The room rustled, as if possessed by spirits. She’d grown accustomed to that not-quite-alone-don’t-look-over-your-shoulder feeling as well. Only she and Vespero were in the chamber. Yet she knew they were not alone. The same shadowy dragons that escorted her in her dreams were here as well. His eyes flashed fire. “Do not utter such blasphemy.” He dropped the book he held, stormed off to another section of the bookshelves, then turned on her. “You give our younger members hope. For Benito and I, you are too late.” He vibrated with anger. No words could soothe that kind of resentment. When she remained silent, he turned away from her, and ran his fingers along the spines. Finding what he sought, he pulled out a heavy book of plates. “Here.” He thrust it at her. “Here are all our Queens. You will find no pity within these pages.” She took the book from his shaking hands, and held it to her chest. “I should go,” she said quietly. He waved her off and turned back to his books.
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Chapter Fourteen Nikki laid her purchases on the kitchen counter quietly, wondering what wrath she’d face. She’d snuck off to the mall while Quince was still asleep. Leaving him alone in her apartment to rummage through her belongings wasn’t exactly an appealing thought, but neither was taking him to the mall. She didn’t want to share him with anyone. Even the looks the old ladies had given him at the party she catered made her feel jealous. And that intrigued her. She’d never felt jealousy before. Men came and went in her life. They were nice to look at, fun to touch and play with, but never something to waste such a powerful emotion on. She peeked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, reapplied her lipstick and fluffed her hair with her fingers. Some warrior Quince was. He didn’t even hear her come in. She poked her head into Adrianne’s bedroom. No Quince. She looked in her own room. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through one of her photo albums. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Anger was the first emotion to surface, but she flicked it away. She didn’t want to spoil the view. His thin black t-shirt was stretched over his expanse of back, revealing a ripple of muscle. His dark hair brushed the nape of his neck. Why, whenever she saw him, did her heart skip a beat? She didn’t know what he had done to her, but she didn’t like it. That was probably another reason why she didn’t bother bringing him to the mall with her. Take that! “Nosing around my belongings for any particular reason?” He raised his head carefully. “You appear to have had a happy childhood.” She frowned. “I did. Yes. Thank you.” “Your parents seem content.” “They were.” He closed the book cautiously, as he did everything. His head tilted. She watched his violet eyes gleam and wondered yet again if what he wanted with her was more than she could give. “Why do you avoid partnering for life then?” The air whooshed out of her sails. “I haven’t found the perfect man,” she retorted. Quince smiled faintly, just a brief twitch of the lips. “Does he exist?” “I doubt it.” “Hmm.”
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She watched him unfold gracefully and return her photo album to its place upon the shelf. “What about you?” she pressed. “Why haven’t you settled down with a nice woman?” He arched a brow. “I do not care for nice women.” Nikki laughed. “It is true,” he insisted. “Besides, no woman would wish to go on a cursed quest across the universe looking for a Queen that would only usurp her.” “You make it sound like a lovely voyage.” Another quirk of the lips. “Perhaps, I, too, am searching for that which does not exist.” She sidled up to him and wound her hands around one of his biceps. She didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking. “What does a man have to do to get muscles like this?” she purred. “I prefer the genuine. This façade does not become you.” Perceptive critter, wasn’t he? She sighed and dropped her hands. Running her fingers through her hair, she said, a bit exasperated, “That’s all the other men wanted. That’s all I have to give. Look, I just want to have sex with you. I’m not asking you to move in with me or anything.” Dumb, Nikki, dumb. He was already living with her. He patiently took both her hands so she couldn’t fidget with her hair. “Your childhood pictures are also a façade.” Her breath hissed out. “Why would you say that?” “There are no photos of your family displayed in your dwelling, not even in your sleeping chamber.” “I don’t like dusting.” She tugged at her hands. His eyes bored into hers. She saw a glimmer of sympathy there. She didn’t need it. How could he have guessed her innermost secret? She shook her head. He dropped her hands. “I shall not speak of it again.” She backed as far away from him as she could. “I thought you might like to go out to eat.” She kept her gaze lowered, anything to not meet those all-too-perceptive eyes. “I picked up some suitable clothes for you.” “This will not interfere with your job?” “No, no.” She waved her hand airily and the bracelets she placed there this morning tinkled like wind chimes. “I would be honored to accompany you. It is my duty to watch over you,” he reminded her. “I won’t run off again,” she promised. How was it that he could make her feel so guilty with just a few words? Sheesh, they could use him to reprogram convicts. “No, you won’t,” he replied in an even tone. “As I will be sharing your bed from now on. Your safety is paramount to my Queen.”
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Part of her thrilled at the prospect. The more independent side of her recoiled. “Now just wait a minute.” “It is nonnegotiable.” He left the room. How could you argue with that? She took off her shoe and flung it at his receding back. He spun and caught it neatly in midair. Taking it with him, he set it on a kitchen stool as he passed through there. “Where are you going?” she shouted. “Aren’t you supposed to be protecting me?” She only wanted a simple night out, a fine meal, a drink or two, maybe some dancing, and then a full all-night game of conquest in bed. “I will be downstairs,” he replied. Gritting her teeth, she took off her other shoe and padded stocking-footed into the kitchen. The man was maddening! Her packages lay untouched on the kitchen table. She felt her throat clog. How dare he pry into her family life! No, it hadn’t been perfect. Far from it. She was the middle child, with an older and younger brother. Her father, even after all these years she hesitated to think of him, liked women and he didn’t care if it was his own flesh and blood or not. Damn him, she thought coldly. She would not let him control her from the grave. She stood in the middle of her apartment and let the ache of loneliness wash over her. Her mother hadn’t believed her when she told her. And her brothers ostracized her because of it. And now the Dragoon had taken Adri away as well. The Beast simply became a reflection of those humiliations she couldn’t put into words. Somewhere in that mess, though, it had seemed to wash clean. She loved her bar. For the most part, she adored her clients. The breadth of their fetishes continued to amaze her. She provided a valuable service, a safe environment for people to act out their fantasies and a place for those of like mind to meet and socialize. She opened up the kitchen cupboard. Luckily, she always kept a secret stash of sandwich cookies. Well, not so secret anymore, she realized when she saw that a whole row was missing. She hoped all those cookies made Quince sick to his stomach. Okay, no, she didn’t. She was more mad at herself than anyone else. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she take what Quince was offering? Taking out of a heavy-bottomed mug, she laid a cookie on the counter and calmly crushed it to bits with the mug, grinding it again and again until her hand hurt. Then she left the mess, flopped down on the living room couch and proceeded to work on eating an entire row herself. She heard a thump, but chalked it up to Quince rummaging around downstairs. He was probably sticking his nose into her office. Well, she was putting her foot down. Drop-dead gorgeous or not, he could march himself right back to the ship. She could find plenty of other men who wanted a no-strings-attached affair.
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But not a single one that could make her moan with a mere kiss. She headed back to the kitchen with a considerably lighter bag of cookies. And halted mid-step. A hound was busy nosing its way down her hallway. She could count every one of its ribs. Its skin, stretched taut along its spine, ended in a long snakelike tail. She dropped her bag of cookies. The hound backed out of the bathroom, its head swiveling toward her. She always thought she’d be able to scream in this kind of circumstance. She had mocked women in the movies who couldn’t seem to make a peep in a bad situation. Now she found herself making the same “uh, uh, uh” noise they did. Come on, she had a frickin’ great set of lungs. The hound’s gaze met hers. Don’t look. Its eyes were crimson, the color of her favorite wine. She trembled, backing away. Pulling a knife from the rack on the kitchen counter, she held it in front of her. The hound bounded from the floor to the countertop in one boneless jump. She screamed. The hound leaped at her. Gripping the knife in both hands, she swung at the hound as if it were a baseball. It dodged the blow. She lowered the knife and flung open the refrigerator door. The hound smacked into that. Where the hell was Quince? She screamed, “Quince!” She backed toward the door, still brandishing her kitchen knife, and hit something solid that shouldn’t have been there. Lungs now prepped, she screamed again. It was Quince. He pried the knife from her hand and flung it at the hound. It speared the animal in the side and pinned it to the kitchen island’s cabinet. Quince calmly walked up to it, pulled a knife from his boot and slit its throat. The hound yipped once. Nikki watched in stunned silence. He turned to her. “Where did it enter?” She continued to stare mutely. He gave her another moment to come to her senses. Fetching a garbage bag and a roll of paper toweling, he quickly cleaned up the mess. Quince fingered the knife hole in her cabinet. “Do you perchance have any wood filler?” “Oh sure.” She waved her hand. “Right next to the blood spot remover and the other dead animals I keep under the sink.” Dropping the bag, he took her hands and folded them between his. “Look at me.” She did. Who was Quince? Better still, what was he? She’d only seen a civilized man, a gorgeous hunk of a man. Right now she saw a killer. Someone who had just
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nonchalantly butchered a dog in her kitchen and just as casually sopped up the blood while worrying about a hole in her cabinet. She was so turned on it appalled her. His violet eyes watched her. Appraisingly? Well, she certainly proved her mettle there. Way to go, ace, good try killing it with the refrigerator door. When she didn’t speak, he said calmly, “Your instincts were good. You lack technique.” She hiccupped on a crazy giggle. “Thanks… I’ve never tried to kill anything…” He put a finger to her lips. “Where did it come from?” She steadied her breathing. “The bedroom.” “Stay here.” He headed for the back of her apartment. Like hell. From now on, she’d cling to him like lint on a sweater. She followed him despite the glare he gave her. Adrianne’s bedroom window was ajar. Quince closed and locked it. “I will need supplies. The windows must be properly secured.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. What if Quince had been sleeping here alone when the hound crept in? She’d have never forgiven herself. “I can take you to the hardware store. How would it have gotten the window open?” “Psi talents. They can unlock latches using their minds.” But of course. “Can you?” “No,” he said flatly. He drew the shade over the window, tucking it so the latch couldn’t be seen from the outside. “They are not the smartest creatures. This will be enough to give them pause.” Her second thought was how the hound managed to scale the two-story building. “They can crawl up walls?” “Yes, like a spider.” “How do you ever expect to beat them?” Another dark stare from Quince, then he relented. “We have our own talents. Navarre is the last of the high psis, super-talents whose skills leveled the playing field between the Hunter and ourselves. Altarre has some healing abilities.” He sat on the bed, his gaze faraway. “Our Queen’s talent will couple well with Navarre’s. Their children will be gifted. Thank the First Egg for that.” He looked so sad, but she didn’t know how to comfort him. “Adri’s smart. She won’t let the Hunter get her.” “We are expecting much from her, but she has yet to fly. If you worship a god, pray to it for her.” He abruptly stood. She couldn’t bear the look of quiet resignation on his face. Standing on tiptoe, she leaned up and kissed him. His arms wrapped around her so fast it wrest the air from her lungs. “I should not have left you alone,” he said, when they finally came up for air.
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Her fingers were tangled in his hair. She tilted his head down. “Kiss me again.” “I should not let you distract me from my duty.” He started to draw away. “Don’t.” She traced his jawline. “Please don’t.” She felt him relax just slightly. She ran her fingers down his arms, tracing the curves of his muscles. He let his breath out in a deep sigh. She looked at him through lowered lashes. “I can help you unwind,” she murmured. He let his fingers trail the length of her body, then settle at her breasts. Slowly, he traced their curves through her cotton blouse. She felt her nipples become instantly alert. “I let you distract me. It weakens me.” She shook her head. “Live a little.” His gaze went inward again, but his hands kept stroking her breasts. She wanted him in a way she never wanted a man before. She wanted to know what he was thinking, to soothe the hurt she saw hiding behind his eyes and fill that void she knew lurked there. That meant she was looking for a relationship. With Quince, that was both a scary and thrilling prospect. Touching his cheek, she brought him back to awareness. He paused, mid-stroke. She leaned into his hands. “Quince, let’s get the man stuff you need, lock this place up tighter than Fort Knox, get naked in bed and screw like bunnies.” His lips curved. “A warrior knows best when to replenish his fire.”
***** Several hours later, the windows were either sealed shut or at least boarded up to the point that nothing could figure out how to conjure its way through the glass. “I didn’t realize how many windows I had,” Nikki muttered. She surveyed her hands. Her fingernails would never be the same. They had even boarded up the tiny windows in her basement, caulked shut the old coal chute and changed the locks on several of the doors she didn’t think to have her handyman change. Adrianne’s bedroom window was nailed shut. Her body was thoroughly exhausted, but her mind was vibrating with the thought of sex. What would it be like with Quince? He had an almost brooding persona, but working with him had shown that to be not quite true. He was as much a thinker as Adri, only he kept his worries to himself, hidden beneath that aura of calm. Whether he dwelled on one topic, picking it to oblivion as Adri did, had not yet manifested. When he moved, it was with the grace of a dancer, although she doubted he’d appreciate the comparison. His gaze saw everything, measured and filed it away. She almost thought he’d guessed what her father had done to her so many years ago, but, as promised, he didn’t mention it again. She fingered her short hair. Her father had liked it long. Even her dress had been inspired by her father’s interest in her. He preferred soft rounded curves and a schoolgirl-type aura. Nikki quickly learned to par away the excess fat, hone her body 114
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until the curves were barely there and dress so like a man or a prostitute that all thoughts of virginness fled. He cast her aside when she was fifteen. Quince stepped from the bathroom freshly showered, the dust and sweat of today’s exertions washed away. Jeans, t-shirt, bare feet. A suit and tie would have done him injustice. “Do you still wish to dine out tonight?” His eyes glowed, embers of a carnal fire banked within their depths. Her body turned to liquid beneath his gaze. “Do you have another idea?” “Yes.” How could a single word possess so much emotion? She was desperately wet. Two could play the game, but hers now seemed like a cheap imitation. She tried a different tactic. “I want you,” she said bluntly. No purr to her voice now, no sway to her hips or batting of eyelashes. He raised an eyebrow. “I had not guessed.” She choked on a curse. “Very funny. I’m serious.” “I have no doubt you are.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What are we to do about it?” “You have plans. Why don’t you take control?” He had no idea what it cost her to say those words. He gave her a measuring look. “Shave. Everywhere. I will prepare our meal.” That command alone almost put her over the edge.
***** Adrianne’s gaze swept over the professional-looking kitchen. Empty at last. Good, she’d finally beat Adonthe. She had been itching to cook for weeks. She was tired of being waited on hand and foot. She wasn’t glass. A little work that didn’t involve “queenly skills” wouldn’t shatter her. She pulled out a couple of dozen eggs Nikki had brought for her on their last visit. She’d been careful to hide them in the back of their cooler behind a large tub of what passed as butter. With their offspring born as eggs, she wasn’t at all sure how the Dragoon would accept chicken eggs. She doubted it would be with any warmth. Without really thinking about it, she had the ship turn the gray floor into slate, the countertops to a coordinating granite and the walls to a warm yellow with hints of rose in its faux finish. The Dragoon were still less than thrilled with her color palette but it almost seemed like they were warming to her changes. She actually caught Henley wearing a thick gold chain set with rubies beneath his tunic yesterday. Progress. They might be changing her, but she was altering them as well. The frying pans were heavy enough to be used as formidable weapons. Their dead weight hurt her wrists. She started warming the pans while she cracked the eggs into a bowl.
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“Just what are you up to?” She recognized Adonthe’s voice and didn’t bother to turn around. “Making breakfast.” “That is my duty.” “Well, I’m sick of doing nothing around here.” If he wanted her to leave, he’d have to forcibly remove her. And even without the self-defense skills she was learning from Henley, she was pretty sure she could take him on with just the frying pan. Adonthe crept closer. “With eggs?” Shock and outrage warred in his voice. She turned around, eggshells in her hands. “They’re chickens,” she said. “See. No little dragons in here.” She held the two shards out to him. “Ugh!” He put his hands up to ward her off. She liked Adonthe. He kept his sandy blond hair long, neatly tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Since she joined their group, she’d seen his hair no less than three different colors. Right now it was streaked with dark and light tones. His face was long and narrow, brows plucked into thin lines above green eyes she doubted were truly green. Even this early in the morning, he was perfectly groomed. His tunic matched the rust streaks in his hair and his trousers were the same sandy shade as his ponytail. “Come on,” she coaxed. “It’s not like you’re eating your own kind.” She cracked another egg and beat it into the bowl. “Cannibal,” he muttered. “I don’t think we’ve had any time to bond,” she replied cheerily. Sidling closer, he sniffed at her pancake batter. “Queens do not cook.” “I do.” “That remains to be seen.” He extended his finger toward the pancake batter. She slapped his hand away. “It has eggs in it.” He drew back as if it were acid. “Didn’t you like that lemon meringue pie I brought back from Nikki’s?” “Yes,” he replied cautiously. “Guess what the meringue is made of?” The look of horror on Adonthe’s face made her laugh. “Beaten egg whites,” she persisted. He looked thoughtful. “Well, I suppose the egg whites are not the actual creature.” “No, just its food source. You’re killing it either way.” “You can be quite a disagreeable person.” She finished cooking a pancake and offered it to him. “Temptress,” he muttered, but he took it off her spatula and tossed it from hand to hand until it was cool enough to eat. With a wary look, he took a tentative bite. “Mmm.”
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“Add some butter,” she suggested. “The Gods will strike me down for this.” He pulled up a stool. “It smells good.” “I missed cooking,” she said with a sigh, pouring the scrambled egg mess into a skillet. “I cannot mate with you, Dragoness,” he said abruptly. She paused and faced him. “Actually, the thought never crossed my mind.” He chuckled, not at all hurt. “It is common knowledge that you will fly Navarre.” “Is it now?” She kept her tone noncommittal. Adonthe leaned forward on his stool. “Is it not?” “For just stomping on my fragile ego, you’re a nosy thing.” “Please. I only ask out of polite interest.” She snorted. “Vespero is having a ball writing about you for just that reason.” “I’d imagine he is.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “Can you be bribed?” “Please.” He drew himself up, indignant. Then he sat back. “Maybe. Give me the recipe to that lemon meringue pie.” “Deal. I’d like to cook with you, Adonthe, especially since you’re not trying to sleep with me.” He sighed melodramatically. “Pity you’re not a water dragon. Vespero says I have excellent bloodlines.” “I’m sure every one of you does.” “No, they do not. But we need to make them all count now.” “Are you and Vespero close?” she asked on a hunch. “You need to be more direct. You are our Queen. You may command me to answer you.” That earned him a smile and an eye roll. “I choose not to.” She flipped off the last of the pancakes, filled two plates and put the rest in the oven to keep them warm. She offered Adonthe one plate with a generous helping of scrambled eggs. “Why don’t you tell me about your bloodlines?” she prompted. Adonthe put a small forkful of egg into his mouth. “Mmm.” He closed his eyes. “Cannibal,” she teased. “Dragoness, we have squandered your talent. What other skills do you possess that we have not utilized? Do you play an instrument? Paint? Compose poetry?” “I played piano long ago,” she said, pleased with the attention. “As for other talents, until the Dragoon dropped in, I was a teacher.” “That is a great skill in itself.” She shrugged. “It gave me a chance to travel. It was not my passion.”
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“And cooking is?” “I’m not sure.” She hesitated. No one had ever asked her that before. “But I do enjoy it. You’ve cleverly steered the conversation away from yourself.” Adonthe smiled and saluted her with his fork. “That too, can be a skill, my Queen.”
***** Quince’s command for her to shave made Nikki wet, actually dripping wet. She showered carefully, resisting the urge to self-pleasure. She wanted every nerve ending to be vibratingly alert for Quince. She had a habit of keeping everything well manicured down there, but shaving everything off was a new one for her. Glancing in the mirror, she frowned. She looked like a ten-year-old girl. Wrapping a towel around herself, she peeked into the hallway. A delicious odor wafted through the apartment. Where had he learned to cook Italian? She shook her head. Quince was full of surprises, wasn’t he? That thought made her even wetter. She tiptoed down the hall toward the kitchen. Quince met her at its entrance, arms folded. “I am not ready for you yet.” “Can I watch you cook?” “No.” She tried another tactic, shifting slightly so that her towel slipped just a fraction more, revealing the tops of her breasts. “It smells so good.” “You will wait in our bedroom until I fetch you.” Our bedroom. Normally that would be enough raise her hackles, but she was so mesmerized by the underlying currents between them, she let it slip by. “How long will that be?” The food did smell good. Her stomach rumbled in agreement. “Do not question me.” “Hey now.” She put her hands on her hips. Her towel slipped dangerously. “Just where are you going with this?” He pointed to the bedroom. She felt like stamping her foot. Instead, she pulled off her towel, draped it over her arm, spun and walked nimbly down the hallway, swinging her hips. She heard Quince’s rough bark of laughter, but she didn’t bother to spare him a glance. She felt like a naughty child being sent to her room and while it wasn’t something she’d ever thought of as arousing, she found herself still feeling turned on rather than demeaned. What felt like hours later but was actually only the span of fifteen minutes, Quince returned for her. In defiance, she lay on her bed naked but for a pair of ridiculously high-heeled black boots that came to mid-calf. Her body draped artfully over the bed, her dark skin contrasting nicely with the off-white bedding. Quince’s gaze roved over her. “Good, you did not dress. That is well.”
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Foiled again, this time Nikki actually did allow herself a small pout. “So I’m dressed appropriately?” Quince frowned. “You are missing one article of clothing.” He handed her a piece of black silky material, one of her scarves. Sitting up, she draped it across her breasts, propping them up. She always did feel a teensy bit self-conscious about her small breasts. Most men, in her experience, preferred a rack like Adri’s. Quince watched her, lips pressed flat. She stood and let one end of the scarf flutter between her legs. Seizing the free end, she slid it between her thighs. The silky fabric rubbed soundlessly against her freshly denuded skin. He shook his head slightly. “Where would you like it?” she purred. Wordlessly, he took the scarf from her hands, folded it and wrapped it over her eyes. “Now that’s no fun.” She kept the purr in her voice by sheer effort alone. She wasn’t fond of the dark and was even less fond of Blind Man’s Bluff. He took both her hands in one of his and said simply, “Come.” She wanted to retort with some wickedly naughty comment of her own, but she was at a loss for words. She, queen of the fetish underworld, was left tongue-tied by an alien and her own scarf. It was pathetic. He led her down the hallway carefully for which she was very grateful. She felt clumsy blindfolded and that ungracefulness left her feeling very vulnerable. When they reached the kitchen, she fully expected the blindfold to be pulled off. It wasn’t. “Gently, lady.” She felt his hands on her shoulders as he turned her to face him. She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. “I like it rough,” she teased, though even she could hear the tense lilt in her voice. Quince chuckled. “I know, lady, you think you do.” She felt his hands on her elbows. He hoisted her up and set her bare bottom on what could only be her kitchen table. “Lie back.” “Quince, I am starving.” Really, though, she’d lost her appetite. She shivered, her heart thudding dully in her ears. “Do you trust me?” His voice was very low, breath tickling her ear. No. He saved her life. Yes. She was the one who started this whole seduction plot. She bit her lip. “I’m not sure.” She couldn’t remember the last time she felt like this. “You dislike not having control?” She let out a pent-up burst of air. “God, yes.” “Why is that?”
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Because when she didn’t have control, she had no power to prevent herself from getting hurt. Just like when she was a child, unable to escape. But Quince didn’t want to hurt her. “You know, don’t you?” she whispered. Quince stroked her cheek, wiping away tears she didn’t realize she was shedding until he touched them. “Some beings should never be allowed in a position of power. But life does not always function that way, does it?” She shook her head, mute. “I will not abuse this gift of power.” He laid a trail of kisses where her tears had slid down her cheeks. “Lie back.” She knew this to be healing of sorts. When he left her, and she knew he would as all the others did or were pushed by her to do so, he would leave her whole. The others had done nothing to fill the void, only staved off the emptiness for a while. She lay back, clenching one of his hands. He gently slid her body farther up the table so her legs no longer dangled off the end. He eased his hand out of her death grip and instead, positioned them palm up on either side of her. Her heart was racing so badly she thought she was going to pass out. She licked her lips. “You are very quiet. Are you still well?” “I am coping. You better make this worth it.” He laughed quietly. “Aye, I promise.” Something warm and wet was spread across her belly. She arched her back. The warmth slipped lazily between her legs. “Too hot?” Quince asked. “No. What is it?” “Patience.” He dribbled the warmth over her breasts. It smelled so darn good. “Open.” She spread her legs, deliberately misunderstanding him. He laughed again. “Your mouth, woman, your mouth.” “Oh, of course.” She giggled, giving herself away. He offered her a spoon. Spicy Italian sauce trickled down her throat. She licked the spoon greedily. “Is that how you take a man in your mouth?” She paused at that. He withdrew the spoon, loaded it with sauce and offered it to her again. She took the spoon this time with care, working her way up to his fingertips. He ran his fingers through her hair while she licked the spoon sparkling clean. “Good girl.” Two little words but they meant so much. He layered what she could only guess to be noodles across her chest, spending some time curling noodles around her nipples and the curves of her breasts. Deprived of sight, she was acutely aware of his touch. Noodles slipped across her belly, between
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her legs and along her thighs. He offered her a few. She sucked them slowly from his fingers. Meatballs and Parmesan cheese followed, dotting her nipples, belly button and vulva. Each addition was added methodically with such care to their placement she felt she was a piece of erotic artwork. Finally he ceased. He cupped her head, his thumbs stroking her jawline with feathery caresses that sent shivers through her. Her nipples speared the meatballs. Raising her head, he placed a firm pillow beneath it to support her neck. His fingers crept to the blindfold and slid it up. His eyes were incredibly bright, almost fathomless. She took a deep trembling breath. “What now?” “I eat,” he replied. Keeping his gaze on her, he seized a meatball from her right breast and ate it slowly. His tongue circled her nipple, causing her to clench deep inside. If he kept moving this slowly, she’d die before he ever got to her clitoris. That appeared to be his intent. He started licking at the nape of her neck, his touch like liquid fire. Lifting his head, he kissed her. She tasted cheese and sauce on his lips. His tongue strolled down the length of her arms, then moved to the sides of her breasts. She moaned and wriggled beneath him. “Be still,” he commanded in a husky voice. “I’m dying,” she whimpered. He nipped her bare breast with his teeth. She hissed. “My lady, but you are the experienced one. This should come as no great surprise to you.” He ate the meatball off her other breast, then nibbled at the noodles ringing it. “Fuck you,” she said through gritted teeth. “I am not familiar with that vernacular, but I can assume its meaning. With a master’s degree in business and advanced studies in psychology, one would think you could be more expressive in your choice of words.” “You were poking through my belongings.” She should feel more angry. Right now though, it took everything she had just to focus on what his incredible tongue was doing to the undersides of her breasts and its exploratory forays farther down. “You should display your certificate with pride.” “I don’t need to. I know what I’m capable of.” “Are you certain?” His eyes gleamed, devilish. His head dipped out of her sight and she felt his tongue and teeth upon her clitoris. Her muscles clenched slowly, starting at her toes. Her foot arched, stiff. She closed her eyes. His tongue dipped inside her while his fingertip rubbed her erect nodule. Her inner tsunami built, the blood cresting in her ears. Sound- and sight-deprived, she could only concentrate on his gentle ministrations. When she came, it was with enough force to make her bolt upright with a gasp, eyes blind, hands grasping.
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Quince caught her hands and held her. “I can see I will have to tie you down next time.” She gasped again, trying to catch her breath. Her mind felt like sludge. Her body continued to twitch. When she finally leaned against him, sticky with sauce and damp from his tongue, she realized somewhere along the line he’d taken his shirt off. “I believe you have ruined my buffet,” he added, not at all contrite. Picking her up off the table, he carried her to the bathroom. She wound her arms around his neck. His body was incredibly hot. Pressing her cheek to his chest, she heard the fast throb of his heart. So he was as affected as she. He had decades to learn how to control himself. Despite his professed lack of partners, he apparently made good use of his time. “You are very quiet,” he murmured as he set her on her feet in the shower. She clung to his shoulders while he bent and worked her boots off. His concern was touching. “I’m not quite sure what to say. Thank you?” She heard his laughter as it bubbled up through his chest. “I shall bathe you now. Are you able to stand on your own?” “I think so.” The look his dark eyes gave her was full of mirth. He shed his jeans and underwear, then stepped back into the shower with her. Turning the water on, he proceeded to lather her up. The scent of the soap was unfamiliar to her. Sandalwood. He started with her back, taking his time on sudsing the curve of her hips and the arc of her buttocks. Wriggling in his grasp, she reached for the soap. “Let me scrub you.” He held the bar out of her reach. “This gives me pleasure. Do you wish to pleasure me?” “Of course.” “Then stand still and submit.” His tone brooked no disagreement. “I do believe you’re trying to dominate,” she said finally, tickled. “I’m a top, you know.” “Hmm.” He spun her toward him and began to soap her breasts. “I know what I am,” she insisted. “You enjoyed your orgasm?” “Well, yes.” The words were barely out of her mouth when he dumped her over the orgasmic edge again, with just a push from his mind and a soap bar slid between her legs. She clung to him until her legs steadied. The shower water beat against her back in a staccato rhythm. She was intensely aware of her nipples pressed to his solid chest, his muscled arms supporting her. “I…you…that…enough!” she sputtered, jabbing her finger. “Out! I’m done playing.”
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“I think you are afraid.” No accusation adorned his voice, just a steady Quince-style mincing of words. “To submit? Please!” she retorted, offended. But she found herself rising to his challenge even though she knew he was deliberately pushing her buttons. He finished sudsing her breasts and moved down her stomach. She struggled to maintain her ground. “We didn’t establish any safe words.” That was one of the best if not the best orgasm of her life and he hadn’t even entered her. Her body greedily demanded more. “Have I pushed your limits?” “Yes!” He arched an eyebrow, then bent to mouth her clitoris. She moaned and moved beneath his touch. “Okay, no,” she whispered. He slid himself up her body, slick skin to slick skin. Nibbling on the lobe of her ear, he murmured, “Do you wish to negotiate?” Her chest rose and fell as fast as his. “I want to be on top,” she whispered fiercely, which was partly true. The other part was desperately intrigued by what he was doing to her. “I can show you an entirely new world, but you must agree to submit.” His hands had ceased their roving to give her a chance to recover her senses. He turned off the shower water and fetched them towels. Wrapping his towel around his waist, he proceeded to dry her. His touch was gentle, but it was obvious he was trying not to tease her. It wasn’t in her nature to yield. In all of her former relationships, it was she who held the reins, she who dictated how far they would go and when. What would it be like to give that up? Quince was right. She was afraid. Was it true alarm though or just a fear of the unknown? Or worse, the fear she might truly enjoy it? If she said no to Quince, she’d be losing a chance to find out. There was something between them, she had no doubts there. Was it enough to hold them together while she wrestled with being submissive? Quince finished toweling her dry. He carefully wrapped her in the towel and tucked the edges between her breasts. “What if I say no?” “I am gambling that you will not.” His lips quirked. When she didn’t reply, he added, “I am confident I can convince you otherwise.” “Okay, you win. In the bedroom only though.” He tipped his head. “Let us retire to the bedroom then.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. He scooped her up in one swoop. Such a simple gesture and yet it made her feel so fragile. She didn’t know what to expect.
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Setting her on the bed gently, he left her there while he lit candles throughout the room. The candlelight softened his features. She lay still on the bed, not even trying to strike a seductive pose. “You may remove your towel,” he suggested while he finished lighting the last candle. She unwrapped the towel and discarded it on the floor. No, he’d dislike that. He was always picking things up and returning them to their proper place. Picking up the towel, she folded it and draped it on the end of her bed. Her hands were shaking. She balled them into fists. “When we are in the bedroom, you will address me as Lord.” He turned to her, waiting for a reaction. Well, that was safe. She didn’t think she had the stomach to say “Master”. “And if I do not?” “You will be punished as you shall be now.” She thrilled to hear that. She enjoyed a healthy spanking every now and then. He sat in her desk chair. “Come here.” Standing, she strutted toward him, then settled herself on his lap and wound her arms around his neck. “Lie across my lap, facedown.” She complied, though it killed her to submit, baring her buttocks to him. Closing her eyes, she waited for the first blow. And waited. Finally, his hand slid between her legs and he began to finger her clitoris. This was punishment? She was going to misbehave often. Already she felt the blood pooling between her legs. She rubbed against his fingers, bringing herself to the brink. He stopped. She held herself still for a moment as well, then moved against him. He withdrew his fingers. She gritted her teeth. So here was her punishment, being denied the chance to orgasm. Twice more he placed his fingers between her thighs and teased her, knowing full well how far he could go before she slipped over the edge. The last time, she squirmed in his lap, sliding far enough back to rub herself on his towel-clad thigh. It was better than nothing. Cupping her buttocks, he scooted her back into position over his lap. She wriggled against him, teasing. She could feel his erection against her stomach. What was he waiting for? She was ready for him, had been ready for what seemed like an eternity now. “Lie on the bed.” It was about time, but she kept the grumbling to herself. Instead, she murmured a somewhat less than enthusiastic “Yes, Lord” and was surprised by the way his penis
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jumped beneath the towel. For a moment there, she thought he was going to lose control. Hmm, maybe this power exchange wasn’t so bad. Easing off his lap, she rubbed the length of her body over the tenting towel as she did so. He groaned ever so softly. Encouraged, she took her time coming to her feet. She stood momentarily before him, illuminated only by candlelight. “What do you think of my body, Lord?” she asked, running her fingers down both sides of her chest and waist and finally resting her hands at her hips. “Exquisite,” he breathed, then pounced on her. She squealed. He moved so fast, almost catlike in his grace. One moment she was standing, the next she was sprawled across her bed being savaged. That was the only way she could describe this taking. His mouth traveled from her breasts to her earlobes to her lips, tasting, nipping, and sucking. His hands moved independently of one another, touching bits of skin along her legs and back and sides that she never thought of as erotic but were driving her insane at the moment. She bucked her hips against him, tugging at his towel. His penis tapped her, but didn’t quite enter. Where was that calm sensible alien now? She knew he left marks and she didn’t care. If she didn’t get to fuck something this second, she’d die. As if reading her thoughts, he abruptly pinned both her hands above her head with one of his hands and entered her. In contrast to their roughness, his entry was surprisingly gentle. He eased his length in, eyes focused on her face. His skin was flushed, lips swollen, dark violet eyes even darker, their irises like black holes. She didn’t know what he was seeing just that moment, but he still possessed enough restraint to be concerned about her. She wanted him driven as mad as she was. Thrusting her hips upward, she drew his entire length into herself. He was both large and thick. She felt herself stretching to meet him and in that remaining thin line between sanity and orgasmic bliss she understood she was truly lost. Body, heart and soul, she belonged to this man of the Dragoon.
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Chapter Fifteen The Dragoon would not allow Adrianne to go shopping. Even traitorous Navarre had agreed with the rest of them. Since then, she’d sulked in her bedroom. She had enough history books to keep her busy if she wanted to painfully sound out the words. But she didn’t. She wanted to go shopping. It was nearly Christmas and she’d yet to buy a gift for Nikki. “Too dangerous,” she mimicked their words. Visiting with Nikki at The Beast was one thing. Quince had seen to its security. The Dragoon couldn’t protect her in a place so public. “Too bloody bad.” She picked up a tunic, bunching it in her fist. Adonthe had made it for her. She smoothed the fabric out on the bed. It was bright ruby red, a narrow V cut in the collar to reveal just a hint of cleavage. She would have no use for it in the human world. She fingered the delicate embroidery on the edges of its wide sleeves. She packed it in her duffel bag with her other clothes. It was too easy to escape them. The ship was her sole ally in the Dragoon’s world. It simply opened for her. From Navarre’s flying trips, Adrianne knew the lay of the land. The snow lay in quiet furrows beneath the canopy of evergreens. It was simply a matter of hiking out to the road, and then hitchhiking to town. She knew the Dragoon would track her. A few lessons from Henley had confirmed her suspicions. They were excellent hunters. But it’d take more than a skilled tracker to find her once she climbed into a vehicle. It’d take Navarre. She didn’t take the time to decide whether leaving was a wise decision or not. She was through with thinking. Thinking made her worry that she’d never be enough for these men. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t fly. She also wasn’t to be blamed for those psi talents that seemed to crop up at inopportune moments. Navarre, despite her attempts, would not do more than kiss her chastely on the forehead or hand. She needed more. Her fingers itched to run across his body, reacquainting themselves with every sinew. But he held her at arm’s length. The depressed attitude surrounding the men at suppertime each day she failed to fly did nothing for her flagging self-esteem. They were quietly poisoning her. She laid her hand on the humped nose of the ship, all that remained of it above ground. “Take care of them for me,” she whispered. Then she left.
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She found Nikki in her office, glasses on, alternatingly cursing at a book and the computer. The Gods must have finally been raining favors on her. Quince was nowhere in sight. Adrianne leaned against the door, arms crossed. “You don’t have Quince hiding beneath your desk, do you?” Nikki flinched. “Jesus, you scared me. Adri!” She slipped from behind her desk gracefully, like a queen, Adrianne thought enviously, and hugged her tight. “What are you doing here? Where’s your harem?” “I snuck out.” She glanced around. “Where’s your boy toy?” “Running an errand.” She tapped a pen against her desk. “I’m itching to ask why you felt the need to escape from a brood of gorgeous men, but I won’t.” The shadows on Adrianne’s face said enough. “I take it you don’t want Quince to find you.” “No.” She sighed and propped herself on the edge of Nikki’s desk. “They want so much. And I’m a failure.” She buried her face in her hands, then ran her fingers through her hair and lifted her head. “What am I going to do?” She lifted her head long enough to locate a box of tissues. With a twist of her wrist, the box leaped into her hand. “Neat trick.” Nikki took the box out of her hand. “But creepy as hell. Don’t do that, okay?” “Navarre’s a good teacher,” she spat out the words. “That’s all, huh? Not a good lover too?” She shook her head. “He doesn’t want me.” “I doubt that.” “It’s true.” Nikki’s arm settled around her shoulder. “For starters, I think we’re going to get you sloppy drunk tonight. I’ve got a great band lined up and it’s a semi-private party. Then you can pass out, and judging by those bags under your eyes, finally get a good night’s sleep. We’ll deal with the rest tomorrow.” Sound advice. Adrianne gave her a guarded smile. “And Quince?” “Screw Quince. Two brilliant women like ourselves should easily be able to hide you from one simple man.” She looked at her watch. “Hang out in my room until you hear the band start. Dress in some fetish wear.” Adrianne rolled her eyes. “I knew it. A plot to get me into more fancy underwear.” Nikki gave her a sidelong glance. “Wear leather.” It was exactly something she would never do. Something the Dragoon wouldn’t expect her to do either. Maybe tonight she would. They were halfway up the apartment stairs when Navarre’s mental voice hit her so hard she dropped to her knees. Where are you?
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His anger, frustration and a hint of fear swam through her. She gritted her teeth against the pain. Safe! she retorted. She owed them that much. Nikki’s arm was around her waist. “Adri?” “They found out I’m missing.” She staggered to her feet and made it to the landing before he hit her again. He censored a long litany of curses, but she felt them gloss over her anyway. Where? I will come for you. Leave me alone! She fed every ounce of frustration over the last couple of weeks into the mental command. Navarre buckled under its strength and left her be. “They’re in my head,” she said in way of explanation to Nikki. “I gathered. I’m learning from Quince.” “What?” Nikki’s eyes danced with devilment. “All that stimulation gives a whole new meaning to the word foreplay.” Oh lord, what had she led Nikki into? Navarre was thankfully silent, his mental touch gone. At this point, she didn’t really care if she’d hurt him. Well, deep down she did care, but she wasn’t going to allow herself to feel for him at the moment. “Do you want a cold compress? A couple of ibuprofen?” Nikki steered her to her bedroom. “Lie down for a little bit.” “Oh Nikki.” She felt tears welling up. “What am I going to do? I mean, do I look like a queen?” “You look like you and that is enough.” She folded down the bedcovers. “You obviously didn’t pay attention in history class. There were lots of ugly ineffective European queens.” “Thanks,” Adrianne said dryly. “You know what I mean.” Adrianne took the bottle of ibuprofen and shook two into her hand. “You have family now, Adri,” Nikki said in a low voice. “I’m so jealous.” “You? Jealous? You have all the grace and poise I lack. And Quince. Who probably worships your body night and day.” Nikki’s expression grew dreamy. “Mmm, got that right.” She snapped out of her reverie. “The Quince part. I never thought you suffered from low self-esteem. They’ve really beaten up on you, haven’t they? I’m not one to stroke people’s egos.” Her lips pursed. “Other things though… Come down to the party tonight and get your ego stroked. And more, if you’re looking for that. I’ll lay something eye-catching out to wear.” “God, what would I do without you?” Adrianne lay down and was almost instantly asleep. Nikki had swapped the ibuprofen with some sedatives. “I think the same thing, honey.” Nikki sighed, closed the drapes and left her sleeping.
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Adrianne woke up to the bass throb of the band beneath her feet. She didn’t realize until now, she missed the rumble of a full band shaking the old floorboards loose. The Dragoon’s ship was so quiet, like a crypt. Her stomach complained, reminding her how little she’d eaten today. She glanced at the clock. Yikes! Nine p.m. But she felt so much better. Nikki’s sheets smelled of spicy perfume, a scent that bespoke dark magic and hinted at the promise of untamed sex. Which, she was sure, was exactly what Nikki intended it to do. She raked her hair away from her face and stumbled to the bathroom. Brushing her teeth with a smatter of toothpaste smeared on her finger, she sloshed around some mouthwash and spat into the sink. The outfit Nikki laid out brought a low laugh. Oh, she’d garner attention tonight. The deep blue lace bodice was a fitted corset with a drape of asymmetrical black feathers from knee to thigh. Rhinestone-studded heels, a matching blue collar and a feathered mask completed the ensemble. It became a key to a new world, a temporary respite from her present scenario and its mountain of responsibilities and failures. She ran her fingers over the smooth fabric. What did she stand to lose? Tonight she would start clean. After tonight there would be no more guilt over what she could or could not be for the Dragoon. She was simply herself. Right now, she just thanked God she could no longer hear voices in her head.
***** The bar was packed. Some people were dressed in street clothes, but they were by far the minority. By semi-private, she guessed Nikki meant members could bring guests. She recognized some faces. Nikki varied the band on the weekends to cater to her members’ diverse tastes. Generally, Friday night hosted the wildest band, heavy metal, loud, throbbing music. Saturday night alternated between a DJ and her standard band, something that played everything from polkas to soft rock, but overall kept their music more toned down. Sunday, surprisingly, was classical, usually only piano music from the baby grand tucked to the side of the stage. Adrianne sashayed her way to the bar, alternating between wanting to hide and wanting to flaunt herself. The corset pushed her breasts up, forming cleavage she didn’t know she possessed, obviously an attribute she’d underplayed all these years. The sapphire satin perfectly complemented her pale skin tone. She’d wound her hair up into a layer of curls on top her head. A few curls kissed her bare shoulders. Even Quince gave her a second glance when she sauntered up to the bar. At least she hoped he was looking at her body and not fingering her as their errant Queen. Nikki poured drinks behind the bar. Her black leather crop top revealed her pierced belly button. The pair of skintight red leather pants hugged the rest of her curves. 129
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Nikki glanced her way. “You look ravishing. Give me one sec.” She mixed a few drinks, slid them to her waitress and walked over. “Hey there.” Beneath Quince’s watchful eye, she kissed Adrianne on the cheek, then whispered. “He knows you’re missing. They’re sick with worry.” “I’d imagine they are,” she replied softly with false bravado, then downed the proffered drink. “The band is great!” she said loudly, pulling back. “I took a calculated risk. It turned out well.” Nikki glanced at the mob of people. “Look, I gotta get back to work. Enjoy yourself. Tell Phil the drinks are on the house.” “Will do. Thanks!” Nikki winked. “Go break some hearts.” Adrianne found herself doing just that. She danced a couple of numbers with a leather-clad “police officer” with the body of a boxer, drank way too much and danced some more. The music pulsated through her. She relaxed, laughed at the outrageous requests some people made, flirted with men and blushed furiously when a couple of women asked her out. The crowd was a mix of twenty- or thirty-somethings with a smattering of older folks. Around one a.m., the band laughingly played a heavy metal polka at someone’s drunken request. She never heard “Roll Out the Barrel” screamed into the microphone before. Adrianne spun from person to person, completely at ease. A man dressed in an executioner’s hood, black t-shirt, tight leather pants and almost comical glow-in-the-dark skeleton gloves caught her and spun her away from the stage toward the exit. She’d seen him earlier in the evening watching her, but she’d never given him more than a cursory glance. “Hey,” she protested, bracing her hands against his chest. When he didn’t respond, she said a little louder, “Please let me go.” She glanced toward the bouncer standing at the door. The executioner leaned close. “Create a scene, Dragoness, and I will skin out that pretty little friend of yours.” Her blood ran stone-cold. The Hunter’s scent filled her nostrils or maybe it was only the smell of her own fear. “That’s better.” He tugged her toward the exit. She managed to paste a smile on her face as they passed the pair of bouncers at the door. She knew the men vaguely as she knew all of Nikki’s employees. Even if she hadn’t known them, she wouldn’t have gotten them involved to save her life by jeopardizing their own. The winter air struck her bare skin like a slap in the face. She shivered. She had but one chance. Putting as much strength into the mental call, she screamed, Quince! “Fool!” The immediate blow to her head would have sent her to her knees had the Hunter not kept his grip on her.
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Something furry brushed against her bare leg. When her vision stopped jumping like a bad television tube, she saw it was a hound. Its crimson eyes watched her with an uncanny intelligence. She tasted blood in her mouth. Then they were moving. Her body screamed in protest at the sudden jarring. They leapfrogged through space as if Earth’s three-dimensional objects, like trees and buildings, were only pictures on a badly painted canvas. She struggled to keep her footing although she could neither see nor feel the stepping stones the Hunter used. She was afraid if he let her go, she’d fall. Nothing around them had substance. She put her hand “through” a brick wall when she tried to steady herself. If she fell now, what would break her fall? Or would she plummet right through the Earth like it was hollow and emerge in space? How could the Dragoon ever hope to stop a creature who didn’t obey the normal laws of reality? They stopped. Her feet, thankfully, found purchase on the rooftop of a building. Where were they? She could see the river and beyond that, a bridge. She wrapped her arms around her bare shoulders to protect them from the bite of the winter air. “The last Queen,” the Hunter sneered, snapping off his neon gloves. His hands were fleshless, each finger bone a piece of glimmering silver metal. “You are a poor substitute for a Dragoness.” So everyone said. Anger surged through her. She kept her eyes focused on his hands, but he was too quick for her. Abruptly those hands were around her throat. She gasped for air, clawing at his grip. “Have you no tongue?” the Hunter taunted. Adrianne! came Navarre’s mental shout. The Hunter chuckled. “Answer him.” When she didn’t respond, he loosened his grip. Doubling over, she sucked in the cold air, her lungs searing. She could feel the Hunter’s gaze on her, the wash of pure evil rolling over her like the tide coming in. Evil had a stench unlike anything she’d ever smelled before. Like paper processing plant waste combined with overripe bananas, gaggingly sweet. “Call him,” he commanded. She coughed. The smell of evil stayed. She tasted it, feeling her pores oozing it. “You’ll kill me either way.” “Ah, but I wish to see the hope die in their eyes.” If she was going to die now, she was going to make damn sure Vespero had something good to write about. “Screw you,” she spat. The Hunter grabbed her by the throat again. Her eyes flashed sapphire fire. He could feel her tremble beneath his grip, but all he saw was rage in her eyes. Not like the others, this one. This one thrummed with power. The very earth called out to her, 131
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offering her its strength. Pity she didn’t know how to bend the power to her will. If she did, she might prove to be a worthy combatant. Either way, this one would be fun to hurt slowly, to savor each insult he did to her. “How do you feel about pain, Dragoness?” he asked in a conversational tone. Fear flecked her eyes. That was better. She was not so unlike the others after all. Licking his lips, he fed upon that fear. “Do you know that not all dragons can fly?” Her heart fluttered beneath his grasp. He wanted so badly to taste her heart’s blood. Patience, he cautioned himself. “The last one I killed couldn’t.” Her gaze shot over his shoulder, then back to his face. He turned his head to find one of the dragon men standing there. Holding her out over the edge of the building by the throat, he said, “Let’s see if your Queen can fly.” The dragon man shot forward. The Hunter laughed. It was too late to save her. The building wasn’t that tall. He opened his hand. Adrianne’s eyes went wide with terror. She fell. The wind snatched feathers from her corset. Her hair spun loose, floating around her. A scream tore from her throat. She flung her arms wide, trying to slow her fall. Around her she caught the glimpse of moonspun silk and abruptly felt dragon breaths upon her. They flitted in and out of the moonlight, but shadows themselves. Their bodies interlaced, wings outstretched, tails tangling. In this space, she did not fall, nor feel any fear, held aloft by the whispery remains of former Queens. The moonlight played strange tricks. The dragons’ forms blurred when she tried to focus, though her side vision swore she hovered in midair, cradled in a dozen dragons’ winged embrace. She gave up the last whisper of herself, then, letting her essence spin free of her body. That’s all instinct needed. All it had ever needed was a release from conscious thought. Her breath caught in her throat. She was iridescence and light. Her body screamed or had she never stopped screaming? The world subtly shifted around her, shadows layered upon shadows. The moon was brighter, the shadows multicolored instead of a flat gray. She tipped her head back and saw only sky and stars. She was flying. She veered away from the ground, her tail striking the pavement of the parking lot, and angled over the icy river. The moon made it a ribbon of glass. She saw herself streak over it like a shimmering comet, her body sleek. Around her the city lights shimmered like millions of holiday bulbs.
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She was alone, her ghostly retinue gone. She did not know where to fly. The wind whispered secrets, enticing her to climb higher, but the night air was chilly. This weather wasn’t made for dragons. Her wings beat silently of their own accord, keeping her out of the icy drafts, but riding their edges nevertheless. A silhouette blocked the moon from her. She rolled and glimpsed another form just above her. This was not one of the shadow figures which had helped her gain her wings. The Hunter? Lords, could that thing fly as well? It is Quince. His voice held an awed note. Protect Nikki! She turned back toward the city. He abruptly dropped beside her to block her return, a gleam of silver and black scales. She is safe. Follow me. They were wingtip to wingtip. His eyes whirled, like multifaceted rainbows. She hesitated, broke the rhythm of flying and dropped a few feet. Quince maneuvered himself beneath her. If she fell, she’d kill them both. You give me little credit, Quince said. Where is Navarre? He is waiting for you. Focus now, my Queen, for you will tire quickly. She felt a stab of remorse that Navarre had not been there when she changed. Why should he be? She’d called out to Quince for help. He was the closest. She was an idiot. Navarre should be flying beside her. Being in her dragon form kept her from shedding tears at the thought. The town faded away, melting into the landscape. She soared over a woods pockmarked by pinpricks of light, then those spots vanished as well and there was nothing but snow-frosted trees beneath her. She wanted to continue on, but already her wings had begun to ache with the strain of unused muscles. Not much farther, Quince assured her. They dipped through a fringe of trees. She saw the arc of the ship buried beneath the frozen earth, its domed top speckled with rocks and snow, looking like nothing more than a small hill. Lower still and she could make out the forms of the members of the Dragoon. She was truly their Queen, now, and she raised her head in pride at that. But she still did not see Navarre. Quince landed first, gracefully, wings tucked to keep their fragile membranes safe. She panicked. She had no clue how to land. Easy, lady, Quince advised. Let instinct guide you. But she landed in an ungraceful somersault, with Quince halting her sliding skid across the meadow. Her nose plowed into the snow. She closed her eyes, wallowing in a
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bit of mortification. How dignified was that? It was short-lived. Too bad, she was their Queen. Are you injured? Quince’s voice was worried. She opened one eye and snorted snow from her nostrils. I’m alive, I think. The members of the Dragoon stood in a half circle in front of her, their expressions ranging from awe to concern. She closed her eye. Navarre wasn’t with them. She sent out a faltering thought. Navarre? I am here. It was equally as hesitant. A hand was laid upon her shoulder. You are displeased with my service, he said, more statement than question. She couldn’t find the words to answer him just yet. Help me. His hand moved to the ridges on her neck and stroked an itchy spot. You need only to think of yourself as you were. As she was? Who was she? She was Adrianne Benedicta Harris, a computer trainer. She led an uneventful life, at least until a couple of weeks ago. She saw herself as she did in the mirror, pale, with washed-out blonde hair, and sharp blue eyes, a nose too well-defined and full lips that always hid a snide comment or two. That is not my Erifydal, Navarre said, breaking into her thoughts. Then she saw herself as he did. Shoulder-length icy blonde hair tucked behind her ears, with a face almost delicate, save for the sharpness to her nose, and mischievous eyes. Rose lips pursed as if ready to speak. He drew her to this image as if a moth to flame. She sensed the transformation and kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Her body tingled and her sense of balance fled. Sit back, Navarre ordered. She followed his command before she realized what she was doing, sitting back on dragon haunches, her wings folding against herself. She felt the merge of her wings into her human skin and mourned their loss. Then her arms elongated and thinned and her face shrank. The process wasn’t quite painful. The change felt as if someone was giving her a deep tissue massage and intermittently compressing a nerve ending or two. She teetered, shivering, and stood naked in the snow. Navarre wrapped his cloak around her. She stared at him with blind eyes. She couldn’t see. The moon was impossibly bright against the snow. “Navarre?” Her voice felt tiny within this smaller chest. “Blink,” he cautioned, shading her eyes until she did. A membrane retreated like a third eyelid and her world swam into focus. “Oh God,” she whispered. She looked around at the expectant Dragoon members, then at Navarre. He stood stiffly, uncertain. “I’m sorry to have worried you.” She threw herself into his arms. He cupped her body protectively as if she were glass. One hand tangled in her hair, the other pressed the small of her back. She quivered. “You need to be warmed,” he murmured into her hair. 134
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“You aren’t angry with me?” The worry in her voice left him stunned. “I? It is you who left us. I feared I drove you to it.” She held him tighter, stifling a breathless laugh. “You asked so much. I couldn’t stand to disappoint you again.” “Sh’niedra.” He pulled her away and shook her gently by the shoulders. “I have waited a hundred years for you. What is another hundred?” She smiled sheepishly, raised her hand to his face and touched his lips with the tip of her finger. “I am sorry.” He took both her hands in his. “It is forgotten.” He tugged his cloak more closely around her. “Let us get you out of the cold.” His gaze never left her face. She felt consumed by the look. Desire and decorum waged a private battle. Which would win? The man or the beast? She almost hoped for the beast. Then she broke her own spell. “Nikki’s outfit!” She glanced down at the cloak draping her entire body. “Ah yes.” A smile played at his lips. “Quince mentioned it.” She shot Quince a dark look. His face remained impassive, humor glinting in the depths of his dark eyes. “As warning only,” Navarre added. “I wish I had the chance to see it.” “Nikki will kill me.” “Nikki is relieved you are safe and well.” “Oh!” Another glance at Quince, but this time she saw a hint of a smile. “Thank you.” She held the cloak close with one hand and offered her other to Navarre. He took it and she felt a smattering of nervous sensations when his fingers closed around hers. “Shall we go inside?” he asked. Holding her head high, she gathered what dignity she could. “Sure.” The ship had created a ramp descending into its belly, complete with a red carpet running down the middle. Navarre stared at the swath of color, bemused. “I told it how we treated royalty here on Earth.” She tried not to snicker. “I see.” The others fell in behind him. Her stomach abruptly growled, interrupting her “regal” descent, if her tumble in the snow and her subsequent nakedness hadn’t already ruined it. “Adonthe will prepare you a meal if you so desire.” Adrianne paused. “I need to face them all, don’t I?” “You have done so already.”
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“As Queen.” He turned his head and regarded her with approval. “Yes.” Then they stepped into the ship. It rumbled with pleasure at her return. She sighed. “Like this?” Naked underneath Navarre’s cloak and covered with the Hunter’s stench? Navarre’s eyes twinkled and she could tell he was trying hard to keep his composure. “It may be more appropriate after you have had a meal and donned clothing.” She was too tired and cold to seize the opportunity to torment him. “All right then. Tell them please.” “I already have.” She’d never truly get used to the blinding speed of mind speech. She turned around. Most had already vanished, leaving only Altarre, Quince and a guilty-looking Vespero. It was just his temperament to choose to make a public apology. “Vespero, can we speak privately later?” “My lady, my Dragoness, my Queen.” He took two steps forward, dropped to his knee and took her reluctant hand. “A thousand pardons. I never really doubted.” She raised an eyebrow and gently extracted her hand. She wanted to make him pay for whittling away at her psyche, but she let him do it. She shared fault. “I can hardly be angry at my own personal historian, can I? The man who holds in his hand the power to edit out certain undesirable events.” Altarre and Quince exchanged a glance. “Certainly not, Dragoness.” Vespero stumbled to his feet and stroked his hand in a broad arc. “You descended from the sky like a picture of poise, ever our noble Queen.” “And I was dressed?” she prompted. He bit his lip. “I will work on that, I promise.” “Thank you, Vespero. You may go.” He looked startled at her dismissal, but recovered smoothly. “But of course, you will wish to freshen up.” “A diplomat already,” Navarre murmured at her elbow. “Care to explain?” “No.” She approached Quince and gave him an awkward hug with one arm as she held the cloak closed with the other. “Thank you.” She gazed into his dark hooded eyes. “You hold a special place in my heart. Do I request too much if I ask you to return to Nikki?” “It is my honor to serve you.” She hesitated. “About you and Nikki.” “She is a beautiful woman, Dragoness.” His look was guarded. She would respect at least their privacy. “Thank you.” 136
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Glancing quizzically at Altarre, she said, “And you?” “As the Dragoon’s healer, I have the dubious honor of making sure you are unharmed.” “I’m sure Navarre can do the same.” Taken aback, Altarre looked at Navarre, then back at her again. “Do you know what you ask?” She laughed. “I believe I do.” “As you wish then.” He gave her a sharp nod, then left. It was just she and Navarre in the hall. Alone. Finally. He faced her. Taking her hands in his own, he kissed the top of each hand. “How does it feel to fly, my Queen?” She smiled and the smile lit her entire face. “Wonderful.” He offered her his arm. She wanted to skip to her quarters, but she matched her pace to his, content to be in his presence. Once in her room, however, she shed his cloak and spun around, arms wide. “I flew!” She could taste the wind on her lips and wanted more. “You did indeed.” He caught her around the waist with one arm, swinging her close. The touch, skin to skin, made her heart race. He spun her to face him, his gaze, surprisingly tender, roved over her. “Navarre.” She touched his cheek. His eyes gleamed, emeralds set in golden skin. “Erifydal.” She closed her eyes and felt his lips upon her neck. A soft sigh escaped her lips. He planted kisses in the hollow of her throat while his hands wandered. Cupping her breasts, he kissed their tops, and breathed in the scent of her. “Navarre,” she repeated, burying her hands in his hair. He kissed her silent. He tasted of wild things, the wind’s breathy secrets and promises of what was to come. The man and beast were one, but she felt as if she were being devoured. It was she who stopped the kiss, taking a moment to look deeply into his eyes. “What does sh’niedra mean?” He paused. “Beloved, loved one.” His brow furrowed. “It does not translate well. It means so much more.” He kissed her forehead, his fingers tracing her shoulder blades. “I should make sure you are unhurt.” She trembled. “Do I frighten you?” Jade eyes slit like a cat’s watched her. She spotted the dragon in their depths and saw herself reflected back as he knew her. Would she really know him until they were scale to scale, beast to beast? Until she clawed his back and shrilled her pleasure? She shuddered again, locked in those thoughts. 137
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He shook her gently. “Another time.” He kissed her until the dreams fled. “There is just me.” “That is all I want.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “The beast or the man?” His breath tickled her ear. “Both.” She nipped him on the neck. With a growl, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. He covered her with himself and laid a line of kisses between her breasts. His touch was so hot she felt as if she were being seared. She wriggled free of his arms, unbuckled his tunic and worked it over his head. Arching her back, she pressed her breasts to his bare chest. The air hissed out between his clenched teeth. “It has been a long time.” Acting shocked, she pulled back. “You mean you didn’t save yourself for me?” He fumbled. “I… Lady, it is not uncommon…” Then he saw the merriment in her eyes and stopped. “Blast you.” Giggling, she kissed him on the tip of his nose. Touched that he wished only to please her, she murmured, “Don’t worry, you aren’t my first either, you know.” Her slim fingers splayed across his chest, ivory to his gold. He was not overly muscled, just a hint of pectoral muscles and a taut belly. She missed seeing the teasing line of hair that should have marched its way from his navel to his darker secrets. The Dragoon bore no body hair. Her fingers tickled his ribs, then slid beneath the waistband of his breeches and traced a line around him. She could feel his heart hammering next to hers and was pleased. Tugging down his breeches, she rolled him over, so that she was sitting on top. Her eyes widened. He was ready for her. She shivered, this time in anticipation. He was thick. Thank God she wasn’t a virgin. Someday she’d take great delight in playing with his manliness, but not tonight. Tonight was for gentler things. Besides, she wasn’t sure how much longer either of them could wait. A thin sheen of sweat slicked his body. She stroked his muscled thighs, her hands brushing ever higher with each stroke. “Enough,” he breathed, sitting upright and pulling her to him. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her. His lips took then, not at all gentle, seizing her lips, her earlobe, leaving marks on her neck and suckling at her breast until she whimpered. They rolled together, tangling in the sheets. His hand covered her vulva. His finger explored, touched her gently there and circled. “Oh lord.” She arched against him, seeking more. She wasn’t a porn queen, someone who could orgasm with two quick licks and a flick of the fingers, but she was ready for him. She needed him. “Look at me,” he commanded. Her eyes opened and she glanced wildly around. “Now, oh please now.” She couldn’t believe she was begging. 138
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He caught her chin with one hand and forced her to meet his eyes. Then, with another touch, he sent her careening over the edge. His green eyes bound her to him. The green grew, surrounded everything, blotting out the pearlescent walls of her room, everything except what she was feeling. The warmth of it all shimmered through her, leaving her spasming in its wake. Only then did he enter her. And the slow exquisitely torturous buildup to orgasm began again. She matched him stroke for stroke. The second time she went over the edge, she clung to him, breathed his deep wild scent and almost transformed beneath him. There was no concentrated thought behind it. The change seemed as simple as breathing, although her breath was far from easy at the moment. She needed to feel him scale to scale, would be torn asunder if she did not feel his wings wrapped around her. “Steady now, my love,” he whispered. No fear laced his voice, but he held her to her human form. She writhed beneath him, trying to assert her will over his. His arms wrapped tighter around her body. Breast to chest, he stroked inside her, whispering shreds of a language into her ear she felt she understood but could never repeat. And then he linked her mind with his own and took her with him when he exploded. White-hot fire, exquisite clenching and a release that positively throbbed through every nerve ending she possessed. It was her body clenching around him but she could feel both herself and what she did to him. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Her nipples determinedly bored holes into his skin. Her sweet smell of wetness filled her nose, her small cries her ears. She had not been honest when she told him she wasn’t a virgin. Where he was taking her was a place no man had brought her to before. They rolled onto their sides, sweat slicking their bodies, he still inside her. She didn’t want to ever move again. Death could come at this moment and she would welcome it. She was complete. When Navarre shifted his arm to get in a more comfortable position, she growled a protest. He chuckled. With her head pressed against his chest, she heard the sound bubbling up long before it erupted. “Gentle, lady, your passion will kill us both.” She didn’t want to speak, but since he broke the silence first, she whispered, “Is this…is this what it’s like when we’re dragons?” He tucked her head beneath his chin. “That is for us to find out, for we’ll both be virgins there.” She liked the thought of that. Being a virgin together. Discovering the passion that lay locked within the beast. It put them on level ground. They breathed in rhythm for a while. “Does the prospect scare you?” he asked finally, when she did not respond.
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“With you, nothing scares me.” Although that wasn’t entirely true. The thought of being pregnant, of actually passing eggs, eggs, out of her body, was pretty frightening. “If we succeed, later I mean, what happens after that?” He pulled them apart far enough so they could look eye to eye. His face showed only concern. Tenderly, he brushed the hair away from her forehead and laid a kiss there. “If the Gods finally smile down on us, and we have a daughter, I doubt any one of the Dragoon will be sober on the day of the Hatching. But you need not concern yourself about that now.” His lips seized hers in a drugging kiss and she let herself be swept beneath the sheets again.
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PART TWO
Chapter Sixteen Adrianne woke up long before she should have. She lay quietly in her bed, listening to the steady hum of the ship’s inner workings. How easily she had shed her old life and embraced her new one both surprised and disturbed her. Like a snake discarding its used skin, she thought. Stretching her arms above her head, she reveled in the feeling of total contentment. She would shapeshift and fly again today, Navarre by her side. She couldn’t wait. Every day she grew a little stronger, her landing a bit neater. Something was different about her today though. She analyzed her normal bodily processes as Navarre had taught her. Her heart beat a little faster, not so much so as to be alarmed about. All seemed well. She felt so…so…alive. Sliding out of bed, she swung her feet to the floor. Her thighs were wet. No, wait, she was wet, dripping with her own slick juices. She touched herself, rubbing the slickness between her fingers. What was this? Oh, please let it not be a wet dream. No new surprises, please. She felt Navarre’s touch at the back of her mind startle to wakefulness with her burst of dismay. Is something amiss? he asked, drowsy. Normally, she loved to touch his mind when he was only half awake. The sensuousness of it, the slow languid way his mental touch rolled through her was more stimulating than coffee. Today, it left her oddly yearning. I’m not sure if something’s wrong or not. Just the sound of his voice, though, sent another trickle of juice sliding down her inner thigh. She shivered, feeling herself pull deep inside, inner muscles clenching. Trembling, she tugged the sheet off the bed and rubbed herself dry. Immediately alert, Navarre ordered, Stay where you are. “Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. She stood, wrapped herself in the sheet and padded to the bathroom. There was a rap at her panel. “The coast’s clear,” she called.
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The panel slid open. “I am not familiar with that response.” Navarre stepped into her room, but remained beside the panel. “Are you well? Should I summon Altarre?” “No, nothing’s wrong.” She was embarrassed to tell him about her “leakage”. She stepped out of the bathroom, caught a whiff of his scent and felt herself clench again. Another river of wetness shimmied down her leg. “Not again,” she muttered. Holding the sheet around her with one hand, she dabbed at the wetness with a hand towel. And then the impulse hit her… The uncontrollable urge to pounce on Navarre, rip off his clothes and rock her brains out, her lips consuming his shaft, one inch at a time. The thought was so ridiculous it almost made her laugh, but the need was there, like a tickle at the back of one’s throat. She was wet with need and the need was something that possessed her, would consume her if she didn’t feed it. And Navarre was convenient fodder. Navarre took a step farther into the room. “Stay back.” She threw her hand up, his scent surrounding her. Navarre paused, tipped his head to the side and actually sniffed. “You are…ready?” He seemed puzzled but his voice held a note of wonderment. “Ready for what?” She backed away from him awkwardly, thighs pressed together. But she suddenly knew what he was talking about. She was in heat, like a lovesick I’llhump-anything-that-stands-for-it dog. He hesitated. “What?” she said irritably. “Afraid someone’s going to sneak in and get a piece of the action before you do?” “There are procedures and protocols to follow. I… We had not thought this would happen so quickly.” “Well, it has.” Five days of shapeshifting flight under her belt and now she was in heat. What in bloody hell was she supposed to do about it? She sat on the bed. She was positively sopping. If she didn’t get a chance to fuck something soon, she’d take matters into her own hands. All the blood in her entire body had all pooled in those overeager labia of hers. Navarre continued to stand there, hands at his side, looking as confused as she must. “If you don’t leave now, you will get fucked, one way or another, and you probably won’t like it and I won’t care.” Which was true. Reason and control were slipping away like sands through an hourglass. “I will return shortly.” She’d never seen him flee before, but he did now, and he took his familiar mental touch with him. She stood, dropping the sheet, and prowled the room. She should take a bath. She should get dressed. She wanted nothing that was smart or wise or sensible. Sweet Jesus, what was taking him so long?
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The panel slid open without so much as a “here I come” and Benito stepped in. He held something white and slippery in his outstretched hands. Oh great. Just what she needed. More slippery things to deal with. What she wanted was long and hard and had nothing whatsoever to do with clothing. “Dragoness.” Benito kept his eyes carefully averted from her nakedness. He presented her with the garment like it was the Shroud of Turin. She snarled her frustration, startling them both. Benito inched into the room. “I will just set it on the bed. When you get dressed, I will escort you outside the ship.” She eyed Benito. He suddenly didn’t look so old. He was quicker. He made it to the panel before she had finished crossing the room. “Benito,” she purred. The clenching sensations deep inside her were driving her mad. “Why don’t you wait in here with me?” Benito’s eyes glittered. “Unlike many of the others, I have flown a Queen before and am wiser for it. I will wait for you outside your room.” “Damn it, Benito, doesn’t anyone here want me?” She struck a pose, thrusting her breasts out and arching her back. Benito chuckled. “You will fly high and far, Dragoness.” “Ugh!” She flung whatever she could grab at him, in this case a book. It hit the panel as it was sliding shut. She felt lascivious. She was burning up with this hunger. Stalking to the bed, she picked up the garment. It was a simple white robe, the fabric cool to the touch. Edged with gold symbols she was only learning to read, she recognized the dialect as secondlevel Labyrinthine, the language of the Gods. She prided herself on retaining control of at least that portion of her mind. The sleeveless robe fit snugly to her chest and breasts, flaring at the waist to descend in a puddle of fabric at her feet. It confined her too much. She plucked at the collar, then strode to the panel. Enough! She was going hunting and the Dragoon were her prey. In the hallway, Benito watched her from a safe distance. “Outside, Dragoness. They are all outside.” She turned on him, then decided at the last minute that if one was good, many might be even better. One man could never ease her hunger and she had an appetite for young, hardy, virile flesh. She’d kill Benito with the passion racing through her right now. Making her decision, she ran down the hallway, her breasts aching with each bounce. Had they mutinied as well? Her body had become alien to her. No ladder to crawl down today. Today, a ramp sloped gently to the surface, the Dragoon assembled at its end. She could smell each one. When had her senses become
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so keen? Composure was impossible at this moment, but at least she managed to walk up the ramp. She paused at the top, trembling. The wind swirled around her, fluffing her skirt. She turned her face upward. The sun’s rays were just beginning to streak the sky with pinks and reds. “You need to choose, Dragoness.” She didn’t know whether it was spoken out loud or in her mind nor who actually spoke. Navarre’s name was on her lips. But he had left her in this state, hadn’t he? She prowled before them, eyeing each as if they were nothing more than delectable morsels. Even Quince was present. How had he gotten here so quickly? But the hunger had no patience. She needed to be filled now. “Navarre!” She didn’t recognize her own voice, his name both a demand and a plea. Navarre stepped forward and reached for her hands. She drew back, just out of reach. He stopped, waiting. “Shouldn’t you be doing something?” she insisted. “Fly, damn it!” “I will fly when you do, my lady.” As always, his voice was level, unperturbed. But there was a sheen to his skin, a barely contained edginess her new senses picked up. He still wanted her. Her heart soared. Another snarl of frustration tore out of her. Standing on tiptoe, she grabbed his face and kissed him. His lips were warm and responsive, but restrained. He kept his arms at his sides. She seized his lower lip between her teeth and bit. She tasted a hint of blood. The blood set her off. She’d blame it later for all the wantonness. Pulling back, she glared at him. “Don’t you want me?” “Fly, my lady, and I will show you how badly I crave you.” With a growl, she stalked to Quince’s side. “Kiss me,” she demanded. Quince would not meet her gaze. “You have already chosen, Dragoness.” Lords, these men were maddening. She spun away, threw her hands up and changed. The change poured through her like molten lava. Her arms split, became wings and forearms. Her tail lashed the ground in agitation. She was halfway into the air before the change was fully complete, her still-human lungs searing as they tried to capture enough oxygen to fuel her exertion. Then she was airborne. The wind gibbered around her, tugging at her scales and teasing her with the scent of the Dragoon below. Damn them all. She pumped her wings and soared higher, reveling in her strength. She was muscle and need and no more, nothing more than a twinkling mote in the broad expanse of sky.
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And then there was another shadow beside her. Dark green, moving as fast and as high as she, matching her every move. Fool! She twisted away from him, clear of the dawn’s beckoning light, to dip low and fast. Tucking her wings, she plunged toward the ground, caught herself at the last possible moment and veered away, wings pumping. Navarre matched her, and crept closer. Hah! He had his chance on the ground. She’d never let him catch her now. But the jade devil was quick. He darted just out of reach when she made a pass at him with her foreclaws. Encouraged, she twirled closer, her wings brushing his. He ambushed her. His tail snaked around her body and he pressed his belly to her back, flattening her wings with his own. They plummeted. She fought him with teeth and claws, struggling in his grasp but he was the stronger. The strike came quick and fierce. He penetrated her deeply. She shrilled, arching her back. He drove into her again, filled her until she felt nothing more than his pulsating shaft taking her beyond this existence. They were one. Wings beat in rhythm and broke their spiraling dive. They hovered now, cradled in the sky. Heartbeats matched. Minds touched. So driven by primal need, she didn’t recognize his mind at first. Tender and yet possessive, demanding and yet promising more, he held her to this existence. He eased their twitching bodies out of the sky and coaxed a change out of her before she knew what was happening. Then they were tangled on the ground upon the smooth white gown they’d given her. He rose above and possessed her again, magnificent with the sun’s rays silhouetting him and setting the highlights in his hair ablaze. Some time later she found herself in his bed, being fed bits of something that tasted entirely too raw. She turned her head away when he offered her more. “Where am I?” There was a softness around the edges of Navarre’s eyes she hadn’t previously seen before. A relaxedness to his muscles, too, as if freed from an unseen burden. Relief? No pressure now to preserve his genetics? Certainly she felt tranquil and it had nothing to do with relief and everything to do with the bone-numbing sex she’d just participated in. She was now thoroughly turned off to vanilla human sex, not that that was the Dragoon’s direct intent but it was a bonus to them anyway. Everything else paled beside dragon sex. Hmm, but maybe not Navarre’s naked body drizzled with chocolate and caramel. That made her wet all over again.
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Navarre continued to watch her, idly stroking the length of her body with one hand. “I don’t know what to say.” Suddenly shy, she tugged a blanket over her breasts. “Cold?” She shivered when his hand caressed her bare shoulder. Her nerve endings were entirely aware of what he could do to them. She shook her head. Setting aside the plate of food, he settled himself more comfortably beside her. What now? Was she pregnant? Her hand unconsciously slid to her flat belly. Concern filled his eyes. “Have I hurt you?” He pulled back slightly and ran his hand from her shoulder to her hip, not quite daring to touch her below yet. She shivered again, lips pressed tight. She didn’t trust her voice. “Say something,” he begged. He sounded so emotional, that she had to smile. Reaching out, she cupped his cheek. “You’ve ruined me, you know.” His face fell. “I’ll never be able to have any other kind of sex again,” she continued. “It pales to dragon sex.” The jade fire in his eyes flared. “Lords.” It came out as a groan. He laid his head against her shoulder. She rubbed his back, marveling at his sinewy muscles. He was so relaxed, like a sleeping lion or a sated dragon. Red welts marred that tanned surface, though. She spread her hand out over the welts, matching her fingertips with the lines. “I did that? Oh Navarre, I am so sorry.” She’d never marked a partner before. She swallowed a guilty lump in her throat. “They do not hurt.” His voice was muffled against her shoulder. Still aghast, she pulled a blanket up over his bare back. “Do you have some sort of salve I can put on that?” He turned his head to the side, resting his cheek against her heart. “I will bear the scars with pride.” She sighed. She’d never understand them. Changing the subject, she asked, “Not that it is truly important at the moment, but where are we and what happened to Vespero and the others?” He lifted his head then, eyes twinkling. “Always Vespero, isn’t it? Concerned about your image, my Queen?” “He says I must be,” she defended. Navarre sobered. “Do not let Vespero distress you. He thinks in terms of all the past Queens. You are, in yourself, unique. We have entered a new era, sh’niedra, and you are integral to recreating us as race.”
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“It will be your children, our children,” he corrected and still she heard his possessive note, “and how they choose to take the Dragoon forward that will truly reflect your morals and what makes you who you are, not Vespero’s petty comments on how you dress and speak. I hope they will make wiser decisions than we did.” Ah, there was that layer of responsibility returning. She didn’t want it to. “Don’t go there yet.” She shifted and drew his head up for a soft kiss. “I like this unencumbered part of you. Let’s not count our eggs before they’re hatched.” How fitting a phrase right now. She glanced around the room. She really had no preconceived notion of what his personal space would look like. The walls were a soft blue, like an early morning sky. That alone came as a surprise. She expected the neutral grays and beiges found in the rest of the ship. The bed was not as massive as she guessed, more of a range between a double and queen, with no bed skirting and unadorned posts rising six feet at each corner. A window faced the outside with a window seat. Wrapping a blanket around herself, she padded to the window and looked out. “I am sorry you cannot have a view to the outside. It is for your own—” “Safety,” she absently finished for him but there was no bitterness to her tone. What they all did, they did with her welfare in mind. Even if she did disagree with some of it. She sat on the seat, feet curled beneath her. The sky was the shade of a multicolored Easter egg, streaks of pinks, purples and a hint of white. She laid her hand on her stomach. “You would not feel them so soon.” Navarre was propped up on one elbow, naked to the waist. Just the sight of him sent her libido surging again. Whoa, girl. “What are you thinking?” he asked. “I think you’re the only man who’s ever asked me that.” She dodged the question. He was polite enough not to press. A familiar portrait on the wall caught her eye. As the sole adornment on the wall, it was unavoidable. It was the young Queen with the haunted eyes, the one Adrianne had guessed couldn’t fly. “Who is the Queen?” She turned to Navarre. There was a pause. He lowered his gaze. “Mirium, my sister.” She walked to the portrait so she could examine it more closely. Yes, she could see the family resemblance in her jawline, a delicate version of Navarre’s and Altarre’s. She leaned closer. She could actually see brushstrokes. Another surprise. One of them was actually an artist? “Who painted this?” “Adonthe.” “It’s amazing. Does he still paint? Does he have other pictures?” “I do not know.” He sounded surprised that he did not. “She looks so sad.”
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Navarre sighed. “She was not meant to survive. They pried her out of her egg. They forced her to live. She wanted only death.” “Because she could not fly.” She heard Navarre’s sharp intake of breath. “I guessed.” The longing to be airborne would have eventually killed her as well. “It is painful to live with no purpose,” he said quietly. She guessed that as well. To face them all every day and be constantly reminded that she was a failure, a freak of birth. It’d almost be easier to die. “How long did she live?” What she meant to ask was how did she die, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. “Her life was cut short by the Hunter. She lived but twenty-five years. It was with cruel relief.” Did she imagine hearing the guilt in his voice? Relief that Mirium was finally free and guilt for feeling that relief? “We will name one of our daughters Mirium,” she decided. Another intake of breath. “We all choose our own names.” “One will choose Mirium,” she insisted. She returned to the bed. Navarre folded her to him. “I do not know whether to chastise you or revel in your optimism.” She chuckled. “Something must have been created in the midst of that passion.” “Are you scared?” “Yes. No.” She looked away. “I would not give up what we just had for fear of becoming pregnant.” His eyes gleamed. “I swore I would not touch you until you were whole. Do you feel whole, my Queen?” She laid her cheek against his chest. “You were what I was missing. Shapeshifting be damned.” He stroked her hair. “I can see the dragon within your eyes. Do you fear her?” “No.” And she truly didn’t. “Sometimes…” she hesitated. “What?” He tucked her head beneath his chin. “Sometimes I can almost see them, the Queens, Mirium.” The Queen with the haunted eyes had stared back at her the night she had fallen from the building. She felt Navarre stiffen, but she continued. “Out of the corners of my eyes. Even when I am alone, I’m not truly alone. They are here, watching over you all.” His arms held her tighter. She raised her head so she could look at him. “I’m not making it up.” “I believe you.” The fire in his eyes simmered. “I would like to think she is happy, my sister.” She closed her eyes, trying to put into words what she felt when the ghostly shadows shared the same room with her. “I think they are at peace,” she said finally. “Do they frighten you?” 148
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“No, they are simply part of my new life.” She lowered her head to his chest again. “Are you happy?” “I am complete,” she said softly. “Can we end the twenty questions and have sex again?” “As you wish.” Chuckling, he reached for the already wet spot between her thighs. “Don’t tease.” She spun in his embrace to face him, locking her legs around his waist. “The Dragoon has no word for ‘tease’,” he assured her and pressed himself to her.
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Chapter Seventeen Adrianne was somewhat disappointed. She thought she’d go through morning sickness or suddenly develop a huge appetite. Instead, the load of responsibility surrounding her seemed to evaporate, and from around the members of the Dragoon as well. They smiled more easily now and she basked in that warmth. Still, she couldn’t help worrying about her lack of pregnancy signs. She said as much the next time she and Nikki met for lunch at The Beast. Nikki laughed. “You have to be one of the luckiest moms-to-be of any species. Only you would worry about something like that. What more do you want?” Adrianne smiled back, a bit self-conscious. “You’re right, of course.” She picked at her salad. She had noticed an increased interest in meat, in particular meat cooked rare, although she’d never let Nikki know that. It’d just gross her out. “Are you done torturing that poor piece of lettuce? I did cook chicken.” Startled, Adrianne dropped the fork. “Yeah.” “Well, I think you’re pregnant. You seem entirely too preoccupied with yourself. It’s not like you to daydream.” Or night dream. Sometimes those left her slick with sweat and moaning. Luckily, Navarre did not press her for details, only wrapped her tightly in his arms, tucked her head beneath his chin and held her until she drifted off again. She had slept in Navarre’s bed these past three weeks since what she termed as her “flight”. She couldn’t quite call it mating. That sounded too base. She met Navarre’s gaze across the room. He was perched on the empty stage beside Quince, giving her a discreet amount of space but not so far away that he’d be unable to protect her. Adrianne turned back to Nikki. “You’ll be the first to know if there are a couple of little aliens writhing around in there.” “Damn right I will be and I expect to be a godmother.” “For all of them?” Nikki grinned. “One or two is fine. Sheesh, I can’t believe you’ll have a brood.” “Probably just one or two.” But she had an extra helping of chicken just in case a third dragonet had snuck into her womb. “How are things with you and Quince?” “He sleeps in my bed,” she said around a mouthful of food. “What?” Adrianne’s fork clattered on the plate. Navarre stood. She waved him off. Leaning forward, she hissed, “In your bed? Like every night?” Nikki’s eyes twinkled. “Mmm, yes.”
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“He’s passed the one-month record, you know.” “I know.” Nikki continued to chew, seemingly unconcerned. Adrianne sat back, bemused. Just what was going on between the two of them? “Are you finally settling down?” “I don’t know what I’d do without him.” She glanced away as if surprised by that revelation. “I’m happy for you.” Nikki shoveled a third piece of chicken onto Adrianne’s plate. “No, you’re not. You’re worried that he’ll break my heart and you’re wondering if you shouldn’t pull him back. Don’t you dare.” “I wouldn’t…that is…” She bit her lip. “I don’t want to see you hurt.” “I’m a big girl.” Adrianne didn’t know what to say. So she just changed the conversation. “Adonthe’s sewing me a whole new wardrobe. When can you come out and put your stamp of approval on it?” “He promised he’d sew me a costume even more risqué than that satin corset of mine you conveniently destroyed before I had a chance to wear it.” Adrianne had caught a glimpse of just what Adonthe was stitching. “You’ll be surprised all right.” And pleased. The outfit was little more than lace, fishnet and satin. She wouldn’t be caught dead in it. On Nikki, it would look stunning. “I’ll check with Quince.” Nikki paused, her gaze meeting Quince’s across the room. Adrianne felt herself go hot, then cold. Whatever burned between them was transparent to anyone. “We should be able to swing by next week,” Nikki finished. “Great!” She helped Nikki clear the table, taking the dishes behind the bar. “There’s something else.” Nikki casually dried a plate and set it in the cupboard. “I think Haynes’ men are poking around again.” Adrianne froze. “You should come with me. It isn’t safe for you here.” “Quince didn’t want me to tell you for that very reason.” “How can I not worry about you? They’re the FBI. They can do whatever they want.” “Quince will protect me.” How could she make Nikki understand how important she was to her? “Nikki, if anything were to ever happen to you, I’d blame myself.” “We decided we’re serving a purpose by being here.” Nikki seemed unperturbed. “As long as they’re watching The Beast, they’ll leave you alone.” “What if they are here today? They’ll have seen me. They’ll question you.” Nikki turned, grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. “Hey.” Adrianne quieted. “We’re not stupid. Quince sent them on a wild goose chase today. I just want you to let me know before you drop in. So we can make sure it’s safe for you.” 151
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“I can’t lose you,” Adrianne murmured, tears coming to her eyes. She forced them back with a deep breath. “You won’t, I promise. I trust Quince.” Nikki gave her a quick hug. “I want to be a godmother. Do you hear me?” She shook her lightly again. Adrianne nodded. “Good.”
***** Back in the ship, Adrianne waved off Navarre’s invitation to be checked out by Altarre and instead headed for a walk around the ship’s interior. The only space where she was allowed alone, she treasured her walks, trusting the ship would keep her location private unless absolutely necessary. Forty minutes of walking later, she hoped she burned off that piece of cheesecake she couldn’t resist at lunch. Pausing, she leaned against the ship and wiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve. And heard voices in her head. Darn them. Who in the Dragoon wasn’t shielding his conversation? They did that from time to time, chattering like old women gossiping over coffee. She almost shot back an angry retort to all of them. Something in the tone of the voices made her hesitate. And eavesdrop. They were really whispers, nothing more than half formed wispy impressions of thoughts and images. Someone was complaining about being jostled. Another had enjoyed the movement and wanted to be rocked again. A third wanted nothing more than peace and quiet. And a fourth was on a quest for food. What was this? She reached ever so carefully inside herself and touched the shadowy minds. Silence. Pulling back, she waited. Still silence. She did a few jumping jacks, then a short sprint down the hall. Someone shouted “Whee” and another started loudly complaining about the movement again. Her babies were talking. She couldn’t help it. Hugging herself, she spun around until she was dizzy, then leaned against the ship’s wall for support. They did it! She and Navarre had truly created something magical. There were four minds for sure. Girls or boys, she didn’t know. For the next halfhour, she simply listened and tried to tally all the individual voices she heard. When she finally thought she reached a number, she spent another half an hour counting them all over again. With her back against the wall, she slid to the floor.
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There were twenty-four. She had to be mistaken.
***** Even Navarre noticed that there wasn’t something quite right with Adrianne at suppertime. She didn’t know how to put into words what she was feeling. Twenty-four babies. Twenty-four! She shuddered. The Dragoon had been so ecstatic when she became pregnant. How could she tell them that she changed her mind? Apprehension took the place of excitement. Luckily, the men were focused on things other than her impending pregnancy. Chatter tonight was centered around a permanent dwelling. They’d flown discreet aerial scouting trips over the land they liked. Some of it was for sale. Some wasn’t. Apparently, that wasn’t a deterrent. Everyone had their price. Benito wanted a fortress to befit a Queen. Adrianne cautioned moderation. How were they to explain themselves if the IRS came knocking? They couldn’t keep erasing people’s memories. Someone was bound to get suspicious. And how healthy was it for the people whose minds were erased? She ate mechanically, half listening to them and half focused on the internal conversation going on inside her stomach. She was surprised none of the Dragoon could hear them. Navarre tapped the back of her hand with a finger. “Are you well?” Startled, she glanced at him guiltily. She should tell him. She should tell them all. But it seemed too surreal. She didn’t know if she should be glad or scared to death. She could be wrong. She knew she wasn’t. “I am fine.” “Adonthe went to great pains to duplicate this for you. You will make him think you dislike it.” “It is very good.” She swallowed another bite to prove it to him. Navarre’s eyes narrowed. “You are a poor liar.” She felt him press discreetly against her mind’s mental shields, but she’d learned well from him how to keep those barriers in place. “I’d like to speak with Altarre after supper.” She made the decision as she spoke. He was their doctor. Even though inexperienced with pregnant Queens, as an empath he should be able to confirm the baby count. Concern filled Navarre’s eyes, but his voice was hopeful. “Do you believe… I do not wish to pry…” Hah! Who was the poor liar now? Every night he slept with her, he laid a hand over her belly. Even his lovemaking, while delicious, was done with care. Nothing like the pulse-thrilling instinct-driven craze that had possessed them after the flight.
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Leaning close, she whispered, “We’re going to be parents.” She owed him that much. The word “parent” sent butterflies skittering through her. She pulled back to gauge his reaction. His rare smile was wide and genuine. She found herself grinning too. “Wipe that silly smirk off your face or they’ll begin to wonder.” “They already do.” She caught a few discreet mental queries sent in Navarre’s direction. “Not a peep until I talk to Altarre. Understood?” He kept smiling. “I mean it.” “I am not familiar with the word peep.” “Damn it, you know what I mean,” she hissed. “Careful, you will distress everyone,” Navarre said mildly. How could he know that just a little temper sent the babies into a chittering tailspin? They’d drive her nuts if they only increased in volume and frequency. She glanced around the room. All eyes were focused on her. She sobered. “You all need hobbies,” she grumbled to no one in particular. “Adonthe, the quiche is delicious. Thank you.” He’d gotten over his aversion to eggs enough to cook with them. Adonthe flushed. “You are very welcome, my Queen. If you should develop any particular cravings, I would be honored to fix you a meal at any time of the day or night. Do not hesitate to wake me.” She considered it progress that she did not blush. “I will keep that in mind,” she said levelly. There were a few polite unsuppressed snickers. She considered that progress as well. She was both sad and relieved that her parents were no longer with her. Sad, in that her children would never have “normal” grandparents, someone to dote on them, someone who’d let them just be children, sneak them cookies and keep them up way past their bedtime. Then again, explaining to her parents how they happened to have not one but twenty-four grandchildren, and oh by the way, they’ll look like little dragons until they’re five, would have been awkward at best. Finishing her meal, she laid her napkin on her plate. She stood. “Please excuse me.” She’d never grown accustomed to everyone standing when she did. They murmured various good-nights. “Do you wish me to accompany you?” Navarre asked, a trace too anxious. She saw Altarre finish his meal with one large bite and wash it down with a hasty dash of water.
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She wanted so badly to say yes. To just have him hold her hand would be comforting. But she didn’t want to appear weak. “It’s unnecessary at this point.” “Please dispose of the formality with me.” His eyes urged that she reconsider, but he wouldn’t beg. She might have relented if he had. He took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. “As you wish.” Magical words. One couldn’t argue with “as you wish”. Navarre had learned that all too quickly. Altarre met her in the hall. “It is an honor,” he began. “Please. If I hear that word again, I’ll scream.” Altarre smiled faintly. “You do not like being treated as if a dragonet.” “Not particularly,” she replied irritably. “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?” “You have indeed,” Altarre murmured. “This hurdle, though, means the world to us.” “I understand that,” she snapped. The voices in her belly stilled. “I’m sorry,” she began again. “I wish everything wasn’t so life and death with you all.” “We try as best we can to shelter you from our fears.” He ushered her into a room she hadn’t been in before. It smelled like a doctor’s office, antiseptic coupled with lemon. The lemon had to be Adonthe’s touch. The room was comfortably sized, the walls a pale soothing green, the floor thickly carpeted in white. Altarre looked nonplused. “It was tile earlier.” The ship knew what she preferred. She smiled to herself. At least the room didn’t have a stainless steel table with stirrups. It did, however, have an elevated bed. Altarre patted the bed. She sighed. “Do I need to get naked?” His eyes gleamed so much like his brother’s she had a pretty good idea what he was thinking. She touched his mind, anyway, trying to snag his fleeting thoughts, but he was quicker. “That is unnecessary.” Sitting on the firm mattress, she swung her feet over the side. “Here’s the thing. I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant.” If he was thunderstruck by that announcement, he hid it well. “Go on.” “There’s lots of them.” Altarre frowned. “More than three?” “Way more than three.” “Are you certain?”
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“It’s my body, isn’t it?” “Yes, yes, of course.” Now he appeared a bit unnerved. “Well then, let me see how many I can find.” He didn’t have a stethoscope or a big black doctor’s bag, but she relaxed nonetheless. He’d take care of her. She was surprised how relieved she was to tell someone. She swung her feet onto the table and lay back. Discreetly lifting her shirt, he slid it up to her breasts, watching her for a reaction. She gave him a reassuring smile, remembering he was as new to this as she. He pressed a, thankfully warm, metal box the size of her fist to her stomach. The seconds ticked by and turned into minutes. He repositioned the instrument several times. There were a few more minutes of heavy silence. Finally, he set it carefully aside. He pulled her shirt down, his face a mask. “How many did you count?” he asked, voice neutral. “Oh no.” She sat up. “How many did you count?” He stalled. “It must be inaccurate. The instrument is old and has been unused for a long time.” “Hybrid vigor?” she offered, swinging her feet over the table and watching him. “I hope you’re shielding your thoughts from the others.” “Yes, of course.” Each word was forced. She’d never seen him look so puzzled. “I do not know whether to rejoice or be horribly worried.” That stopped her gloating. “What do you mean?” “So many and it is your first time.” He passed his hand over his face. “Your health, your safety, it is in my hands.” He held his hands out in front of him, looked at them, then looked at her. “I am ill-prepared.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Listen, you’re all I got. Read up or do whatever you’ve got to do, but understand this, I need you.” He dropped his hands. “I am beginning to comprehend the pressure we have placed upon you.” “Good.” She slipped to the floor and stretched. “I’m going to talk to Navarre now.” “Wait.” He grasped her arm. “I…there were twenty-three.” “Close. I heard twenty-four.” “Heard?” He gripped her tighter. “Yes, what does your machine do?” “It counts the number of eggs.” She thought that through. “Am I supposed to hear them?” “Only if they have psi talent.” They stared at each other. “I need to speak to the others.” He turned toward the panel, but she did not miss his look of alarm. 156
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It was her turn to catch his arm. “You will not! I have to talk to Navarre first.” “It is not right…we are unprepared to deal with so many.” He blinked and sighed raggedly. She shook his arm. “Promise me.” At the moment, he looked a full century old. “And don’t say ‘As you wish’,” she added. “All right then.” He raised his eyes to hers. “We can only go forward at this point. Tomorrow I will call a council. You best speak to my brother tonight.” She nodded. “That’s fair.” She left him standing in the room alone. She had no way to reassure him. It was time for him to bring his talents to the table. Being an empath didn’t mean he had to be spineless. She expected and needed more from him. Actually, she’d need all of them. They wanted a Queen. Now they truly had one.
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Chapter Eighteen Agent Haynes stared at his report, at least his supervisor said it was his report and it sure as hell looked like his signature at the bottom. Adrianne Harris. Nikki Kitzerow. He racked his brain. No face magically appeared to fit the names. He had a newspaper clipping in the file with a picture of Ms. Harris. A grainy undated photo but surely it would cause some spark of recognition. He held it up, staring hard at it. No, his mind said, he didn’t know the woman. His gut said he did. What had that woman done to him? That Agents Lampson and Byers were in the same baffled spot as he did nothing to soothe the growing anger. No, he wouldn’t admit it was fear, not even to himself. He laid the clipping down and reread his report. He had thought Ms. Harris was involved in something illegal, just what he hadn’t pinpointed yet. He had made an appointment to follow up with Lampson and Byers. He even had a warrant. Then they all found themselves on the shores of Lake Superior, with an empty tank of gas and two days’ growth of facial hair. What did he know about her? She or her accomplices stopped a plane sliding sideways down a runway. She was the sole survivor of a fiery crash and didn’t have a burn on her. She had somehow hypnotized not one but three armed men and sent them on a joyride to nowhere. That didn’t make her a terrorist. It pointed to a cult, a very powerful cult. He chewed the end of his pen, an undesirable habit but it beat smoking and at times like this he craved a cigarette even though he’d given up smoking over a year ago. He had Ms. Harris’ home address, for all the good it did. How many men could she hypnotize at once? He rubbed his temples with his free hand. “Any luck?” his boss asked, not unsympathetic. “No.” He gave Haynes a pat on the back. “Hypnosis didn’t work on Lampson or Byers. They have no memory of meeting her, her house, the case, basically of anything tied to her. Still, the doc wants to try with you. You up for it?” “Yeah.” He dropped his pen. “Maybe the third one will be the charm.” “If it’s not, the Feds want to bring in some top secret division.” His ego growled at that. The other part of him, the part responsible for the thin line of cold sweat down his back, cheered. “Sounds about right. Why bother? She hasn’t killed anyone yet, has she?”
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His boss’s eyes narrowed. “There’s been a couple of weird murders in the area since we think she got back. Hotel clerk at the place where her credit card was used, some livestock mutilations in the local county around her. A couple of women are missing but we can’t link that to her.” Yet was unspoken. “And her roommate just turned up missing.” “This—” He picked up his report. Damn, couldn’t he even keep her name in his mind for a minute without it being erased by some invisible command? He glanced at the report. “Nikki Kitzerow?” “Yes. One of her employees called it in. Blood all over the place. We don’t have the report back on the blood yet, but there was way too much of it for it to all be hers.” Intrigued, he leaned forward. “What do you think?” “Maybe she knew too much. She became a liability.” Yeah, he wasn’t paid to follow black-and-white lines, but to connect the dots, however far apart. And one thing he knew, Adrianne Harris was dangerous. “Maybe I should drive back there and take a look?” “You’re being bumped,” his boss said flatly. “Yeah, yeah.” He picked up the pen again to chew on its end. He should be irritated. Instead, all he could summon was relief. Good luck to team two. Hope they had plenty of candles, salt, exorcists or whatever tools they used. He stood. “Let’s see if the shrinks can pick anything out of my head.”
***** How did one dress to tell the father of her children, children as in two dozen worth of little dragons, that they were about to almost triple the population of his endangered species? Gods! She took extra care with her makeup although no amount of primping could prepare her. If she didn’t hurry, he’d come looking for her. She wore a body-hugging jade sheath that revealed too much leg and décolletage. The stiletto heels accented her muscled calves. She was a fool if she thought that would distract him. A woman could hope, couldn’t she? She wished she had some time to analyze the butterflies in her stomach. Excited? Nervous? Apprehension? Most likely a combination of all three. There was a polite rap at her door. Darn, she’d been found out. At least he’d learned how to knock. “Come in,” she called. But it wasn’t Navarre. Benito stood beside the panel, looking both full of pride and uncomfortable at the same time, if that was possible. He held a little silver box between his hands. Her first thought was that she’d make Altarre pay for his breach of confidence.
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“I will not ask for details, yet, but I have not seen hundreds of dragonets birthed and flown my own Queen, not to know when another is with child.” She didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry. This must be so hard for you.” He shifted the box to one hand, then took her hand with his free one. “Do not let my melancholy ruin this joyous moment.” She folded her fingers around his. His hand trembled just a little, but his grip was firm. How he must miss his mate, his children and grandchildren. “Benito.” Her voice broke. He pulled his hand free. “I look forward to being a surrogate grandfather.” His voice was strong and sure, his pain tucked away again. He offered her the box. “Please. This is just a portion of what we saved for our next Queen.” Taking it, she flipped open the lid. A single large emerald, set in silver and surrounded with winking pale green diamonds, stared back at her. “It’s lovely.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She blamed them on pregnancy hormones. “May I?” He took the box from her hands, retrieved the choker and set the box aside. She turned to him so he could fasten it around her neck. It settled with a hefty weight in the hollow of her throat. She couldn’t help herself. She touched it reverently with her fingertips. “You will be off to see Navarre now?” Benito asked a bit too casually. “Yes.” “Altarre has requested a council tomorrow evening.” He cleared his throat. “I hope to announce that our Queen is carrying two or three?” Adrianne laughed. “Nice try.” “Ah, you cannot fault an old man for trying.” “You were smooth,” she soothed. Benito brightened and patted her hand. “And you, kind. Tomorrow, we will have the ship move your bedchambers closer to Navarre’s. I do not wish to tire you with walking.” “Walking is healthy,” she protested. “Altarre’s room is opposite his.” “Altarre is worried,” she said. “As well he should be. Be at peace. He’s healed many a wicked wound.” “But he’s never birthed a baby.” “Do you think our first Queen had a midwife?” Benito asked. “You are much stronger than you believe.” She bit her lip, fingering the necklace. Did one of the former Queens wear it the same night she confessed her pregnancy to her lover? She could picture the lovely
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Mirium wearing it, cold fire against the pale ivory of her skin. The Queens wouldn’t desert her. When it came time to birth her babies, they would be there for her. Benito made a shooing motion with his hands. “Go to him. You are driving him mad with worry.” She liked the thought of that. Maybe she could get him to manhandle her like he had the night they flew. Which was not likely to happen after she told him how many dragonets she was carrying. She couldn’t quite think of them as eggs, but having a couple of dragons in her belly reminded her all too much of Sigourney Weaver and the Alien movies. Particularly when the alien tore out of Ripley’s belly. She shuddered. Navarre was worried. She caught him mid-pace although he tried to disguise it. He froze. “I thought you, who value privacy so highly, would knock or at least announce yourself.” She sauntered the rest of the way into his room and watched his gaze travel from the stones gleaming at her neck to her calves. He licked his lips. Just that action had her damp between the thighs. Crossing the room, she draped herself on the bed, hiking her short dress up even higher and revealing her breasts even more. It had the desired effect. At least for a moment. Then he shook his head as if a dog shedding water. “You are devious.” He sat carefully beside her on his bed and ran a fingertip over the tops of her exposed breasts. A shiver ran through her. “Other than to announce a council tomorrow, my brother has remained mute. I should commend you for your skill at winning his obedience.” But he didn’t look happy about her coup. She bit her lip. “Come closer.” “My lady, any closer and we will have to be naked.” His eyes glinted. She could have him here and now. Her nerves thrummed just from his look and touch. She sighed. Not now. Not yet. “Rest your head here and listen carefully.” She patted her belly. He stretched himself out beside her like a sleek panther. When he pressed his ear to her stomach, she ran her fingers through his hair. The treacherous little voices were quiet. “I hear nothing.” “Wait a second.” She pulled away, stood up, then jumped up and down a few times. Navarre’s eyes remained fixated on her breasts threatening to spill out of her dress. She hoped she wasn’t giving her babies brain damage with all the intentional jostling. She lay back down on the bed. “Now try.”
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He raised an eyebrow, but obliged. His fingers lazily trailed the length of her body. The voices were very loud, at least to her, and demanding. He clenched her upper arm. He heard them all right. When he went rigid beside her, she knew he had started counting. He muttered an oath in Labyrinthine. At least she understood enough of the language now to know it was a curse, and not a mild one at that. She didn’t want to disturb him but the underwire on her fancy bra was beginning to poke the sides of her breasts. Shifting, she pulled away from him and sat up. “Sorry.” She adjusted herself. He sat up, his face pale. “It is not possible.” “That’s what your brother said. You two worry me. Look,” she began, somewhat irritated that the shocked expression remained on his face. “You have psi talents. I have psi talents. It’s natural the babies are going to, too, isn’t it?” “Twenty-three.” He stopped, rubbing his brow with his fingertips. “Twenty-four,” she corrected. “And Altarre told me you used to have much bigger clutches.” “Yes, but…” He raised his head. “I worry that we will kill you. You will need to eat more.” “I eat plenty.” Now she was thoroughly piqued. If the Dragoon thought for one minute they were going to move from monitoring her location to charting her food intake, they were in for a rude awakening. He cupped her cheek. “I cannot lose you.” Another acid retort had been on the tip of her tongue. She bit it back. He didn’t want to lose her? Not her womb, not a chance to redeem his species or save his bloodline, but her. “You love me,” she said it out loud with a slow dawning realization. He smiled sheepishly. “Since the first time I touched your mind, I think.” She rocked back. He feared for her. He loved her. Her? “Tell me.” “Sh’niedra.” “I need to hear the words.” He tipped his head. “I love you.” The words came out quickly, almost forced. He glanced away, then back at her, and stroked her cheek. “I love you,” he said more fervently. “They are difficult words.” She closed her eyes and smiled. Putting her hand on her belly, she said, “I won’t lose them.” Defiant now, she met his worried gaze. Scooping her to him, he cradled her against him, his arms tight around her. She clung to his arms, breathing in his wild scent. His heart hammered against her backside. That scared her. “I will eat more,” she said meekly.
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“In dragon form,” he murmured in her ear. “In your human form you will not be able to consume enough, no matter how hard you try.” “I hope dragons are vegetarians or you’ll be doing a lot of big barbecues.” He chuckled. “Think it through.” Turning his head away from her, he blew a breath across the row of candles perched on his headboard. They burst into flame. Neat trick. She hadn’t seen that before. The puzzle pieces clicked in place. “I’m not charring some poor animal to death. Besides, I think ash is a carcinogen.” That earned her another laugh. She liked hearing it from him. She snuggled deeper into his embrace. “So what do we tell the council?” She wouldn’t let them decide what she could and couldn’t carry. How could anyone make a decision on who to kill off? The voices in her belly were silent. “Do not worry.” He nibbled on the nape of her neck, his hand cupping her belly protectively. “We will protect them all.” Then his hand dropped from her stomach to her thigh. He began stroking the inside of her legs deliberately. She twisted in his grasp, seized his face with both hands and kissed him thoroughly. He put a hand back for balance. When she opened her eyes, she found him watching her through half-hooded eyes, green fires glinting. The lights in the room dimmed. The flicker of candlelight accented the red glints in his hair. “Isn’t it a bit early to go to bed?” Her pulse hammered. Like a panther eying its prey, he took his time answering. Dropping his hand, he seized her around the waist and pulled her down on top of him. “I do not intend to sleep.” “Aren’t you worried about the babies?” “Are you?” “Yes. No. I can’t think straight when you look at me like that.” “Like what?” he asked blandly. The green fire in his eyes danced, promising more if only she acquiesced. “You’re a beast.” She grabbed his face again and kissed him. Her teeth snagged his lower lip, her tongue fought for entry. She was a woman possessed by needs. He tried to roll her off him, but she fought back, pinning his clever hands. She held his wrists in each hand and stared down at him, panting from wrestling. He continued to watch her through half-closed eyes, seemingly relaxed, but she could see the way his chest rose and fell and felt his own pulse increase beneath her thumbs pressed on his wrists. “Tell me I shouldn’t do this. Tell me it’s bad for the babies. Tell me I should dress and behave like a proper Queen.” Rules, rules, rules. She didn’t know half of them and yet they bound her. “Tell me I’m confined to this ship now that I’m pregnant. Tell me I should be very afraid.”
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Navarre moistened his lips. “As you wish,” he breathed. She fell on him. Her teeth scraped his neck and jaw. Her hands fumbled for his tunic. She wished it were buttoned so she could tear it off his body. They wrangled with it, his arms tangled in the fabric. She left him like that, his hands “bound” above his head. Her teeth roved over his chest, pinching his nipples until his breath hissed through his teeth. She sat back, straddling his waist, hair draped over her face. She pushed back her hair, tucking it behind her ears. His eyes were dark and wide. “Did I hurt you?” She knew she did. His throat was red where she marked him. A bruise was forming on the edge of his jaw. His eyes flashed fire, but he remained mute. Speaking of fire… She reached for one of the wax candles perched on the headboard. How far could she push him before he revolted? His eyes followed her movement. Still he remained beneath her. She tipped the fat candle slightly, letting the wax dribble down the edge and land in a single creamy splat on his bare stomach. His stomach muscles tensed. Pausing, she asked, “Does it hurt?” He shook his head. “I have not seen this side of you. Continue.” The last was a command. She flicked the cold wax dot off his taut muscles with a fingernail. His bronzed skin was unmarred beneath it. Of course, they couldn’t burn. Tilting the candle again, she ran the wax from his belly button to his chest, letting it puddle in the hollow between his pectorals. Every muscle flexed but he remained mute. She’d worry later about this unknown sadistic side of her. Right now, her need was like a lit oil fire. It needed to be burned out before she felt purged. If there was a knock, she never heard it. One moment she was perched above Navarre, candle in hand, the next, she found herself flipped off the bed to the floor, Navarre crouched over her protectively. He held a wicked-looking knife between his teeth. Quince stood in the doorway. Navarre dropped the blade and growled low in his throat. She sighed and sat up, pushing the hair out of her face. Quince didn’t bother to apologize. “The Hunter has Nikki,” he said simply, then collapsed to the floor.
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Chapter Nineteen Blood. Like Rorschach ink blots, it decorated the floor in skewed patterns. There was blood everywhere. And it all spilled out of Quince’s inert form. Adrianne supported Quince’s head in her lap. Navarre tore strips from his tunic and pressed them to the worst of Quince’s wounds. Blood trickled out of the corner of Quince’s mouth. His body was so cold, so very still. No, no, no. Not Quince. Please God, not Quince. She could barely feel his breath against her cheek. She instinctively reached for his mind and held it, teetering on the edge of the black maw that waited for Quince to slip, for her strength to give out and let him slide over the brink. She would not let him go! This was Death. Not a pleasant passing from one life to the next, hand held by a guardian angel as Adrianne had been taught. No, Death opened its maw and inhaled. Like a black hole, none could avoid its grasp. But she was determined it would not have Quince. Tears pricked her eyes. “Stay with us,” she begged, then demanded, stroking his face. She bent over him, trying to block out the sight of all that blood. The tide of psi strength she’d never feel comfortable with swelled within her. Quince’s mind was silent. What remained of him he’d walled away from the pain. The power poured through her hands. Her tears fell to his cheek, bitterly hot, and left red welts on his paling skin. She pressed her hands over the worst of the wounds, too near his heart. “What do you do?” Navarre whispered harshly. She couldn’t speak or she’d break her concentration. Quince’s blood slipped through her fingers, cooling. No! The black maw laughed soundlessly. She shuddered. “He’s gone,” she dimly heard Navarre say. She clung to Quince, his head pressed to her abdomen, her cheek laid against the ragged hole in his chest. A flash of white fire burst from her own hands, blinding her. The power within her leaped from those hands she’d never claim as her own again to Quince’s chest. Quince gasped and tried to bolt upright but her hunched body prevented him. His head collapsed back into her lap. But the fire still burned. She felt rather than saw Quince’s heart take a staggering half beat, saw the ragged muscle tissue knit together beneath her fingers. Another faint beat, then another. The heartbeats were erratic but at least his heart beat. Altarre burst into the room, followed by the others. Someone tried to pull her away. She fought them, flailing, her touch scalding, and they backed away.
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Then it wasn’t just she holding Quince from slipping over the precipice, but Navarre, Altarre and Benito. Wherever they could, they touched him. She felt Altarre take over, guiding her fire with his deft mental touch. The wound pressed to her check fused shut. Quince’s heartbeat steadied. She lifted her head and felt Quince’s breath against her cheek. They took several steps back from the precipice together. A sliver of what once was Quince emerged from his protective cocoon. Though it’d cost them both strength, she asked, Nikki? Quince’s mental touch was as light as a lover’s eyelashes against one’s cheek. Quince. Quince, she repeated. Names had power. That had been her first lesson with Navarre. Quince! His mental touch remained ever so faint. Where did he take her? I do not know, came the reply and then his tenuous touch faded, even though his heart continued to beat. When someone tried to pull her away again, she let them. She was sticky, covered in Quince’s blood and beyond exhausted. Her muscles threatened to mutiny. “My babies,” she whispered. At her touch, they stirred within her. They were still safe. Thank the Gods. Face haggard, Altarre looked his age while he fed blood into Quince through an IV directly from the other members of the Dragoon. Benito tended to Navarre who looked like he felt the same way she did. Adonthe pressed a wet washcloth to her face. “Is he going to live?” She didn’t recognize her own voice. “Aye.” Adonthe eased her back another pace, propping her against the foot end of Navarre’s bed. It was the last thing she heard before she passed out.
***** “Nikki!” Adrianne bolted upright. She glanced around wildly, not recognizing where she was. She didn’t remember what she was dreaming about, only that Nikki was in terrible trouble. Beside her, Navarre stirred. She reached to shake him, then paused. A smattering of gray hairs flecked his hair just around the edges of his ears. She knew they hadn’t been there before. There was a weariness to his face she’d never seen before. She turned. Quince lay in a bed on their left. Clean white sheets hid him from waist down, his chest bare. A variety of equipment was hooked to him, but his chest rose and fell regularly on its own. He was too pale, too still. She remembered the black edge they dragged him back from and shivered. They appeared to be in Altarre’s examination room, the one where he confirmed her pregnancy. Carefully, so as not to disturb Navarre, she eased herself out of the bed. She had to grab on to the edge of the bed to keep her legs from buckling. Steady now. When she regained her equilibrium, she headed for the panel. It didn’t open at her approach. 166
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She tried again, waving her hand in front of it, in case the ship had missed her approach. The panel remained shut. She needed to get out. They had to look for Nikki. She knew what the Hunter was capable of. Every precious second counted. She laid her palms against the door. Her mind ached too badly to even attempt trying to contact the ship. As if guessing her intentions, the panel bubbled beneath her fingertips. So the ship was paying attention to her. “Well then,” she said crossly. “Open up.” “It is locked for your safety.” She turned around, still leaning against the door because she needed it for support. Navarre appeared as worn as she. He didn’t even bother to prop himself up. “The Hunter will torture Nikki,” she said flatly. She knew his standard rebuttal. Nikki was not the Dragoon’s concern. She was. But he didn’t say that. “Quince would know if the Hunter harmed her. He hasn’t…yet.” “Yet” held too much fear for her. “He wants me.” She felt tears of frustration prick her eyes. Not now. She took a breath. Now she had to compose herself. “They are bound together. When Nikki dies, so will Quince,” Navarre said softly. He watched Quince’s chest rise and fall. “She lives.” And if she hadn’t dragged Quince back from the precipice, Nikki would have died as well. She saw the unspoken confirmation in Navarre’s eyes. What had the two of them done? “The idiots,” she muttered, but she didn’t mean it. “They are in love. Quince knew what he was doing.” “But did Nikki?” She stumbled away from the door. “What good is all the psi talent in the world, if it can’t protect us from the Hunter?” Navarre slid out of bed, wincing, and took her in his arms. “They both made a choice.” The Hunter would torture Nikki and they’d be forced to watch her anguish reflect back through Quince. Help me, she begged to anyone that might be listening. Hadn’t she fulfilled all they asked? Hadn’t the Hunter butchered the Dragoon’s Queens through the centuries? She reached out to Cerenth, to Mirium, to all the Queens she’d seen pictures of and to those she knew only by name. She had no experience with calling out to the dead, didn’t even know if it was possible, but the Dragoon had cannibalized too much of themselves to keep one of its own alive to risk sending them to fight the Hunter. Names had power and she intended to extort strength from whatever she could. “Cerenth,” she breathed again. The air around her thickened. “What are you conjuring?” Navarre wrapped his arms around her. “Remember the babies.” Together they sank to the floor, leaning against each other and the wall. Their
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minds touched and mingled. She pulled what remaining strength he had into her. He did not protest. Voices reached her. Not the voices of her babies, but the echoes of whispers through time. “Cerenth,” she called for a third time. A proud Queen and the grandmother of the children she now carried, certainly Cerenth had the most to gain or lose. Call the others, a voice commanded. Adrianne reached out to Altarre who spun it to Adonthe who passed it to Benito. The panel slid open. The other members of the Dragoon trickled in, kneeling beside her and Navarre. She was so horribly tired. She wanted nothing more than to lean back into Navarre’s arms and drift off to sleep. But the voices were growing in strength and number. They reached out, disembodied hands and flowing words. Some of the Dragoon spoke to the wraiths, leaning toward them with outstretched hands. She was too tired to try to translate. Benito’s face was sheer white. His lips moved rapidly, but soundlessly. Had he seen his own Queen? The hands reached out. She felt a whispery touch on her forehead and cheek. My daughter. The voice resonated within her, achingly familiar. “Mother,” she whispered, but the explicit touch was gone. To hear her voice and then be denied it once again was almost too much too bear. Tears streamed down her face. “Help us.” We will do what we can. And then they were gone. She ached for those women, for that sense of belonging. And she wept bitter tears. For once, she felt a part of them, a wisp of thread woven into the Queens’ fabric of history instead of a rogue thread drifting blind. Her men sat around her, stunned silent. But she felt the strength ebb and flow around them, like a gentle tide coming in. The power seeped into their weary bones, healed unseen wounds and gave them the resolve to go on. The Hunter must die this time. There could be no mistake.
***** Nikki’s first sensation was the smell of musty earth surrounding her. The blackness was so complete it possessed almost a weight of its own. The space she was in was cramped, her legs pressed together, hands at her side. She was lying flat on her back. She lifted her hands, fingers splayed, and tried to feel for her boundaries in the stifling blackness. Her fingertips immediately brushed a ceiling, directly above her chest. It felt like cardboard. She could not extend her arms, not even a fraction, without bumping against the sides of her confinement. Pushing against the cardboard roof, she felt it yield slightly, then the cardboard buckled as if under pressure, cramping her space even more.
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She whimpered. Where was Quince? And the memories flooded back. Hounds swarming the bar like rats escaping a flood. The sounds of breaking glass, flames, the flames were from Quince. She knew she killed or stunned one of the hounds with a cheap bottle of liquor. No sense wasting the good stuff. Quince appeared again, his backside to her, pressed against the bar. And then the Hunter strode into her mind’s eye, his grinning face, more skull than flesh, a silver sheen to what she could see of his facial bones beneath the hood. The Hunter’s hands reached for Quince’s neck. Hounds held down Quince’s arms, his wrists locked in their mouths. No, she didn’t want to think about this. She made herself not see the blood. She didn’t know how the gun got into her hand. She kept it beneath the bar for emergencies, a sissy-looking derringer meant to intimidate, nothing more. She had never used it. The Hunter had Quince by the throat now. She raised the gun, marveled at her steadiness and shot the Hunter point-blank in the face. Then the hounds swarmed over the top of the bar and she passed out. “Quince,” she whispered. The tangy metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. “Quince!” she screamed, putting every ounce of strength into both a physical and mental call, as he had taught her. The mind was a wonderful gift, he had told her. No boundaries could separate them. No distance was too great for those bound to one another. Quince’s big hands framed her face, his long fingers working magic. The last time she’d seen them they’d been covered in blood and hanging limply from the hounds’ mouths. No! She couldn’t, wouldn’t do this to herself. Quince lived, else she’d be dead too. He needed her. She was hyperventilating. Her fingers scrabbled over the top of the cardboard roof. Carefully, she clawed a hole, whittling away with her fingernails. Damn it, she’d just gotten her nails done too. Ow, she broke a nail. She put the finger to her mouth and tasted more blood. Just a little bit further, she promised herself. She tore at the last shred of cardboard. Something trickled through the hole, piling up on her bare midriff. It was dirt. She had been buried alive. All sane thought fled. She screamed until her voice gave out and then she sobbed.
***** Quince had to be strapped to his bed. His eyes were wide open and blank, muscles rigid. Adrianne lay over his body with Navarre, trying to press him flat. “You’ll hurt yourself,” she said through gritted teeth. “Quince, Quince!” Navarre muttered something in Labyrinthine, trying to soothe him and touch his mind at the same time. 169
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Altarre, meanwhile, worked hard to strap Quince’s arms down. Quince thrashed. Adrianne was closest to his head. She saw a brief glimmer of awareness flicker in Quince’s eyes. “Quince,” she said softly. She raised a hand to his cheek. “Nikki,” Quince murmured and laid his cheek in her hand. The gleam died and his eyes closed. “He was a fool to bond to a human,” Adrianne heard Vespero complain. “What is done cannot be undone.” Benito caught Adrianne’s elbow and helped her ease off Quince’s now-still form. Something inside Adrianne snapped like a signal flare and blazed to life. Rage foremost, but the niggling whisper of the former Queens’ taste for vengeance tugged at the fringes of her mind. Enough hunting. Enough death. Her unborn children would not grow up in a world riddled with fear. She turned to Navarre. “You touched his mind. Where is Nikki?” Navarre hesitated. “Do not lie to me,” she hissed. “The Hunter tortures Nikki and through her, Quince.” “And what about our unborn children? Are they worth so little to you that you’d willingly risk them?” he asked. Benito’s grip on her arm tightened. “Children? More than one?” “Don’t throw that in my face. I know the risks,” she insisted, ignoring Benito. She glared at Navarre. “You are young, inexperienced, pregnant and just emerging into your talent.” A thin trickle of sweat slipped down the side of Navarre’s face. She need not taste it to know it was fear. She was just as scared as he was. Her armpits were damp and her nightgown clung to her back. “Quince will die without her.” “He made his choice,” Benito said quietly at her left. “You cannot protect me from everything,” she whispered, eyes still focused on Navarre. “We cannot…I cannot bear to lose you.” He touched her cheek. “For the Gods’ sake, for the Queens’ sake, for the babies, please stay here.” “The Queens are with us,” she murmured. His gaze never wavered. “The Hunter is very strong.” She lifted her chin a fraction. “Our babies will not grow up in fear. Where will you draw the line?” “You are mine to protect. The Hunter shall not lay his hand upon you ever again.” “Isn’t Quince mine as well?” she protested.
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“One sacrificed for the safety of the whole group,” Benito murmured. “He will not die in vain.” “He will not die,” she insisted. “I won’t let him.” She finally saw the realization and fear reflected Navarre’s eyes. Benito touched her arm. “You must think of the babies.” She ignored him, her gaze locked with Navarre’s. He touched her cheek, her hair. His fingertips roved over her lips. “Where is Nikki?” she whispered. “In a place of dormant new life,” Navarre said. “Do not tell her!” Vespero shouted. But Navarre had already passed the image of it to her mind. She closed her eyes and leaned against Navarre. They held each other tight. It was too early in the season for anyone to be digging. The frost wasn’t even out of the ground yet. Unless the Hunter had hid Nikki at a construction site. Houses were built year-round and seeds lay hidden in the soil, waiting for warm weather. Graves were dug year-round too. She shuddered. Neither felt right. Come on, give me something to go on, she pleaded to no one in particular but Mirium’s face came to mind. A calm settled over her. It was a place of dormant life. A nursery, of course! Raising her head, she faced the Dragoon. “We’re going hunting.” The war room of the ship was packed with an array of weaponry Adrianne had never seen before. The men grimly donned their armor, silver polished breastplates and chain mail so fine that when light struck it, it glittered like thousands of fireflies. “Come with me.” Navarre took her hand and led her to an inner chamber. “Here lies the Queens’ armor.” Dropping her hand, he shut the door behind them. Here was quite an abbreviation of armor and weaponry when compared to the men’s chamber. The feel of history in this room weighed heavily on her. Shreds of the Queens’ essences clung to the ancient armor, whispered of battles won and lost. She touched a bit of chain mail as fine as liquid silver and knew it to be Cerenth’s. A short set of double blades hanging on the wall beckoned to her but she didn’t know how to use them. The power that radiated from that pair of blades, though, whispered of vengeance. Yes, vengeance was to be theirs tonight. She was just a channel for the Queens. She wasn’t prepared for Navarre to pull her into his arms, or for the desperateness of his kiss. She clung to his shoulders. “Do not do this,” he pleaded. “Stay with Quince.” He framed her face with his hands.
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She had never seen him beg before. The look in his eyes made her heart both swell and break. “I must,” she whispered, brushing her fingertip across his lips. “The Queens will aid us.” He shook his head. “We can find Nikki alone, I swear it. Stay here where it is safe.” She laid her finger across his lips to silence him further. “I cannot sit still and watch Quince die.” A few tears slipped down her cheeks. “Dragons don’t cry, but I still do. Why is that?” “Sh’niedra.” He dropped his head to her shoulder. They held each other for a long time.
***** A group of eleven dragons drifted quietly through the night, their wings slicing the moonlight. Adrianne wondered if the others could feel the crackling of energy like she did. Sometimes she thought she glimpsed the shadows of otherworldly wings, that instead of just eleven dragons, squadrons filled the sky, their bodies casting moonlit shadows on the ground below them. She prayed Quince would live through the night. She prayed for Benito, griefstricken by the glimpse of his dead Queen. And Adonthe as well, left to tend both dragon men incapacitated by wounds neither she nor Altarre could heal. But most fervently of all, she prayed for Nikki. A drift of white canvases streamed beneath her, row after row of white-hooped greenhouses. This was their third nursery. It looked ominous enough in the moonlit darkness but so did the others. This one, however, possessed mounds of fresh dirt and mulch, a good sign. It pained her to think she didn’t have the kind of mental ties to Nikki that Quince shared with her. She tried to contact Nikki repeatedly, but failed. The failure leeched into her little well of courage, unsettling her more than she’d like. But there was no turning back. Adrianne landed first, considerably more graceful than her first-ever attempt. Navarre was close to her side. He waited in dragon form while she changed into the armor she’d carried in her forepaws, then shifted himself and followed suit. His armor sparkled like starfire in the moonlight. He wore a helm which hid all but his eyes and lips from her. Every joint, even his neck, was protected by the same shiny metal covering her as well. It rippled as she moved, conforming to her body. He grasped her hand once, gave it a brief squeeze, then separated. She had thought about bringing a gun, but she didn’t own one. Somehow she didn’t think a mere bullet could stop something as evil as the Hunter. He’d touched her and she lived, no small feat. But that touch alone let her know how vile a creature he truly was. The plastic greenhouse fabric crackled in the evening breeze. The last of the Dragoon hadn’t even landed yet when the Hunter and his hounds struck.
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Vespero fell from the sky, in a hail of white lights that sounded like harmless firecrackers but obviously weren’t. Adrianne dropped to a crouch and rolled. Hounds burst from all sides, climbing over mulch piles and emerging from between the rows of the greenhouses. Had they multiplied since they last met? She spotted the source of the white “firecrackers”. Take that. She sent a trail of fire skittering from her hand over the pile of mulch, setting the wood chips smoldering. Behind the pile, she heard firecrackers erupt, an ammo cache lit ablaze. A hound’s flaming body sailed over her crouched form. “Careful, my Erifydal.” Navarre reached for her hand and tugged her away from the melee. “Where is he?” “This way.” They ran, half crouched, down the length of a greenhouse, emerging closer to the ring of mulch piles. Her armor burned into her skin. She looked down. It glowed a milky white, casting a luminance she hadn’t noticed before. The Hunter was waiting for them. A chipper-shredder hummed quietly beside him, its maw empty for the moment. In front of it lay a coffin-shaped box. Adrianne’s heart stopped. Nikki! “We meet again, Dragoness,” the Hunter said. Whether he spoke out loud or in her head, she didn’t know, but his trace oozed over her like some viscous oil. “A reckless mistake to bring them all to me,” he continued. “But so kind of you.” He extended one hand. Beside her, Navarre dropped to his knees, his fingers slipping through her grasp. He put one hand on the ground to support himself. Jade fire spread from where he touched the ground, crackling around them. Sweat broke out on his forehead, but he kept his lips pressed tightly closed. She tried to touch his mind. It was like sticking one’s hand into a blazing inferno. “He tries so valiantly.” The Hunter shook his head and turned to her. “Get up,” she pleaded, dropping to her knees beside Navarre. She tugged at his elbow. “Time to choose, Dragoness. Come to me and I will release your friend, but your mate dies. Help him and she dies.” The Hunter kicked the box closer to the chippershredder. She heard part of the box strike the shredder’s teeth. A grinding noise erupted and splinters flew out the back of the machine. Beside her, Navarre gasped, his skin turning a ghastly shade of gray. She chose.
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White fire licked from her hands and armor to Navarre, bathing his face in light. The crackled jade power emanating from his hand solidified. The Hunter chuckled. She heard the tear of the shredder as it ground up the board, then the wet slick noise it made as it hit flesh. Nikki, forgive me. The power in her blazed up. The fire leaped from her breastplate and hand, striking the Hunter in the chest. Part of her mentally reached for the shredder’s controls and tried frantically to turn them off. The Hunter laughed. His laughter shattered her fragile confidence, sending her focused ray of power skittering out in all directions. The box was sucked the rest of the way through the shredder. Bits of blood, wood and flesh spattered everything. Navarre suddenly gripped both her hands. Jade mingled with pearl and the column of power between them doubled in size, still aimed at the Hunter. The Hunter took one step backward. Only one. The quiet rage in her built. A hound leaped at them from the greenhouse roof. She merely looked at it and it burst into flames. And still the rage grew. It wasn’t hers alone. She knew that with the part of her mind that recoiled at the sheer effluence of the emotion. The Queens wanted vengeance. Beneath her feet grass burst forth from the ground and cut a swath across the frozen earth to the Hunter, sprouting between the Hunter’s boots. Where it touched him, though, it immediately died. “Cute parlor trick, Dragoness, but ineffective.” The Hunter regained his footing and raised his hand to ward off their combined attack. She was no longer just herself, but the Queen of the Dragoon, a shell of herself and a storehouse for all the other Queens who went before her. She called out and more grass sprang to life as well as other forms of life, creeping vines and flowers that had never been seen before in man’s lifetime. A wraith stepped forth from the pearl burst of white on her breastplate, her hair crimson fire, her face but a flickery shadow in the moonlight. Adrianne collapsed into Navarre’s arms, but the calling continued, draining her. She felt as if her very soul was being spun out, threadlike, extending life to these Queens of the past she now birthed. Another wraith appeared at her left. “Mirium.” Her lips formed the word but she didn’t have the strength to speak. Navarre echoed her. And then there was too many Queens to count, all dressed in white flowing robes so bright her eyes wept. Their faces were shadowed, but their intent was clear. “What have you wrought?” the Hunter hissed. He took another step backward.
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Then the wraiths mobbed him and he was hidden from her view. With a roar from the Hunter and a fierce screech from the chipper-shredder, the Hunter was shoved into the machine. Other members of the Dragoon appeared, sinking to their knees before Navarre and Adrianne. The shredder ground to a halt. Silence. The wraiths pooled into silvery puddles and poured back into Adrianne, spiraling into the breastplate of her armor like water down a drain. The sprouted grass and tangle of ancient vines browned and died. Adrianne lay still in Navarre’s arms, his body cupped protectively over hers. Altarre tentatively touched her. “Dragoness?” All they heard were her racking sobs.
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Chapter Twenty Nikki took short shallow breaths and kept her eyes squeezed shut. Somehow the blackness didn’t seem nearly as stifling if her eyes were closed. If she didn’t move, she prayed the cardboard box wouldn’t buckle more than it already had and whatever had plugged the hole she dug through her “roof” would remain plugged. A thin film of condensation lined the roof. Occasionally, a drip would spatter on her face. She was hungry, thirsty, stiff and terrified, although the terror was rapidly morphing into despair. If Quince was dead or dying, she might as well be too. She never thought she’d feel that way about a man, but it was true. Except she didn’t think she wanted to die starved to death and buried alive somewhere. Who else would notice her missing before it was too late? Her employees? Yes, but they’d have no idea where to look for her. A long time later or maybe it was only a brief excruciating blink of time, she had no concept of time anymore, she heard someone call her name. “Go away. I’m trying to die so I can go find Quince,” she muttered. The voice in her mind sounded amused. And if there is no afterlife? “Quince!” She forgot where she was and tried to sit upright. The box lid groaned under its weight. Dirt started spilling in through her hole. “Quince!” she repeated, her voice a half sob. Easy, lady. He sounded tired. I think I feel your signature now. “Get me out of here. Oh God, I’ll do anything, anything, just get me out!” Be still for me. I know where you are. His presence vanished. “No, don’t go. Please don’t go!” Tears tried to spill down her cheeks but all her body could manage were a few salty traces of wetness. The wait was interminable, the darkness like the blackest corner of hell. The dirt continued to slide into her box. She shoved it back toward her feet as best she could. When she couldn’t pack it back any farther, she tried plugging the hole with her fingers. The entire lid buckled and collapsed against her. The air sucked out of her lungs. It felt like a giant hand was crushing her flat. Quince! It was her last thought.
***** “You don’t look like a shrink,” Haynes said to the man who waited for him in his boss’s office. He looked more like a bad caricature. His nose was prominent, a plastic 176
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surgeon’s dream, his eyes dark and hidden beneath a set of thick dark chocolate eyebrows. An enlarged Adam’s apple bobbed as he finished swallowing his coffee. A file folder sat open in front of him. He rested his hands on the folder, thick meaty hands. Not the hands of a pencil pusher—they were too scarred. “Quick eye,” he noted, rising and extending his hand. “Agent Roger Cliverson. I was assigned to your case. I know that must be hard on you. You have an excellent track record.” His grip was firm. “You can take it,” Haynes muttered, shaking his head. “Have you ever seen anything like it?” “Not exactly, but there are similarities to other cases.” Cliverson smiled. “All confidential, of course.” “Of course.” Haynes hovered nervously above his chair. “Please have a seat. Coffee?” “No. I just want to dump this and get on with my life.” “I understand. It’s an odd blemish on an otherwise spotless career.” Haynes sat, toying with his hands in his lap. What about Cliverson made him so nervous? Or was it just this case? He took a deep breath. Kitzerow and Harris, he reminded himself. He had written the names on the palm of his left hand. Cliverson lifted a piece of paper from the folder and scanned it. Then he set it down. “Are you going to try to hypnotize me?” Haynes asked finally when the silence became unbearable. “It didn’t work on the other two agents. Why should I believe it’d work on you?” Then why was he here? “I’m sorry. I can’t remember much.” Cliverson laid his palms flat on the desk. “I’d like to inject you.” Haynes straightened. “What?” “Think of it as a truth serum, but one for your subconscious. There are no side effects. And if you wish, it can be used to wipe this whole case out of your memory.” To not see the hotel clerk missing his heart or hear from the lab that it looked like said heart leaped free from the man’s chest of its own initiative. “Agent Haynes.” Haynes looked up. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.” “There are other bodies turning up that appear to fit into this case.” Cliverson slid him a stack of glossy 8x10 photos. He didn’t want to touch them. He’d seen death in just about all its grisly forms. There was just something about this case that screamed, Run! Passing his hand over his face, he took a deep breath to steady himself. Cliverson was watching him closely. The first photo was of a woman, mid-twenties, in a jogging outfit. Her throat was missing and so was her heart. Haynes’ hand shook. He set the photo down. The next one was of
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a man, perhaps a sanitation worker judging by his uniform. He was missing his throat. His head bobbled loose on a rather gnawed-looking spinal column. Haynes set the photo down and looked up. “I don’t recognize any of these people.” “Nor should you.” Cliverson steepled his fingers. “Agents Byers and Lampson refused the injection. I wanted to stress the importance of your cooperation.” “You made your point.” He shoved the stack of photos away. “There are a number of missing women as well. Higher than average. We have reason to believe they’re tied to this as well.” There was probably a war room somewhere just dedicated to this case, photos tacked all over the wall. He didn’t want to be injected. He didn’t want to remember. But he also didn’t want to forget. Haynes met Cliverson’s gaze. He began to roll up the sleeve of his dress shirt. “Go ahead. Let’s get this bloody thing over with.”
***** Nikki gasped. Quince drew her out of the mulch pile grave and buried his face in her hair. Her arms didn’t seem to work right. She hugged him awkwardly and felt him flinch. “Quince,” she breathed. “I thought, I thought you were dead.” “Hush now.” His lips were in her hair, on her cheeks and touching her eyelids. She felt something sticky through his shirt. “You’re hurt!” He drew back long enough to look her in the eyes. “I am alive and so are you. Nothing else matters.” They leaned against each other for a long time, just breathing in each other’s scent, and whispering promises and fears to one another. Finally, she turned his head to face her and murmured, “Don’t take this the wrong way or think me foolish, but I love you.” She smiled. “I don’t know if you understand its meaning or not, but I do.” “I know what it means here.” He touched her forehead. “And here.” He touched her heart. She felt tears prick her eyes. “What a sappy pair we make.” The quixotic warrior and the romantic fetish bar owner personas would never survive in the real world. “It will be our secret.” Behind them, someone applauded. “Bravo, bravo.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw Adonthe, a very disgruntled Adonthe covered in mud with dirt packed beneath his normally perfectly manicured nails. “I think it is time we found our Queen.” “Adonthe.” She reached out to him.
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He pulled back, hands up to ward her off. “You are a fright. Clean up first.” “You silly twit.” She gave him a hug anyway. She felt drunk. Her limbs just didn’t seem to work right. Adonthe and Quince steadied her, but she noticed Quince leaning heavily on Adonthe as well. “How bad are you hurt?” she asked him, anxious. “He would have died had our Queen not been there,” Adonthe said. “Quiet.” Quince shot him a black stare. Now that she was surrounded by her friends, she felt some of her confidence slink back. “Apparently the gunshot to the face only pissed the Hunter off, huh?” Quince’s lips quirked. “It was very brave of you.” She tried to not remember the shreds of flesh and silver bone after the gun went off. Thankfully, her mind blocked most of it out. “Thanks, I thought so.” “But ineffective,” Adonthe added. “Here we are.” They rounded a pile of mulch and found the other members of the Dragoon hunkered around Adrianne. “By the First Queen, is she dead?” Adonthe loosened his grip on Quince and Nikki and raced to Adrianne’s side. Nikki and Quince clung to each other for support. “Quince,” Nikki whispered. “I do not know. I cannot feel her,” he replied, answering her unspoken question. “She can’t be dead. She can’t be!” Nikki balled her hands into fists. Quince wrapped his hands around her fists and buried his face in her hair. “Wait, love, wait,” he breathed, ruffling her hair. “She’s tough, our Queen, your Adri. Just wait.” Adrianne sat upright on her own. She needed to or she was going to be violently ill all over Navarre. When she thought about the box going through the chippershredder… No, she couldn’t process what she saw, the blood, the splinters, it was too much. Her mind shut off and refused to play back the scene. “You are alive,” she heard Adonthe exclaim with relief. She wasn’t quite up to speed with everything going on, but she was certain of a few things. One, the Hunter was dead. Two, Nikki was dead. And three, she had left Adonthe with Quince and Benito at the ship. She swiveled her head on a neck that felt too wobbly to support a cotton ball let alone the throbbing melon that was supposed to function as her head. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t sound like a Queen. She sounded like a cranky child who missed her afternoon nap. “I…I…” Adonthe straightened his shoulders. “Quince forced me. I tried to stop him.” 179
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She waved him off before he could finish. She’d forgotten about Quince. She didn’t want to know how he died. She put her hand on her belly. The babies were quiet, but she knew they were there, listening and watching, and forming an impression of their mother. It’s okay. We’ll all be okay, she said to them, but her grief threatened to overshadow even their existence. Quince would understand. He knew the importance of one’s duty. “I am sorry about Quince,” she said wearily. “What do you mean?” Adonthe looked over his shoulder. “I left him two steps behind me and he is in no condition to escape further.” “What?” She bolted to her feet and nearly fell back down. But…Nikki…she’d seen the box go through the shredder. How could Quince be alive? She didn’t think she could walk, let alone think clearly. Navarre, moving nearly as drunkenly as she, slipped his arm around her waist. Quince’s back was turned to them, head bent. “Quince,” she called. He turned at the sound of her voice, his arms wrapped around someone. Adrianne’s heart skipped a beat. She recognized that spiky head of hair. “Nikki?” It came out a raw whisper. Nikki lifted her head off Quince’s chest. Her face was smudged with dirt as was her clothes. “Hey, nice of you to drop by.” She needed Navarre’s and Adonthe’s steadying grips on her elbows to make her way to Nikki’s side. “Don’t you ever do that again.” She hugged Nikki fiercely. “That I can promise you,” Nikki said fervently and squeezed her back.
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Chapter Twenty-One Nikki had just finished scrubbing the last of the dried blood off her floor when she felt the hair stand up on her arms. Sheesh, she was getting as bad as Adrianne. What had those aliens done to her? Her lips curved. What hadn’t one particular alien done to her? Focus now. Get your mind out of the gutter. Despite the protests from Adonthe, she insisted on cleaning her place up herself. The Beast was hers alone. She raised her head and looked around carefully. Quince was asleep in a chaise lounge she’d set up on the dance floor far away from her ruined bar, her grandmother’s crocheted afghan partially draped over his body. There were several silhouettes in the front entryway of the bar. She sighed. Press or police? That was the sixty-million-dollar question. She took her time straightening up, appraising the men under lowered lashes. They didn’t remind her of the FBI, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Two uniformclad men and two plainclothes men waited for her. Police, then. After dealing with the voracious appetite of the press, she was almost relieved it was the police. Almost. A phone call a week ago had sent the police to the nursery where they found Nikki alone. It was one of the best acting jobs of her life. The story was she had dug her way out of the mulch pile, which incidentally, held several more grisly bodies of women cached for later unknown purposes, broke into the nursery office and placed the 9-1-1 call. She couldn’t identify the killer’s face. She didn’t know who or what was put through the chipper-shredder. Basically, she was the quintessential damsel in distress. She thought the police had fallen for it. Judging by the men standing at her door, she hadn’t been convincing enough. Leaving the chain latch in place, she opened the door a crack. “I’m sorry, Officer. The Beast won’t be open this weekend.” The younger of the two uniform-clad officers choked back a snicker. The other uniformed officer sent him a black stare and turned politely to Nikki. “Ma’am, we’re here regarding your abduction.” “Of course. Have you found the killer? Those poor women.” She undid the chain latch and let them into the bar. Glancing discreetly over her shoulder, she noticed that the chaise lounge was now empty. Good. She didn’t want to have to explain Quince’s presence to the police. Nor his injuries. The older of the two officers cleared his throat. “We believe he’s deceased. Tissue collected from your establishment and some of the machinery at the nursery match. We’re really here to just introduce you to these two gentlemen and if you feel comfortable, be on our way.”
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She waited. “These are Agents Cliverson and Baker, from the FBI.” What happened to Haynes and his cronies? Were they kicked off the case when they turned up at Lake Superior? She wished she could have been there to see the looks on their faces. Cliverson looked to be about her age, with a smattering of crow’s-feet around his eyes, well-defined laugh lines and deep creases in his forehead. His dark hair was mostly gray now, but his brows remained thick and chocolate brown. A prominent nose, thin lips and an enlarged Adam’s apple completed the look. He wore a wellpressed navy shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and a thick wool overcoat. Baker was young and good-looking with a trace of arrogance in his manner that spoke volumes about how women treated him. His blond hair was slightly longer than average, curly, with gel obviously worked through the mop. Piercing blue eyes watched her from beneath sandy lashes. She hated men who naturally had lashes longer than hers. She kept her face composed. “Oh?” “They belong to a special task force and are often assigned to cases like this one.” “Multiple murder cases?” she asked. The older officer looked nervous. “Well, not exactly.” “May we sit?” Cliverson asked politely. “Sure.” She laid her folded cleaning cloth on a stool and waved them to a table. The FBI looked pointedly at the officers. The older officer glared back. “If you need anything, we’ll be outside,” the older officer offered. “I don’t have much to offer, but I do have coffee. Would you like some while you wait?” “That would be nice,” he replied, despite the glare from Cliverson. She moved to the bar and filled both officers’ mugs. “Cream? Sugar?” “No, thank you. Again, if you need anything, we’ll be outside.” She laid her hand over his. “I appreciate the concern. I just don’t feel safe anymore,” she said softly. Was she laying on the damsel-in-distress bit too thick? Nope, it was the right words to say. “We’ll be looking out for you, Miss Kitzerow.” The uniformed pair left with their hot coffee. She knew quite a few members of the police force who attended her private parties. While she closely guarded all her clients’ information, she wouldn’t hesitate to start revealing names in order to save herself and The Beast. A few phone calls to the right people had gotten the worst of the press off her back. She returned to the table and sat, waiting for the FBI to make the first move. They appeared unaccustomed to that type of patience. Serenity was not one of her strong
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suits, either, but Quince’s bedroom sessions had taught her more than interesting sexual positions. “Ms. Kitzerow, do you know why we are here?” “Because there’s been a series of murders?” she asked innocently. Cliverson was trying hard to be the grandfatherly type while Baker watched her reactions carefully. “Not exactly. We investigate unusual cases, things that may involve unexplainable events.” She brightened. “Like The X-Files?” Both agents visibly cringed. One point for the dumb pretty woman act. “Ms. Kitzerow, when was the last time you saw your friend, Adrianne Harris?” “Mmm, probably a week or two ago.” She inspected her nails, then laid her hands carefully on the table. Her manicurist actually had to apply falsies. She hadn’t had fake nails since she was twelve. It was almost as bad a deception as finding out a particularly curvaceous blonde stuffed herself with tissue. If the Hunter was still alive, she’d have shot him again for the damage he inflicted on her hands and the horrible lie she was forced to live with. That thumbnail didn’t look quite right. She picked at it. She wished Adrianne could see her now. Adri thought she couldn’t handle the police. Well, after being buried alive, the police were nothing. “She’s married now,” she added, as if an afterthought. Baker leaned forward. “Do you know her whereabouts?” Nikki shook her head, smiling. “Sorry. Her husband’s a bit eccentric and quite possessive of her at the moment, being newlyweds and all.” “How long have you known Adrianne?” Cliverson asked. “Five years.” “In that time has she done anything strange? Anything that didn’t seem quite right? Like Wiccan, the occult, voodoo, a fascination with paranormal, holding séances?” Nikki didn’t have to fake surprise. They actually had a division of the FBI that pursued things like that? “No. What do those things have to do with Adrianne?” “I can’t really say right now,” Cliverson said. “Is this house haunted? Anything strange happen while Adrianne lived here, things like lights flickering on and off, doors opening and closing of their own accord, cold drafts coming from nowhere? Take your time answering.” Nikki laughed. She hoped it didn’t sound forced. “I don’t believe in that kind of thing.” “But you do have quite some elaborate parties here,” Baker pointed out. She leaned back in her chair, her face now a cold mask. “Yes, I do host private parties. We most certainly don’t sit around trying to call back dead relatives or sacrifice
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cats to the gods.” She stood. “Gentlemen, I wish you well on whatever tangent you’re taking. I’m not sure where you’re going.” Both agents stood as well. “It is a criminal offense to deliberately block an investigation,” Baker said. She found herself shaking, whether from fear or anger she didn’t know. “We live in America where everyone is innocent until proven guilty. Am I guilty of something? How about Adrianne?” Baker met her gaze, defiant. She raised her chin. Cliverson looked thoughtful. “Ms. Kitzerow, does your breadth of knowledge in the fetish industry also encompass the laws surrounding BDSM?” She resented their intimidation attempts immediately, but she was no fool and she wasn’t about to push their buttons while they were standing inside her bar. “I retain a lawyer,” she said quietly. “Everything I do is legal.” “So far as we can tell, you’re correct,” Cliverson said. “Clever lawyer. Have a good day, Ms. Kitzerow.” They were barely out of the building when Quince emerged from her office. “I don’t think it would be wise to make them forget too,” she said. He put his finger to his lips to shush her. Walking stiffly to where the agents had been seated, he flipped over the table. He plucked off a small object that looked like a wad of chewing gum, dropped it on the floor and crushed it. “Listening device,” he murmured. Nikki’s eyes widened. It hadn’t occurred to her that the FBI would do that to her. How naïve could she be? “My phones are probably tapped too, huh?” “They have been for some time.” Well, that meant they had part of her client list then. “Wait a sec. You knew they were tapped and you didn’t tell me?” He shrugged. “It is trivial.” “To you maybe, but not to me. What else haven’t you told me?” He simply turned and walked away. She caught the slight limp he tried to hide from her, the limp he earned protecting her from the Hunter. She was an idiot. “Quince, wait.” She caught up to him. “Sit down. You’re hurt.” She laid her hand on his biceps and tugged him back to his chaise lounge. He settled himself on the chair without protest. She draped the afghan over his lap, then pulled up a stool. “So what do we do about them?” “The only way they will find Adrianne is through you.” And only if Adrianne left the safety of the ship or they tracked her to the ship. “We’ll have to be very careful, then, won’t we?”
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Adrianne didn’t look pregnant but she certainly felt so. Altarre continued to insist that everything was progressing as normal, but what did he know? He wasn’t stuck eating copious amounts of raw meat nor was he kept awake by her babies’ incessant chatter. How did she manage to let herself get talked into getting pregnant? Pity was a dangerous emotion. When she figuratively waddled into the dining chamber, she was in a foul mood, uncomfortable and irrationally seeking to make each and every member of the Dragoon feel as she did. She knew they could feel her discomfort through their shared mental link, just as she knew when Quince overexerted himself. It didn’t stop her from wanting to broadcast her misery. Self-pity was even more lethal. She wasn’t expecting everyone to be crowded around a table, waiting in hushed excitement. Benito stepped out of the way, revealing a miniature model of a mansion. She stopped, shocked. Turning to Navarre, she asked, “Did you know about this?” He smiled. His smile always made her knees weak. She dropped beside the model. It looked like a cross between a castle and a Victorian mansion. Ornate turrets rose from the corners. Several wings spawned off the monstrosity and yet it retained a certain elegance she didn’t think the Dragoon were capable of. A square central courtyard, windows that ran from floor to ceiling and shutters built from popsicle sticks stared back at her. She glanced at Adonthe. He winked. She’d been craving popsicles for weeks now. In fact, she felt the urge for one right now. “The nursery will be here,” Benito said, pointing out a wing. “You and your Chosen will have private quarters here as will each member of the Dragoon.” She touched her fingertip to a fountain. “A common area,” Benito added. “However, Adonthe thought to add a special place for your own private garden here and an herb and vegetable bed here. But I doubt we will have time to complete the landscaping before the snow falls again.” “It’s amazing. Can you really do all this? Do we have the land and the money?” “The land is purchased. We have begun clearing it. Some of the trees will be used in the construction.” Benito’s smile was smug. “Your currency is not an issue.” “The outer perimeter will not be nearly as aesthetically pleasing,” Henley added. “We will plant thorn trees as an initial deterrent. A fence will then be laid within that perimeter.” A little wonderment to bedazzle her so she wouldn’t think she was still a captive. That wasn’t any way to think about her family now. But it was true. She shook her head. “All I can say is wow. This must be a decorating dream come true for you, Adonthe.” “Or a night terror,” he said cheerfully.
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Benito turned away from the miniature. “Until it is built, we will house the nursery underground beneath the ship. The hatching floor is almost ready for you. Do you wish to see it as well?” Her little prison where she’d incubate her eggs for six months? Who wouldn’t? “Yes, yes, of course.” Navarre discreetly took her elbow, easing her to her feet. The Dragoon seemed unable to see enough of her, as if they constantly wished to be reassured of her pregnancy. She and Navarre rarely even ate their breakfast alone now and her raw meat lunches in dragon form were a mini-circus. They all followed her through the belly of the ship now to the hatching floor. Even the ship had accommodated itself to her pregnancy, making its ramps more gently sloped. Her walks were now supervised. She wondered if Quince felt left out. With the Hunter dead, she indicated he could return to the ship but he chose to remain with Nikki. Points to him for that. She doubted death could even separate that pair. The hatching floor was brightly lit and baked warm, its roof, the underbelly of the ship. A pile of sand was mounded in the center. She bent and ran her fingers through it. It was a fine white beach sand. Navarre stooped beside her. “We brought it in, one bucketful at a time, under the cover of darkness. It is sterilized.” She let a handful of sand trickle through her fingers. “What are you thinking?” Navarre asked softly. “I am scared.” She didn’t meet his eyes. He frowned, eyes filled with concern. “Forgive us if we hover. We are all anxious.” “Except Vespero. He’s already trying to pick the best matches and promising our daughters out.” “Do not waste your thoughts on him,” Navarre said. She sat in the sand. It was warm and made her drowsy. “Soon, I think.” She let her mind drift. “I should probably start sleeping here.” He sat beside her, one arm wrapped around her shoulder, the other resting lightly on her knee. Steady, calm, dependable Navarre. Nothing like Quince’s glimmer of danger she saw reflected in Nikki’s eyes. Did she really want that or just the taste of it? “As you wish. I will join you, of course.” He waited a moment, an uncertain edge to his voice. “Do you feel that your time is near?” She took his hand and squeezed it, letting her mind twine through his thoughts. Was he really that calm or was his façade really that good? After all, he had an extra, oh, seventy years or so to perfect his mental shields. And they were flawless. “Help me up, please.” She turned to the group. “Thank you.” Beyond the sand lay packed clay. Rocks ringed what she could only guess to be an enclosure of some sort. Navarre followed her gaze. “We will take care of the dragonets at hatching. You need not be present.”
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“They’re mine too. Don’t mollycoddle me.” The façade slipped. “The dragonets will want fresh meat,” he said bluntly. “This will hold the livestock.” She blanched, swallowing hard. “Can we raise them as vegetarians?” The look he gave her was soft. “I am sorry. It is simply the way we are.” She sighed. It was hard to argue with that. And, as she had found in her dragon form, raw meat was more appealing than any salad they could have offered her. She shuddered slightly. It wasn’t a side of herself she liked to think about. After supper, the Dragoon retired to the hatching floor. No matter what she did or ate, she felt bloated and awkward. Navarre coaxed her into her dragon shape, then changed as well. In this form, her pregnancy was obvious, belly distended uncomfortably. She stretched out as best as she was able, Navarre cradling her head and neck against his shoulder, their tails entwined. The babies were unusually quiet. She as well as the Dragoon knew she’d slipped into “the window”. The eggs could be laid any time now without worrying about shells not being well-developed or egg sacs too small. About midnight, she was awakened by a gentle rumbling low in Navarre’s throat. At first she thought it the dragon equivalent of a snore, then she saw that his whirling jade eyes were watching her. It is time, he explained, his voice a bit unsteady. The tip of his tail twitched. Wouldn’t she know if it was time? You think so, she retorted. She needed to lighten up. She felt too much like the Wicked Witch of late. But it was hard to feel cutesy pie and sweet when carting around a bellyful of eggs. Then the first convulsion racked her body. Damn Navarre for always being right. She bit back a vocal cry, but could not hide her mental pain. She felt the others watching her from the shadows of the hatching floor. Another labor pain washed through her. She moaned. Easy, my love. Navarre nuzzled her neck with his nose. Her whole body felt as if it were being torn asunder. She raised her head, arched her back and shrieked. This time it was very vocal. The contraction continued, undulating through her. The first one comes, Altarre said excitedly. Navarre pressed himself tight to her side, despite her extended claws. She was glad for his support. I will not leave you, he promised. She shrilled. The first egg plopped into the pile of soft sand. She swung her neck around to stare at it. It was a pearlescent gray, the shell rubbery-looking and slathered in what looked like the dragon equivalent of petroleum jelly. Ugh. If any sort of motherly instinct was supposed to kick in at this moment, it failed her. Henley, in his deep navy almost-black-as-a-moon-bereft-night dragon form, crept toward her egg, belly flat to the ground, wings tightly tucked to his back. Carefully, he 187
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eased to her side and curled himself around her egg. Primal instinct seized her just prior to the next labor pain. She growled at Henley, lashing out with her foreclaws. Navarre blocked her. He will keep your egg warm until you are ready to do so yourself. Her reply was an inarticulate growl. Then the next wave hit her and she could only whimper and thrash. Nine more eggs passed this way. She wished she could die. Her scales had a dull sheen to them. She no longer thrashed. She lacked the energy to do more than lift her head. Benito joined Navarre, sandwiching her between them. Together they fed her their strength, murmuring words of encouragement. Eggs eleven through fifteen passed in this manner. Now, she knew she was going to die. She felt like she was pushing her insides out. She closed her eyes. You must hang on, sh’niedra, my Queen, my lover. Our babies will die elsewise. The others joined Navarre, touching her mind, Navarre their buffer. She was so cold. Twenty, Altarre murmured. Please let me sleep, she begged. She stood at the edge of the black maw she’d brought Quince back from. Naked, in human form, she watched as the ground crumbled beneath her bare feet. The blackness promised warmth and more importantly, peace. Was this what she’d dragged Quince away from? No wonder he hadn’t helped her. The maw extended thick dark arms toward her, gibbering softly. She didn’t understand its words, only its inarticulate promises. She took a step toward it, hand outstretched. Her arm looked so delicate in this world, as if a simple breeze could snap the bone beneath the pale skin. Navarre blocked her from tumbling over the edge, his mental arms wrapped tightly around her. If you slip, I shall go with you, Navarre said. And I. Adonthe nudged her. Henley lifted his head off her pile of eggs. I, too. The others echoed him. She lacked the strength to fight them. Damn them all. The last egg slipped out of her. She lay still. It is over! Altarre proclaimed with obvious relief. The black maw beckoned again. She was too tired to inch herself closer to the brink. Slowly, she let herself be tugged back from its edge. The maw vanished. She slid into an exhausted sleep. When she woke, she was at least warm. She opened one eye. She was still in her dragon form. Navarre, Benito, and Henley were curled around and over her body. Graycet and Percet were wrapped around a pulsating pile of silvery eggs half buried in the sand several feet from her. She lacked the energy to even lift her head. Navarre opened his eyes. They whirled, jade rainbows dancing in their depths.
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You didn’t let me go, she said softly. I might as well be dead without you. Had she been in human form, she’d have blushed or worse, cried. We did it, she said, changing the subject. She basked in the effervescence of pride he sent her way. Benito echoed that. Well done, my Queen. Henley stirred, easing himself off her body. I will fetch you something to eat. Thank you. I’m not sure I have the strength to change. Then do not try. Navarre’s voice was stern. He snuggled deeper against her, wrapping his tail around her. No raw meat, she pleaded, though she knew her dragon form wouldn’t mind. Henley laughed, his voice a rumble in her mind. How about eggs? Her stomach rolled uneasily. No eggs either. Navarre lifted his head and hissed at Henley. Do not tease my mate. Henley abased himself, belly pressed flat to the sands as he slunk away. Adrianne heard him mumbling to himself, but Navarre either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore it. My babies. She never thought she’d miss their voices in her head. They are well-guarded. Rest for a bit, sh’neidra. I should go to them, she insisted. Navarre reluctantly let her go. She half crawled, half dragged herself to the pile of eggs. Graycet and Percet moved aside to let her curl herself partially around the eggs. Navarre joined her, completing the protective circle. They are very rubbery, she remarked, nosing one. Can you hear me? she asked the top egg. I can, Adonthe said distantly. He was busy shoveling food into a sack for Henley. You are broadcasting. Navarre growled low in his throat. She felt Adonthe cringe. Did you all survive the trip? she asked the eggs. A sleepy incoherent response met her query. She sighed in relief. That was all she needed to know at the moment. Lowering her head, she rested it on the eggs.
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Chapter Twenty-Two Agent Cliverson set a cup of coffee beside Baker and took a seat opposite him. Most days he loved his job but working with a pup barely half his age made him feel old. How many times had he wished Haynes had kept the case? Cliverson had reviewed his records. Haynes was a good, solid agent. Only Haynes didn’t work on bogeyman-type cases. Cliverson did. And now, apparently, so did Baker. He sighed. Of all the cases to have a rookie assigned to, why did his handlers choose this one and why Baker? The boy was barely an agent long enough to put a crease in his badge leather. Cliverson’s office was a picture of organized chaos. File boxes lined one wall, floor to ceiling, locked, of course. His window was too small to even support plant life, but was big enough to create an irritating glare on his computer monitor so he kept the blinds always drawn. A 1700s world map sprawled along one wall, complete with drawings of the supposed sea monsters which lurked beyond land. A much more recent tectonic plate map covered another open spot. A bookshelf crammed with reading material threatened to collapse against the door. “Kitzerow knows where Harris is,” Baker blurted out even before Cliverson had settled into his chair. Cliverson took his time answering, flipping up the plastic lid on his coffee cup and sipping carefully. It drove Baker nuts. He knew it. “She didn’t strike me as someone smart enough to know she was being wired. She also didn’t sound like someone who wants to be under scrutiny either. Hurts business.” “We could bring her in,” Baker offered. Most people cracked under interrogation. This was his first big case involving something that truly could fall under the paranormal umbrella. Cliverson took another sip, then set down the cup and picked up his pen to doodle. “Not a bad idea, but we open ourselves up to a lawsuit. DNA from the nursery’s shredder matches the DNA on the body of the hotel clerk. Neither matches Nikki Kitzerow.” Or Adrianne Harris. “I read the report,” Baker muttered. “It doesn’t match anything on the planet. It has to be contaminated.” “Maybe not.” Cliverson dropped his pen and leaned forward. “Everyone is looking at Ms. Harris and Ms. Kitzerow as the suspects. What if they are really the victims?” Baker stood and paced the narrow room, stepping over a skull propped against his chair. “So Kitzerow’s kidnapping was real? We didn’t see the man surveillance identified living with her. Is he her protector or her captor? And is Harris safe or is she being held against her will as well?”
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“By whomever the DNA belongs to or by people who know what the DNA belongs to?” Cliverson watched Baker’s mental wheels shifting gears. That would make the weird puzzle pieces fit. “Let’s say Harris possesses some psychic abilities like an inability to burn. That’d explain her notable lack of burns in the plane crash. Wouldn’t that be a valuable trait to possess by any country?” “What if she’s just a really quick healer?” Baker asked. “Her doctor said she had bruises.” “She just healed the worst of them?” Cliverson shrugged, his thick brows knit together. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Either talent would be invaluable.” And scientists would want to study her. If what they proposed was true, he pitied Harris. He’d been down on the sub-floors more than once…and the United States program was supposedly humanitarian. “Kitzerow won’t talk. Was her being buried alive another way to coerce her to cooperate? She’ll never talk now. She’s more afraid of someone or something else than the FBI.” Baker paused, mid-stride. “Whoever belongs to this weird DNA.” “That’s what I’m thinking.” Cliverson stood. “Let’s take a trip to the lab and see if they’ve got anything else on our mystery DNA.” Cliverson locked his office door, pocketing his key. Years in the business had taught him to trust no one. They walked in silence down the hall, Baker running through the possible scenarios out loud. The kid was like a human garbage truck, spewing debris while he processed. It gave Cliverson a headache. “So the women didn’t blank out our agents’ minds but whoever holding them did?” “That idea’s a whole lot easier to digest, isn’t it?” Actually, if he thought too long none of it made sense. Since he’d been on a past case where his handcuffed person-ofinterest simply vanished in front of his eyes only to appear ten feet away unshackled, he was inclined to believe in just about anything. People were fools if they thought humans didn’t mutate like their animal counterparts. He tried not to think about the man growing a second set of arms in the lab down on sub-floor seven. Cliverson waited while the lab guard retinally scanned Baker, then stepped up himself. A bright flash of light cut a swath across his vision. They pulled white jumpsuits on over their clothing. He heard the snick of the lab door opening. One of these years he should really consider retiring. People here were dressed in nearly identical outfits, white jumpsuits with built-in gloves and booties as well as removable facial masks. The lab was spotless with white porcelain floors and stainless steel work surfaces. Some people were seated beside computers. Others peered into microscopes or other strange machines. Cliverson had been here often enough not to gape. That wasn’t the case with Baker. Cliverson headed to the bank of microscopes and a painfully thin man hunched over one. “Gene,” Cliverson said. “So what do you have for us this time?”
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The man stood, his complexion as washed out as his white jumpsuit. “Roger.” He took Cliverson’s hand in his gloved one. “You did good, son.” Cliverson smiled. After spending the last couple of weeks with Baker, it was nice to be thought of as a youngster. It was hard to place Gene into any particular era. He’d look just as comfortable in a top hat and cloak as he would dressed in bellbottoms and a tie-dyed t-shirt. He was simply nondescript, maybe in his fifties or sixties, a person who slipped through life unnoticed without even trying. His skin was blemish- and wrinklefree but his blue eyes were old. Everyone’s eyes were old in this group. Trauma did that to them. Gene ushered Cliverson to a microscope. “Marvelous stuff,” he gushed. “Doesn’t burn, chemically or otherwise, resists shredding, doesn’t assimilate into any known liquids, gases or solids in our tests. It just constantly seeks to rejoin itself.” “So how’d it get separated from whatever it belonged to?” Cliverson asked, peering into the microscope. “The chipper-shredder temporarily disoriented it. Given enough time, I’m betting all the pieces and parts would have rejoined.” Cliverson straightened and raised a bushy eyebrow. “Would you bet your career on it?” “This is my career now.” He jerked his head at Baker. “C’mon, have a look. Let me show you the separation and the re-knitting.” He bent over the microscope, hacked at the glass tray with a tiny scalpel and then moved aside for Baker. Baker fitted his eyes into the grooves and slowly tweaked the lens. Science wasn’t his strong point, but he did have an advanced mathematics degree. That’s all he needed for his uncle, Director of Paranormal Ops, to get him a spot on this team. The glass tray swam into focus. Yep, cells. And they were all squirming around like a disturbed colony of ants. All of a sudden the two squirming camps became one and a new cell wall developed around the unified piece. “Wow.” He reached to adjust the slide a bit to the left. “Careful,” Gene cautioned, reaching for Baker’s hand, but Baker had already overextended and smeared the slide. He felt a sting. “Ouch. Little suckers bit me,” Baker muttered. Gene shooed them away. “What were you thinking? I’ve just a little sample. If you’ve ruined it…” He trailed off, adjusting the tray and the microscope. “Downstairs will never release more of this stuff.” He sighed, visibly relieved. “It’s all there.” “Gotta be more careful around Gene’s alien goop,” Cliverson said mildly. “Let’s see your hand.” “I must have nicked the edge of the slide.” Blood from a paper thin cut was welling through his vinyl-like white glove. “It’s not really bleeding.” Cliverson grunted. “You’ll live.”
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Baker was relieved when Cliverson turned back toward Gene. Cliverson’s scrutiny could be painful. Despite his age and mostly grandfatherly aura, Baker was a bit afraid of the man. Everyone in the department had a spook story about him. “Sorry, Gene,” Cliverson said. “I took the kid under my wing. I should’ve been watching out for him.” Gene was still cooing to his trick cells. “No harm done.” He straightened, careful to not look at Baker. Yeah right, Baker thought. You want to take your itty-bitty scalpel and drive it through my eye about now. That he didn’t spoke volumes about his relationship with Cliverson. “Ever seen anything remotely like this before?” Cliverson asked, indicating the slides. “Some of the guys Downstairs have.” Gene lowered his voice. “Back in the Seventies.” Not another Roswell conspiracy theory. Baker clasped his hands behind his back and tried to not roll his eyes. “We got in a sample from a meteor shower. Only it wasn’t any simple shower. Guys thought it was something alien made that broke apart when it hit our atmosphere. Anyway, it was at least twenty years ago, and Vince’s mind sometimes slips when he’s been Downstairs too long. It could be the same stuff.” He shrugged. “We have better tools now. I’d like a bigger piece to work with.” Gene’s voice was wistful. “I’ll see what I can do,” Cliverson soothed. Gene turned to Baker. “You’re working with a legend.” Baker rolled his eyes. “Don’t feed his ego.” Cliverson chuckled. “C’mon, kid. Let’s see if we can get you some more clearance and a suit to go Downstairs.”
***** Despite Cliverson’s credentials, Baker couldn’t go Downstairs with him. When Cliverson still hadn’t surfaced two hours later, Baker packed up his notes and went home. The cut on his fingertip hurt worse than the set of ribs he broke last year. Dropping his briefcase on the kitchen table, he headed to the bathroom to pour some hydrogen peroxide into it. Under the fluorescent glare of his vanity light, the tiny cut looked infected, the edges of the fingernail’s cuticle gray-tinged. He poured peroxide into it, then scrubbed it with soap and hot water. For added protection, he put on one of those useless minuscule Band-Aids that came in the assorted sizes box of Band-Aids. At least it’d keep the dirt out.
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After a supper of leftovers and a call to his mother, he lay in bed with the television on. He must have drifted off and dreamed, only the dream seemed too vivid to be just that. He was walking in the woods. Not just any woods, though. He had paused beside the road signs for what seemed like an eternity before he actually looked at the road names, Burbeen and River Lane. Amazing how clear the names were, as if burned into his retina. After the sign names were filed away, he resumed walking in the woods. For how long, he didn’t know, but he moved with purpose, through old wood growth, climbing over logs and crouching under brush when necessary. When he finally stopped, his chest was heaving and he was actually sweating. Who dreamt they sweat? Before him was a gradual rise in the forest floor, a gentle knoll, only when his boot struck the knoll, it clanked rather than thudded. Odd. On his hands and knees now, he scraped away dirt to reveal a taupe, nondescript hint of a curve that was obviously not natural to the environment. Something or someone tugged him away from his find, though he protested weakly, back toward the sheltering cover of underbrush. Movement caught his eye. Where nothing had been, now there stood three men and a woman. He recognized Adrianne Harris immediately. So she was being held under duress, he thought, but he was dreaming and this couldn’t be real. Two men appeared from the woods carrying a deer between them. The three men surrounding Ms. Harris stepped back. This was the point he absolutely knew he was dreaming. Ms. Harris vanished and now there was a huge lurking creature in her place. The five men appeared undisturbed by its presence. His subconscious mind screamed Dragon! but he rejected it. Here was the oddball animal the lab must have the DNA on. Just an undiscovered dinosaur that hadn’t really died out? Only where was Ms. Harris? Had that creature eaten her? Even as he watched, it consumed the deer carcass. His mind was playing tricks on him. Ms. Harris was back. Did she control the animal? Questions, questions, questions. He did not stay to watch. Instead, he backed away quietly through the brush. And found himself back in his apartment, in bed, drenched in sweat. He glanced at the clock. The television had long since turned itself off, compliments of the sleep mode setting. His paper cut throbbed. He got out of bed and headed for the bathroom for a warm washcloth. Splashing water on his face, he glanced in the mirror. He looked scared. He hated being scared. “A stupid dream,” he muttered. Uncapping the mouthwash, he gargled. The burn of it on his tongue was a soothing familiar bit of reality. If he and Cliverson had been interviewing someone and they mentioned the road signs, Cliverson would look them up. Cliverson was big believer in dream
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interpretation. He also had a habit of consulting psychics and fortune tellers. Baker wouldn’t be caught dead having his palm read. But he could look up those road signs. Cliverson need never know. A colossal waste of his time, no doubt, but he was wide awake now. Might as well check it out on the Internet. The roads not only existed. They intersected, in the middle of a large swath of forest. Baker broke out in a cold sweat again.
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Chapter Twenty-Three Nikki is here to see you, Navarre murmured. Adrianne stirred, raising her head off her pile of eggs. She felt a bit groggy. Navarre had interrupted her while she was touching her babies’ minds, trying to discern whether they were male or female. She thought she knew. She couldn’t wait to tease the others with that newfound bit of knowledge. I shall watch over them, Navarre promised. Stretching, she moved aside for him to take her place. Navarre in dragon form excited her as much as in his human form. His scales gleamed like thousands of jade jewels, compliments of the ship’s unnatural light shed from its underbelly. When he reached her side, she wound her tail around his, sat back and flexed her wings. Later, love. His mental touch stroked her body, sending delicious shivers through her. She returned the favor, dwelling way too long on parts of his anatomy she currently couldn’t see. His scales darkened a shade. He curled himself around their eggs and, with a sigh, watched her retreat. Once in human form, she approached the nest again and shook her finger at him. “I’m not glass. I feel fine. Tonight I’m getting sex. You decide whether you’ll be my partner or not.” Idle threats, he said lazily. She put her hands on her hips, prepared to lecture. Nikki is present. Adrianne turned around. Nikki was staring open-mouthed at the pile of eggs. When she saw Adrianne, she smoothly shifted her expression. “So which one of these is my god-child?” Adrianne laid her hand on one of the eggs. “She is.” She? Do you know for certain? Navarre tried peering beyond her shields, but she kept them tightly in place. Ignoring Navarre, she said, “Or would you prefer a different girl?” Nikki’s eyes twinkled. “Do I have a couple to choose from?” Navarre’s head lowered to Adrianne’s shoulder, eyes whirling. Tell me. “I can’t believe you can actually shapeshift,” Nikki muttered and swallowed hard. Navarre’s big triangular head a mere foot from her face was unnerving. “Two girls, huh? Would I be greedy if I asked to be godmother to all the girls?” Erifydal, Navarre pleaded. Do not be cruel! 196
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Adrianne linked her arm through Nikki’s. “Let me give you a tour of the house. What a behemoth.” She blew a mental kiss to Navarre. When you’re done egg-sitting, maybe I’ll tell you. I’d like to go on a picnic. I’ve been cooped up too long. That is blackmail. You learned our language quick. Navarre growled. One thing. I have a daughter? She relented a teensy bit. Yes, you have at least two daughters. The shrill bleat of dragon joy had Nikki slapping her hands over her ears. And Adrianne scolding Navarre for waking the babies. Altarre and Benito met them at the surface. “What is amiss?” Benito asked. “Is something wrong with the eggs?” Adrianne couldn’t think of her daughters and sons as eggs. “The babies are fine. Navarre is a little excited, that’s all.” Altarre’s eyes narrowed. “I have gathered as much. Do you intend to share the news with us or must I pry it from my brother?” “Do pry,” she said sweetly to Altarre. Then she leaned close and whispered the number of each sex to Benito. His eyes widened and he clasped both her hands in his own. “You have made an old dragon very happy.” Then he kissed her a bit awkwardly on the cheek. “Thank you.” “As brother-in-law and your physician, should I not be allowed to share this secret?” Altarre persisted. “I’d much rather see you torment Navarre.” “You are a cruel mistress.” He mock-stormed off. Nikki and Adrianne walked down a path leading from the ship to the mansion-inprogress. Several concrete mixers were busy churning out mortar for the structure. The foundation for the wings was already laid as were the walls for the nursery. “Will they really have this done in two months?” Nikki asked, head tipped back so she could watch the trusses being erected. “It seems like someone is working on it night or day.” She led Nikki through an opening. “We’ll have a guest suite. I wish you’d stop by more often.” She didn’t mean to sound so lonely. Nikki looked uncomfortable. “I’ve been really busy at The Beast…” she trailed off. “Screw it, the FBI’s poking around. And apparently they’ve replaced Haynes and his flunkies.” Adrianne stopped, her heart in her throat. “What? When? How come you haven’t said anything? Are you all right?” Nikki physically looked all right. She hadn’t felt anything worse from Quince. How could she have been so naïve to think the police would finally leave them alone?
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“Of course, I’m all right. I’ve been taking care of myself just fine for years.” Nikki waved her hand. “Besides, you have more important things to worry about. It’s nothing Quince and I can’t handle.” “Quince is still healing. You both should stay here. You’ll be safe.” “I said we’re handling it,” Nikki protested, an edge to her voice. “Okay then.” Adrianne backed down, taking a deep breath. She needed to be objective about this. The FBI didn’t torture people. The FBI didn’t have a clue what was going on. Yeah, right. “If it gets to be too much, if they pressure you…” “Quince won’t let them do anything.” She wanted to scream, Look at him! Look at that limp! He’ll never be all right. There are pieces and parts of him that we couldn’t put back together. She remembered standing at the edge with him, thinking they were both going to slip into the black maw and oblivion. She took another deep breath. “Quince isn’t a hundred percent yet,” she said softly. Nikki ignored the comment. “I brought you a present.” She handed Adrianne a cell phone. “In lieu of getting together as much.” Damn you, Nikki. How can you be so complacent about all this? She must have been radiating her unease. Percet passed by and raised a questioning eyebrow. She shook her head a fraction. No, she didn’t need help. She needed a frickin’ psychologist. “Thank you.” She flipped open the cell phone. Its purple and metallic case winked at her. “They’ve bugged your phone?” She didn’t look up. “Yeah, the bar too. We’re now important enough to have some special paranormal task force assigned to watch us.” Nikki snickered. “It must be a convenient place to stash their flunkies. I mean, come on, it’s not like our government’s dealing with aliens.” A long, silent pause. “Oh yeah, right. Um, can you have sex with Navarre while he’s a dragon?” Nikki looked away. Adrianne blinked. “Like this?” She tapped her human chest. “Yeah,” Nikki mumbled, still looking away. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Nikki embarrassed by anything related to sex. “You’re sick.” Nikki raised her head then and met her eyes, defiant. “It presents interesting possibilities.” “Have you run out of things to do with him?” “No!” “Well then, why don’t I give you a few tips on what’s considered erogenous on a dragon man? Then treat him just like that, a man.” She couldn’t believe she was doling out sex advice to the master. Nikki colored deeply, her dark skin pink-hued.
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“What have you done?” “Nothing. Mind your own business,” Nikki hissed as Quince and Henley approached. Quince wound his arm around Nikki’s waist possessively. Adrianne found herself a bit jealous, though of whom she wasn’t sure. “We will stay for the evening meal,” Quince said. One would have to be blind to miss the way Quince and Nikki stared at each other. She was sorely tempted to tease. Here stood the Queen of the one night stand madly in love. After Nikki and Quince left, Navarre joined Adrianne for a picnic dessert under the stars. “Quince has particular tastes,” Navarre said carefully. “I doubt very much that you would enjoy them.” Adrianne stiffened. “Easy, sh’niedra. What you find arousing is not necessarily what another does.” “She asked me if it was possible to.” She paused, feeling her face grow hot. “You know, do the deed while Quince was in his other form.” Disgust laced her voice. They sat on a blanket spread in the middle of their woods. Behind them, the bones of the Dragoon’s mansion were silhouetted against the sky. Navarre wrapped his arms tightly around her, tucking her head beneath her chin. “She is not the first to ask, nor will she be the last,” he said finally. “Is it possible?” “Are you thinking of surprising me? It is not something that would appeal to me, but if it pleases you…” “No!” He chuckled. “They are so in love.” She sighed. He nuzzled her ear. “You are jealous.” He made it a statement not a question. It was impossible to hide her emotions from him. She looked at the mansion’s shadow looming before them and knew somewhere in the darkness lurked Henley and probably his brother Hennison, her perpetual bodyguards. “What we have is not the same.” She laced her fingers through one of his hands, marveling at how delicate her hand looked against his. “We have responsibilities.” “And will always.” Another sigh. She shifted in his embrace, turning so that she could see into his face. “We’ll have to pick out good matches for our daughters. Or will you be open to letting them pick their own?” His grip tightened. “You have a side of you which enjoys tormenting. Perhaps I was mistaken. You and Quince might get along quite well.” 199
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She grinned. “There are nine girls.” “I would have been just as pleased if there were none,” he murmured, jade eyes glimmering in the darkness like a cat’s. He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Liar,” she whispered. He pressed her flat against the blanket, looming over her. “Are you calling the father of your children a fraud?” The moonlight set his hair ablaze, turning the golden strands almost white. His arms pinned her on either side. He was silent for a long time. “Nine daughters,” he said finally, wondering. “We will have to be so careful of the bloodlines or so Vespero says. I’m kind of glad he’s too old. The thought of him flying one of our daughters is creepy.” “He would be kind,” Navarre said offhandedly. Then his elbows buckled and he collapsed on top of her, catching himself a moment before he crushed her. She gasped. “Teasing you is pleasurable,” he murmured, rubbing his face through her hair. “Kissing you is more so.” She arched up and did just that. His mouth met hers halfway, lips searingly hot. She felt branded, as if any who saw her after their kiss would know she belonged to him and him alone. His lips pressed against hers, demanding more. Her hand crept to his neck. His supported her head. His tongue’s foray was nothing but gentle. She let him taste her, then eased back. His eyes shone in the moonlight like jewels. She wondered if hers did the same. She glanced into the shadows. “Will they watch?” she asked, indicating Henley and Hennison. “They’d participate if you wished it.” She wrinkled her nose. “No. One’s quite enough, thank you.” “I would have protested if you wished another.” “But acquiesced? Would you fight for me?” “You would not relish being fought over like a possession. Make no mistake. You are mine.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead to banish the strength of the statement or perhaps to reinforce it. “It is not in your nature to accept no as an answer. I merely circumvent the argument by agreeing, knowing you will not act on it.” She should have been angry by that revelation but he was unerringly correct. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.” Navarre grinned back, a flash of white against his bronzed skin. “Again, are they going to watch?” She shouldn’t have bothered asking. She already knew the answer. “Probably. Do you wish to go indoors where they cannot?” No, she’d been indoors for far too long. The wind ruffled Navarre’s hair. Somewhere in the darkness an owl hooted and another responded. Were they courting too? She wanted him here, in the midst of the night, with the earth guarding her back
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and the tree branches sheltering them. “They are too far away to see anything,” she said finally. “We have excellent night vision.” “Spoilsport.” She slid her hands beneath his shirt. She’d never get enough of touching him. His chest was solid and smooth beneath her fingertips. She ran her hands up his stomach and chest, then skimmed them down his sides so she could slip them around and up his back. He groaned softly. Her fingers were chilled and his body so incredibly warm. Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips tight. Her fingers played with the waistband of his pants. She lingered in the dip of his back, itching to glide down the curve, to play with his muscle-taut buttocks. She was so wet, so ready for him. He lowered himself, freeing his hands. His fingers tangled in her hair, fanning it out around her face. “You are so beautiful,” he breathed. She blushed. He buried his nose in the hollow of her neck, kissing and licking softly. Fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, he managed to open two before giving up. He licked the tops of her breasts. Her hands stopped their roving, concentrating on tugging down his pants and underwear. Zipper lowered, she slipped the clothes over the rise of his buttocks. Her hands caressed his firm butt cheeks, kneading the underlying muscle. He all but panted. “Erif… Adri.” He had no idea how utterly feminine his noises made her feel. “Here.” She arched up and he tugged both her panties and skirt down. Hurrah to elastic waistbands. Why waste time with silly zippers and clasps? His skin was liquid gold in the moonlight, caramel to her cream. He laid his palm flat upon the juncture of her thighs. She curved to meet him. Her body already knew what pleasures he could give it. “Please,” she whispered, voice thick. His breaths were as short and as fast as hers. He lowered into her. They sighed in unison. The moon and surrounding woods pleaded for soft, slow lovemaking. Even the light breeze whispered of romance. Wings rustled overhead. Perhaps the owls finally surrendered to one another. She and Navarre’s movements were perfectly coupled, her rise to his fall. A stroke of his hand across her stomach made her whimper. Their hearts hammered together. When he felt her close to falling over the edge, he laid his cheek against hers and they came together. She shuddered beneath him. “In that briefest moment, when it seems you hover between one breath and the next, life and eternity, there are no thoughts in your mind but of me,” he murmured into her neck. “I love that.” He traced the curve of her ear with his tongue. “And when you choose life, gasp, and clench around me, there is nothing at all up there, just pure carnal bliss. I delight in that moment as well.”
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She squeezed him tightly. What words could she say to match that? None, so she kept quiet and still beneath him, feeling the strength and warmth of his body pour through her. She dozed briefly, warm and safe in his arms. He shook her tenderly awake. “Time to return to the children.” He knew she didn’t like them called eggs. “Mmm.” She heard Navarre call her softly again, whispering some endearment in Labyrinthine. She drifted. Wasn’t that something she always feared? Drifting too far away and finding herself unable to return? But someone other than Navarre was calling her as well. And whoever or whatever it was had a stronger tie to her than Navarre. She couldn’t help herself. Leaving her body behind, she went to it, him, her, whatever. She opened her eyes.
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Chapter Twenty-Four Navarre shook Adrianne a bit harder. Her breathing was steady, her eyes closed. He reached for her mind. Erifydal? It was as if someone had erected a barricade between her mind and the outside world. He beat invisible fists against the wall. Erifydal! Pulling her into a sitting position, he held her to his chest. “Henley! Hennison! Come quickly.” Someone had stolen her right beneath him. How could they have? Why would he have not felt it? Because he was in an unprotected orgasmic haze. He was an irresponsible fool. If he had let someone hurt her… Henley dropped to one knee before him. “I am not trained to fight these kind of battles.” “Help me get her to the eggs,” Navarre said. Her own tenuous tie to herself was what first permitted him to call her to them across the galaxies. He should have known the enemy would find her weakness. All their training and he’d never once warned her about being yanked from her own body. Only who was he fighting? Wasn’t the Hunter dead? Adrianne moaned softly, turning her head from side to side. “Come back to us,” he pleaded harshly. “Come back to me.” He would not let her go without a fight.
***** Adrianne was in the hospital room she’d been in after her plane crashed. But that couldn’t be right. How did she get here? She tried to touch herself, but her hands were tied down with restraints. She was wearing a backless papery hospital gown. Where was Navarre? “Welcome back, Ms. Harris,” the doctor, her doctor, said. He stood beside her bed at her left, holding a clipboard and clucking softly over its results. She wasn’t sure if he even realized he was making that noise. Her throat felt incredibly dry. She licked her lips. “Where am I? Why am I tied down?” Panic bubbled through her as if her mind already knew what the doctor was about to say. “You had an episode,” the doctor said gently. No, no, it wasn’t possible. She shook her head. This doctor wasn’t hers from the emergency room, though he did look familiar. This one was young and pleasant, with a mop of curly blond hair and piercing blue eyes.
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“Who are you?” The doctor glanced down at his coat, then seemed surprised when he didn’t see a name tag there. “Baker,” he said finally. “Dr. Andrew Baker.” “What day is it?” she insisted. She tugged at the restraints. Her hands were firmly tied. Navarre! she silently screamed. “May twentieth.” She reeled. There had to be an explanation. Deep breaths, take deep breaths, she instructed herself. Her panting resonated through the room. “How long have I been here?” “We rescued you along with the others November the twenty-third last year. You’ve been in and out of a coma ever since.” “No, that can’t be. I was the sole survivor of the plane crash.” The doctor shook his head again, ever so gently. “No.” The sun poured through the blinds of her window. She wanted to put her face into its warmth and let it wash away the fear. The fear was a tangible thing now. She tasted it, sharp, metallic, like old blood. She clenched her hand into fists. “Navarre. Quince.” She raised her chin, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “Benito. The Hunter.” Names had power. Dr. Baker checked his clipboard. “We had to heavily medicate you from time to time. You were quite delusional.” Navarre! she screamed again. There was no answer. Oh God, she’d slipped, hadn’t she? “But I can fly,” she whispered. “You certainly think so.” “What brought me back?” She was thankful for the restraints. Without them, she’d have slipped beneath the covers like a rag doll. How could Navarre not be real? “Are you fully here?” the doctor countered. She did not answer him. She didn’t know. “I think you’ve reached the end of your dream sequence, but others are not so sure. I need to show you something, Adrianne. I need to make sure you are here with us. Are you ready? Are you sure you will not hide in your fantasy world again?” “I’m sure.” She felt drawn out, empty. What was there left to live for without Navarre, without her children, without the Dragoon? Anger flared, beating tiny fists against the encroaching darkness. She had a life before the Dragoon. She had Nikki. Dr. Baker pulled back the drape separating her from the next patient’s bed. A dead man’s eyes stared back at her. “Can you tell me what prompted you to kill Mr. Bansten?” She recoiled. She’d never seen a dead person up close before. His eyes were like marbles, sunken into the skull. Fear stained the face like garish makeup on a hooker. 204
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Blood soaked through the man’s white shirt, bleeding yet onto the white sheets he lay on. “I didn’t kill anyone.” Dr. Baker tsked. “You wouldn’t be restrained if you weren’t a hazard to yourself and others.” “I didn’t kill anyone!” she screamed. The dead man was missing his heart. Wait a second. She could clearly see the ragged chest tissue through the hole in his shirt. What was this? Shock therapy? Dr. Baker was smiling faintly at her, pen poised above his clipboard. She stilled. The man was missing his heart. All the Hunter’s victims had been missing them as well. Come on, Adrianne. What was more plausible? Slipping off the normal train and going psycho or the idea that she was some alien Queen? She bit her lip. But the man was missing his heart. She looked at Dr. Baker again, testing her restraints. Those bindings extended beyond the physical. She could actually feel the walls someone had erected around her mind. Or was it just a game her mind was playing with her? Six months ago she wouldn’t have had the ability to examine those invisible boundaries. She didn’t test the barrier further for fear of setting off a trap. Taking another deep breath, she looked Baker in the eye. “I don’t believe I did that.” Dr. Baker sighed. “That’s not the answer I wished to hear, Adrianne. Please be honest with yourself.” She twisted her arms in their leather restraints to look at the scars on her wrists. I am not that person anymore. She had been grieving when she did that. She could handle grief now. She could handle the loneliness now too, the bogeyman that hid in her shadow, even in daylight, especially in the daylight. She had Navarre, the Dragoon, her unborn children and Nikki. She wet her lips and looked down at her wrist. The sun basked upon it, warm, extending light-drenched fingertips to caress her scars. She raised her hand a fraction. Her hand cast no shadow upon the sheets. Dr. Baker continued to watch her. “I think you’re lying,” she said carefully and threw every ounce of energy she had against not her restraints, but Dr. Baker. Baker’s body rippled as if he were merely a paper-cutout tossed in hurricane winds. Then his body began to break up, piece by piece. A crackling sound filled her ears. A flake of Dr. Baker drifted past her, a hint of nose and a single eye. “What have you done?” he asked her. She saw the piece with Dr. Baker’s mouth form the words, but the sound echoed in her head. She felt the leather cuffs vanish from her arms. The chest strap dropped into her lap.
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She climbed out of the bed. She was no longer dressed in the paper hospital gown. Her own power clothed her, pearled white light, her scales etched against her skin. “Who are you?” It was a demand. Baker laughed the Hunter’s laugh. “You are dead,” she said simply. “This is not real.” All the bits and pieces of Dr. Baker shattered. She was standing in the hatching chamber beneath the Dragoon’s ship. Navarre was holding both her hands, eyes closed, head tipped back, lips forming words she could not hear, but felt wash through her. He possessed power as well. She’d never been so acutely aware of how much though. His strength of will eddied around her like a hurricane. Her skirt rippled in the unnatural wind, her untucked blouse’s edges flapping as well. She laid her finger upon his lips and called him back to himself. “Navarre.” The wind died. A ring of ancient swords, points embedded into the clay soil circled them. Outside the ring, each member stood behind a sword, even Quince. Navarre opened his eyes. “Erifydal?” he whispered. His voice was raw. “Yes, I’m back.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you. Thank God for all of you.”
***** Baker was physically thrown back into his chair as if an unseen creature had simply tossed him aside like a discarded toy. Which was exactly what he was. He had failed. He felt the disapproval as if it were a material weight upon his chest, intent on stealing the last bit of oxygen from his lungs. He sat in the darkness of his office for a moment, panting. At least he thought it was his own breathing. He held his breath. The panting continued. Leaning forward, he flicked on his lamp switch. Three big black dogs lounged around the facedown body of a man. Baker had seen all manners of death before, but the sight of one of the dogs calmly chewing on a raw portion of the dead man’s arm was enough to make him vomit. He did retain the presence of mind to turn his head and puke into the trash can rather than spew across his desk. Where had that come from? His head throbbed. He stood cautiously, hand on his desk to keep his balance. Walking around the desk, he stooped, eyes on the dogs, and rolled the dead man over. It was Gene from the lab. How had he gotten here? The dogs watched him, their panting the only sound in the room. “Easy, boy.” He extended his hand toward the nearest dog. They were pathetically lean, every rib showing. Their dark eyes were red-tinged in the crummy desk lamp’s
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light. Intelligence glimmered there. He shook his head. He needed more sleep. They were just dogs. Whose, he didn’t know, but someone’s butt was going to be in trouble when management found out. The dog pulled its head back, just out of Baker’s reach. He should call animal control. Hell, he should call the morgue for poor Gene here as well. He couldn’t quite remember how he’d gotten to the office. He was dressed in khakis and a neatly pressed white shirt. That his shirt was spattered with tiny droplets of blood seemed unimportant to him. There was a rap at his door. The dogs erupted in a low chorus of growls. “No.” He gestured to them to stay put. Remarkably, they listened. “Who is it?” he called. “Cliverson. What are you doing in so late?” Great, he was spattered in blood and violating just about every rule he knew existed in his manual. Now he was about to be caught in the act by his mentor. Bloody great. The doorknob turned. Baker caught it mid-twist, opening it just a crack. “I have a problem.” Cliverson looked nonplused. Then he recovered himself. “There’s been another murder, one of our own.” “I know.” Baker opened the door a little wider, revealing the three growling hounds and Gene’s corpse. Blood congealed in a puddle around the body. Cliverson’s gaze swung from Gene to the hounds to Baker. “What happened?” Still the neutral voice, still composed. He began to believe all the stories he had heard about Cliverson. Baker shrugged. “Not sure.” His headache had diminished a bit. He felt almost drunk—no, not quite—giddy like a kid anticipating Christmas morning. Cliverson raised an eyebrow, one hand easing to the gun at his belt. “Easy now, Baker. Have you been drinking?” Baker shook his head. “No, but—” He leaned closer. Cliverson was careful to keep the door between them. For some reason, Baker found that hilarious. He giggled. “Baker wants you to know about Burbeen and River Lane.” “What about it? Did you meet someone there? Are you still Baker?” He straightened. “Yes, I’m Baker. Who the hell do you think I am?” The look in Cliverson’s eyes raised the hair on his arms and neck. Was Cliverson some sort of freak? “For a second there I don’t think you knew yourself.” One of the hounds stood. “I’m just so tired,” Baker said suddenly. Even his bones ached, if that was possible. He leaned against the door. “I don’t remember how I got here,” he said softly. His head dropped. He saw shadows skittering across the floor on Cliverson’s side of the door. He roused. “You called in backup? How’d you manage that?” “Psychic,” Cliverson muttered and opened fire on the first hound that flung itself toward the door.
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The hound fell at Cliverson’s feet, leaving a streak of blood in its wake. For some reason, that aggravated Baker. How dare Cliverson shoot one of his hounds? “Wait! Don’t shoot.” Baker stepped in the path of the other two hounds. He faced Cliverson. “They won’t hurt you.” Cliverson poked the dead one with the toe of his boot. “This one won’t.” His control crumbled. “Bastard.” Baker lunged at Cliverson. A gunshot rang out, echoing in the hallway. Cliverson didn’t even hesitate. Baker felt the bullet enter his body, sear through his lungs and leave a gaping hole as it departed, duty done. He remained silent but for the whoosh of air sucking through the hole. The pain was minimal as was the damage. Both could be controlled, his inner demon said. He trusted that steady voice in his head. He had to now. Cliverson’s gun remained leveled at Baker. Shots rang out around them. The other two hounds collapsed. Baker’s hand closed around Cliverson’s wrist. A tingle went through his body. His eyes widened. “You really are psychic,” Baker said. “Yes.” Cliverson tipped the gun barrel up and put a round in the hollow behind Baker’s chinbone. Blood burbled out of Baker’s mouth. His inner voice remained curiously silent, contemplating the options left to him. We lost this round, Baker thought. Then he closed his eyes and died.
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Chapter Twenty-Five A perfect day for a perfect Hatching. What more could one ask for? The air was warm, the breeze light. The scent of early summer rode the currents. The Dragoon’s mansion was more fortress than skeleton now, complete with a nursery, partial courtyard and a bit of garden. The scarred landscape wounded Mother Earth, but even that was healing, thanks in part to Hennison’s gifted green thumb. Peonies the size of a man’s head, or a dragon’s eye, adorned every flat surface of the hatching chamber beneath the ship and then some. Their heady fragrance mingled with the scent of nervous dragon. Every member of the Dragoon was present, even Quince. Nikki raged quietly within the ship’s hull. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t be privy to this event, not even after Adrianne mentioned the calves and their purpose. Adrianne tried to not think about the mewling little creatures locked in their enclosure. Today she stood in human form, dressed in a loose sleeveless white garment, cinched at the waist with a rope of black pearls as thick as a man’s arm. Little wonder why Benito didn’t worry about money. Even though she was technically one of them, she felt apart. All the others save for Benito were in dragon form. She was afraid if she joined them, she wouldn’t be able to resist the little calves. Vespero told her some Queens didn’t even bother to attend hatchings. She couldn’t understand that callous disregard. These were her and Navarre’s children. Crouched beside the spread-out pile of eggs, Navarre raised his head and bugled a greeting to his Queen. The bugle was accompanied by one of the eggs violently rocking. It rolled away from the group, shaking like a Mexican jumping bean, then promptly cracked in half. “A good omen,” Benito said beside her. A triangular olive-colored head poked from the egg. Its eyes, the same shade as its father’s, whirled, forked tongue darting in and out as if testing the safety of the air. Sitting on its haunches, it extended goo-covered wings, fanning to dry them and himself. “A son,” she murmured. Other eggs twitched. Her gaze was on the small one Navarre had rolled to the far side of the pile. She had worried and fretted over the little egg all these months, keeping it close to her side whenever she could, offering it whatever strength it might need. She feared it was all in vain. “A daughter,” she heard Benito exclaim.
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She looked. With scales as deep a red as the finest dark wine, the little dragonet sat back on her haunches and gazed around haughtily. She knew she was destined to become a Queen. The scales along her spine glimmered almost black. Her tail lashed impatiently. Adrianne hid a smile. This one was going to be trouble. Quince nudged her toward the paddock of calves. She promptly bit him on the nose. Adrianne laughed out loud. She stopped laughing when she caught of glimpse of what one of her sons was doing to a calf. She turned away, stomach queasy, heading for the little egg. It was half the size of the others, but Adrianne had never lost hope that it might hatch. It had been the reason why Navarre and Altarre came up with a different number of eggs than she. Only she could hear the dragonet inside it. She laid her hand on the smooth surface of the shell. It had hardened like the others. Wake up, little one. There was no response. With her heart in her throat, she dropped to her knees beside the egg and pressed her cheek to the shell. Yes, she felt movement. She glanced around wildly. All the other dragonets were hatched and busy feeding. She didn’t even have a pocketknife on her to try to crack the shell, not that it’d work. The shells were built to withstand the weight of dragons. What could she accomplish with a knife? She was half shapeshifted when Navarre caught her and eased her back into human form with him. There was a bit of dried blood in his gold hair and smeared across his chin. “Navarre, the baby,” she began. “It can’t get out.” She couldn’t read the expression on his face and his mind was curiously closed to her. That didn’t bode well. He took her carefully into his arms and pulled her to sit beside the egg. She struggled in his grasp. “Do something.” His face was burrowed in her hair. “Remember Mirium,” he breathed. She stilled. “No.” This was her baby, her child. Her hands went to the egg, caressing it. She laid her cheek on its shell. “He’s in there.” She thought she heard the feeble scrabbling of claws against the shell. “Let me go.” “Let him go.” His voice was thick. She turned in his grasp. “Please, please don’t let him suffocate.” When she saw Navarre’s face, any further protest died on her lips. He was the picture of grief, eyes deep green with sorrow, like the fathomless depths of loch water. His lips were pressed flat and he rocked her sporadically with him. Dragons couldn’t cry. She felt the baby slipping away. He knew part of her was dying with her baby.
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“We have twenty-three healthy babies,” he murmured. The pain behind his eyes did not go away with his words. He is my child, too. Why? She couldn’t bear to ask him out loud. He rubbed her stomach. Twenty-three healthy little ones, sh’niedra. Let us not question the Gods. Help me save him. She hated herself for pleading. He shook his head, eyes glinting. I wish I could cry as you can. She balled her hands into fists and struck him. He pulled her tighter. The tears came hot and heavy then. She buried her face against his shoulder and sobbed. When she’d cried herself out, she simply let Navarre hold her. He shook her gently. “Look.” She lifted her head. Twenty-three pair of eyes stared back at her. The dragonets ringed them in a loose circle. There were silvers as ethereal as a moonbeam and greens, ranging from the pale color of a newborn leaf to the dark dappled green of a shaded forest, a brown the color of sand, and another with the same iridescent shade as her own dragon hide. Her deep red daughter alone possessed that rich color. All were either jade or sapphire-eyed. Their whirling eyes radiated sympathy. “They sense our pain,” Navarre said. Altarre, now in human form, knelt beside them. “No, they share it. They wish to ease your sorrow.” He offered her a warm wet washcloth. She took it gratefully and wiped her face. The boldest of their children, the wine-colored female, made her way to the front of the pack and approached her on all fours, wings flexing slightly. Her nostrils flared, eyes whirling sapphire-tinged rainbows. She extended a forepaw. Adrianne stretched out a hand to touch it. “Careful, they do not know their own strength,” Altarre cautioned. Adrianne stroked the scales, then the dragonet crept close enough for her to scratch the ridges protecting the dragonet’s ear canal. The baby purred, leaning into the touch. Then, as if she suddenly remembered what she needed to do, the dragonet took an awkward step backward. Rising up on her haunches, she fanned her wings and announced, You may call me Mirium, Mother.
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Epilogue Winter sunlight is not the same as summer’s. Winter’s touch is cold like a corpse’s handshake. Summer sunlight is healing. Summer sunlight moves like a lover’s hands, caressing the earth, coaxing life out of dirt and water. Summer sunlight is accompanied by the sounds of earth giving birth—the fresh unfurling of leaves, the rustle of butterfly wings against silk-lined cocoons. In the nursery fields, birds scratch through mulch, scavenging for last year’s seeds. A crow lands, pecking at a shiny trinket all but hidden in the mulch. The metal wiggles in the crow’s beak, like a silver-encased worm, then the crow tips to its side, dead. For a brief moment, every vein in its body right down to the shafts of its feathers is shot through with silver. Then the bird dissolves into a puddle of silver goo. It is a time of rebirth. The goo becomes an eye, a single blinking red eye.
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About the Author Christine McKay was born and raised in northeastern Wisconsin, graduated in a class of less than 54 students, and earned a Bachelor’s Degree in Computer Science at a local college taught mostly by nuns. She is the oldest in her family, with two brothers and one sister. Christine lives on a farm with her husband and an assortment of four-legged creatures including goats, mules, dogs, rabbits, cats, chickens, a donkey, and a llama. Her favorite authors include Robin McKinley, Patricia McKillip, Anne McCaffrey, Ayn Rand, Andre Norton, and Nora Roberts. Christine welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.cerridwenpress.com.
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