Jarek (Scifi Alien Weredragon Romance) (Dragons of Preor Book 1) Page 7

  A dragon and yet not. A warrior and yet not. A mate and yet…

  Melissa’s tremble snared his focus once more and he peered into the growing darkness. Her legs curled against her body, knees cradling her cheek, and another shudder overtook her. He could not see her face, but he knew something caused her discomfort—cold or tears—and neither were acceptable.

  Ignoring the pull of his wounds, he rose and padded to the back door. Bracing himself for the drag of wind on his wings, he opened the door and stepped onto the back patio. He gritted his teeth and pushed the first burst of pain from his mind. He would not succumb to his weakness, would not fail to care for his mate.

  Melissa didn’t stir with his arrival and he quietly went to her side. Bending low, he sought to meet her stare only to find her eyes closed. Another shake overtook her and he noted the coolness of the breeze. Asleep and cold, then.

  “Come, kouva,” he murmured. “I will care for you.”

  Jarek reached for her with battle-scarred hands and he wished he was not so damaged—had not seen so many wars and battles. She deserved a tender mate, a male who was as soft as she. He pressed his lips together and pushed away regret. The Knowing triggered between them. There was no doubt they were fated to be together and no amount of wishes and prayers could make him any different. They could not peel away the years or erase the markings marring his flesh. The stars chose him for her just as he was.

  He prepared his body for the coming pain, for the torment that would come with using his arms for something more than lifting a fork to his lips. He carefully eased one arm beneath her knees and cradled her back with the other, carrying her much like the brides he’d viewed in Earth vids. He held her close and retraced his steps, moving toward the back door. He took one step into the home, intent on his destination, and it was that inattention to the outside elements that nearly sent him to his knees.

  The wind buffeted the house, blowing strongly off the sea, sending bits of sand scraping over his scales. The rush of air pulled at his wings, pushing them apart and forward to curl around him and Melissa. Any other time, he could have easily fought the push, but with his wing base shattered…

  Jarek sucked in a harsh breath and released it with a hiss. The whipping wind tore at his bandages, pulling them from his body, granting the sand access to his wounds. The small, salt covered pellets assaulted his flesh, burning him. He managed to remain upright through will and pure stubbornness. He could not fly, but he was not weak.

  He paused for a moment, leaning his shoulder against the doorway while he waited for the worst of the wind to do what it would. His wings pressed flat against the sides of the house, spread wide and tearing at his still healing injuries. The pain pulsed and pounded through his blood, attacking his nerves, and his body demanded he rest.

  And he would… as soon as he cared for Melissa.

  The breeze continued, rolling over him in waves as if propelled by the ebb and flow of the seas. He could persevere. He was Jarek joi Melissa. He would endure and come out the other side of the invisible battle the victor.

  He held her tightly, cradled against his chest. He lowered his head and nuzzled his mate, breathing in her scent so it could banish the briny flavors of the ocean. She was delicate and sweet. She scented of happiness, warmth, and… home. She smelled of home. A home for him. A home for their dragonlets.

  Dragonlets that he would not father. He would not damn his mate and any younglings with half a male as a sire and mate.

  The air slowed, no longer shoving him toward the home, and he forced himself to straighten. He brought his wings in, swallowing the shout that attempted to escape his lips. His kouva slept peacefully. He would not frighten her awake with his roar.

  His wings protested the movements, but he was victorious and he strode into the small cottage. He carefully pushed the door closed with his foot and bent awkwardly to lock it behind him. Manual locks. A thing from generations past for the Preor. Melissa proclaimed it retro.

  Jarek did not turn on any lights as he made his way through the darkened home—his dragon’s sight easily assisting him when he traversed the hallway and then finally entered Melissa’s sleeping chamber. Or rather, the chamber she’d given up for him. It was the largest bed in her home though it still fell short of supporting his wingspan. It would do well for the night and he was told other sleeping arrangements were underway.

  He didn’t want to sleep anywhere but in Melissa’s bed.

  He would tell them so.

  The dark didn’t hinder him and he stepped over a discarded shoe as well as what Melissa called a bra. Research explained it bound her breasts with all-day support. He did not want her breasts bound.

  He would tell her so.

  The bed covering remained drawn over the mattress, the comforter snug over the soft surface. The Knowing confirmed his assumption that it should be drawn down and then placed atop his mate, but he could not do so without waking her. She would simply lay atop the covers for the night. She would use a small nearby blanket while he cleansed and then he would add his own body’s heat.

  The Knowing explained several instances in which such an action could be construed as a violation of trust.

  The Knowing did not know everything.

  Jarek gently laid her on the right side of the bed—furthest from the door. She murmured in her sleep, releasing his name with a soft sigh, and his heartbeat stuttered. She may be angry with his words, but she still called for him.

  “Sleep, shaa kouva, while I cleanse.” He brushed aside her hair and placed a gentle kiss across her brow. “I will return.”

  It took much force, but Jarek straightened and stepped away from Melissa. The fight with the wind sapped his strength and the sting of salted-sand in his wound continued to plague him. He had to wash it away before he could rest at her side.

  With brisk strides, he went to the cleansing room—the bathroom. Unfortunately, avoiding the room’s mirror was not possible. It lined the wall, hanging above the sink and reflecting his condition. His skin no longer held the healthy glow of burnished copper, the hue now ashen and muted. His wings no longer sparkled, either; the injuries stole what health he had. Dark purple spots marred the skin beneath his eyes and fatigue was evident in every line of his body.

  He had not taken the time to inspect the damage, the deep cuts, and evidence of his shattered wing base hidden by the bandages. Bandages needing to be changed. Bandages he would change. It was time to be a brave male and see his deficiency with a clear mind.

  He slowly eased around until his back faced the large reflective surface. Once there, he prepared himself for the coming pain and grasped the upper edge of his loose bandage. One tug turned into two which turned into three. It seemed that just because one edge had come loose, the protective covering was not yet prepared to be removed.

  Damn the stars.

  It could not remain as it was. Not with that stars damned sand within—

  “Jarek?” He did not say a word at first, just letting her soft whisper soothe the rough edges of his nerves. “Shaa kouvi?”

  To hear the words from her lips even after he’d denied her snatched what control remained. He wished to push her away for her own sake, but he could not do it. Not when agony pummeled him and every cell in his body demanded to be soothed by the touch of his mate.

  “Shaa kouva.” He turned his head and met her concerned stare. She was beautiful and he knew he was not worthy of such a pure-hearted mate. He held out his arm, palm up as he beckoned her. “Will you assist me, shaa kouva?”

  “Yes.” She whispered the word, but the expression in her bright eyes made him believe she agreed to more than simply tending to his wounds. It made him believe she agreed to everything in his heart.

  12

  They hadn’t let her see the extent of his injuries in medical. They hadn’t allowed her close enough to see what he’d endured on the behalf of humans and his own race.

  Radicals. Opponents. Speciest males.
Call them by any name, but no matter their title, they’d attacked Jarek, his men, and the Ujal in an effort to destroy the treaty. But he’d stopped them. With his swords—with his body—he’d stopped them from getting to the Ujal.

  From getting to Theresa.

  Would she help him? Even if he had already denied her, she’d help him.

  “Of course, I will.” She cleared her throat and padded closer. “Why don’t you turn and face the mirror. Lean on the counter if you need to, but this will give me more room.”

  Jarek grunted and folded his wings closer to his body. She watched his face for any sign of pain or discomfort and his expression revealed nothing, which was revealing in and of itself. He fought to keep all emotions from his gaze, so she knew he buried something deep within himself.

  He carefully turned and she silently cursed the small size of the bathroom. It was small, but that’d never been a problem before. Melissa lived alone.

  Until Jarek, anyway. Though who knew when he’d leave. He didn’t want to mate her, so why should he stick around?

  The madness.

  The madness. Right. Thanks so much, Knowing.

  She didn’t get a response and she wasn’t sure she expected one.

  Jarek presented his back to her and she winced. The bandages were stained red and peppered with sand and the jagged wound peeking from beneath the covering oozed blood.

  “It looks like you tore some of this open when you tried to pull it off,” she murmured softly. He simply grunted. So talkative.

  With slow, careful movements, Melissa gently pulled at the edge of one wrap—the one he’d already begun destroying. She unwound it from its home around the base of his left wing. Each soft tug was more careful than the last as she fought to cause him as little pain as possible. Around and ’round it went, the ball of discarded gauze growing while more of his deep green scales were revealed.

  As were the wounds.

  First came the lowest edge of one slice, the very tip split apart but it looked like the invisitures—invisible sutures—held the bulk of the cut together though the seam was rough. Field medicine, Sece called it. Put them together so they live. They do not have to be pretty as long as they still breathe.

  But what she saw now was only the edges. The center, concentrated swath of wounds, stole her breath.

  “How…” Her hands trembled, fingers losing grip on the bindings and the stained gauze fell to the ground in a fluttery heap. She was not sure what she was looking at, but it wasn’t a Preor wing base she’d seen in vids and images. It was a mottled mass of twisted flesh, blood-red knots and green mingling together with nary a scale in sight.

  “I do not know.” He took a deep breath and then froze, body tensing and his wings fluttered. Another droplet of blood escaped the exposed injury.

  Emotions welled inside her: sadness, heartache, soul-deep agony. She swallowed past the growing lump in her throat and fought for the matter-of-fact attitude she’d nurtured over the last year. She’d learned to distance herself from the feelings of others—necessary when the Ujal population generally looked at her as if she were the one to sell their younglings and not her dead brother.

  “Okay, well…” Well what? She had no idea. She simply plastered a smile on her face and looked over Jarek’s shoulder. She met his gaze in the mirror, trying to give him a sense of calm while hiding her inner turmoil. Crying over his injuries wouldn’t heal him any faster. “Let’s get this other one off and then we can treat you and rewrap you.”

  Jarek gave her a small smile, a tiny tip of the corner of his lips. Or he grimaced. Both equally plausible.

  Tearing her eyes from his, she centered her attention on his right wing. The unwinding was just as slow as before but at least she knew what to expect. The slices were equally deep and destructive, his back a mass of twisted and desiccated flesh.

  When the last bit of gauze fell to the floor, she eyed the source of Jarek’s pain. She couldn’t imagine the battle that’d caused these, the fight he’d endured and managed to win despite the damage he took. There were many small cuts but the largest were also the deepest and aimed directly at his wing base.

  The two wounds formed a perfect X across his back. “Left,” she mimicked the motion of a falling sword. “Then right.” She repeated the motion.

  “Yes. Two blades. One male.”

  “Does that make it any easier to find him? Knowing he used two swords?”

  He shook his head. “All warriors are trained to wield both from the time a training sword is placed in their hands. As for the offender, I’m told Evuklar dispatched him soon after he inflicted these injuries.”

  Melissa’s fingers trembled, hand hovering in the air above his wing base. “Good.” She met his stare and a single tear escaped. “It’s probably wrong of me, but I’m glad.”

  Jarek gave her a small smile. “My bloodthirsty kouva.”

  Then his smile vanished and a bland expression replaced it. “Melissa, we should discuss…”

  The reason he’d denied her, maybe? But she kept those words to herself and instead decided to focus on him. No matter what they talked about or decided, the Knowing would not be denied. They were mates. When she wondered what would happen if they never joined, the Knowing gave her bright images of their endings.

  Did she hate her free will being snatched? Of course.

  Did she want to lose her mind and hurt herself and others? No.

  So they would do the best they could. The Knowing explained they were perfect for each other, but even perfect wasn’t always perfect. There would be arguments and heartache, but as long as they came together in the end, all would be well.

  She didn’t have anything else telling her differently, so she’d trust this Knowing.

  For now.

  “We can talk about whatever you want after we get you re-bandaged.”

  Jarek frowned and his gaze drifted to the shower. “First it must be cleansed. The beach sand got inside the dressings.”

  Melissa sighed and took a deep breath. Cleaning the wound would hurt him—badly.

  “Okay.” She stepped back and went to the shower stall. A turn of the tap had water flowing and she carefully adjusted the temperature until it was nothing more than lukewarm. “Strip and get in and I’ll—”

  “Disrobe?”

  She quirked a brow. “Unless you want your leather pants getting soaked. I’m not sure how katoth responds to water, but cowhide is ruined if it gets wet.”

  Jarek grunted once more. She wondered if it was because he was injured or if he naturally didn’t talk much. Ah, well. A question she could get answered tomorrow. Tonight she’d worry and fuss over him until he was passed out in her bed.

  He might be incommunicado, but he did manage to get into motion. Wings gradually retracted, he slowly turned until his back was to the mirror and he faced her fully. Then his hands went to the tie of his pants. And then…

  Then she stopped looking because that bulge she was eyeing grew beneath her intense stare. Melissa’s face flushed red, Jarek’s chuckle making it burn hotter. But when she heard his gasp… that had her paling in an instant.

  13

  Jarek decided he would not laugh again—perhaps ever. The pain that came with the sound nearly sent him to his knees and all hints of his need vanished with the jolting protest of his body. His mate paled when he groaned and he cursed himself for not remaining silent. He did not—could not—be seen as weak or vulnerable. He was the War Master of the Preor fleet. He controlled his men through fear turned respect. Exposing the depth of his injuries was a mistake. One he could not undo.

  Yet, his mate should be the one person he was comfortable with. She was the one being he could be vulnerable around without fear. Right?

  Knowing’s definition of mates—what they meant to each other and how they were intended to interact flashed through his mind. He could lay himself bare before Melissa without worry or fear of attack. A true mate would never hurt their other half.
>
  He was not sure if the Knowing was correct. He knew it was supposed to be accurate, yet all of his training…

  Melissa looked past him, her attention focusing just above his shoulder. “You’re bleeding again,” she murmured. “We need to get you cleaned up so I can re-bandage your injuries.”

  He grunted, unsure how to respond to her demand. Being injured and weak in her presence… His very nature objected to the current events despite the Knowing. He tore his gaze from his mate and worked at the ties of his pants again. It took moments to unlace then shove them down his thighs. They pooled in a stiff heap at his feet and he stepped free of the worn katoth. Nude, he eyed the shower, wondering how to use such a chamber.

  Melissa presented him with her back and scooted to the right of the shower. “Step into the tub. The nozzle detaches and I can rinse you off. I’ll keep the pressure light.”

  Jarek noted she kept her gaze averted, those beautiful eyes no longer roaming over his body. Instead, she focused on twisting and turning a device attached to the wall. A rush of liquid came from one such device—water. Soon she seemed satisfied with her efforts and detached some other device. This had to be the nozzle she spoke of. Soon water came from it as well. Ah, her method of rinsing.

  Moving carefully, he did as she bid, folding his wings a little more to properly fit within the space. He swallowed the hiss that threatened, unwilling to express even more weakness. His mate would never believe she was saddled with a lesser male.

  But I am not mating her. Why do I care for her opinion?

  His heart clenched, gut tightening with the thoughts. She deserved better than a centenarian who’d seen nothing but heartache and war, yet he ached for her. Ached to have her in his arms and beneath his wing.

  A nearly useless wing.