Dark Fire

A FIREBLOOD DRAGONS ROMANCE

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RUBY DIXON

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Copyright © 2022 by Ruby Dixon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover Photo: VJ Dunraven Productions

Cover Design: Kati Wilde
Editing: Aquila Editing
Proofing: Fortunate Books

Created with Vellum

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For my sensitivity readers - you made this book 10x better. :)

Tye C.
Chi O.
Kanika H.
Sheena B.
Kim M.
Grace Q.
Stephanie D.
Jane M.
Zintle M.
Kim A.

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 Contents

Foreword

Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part II
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Part III
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
 Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue

Afterword
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 Foreword

Hi there! In an effort to ensure that I don’t upset sensitive readers, I’m

including content warnings at the beginning of each book to let you know
what’s in the story. If you don’t want to be spoiled, skip ahead! Those of
you that are concerned, please read below. If I’ve missed something you
found particularly jarring, please let me know, and I will happily update it.

SPOILERS BELOW SPOILERS BELOW SPOILERS BELOW

SPOILERS BELOW SPOILERS BELOW SPOILERS BELOW
SPOILERS BELOW SPOILERS BELOW SPOILERS BELOW
SPOILERS BELOW SPOILERS BELOW SPOILERS BELOW

Because it’s a harsher world, the following things are referenced in the story
or happen on page:

Past Quid-Pro-Quo sexual arrangements

A man hitting a woman (non-spousal)
Slavery discussions
Mind control
Murder (spousal/partner)
Pregnancy
Authorities abusing their power
Pandemics/Sickness
In addition, one scene between Melina and Azar is dubious consent/quid-
pro-quo. I did feel it set up their particular story and was necessary, but I
realize all readers might not want to ‘experience’ it. If this bothers you,
please skip chapter four. I’ll also put a warning in the chapter header to
ensure you don’t stumble upon it by mistake.

Please remember that Azar is a villain and so he’s going to have

sharper edges than a lot of my heroes!

SPOILERS DONE SPOILERS DONE SPOILERS DONE SPOILERS

DONE SPOILERS DONE SPOILERS DONE SPOILERS DONE
SPOILERS DONE SPOILERS DONE SPOILERS DONE SPOILERS
DONE SPOILERS DONE SPOILERS DONE SPOILERS DONE

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Part One

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 Chapter

One

(If your book starts here, and you need content warnings, please scroll
back!—Ruby)

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MELINA

"I think you're free to go," I say cheerfully to my last remaining patient in
my clinic. There's no relief quite like when a sick patient can walk out
on his own two feet. I smile at the stranger, pleased that he's recovered
some weight and he's feeling better. It makes me feel like I've done my job.
Like I'm making a change in the After. It's a good feeling.
Even if it's the prickly, odd man they call Azar.
I pick up my knitting and the ugly, ugly yarn, just so I have something
to keep my hands busy as Azar puts on his many clothes. Even though it's
the dead of summer and everything is stagnant and hot, he insists on
wearing layer after layer of clothing. His skin is the whitest I've ever seen,
and his hair, too. If it weren't for the strange gold of his eyes, I'd think he
has a recessive gene or two in there that's mutated. As it is, I’m not entirely
sure that he’s human, but I’m not going to ask questions. My job is to fix
him up and send him on his way.
He puts on a long coat over his long-sleeved shirt and equally long
pants, and then braids his long hair and loops it under his baseball cap.
"Will these clothes suffice?" he asks, turning toward me. "Would a normal
human wear them?"
That's a weird way to put it. Puzzled, I finish the stitch I'm on and set
my needles down. "What do you mean?"
"Are they too burned to make me seem…normal?" Azar's voice is polite
as he stands in front of me, layered despite the fact that it's over a hundred
degrees today. I don't get it, but I know from tending to him over the last
few weeks that he runs hot, like he's constantly got a fever that I can't cure.
I threw away three precious thermometers before I realized the problem
wasn't them, but him. I'm still worried he's got some sort of cancer making
his system go haywire, but if that's the case, I can't do anything for him
anyhow.
So I study his clothing. "They still have some burned edges, but I think
they're usable. Everyone uses clothing until it rots off your back at this
point," I say. "They're not exactly a commodity that can be easily replaced.
So yeah, keep wearing them."
 He gazes down at me. "Is that why you are dressed the way you are?
Because you lack proper clothing?"
After weeks of dealing with Azar and his strange, pointed questions, I
don't get offended. I'm not sure if it was his injuries or if it's the After that
makes him a little peculiar, but we're all a little weird at this point. So I just
chuckle and deflect. "Much as I would love to swan about in fancy dresses
and loads of jewelry, I'm just glad to have clean clothes." I pat the militia
uniform I'm wearing. It's ugly and bulky and fits wrong across my backside,
but it's clothing. Most of my meager funds go towards bartering for more
medical supplies. "That's why I'm knitting in my spare time."
Those odd golden eyes flick to the needles and yarn in my hand. "You
are making fancy dresses?"
In a way, he reminds me a bit of Commander Data from that old space
show, creepy white skin and all. "No," I say carefully. "I'm making scarves
for the winter and extra diapers for the moms that come in." I can trade my
knitted items for clothes when I need to.
"But you would wear fancy dresses as your preference if you could?"
I shrug. "Who wouldn't? I'm weak for pretty clothes, just like any
woman."
Azar nods thoughtfully, as if filing this information away. He stares at
me for so long that my skin prickles uncomfortably. I ignore it. As a woman
alone in the After, you learn to try to ignore a lot of what men do. It's like
an apocalypse has given them leave to be shitty assholes constantly. Azar
can be short and nasty with others, but he's usually polite to me. I sincerely
hope that doesn't change.
He still keeps staring, though. I look up from my knitting again.
"What?"
"You're the healer here, are you not?" He pulls up a seat across from me,
wincing only slightly as he sits down. I know his skin is tight in certain
spots and tender where he was burned. I also know it healed faster than any
human should have possibly healed from those kinds of wounds, but…
dragons in the sky. Dragons in the sky negate all logical arguments. He
gestures at my empty clinic. "Why are your people not protecting such a
valued commodity?"
Here we go. It's another version of hey, pretty lady, you look like you're
all alone and in need of a sugar daddy. I turn back to my knitting. "If this is
you trying to get the courage up to rape me, know that I will castrate you in
your sleep."
He laughs, the sound hard and sharp. "I am merely assessing this place.
Learning what I need to in order to take it over."
"Sure you are." I flick my needles again, determined to ignore him.
"Unless you're going to pay me for my services, it's time for me to send you
on your way. My clinic can't afford to support freeloaders. It was nice to
meet you, Azar. I hope you have a lovely life, I really do."
"That's all I get? After weeks of time spent together?" His words are
accusing.
"Yup." I've learned the hard way that when men get possessive, it's best
to just neutralize them. I ignore him, my expression calm. "You're a patient.
I'm a healer. I healed you, now you're no longer my patient. So the circle of
life goes."
"But your clinic…it is poor?" There's a calculating note in his voice.
I glance up at him and notice that he's leaning in toward me. In any
other man, it would be menacing and pushy, but I've wiped this man's ass
for weeks now when he couldn't take care of himself. He's still weak as a
kitten. He just isn't good with boundaries. So I lean in, irritated, and
practically get in his face. "Listen. I don't care if you think my clinic is poor.
This is the best clinic in the state. Hell, it might be the only clinic left in the
state. So you take what you can get and you say, 'Thank you, Melina' and
you go on your way, all right?"
He grins at me. It's not a comfortable grin, just like the hand he strokes
over his chin comes across as somewhat menacing instead of
contemplative. "Thank you, Melina," he parrots. "And I'm not trying to
offend you. I'm trying to figure out your price."
My jaw clenches. "I'm not sucking your dick, no matter what you offer."
Really, the fucking nerve of this white man.
"You misunderstand me," Azar says softly, continuing to stroke his too-
pale chin with his too-pale fingers. His fingernails are just as unnatural as
the rest of him, shorn short and blunted, and thick as horse hooves. "I am
going to walk this city when I leave here—"
"Good for you, buddy," I say slyly back to him, not backing away an
inch.
"—and I am going to determine the easiest way to take it," he says, all
confidence. "A week from now, this will be my fort, my people. They will
bow to me."
It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes. "Sounds like a fever
dream to me."
"Perhaps." His strange eyes glitter. "But when the city is mine, I will
need a consort."
Is that what this was leading to? He wants a woman at his side?
"Tempting, but no."
Azar gestures at my clinic. "What if I stocked this full of everything you
needed? What if I gave you beautiful clothes and jewelry? Would you come
willingly to my bed?"
"Still no."
"Name your price, then."
This man is pissing me off. I glare at him, no longer playing around. It’s
hard enough to live in the After, doubly hard when you’re a black woman.
Men don’t like to take ‘no’ for an answer but I can handle myself. There’s a
knife close nearby and I won’t hesitate to use it if he doesn’t fuck off with
this. "I don't know who gave you the impression that I'm for sale. I'm not.
So quit asking, because the answer will always be no. And if you try
anything, I will fucking castrate you."
His lip curls. "I do not need to rape. My consort must be willing. She
will show the people here that I am one of them. She will cement my place
as lord of this…hovel." He flicks a hand in the air, indicating the city. "I
have been in your world for a while now, and I have decided that it's better
to reign over garbage than to not reign at all." He gets to his feet. "So tell
me your price."
"Fuck you," I say, positioning my knitting needles into a weapon and
pointing them at him. "I'm not for sale."
The smile he gives me is cold and ruthless. "Everyone is for sale. We
simply haven't figured out your price yet, my consort."

A week later ,Azar attacks the city with six dragons at his command.
I'd forgotten all about his crazy rambling. I've heard so much nonsense
from people over the years, people that can no longer get their mental
health medications, or people that have had their minds snapped by the Rift,
or everything after it. We're all a little bit mad these days, so when a weak,
newly healed man talks about how he's going to take the fort, I dismiss it as
nonsense.
I'm not laughing when the dragons fill the skies and the alarms fill the
air of the city.
It's the wrong day for dragons, and that worries me a little. I have the
attacks (which always follow a pattern) marked on an old calendar, and plan
my days around them, as everyone in Fort Dallas does. We know when the
alarms sound, that it's time to take cover. In the end, it doesn't matter that
it's the wrong day. The moment the alarms blare over the fort, I spring into
action.

I shut the doors of the clinic to protect my precious medications and

equipment from dragon fire. I don't lock the doors, because dragons can't
use doors anyhow, and someone else might need shelter. Once they're
secured, I hide inside a metal filing cabinet that will protect me from the
worst of the flames, a blanket covering my shoulders and head. I huddle
inside, and I wait. I wait for the smell of burning things, the screams, and
the inevitable knowledge that my clinic will be filled to overflowing once
more, and I won't be able to save everyone or ease their pain.
To distract myself, I go over my supplies mentally. My bandages and
gauze stockpile are low, but I boiled some rags and tore them into strips and
saved them in a plastic bag, so they should be more or less sterile. My aloe
vera supplies are low, as are my ibuprofen and naproxen. The best I'm going
to be able to do is to put cool water in bowls or buckets and have people
dunk the affected limbs to ease the burning. If someone comes in burned
beyond saving…well, I've got a medication for that, too.
I'm so busy with my mental plans that I don't notice all is quiet until the
door to the clinic opens.
Going still, I edge one door of the cabinet open and peer out.
It's Azar, looking healthier than when he left.
In a way, I'm surprised and not surprised at the same time. He’s a
stranger that comes out of nowhere, with the same odd, pure-gold eyes like
Claudia’s dragon-mate Kael. He pretends to be human, but to see him
commanding a fleet of dragons? Everything clicks. I realize this as he
swaggers into my clinic like he owns it, wearing a long, flowing coat made
of pale leather. He's got a baseball cap over his head, but there's something
about the lack of fear in his stance that cements things.
Azar isn't human. He’s been pretending to be and I’ve been ignoring the
signs. The dragons attacking—he's responsible somehow.
Hate blooms in my heart as he moves toward the small desk where I
keep my patient records in an old notebook. He picks it up and flicks
through it, leaning against my desk. "I know you're in here, my pet. I can
smell you."
Gritting my jaw, I step out of the cabinet and stand straight and tall,
glaring at him. "You're not human, are you?"
He runs his hand down one page, touching my handwriting. "I am not. I
was wondering how long it would take for you to notice. It seems that
humans see what they want to see, rather than what's before their eyes." He
smirks at me and closes my patient log, tossing it down on the table. "You
are as lovely as ever. Did you miss me?"
"No," I bite out. "Did you bring those dragons here?"
Azar nods. "They're mine. I control them."
"Are you here to…destroy everyone?" I mentally imagine the chaos he's
going to cause. My clinic isn't big enough, and I don't have the supplies. Oh
god, this is going to be brutal. "Is that how you repay those that took you in
and nursed you back to health?"
His mouth curls, hard and brittle. "Is that what you think? That I was
completely helpless until you came and put your soft hands and rubbed
your ointments onto my skin? That if you fed me your dreadful food—and
your fort's food is dreadful, by the way—that I'd come to have gratitude for
this place?" He laughs. "If anything, it's convinced me of the correctness of
my actions more than ever."
"Actions?"
The smile he gives me is as cold as it is wide. "This place needs a ruler.
I intend to take it over."
What?
I'm stunned into silence. Fort Dallas has gone through a bit of trouble
recently, given that when Claudia mated with a dragon, he ended up eating
the last mayor. There's been some jockeying with the militia that runs things
as they try to figure out who should take his place. I steer clear of all of it
because I know whoever is in charge, he's going to be a power-hungry ass.
They all are. Each time leadership changes, I have to establish guidelines
for running my clinic all over again.
As if anyone's lining up to run a clinic other than me. Someone needs to
look after the sick, though.
I eye Azar as he smirks at me. "You think you're the man for the job,
huh?"
"As you pointed out, I am not a man." He takes off the baseball cap that
hides his hair, shaking it out and revealing the tangled, pale length of it.
"But, yes. I am a leader, and the people here desperately need to be led."
"You're a stranger. No one wants you in charge." Forts are extremely
xenophobic in the After, and they hate outsiders. Not that this is a good
argument for someone who intends to take over, but I feel I should say
something.
"I'm not going to ask," Azar comments, his voice silky as he regards
me. "When you see a patient unconscious and bleeding, do you ask them if
it's all right if you tend to them? Or do you simply get to work?"
"It's not the same thing."
"Isn't it?" He spreads a hand, gesturing at the ramshackle city. "I see
people in desperate need of guidance when I look around. They will be
grateful to have me."
My jaw clenches, and I shake my head again. I take a step backward,
reaching for one of the scalpels near my surgery tray. "Why are you here in
my clinic? Did you come here to brag? Because I'm not interested."
Azar frowns, as if he's not quite grasping why I'm frustrated with him.
"Why? I told you. I am conquering this place, and I've come to offer you the
position of my consort."
He's dreaming. I let my disbelief show on my face. "Fuck off."
"Is that a no?"
"It's a never."
His smile grows thin, cunning. "That's a word you shouldn't use, my
pet. Everyone has a price, and never is such a long, long time."
I shake my head. "There are better-looking women in town. Go find
yourself someone that's willing."
"But you are the one that I want." He gestures at me, his hand long and
elegant. "I will be a benevolent mate to you. Wait and see."
This man does not get the hint. I put a hand at my hip, careful to flash
the scalpel at him. "I have had enough of 'benevolent' men to last me a
lifetime, thank you. I want nothing to do with you or your plans. What I
want is for you to get out of my damn clinic."
Azar just smiles at me, as if I'm not speaking. "I can be patient. Wait
and see." He turns and leaves, and I'm weak with relief. I crawl back into
the cabinet and hide, waiting for the dragons to leave, and shivering with
terror.
Men demanding my body isn't something new. It happens to every
woman in the After. Most just want to taste something they're not allowed
to have, and if my knife doesn't scare them away, my indifference usually
does. I've killed a man that wouldn't take no for an answer, and I'll do it
again if I have to. But something about Azar chills me.
I suspect he's not told no very often…and I'm not sure he's going to take
it as an answer.

E verything changes in Fort Dallas after Azar returns. I hide for hours, but
when the dragon alarms finally shut down, a quick peek out the door shows
me that there's a dragon seated atop the junked-car barricade that surrounds
Fort Dallas. Alarmed, I shut my door again and hide out for the rest of the
night.
The next morning, I awaken to knocking on the door of the clinic. It's
the militia, wearing their camouflage uniforms, though I don't recognize the
soldiers. They tell me that a new leader has stepped in at Fort Dallas, and
for the safety of all people, everyone is to remain inside their houses for the
day.
"If you have problems, you can take it up with the new leader, Lord
Azar," the soldier tells me.
So he took over after all. And no one has come to my clinic, so either it
was painless, or there's no one left alive. "I'm good, thanks," I tell them, and
shut the doors tightly again. I don't trust the militia, either. I spend the day
with a single metal shutter up to look out on the town, drinking the last of
my water and sweating in the oppressive heat. I see more dragons on the
barricade around the city, but the only ones walking the streets are the
militia themselves, rifles in hand. I could open more windows to let in a
breeze, but the dragons so close by have me unnerved. They've been calm
atop the barricade, but they've also never been so close to the city. I can
practically see the individual scales gleaming on each dragon's hide, and it's
terrifying. If they attack from this close, we'll all be roasted alive in our
homes.
I sleep on one of the cots like I always do, and when I wake up the next
morning, the all-clear alarm—three short bursts—is blaring. That means
everyone is safe and we can go out of the buildings again. I eye my
calendar—today is a dragon-attack day. That means this morning, a red
dragon is going to fly overhead, flame everything and attack, and then fly
away again just as quickly.
But the all-clear sounds again, and I frown to myself. Is Azar trying to
get everyone in this fort killed? We know the patterns here better than he
does. I move to the window, fix the shutters shut again, and wait.
By the time the sun is high in the sky and the sweltering day feels like
it's roasting Fort Dallas, I peek out the door. The dragons are still atop the
barricade, wings folded. Calm. There was no attack this morning. As I
glance outside, I see a few other people sticking their heads out and looking
around. A young Hispanic boy who doesn't look old enough to drive has a
militia uniform on, and his rifle is slung over his shoulder. I wave him over,
and he approaches.
It's Antonio, from two streets over. His mother runs the soup kitchen
that feeds the militia and last year she had a badly infected finger that I
fixed up for her. I give him a friendly smile and wipe some of the sweat
from my brow. "When did you join up?"
He grins at me, adjusting his military-issued cap. "Lord Azar invited all
men willing to follow him to join."
Did he now? "How'd he take control?" I ask, making my tone curious
instead of bitter. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Antonio tells me. "He showed up and said he had dragons,
and if we wanted to be safe, we could follow him." He shrugs. "He just
stepped in and took over. No one argued at all."
I eye the massive dragons perched above the ruins of the city like the
world's biggest gargoyles. Kinda hard to argue with someone if they
brought a bunch of dragons with them. "What do you mean, he 'has' them?
Why aren't they attacking?"
Antonio grins. "Lord Azar controls them. Says they can't do anything
without his permission."
 "Like…pets?"
The boy shrugs again. "He says we won't have any dragon attacks while
they're here protecting us. Nomads, either. We're now the safest fort out
there." He straightens, clearly pleased with this. "Fort Dallas is gonna be
different now."
"I see it is," I say. "Tell your mama I said hello." I lift my chin at him.
"And spread the word, I'm still here. If anyone's injured or hurt, I'll take
care of them. Doesn't matter who's in charge."
Antonio nods. "Azar told us to take special care of you." At my
incredulous look, he continues. "You're his lady. We're to make sure you're
protected first and everyone else second."
That fucking man. I smile tightly at Antonio and start opening my
clinic’s windows to let a breeze in.

T he next morning , when I peek out of the clinic, there are soldiers
stationed in front of my doors. Hot fury flares inside of me at the sight. I
bite back my anger and approach the closest one. I don't like the law. I
especially don't like the law because it tends to be nothing but men with big
egos who like to brandish their guns. To see them stationed outside of my
clinic feels like a personal violation. Not only do I feel watched, but no
one's going to come to the clinic if they feel they have to pass through a
gauntlet of soldiers.
"Is there a problem?" I ask, keeping my tone sweet.
He nods at me, all mocking respect. "Lord Azar sent us to watch over
his lady, that's all." He smirks at me. "He wants to make sure you're safe."
The smirk on his face tells me exactly what he thinks I'm doing with
“Lord” Azar. It enrages me, but I force myself to ignore it. Railing against
the person in power will get me nowhere. I have two choices—I can ignore
Azar's commands; I can confront Azar. There's a third choice—I can leave
the fort behind entirely, but then the people here will be abandoned and
without medical aid. If anyone else knows how to tend to basic medical
needs or step in as a midwife here in Fort Dallas, they sure haven't
volunteered their services.
 I feel obligated to stay. And that means ignoring the soldiers at my door.
So I give them a quick once-over and add, "At least put away your guns so
you don't scare anyone."
They just give me knowing looks, undressing me with their eyes. It
doesn’t matter that I’m wearing old, patched clothing and my hair is so dry
and screaming for moisture that I could probably use my braid to sweep the
floor like a broom. To them I'm a woman trading herself to the lord of this
place.
Ugh. I shut the door to the clinic once more and try not to think about
those jerks.
I'm not entirely surprised when no one comes to the clinic this day. I
wouldn't, either.

T he day after the soldiers show up at my door, there's no scheduled dragon

attack again. I dare to peek out my window, lifting the metal shutter, and I
notice others are doing the same. There's wonder and relief on their faces,
and I know we're all thinking the same thing. Did Azar really chase the wild
dragons away? Are the ones sitting on the wall his tamed pets?
Despite the presence of the soldiers at my doorstep, my clinic gets a few
visitors. There's the usual check-ins from the women that work at the
whorehouse near the barracks, looking for birth control, and I get a few
others. One is a pregnant woman wanting to hear her baby's heartbeat, and
another is a man that cut his finger while repairing his roof.
Everyone speaks of Azar in glowing terms. That he really is here to
protect the people of the fort. That he's here to “save” us.
I don't correct them. Let them think whatever helps them sleep at night.
I'm just about to shut my doors for the day, tidying up the clinic, when
one of the guards pushes in a grocery cart full of jars and boxes. I jump to
my feet, frowning. "What's this?"
"A present from Lord Azar to his consort," the smirky militia guard (the
same one from yesterday) tells me. "He wants to make sure you're eating
well." He takes the lid off of one box and shows a variety of fresh pastries
and a loaf of cornbread, then sets them on the nearest table without asking.
He picks up a weathered-looking thermos and holds it out to me. "Soup of
the day."
I ignore the watering of my mouth and draw myself up, tall as I can. "I
didn't ask for handouts. My customers pay me enough to get by."
They don't, actually. I ask them to pay what they can, and most can't. I
live off of the rare patron that brings in a dead deer and makes jerky out of
it, or the things that I manage to knit. I'm always hungry, and god, this food
looks and smells amazing. But if I take it, what message does that send? So
I carefully close the plastic box full of bread (how the hell did he even get
bread?) and hold it back out to the guard. "You can take this all away. I
don't want it."
"Our orders are to leave it, Lady Melina."
Lady Melina? My eyebrows go up. Am I the “lady” to his “lord” even
though I've told the asshole to get lost? "I don't want it," I say again,
moving past him and returning the food to the shopping cart he wheeled in.
"You can take it all back. Those are your lady's orders."
"We only answer to Lord Azar, I'm afraid." He ignores the cart and
shuts the door after him, leaving me with the food and a simmering temper.
My jaw clenches and I glare at the food for all of an hour before I break
down and eat two of the pastries. They're dry, and the flour is probably as
old as the hills, but it tastes like food from Before. A wave of nostalgia and
depression hits me and I end up eating three pastries before closing the box
again. I don't know what to do. I can say I'm not Azar's consort until I'm
blue in the face, but if Azar says I am, what choice do I have? I'm a woman
—I know men are always the ones that hold all the power. They might have
claimed we were equal in the Before, but in a dragon-ruled society, all of
that has gone out the window.
It feels as if I'm betraying my sex, even as I eat the abandoned food. I
know this is just the first of it. I know he's not going to let me ignore him
forever, and I still don't know how I'm going to be able to get out of this. It's
been a long time since I've had to use my body to survive, and I'm not
looking forward to losing control of my bodily autonomy again.
There aren’t a lot of options for a woman alone in the After.
I shove another stale-tasting roll into my mouth and try not to think
about what Azar wants from his unwilling “consort.”

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 Chapter

Two

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MELINA

I 'm not surprised when a box of jewelry shows up the next day, along
with a baby-faced soldier in a fresh uniform. The militia seems to be
winning over people far quicker with Azar at the helm in the last few
days than it did in the entire five-year span of the last mayor, which is
alarming. It's easy to turn away the jewelry, though. There's no point in any
of it. It's pretty, yes. The necklaces and rings and bracelets sparkle in the
sunlight and I'm sure they'd all look stunning with an evening dress. In an
apocalypse, though? It just gets in the way. It's not even useful as currency.
No one wants a ruby ring when there's no toilet paper. No one needs a
diamond-encrusted tiara when your “best” shoes are held together with
masking tape. If you need goods? You'd better have something to trade.
Batteries with juice left in them are important. Food is important. Bullets
and guns are important.
And soap. Shampoo. Conditioner. Some days I think I'd kill for hair
moisturizer.
Jewelry is easy to send back. I touch the jewels—so shiny and clean—
and then close the box and send them back with the boy. I know it won't be
the last thing Azar tries.
The next day is more difficult, though.
The boy returns, this time with an enormous, stuffed-full garment bag
slung over his shoulder and a container full of delicious, freshly cooked
foods. This time, the breads are some sort of honey-soaked loaf mixed with
cinnamon, and there's a thermos of thick venison chili. It's hot as hell
outside, but fresh meat is a luxury, and I decide I'm keeping the food. I let
the soldier in, and he immediately sets down the garment bag on one of the
cots and unzips it.
I falter at the sight of all the beautiful fabrics spilling out. I'm
immediately aware of how grimy and worn my clothes are, of the tight fit in
the ass and how rough the fabric is. Of the spots that rub against the back of
my neck and just how generally uncomfortable it is. It's functional and it
covers everything, but it's not…pretty.
And I've always had the stupidest weakness for pretty clothes.
 Not stupid enough to give in to Azar, of course. I'm not an idiot and it'd
take more than a few frocks to make me become his consort, but that
doesn't mean I can't look. I pull the first dress out and…it's gorgeous. A
pale yellow chiffon with a low neckline and spaghetti straps spills out into
my arms. It's got layers and layers to the skirts, and the bust is little more
than a gather from which all the material flows downward. It looks cool and
feminine and delicate and completely, utterly not a thing for post-
apocalyptic life.
I still want it. Fiercely.
I quell that want and set it aside, though, because no dress is worth
dealing with Azar. But I love clothes. I love when they fit just right, I love
when expensive fabric rustles and moves with you, and I love how special
and beautiful it makes me feel. It's a feeling I thought was gone. Clothing
itself is a luxury in the After, and every bit of fabric is used and re-used
because we've lost the skills to mass produce clothing. I don't know what
will happen when the last bits rot away. Either a lot of people learn how to
knit or use a loom in a hurry, or we all run around naked.
There's a pink frilly dress underneath the yellow one, and then a bold
orange gown in glistening satin with a single sleeve and a sideways-slanting
neckline. Underneath that, there's something with enough white lace to be a
bridal gown. It looks like someone raided a dress store, and as much as I'd
love to swan about in a gorgeous gown and feel pretty once more, I don't
need them. I carefully put the dresses back in the garment bag, zip it up, and
shake my head. "I'm not selling out to Azar for a few dresses. You can take
these back."
"He wants to know what you want," the soldier blurts.
Oh, I bet he does. I bet he'd love a big old hint, but I'm not giving it to
him. Like a lot of women in the After, when shit hit the fan, you did what
you had to in order to survive. Back then, I shared the bed of an older man
who was good with a gun, got me regular meals, and kept me safe from the
roving gangs that raped and murdered indiscriminately. You picked your
poison, and I picked sucking one asshole's dick instead of sucking a dozen
assholes’ dicks. The moment I could get free from him, though, I did.
I don't plan on returning to that situation ever again. "Tell your boss I
want him to go fuck himself."
The soldier sputters. "I'm not going to do that."
 I take another bite of the honey-bread, shrug, and toss the garment bag
out the door, onto the feet of the men standing guard outside. To the boy, I
say, "Unless you're injured, get out."
He leaves, and I'm alone with my raging thoughts and the taste of honey
in my mouth.

A zar ' s good at this game. I'll give him credit.

The next day, a new soldier shows up, this one with a shopping cart full
of medicines from a drugstore. I bite my lip at the prescription bottles that
are stacked inside the cart, because I could do so much good with these.
Naproxen. Albuterol. Amoxicillin. Epi-pens. Three kinds of birth control
and a stack of morning-after pills. Doesn't matter that they're all long-
expired. If someone's bad enough, I'm willing to roll the dice on medicating
them. I sigh with regret at the bandages, rubbing alcohol, and cold
medicines. I can use all of this, but I know it doesn't come without strings
attached. I’m not naïve. I know how this works. I shake my head and step
away from the cart. "Tell Azar if he was a good man, he'd give me these
things without expecting anything. But since he does, you can just take
them back."
The soldier nods and wheels the cart away, and I figure that's the end of
it.
Later that night, though, the soldier returns, and simply hands me a
note. I read it by the window, in the fading afternoon sunlight.
I'm not a good man.
A chill goes up my spine.

In the space of a week , Azar goes from conqueror to beloved leader.

It's sickening, really.
Despite the presence of the militia on my doorstep, people start to
trickle in again. There's the usual rashes and minor injuries. Someone broke
a finger. Someone else stepped on a nail. A colicky baby. I treat them all
with my limited supplies and try not to get too upset about the cart full of
medicine that I turned down just a few days ago. There haven't been any
other gifts after that. I tell myself it's not my responsibility to sell myself to
Azar so people can have fresh bandages. That I can't save an entire
community on my back. That if Azar really cared for the people of this fort,
he'd have given me all those medicines so I can do some good with them.
But Azar is silent. He doesn't show up on my doorstep to harangue me.
He doesn't send more soldiers with gifts, or presents of food. The soldiers
remain on my doorstep, but other than that, things go back to normal. Or…
as normal as they can be with six silent dragons atop the fort walls,
watching our every move. They never attack, and the other dragon attacks
cease as well.
Of course all of this is attributed to “great” Lord Azar. His name is on
the lips of everyone that shows up on my doorstep.
"It's amazing, isn't it?" a woman gushes as I stitch a gash in her finger.
She holds her hand still for me, not looking at it as I work. We're out of
painkillers and anesthetic, so she's having to endure. I gave her a few sips of
whiskey, poured a sip on the deep wound, and got to work. I should be
grateful she's not screaming in my ear, but hearing Azar praised grates on
my nerves. She babbles about him as I work, wiping blood away between
stitches. "I've never felt so safe here in the fort. The dragons have stopped
attacking, and even the militia itself is nicer. I've seen him twice, you know.
He smiled at me and said women had a very special place in his fort and we
were all valued. That made me feel so good."
"Mmm." I can just imagine the kind of value he thinks we have. Golden
pussies and silver tongues, all ripe for the using. "Hold still, please."
"I don't know how he managed to make those dragons his pets," she
continues on. "But I've stood in front of the barricade several times now,
and they don't even look in my direction. They just stare straight ahead with
those gray eyes of theirs. When you see them like this, they're almost pretty,
you know? Do you think he talks to them?"
"I can't imagine." I wipe away the last bit of blood, then put a bead of
antibiotic cream on the wound. I wrap a bit of sterilized fabric around the
stitched flesh and try not to notice how I'm almost out of the antibiotic
cream and scraps both. I give the wrappings one last pat before wiping my
hands. "You're good now."
The woman admires her finger and then hesitates as she looks over at
me. "I don't have anything to trade. Not yet."
 "It's all right."
She gets to her feet. "But Lord Azar is turning this place around. Him
and his dragon pets are protecting us. I think we're going to enter an age of
prosperity with him in charge." She touches her hand. "Once I've got a bit
of extra meat or some extra tradable fabric, I'll bring it over."
"Of course," I say, though I know she won't. I've gotten pretty good at
being able to tell who will truly return to pay for my services and who
won't. That's all right. I'm here to help, not to get rich. Frankly, I'd just be
happy if she left so I don't have to hear more gushing about how amazing
“Lord Azar” is. I've heard plenty already.
Lord Azar and his dragon pets, indeed. I know from spending time with
Claudia that they're intelligent. They have names. They can shift shapes.
They're people underneath those enormous, murderous golden forms. I
don't know what kind of deal he has with those people to make them sit on
the barricade like that, ever so calm, but it's better than rampaging, I
suppose. I still don't trust it.
Just like I don't trust Azar.
The woman murmurs her thanks and heads out of the clinic. I
immediately start cleaning up the station, trying not to worry about the state
of the fort. I can't change it, after all. All I can do is go with the tide and try
to stay afloat. Not two minutes after my patient leaves, the door opens
again. I turn, thinking she's forgotten something—only to see two militia
soldiers walk in, weapons displayed.
"Good morning," I say politely and gesture at their guns. "I'm going to
ask you to put those away before I can help you."
They ignore my request. One moves to the doors and flips the “closed”
sign over. The other heads to the windows that I've opened, pulling the
metal shutters closed.
My mouth goes dry. A shiver of fear goes up my spine, but I remain
straight and stiff. "What is this?"
"Lord Azar's orders," one of the men says. "The clinic is to remain
closed until further notice."
I clench my jaw. "People need my help. There's no one else in town
providing medical assistance."
They ignore me, shutting all the windows and closing all the doors and
cabinets. When they're done, one gestures at me with his gun, indicating I
should leave as well. I cross my arms over my chest. "I live here."
 "Not now, you don't. Lord Azar wants no one inside this clinic until he
gives the okay." He gestures at the doorway again. "If you wish to speak to
Lord Azar, we've been told to escort you safely to him." And he waits,
watching me.
Aha. So that's what this is.
Azar's tired of playing at being patient. He's tried bribing me, and now
that the carrot hasn't worked, I'm getting the stick. I know this game. Does
he think a woman alone hasn't had to play games to get somewhere in the
After? Please. I know exactly what he's up to. I'll get my clinic back as long
as I suck his dick, or whatever gets him off. Hot rage boils through me,
because he's got men with guns—and dragons—and isn't afraid to push
people into doing what he wants. I have no choice in the matter.
I can either pack up my clinic and leave the fort—and take my chances
in the dragon-infested wilds—or I can stay in “safe” Fort Dallas, under his
thumb and in his bed.
For a moment, I’m so full of hot, blistering rage I could scream. This
clinic is all I have. It’s mine. I’ve fought for it, tooth and claw, to get to a
place of respect here in Fort Dallas. I don’t have family – they died in the
Rift and the horrible months afterwards. I don’t have friends, because you
can’t trust anyone in the After. All I have is my clinic, and I’ve poured
everything I have into running it, into giving people options, into working
to make this shitty world a slightly better place.
And this bastard wants to take the one thing I have from me?
My jaw clenched, I nod at one of the soldiers and storm out of my
clinic.
Let's get this over with, then. Let's see what part of my soul I have to
sell in order to keep doing my work and helping people.

I keep my head held high as I march through Fort Dallas, the soldiers at my
back. I hate this, because it feels like everyone knows what's going to
happen next. It's like a scarlet letter has been branded on my chest, but
there's nothing I can do about it. Instead, I pretend to be unruffled. I study
the streets that some of the militia men are cleaning, and someone's burning
a pile of garbage. In seven long years, no one's bothered to clean up around
Fort Dallas, and the smell of it is a constant reminder that civilization has
fallen. I can't even be pleased that someone's finally taking control and
deciding to make this a better place, because that person is…Azar.
The barracks of the fort are in the remains of a strip mall that's been
converted to living quarters. I don't know what the stores here used to be.
The signs have been dragged down and destroyed, the concrete surface
tagged and painted a dozen times over. Metal doors have been put over the
existing glass doors and windows, and a chain-link fence topped with
barbed wire has been erected around it to keep the rest of Fort Dallas's
citizens out. A short distance away, the old parking garage looms, no longer
filled with cars, but with makeshift barns for cattle and sheep, and tents in
which fencers sell scavenged goods.
The men lead me past the chain-link fence, nodding at the guards there,
and then toward the far end of the strip mall, in the mayor's old quarters.
Once we step inside, everything looks vastly different to how I'd expected.
Paintings cover the walls—rich and beautiful and expensive. I pass a Monet
in wonder, heading in. There are women here, cleaning the place, and the
rooms are decorated with antique furniture. Exquisite vases are on pedestals
and gorgeous swaths of fabric decorate the shuttered windows. It's obvious
that someone's been keeping items from a museum, but seeing it all here is
staggering.
I'm led past one room with a massive dining table, full of blue and white
china. Another room is set with a grand piano and several instruments of
different kinds. There's another guard in the hall, and he nods at us as we
approach, gesturing at double doors that have been added at some point
post-Rift. The doors open and I stare into the largest library I've seen in a
long, long time. Shelves cover every single wall, crammed full of books of
all kinds. There are a few candelabras with candles to provide light in the
center of the room, atop a glorious old wooden table. An old-fashioned
globe on a stand is nearby. Seated at one end of the table, flipping through a
children's book, is Lord Azar himself.
It looks as if he's given up all pretense of pretending to be human.
Azar's long, silky white-gold hair flows back from his brow, clean and neat.
He wears a loose white robe that covers him from collar to wrist, a creation
I've never seen before but was obviously made just for him. There are hints
of embroidery at the edges of the sleeves and a gold frog-clasp at the high
neck. The sunglasses are gone and his eyes are full gold, no sign of pupil or
sclera. He looks otherworldly and practically elven, and I don't know how I
ever thought he was human.
Like he said before, we only see what we want to see, and I'm disgusted
at the sight of him.
He flicks another page in his book, barely glancing up. "You may leave
us, my soldiers. Thank you for seeing my consort safely to me."
"Yes, Lord Azar." One has the nerve to fucking bow before he heads out
the door. I hate all of this. I hate it so much. I know where this is headed,
and I think I hate that most of all.
I remain where I am, silent, at the far end of the table. The doors close
behind us, and it's just me and Azar alone. He flips over another page,
peering at the illustration intently, and says nothing to me.
Does he want me to speak first? Fine, then. "If you expect me to bow
and scrape, I'm not going to."
That makes him look up. "You are my consort. I would not expect you
to bow obedience. I have made you my equal."
I snort, because I call bullshit on that. Me, his equal? "If I'm so equal,
why did you force my clinic closed?"
Azar flips another page, then closes the book, as if I'm somehow
interrupting his precious reading time. "I tried other routes. They did not
work. I went for the one that did."
"You're forcing my hand."
"I'm forcing nothing," he says, cocking his head at me, studying me.
"Are there chains upon your wrists? Were you dragged here unwillingly?"
"Your armed guards—"
"Escorted you," he says coldly. "If they did more than that, speak the
word and I will have them executed."
I go silent. He'd kill someone, just like that. I know he would. I clench
my jaw, trying to fight the anger bubbling through me. "You're forcing my
hand," I say again, as calmly as I can. "We both know you are. Don't split
hairs with me."
Azar smiles, showing strangely even, white teeth. "I am forcing nothing.
You can turn around and leave right now. You can leave the fort and I will
not stop you. But your clinic? I'm afraid I can't let that go on without my
supervision." He glances over at the globe close to his hand and reaches out
to touch the textured bits. "It won't do to have you openly defying my will,
so it must be closed down. You understand."
 "I don't, actually," I grit out. "Explain it to me."
"First, tell me what these raised brown blobs are. Why is some of this
pink and green, and other parts blue?" He runs his fingers over the globe
lightly, like he would a lover. "I have had this for days now, and I still
cannot grasp its meaning."
He wants to talk about this now? "It's a map," I say. "Some of the
countries are pink, and some are green. The raised up bits are mountains
and high elevation."
"A map," he echoes, clearly fascinated. "What is all this blue, then?"
His fingers skim over the Pacific Ocean.
"It's water."
His gaze jerks to me in surprise. "Water? All of this?"
I nod. "It's the ocean…do you not have oceans where you're from?"
His expression closes down and he shrugs. "It doesn't matter. I'm not
there now, am I?" Azar's eyes are cool slits as he regards me, his hands
lifting off the globe. "And here you are, angry at me because I've brought
you into line. You wish to know why you cannot run your clinic? You can,
as long as you perform your role."
"As your consort?" When he nods, I let out a bitter laugh. "You're
joking, right?"
Azar gives me another toothy smile. "I am not, actually. I have seen the
females of this place. You smell the loveliest. You are attractive to look
upon. You are strong and intelligent and care for your people. These are all
excellent qualities in a consort. If I am to set myself up as Lord here, I must
have a Lady. I've decided that you are her." He sits up straighter. "As the
leader here, I should have the best."
I want to scratch his face off with my nails.

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 Chapter

Three

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AZAR

M y words bother her. Good. Words are weapons, meant to be used to

gain the advantage. That is what I was taught, and a good Salorian
uses all of his lessons.
I'm pleased, though. She's finally come out of hiding, her head held
high, ready to spar.
She's utterly magnificent, the healer Melina. I'm fascinated by her. Ever
since she laid her cool hands on my skin and reassured me that all would be
well—as if I needed her assistance to heal—I've been obsessed. This world
has polluted my mind, just as much as any of the drakoni that rage in the
skies. A Salorian needs no one but the empire. A Salorian takes no mate,
because bonds with others are weaknesses. The strongest Salorians are
those that stand alone and need no one.
I am not strong, not like that. Because it has been years since I was
dumped into this nightmare world, and it is starting to look as if I'm going
to be staying. I won't give up hope to return to my world, but if I must be
here, I must blend in with those that dwell in this land. That means wearing
the clothes they wear, eating their foods, and perhaps even taking a mate.
How the drakoni would laugh. Well, they would if they had minds left.
I've never thought of taking a mate prior to being marooned here. It's
not something my people do. The Salorians have mating pairs that are
chosen to share their fires, and their purpose is to keep our line strong. That
is not my purpose, though. As Salorians go, I am a minor lord, a leader of
ground troops, expendable and insignificant. I doubt anyone back home has
even noticed I am gone.
But here, even though I hate this place, there are opportunities.
I have seized one particular opportunity in taking over this fort. I should
leave it at that, but the darker, hungrier side of me wants Melina. The
uncouth side of myself I should be ignoring has…needs. Needs that I had
not felt before she touched me and her scent enveloped my senses. I had
noticed females before, but I have always been able to withstand them.
They were interesting, but without enough charm to tempt me.
Until Melina.
 From the moment I opened my eyes and saw her leaning over me, full
of quiet competence and authority, my spirit has been uneasy. My cock stirs
at the thought of her. Her scent haunts me. I have dreams in which I wake
up with my sheets wet, my cock throbbing and spent. I feel like a callow
youth once more, and I don't like it.
Like any sort of craving, I know that the best way to get it under control
is to allow myself a taste. The humans here take mates, and I could use an
advisor that would quietly educate me on how the minds of these people
work. So, I have decided. Melina shall be my consort, and we will rule Fort
Dallas together.
And she will share my bed. I have decided that, too, and my cock
stiffens underneath my robes at the thought of it. Of touching her dark, soft
skin and tangling my hands in her thick curls. Of breathing in her scent until
I drown with it. Of pushing her thighs apart and—
"You can't be serious," she snaps at me, all fire and fury. I love it. I love
her anger, because her scent rises with her passion, and it excites me. "If
you want a woman, get one. I'm not volunteering for the position."
"You have already been chosen," I tell her, keeping my voice cool. I
don't want her to know of my inner turmoil, of how even now, my fingers
itch with the need to touch her. "You should be flattered."
"Fuck you. I'm not flattered. I want my clinic back." Her nostrils flare
with indignant rage. "You have no right!"
"This is my fort now," I say smoothly. "I have every right."
She pushes her hair back from her face, rage simmering in her dark
eyes. "You can't just declare that I'm your consort. You don't get to decide
that."
"Oh? Do wars end differently here in this world?" I feign innocence.
"Do victors not get the spoils?"
I watch as her jaw clenches, and I love her fire. She doesn't seem to
realize that all her choices have been taken away from her. I've been patient
until now. I've offered the things she mentioned, and when that elicited no
reaction, I've been forced to become ruthless with her. She'll eventually
realize she has no option here. Truly, this conversation has brought me more
amusement than taking over the fort, even, and it's a sign of good things to
come.
"Is that what I am?" Melina asks in a deadly voice. "Your spoils?"
 Tsk. "You're fighting against the inevitable, my beauty. This fort doesn't
want to take care of itself. They practically flung themselves at my feet
when I showed up with my drakoni." I gesture at my surroundings. "I ask
for things and they're brought to me. Gratefully, I might add. If I tell them I
want you, how many of them do you think will hold you down in my bed
for me, smiling all the while?" I let that sink in for her, and then add in a
soft note, "But I don't want that, of course."
"You want me willing." Melina's words are flat, her arms crossed over
her chest in that ugly outfit she wears. "Because the great leader has to
make it look as if everyone wants to lick his ass. Because if I fight you, they
start wondering what's so wrong with you, right? And we can't have that."
Her mind is sharp and clever. I like that she sees things I don't say aloud
and calls them out to me. She'll be a clever mate…if I must take one, that is.
So I incline my head. "I will be a good lord to this fort and to you—"
She rolls her eyes, as if what I'm saying is utterly ludicrous, and I'm
taken slightly aback by that response. "All you men in charge think the
same shit. Fine. You want me willing, is that it? And if I'm not willing,
what's the next step? You're going to trot women and children in here and
torture them in front of me until I agree to suck your dick?"
…did she say suck?
Is that what people do when they're in private together? My Salorian
upbringing hasn't prepared me for such a concept. I clear my throat to hide
how her words have unnerved me. "You're giving me ideas, and you know
you shouldn't, my lovely—"
"I'm not your lovely," Melina rages. "And let me guess, my other option
is to leave, right?"
"Actually I'm afraid we've passed that point," I say in a soft voice. "I'd
use my drakoni and bring you back." Especially now that she's said the bit
about sucking on my cock. "We've discovered you have a price. Let us
hammer out the details, shall we?"
Her nostrils flare with pure fury, and for a moment, I suspect she'll come
across the table and attack me. She's like a hissing, spitting fledgling, and I
cherish every snarl she makes, knowing that she is furious and yet she is
still about to give in, oh-so-beautifully. "Fine," Melina says. "You want to
talk price? Let's talk price."
She pulls out the chair at the far end of the table and sits down with a
heavy thump, glaring mutinously at me.
 "First of all, I want dinner," she says in a sharp voice. "A nice one. I'm
tired of sending everything back. You want to keep me? It's going to cost
you a fortune. I want dresses. I want jewels. I want a bath every night in hot
water, with fresh soap. I want hair products. I need shampoo, and detangler.
I need bonnets and scarves and a wide-toothed comb. I want shoes that are
the right size. I want clean sheets for my bed, even if it's got your sorry ass
in it." And she curls her lip slightly at me.
I'm utterly delighted at this turn of events. "You shall have it."
"Don't get too excited. That's just for starters." She taps a delicate
fingernail on the table, pointing at nothing. "And if I'm the consort of this
fort, then you need to make it a place that I'd be proud of, or no one's going
to buy that I'm with you. So this is how it's going to be."
How it's…going to be? I'm awed at her ferocity. Awed, and more than a
little amused. Here I thought she'd be announcing her surrender, and instead
she's come in with a list of demands. I knew she was perfect to be my
consort. There is no stronger, cleverer female to be found in this fort—or
even in all of this world. No wonder she makes me want to break all of the
rules a Salorian lives by.
But if there are no other Salorians here, can they truly judge me for
wanting to blend in?
I already know the answer to that, however, and I choose to ignore it.
Instead, I listen as Melina dictates how she thinks I should run the fort.
Everyone needs access to running water of some kind, she tells me. Few of
the buildings left standing have some, and it adds to the filth and disease of
the city and leads to unsafe conditions. She wants me to dig latrines for the
people, and at another location, a place for them to retrieve fresh water for
drinking and bathing. She wants to set up a school program for the children,
who need to be educated on reading and writing and math so the knowledge
of the past isn't lost.
"And we need to give single women a safe haven of some kind. Right
now, they're forced to seek out protectors or whore to put food in their
mouths. I want them to have an option other than that. Your troops won't let
them go hunting on their own unless they're bribed, and so they're trapped
here with no way to earn coin other than on their backs. I don't care if it's a
farming program, or teaching, or something else, but they need to be able to
support themselves and not rely on the benevolence of some asshole." She
gives me an extremely pointed look.
 They're all excellent suggestions for improving this place, and I'm no
fool. The happier and better off this fort is, the more prosperous it will be.
Word will spread. Others will come looking for safety and assurance, and
we'll take them all in, growing our empire. Melina is wise to realize this.
But I can't praise her too quickly or she'll think I'm soft. I arch a mocking
eyebrow at her. "Should I take notes?"
Her return gaze is withering. "I'll remind you."
I incline my head. "Then go on."
She does. Melina tells me about how we need to improve gardening
programs and to clean the streets. How everyone needs to work towards
building a better fort, rather than sitting around and scrounging for scraps.
She also wants supplies for her clinic and wants an assistant. She wants her
clinic to be her domain, her kingdom, and completely under her control. "I
ask people to pay me what they can," she tells me. "And if they can't pay, I
still treat them. If I'm your consort, I expect you to keep me stocked with
supplies. If they can't pay, they can work it off once they feel better. They
can garden, or clean, or cook in the barracks cantina. But I want everyone to
know that the clinic is open to them and that everyone deserves fair
treatment."
I cluck my tongue at her. "Anything else?"
Melina straightens, her back stiff and proud. "I'm sure I'll have more
later, but that's it for now."
"And what do I get in return for this list of demands?" I hold my palm
up, gesturing.
"You get me," she says flatly. "You get your consort. I won't contradict
you in public. I'll be your supportive little woman. I'll support your ideas in
public and help you run this place. And I'll share your bed. In return, I get
my clinic, and the people here get a better life."
There's still a mutinous expression on her face, as if she's not pleased at
having to give in to me. I didn't expect her to be, though. Melina likes to do
things her own way, and she's going to bristle at me taking charge. She'll
eventually see things my way, however. She'll realize what a strong,
intelligent leader I am and her reluctance will drift away.
I try not to look too eager, keeping a remote expression on my face.
"Are you satisfied with the negotiations, then, my pet?"
Her nostrils flare with distaste. "Don't call me that."
 "This is the hill you choose to die upon?" I smirk at her, utterly amused.
"If I said no to the clean water and the schooling, would you still suck my
cock? But I can't call you my pet?"
The dislike on her face grows. "Fine. You know what? Call me
whatever you like. I don't care. I said I wouldn't contradict you, and I mean
it." A tight little smile curves her mouth, as if it's physically paining her to
do so. "I'll be your pet. Fine."
For some reason, her easy acquiescence disappoints me. I like her fiery
spirit far more than her brittle acceptance. "In that case, I agree to your
terms. I won't call you pet, and I'll implement your ideas. The medical
supplies will be delivered to your clinic tomorrow and it will reopen then.
You can spend your days there, but your meals must be with me and your
nights must be in my bed. Understand?"
Melina nods. "When do we start?"
I get to my feet, glad that my robes hide just how stiff and aching my
cock is. "I'll instruct the servants to have a bath drawn for you. You want
one, right? A bath, and dinner. And then I expect you in my bed tonight."
"Tonight." She breathes the word, and for a moment, her face looks
shattered. Her expression quickly twists and changes again, though,
becoming blank once more. "Fine. Tonight it is."
"I'll want my cock sucked," I say, because now it's all I can think about.
Plus, if she services me, she won't realize how woefully inept I am in this
particular area.
"Fine," she says listlessly and gets to her feet. "I'm going to want a bath
afterwards, too."
Curious. Maybe she just likes to bathe. "Very well."

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 Chapter

Four

(Sensitive readers be warned that this chapter contains dubious

consent/quid pro quo.)

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AZAR

I spend the next few hours in my library, looking at pictures of humans

coupling in books and the flimsier tomes called “magazines.” Many of
them are extremely vague and don't show the mechanics. I need one of
the human “videos” that will show me in great detail what happens. I squint
at one picture on the front of a book, frowning as I try to decipher what
exactly the male is doing to the female. Both of their faces look ridiculous,
and it seems as if the male is ripping her clothing off as if it displeases him.
Is this some sort of human ritual in which the female is defrocked? Is it a
show of strength? What? I peer at the inside of the book but there are no
pictures in this one, just lots of small black squiggles that someone once
told me are spoken words, but written down. My people do not have such a
thing, and I wonder at the people in this world.
They do not have magic, nor do they have the gift of mind-speech, but it
seems they have other gifts.
Even so, I would rather return to my world, where I understand
everyone. Where I do not have to figure out how to join my body to a
female's.
Something tickles at the back of my mind. The captive drakoni I keep
on the wall are silent, their minds asleep. This one is new. An interloper,
judging from the mad flutter of thoughts that graze against my own. I close
my eyes and focus, straining. At home, I could hold a hundred drakoni
captive at once, without breaking a sweat. Two hundred, even. In this
strange world, it takes everything to hold the six I have. The mind-speech
doesn't work the same here as it does at home. There's some sort of deep
interference that makes everything far more difficult, and so when I send
out a lure, it's ignored. The drakoni male drifts out of range again as quickly
as he drifted in, and I frown to myself that I've failed in this.
I am not setting a good example of a Salorian. Perhaps I've spent so
long trying to blend in that I've corrupted what makes us strong. Perhaps I
should send the female away tonight and remember what a Salorian truly
needs—nothing. Instead of focusing on the humans of this fort and the
gorgeous, dark-skinned female bathing to please me, I should turn my
strength inward, tap into my reserves, and try desperately to contact
someone across the Rift, back in my home world.
Decided, I shelve the book with the mating people on the cover and
abandon my library for the evening.
One of the servants meets me in the hall. He's adorned in the pale colors
I have insisted that my house servants wear, as it reminds me of home and
the drakoni servants that would be waiting upon me there. "Lord Azar," he
says, his expression brightening. "Your dinner is almost ready—"
I hold a hand up, silencing him. Human food is another appealing item a
true Salorian would eschew. "I am not eating tonight," I declare. "I will
retire to my quarters and wish to be left alone."
The human male nods at me. "Of course."
With an angry snap of my robes, I head for my rooms. I am not pleased
with myself. The tickle at the back of my mind returns, and I send out
another mental lure, but it's ignored again, and it just irritates me more.
Here I have been so smugly pleased that I have not been driven mad like the
drakoni, but I have been corrupted instead by humans and their meals and
their beautiful females.
Or…one beautiful female in particular.
She will crow with victory when she finds out I've resolved not to touch
her, and the thought twists in my gut like a dragon's claw. Perhaps I will not
tell her for a while, then. I will let her wonder, and suffer, just to remind her
that I am in charge. Decided, I march down the halls and close the doors to
my rooms behind me. It's cool and dark inside, with only a single candle lit
to provide light to see by. It's light I don't need, but human senses are much
duller than my own.
And sitting on the edge of my bed, waiting, is the female—Melina.
Her smell is different. There's a freshness to her scent, with something
like flowers and soap. Her thick, curly hair gleams in the candlelight, loose
around her shoulders, and she wears a strange shift dress with two strings
holding it over her shoulders and nothing else.
She gets to her feet as I enter, and my mouth goes dry. My traitorous
cock hardens under my robes as she approaches, her feet bare, and crosses
the floor toward me. I need to speak, to tell her that we are not doing this.
That I have changed my mind and decided to embrace my Salorian
discipline tonight instead of her.
 The words don't come, though. I'm silent, wordless as the gorgeous
creature moves in front of me. She doesn't look me in the eye, simply raises
her hands to my throat and undoes the decorative clasps of my clothing. A
few more tugs and then she pulls my robe off entirely, letting it fall to the
floor at my feet. I do not bother with the underclothes that humans wear,
and so my cock juts obscenely toward her, an obvious show of my rampant
desire.
Speak, I chide myself as she gazes down at my cock. Say something.
I open my mouth…just as she falls to her knees in front of me. I’m
stunned. This is happening…now? I’d demanded it, yet I somehow
thought…
I don’t know what I thought. I don’t know what my expectations were.
I’m shocked to my depths at this moment. My cock is suddenly bobbing in
front of her face, in front of her full lips, and I remember what she said
about taking me into her mouth.
Melina spits on my cock, and I'm both repulsed and aroused at this.
Before I can ask why, she leans forward and takes my now-wet member
into her grip.
A ragged gasp chokes out of my tight throat. “You—wait—"
“I’m not sucking your dick,” she tells me. “You get my hand.”
I’m barely paying attention to her words. I’m lost in her touch. I've
never felt anything like this before. When I imagined rutting with a female,
I thought perhaps it would feel a bit like using my hand—pleasing, and
leads up to a satisfying release. Even that is frowned upon unless you're one
of the few Salorians chosen to be breeders. I am not one of the chosen,
because my bloodlines are mundane and my strength in mind-speech
average. I've touched myself in the past, always furtively, always knowing
that such actions are weak and frowned upon.
But this…her touch…is different. This is intense and as her hands roam
over my genitals, I can’t think. There’s pleasure, yes, but it’s overwhelming
and something about this feels strange. I can't think, not with her hand
working me like that, like she's squeezing my spirit out through the head of
my cock itself. "Wait," I breathe, as my sac tightens under those massaging
fingers. "W-wait—"
She doesn't, though. She only moves her hand faster, adding pressure at
the tip. I gasp again, the release boiling out of me before I can take control
of the situation. I spurt onto her fingers and she immediately rears back,
wiping my spray on her dress. "Hot."
"Seed," I wheeze. "Fires—"
"Doesn't matter," Melina says, and continues to work me with her hand,
angling my cock so the rest of my release sprays on the cool tile floors. She
moves her hand up and down my shaft, squeezing me and pumping me as if
it's her goal to get every bit of my seed onto the ground, and I shudder
underneath her ministrations.
I've never felt…anything like that. I’m overwhelmed. Shocked.
Astonished. Mortified and fascinated at the same time, and even more
mortified when I realize that was done in a matter of seconds.
I reach for her chin, only for her to bat my hand away.
For the first time, Melina looks up at me. She spits on my cock again, a
bit of steam rising into the air when her cooler saliva hits my cockhead, but
she ignores it, continuing to work her hand up and down my shaft, sending
shivers through my body.
"I'm going to let you in on a little secret," she tells me in a low, hard
voice. Her eyes are full of hatred as she gazes up at me, her hand
continually milking my cock and making me shudder. "You're the same as
every other man that shows up here. You may surround yourself in art and
wear pristine robes and pride yourself on how high and mighty you are, but
at the end of the day, you're using the same fucking playbook every other
man does out there. You say you're in this to lead the city, but we both know
you're just here to get your dick wet." She gives my cock another squeeze,
and I can't stop the hitch of my breath in response. "Every man with just a
little bit of power decides he needs to use it to bend women to his will.
Doesn't make you smarter, Azar. It just makes you the same shitty little
dictator as everyone else. You're not special. You're sure not bringing
anything new to the table. You're just getting your rocks off by lording your
power over women and forcing us to service you." She tilts her head, giving
my cock one last squeeze. "Am I done here?"
I gape at her.
She nods as if I've answered her question. "We're done. Next time, warn
me that your seed is scalding so I can be better prepared." With that, she
wipes her hand on her shift, gets to her feet, and stalks across the room,
leaving me naked and limp-cocked, standing in front of the splatters of my
own release.
 And I am…ashamed. This should have been my greatest moment and
instead I feel like a monster.
Melina shakes her hand, and I realize her palm is bright red. I know my
seed has burned her. I…should have known that, but it did not occur to me.
Humans aren't as warm as my people. They are not like the drakoni, born
with fire in their veins, or my people, who channel their fires inward.
"I harmed you—"
"I'm fine," she says, drawing back when I reach for her. "In the scheme
of things, I've had worse." She pulls away, as if the last thing she wants is
for me to touch her, and I realize just how little she wanted this.
I thought after we negotiated that…I don't know what I thought, truly.
Perhaps that we'd outline terms of her surrender, like two generals meeting
on a battlefield, and then she'd fall gracefully into my arms. Instead, she
spat on my cock and jerked it with all the excitement of the maid that cleans
the laundry for the barracks soldiers. For some reason, I expected more
enthusiasm. Not a grudging yielding that makes my cock shrivel.
I remember what else she said. You're the same as everyone else.
Forcing women to service you.
In the scheme of things, I've had worse.
Someone else has…touched her. She has jerked the cock of others she
did not want to. The realization staggers me. Someone else has harmed my
consort. My mate.
No, I correct myself swiftly. Not my mate. Drakoni take mates. I am not
drakoni. I am Salorian.
"You have served in other men's beds?" I ask, my tone brittle even to
my own ears.
"Why do you care as long as I get you off?" Her voice is tired as she
returns to the bed, tugging a blanket around her shoulders and facing away
from me, as if she cannot stand the sight of me. "You think a woman gets
very far in this world without using the only weapons she's got? All you
men are the same. You're happy to take a blow job and then clutch your
pearls when you find out your mistress isn't a virgin."
I clench my jaw, trying to sort through the emotions racing through my
head. I pride myself on my cold rationale, but perhaps this world has
polluted that, too. I can't think of anything except Melina turning my cock
aside, milking it as I shoot my load on the floor, and the look of distaste in
her beautiful dark eyes.
 She thinks I'm just like them.
It infuriates me, and it makes me feel helpless, both emotions I do not
like. Seething, I grab my robe from the floor, not caring if it's spattered with
seed or not, and storm out of the room.

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 Chapter

Five

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MELINA

I 've done it now.

I've pushed too far. I shouldn't have acted like I did. I should have
let him lead, let him set the pace so I could see exactly what he wanted
from me. Instead, I sat in my scented, warm bath and stewed with anger.
How dare he? He wanted a fuck toy? I'd give him a fuck toy and let him
realize that he's not better than anyone else. I'd get it over with and hope
he'd feel every bit of disdain brimming inside me for the position he's
forced me to take.
I'm such a fucking idiot. I know you get more flies with honey than
vinegar. I know I should be sweeter to him since he controls everything and
everyone in this fucking fort. I wouldn't be surprised if he had me dragged
out of here and shot, not after the look he gave me when I walked away. I
can deflect on some of it. Spitting on his dick? I can say it was to lubricate
his shaft so I could work it…which is true, but it also felt good to spit on
him.
But all the words I scolded him with? Telling him he's no better than
any other petty dictator? That was all me not knowing when to shut my
damn mouth.
Azar doesn't come back to “our” quarters, and I don't know what to do.
The truth is, if he does all the things that I made him promise to do in
exchange for me in his bed, how can I say no? This is like a marriage of
convenience that they had in all those old paperback novels, where both
parties marry for a common goal. Is two minutes in my mouth worth more
than a school for the children here? Do I value my tongue that much? Any
other woman in the fort would probably gleefully suck his dick for what
he's offered me, and I had to bitch at him for making me feel like…well,
like a whore.
So much for my survival instinct. Apparently it went out the door along
with my common sense.
I still hate him, but I can hate him and use him for what he can do for
the fort's people. If all he wants is a quick jerk (and boy, that was quicker
than I'd expected), I can put aside my pride, can't I?
If he doesn't kill me, that is.
 I lie in bed for a while longer, staring at the ceiling. Do I clean up the
cum on the floor, or will he view that as an apology I'm not sure I'm ready
to make yet? I can't sleep, so I decide I should dress instead. If they're going
to execute me, I want to be dressed appropriately. My mom always used to
tell me to wear clean, pretty drawers when I left the house, because if I got
into an accident, I didn't want dirty granny panties showing on TV. So I
head for the closet that's been prepared for me and consider my options.
There's nothing even remotely like my old, worn uniform. Everything in the
closet is flowing and princess-like and gorgeous…and completely
inappropriate for life in an apocalypse.
I guess if he's going to kill me, I'll go out looking amazing.
I pull a dress down from one of the hangers and finger the fabric. It's
more chiffon, this one a pale steel gray with an asymmetrical skirt and a
deep vee-neck. The sleeves are little more than caps of ruffles that float
over my shoulders, and the skirt ends in even more ruffles, and I decide I
love it immediately. I dress, loving the way it slithers over my head, and
then go to the attached bathroom and toy with my hair. For the first time in
forever, I was able to oil my scalp, and my moisturized hair no longer looks
dried and frizzy. It’s been so long since I’ve had clean hair that I’m
welcoming the wash day shrinkage, just because my hair feels so damned
nice. It’s loose and clean and oiled and I can’t stop touching it. I feel like a
new woman.
Well. New woman stuck in the same old shit.
I work my hair with my fingers until the curls look deliberate instead of
haphazard, and then pull it up to pile atop my head with a pretty, jeweled
clip.
If I'm going down, I'm going to go down looking like a movie star.
I poke around with the cosmetics that have been laid out, most of them
still with the wrappers intact. They're all excessively expired, but I don't
care. I dab a bit of dry lip color onto my mouth when there's a knock at the
bedroom door.
Well…that's not a good sign. Azar wouldn't knock in his own room.
I hold my head high and answer the door, giving the soldier there an
imperious look. "Yes?"
"Please follow me," he says. "Lord Azar has requested your appearance
in the courtyard."
 In the courtyard. In the middle of the night. This is it, then. I should run.
I should grab my skirts, grab the gun from this man, and see how far I can
make it before I'm stopped. But I don't. I just lift my chin higher and sweep
past him, down the hall. If I'm going to die because I spat on Azar's dick,
well, it's a good way to die.
The moment I step outside into the “courtyard,” though, I'm confused.
The courtyard is the old parking lot of the shopping center, the grasses and
weeds that crept between the cracks cleared away or stomped down to leave
a desolate, blank expanse. Instead of just Azar and an execution squad, I see
row after row of his soldiers, all lined up. Some of them look sleepy, as if
just roused from their beds, and not all of their uniforms are neat and tidy.
Only a few have weapons with them, and a few carry lanterns to light up
the darkness.
In the shadows high above, something gleams, and when I look up, I
realize there's a dragon nearby. It's come off the walls and roosts a brief
distance behind the soldiers.
"Good," says a familiar voice, stepping forward in a swirl of pale robes.
"You are here, my consort."
Azar holds out a hand to me as he strides in my direction. Confused, I
place mine in his. This isn't an execution. I don't know what it is, but it's not
an execution. I remember enough that I'm supposed to be his fawning little
woman in public, though, and so I move closer to him as he places my hand
on his arm in a gentlemanly manner. "I don't understand what's going on," I
whisper. "Did something happen?"
He pats the hand I have resting on his arm, like we're an old married
couple. "I have organized this for you, my lovely. Take a good look at them
and let me know if he is here."
I'm confused. "If who is here?"
He looks over at me, and I could swear his eyes seem to darken in the
lantern light. "The one that hurt you. Point him out, and I will have him
taken care of."
"Taken care of?" I echo.
Azar nods, strolling me toward the line of soldiers. "By fire, or rifle, or
a more dire torture if that suits your needs. You just point him out and I'll
make him pay."
I'm stunned at his words. I just stare at him, not entirely sure what to
think. Part of me is flattered that he wants to punish someone that forced
me. A smaller part of me is appalled that I could just point at anyone and
he'd kill them, no questions asked. It's a much smaller part, though, and I
don't know how I feel about that. I don't look out on the men, because I'm
afraid if I stare at one for too long, he'll take that as an admission of
someone's guilt. Instead, I focus on Azar. I arch a brow. "Suddenly you're
worried about women being raped by men?"
"No," he corrects. "I am not worried about anyone being hurt but you."
"You hurt me," I point out quietly. "Earlier. By forcing me."
He doesn't correct that he didn't really force me, that it was me that took
a bitter, angry control of the situation the moment he got in the room. He
knows what I mean. Azar just nods again, gazing out at his men. "I know.
And because I do not know how to punish myself for such things, I will
take it out on them instead."
Oh. I gaze up at him, thoughtful. Maybe he's not as awful as I expect.
Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement after all, one that won't
make me feel like a whore. I pull my hand from his arm and gesture at the
doors. "I'm going to go back inside. This is a wasted exercise."
His expression grows icy, and he reaches for my wrist. "You will not
point out your attacker so I can give him justice?"
I pull free from his grip, glaring in his direction. "That man's not out
here. He's already dead. I killed him the moment I had a chance." And with
that, I turn and head back into the barracks, heading for Azar's private
rooms. I wonder if he's going to follow me. If he's going to insist upon more
answers. If he's going to try and touch me again.
But he does none of those things, and I go back to bed and lie down,
fully dressed. I don't sleep. My mind is too full of turmoil.

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 Chapter

Six

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AZAR

I leave Melina to her own devices that night. She is skittish after what
has happened between us, and unsure whether or not to trust me. I have
played these kinds of games for much longer, though. I know how to
lure an uneasy mind, to gain its trust so I can step in and take over. While I
have no plans on taking over her mind—I like her sharp wit and the sting of
her biting tongue too much—the basics remain the same.
Gain trust. Find out what she wants and provide it. Over and over, until
she comes running to me.
I will not force her again. The next time we touch, I will educate myself
on how to ensure a female receives pleasure in her mate's bed. She will beg
me to touch her and give her my cock. The thought arouses me, far more
than her angry distaste when she touched my cock before.
I can be patient. I can cast my lures and wait.
I flip through the human books, both fascinated and frustrated with
them. They hold a wealth of knowledge, I suspect, but I cannot read their
language, and I cannot ask because I will look weak. So I gaze at the
pictures, hoping for some spark of awareness, some hint as to how I should
proceed with Melina.
There is nothing, though, and I give up at dawn, heading for my table.
The servants are scurrying about, eager to please despite the early hour.
I sit down at the head of the table and wait to be served. Glasses of fresh
water and hot tea are placed before me. I wait for a plate of food to be set
down, and once it is, I set a napkin in my lap and pick up one of the eating
utensils that humans use. It still feels clumsy in my hands even after all this
time, so I make sure to use it with deliberate care. A chair has been set up at
the opposite end of the table for my consort, but there's no sign of her.
I lean back in my chair and pick up the hot tea, sipping it. "Where is
Melina?"
The female servant waiting near the table trembles. "She…I will find
her, my lord." She races from the room, clearly terrified of me. Annoyed at
the delay, I drum my fingers on the sleek wooden table. Did I not specify
that she was to take all of her meals with me? Is she avoiding me and
breaking our agreement already? My anger continues to grow as the
moments flick past, until I pick up a familiar scent in the hall, one of human
soaps and soft skin. The rustle of skirts announces Melina's presence before
she enters the room.
I'm pleased to see her dressed in the manner that she should be dressed.
Her thick, tightly curled hair is held back by two jeweled clips above her
ears, and fluffs out into a nimbus behind them. She wears a pale lavender
dress that makes her rich skin glow with health, and the dark eyes that
watch me snap with emotion. "You don't have to scare your staff, Azar. I
was on my way." She turns to the quaking female behind her. "Thank you,
Sylvia."
The female nods and scurries away, returning a few moments later with
a plate for my consort, as well as beverages. Melina settles her skirts around
her as she sits, thanking the female again before focusing her attention on
me.
When we're alone, I study her, thoughtful. She looks composed this
morning. There's no sign of the flashing anger from last night, or the bitter
resignation as she touched me. Her features are smooth and bland, as if
she's trying her best to be the obedient doll she somehow thinks I want.
"Thank you for breakfast."
I frown. "Why are you thanking me? As my consort, meals are your
right."
"Are they?" She shrugs, the movement graceful. "I've learned to be
thankful every time I have a full belly, since it doesn't happen all that
often." She eyes her plate with interest. "I see you've been holding out on
the fort."
"Holding out?"
Melina nods, spearing a piece of canned fruit. "You're eating better than
everyone else. But let me guess, it's because you're in charge, right? And
you should get special treatment?"
I narrow my eyes at her. She's right, but I have a feeling if I admit that,
I'm somehow losing the battle of words, so I say nothing. I take a few
careful bites of food, and when she begins to eat, the servant—Sylvia—
approaches and gives Melina a cup of the foul-smelling coffee. That makes
her brighten. She reaches for it immediately and thanks the female, pleasure
on her face.
I decide to steer the conversation. "Why do you greet and thank the
help? Is it not her purpose to serve? Why acknowledge it when she is
simply doing her job?"
Melina frowns at me, cradling that cup of stinking hot liquid as if it's
more precious than the gowns I gave her. "She's a person with feelings.
Why wouldn't I greet her?"
"Why do her feelings matter? She is working a job in exchange for a
bed to sleep in and food from my kitchens. She is protected because she
chooses to serve. Why do you care what she thinks of her work, or of us?"
She sips her drink, closes her eyes in pleasure, and then takes another
sip before setting it down. "Because how you treat your staff matters. Being
kind and polite matters."
"Why?" I am genuinely curious as to why she thinks this.
Melina places her napkin on her lap, spreading it out, and picks up one
of the pancakes on her plate. I confess I love the texture of them. They
might be my favorite human food for their spongy sweetness, so unlike
anything we had at home. Instead of using her fork, she picks it up with her
fingers and nibbles on the edge. "I don’t know how to make you value
being kind, so let’s try to put things in a way you’ll understand. Let's say
you ignore her and only say something to her when you're in a bad mood.
What if she gets fed up and leaves?"
I shrug, not really grasping why this is an issue. "Then she is a weak
fool to value her feelings over safety and security."
Melina tilts her head at me, her expression exasperated. "Azar."
"What?" At her stare, I cast about for a different answer. I like that we
are conversing like this. I like that she is challenging me. I might not agree
with her perceptions of how the world should be, but I can still learn how
she thinks and apply this to understanding other humans. "Fine. If she grew
frustrated and left, I would…hire someone else to do her job, then."
She nods slowly, taking another bite of pancake. "And if that one left?"
"Hire another."
"And another," Melina says. "And another, and another, until you run
out of people to serve you. Word will get around that it's a miserable job
and no one will want to do it, and then you're going to find yourself with no
one to put your plate in front of you and treat you like a king. Then what do
you do?"
I would use my control over the drakoni and threaten them into serving
me, but I don't say that aloud, because I know she won't like that answer.
 "You're not going to serve yourself," Melina says in a gentle voice. "We
both know that. Think of all the trouble this would create, though. When it
could all be solved with one simple, polite word." At my silence, she gives
me a prompting look. "Well?"
"If all it takes is one polite word to sway her, then she is a bigger fool
than I imagined," I say, poking at my food with my fork.
Melina sighs heavily. "Forget it. I'm not sure why I bothered."
That makes me frown. I don't like that she has given up so easily. "I
shall…take your advice into consideration," I tell her. "I am glad we spoke
of this."
She looks a little surprised at my response.
We are making good headway with our conversation, I think. I take a
bite of food and watch her as she eats, then say, "Tell me about the male
you killed."
Melina freezes just before the coffee cup hits her lips. There's a hunted
look in her gaze for a moment, quickly replaced by a more placid, remote
expression. "What male?"
"Last night, you told me that the male in question, the one that you said
touched you, was no longer living. Is that not true?"
She takes another sip of her drink and then picks up her fork, picking at
some of the fruit on her plate. "That's not something I'd like to talk about
over breakfast."
"Is it more of a dinner topic, then?" I arch a brow at her, mimicking her
expression. Melina is quiet for so long that I pause, waiting for her to
answer me.
She continues to pick at her food, her expression vague. "It's an, 'I don't
trust you enough to speak of it with you' sort of topic, if we're being honest.
That wasn't a fun time in my life and I really don't want to recount it right
now."
I frown. "But we are having good conversation. We are learning about
each other. Is this not what a man does with his consort?"
Melina toys with her food and says nothing.
Does she think that I consider her one of the staff? Is that why she is so
hesitant? "I respect you," I say, because I want to see her eyes gleam again.
I want to have her speak to me with enthusiasm instead of that reluctance
on her face. "You are not just a thing to me, Melina."
 "You might respect me, but you're still forcing me into your bed," she
says.
Forcing. Again with the forcing. As if I have her by the arm, shoving
her toward my cock. "You agreed to come to me willingly. Remember?"
"Yes." Her smile is tight and insincere. "I remember. And I'm willing,
don't worry. I said I'd be yours in all ways, and I meant it. I'll keep my end
of the bargain."
"But you will not be eager."
"You can force obedience, but not eagerness," she retorts, tossing down
the remnants of her pancake. She picks up the coffee cup again and chugs
the contents, her throat working.
I can tell that she's trying to finish quickly so she can be done with me. I
scowl. "I will force nothing. I will make you want to be there, mark my
words."
Melina gets to her feet. "Good luck with that." She moves away from
the table in a swirl of skirts, leaving me behind.

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 Chapter

Seven

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AZAR

I must find a way to entice Melina into my bed.

The thought drums in my head over and over again as I go about
my day. Now that I am in charge of the fort, there is an endless series
of tasks that must be completed, questions that must be answered, decisions
that must be made. Where would I like the militia to hunt today? What
should they look for? The kitchens are low on supplies, how will we
restock? The gardeners need extra assistance. The pipes that bring water to
the barracks are clogged. There are rumors of nomads to the north, heading
in this direction.
I answer them all. I make decisions, because that is what a good leader
does. It is obvious to me that these people do not wish to be in charge of
themselves. They want someone else to make the calls. Someone else that
will tell them what to do, how to survive. Someone else that will help them
thrive, because they cannot do it on their own.
A drakoni mind nudges at my own—a female heading into this territory.
Her thoughts are inflamed, and if she comes near the fort, she will ruin my
promises of safety. I am not delicate with her—I blast her senses with who
and what I am. A Salorian. Danger. I can feel her mental shriek and she
immediately changes course, her mind drifting away from mine. Good.
If nothing else, I have that under control.
The situation with Melina, however, I do not. I ponder this as I move
through my day. After dinner, I will have to consult my books and
magazines again, but I don't know if they will have the answers I seek. I'm
out of my depth when it comes to physical desires. They are things
forbidden to most Salorians, lest we corrupt ourselves and become like the
drakoni, all raging passion and anger. Control is everything, but when I'm
near Melina, my control seems fragile at best.
To make matters worse, I can't stop thinking about how it felt to have
her hand on me. The memory is both enticing and revolting. The pleasure of
her touch and her tight fist…combined with the disdain and loathing on her
face. I want more of the pleasure and none of the loathing. But how? Who
do I ask?
A Salorian shows his vulnerabilities to no one.
 Melina joins me again for dinner, her hair mussed and her dress limp
from sweat. It's been a warm day, if all the human chatter is to be believed,
but the heat does not trouble me. The deserts of my world are scorching,
and this reminds me of home. The servants offer to come in and fan me
through dinner, but I decline. I eat the delicious human food and watch
Melina, but she has no inclination to chat through dinner. She simply
shovels food into her mouth with grim determination, finishes quickly, and
then leaves.
I am irked.
But I let her have this show of defiance. I am taming a glorious creature,
after all. I cannot expect her to be eating from my hand the first day. Where
is the challenge in that? I like her spirit, and I have no wish to break it. So I
give her time alone, retreating to my library with candles when it grows too
dark to read by natural light. When it is time to retire, I head to my quarters.
Melina is there, waiting for me. She is not in the bed this time, nor does
she wear the flimsy little sheath she wore last night. Instead, the bed is
freshly made, the sheets perfect. The window is open, the ugly metal
shutters pulled back and she gazes out at the stars. The moment I enter, she
gets to her feet and gestures at the window. "It was stuffy in here, so I
opened that. I hope it's all right."
I shrug, eyeing her clothing. She's still fully dressed.
She licks her lips, approaching me. "Last night was a mess. I was upset,
and I didn't know what you wanted, and I think we both got off on the
wrong foot." Her expression is calm as she comes to stand before me.
"So…you tell me what you want from me and I'll do it."
Like a servant. She will service me because she has to. And just like the
dinner from before, she will make it as quick as possible because she cannot
hide her distaste at being in my presence. I hide my displeasure at the
thought. "I should like for us to sleep in the same bed. It will please the
people to see that my consort and I share a bed, like other couples do."
"O-kay," she says, drawing out the word. "What about…touching?"
"I told you. I want your willingness. If I do not have it, I am not
interested." I drop my robe to the floor and get into the bed. "Goodnight."
I can practically feel her confusion vibrating in the air. I close my eyes
and fold my hands on my chest, the blankets loose at my waist. I normally
sleep on top of them, but this is another human thing I am learning to do,
just like using a fork. I close my eyes, projecting calm, and all the while, I
pay attention to her. I listen to the slither of her garments as she moves
across the floor. The swish of clothing as she changes into something new,
and the sag of the bed as she climbs into it. The blankets shift, and then she
gets under them, and goes still. Her scent is in my nose, enticing and sweet,
her body close enough that I could just get on top of her…but I meant what
I said.
I am not interested in breaking her to my will. I want her as majestic as
she is…but on my side.

We continue in such a manner for several days.

Every night, we share a meal. Most of the time it is in silence. Every
time I attempt to speak to her, she rebuffs me, eating as quickly as she can
before rising to go bathe and then change into her bedclothes. When we
both retire to sleep, it is in the same bed, but on separate sides. It is all part
of the plan. I want her to become used to my presence. I want her to find
my nearness and my presence as part of her normal day. That we are
companions. She will eventually settle in, and then I can press for more.
In the meantime, I set other plans in motion. I watch my men closely,
and there are a few I have selected as more clever, more loyal, more eager
to please than the rest. I call four of them in one morning and invite them to
eat with me. The staff sets out a banquet of food and the men give me wary
looks, not eating. They look uneasy, and I bite back a flash of annoyance at
how difficult it is to read humans sometimes. I gesture at the food, taking
another piece of bread onto my plate even though I ate a short time ago with
Melina. "If you are not hungry, I will tell the cooks to distribute this food to
the barracks. Otherwise, you should eat."
One of the men reaches for a roll, and then another, and then it is as if
the dam has burst. They fill their plates to overflowing and cram food into
their mouths quickly, eating as if I will change my mind and snatch it away.
All is silent except for their smacking and chewing, and I pick idly at the bit
of bread on my plate. "I am glad you are enjoying my hospitality," I begin.
"I have chosen all of you for a special mission."
They immediately stop eating and watch me. One has a greenish cast to
his skin, and I can hear him swallow.
 "Nothing like that," I say, and it takes everything in me not to snap at
them. I need them to think we are friends and they are serving me out of
affection. I smile coolly. "It's a favor, really. And it's not even for me. It's for
my consort. I want to make her happy."
The men relax, as if by simply mentioning Melina, I have won their
trust. It confirms my decision that taking one of the females here as my
mate was a wise choice.
"I cannot leave the fort myself." I gesture at the ceiling, indicating the
skies outside. "I must stay here with my dragons on the walls and protect
the people. But I should like to get my consort a gift. One that will tell her
how special she is to me. Something that will impress her greatly." I steeple
my fingers and gaze out at them, smiling. "Which is why I am sending out
the four of you. You are my cleverest soldiers. I know you will choose
wisely."
One chews with his mouth open, squinting at me. "So like…what do
you want us to get?"
"I would like for you to choose. Surprise me. Think of what she would
like, and bring it back to me so that I may gift it to her." I get to my feet
slowly, smoothly. "I am counting on all of you to make excellent choices.
Whoever chooses the best shall be amply rewarded. I look forward to
seeing what you bring me tomorrow morning."
One speaks out as I turn to leave. "But, sir…"
I ignore him, heading out. Does he need me to spell it all out for him?
Ridiculous. Perhaps he's not as clever as I'd thought. I can only hope the
others are more effective than that fool.
It is a quiet day, with very few projects calling for my attention. I have
men working on digging a well for the people in town. I have already set up
programs for schooling for the young children of this town. I am still
working on a way to employ the young females here without angering the
militia. The men visit the whorehouses often and if they need to see to their
needs in order to serve mine, so be it. Without anything in particular calling
me this day, I decide to walk the streets of Fort Dallas.
It is not a charming place. The streets here are a mixture of dirt and the
hard substance they call concrete. Weeds grow everywhere, and there are no
manicured gardens, no fluid architecture. Dwellings have been erected
wherever there is a safe spot, and they are covered in scraps of metal and
clustered together in protected spots. I try to imagine this as the place I have
seen in the magazine pictures, when the metal cars moved on the highways
and the houses were spread out in neat array and people shopped at these
places instead of built lean-tos against them. A goat trots past me, bleating,
followed by a young child. Another woman walks past, a bucket in her
arms, and ducks her head in greeting. Her stench nearly flattens me as she
drifts past.
How do humans not smell themselves?
It takes everything I have not to curl my lip with distaste. Instead, I
paste a benign smile to my face and head toward the far end of this avenue,
where I know Melina's clinic is located. Her doors and windows are open,
and I can see a figure moving around inside. Her light scent drifts out onto
the street, refreshing and sweet. Odd how I don't find her nearly as
unpleasant to smell as other humans. Even freshly washed, they turn my
stomach. Not Melina, though. She fills me with a deep sense of pleasure
and my sac tightens under my cock as if sensing her.
I clench a fist, willing my body to obey before I step inside.
The interior is slightly cooler than outside, and my eyes adjust to the
darkness quickly. Melina sits next to one of the cots, wearing a slinky silver
dress that clings to her curves. There is a man lying in the cot, and she leans
over him, pressing a wet towel to his forehead.
I frown at the sight of him. Not only because I did not smell him—the
stink of humans is everywhere in this fort—but because when she leans
over, her breasts are dangerously close to spilling out of her dress. If the
male opens his eyes, he will get a glimpse of my mate's cleavage…and I
don't like that. Not one bit. "Who is this?"
She glances up at me, her expression flicking to immediate annoyance.
Melina turns back to her patient. "Didn't realize I had to check in with you
before I treated anyone."
I smooth away my suspicious expression. "Of course not. Why is he
here?"
"Heatstroke." Melina wets another cloth, applying this one to the male's
bare chest. "He's a carpenter. Jim was trying to make enough money to buy
some water for his family and overdid it."
"His family does not have water?"
"Nope. The only access to water is privately owned. I have to bargain to
get some myself." She gives me a look, even as she wrings out the cloth. "I
brought this bucket with me from the barracks."
 I move to her side, feigning interest in the male. "Well, that will not do.
I will see how progress on the well is coming. Once that is completed, I will
send my men to see about getting water for you, here."
She licks her lips and gives me a wary look. "Thank you. Why are you
here today?"
"Can I not visit my consort?"
Melina shrugs. "I guess you can. You're not here with guards?"
I tilt my head, clasping my hands behind my back. "Do you think I need
them? In my own fort?"
"You just took over the fort, so I don't know if you can call it yours,"
she corrects. "And you aren't afraid of getting attacked or offed?"
I snort. "Not if they value protection from the dragons that roam the
skies. They know they are better off with me alive. Everyone is." Her jaw
flexes, and I wonder if she is going to argue that. She does not, though, and
wets another cloth, setting it on the man's skin. His breathing is quick, his
smell sour, and I instinctively lean in closer to Melina, breathing in her
scent. "I am here because I wished to see you today. To talk to you."
"About what?"
"Must we have a topic? I am your mate, as we agreed. Since you do not
speak with me at mealtimes, I thought I would come to your clinic and
speak with you here."
"Is that a threat?"
"No." I study her, and she looks uneasy. Does she think I am holding
this over her head, then? To force her to speak to me? Annoyance flares
through me, and I fight it back. A Salorian is always calm. "It is a
statement. You flee as if you cannot stand the sight of me. I wished a
companion, not simply a warm cunt. Tell me, have I been unfair to you
since we struck our bargain?"
She doesn't meet my gaze, fixated on the man in the bed as if ignoring
me will somehow make me go away. "That first night—"
"You initiated. I would not have done so."
Her lips purse. Flatten. She wrings out the cloth and then looks in my
direction. Her gaze still will not meet mine. "I was trying to anticipate your
needs."
"If I have needs, I will make you aware of them. Until then, do not
blame me for your own actions."
 Melina's shoulders stiffen. "Fine. You and I are off to a bad start. I
acknowledge that. I am just having a hard time getting past this whole
situation between me and you. It's going to take me some time."
"Time?" I huff, amused. "Here I thought we had already come to the
terms of our agreement. I do not remember time as one of the stipulations."
She takes a moment to answer me. "We agreed, you're right." She
hesitates, then places the cloth on the man's chest, smoothing it over his
skin with delicate fingers, and the sight of those fingers touching another
male fills me with jealous anger. I shove it back, because there is no arousal
scent in the air. She is not attracted to this man, so my reaction to her
touching him is my problem. "I'm just…struggling, Azar."
My name. I like when she says it. "Tell me why you struggle."
"I don't want to be a thing. A possession." She glances up at me, her
eyes dark and stormy with emotion. "I don't want to be owned."
"I don't want to own you. I said I want you willing. That has not
changed."

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 Chapter

Eight

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MELINA

W illing.
He makes it sound so damn reasonable. He won’t touch me
until I’m willing. He makes it sound as if at some point, I’m going
to not be bothered by the fact that he strong-armed me into this
arrangement. That I’ll just forget everything that’s gone before and
suddenly decide that yes, I would like to have sex with him. Yes, I would
love to be his consort that he parades around the fort like some sort of
trophy. All of the manipulating will be water under the bridge and I’ll fall
into his arms, eager to suck his dick. "The willing is the part I'm struggling
with."
He gazes at me thoughtfully, not offended. "I see. Perhaps you will feel
more comfortable with our union in time."
That's a…rational answer, and he continues to surprise me. "Maybe."
I continue treating my patient as Azar stands there, watching me. I have
to focus on the man in front of me, the one suffering from heatstroke and
not the one consuming my thoughts. I'm running low on water already,
despite it being early afternoon, but I don't stop. I could cool Jim down
properly with a cold bath, or air conditioning, but we have neither. So I
keep pressing wet cloths to his chest and hope for the best. Luckily he was
brought to me before he got too bad, but I'm still going to need more water.
I glance over at Azar. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to fetch me some
more water for this man? There's an extra bucket by the door."
His brows furrow as he studies me. I wait for him to refuse, to say that
sort of shit is beneath him. To my surprise, he picks up the bucket and heads
out the door.
Okay, I was not expecting that.
Just then, Jim moans and starts to shiver. Fuck. I need to stop his
shivering because it's going to send his body temperature up again. I jump
to my feet and move to my medicine cabinet, picking through what I have.
Benzos or muscle relaxers are ideal to stop the shivering, but I have neither.
Biting back frustration, I grab some Tylenol and race back to his side.
"Jim," I say, grabbing my water bottle. "Can you drink? I need you to take
this medicine."
I manage to get a few sips of water into him and one of the Tylenol
before I give up. Instead, I focus on fanning him with a paper fan to cool
him down even more, hating that he continues to shiver and I'm helpless to
stop it. I don't have the ability to run an IV to give him saline to rehydrate
him. I have needles and the set-up, but not enough water. There's never
enough water.
The doors open again, and to my surprise, Azar sweeps in, followed by
six of the militia soldiers. All of them are carrying buckets, and one by one,
they set them down in front of me. He nods approval and turns to the
closest man. "Until we have water established here, your job is to ensure
that my consort has everything she needs. If she needs water, you make sure
she has it. If she needs bandages, you make sure she has it. If she needs
supplies, you tell me and I will make sure they are sent for. I do not wish to
hear about her running out of anything. Understand?"
The man gives Azar a crisp nod. "Understood, my lord. I won't let you
down."
"I know you won't." He waits until the men leave again and then turns
back to me. "Simply ask, and I shall provide for you."
I pause in my fanning. "Thank you."
I get to work cooling my patient again. This time, I soak one of the thin
blankets in my clinic and drape it over his body, and when he rouses, I get
him to take one more pill and to drink more water. When he stops shivering,
I'm finally able to relax…and I notice Azar is still in the clinic. He lurks
behind me a fair distance, leaning against the wall and watching me work.
"You're still here," I point out, because I feel as if I should say
something.
"I am. You seem surprised."
Getting to my feet, I return to gently fanning my patient, my back to
Azar. "This can't be entertaining for you. Don't you have a fort to run?"
"I enjoy watching you work." He moves forward, changing spots so I
have no choice but to look at him. "You do not want me here?"
After he got me more water? After he's been polite and almost friendly?
It seems like a dick move to shoo him away, and he's not interfering with
my patient. Even so, I'm not comfortable in his presence. I keep waiting for
him to expect something from me. To ask for something I'm not willing to
give. I don't trust him, and that makes it hard to function normally. "You can
stay."
Silence falls between us. Azar smiles, ducking his head and
maneuvering to try and get my attention. "But you will not talk to me?"
"I…don't know how to talk to you like a normal person."
He chuckles, not offended by my words. "I suppose that is fair. And I
am not a 'normal' person, as you put it. I am not human, not like you. But
you can still talk to me. I am your ma—your lord." He frowns to himself,
then quickly smooths the expression away to something slightly more
charming. "Pretend I am here to get tended for an illness and speak to me as
you would anyone else."
"An illness?" I pause in my fanning to give him a wry look. "You mean
like when you were here because you were burned?"
"You didn't speak openly to me then, either. So no, not like that." He
holds a hand out, pointer finger in the air. "Pretend I have a very small
injury on my finger."
That makes me smile. "Well, if you had a very small injury on your
finger and you showed up here, I might poke fun at you for wasting my
time."
"A moderate finger injury, then. One that requires you to fuss over me."
Something tells me he'd like that. That he'd get a kick out of me fussing
over him. And for some reason, even though I know he's an asshole, it
makes me feel…good? Azar clearly values my skills and even if he wants
to control the city, he's not trying to control me right now. He already got
everything he wanted, and I should hate him for that…and yet he's not
being as big of a dick as he could have been. I continue fanning my patient.
"I guess I'd chat with you about how hot the weather is."
"Is this hot, then?"
That makes me glance up. As usual, Azar looks cool in his pale linen
robes. Most everyone would be sweating patches through the thin fabric,
just because there's no air conditioning and it's a typical blistering Texas
summer. Being indoors makes things worse, which is why I have all the
windows and doors open, to allow a breeze. I'm wearing a very light dress
—the thinnest one I could find, even if it's not work appropriate—and I'm
still sweating. My hair is down on my shoulders. It’d probably be smarter to
keep it up, but thanks to all the product he’s been showering me with lately,
my hair looks amazing and feels soft and touchable. It makes me feel
normal again to have clean hair, and so I leave it down, even if it’s hot and
sticky. I turn the paper fan on myself for a moment, making a cooling
breeze as I flutter it back and forth. "It's sweltering as far as I'm
concerned."
"I did not realize. It is not like this year round, though, correct? I seem
to recall it being much colder."
I nod slowly. "It'll be hot for several months yet, but this is the worst
time of year. Everyone's miserable." I glance over at him again, and his
cheeks aren't even flushed with the heat. He's not sweating at all, while my
entire body feels damp and unpleasant. "Is it like this where you're from?"
Azar looks thoughtful. "Much warmer and drier, actually. And it never
cools down."
"Sounds terrible."
His expression twists into a wry smile. "It was very beautiful, actually. I
miss it."
Well shit. Here I am sticking my foot in my mouth when he's trying to
be decent. "I'm sorry if I'm reminding you of painful memories."
"A reminder is a good thing. It will keep in mind what I am fighting
for."
"And what are you fighting for?" I ask. I can't help it. This is the first
time he's mentioned anything like that.
Azar's expression loses its thoughtful vagueness and he focuses on me
once more. "I am going to return home. Somehow, I am going to find a way
to cross through the Rift again and return to my world once more."
The Rift? The Rift high in the sky that tore open and let all the dragons
in? I'm not entirely sure it's reachable. Not without an airplane…or a
dragon. But I don't even know if his dragons can fly that high. I reach down
and press my fingers to Jim's forehead, and maybe it's my imagination, but
he feels slightly cooler. I return to fanning. "How do you plan on going
back?"
He hums to himself. "Haven't quite figured that part out yet. But I'll get
there."
"When you go, are you going to bring the dragons with you? Show
them how to go home, too?"
"Why would I want to do that?" Azar sounds genuinely puzzled by my
question.
 I tell myself not to get offended. Not to take it personally and fly off the
handle. Maybe it's just something he hasn't thought through yet. "If you
leave, the fort is back to where it was before, getting attacked regularly.
Except now we'll also have your dragon pets here. And if you don't take
them with you, who's to say they won't go crazy again? Just like the
others?"
He's utterly silent.
Azar says nothing for a very long moment, and he doesn't have to. I
know the answers already, and I'm disappointed. Azar wants to go home,
and once he goes home, we're no longer his problem. He's going to play
petty lord here until it no longer suits him, and then he'll leave. He'll return
home and we'll be as we were before—and probably worse off, because
we'll have tasted safety for a brief time. Our senses will have dulled.
I'm disgusted with him for being so selfish. Disgusted, but not surprised.
I bite back a bitter laugh and shake my head. "And what happens to me
when you leave?" I can just imagine how well it's going to go over with the
people here when Azar fucks off and leaves us at the mercy of dragons
again.
I wait for his glib answer. I wait for him to say something like how he's
going to take me with him, or he'll set me up with some other sort of fort
sugar daddy, or some other equally demeaning answer. To my surprise, he
says, "I haven't figured that out yet, either."
I glance up, looking at him. He seems…distressed. As if this is
something he hasn't considered. "Not gonna take me with you, huh?"
"I cannot." Azar's expression grows increasingly troubled. "Salorians
are not supposed to take…consorts."
Of all the things I expected Azar to say, that's not it. He's not supposed
to have a woman? I pause in my fanning, because I'm seeing Azar in a
different light, and I'm not sure what I think. He demanded a consort when
he recovered, and demanded that it was me, the only woman he knew in the
fort. He knew me because I tended to him. And it makes me wonder. "You
didn't have someone back home?"
"Someone what?"
With confusion written all over his face, it's obvious he has no idea what
I'm talking about. Salorians…don't take companions? Did he really just take
me to impress the militia? Because he thinks it’s what the man in charge
does?
 Is this man a damn virgin?
I think about our first encounter. How he'd looked so stunned when I
serviced him with my hand. Oh hell. If he's a virgin…that makes things
really, really awkward between us.
"Never mind. I should work." I fix my attention on my patient and
ignore Azar until he leaves again.

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 Chapter

Nine

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AZAR

D inner that night is pleasant. While there is still a bit of hesitation in

Melina, the simmering animosity seems to be gone. She is weary
by the time she arrives for dinner, and tells me that her patient felt
well enough to go home that night. She droops over her plate, and I suggest
politely that she take a cool bath and go to bed early. She gives me a look
that might be gratitude and retreats, taking a big piece of bread with her. By
the time I retire for bed, she is fast asleep, the windows open once more and
her body outlined by the thin sheet. I remember my promise to get her an
assistant, and make a mental note that I must determine what she would like
in such an assistant.
A female one, I think. I do not like the idea of her spending every day
with a male who is not me.
Decided, I climb into the bed next to her. Her scent fills my senses, and
my cock hardens again. I'd give anything for her to turn over and touch me.
To tell me that she's changed her mind and wants my protection. That she'll
do anything for it.
Even that fantasy does not sit right. I like Melina's fierceness. I like that
she questions me and demands more for her people. I wouldn't like her
cowed and weak and begging for my favor. I want to earn her affection.
With that resolve in mind, I drift off to sleep…
…only to jerk awake again a short time later, gasping for air.
I bolt upright, pressing a hand to my brow as I suck in breath after
breath. My head feels polluted, and I take a moment to reach out to each of
the drakoni I have captured, affirming the bond that entraps them to me.
They remain in place, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
"Azar?" Melina's sleepy voice makes me turn. She sits up, too, the
covers spilling in her lap and revealing her nearly bare breasts. Her
nightclothes seem to get smaller and smaller, and I know it is because of the
heat and not because of me. Even so, it makes my frustration surge. She
reaches out and touches my arm, and just as quickly, my frustration
vanishes at that gentle caress. "Are you okay?"
I grunt. "It is nothing. Just a dream."
 "Sounds more like a nightmare." She gives my arm a sympathetic rub.
"You were making some weird noises in your sleep."
"Weird?"
In the darkness, I sense she shrugs. "Like you were frightened."
A vision flashes through my head. Of my dream, of my skin crawling.
Of the Rift, pulsing. Of bugs creeping over my skin and tearing into my
flesh with dagger-like legs. Of an eye from above, powerful and all-seeing,
looking for…something. I'd woken up before it saw me, but the malignant
sense of it remains on my skin, and I feel the absurd urge to bathe again.
Nothing's looking down from above. Nothing at all.

T he next morning , after a pleasant breakfast with my consort—the word

“mate” springs into my head every time, and every time I push it away—the
men return with their treasures.
At least, I suspect I'm supposed to view them as treasures. I watch,
skeptical, as one man displays bag after bag to me. "Name brands," he
reassures me. "Expensive ones. She'll like the purses, especially the ones
with the symbols on them. Women used to go crazy for these." He gestures
at one beige-looking satchel in particular, but I do not see the appeal.
The next man has jewelry of all kinds, pouring them onto the table in
front of me and grinning triumphantly. But all I can think of is that when I
gave her jewels, Melina was not impressed. She wears them sometimes
when she has a meal with me, but never anything on her hands. I picture
her, wringing out rags and placing them on the sick man's chest. No, she
would not like things that get in the way of her work. I pick up one
sparkling ring and then discard it.
The third man has dresses and bizarre shoes made of nothing but straps
and a spike on the back of the heel. My irritation seethes under my skin,
because it is not going to win her to my side if I give her more dresses. She
already has a closetful of them. Did none of these men listen to me? Did
they not understand?
When the fourth one approaches and sets a plant down in front of me, I
snap. "A plant? A fucking plant? I'm supposed to give my consort a fucking
plant to show her my affection?"
 The man flinches. "I-it's a rose bush, sir. Actually, a miniature rose
bush."
I drum my fingers on the table. "You say those things like I'm supposed
to know what they mean."
"Rose bush," the soldier stammers again. "I used to work at a nursery in
the Before. Was my first job, so I kinda knew how to transplant it."
I drum my fingers again. "And?"
"And roses are, you know, traditional gifts to a woman you're courting."
He sweats, clearly uncomfortable. "There aren't many green plants here in
the fort. Too much stuff to catch on fire, you know? Other than the gardens,
I guess. But no one grows flowers anymore just because they're beautiful. I
thought she might like something she could tend to and watch it bloom.
This one is small enough that it'll probably do well in the pot, and I got
some fertilizer…" He trails off and swallows hard, before finally adding,
"Women like roses."
I gaze at the scraggly plant thoughtfully. It looks…green. I suppose
that's something. I know nothing about plants personally, other than the
humans here like to eat them to supplement their diet. "It's not food?"
"It's a rose bush," he says again. "When it blooms it'll be full of bright,
beautiful flowers that are just for looking at. Like I said, women like
flowers, and they like roses best of all."
Hmmm. It's something different, at least. I try to imagine how Melina
will react to receiving a plant, but I cannot picture it. He speaks as if he
knows, though. I turn to the man next to him. "You. Is what he says true?
Do females like roses?" When he gives a jerky nod, I turn back to the
soldier with the rose bush in his hands, a new sense of appreciation in my
gaze. "What is your name?"
"Daniels, sir," he says, breathless. "Lucas Daniels. I'm honored to serve
in your militia. I want to make Fort Dallas a better place, just like you."
Then he is a fool. But a useful one. I rub my chin, studying the rose
bush. "How do we make it bloom with the flowers?" I lean forward, eyeing
the plant. "And are those thorns?"
He nods. "Yes. Thorns. Most roses are thorny." Daniels then launches
into a rambling description of leaves and sunlight and watering. I listen with
only half an ear, eyeing the plant. It is something different, at least.
Something she cannot get here in this ugly, barren, stinking fort. Perhaps
she will like it after all.
 When Daniels pauses for breath, I offer him a smile, remembering
Melina's words about being kind to those that serve me. "You have done
well today. Ask for a favor and I shall grant it."
His face lights up with pleasure. "I am just pleased to serve, Lord Azar."
Well, that was easy.

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 Chapter

Ten

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MELINA

A fter a long, quiet day at the clinic, I'm glad to return to Azar's
barracks home, which is weird. It's been a boring day, with no one
coming by, so I took some of my water and lit a fire in the woodstove
in the corner of the clinic and sterilized all my equipment. It was hot as hell,
but it's always hot as hell in Texas in the summer. No dragon attacks,
though. No dragons at all except for the placid, tamed ones on the wall, and
I start to wonder if we really are safe now.
I wonder if, as his consort, I should be thinking of ways to get him to
stay here and protect the people. If he leaves, we're vulnerable again. I
know just how to do it, too. Pretend that I've caved in and fawn over him.
Tell him how amazing he is. Suck his dick so hard and so frequently that he
doesn't have time to think about going back to his world. That'd be the
smart thing to do.
So why do I hold out? Why do I hate the idea of that even as I change
into a fresh, pretty dress to go to dinner with him? It's not like we talk a ton
at dinner. He eats. I eat. We give a few stabs at conversation and then give
up. I head off to bathe and work on my knitting, and he disappears until
bedtime. He doesn't touch me, either.
I'm fed. I'm clothed. My hair’s the best it’s been in seven years. I'm not
being raped. Almost every woman in the fort would trade places with me,
gladly. So why can't I be satisfied? Why do I want something more than just
a pretty dress and a bath before I start tossing around sexual favors? Girl,
you value that pussy of yours too highly sometimes, I tell myself. I bathe
quickly as I get ready for dinner, wiping down my face and under my arms
to get rid of the worst of the sweat. I've seen his nostrils flare a few times
and I remember Claudia mentioning that “her dragon” had a sensitive nose.
If Azar is anything like that dragon guy of hers, he'd probably appreciate
my efforts.
Refreshed, I head to dinner, determined to try and talk to Azar. Just to
feel out the possibility of…doing more. When I enter the dining room,
instead of seeing a wealth of piping hot dishes in front of us, there are
sandwiches. There's a pitcher of what looks like cool lemonade, and I can
practically taste it. It doesn't matter that there's no ice inside the pitcher, and
probably no sugar in the lemonade. Just the lemonade itself will taste
refreshing.
Azar sits at the far end of the table, his sandwich in front of him. He
looks up at the sight of me. "It's another hot day and I thought we might
have a cooler meal."
"This is wonderful," I tell him, and it really is. The bread looks almost
like it would have in the Before, and the sandwich has meat, a wilted lettuce
leaf, and plentiful slices of tomato and cucumber on it. "I love a sandwich."
I eye my end of the table, noticing that Azar has gone for fewer candles,
too. I think about the fort, and about him leaving, and impulsively pick up
my plate and the lemonade and set them down next to him. "Can I join
you?"
He looks startled—startled and pleased. "Of course."
I sit down next to him and begin to eat my sandwich, enjoying the fresh
vegetables. I know they're a treat, and most people in the fort don't get
them, so I savor every bite. The lemonade is sour but still refreshing. As I
chew, I glance over at him. I can tell he's trying to watch me without being
obvious, and I decide maybe conversation is a good idea. After all, I'm the
one that sat next to him. It'd be weird if I was just silent. I glance at his
long-fingered hands, where there's only a hint of a burn remaining. It's wild
that he healed up that well, especially given how badly he was hurt and how
long it took to recover. "How are you feeling?"
"Feeling?"
"Your burns?" I remind him. "You left my clinic only a few weeks ago
after being near death."
He sets his sandwich down and glances over at me. "Are you asking
because you're a healer, or because you wish to know my weaknesses?"
Wow. I suppose my being chatty could be misconstrued as deviousness.
I do have an ulterior motive, after all. "Because I'm a healer," I say. "You
were burned pretty badly and required a lot of care. But when I look at you,
I don't see more than a trace of those burns." I stretch out my pinky and
brush it against the back of his hand. "It's just curious to me."
Azar stiffens the moment I touch him, his gaze going to his hand. "My
people recover quickly. The burns were not the worst I was struggling with.
I had…other things that had taxed my strength. That was why I took a long
time to heal."
"Other things?"
 To my surprise, he takes a bite out of his sandwich and goes silent.
It's not like Azar to avoid the question and I wonder if I've pushed too
far. "I'm sorry if it seems like I'm prying, but is there something else I
should know about? Something else I should have treated? So I can know
how to handle it in the future?"
He shakes his head, and after he swallows, he says, "You were
magnificent."
I study him, thinking back to when he arrived on my doorstep. One of
the patrols had found him, close to the city ruins, lying in a street. Alone.
He'd been naked and covered in soot and ash, his flesh burned. They'd
brought him to me and I'd fully expected him to die that night, but he lived.
I remember marveling at how much of his body was covered in burns, and
yet his pale, long hair was still intact and beautiful. It made no sense. Then
again, nothing about Azar makes sense. "How did you get hurt?"
"An interesting question."
I wait for more of an answer. When it isn't forthcoming, I realize he's
not going to answer me. I narrow my eyes at him. "Were you attacked by a
dragon?"
He gives me a vague smile. "There was a dragon, yes. But I think it was
the explosion that did most of the damage."
Explosion? "What exploded?"
"The entire building, if my memory serves me correctly." He takes a sip
of lemonade and makes a face. "Humans like this beverage?"
"It's usually sweeter," I say, and take a sip of mine, enjoying the
tartness. "What explosion?" When he shrugs, I point out, "I would have
heard about an explosion of some kind near here."
"Oh, it was not near here. In fact, it was a long way from here."
I set down my lemonade, puzzled. "So who helped you get here? Was it
the dragon you mentioned? Or someone else?"
His expression grows uneasy. "What do you mean?"
"If the explosion happened so far away, how did you get here? You were
too injured to walk. When they brought you in to me, I thought you were
nearly dead. You were weaker than a kitten for days and days. So how did
you get here, Azar?" I study him. "Is there something you're not telling
me?" I think of Claudia, and her dragon-man. Azar came from wherever
they did. He shares certain features, like the odd golden eyes that swirl with
varying shades depending on his emotions. Is it possible he can turn into a
dragon, too? "Is it possible you shifted—"
Before I can even finish my sentence, he jerks up from the table, getting
to his feet. "I will not listen to such insults."
"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I wasn't trying to insult you."
He glares down at me, clearly offended. Such a prickly, unusual man.
I'm not as irritated as I would be in the past, though, so I reach out and place
a hand on his arm. "Please sit down again. I really didn't mean to insult you.
I was just curious."
Azar glances down at my hand, but he doesn't ask me to remove it. He
sits and gives me a haughty look. "I am Salorian. Not drakoni. We may
come from the same place, but we are not the same. Understand?"
"Got it," I say meekly, and even as I do, I can't help but notice that his
eyes are swirling with a hint of black, just like Claudia's dragon's eyes did
when he was agitated. I suspect he's more like them than he wants to admit.
"I was just curious, that's all. I'm trying to learn more about you."
"Why?"
"Because you're my husband, right? I mean, not in a traditional sense,
but you said you wanted me to be your woman, and I am, so I guess that
makes us husband and wife, by human terms." I shrug. "Or a user and the
person he’s using.”
Annoyance flashes across his face. "How many times must I say I don't
wish to own you?"
Right. He just wants me to magically fall in love with him.
He toys with his sandwich and then glances over at me. "I brought you a
gift."
That takes me by surprise. "You…what?"
"A gift." He gives me another haughty look. "A courting gift."
Courting? Does he really think we're still courting? When we already
haggled over my price? "It's not necessary."
Azar waves my words off with a flick of his hand. He gets to his feet
and moves to the far end of the room. There's a large covered box there, and
when he pulls off the cover and reveals a plant underneath, I'm a little
confused. I move to his side, studying it. It's a healthy-looking bush in a
large, colorful pot. I touch one of the bright green leaves thoughtfully,
smiling. It's been a long time since I've seen something like this outside of
the gardens, and I don't get to visit those, because people strip the plants
and steal food. Only those that work in the gardens can go there. The rest of
Fort Dallas is barren save for the occasional weed that breaks through the
cracks in the asphalt. I have to admit, it's a pretty good gift, and I'm already
thinking of how it'll look in the window to my clinic.
"It's a rose bush," he tells me. "So you can have something beautiful to
enjoy."
With a gasp of surprise, I glance over at him. "It is? Really? I haven't
seen roses since…the Before." I touch the plant and sure enough, there are
tight little buds, waiting to bloom. That elevates this from a decent gift into
something magical and special. "This is wonderful. Thank you so much." I
put a hand to my throat, touched. "It might be the best thing anyone's ever
given me."
"Is it? Then I am pleased."
I turn to him, and he's got such a delighted look on his face at my
pleasure that I'm filled with a stab of warmth for this strange, prickly man.
Impulsively, I reach up and kiss his cheek, tugging him down to my height.
"Thank you. It really does mean a lot to me."
When he pulls back, Azar's eyes are whirling a thick, deep gold as he
gazes at me. Something tells me that's an arousal color, and I worry I've
gone too far. But he only smiles, as if making me happy is enough for him.

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 Chapter

Eleven

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AZAR

I am winning her over.

I lie in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling of our shared room. I
am pleased. Melina is opening up to me. She no longer watches me
with wary distrust, but something else, something speculative. As if I am a
puzzle she must figure out rather than her enemy. It is progress, and that
pleases me. Tonight, she even murmured a “goodnight” as I climbed into
bed.
I want to smile with satisfaction, but I keep my expression bland.
Instead, I stare at the ceiling of our room and contemplate our conversation
earlier. How she moved her chair next to mine and touched my arm. Twice.
And she asked about my health. Thinking of that makes my mood darken,
because she probed at a sensitive spot. I cannot tell her that I am not
entirely certain how I made it to her fort. I cannot tell her that in the dark
recesses of my memory, I suspect I shifted into battle-form and flew here,
only to collapse, injured, just outside their fort.
A Salorian does not use his battle-form. To do so is to give in to the
crude, animalistic side of himself. We are not the same as the drakoni. We
are not. If one of my people found out that I had—perhaps—switched to
battle-form, I would be shunned. I would be reviled and stripped of my
rank, cast out to live in the deserts like the wild drakoni that were not yet
tamed.
I am not entirely certain this happened…but I have my suspicions and I
am concerned.
If I lose control and switch forms again, not only will I lose control of
the six drakoni on the walls here, but I might never return to my normal
form. The drakoni here are crazed, lost, and trapped in their battle-forms.
They are unable to change back without some sort of tether—such as a mate
—and I fear for myself if I do the same. I cannot take a mate. Not truly.
Melina might play at being mine, but she cannot take my seed. She cannot
take my cock into her body because my spend will burn her. I would have
to bite her and give her a portion of my fires, as the drakoni do to their
mates, in order to blend her scent, her essence with mine.
 But if I do that, there is no going back. I will not be able to leave her
behind…nor can I take her with me. A Salorian does not take a mate, and if
they smelled my fires on her, they would know me for the deviant I am.
It is a fine mess I have trapped myself in.
Melina shifts in the bed next to me, making a soft noise in her throat.
Her light, enticing smell drifts through the air, and my body responds. I am
trapped…and yet I keep willingly sticking my hand inside the trap.
Irony.

W eeks pass .
They are difficult, torturous weeks. Weeks in which I obsess over
Melina. I'm tempted to send a spy over to her clinic to report back her every
move, but I know that will make her angry. It's not that I don't trust her. I'm
just…besotted. If she laughs, I want to hear what caused it. If she sighs, I
want to know why. I don't sleep at night, because I'm too busy drinking in
her scent, focusing on her even breathing. Imagining her touch again, the
way she circled my cock with expert fingers.
At night, when I lie there in bed, shaking with how badly I want her, I
am weak. I am weak because I would gladly bite into her soft neck and give
her my fires, linking our spirits forever. I would give up my chance to go
home simply to have one satisfying plunge into the wet heat of her cunt. I
hunger for her, aching, my cock making a tent under the blankets.
I cannot go on like this forever, but I do not know how to move things
forward. I am being patient, but I wonder how long my patience will last.
The last thing I want is for my control to snap and break the tentative truce
between us. Melina no longer avoids me. She comes to all meals, smiles
prettily and sits next to me. We talk of fort life, the changes I am making at
her behest, and she tells me of her patients. It feels good. Friendly.
It is not enough.
I hunger for more, but I am also loath to destroy the ease between us.
It is on yet another restless morning that I am offered a diversion. The
soldier Daniels arrives to the room I have claimed as my office and notifies
me of a problem. "We've come across a scavenger hoard, sir. One of the
men has been hiding away his spoils instead of turning them over to the
fort. Your presence is required."
I get to my feet, straightening my robes. "Show me the way."
I can tell by Daniels' expression that he's not pleased at the discovery of
the scavenger. The men are bristling with angry energy, and I don't blame
them. Scavengers are employed by the fort. They go out, find useful items
and bring them back. They turn over what they find and it is distributed
amongst the fort's residents as needed. It's how we're able to feed the
militia. It's how we're able to ensure the clinic has supplies. People hoarding
goods for their own needs goes against everything I'm trying to establish
here. I'm well aware there's a black market in the fort. I know that people
trade goods in the shadows, and it's something I need to shut down.
"Have we caught the scavenger?" I ask as we stride across the
compound. When Daniels nods, I contemplate what to do about that. My
first instinct is to kill him. Gut him—painfully—and string him up in a
public place for all to see. Let him serve as a warning to all. The Salorian in
me knows this is the easiest answer. A people that are not afraid of
consequences are not a people that are easily controlled.
Even so, I know Melina will hate such an action. She will think it
unnecessarily cruel. She will give me angry looks and turn her back to me
when she sleeps, and our easy conversations at dinner will be gone.
So I debate how I should proceed. Do I do what is right, or do I do what
will please my soft mate?
Consort, I remind myself bitterly. She is a consort. A Salorian does not
take a mate. I hate that I continue to slip up on that word, over and over
again.
We arrive at a hovel at the edge of the fort. It reeks of filth and
excrement, like many of the homes farther away from the center of the fort,
where the streets have not yet been cleared. Dirty children race after
chickens a short distance away, only to be snatched up by their parents, who
are terrified at the sight of me. Good. At least there is some fear there. A
leader who is not feared is useless.
Two of the soldiers emerge from the hovel, and a tall, thin, grimy man is
cuffed between them. He looks unwashed and unrepentant, and glares at me
as I approach with my men.
"The perpetrator, sir." Daniels gives him an angry look before turning
back to me. "We think you should get a good look at his hoard before
determining his punishment. It's one of the largest we've seen."
"Mmm." I gesture at the disgusting door that looks as if it's held onto its
hinges by dirt alone. "Lead the way."
Daniels steps inside, and I follow after him. Another soldier is at my
back, and he lights a lantern, providing enough light for the humans to see
by.
The hovel is packed. There are stacks of books and boxes of canned
goods taller than my head. Everywhere I turn, there are goods that have
been stolen away. No wonder Daniels is in a rage. I touch one case of
packets, judging that it is some sort of food powder based on the picture on
the front. "He's certainly been busy, hasn't he?"
Daniels shakes his head. "He must have been stealing from the fort for
years. Makes me fucking sick." He gestures at one stack. "Weapons are
behind there, and over in the corner, he's got a lot of electronics. Some
batteries, but not many. Lots of foodstuffs and toiletries and books."
"Medicine?" I ask, keeping my voice casual.
"Some of that, yeah. I told the men we'd be sending that over to Lady
Melina right away." He gazes at me. "With your permission, sir, I'd like to
have this heavily guarded until we can get it cleared out. I don't want wind
of all this food getting out to the rest of the fort in case it starts a riot."
I nod. "Excellent thinking. Use as many men as you see fit. I trust your
judgment." He straightens as if I've given him a prize, and I think again how
easy it is to get these men to do what I want. A little praise, a little
authority, and they dance to my song as if it was their idea in the first place.
I move deeper into the stacks, and see what look like a few magazines. I
pick one up and flip through it—
And pause.
The image is a lewd one. It's a drawing of some kind, but the man has
his mouth between the female's legs. I stare at it, fascinated. Here I thought
the idea of Melina putting her mouth on my cock was shocking. Males put
their mouths on the female's cunt? I turn the picture, trying to determine
why. Is he breathing in her scent? Is there something going on that I'm
unaware of?
"Sir?" Daniels moves to my side and glances over at me, a faint look of
amusement on his face. "You can keep that one if you like. I'm sure the men
won't mind."
I hold the open book out to him. "Is this common?"
 He frowns, his amusement disappearing. "Sir? Is what common?"
"This." I gesture at the picture. "His face…there."
Daniels looks uncomfortable. "I mean, it can be? Not every guy enjoys
it, but if you want to please your lady, I don't know a better way of doing
it."
I feel as if I have just uncovered some kind of secret. I pull Daniels
closer, lowering my voice so no one else can hear me. "Tell me more about
this. I am unfamiliar with it."
He squints at me. "Uhhh. I'm not sure what you're asking, sir."
I clench my jaw, frustrated. Do I confess the truth of who I am and hope
that Daniels keeps my secret? Or do I let him go on imagining me to be
human? He sees that because he wants to, and it lets him trust me. But if I
strip all pretense away…? I decide to be vague for now. "The people I grew
up with…they did not discuss such things."
His lips part. He thinks for a moment. "Did you grow up in a cult, sir?"
"I don't wish to discuss it."
This seems to answer things for him. A knowing look crosses his face.
"I got ya, man. Okay, see." He stabs a finger at the picture. "That man's
going down on his lady."
"Going…down." I eye the drawing. "But why?"
Daniels chuckles. "Well, any man's gonna want a girl to go down on
him, right? So it's only fair for him to return the favor. Make her feel good,
you know? Plus, it's a real turn-on to hear her squirming and panting and
knowing that you're doing that to her."
Fascinated, I look at the picture again. Though it's merely a sketch of
what humans should be, there's no doubt that the female in the picture is
enjoying herself. She's biting her lip and her face is contorted. Much, as I
imagine, my face was when Melina put her hand on me. That moment was
incredible, and I wonder if it would feel as good for her as it did for me.
"It's for her pleasure? Purely for hers?"
"I mean, yeah. Your pleasure comes in knowing how good you made
her feel." Daniels grins at me. "I can't think of a woman that doesn't like
that sort of thing. I guarantee, if you want your lady purring like a kitten,
you go between her thighs and don't come up for air, ever."
This is it. This is the key I need to make Melina fall for me. I nod,
closing the book and tucking it under my arm. Then, I give Daniels a sharp
look. "If you speak one word of this—"
 "Never, sir." He nods at me. "You can trust me."
"Good. Because if I find out you've betrayed that trust, I'll have the
dragons roast you alive."
I'm pleased when he pales. I can't get too soft, after all.

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 Chapter

Twelve

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MELINA

A zar is in a weird mood that night at dinner. If I didn't know better, I'd
say he's…giddy.
I pick at the cold meat pie on my plate. It's not that I'm not
hungry. It's just that Azar's mood is making me curious. I like to think that
we've been getting along pretty well in the last few weeks, but I'm a little
worried he's going to pull the rug out from under me and change
everything. I'm afraid of getting comfortable, but what we've had in the last
while is pretty comfortable, which is weird to me. I keep expecting to hate
him as much as I did that first day, but the more time I spend with him, the
harder it is to abhor him. I'm starting to understand how his mind works.
I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
So I poke at my dinner, then take a tiny bite. "You look like the cat that
ate the canary," I say. "Might as well spit it out."
"I exiled a man today," he says, watching me. "He was hoarding
scavenged supplies. More than I've ever seen before. The men wanted me to
execute him, and I considered it, but I exiled him instead because I thought
it would please you to be lenient."
I stare at him for a moment, my lips parted. That's a lot to unpack. "I…
thank you?"
"Your advice has been excellent thus far." Azar takes a delicate bite of
his food, and I watch him eat. He's meticulous, never letting a crumb stray.
His long fingers brush against his lips and I turn back to my plate. "Now,
when I make decisions, I compare what I would do and what you would do.
I value your input, you know."
"I'm glad." I try to ignore the flutter of pleasure in my belly at his praise.
That he's taking my words to heart and trying to become a kinder ruler.
"So…exile, huh?"
He nods, and as we eat, he tells me about the man. How they'd gone into
his hovel at the edge of the fort to find it full of foodstuffs and other useful
supplies. Of electronics and toiletries and stacks and stacks of books. Of
medical equipment and medicines, which sends a little thrill through me,
especially when he says they'll be delivered to my clinic tomorrow. The
militia soldiers had been outraged at how much this man was keeping, and
Azar confesses that he'd thought to make an example of the man in the
hopes of frightening the rest of the black market smugglers. He decided to
choose another way because he thought of me, and again, I'm flattered.
"I have to admit," I say. "I'm impressed. I thought you would be a tyrant
when you took over, but you've been doing some good things. You really
are making things better for the people here. The children have a school.
There's a well for the public to use, and I see a lot of other programs to help
people in the works. So just…thank you."
"A kingdom of ashes is no kingdom," he says, sipping his drink.
"People want to be led. I am giving them the leadership they want."
"Helps that you have some big honking dragons working at your side," I
point out. "I don't know how you do it. When I met Claudia's dragon, he
was scary. Like, he looked human, but there was this wild edge to him that
made me think he could fly off the handle at any moment. But those
dragons on the walls, those are so…calm." I shake my head. "It's almost
like they're zombies."
Azar is quiet for a long moment.
A funny feeling churns in my gut. "Please tell me they're not zombies."
"The mindless undead? I have heard the soldiers talk about those. No,
they are not." The smile he gives me is faint. "But their situation is unique.
The drakoni have lost their minds here in this world, and since I have not, I
can, essentially, offer shelter to them. I protect their minds in exchange for
their service."
Something about that doesn't sit right with me. "So…they are
mindless."
"In a sense. If you speak to them, they are not there. I am puppeting
them. Their movements are mine. I control them. Their bodies serve me."
"Mind control?” I'm horrified at the prospect. “You’re enslaving them?”
"Not slaves," he says, just as swiftly. He gives me a studied look. "Why
would you think they’re slaves?”
I shake my head. “Our world has a history of slavery. It’s an especially
sore subject for people of color, because we were the ones that were
typically enslaved.” I gesture at myself. “But if I misinterpreted, I
apologize.”
Azar grunts, expression thoughtful. “The drakoni—I control them
because they have mentally retreated to a quiet place inside their minds. I
am protecting them. Taking care of them. In exchange, I use their presence
to push away other crazed drakoni that would attack this place. I assure you
they are in no pain. You disapprove?"
"I don't know what to think," I confess. The thought of him enslaving
dragons makes me want to vomit, but if he's right and they've mentally
retreated, does it harm anything to prop them up on the walls and use them
to protect the people here? "I know there's a parable about the needs of the
many outweighing the needs of the few, but there's something about it I
don't like. Not at all. It's wrong to own someone. Morally, reprehensibly
wrong."
He inclines his head at me. "The moment you wish for me to free them,
say the word and I will. I can release them now, if you like. It is a strain to
constantly hold their minds safe, but it is one I willingly undertake to
protect both them and the people here." Azar watches me, his eyes swirling
in myriad shades of gold. "Simply say the word."
I hesitate. It's such a gray area. It reeks of enslavement, but if they chose
to turn themselves over to him, is it really? "They're not harmed?"
"I ensure their bodies remain in excellent shape, and that they eat and
drink," Azar says, his voice reasonable.
"Are they in pain?"
"They sleep. They are not aware of where they are, just that their minds
are quiet for the first time in seven years. The madness is not eating away at
them, making them lose control."
Claudia had mentioned something about madness. I'd seen it in her
dragon—Kael—when he thought she was in danger. How his eyes would
go black and his movements turn erratic, as if he were barely holding on.
"What happens to the fort if you let them go?"
"Things would return to as they were before." He shrugs, watching me.
"You would be forced to hide in your houses behind shuttered windows
instead of being able to walk in the streets freely. You would return to a life
of fear."
I bite back a sigh. Once again, I feel like my choices aren't mine to
make. Perhaps it would be kinder of him to let them go, but if I were to ask
anyone else in Fort Dallas, would they agree with me? Or would they throw
me out for even suggesting such a thing? I look around the fort and I see
people happier than they have been in a while. I see children playing
outside. I hear laughter.
 If the dragons chose to give themselves over to Azar, where is the
harm?

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Thirteen

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AZAR

I do not bring up my plans to put my face into her cunt this evening. A
general knows when to retreat. Melina is troubled over the dragons on
the wall. She is thoughtful through dinner, and when I come into the
bedroom that night, instead of finding her in bed, I find her gazing out the
window, watching the sentinels I have set up on the barricade.
If she knew the truth of them, she would hate me forever. She would not
understand.
So I will wait a few days. I will let them slip from her mind, and then I
will push forward on my plans to seduce her once more.
Patience is always the best strategy.

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 Chapter

Fourteen

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MELINA

One week later

"I have decided to change a few

announces after dinner one day.
things in our relationship," Azar

I immediately go cold, my shoulders straightening. "Oh?"

I should have known it was too good to be true. That he'd want more
from me than a few easy dinners and a bedtime buddy that sleeps in the
same bed but nothing more. I've gotten comfortable at his side. I no longer
flinch at the escorts he insists I have, or when the guards show up with a
present from him. Talking to him has become easier, and our meals together
are no longer a chore. In fact, I'd be hard pressed to say he hasn't been a
good leader to Fort Dallas. Did he strong-arm me into this relationship?
Yes. But it hasn't been all that bad…and it's clearly made me complacent.
Azar nods, watching me. "I like to think you are no longer afraid of me,
and so I have a new proposal."
Here it comes. I square myself, bracing for whatever shitty suggestion
he has.
He tilts his head, watching me, and his eyes swirl an oddly intense, dark
gold. "I should like to go down upon you."
I'm pretty sure I didn't hear him correctly. Azar doesn't handle slang
well, so maybe that's not what he means. "Sorry, what?"
"I should like to go down upon you," he says again. "Between your
thighs. Did I say it wrong?"
I gape at him, stunned. Of all the things I thought Azar would bring up,
cunnilingus is not one of them. "You…want to lick my pussy?"
"Is that what you call it?" He inclines his head. "Yes. I do."
I'm baffled. "Why?"
"Because I think it shall be a great pleasure for you, and I wish to give
you that pleasure." His eyes grow an even deeper shade of gold, and I could
swear his spicy scent is stronger.
I want to tease him about how arrogant that statement is—that he thinks
he'll automatically be good at it or something, but I'm too thunderstruck to
even joke. We've been roommates after that first botched sexual attempt and
he's sworn he wants me in his bed, willing only, and now he's suggesting
oral? What's his angle? "I'm going to pass."
His brows go up. "You do not wish for pleasure?"
"I don't want you, specifically," I point out.
He doesn't look insulted. The look he gives me is calculating. I'm
reminded of the day he showed up and said I had a price and he just had to
figure it out. I'm that puzzle he's determined to solve once more. "You do
not wish for pleasure because of who I am. Would you take pleasure from
another if they offered it?"
"What? God, no." Is he crazy?
"So it is not my mouth that troubles you, or the pleasure, but the
circumstances we are in?" He toys with his tea cup, watching me. "You take
no pleasure for yourself. Is it something you determine to maintain for the
rest of your life or is there a different reason? We are married, as you have
said before. We share a bed. Why not let me put my lips on you and tongue
your cunt?"
I open my mouth to speak and a squeak comes out. I've had men
proposition me before. I've even had to take some of them up on it. But it's
always about what I can do for them, what my mouth can do, what it
involves for them, not for me. It's been a long, long time since I was laid,
and longer still since someone offered me oral sex. That must be why I'm
pausing…right? "What made you decide to offer this?"
Azar shrugs. "I think it would be vastly pleasing to have you come. I
would like to taste you. To go down upon you and lose myself between
your thighs." He rubs a hand on his chin and then licks his lips. "I admit that
just the thought makes my mouth water."
I make another one of those wordless, startled sounds before clearing
my throat. "Are you going to force me to do it?"
"No, not at all. I just wanted to offer. It's something that would bring me
great joy, and I thought you might enjoy it as well."
Might enjoy it? Might? Even now I'm clenching my thighs together at
the thought of his mouth between them…clenching and wondering what the
hell is wrong with me. I should absolutely not want this, and yet… "Have
you done this before?"
"No." He lifts his tea cup. "Do you wish to instruct me on how to
properly do so? I am willing to learn."
 Teach a man how to give me oral? Oh lord have mercy. "This doesn't
change anything between us."
"It does not."
"I'm still not giving in. On anything."
He inclines his head. "I want your touch only if it is willing. This has
nothing to do with that. This is me simply wishing to partake in another
human tradition."
Human tradition. This man is insane. But he's right. We are married…
ish. Why am I even considering this?
It's because I'm lonely, I realize a moment later. Those rare moments
when Azar touches my hand makes me realize just how long it's been since
someone touched me, and I'm craving intimacy. Craving touches…even if
they come from the dickhead that forced me to marry him. And he hasn't
been the worst partner. If anything, he seems to become better by the day,
more thoughtful, more focused on improving the fort.
This might be a really, really bad idea and yet I can't get it out of my
mind. "Let me think about it."

I' m still thinking about it later that night when I head to bed after my
bath. I eye my pinned-up curls, fussing with my appearance. Maybe when it
gets cooler and it won't turn the room into a furnace, I'll light a fire, heat up
a hot comb, and straighten my hair. I used to love straightening it in the
Before. It was time-consuming, sure, but it helped me think. I fuss with my
hair a little longer, then put on a satin sleeping cap that appeared with my
toiletries the other day. It's like anything that has a black woman on the
packaging, Azar gets me one. I appreciate it, though. After so many years of
going without, it's nice to have whatever I want.
Azar.
I still don't know if I trust him. I don't know if he's going to take things
the wrong way if I say yes, go ahead and lick my pussy. Then again, will it
anger him if I say no? Will it change the delicate balance between us and
he'll decide to become the aggressive asshole I fear could be lurking a
wrong answer away? I don't know what to think. I feel like I can't make a
rational choice until I see how he'll react if I refuse him. If he loses his shit,
I'll know it's just another ruse. Another way to try to control.
It's better to say no for now and recant later, I decide.
Bracing myself for the shitstorm, I wear a modest sleep-shirt and head
to bed. Azar comes in when it's dark and I'm still awake, tossing and
turning. The moment he enters and begins to undress, I sit up and watch
him. He pulls off his robes, revealing his lean body underneath, and even
though he's incredibly pale, he's not unappealing. There's a lithe strength to
his form and as he climbs into bed naked, I'm relieved to see his dick hangs
half-mast between his thighs.
"I've decided to say no," I say softly.
It's quiet for a long moment, and then Azar settles on the bed, in the
shadows. "I'm disappointed, but I will honor your wishes." He sighs heavily
and then lies down in the bed next to me. "Do let me know if you change
your mind. I'm most curious to see what a cunt tastes like. It must be good
if so many males are eager to go between a female's thighs that way, and
you know I love a delicious flavor."
I lie down, staring up at the ceiling, unable to look over at him. That did
not go as I expected. I thought he'd get angry, lose his shit, threaten me…
but nope. Just a vague disappointment. "Pussy tastes like…well, it tastes
warm and a little salty. Not acidic like a man's cum."
He sucks in a breath. "I…see."
I wait for the tension to rise in the room. For him to demand me to
spread my legs and let him between them. Maybe I'm sick in the head
because just the thought of him demanding to service me is weirdly
arousing.
I really must be lonely.

I keep thinking about Azar's offer for the next several days. I water my sad
little rosebush and putter around my clinic, but things have been rather
quiet. Azar has been bolstering the militia's ranks and giving them clothes
and food, so not only have they been growing, but they're more loyal by the
day. People just want a full belly, a roof over their heads, and to know that
they matter, he told me at dinner one night. Maybe he's not wrong. He's
started a program for the adult unwed women in the fort. They're in a
different part of the barracks and guarded by some of the men. They're
given food and clothes, and in exchange they help scavenge.
There's water for everyone. There's never enough food to go around, but
I'm trying to think of solutions to that particular problem. Things are
looking up, though.
Azar is a good leader. Maybe he's not the kindest or gentlest one, but
I've been in Fort Dallas for over five years now and my clinic has never
been so quiet. I finger one of the yellow leaves on my plant, dismayed that
it seems to be wilting even as the fort thrives.
Maybe I need to quit holding a grudge against him. He said his people
don't have mates. I'm not sure how they reproduce if that's the case, but it's
pretty clear to me that if Azar isn't a virgin, he's inexperienced. He doesn't
know how to woo someone with pretty words or gentle touches. He just
knows how to be a leader. He knows how to rule.
And I'm really, really lonely. And horny. Now that he's brought up going
down on me, no strings attached, I can't stop thinking about it. I have erotic
daydreams as I sit in my clinic and do inventory. I lie in bed at night next to
him, hoping he'll roll over and ask again. Or that he'll just drop a hand
between my thighs and start exploring.
He never does, though. As quickly as he brought it up, he's dropped it
again.
Here I thought he'd be the one unable to move past it and instead it's me.
I'm obsessing.
Azar is particularly charming one night at dinner, and it fills me with an
odd yearning. He tells me a story about a meeting he had with a nomad
band that showed up and tried to strong-arm some of the scavengers on
duty. He'd gotten word of it and sent a dragon out to scare the nomads away,
and instead they'd asked to join the fort. "We'll have to watch over them
carefully," he says as he nibbles at a slice of peach cobbler. "But as long as
they're obedient and willing to play by the fort's rules, it makes sense to
benevolently invite them in. Embrace your enemy, as my people say. It
makes it easier to plant the blade between his shoulders."
"We have a similar saying," I admit, smiling. I nod at his plate. It's his
second piece of cobbler, and Azar normally doesn't ask for seconds. "You
like that?"
 The smile he gives me is downright boyish. "I love fruit. It's so sweet
and refreshing. We don't have anything like it back home, and it seems I
cannot get enough of it here. I like a lot of your foods, but the ones with
fruit are my favorites." He smiles down at his nearly empty second plate. "It
makes me want to lick it clean."
Heat floods through me at his words. I imagine those strong, golden lips
brushing over my skin. I imagine his tongue snaking out to taste me. I
imagine a host of filthy, filthy things. Swallowing hard, I take a small bite
of my own dessert and push it away. I can't do this. I can't. I need to either
cast the idea aside completely or meet it head-on.
"You're done?" Azar asks. He arches a pale brow at me. "Does it not suit
you?"
"I'm full," I say, breathless. "You can have it." When he picks up my
fork, I want to tease him about how it's been in my mouth, but the words get
stuck in my throat. I watch as he puts the tines into his mouth and then
spears another piece of cobbler. It's like he wanted to taste me before he
tasted the dessert.
That decides me.
Before I can think about it any further, I blurt out, "I changed my mind."
"Oh?" Azar turns his attention to me.
I swallow hard. "It means nothing between us if I let you go down on
me, right? It doesn't change our pact?"
His eyes begin swirling that deeper, richer gold. "Nothing changes, no.
You are entirely in control."
"Then…we can try it. But I want to be able to call it off at any time if I
feel uncomfortable."
"At any time." Azar holds his hand out to me, palm up.
I place mine in his, and he holds me tightly. His hand is warm, so damn
warm, and that touch feels good, as does the thumb he skims over the back
of my hand. "All right," I say faintly. "Shall we do this?"

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Fifteen

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AZAR

I want to shout with triumph as Melina places her hand in mine. That
human Daniels was right. It must indeed be pleasing for a female to
have her cunt licked, because my female has smelled of arousal ever
since I brought it up. Her scent has been driving me mad for the last few
days. I am glad she has recanted, because my own need is becoming
unbearable. I imagine my face between her gorgeous brown thighs and my
cock surges under my robe.
This is not about me, but I suspect there will be pleasure in it
regardless…and I cannot wait.
But I pretend to be casual. In control. I take another bite of delicious
cobbler and stroke the hand she has in mine. "Do you want to do it here on
the table?"
Her eyes go wide. "Here?"
"Is there a better place?"
"Somewhere private, for starters," she says, her tone tart. Her cheeks are
dusky with color and I can smell her scent ratcheting up, perfuming the
entire room. "I don't want to do this anywhere someone could walk in on us.
I was thinking more like the bedroom."
"You are the one in control," I agree, and finish my last bite. "I follow
your lead."
"I must be crazy," she mutters to herself as she gets to her feet. I notice
she doesn't take her hand from mine, and a rush of pleasure floods through
me. Does she like my touch?
I decide to test that theory. When I get to my feet, I place a hand at her
waist, guiding her forward. Instead of pulling away, she hesitates, and then
leans into me, as if seeking my warmth. It sends more pleasure rushing
through me. To think that I can get such joy from a female allowing herself
into my embrace, and yet it pleases me more than anything I can imagine,
more than the biggest fruit cobbler the kitchens have ever set before me.
I can only imagine that tasting her cunt will be even better.
Melina is quiet as I lead her toward our bedroom, but I can feel the
tension vibrating through her. There is no fear in her scent. Instead, it is the
spicy musk of her arousal that drifts through my senses. She wants my
mouth on her, but she is still hesitant. Because it is me who touches her?
Because she does not want to give me leverage? There could be any number
of reasons, but I know she will not tell me any of them if I ask. She will
keep her secrets because I forced her to become my consort, and at heart,
she still thinks I will force her to do other things.
I understand it, but that is not my desire. The hot scent of her in my
nose is stunning, fanning my own need. When I compare this to the look of
disgust she gave me after she touched me? I want her willing or not at all,
and it grows clearer to me by the day. I rub my thumb against her side as I
guide her to our rooms, and her breath hitches, almost imperceptibly, when
I do.
Touches. She likes touches, then. I should add those instead of merely
pushing my face between her thighs. The thought fills me with a curious
sort of pleasure. I like the idea of tasting her and licking her cunt, but just…
touching? Brushing my hands over her brown skin and caressing with no
objective other than to touch? It is not something I considered, and the
books I have consulted did not show such things. In this realm, I am wholly
inadequate, and it frustrates me.
Our bed is freshly made, the sheets scented with laundry soap. The
windows to our room are wide open, letting in a night breeze. To my
surprise, Melina moves towards them and pulls the shutters closed. "Are
you cold?" I ask, curious. "Shall I ask the servants to build a fire?"
She turns to look at me, startled. "Oh…I'm not cold. I was just closing it
so sound doesn't carry."
Her words are rushed, as if she's flustered. Curious. For someone who
claims to not want me, she's oddly excited about this. Perhaps it truly is
sensational for females. Then again, if she was offering to suck on my cock
with eagerness in her gaze, would I turn her down? Absolutely not. "Will
you be loud, then? Or do you think I will be?"
Melina ignores me, and that flare of heat trails through her scent, telling
me that she's listening. She moves toward the bed and I close the doors
behind me, unable to take my eyes off her. When her hands go to the thin
straps of her dress, I realize what she is doing. "Wait."
She looks over at me, confused. "What is it?"
"I want to undress you."
Her lips part, and her hands pause, then smooth down her skirts. She
attempts a smile as I move toward her. "I thought you just wanted to go
down on me."
"I do. That is still my plan. But…" I reach forward and brush my fingers
over one beautiful shoulder, grazing a fingertip along the strap. She shivers
and more of her arousal scent floods the air. "I want to look at you. I want
to learn your body. It will give me pleasure, great pleasure, but I won't do it
if it displeases you. I just…wanted to touch you. Pleasure you. Tonight is
all about you."
Melina is silent. She licks her lips, glancing up at me, and then nods.
"This isn't me consenting to sex, by the way."
"Of course not." I feel as if I have won a great victory.
"This is just me agreeing to let you undress me so you can lick my
pussy."
"Absolutely." I run my fingers under that thin strap and then ease it
down her shoulder. "I would not dream of more."
"Okay," she breathes. "Good."
Her eyes flutter closed, and she remains still as I tug on the other strap,
guiding it down her arm. It leaves an open expanse of her perfect brown
skin and the pale peach gown sags, showing me the line of her cleavage and
the swells of her breasts. Fascinated, I dip a finger to the front of the dress
and tug lower, and the entire thing slithers to the floor, exposing her to my
gaze. Melina wears nothing but a colorful undergarment across her hips and
cunt, and the rest of her is completely bare, save for her feet, which are clad
in her practical boots.
I gaze at her newly revealed breasts, fascinated. They are small, with
dark, tight nipples that seem to tilt up. It seems grabby of me to seize one of
her breasts directly. The tension has returned to her body, so I decide to ease
her into my touch. I run my fingers across her shoulder, brushing over her
soft, soft skin. "I did not imagine that you would feel so good to touch," I
confess. "It is not something I ever thought of, touching another. But when
your skin gleams in the light of the candles, my fingers twitch with the need
to touch you. To see if you are as soft under my hand as you look."
"And am I?" Melina's reply is husky, her eyes still closed.
"Softer," I admit, fascinated. Touching her feels better than anything. I
delay, wanting to savor her and this moment just a bit longer. So I skim my
fingers up her arm and then circle around her, running my hand along her
back and shoulders. "Is there any part of me touching you that you prefer?
Anything I should avoid?"
 She lifts a hand and rubs the base of her neck. "Actually, while you're
back there, if you could rub my shoulders, I'd be grateful. I was doing
inventory and I had a long day hunching over my desk."
Rub her shoulders? I place one hand on her, and then the other, and she
makes a breathy sound in her throat.
"Your hands are warm," she whispers. "Feels good."
She likes my touch? My cock is shockingly hard and erect, straining
against my robes. Just touching her like this is making my shaft throb with
need. What would it be like if we truly were ma—ah, lovers? I am eager to
find out…but this is about her tonight. I caress her shoulders, entirely
uncertain what a “shoulder massage” entails. "How do you want me to rub
you?"
"Just rub," she tells me.
So I do. I graze my fingers up and down her neck and shoulders,
brushing my thumb pads over her skin. I let my hands dance over her soft,
fragrant skin, marveling at how flawless she is. I am a male obsessed when
it comes to this one human female, and as I stroke the line of her spine and
then run a finger along her collarbones, Melina shivers. When I circle
around her again, her breasts are tightly pointed, her nipples erect.
"You can add a little bit of pressure," she says, her voice strangled.
Obeying her commands, I press my palms harder against her shoulders,
and rub with more vigor. I watch her closely, and her eyes close again, her
arousal perfume thick in the air. Does she know I can smell her desire?
Would she turn me down if I tried to mount her?
But I cannot, because she has not taken my fires. And a Salorian does
not take a mate.
It must be about her pleasure only, then. I sweep my hands over her
collarbones and down her arms, and when she shivers again, this time, I am
there to breathe into her ear. "Now are you cold?"
Melina shakes her head. "Just…feeling things."
"Shall I stop?" I trace a finger up her arm.
"I didn't say that." She turns toward me and gives me a thoughtful look.
"You're sure you want to do this, knowing you get nothing out of it?"
I give her a wry grin. "You think I truly get nothing out of it?" Already
my cock is throbbing so hard with pleasure I can barely think straight. Even
if I do not release inside her, the pleasure I am getting out of touching her
will be more than enough to sate me. "You have so little faith in my desire
to touch you."
"I just don't know how you'd go for so long without touching anyone,
and then you meet me, and now you want to have sex. You said yourself
Salorians don't take mates. So why me? Why now?" Even as she speaks,
she tilts her head, a silent invitation for my hands. "I'm not special."
"Are you not?" I purr the words. Perhaps in appearance she does not
look special compared to other human females, but I do not much notice
their looks anyhow. "You saved me when I arrived."
"I was doing my job. I help people. That's what I do."
"I do not see anyone else helping. Surely you are not the only one
trained?" When she doesn't answer, I know I am right. It's not that others do
not know how, they just do not care. Melina does. I lean in closer. "It is
your spirit that entices me, my lovely consort. It is that defiant tilt of your
head when you stand up to me. It is how you insist upon having things your
way even when you have no control. It is your intelligence, and your wit,
and your strength…and even your stubbornness." I lean in closer, unable to
resist the expanse of brown skin at her nape. "And your scent is exquisite.
So why you? Why now? I do not know, and yet I do at the same time. A
Salorian does not take a mate, and yet I find I cannot walk away from you. I
cannot leave you alone. If I cannot be as the Salorians deem, then why not
enjoy myself as I rule over the kingdom of humans?" I slide a hand around
her waist, drawing her back against me. She goes without a fight, her scent
everywhere, and I bite back a groan. "If I must stay here, why not indulge
myself in the hunger you have stoked in me? Hungers that I have never felt
before?"
"Is that all I am to you? A challenge to be won? A prize? And once you
get what you want, you'll be done?" Her voice is tight, and yet amused at
the same time. "If that's all it is, you can fuck me now and get it over with,
and we'll go our separate ways."
"That's not what I want."
I want her. I want her with hot need in her eyes, yearning for me like I
yearn for her.
Melina sighs, turning her head to look up at me. "I never do quite grasp
what you want."
I know what she means. Some days, I'm not entirely sure what I want,
either. My pleasure at ruling this place—at her presence—wars with my
Salorian nature. She is all the things I cannot have, and yet here I am,
indulging myself anyhow and straining the limits of my control. So I settle
upon the immediate. As long as I do not claim her, I can still return home,
to my world and resume my life. "Right now, all I want is to taste you."
Her body shivers against mine, and I stroke my hand up and down her
arm. I will not do more than caress until she asks me to, no matter that her
scent is so rich and thick in the air that it is making my senses go wild.
Melina pulls away from me, glances back to make sure I am watching, and
then takes a few steps forward, stepping out of her boots and tugging down
her undergarments as she does. My mouth waters at the sight of her thick,
rounded bottom, of the ample curves of her backside. Did I say it was
merely her personality and strength I'd fallen for? I have to add her glorious
backside to that list.
She saunters over to the edge of the bed, fully naked, and sits down on
the edge delicately. Melina looks back at me. "How do you want me?"
"Want…you?" Is there more than one answer to this? I attempt to keep
my voice calm. "What is the best way to proceed?"
"Well," Melina drawls, leaning on the bed, her hand on the sheets. She
crosses her legs, and she looks so effortlessly elegant and beautiful that it
takes everything I have not to reach for my cock and pump it with my fist
like a heathen. "I could get on all fours and you could eat me out from
behind, or I could sit on your face, or I could get on my back and you could
settle in between my thighs." She traces a finger on the sheets. "How would
you like it?"
I have not considered there is more than one way to do this. Her words
are enticing, and my mind drifts through the possibilities, liking each one
more than the last. "Can we try them all?"
The moment the words leave me, my ears feel hot with embarrassment.
I sound like a greedy child.
She tilts her head, considering me, and I realize I have lost control of
the situation. I am not the one in charge. Melina holds me in the palm of her
hand. A word from her, and she will destroy me and leave me aching…or
give me intense pleasure. My consort studies me and then finally says,
"Let's see how this goes before we make any promises."
I nod. In this moment, if she flashed her cunt at me and let me breathe
in its sweet perfume, I would grant her anything. "Whatever you like."
"And if I want you to stop, you need to stop. Understand?"
 I nod again.
She hesitates. "Should we have a safe word? A word I can use that will
tell you to stop no matter what? That lets you know I'm no longer
comfortable?"
I move forward and touch her chin, getting her attention. "If you wish
me to stop, tell me so. I will not force you to ask twice."
Melina nods, her eyes meeting mine. She settles back on the bed and
reclines, her breasts pointing up at the ceiling. Her nipples are so tight that
my fingers itch to touch them, but I do not have permission. "Let's go with
me on my back, then," she says, and reclines on her elbows, her legs
hanging off the edge of the bed. "Unless you object."
"No objections." I sink to my knees in front of her like a supplicant. The
position makes me aware that she holds all the power in this relationship,
regardless of what she thinks. Here I am, kneeling in front of her,
practically begging to lick her cunt and give her pleasure, and I am beside
myself with the hunger to do so. How have I sunk so far in such a short
time? Any other Salorian would be horrified and yet…I am not. Instead, I
watch eagerly as she parts her thighs and braces one delicate foot on the
edge of the bed, and then the other, creating an altar for me to worship at.
I am lost at the sight of her gloriousness. Reverent, I gaze upon the
arches of her legs and the valley between them, flushed with dusky color
and slick with her juices. A tuft of dark curls covers her mound, and
underneath it peek out even darker folds. They gleam with wetness and as I
watch, she reaches down and spreads them for me, revealing the slick
channel they hide and the prominent nub at the apex. "Have you ever seen
this before?"
"In drawings," I admit. I've stared at them for far too long and far too
often, fascinated. To see her up close like this is something out of a dream,
and her scent drifts around me like a web, drawing me in. "May I touch?"
To my surprise, she gives the nub at the top of her cunt a little rub, and
then pulls her hand away. "Go ahead."
Her voice is tight, and her entire body seems to be brimming with an
edge of tension. Is she afraid I'll somehow displease her? That I won't give
her pleasure? I want to reassure her that I wish nothing more than to make
her come, and hard, but perhaps it is better if I show her, instead.
Reverently I put a hand on each knee, and I can feel the tremor that races
through her. "I will do nothing you do not wish me to do," I remind her,
rubbing a thumb along the inside of her knee. "Tell me to stop at any time."
"I know."
I turn my gaze to her thigh, skimming my fingers along the inside. I
cannot just shove my face between her thighs like a greedy child. This is a
battle, and one does not plunge headlong into war, or expect to live for long
if on the front lines. Strategy must be employed. Tactics. So I stroke her,
learning her body and her movements. I trace every bit of skin, learning the
parts that make her twitch, and the parts that make her eyes flutter closed.
She likes the caresses on the insides of her thighs, but along the back, she
squirms, her brows drawing together. Too ticklish, then. I move my fingers
over one small foot, fascinated to see that she paints her toenails a vivid
shade. I have seen this in pictures and in magazines, but never in person.
"Why are these pink?"
"I like pink," she says defensively. "And I like cute toes. And I found
some polish that wasn't too goopy after all this time."
"Your toes are magnificent," I tell her. "I like the pink, as well." I add
toe color to the mental list of things that Melina likes. Pretty dresses. Hair
clips and wraps. Scented soaps, though they offend my sensitive nose, I find
tolerable when on her skin. Ear jewelry and small, unobtrusive necklaces,
but not rings and not bracelets. And the plant. She adores the plant and tells
me every day that it has not yet bloomed, but she has high hopes for it. "I
like everything about you."
"Even my opinions?"
"Especially your opinions." For some reason, I feel the urge to press my
mouth to the soft skin on the inside of her thigh. I lean in and do so, and she
quivers against me. "I like your advice. Your suggestions. Your
determination. You are not like the sheep here that dwell in the fort, opening
their mouths and waiting for food to fall in. They do not question a leader.
You question everything, and I like that." I graze my mouth against her
warm skin. "It makes me want to do better, to please you."
Melina shifts on the bed, her breath shuddering as I rub my lips against
her skin again. She lies back, flat, as if no longer able to support herself on
her elbows.
I lean forward, my tongue brushing against her skin. I taste her, and she
tastes just as light and enticing as I thought she would. She is all clean
flavors, but with a hint of arousal underneath, that perfect, seductive
perfume that engulfs my senses whenever she is near. Melina moans as I
slide forward, and her hands go to her breasts. She clenches them,
squeezing, even as her thighs fall farther apart.
I wanted to wait, to draw things out a bit longer, but I cannot. I am
drawn toward the sweet folds of her cunt. Her legs press against my
shoulders, posing a bit of a logistics problem, but I solve it by sliding one
over my shoulder and then the other. My head is practically clasped
between her thighs, her scent drowning me, and my cock is aching under
my robes.
I run my mouth along the inside of her thigh, toward the crease where
her leg joins with her body, and then her wet, incredible scent drenches my
senses. "I am going to taste you now," I rasp. "Tell me if you yet wish to
stop."
She makes a soft, whimpering sound, and when I look up, her hands are
clasped tight on her breasts, her eyes closed.
That is not a “stop” as far as I am concerned. I turn my focus back on
her cunt, running a hand up the front of her thigh as I study her. The curls
here are different from the ones on her head, trimmed down close to the
skin, but so fragrant with her scent that I want to rub my face into them and
wear her like a mask. I glance up at her, wondering if that is done, if she
will think me mad.
"I do not know the human words for your anatomy here," I tell her.
"What should I call this…cradle between your thighs?"
Melina wriggles on the bed, panting, and then her hand descends a mere
breath away from my mouth. Her fingers move over her curl-covered
mound, and then she's parting her folds with expert fingers. "These are
labia," she tells me. "But that's a clinical term. We just call the whole thing
'folds' or a pussy, or a vulva."
The bud at the apex of her folds protrudes as she holds herself apart for
my gaze, and I remember how she brushed her fingers over it quickly
before she moved her hand away, as if she couldn't resist another touch. I
lean in and flick my tongue over that small bit of flesh, licking it. "And
this?"
She nearly comes off the bed, arching. Melina swallows a wordless cry
and her thighs tense on my shoulders. "Clit," she pants. "Clitoris."
"Sensitive?"
"Very."
 Excellent. I want to tease it again, but I lick my lips and she bursts
through my senses. If I was on my feet, I'd stagger. Her taste is so rich, so
heady and unlike anything I've ever had before. I am fascinated by the
human foods and all their varying flavors, but Melina is beyond anything I
could have dreamed. She makes my mouth water and I know immediately
that I need more, want more. I want to shove her hands aside and lap at her
folds until I am drowning in her taste. I want to dive between her thighs and
never come up for air again.
But I also want to do this right. Do I touch her like she touched me? I
try to think back to that moment, but my head is not clear. All I remember is
the feel of her hands and the look of sheer distaste in her eyes as she
directed my spurting seed onto the floor.
I consider the sweet vee of her cunt spread before me, and then spit on
it.
Melina gasps at my actions, which surprises me. She did the same to
me, did she not? To wet me down before taking me into her mouth?
Worried I have somehow mis-stepped, I lower my head before she can
speak up, and take her clit into my mouth. I suck on the bead, paying
attention to the noises she makes as I do. She makes a few strangled sounds
at first, and then her hips start to jerk.
"Fuck," she gasps. "Oh fuck. Your tongue is so hot."
I lift my head and cannot resist another swipe of my tongue over that bit
of flesh. "Is this bad? Am I doing something wrong—"
Her hand plants atop my head and shoves me back down.
I bite back a laugh of pleased surprise. That is a “no, you are doing
everything right,” then. Greedy for more, I capture her with my lips and
work on that sensitive spot, alternately sucking and teasing. Her legs flex
over my shoulders, her heels digging in as if seeking purchase, and she
squirms against my mouth, making whimpering sounds. I lock my hands on
her thighs, holding her in place as her hand tangles into my mane. If she
wants me to stop, she but has to say so.
Despite all her squirming, she has not asked me to stop. I take that as a
good sign.
As I listen to her heated breathing, my body straining with my need to
please her, I try to think about what she did to pleasure me. It's difficult to
concentrate, with Melina writhing under me, and her scent all over the
room, her legs squeezing against my ears. This is both bliss and agony, and
as I lap at the underside of her clit again, I wonder if I should be doing
more. Should I be making her come faster? Harder? If I ask, will she be
disgusted at my lack of knowledge? I think of her hands, gliding over my
lubricated shaft, and my hips jerk against the bed. I grind my cock against
the mattress, sucking on her clit with new vigor.
"Azar," she pants, her fingers curling in my mane. Her heels dig into my
back, and I tongue sweet circles around her clit, loving the whimpering,
needy noises she makes under my tongue. Now I see why human males are
addicted to pleasuring their females. Her need is so intense, so perfect that it
throbs through me, as much as my own. My hips stutter against the edge of
the mattress, the pressure of the bed against my cock edging me toward my
own release…but I want Melina to get hers, first.
I suck on her clit again, loving the tremor that races through her thighs,
and then glide a hand between her legs. "We did not finish our lesson," I
murmur, dragging my tongue slowly over the bud of her clit, fascinated
when her hips lift to follow my mouth.
"Don't stop," she pants. "Please, don't stop." Her fingers dig into my
mane, pushing my face down again. "I'm so close."
"Then tell me what it is I touch, and I will keep my mouth on you." All
of my worry that I am doing this wrong has floated away, replaced by a
hungry euphoria. She is loving my touch, I realize incredulously, as she
bites back a sob and insists for me to not stop again. I return to her clit,
hungrily sucking upon it as more shudders race up her thighs, and then I
drag a finger through her wet folds, just below my mouth. She is utterly
soaked, her juices all over my face and the insides of her legs, but I love
this. I love how much she wants this—wants me—and I want to make her
even wetter.
I explore her with one finger, tracing along the folds of her cunt, and as
I do, I uncover the opening of her body. She is hottest and slickest here, the
honey of her arousal coating my skin the moment I touch her. Melina cries
out wordlessly, and I tease my finger at the entrance of her body, waiting for
her to answer me.
When she does not, I lift my head again. "You don't get my mouth,
lovely one, unless you play along as well."
"Fuck you," she wheezes, all frustration, and pushes my head back
between her thighs again. "I was so close!"
 "I will get you that close again," I purr, flicking my tongue against her
clit and loving when she cries out. "But you must finish educating me—"
"Fine!" she cries. "Just…please, Azar."
Her words—her need—make my cock spurt. My robes stick to the head
of my shaft, but I press against the bed again, not caring. All that matters is
Melina's pleasure. I clasp my mouth around her clit again and suck as if I
have never sucked before, and she cries out louder, arching off of the bed.
This time, when I drag my finger toward the entrance of her body, she's
babbling words. "My core. That's my core. My channel. My vagina." She
whimpers again. "Oh please, I'm so close. So close—"
I push my finger inside her.
Melina keens, her body clenching tight. I continue to suck on her clit,
even as her cunt squeezes around my finger as if it is milking it, and her
legs shake. Her entire body tenses, and I keep working her with my mouth
as her noises grow louder, the tension increasing in her body. She gives an
all-over shiver that seems to last forever, makes one last gasping, desperate
sound, and then collapses on the bed as her juices coat my hands and face.
Panting, she finally manages to speak. "Oh my god."
I lift my head, lapping once at her clit, and noticing that she tries to
squirm away from my mouth this time. "Did I please you?" I'm dazed with
the haze of my own pleasure, vaguely aware that my cock throbs with its
own release, and my robes are stuck to my front. I've come as well, lost in
her hunger.
She gives a shaky laugh, trying to ease one of her thighs off my
shoulders. Just as quickly, I slide a hand up and hold it there. I'm not letting
her go anywhere yet. "That was…yeah. That was good. I…thank you,
Azar."
"I am your mate. Your pleasure is mine." Indeed, I feel incredible. Her
scent is everywhere, her cunt still dripping with arousal, and I cannot resist
lapping up another taste and loving how she shivers in response. "I had no
idea it was so very pleasing to devour a female's pussy. No wonder your
human males are so hungry for it."
A laugh bubbles up out of her. "They're not. I don't know where you got
the idea that they are, but they are definitely not into eating pussy. Not like
that."
They're not? "Then they are fools. That is the most pleasure I've had…
ever." I rub my mouth against her thigh, obsessed with the texture of her
soft skin and the scent of her. "I thought…I thought it was common."
"In a perfect world, I guess it would be." Her mouth curves in a dreamy
smile. "But it's definitely not a perfect world, and most men are selfish in
bed." She smooths my mane back from my brow, her eyes soft and dark and
hazy. "Where did you get that idea, anyhow?"
Fascinating that human men would deprive themselves of such a thing.
But perhaps their senses are less refined. They cannot appreciate the nuance
of Melina's taste, her scent, the fine texture of her skin. Or they are simply
fools. Both are easily believable. I glide my fingers along the inside of her
thigh, because I could stay here forever, just exploring and dipping my
tongue in for leisurely tastes. "I saw a picture in a book of a male between
his female's thighs and wanted to try it."
"A picture in a book?" Her fingers go to my mane and she scratches idly
at my scalp, as if she wants to touch me, too. "What kind of book? What
was it about?"
I shrug. "I do not know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?" She sounds puzzled.
"I cannot read. I only look through pictures to try and determine the
answers I seek."
She goes still under me. "You can't read?" When I don't reply, she
exhales slowly. "That was a dumb question. Of course you can't. It makes
sense that you wouldn't know what the books say. I just thought…your
library…"
"Even without the ability to read your language, I still learn a great deal
from the pictures," I admit. I feel oddly vulnerable. I don't like her thinking
I am not smart. That I lack information that might be easily available to
others. I don't want her thinking…less of me.
Melina strokes her fingers through my mane again. "I'm not much of a
teacher, but I could help you learn?"
"I…would love nothing more." I press my mouth to her thigh again.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Sixteen

OceanofPDF.com
MELINA

A zar is unusually quiet the next morning.

Part of that might be my fault. Last night was weird for me. After
he'd eaten my pussy as if his life depended on it—and god, I'm still
clenching with arousal thinking about it a half a day later—I'd made up
some excuse about how I needed to get up and stretch my legs. I was afraid
he was going to ask if he could do it again…and that I'd say yes. I'd whip
my legs around that man's head so fast that we'd both be dizzy. Oral sex is
great when done well, but most men don't seem to care if they do it well. At
best, you might get a man that gives you a bit of licking and gets mad when
you don't go off like a rocket the moment his tongue touches your clit. At
worst, he won't even bother. He'll just shove his dick inside you and think
that's enough to make you come.
It's been a hell of a long time since someone touched me to give me
pleasure…and enjoyed the process.
Scratch that. He didn't just enjoy the process—he reveled in it. I could
hear him making sounds of pleasure as he ate me out. There was no faking
his enthusiasm, or the fact that he kept touching me once I'd come, as if he
was reluctant to let me go. And when he got to his feet again, I could tell
from the wet stain on the front of his robes, that he'd come, too. He didn't
ask me to touch him, though. Didn't shove his dick in my face and demand
his turn. If anything, I'd had suspicions he'd ask to go down on me again.
And that gave me weird feelings. Not bad weird, but what-the-fuck-are-
you-doing-Melina weird.
Because Azar's supposed to be the enemy. He's the conqueror of our
city. Never mind that the fort seemed to want to be conquered. Never mind
that he strong-armed his way in and is now improving life in the fort. He
forced me to be his consort. He's treated me well enough, but isn't a gilded
cage still a cage? Even if the gilding is enthusiastic oral sex?
I spent far too long hiding in the bathroom and when I finally emerged,
Azar was in bed, his back to me. Thank god. I didn't want to discuss what
we'd done…or if I'd do it again.
Because I am a weak, weak woman when presented with a talented
tongue.
 Azar doesn't bring up the night before while at breakfast that morning,
though. He talks of the weather, of the well in the center of the fort that's
been used constantly, and some about plans for fall gardens. He's so casual
and easygoing, asking me what types of vegetables are best for the fall
season here, and do I have suggestions for other improvements, that it
throws me off. Doesn't he…want to talk about what we did? At all?
Or did he satisfy his curiosity and now he's done with me?
I don't know what to think. I certainly don't want to be the one to ask
about it. Yes, I know I've sworn undying hate for you, but do you think you
could roll my clit against your tongue again like you did last night?
So I say nothing. I stew on it quietly as I head to my clinic and try to
distract myself through the day. Nothing seems to be going right, though. A
box of what I thought were sealed bandages turn out to have mold on them
and have to be thrown away. Someone that came in for an infected foot
stole my entire bottle of rubbing alcohol, my very last one.
And my rose bush is dying. No matter how much I water it or put it in
sunlight, the leaves are yellowing and drooping. I feel like a failure.
I'm in a crappy, crappy mood when I close up the clinic at sunset and
head back to the barracks, only to be confronted by a meal of stewed
tomatoes and noodles, my least favorite meal. Food is food, though, so I do
my best to pick at it and eat, since there are others less fortunate than me
that would love to have my dinner.
Once we're both finished and our plates are cleared away, Azar gives me
a speculative look. "Are you well?"
"Of course?" I manage a bright smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Azar doesn't buy it. His eyes narrow as he regards me. "You seem
distracted tonight. Is something troubling you?"
I shake my head. "Just thinking."
"About your promise from last night?"
I go still, watching him. Did I promise him another round last night? I
can't remember. All I can think about is how his hot, eager mouth felt on my
body. I've never come so hard. Never. Sex shouldn't be a deciding factor in
our weird, strange relationship and yet I can't stop thinking about sex. I
can't stop thinking about how he'd volunteered and didn't request anything
of me in return. I think about what it meant and if we're going to do it again,
and I'm terribly distracted. "I…"
 "If you do not wish to teach me, then simply say so." His expression is
shuttered, closed.
Oh. He's thinking of the reading lessons? Here I am thinking about his
tongue and he's got his mind in a completely different arena. I feel like a
fool. "I meant what I said. I'll help you learn how to read and write." I offer
him a small smile. "I assume you wish to keep it secret between us?"
Azar nods once. "I don't like others knowing my vulnerabilities lest they
use them against me."
You mean like you did to me? I want to snipe, but I don't. Maybe I just
don't feel like arguing. I'm so tired of fighting and having to struggle
sometimes that I'm conflicted. Some days I'm so angry at Azar I could
scream, and others…others I'm glad. I'm glad that I'm safe and protected
and pampered. I'm glad that he's taking care of me and making sure my
clinic has supplies and my belly is full. It feels good that there's one less
struggle on my plate, and then I feel guilty for thinking that.
I'm just a big, conflicted mess around this man. But I get not wanting to
be vulnerable. Boy, do I get it.
"I won't say a thing," I promise him. "It'll be our secret. When do you
want to start?"
His gaze locks onto me, and he just…stares. It's such a heated,
thoughtful gaze that I want to squirm in my seat. Is he thinking about sex?
About how he'd gone down on me last night? Azar watches me so intently
that I grow breathless and my pulse speeds up. My pussy clenches on
nothing at all, and I know that I'm growing slick. All from a stare, which is
insane. "I should like to start now," he finally says, voice soft. "Tonight."
"Of course." Why do I feel a twinge of disappointment?
I get to my feet and run my hand down the front of my dress as the
skirts slither into place. I keep waiting for the novelty of wearing such
princessy, prom-like dresses to wear off, but it hasn't yet. They're
impractical, of course, but they're also cool to wear in the summer heat and
I love the feel of the fabrics. I guess I like being pampered. It's another part
of this deal that I thought I would hate but actually enjoy…just like his
mouth.
Good lord, am I going to think about his mouth constantly? I really am a
mess.
Clenching my hands to focus my thoughts, I head out of the dining
room and down the hall toward the library. Azar follows a step behind me,
and I'm acutely aware of his presence, waiting for him to put his hand on
the small of my back, or to touch my shoulder, but he doesn't. I make it all
the way into the library and manage to keep my expression serene as he
picks up a lighter and ignites the candelabra, illuminating the heavily
shelved room. I glance around. I've been in here a few times but it never
feels like a comfortable space. Since it's a converted store, the ceiling is
high, the floor is cold and bare, and the crammed shelves are full of
shadows. The seating here isn't the most inviting, with ornate wooden chairs
at an equally fussy wooden table and that stupid globe near the window. It
looks as much like a proper library as it can, but it doesn't look lived in. It
looks like a library would be if someone was pretending to be human…
which, I suppose, Azar is.
I move to the first shelf as he sets the candelabra on the table, looking
for children's books. Something with big letters written out, a primer,
anything of the kind. Instead, I see dictionaries and religious tomes mixed
in with National Geographic magazines and books on fashion. Cozy
mysteries are shoved haphazardly between encyclopedias that predate
World War II, and it takes a few moments of digging before I find a small
book with a golden spine, a children's book, sandwiched between old digest
magazines. "Tomorrow when it's bright outside, we'll go through everything
and look for books like this," I begin, turning around to look at him.
"Unless you know where you're keeping them…"
The moment I turn, the words die in my throat.
Azar is seated at the end of the table, a thoughtful expression on his
face. His head is tilted to the side and his long, pale hair spills over his
shoulder as he watches me, but his eyes are that heated, silky-looking
amber from last night, when he was between my thighs. My pussy clenches
again in memory. "You're upset over something."
"I am not," I reassure him.
"You are, and I'm trying to understand why." He continues to watch me
as I put the children's book on the table, not paying attention to it. When I
draw back, he catches my hand in his grip, and again I'm struck at how
warm his skin is. His thumb presses against my palm and then he pulls me
toward him, pressing my hand toward his mouth. He licks the center of my
palm and looks up at me with those liquid gold eyes. "Did you not like what
we did last night?"
 He's going to make me answer that, isn't he? I try to relax in his grip,
because I'm torn between withdrawing my hand…and grabbing the front of
his robe and kissing the hell out of him. I'm such a horny mess. "You know
I did."
Azar rubs his lips against my palm again, his tongue flicking against the
center and reminding me of everything that tongue did last night. "But you
are remote today. Something troubles you about what we did. Tell me so I
know not to do it again."
I lick my lips, feeling oddly shy. "It was fine—"
"Fine? Such praise."
My face feels hot. "I'm not going to praise you if that's what you're
angling for."
"I am angling for answers. I don't know what to think." Azar runs his
mouth along my hand and then rubs one fingertip against his lips. It's not
kissing—I'm not sure he knows how to kiss, and the realization startles me
—but it is intimate and intense and distracting. "Your mood tells me that I
did something wrong, but at the same time, I can smell your arousal. So I
do not know what to think."
I gasp, trembling. I should snatch my hand out of his grasp but I don't.
"You can smell…?"
"When your cunt grows wet? Yes."
"Then why are you asking if it pleased me?" I feel naked at the
realization that he can smell so much more than he's been letting on. Every
time I get turned on, he can scent it? He's been smelling me like this for the
last two days and hasn't said anything? I'm mortified. "If you already know
the answer?"
Azar traces my fingertip against his lips. "Because your body might be
responding, but if your mind is not there with it, it makes no difference." He
touches his tongue to my skin in a light flick. "If all I wanted was your cunt,
I'd claim it while you were sleeping and vulnerable. I want all of you
involved, not just a body part."
His words—and his touch—make me tremble. "Well," I say softly.
"What did you think? Do you want to do it again?"
Azar's golden eyes seem to darken even more. "I want to do it
constantly."
I suck in a breath. The intensity in his voice, in his eyes, they make my
stomach flutter. I shouldn't want him to touch me again, but just thinking
about it is making me distracted and needy. "If I say I liked it, you realize it
changes nothing between us, right?"
"I know this." Azar's mouth moves to my knuckles, his tongue flicking
against them. "I simply enjoyed pleasuring you and wish to do so again.
Are we not allowed to enjoy one another? Must we be martyrs to some
unknown cause? Must you be miserable to satisfy your pride?"
Sometimes I hate that he makes everything sound so sensible. Like I'm
the unreasonable one in our strange, strange relationship. "Of course not."
"So you will not deprive us both of the pleasure of my mouth on your
cunt?" His eyes gleam, as if the battle has already been won. He tugs on my
hand, pulling me toward him. "Because it is undoubtedly a pleasure for
me."
"We can do that," I agree. It's just a bit of cunnilingus, right? And I'm
going to be the one that ends up winning in this scenario, since it's being
performed on me. Even so, it feels a bit like I'm giving in, like I'm falling
for his plan…whatever that plan may be. I don't entirely trust it, or him…
but I can't see a reason to deprive myself. "As long as that's all it is."
Azar nods. "That is all I ask." He puts a hand on my hip and steers me
in front of him. "Now, sit on the table. I wish to savor my dessert."
I blink, surprised…and I still sit on the edge of the table, resting my
weight there. "Here? Now?"
He looks up at me, running a hand down my skirt-covered leg. "Must
we only do it in bed? Are there rules I'm unaware of?"
"No rules," I breathe, nudging the candelabra out of the way. "It's just…
someone might come in."
"No one will come in," he reassures me, pushing my skirts up. God, I
don't think I've ever seen his eyes such a dark gold. Strangely enough, the
sight of that turns me on as much as his eager hands. "They know if they
disturb me when I am with my consort, I will destroy them."
Big words, but I've yet to see Azar “destroy” anyone. Can he be cold
and brutally efficient sometimes? Yes. Does he miss cues and niceties that
people normally expect? Yes. But destroying? I'm starting to think he talks
a bigger game than anything. "What about learning to read? Isn't that why
we're here?"
He gently helps me onto my back, cradling a warm hand at the base of
my neck, and I'm oddly touched. He's treating me like I'm a fragile,
precious gift that he has to protect, and instead of shoving me backward,
he's making certain that I'm comfortable. It's that extra step that decides me.
When I recline, I spread my legs apart, propping a foot up on the arm of his
chair. There's a fascinated look on his face, with a hint of reverence as he
pushes my skirts up past my thighs.
"Time for books tomorrow," he murmurs, and brushes his lips against
my knee.
Which reminds me…
I sit up, and when Azar glances up at me, I touch a finger under his
chin. "One small change," I murmur. I lean in and brush my lips over his. "I
think we should kiss."
He goes completely still as my mouth touches his, and when I pull back,
his heavily lidded eyes regard mine. "A human custom?"
"Oh yes. And one I insist on." It feels weird to think about his mouth on
my pussy and not ever kissing. Doesn't seem right, and I figure if we're
doing one intimate thing, we should do the other. So I slide my arms around
his neck and rub my nose against his, my lips flirtingly close. "I'm going to
put my mouth on yours, and then I'm going to give you my tongue."
Azar lets out a ragged breath. "Why?"
I slide a hand into the waterfall of his pale gold hair. "Because it creates
intimacy. Because it shows affection and helps establish a bond between
you and your lover." I press my lips to his again. "Because it feels good.
Slippery and strange, but good." I kiss him again, feather-light. "And
because sometimes you need that intimacy and don't have time to eat
pussy."
He seems entranced by my nearness, unable to look away from my lips.
"I will always make time for that," he vows, voice fervent. "Simply ask and
I shall do as you command."
"You can just tell me if you don't like it," I whisper, letting my breath
fan across his skin. "We won't do it again if you don't."
"I will like it."
Azar sounds utterly convinced of this, but I've had far too many bad,
wet kissers in the past to be as certain as him. In a way, it's good that he's
never kissed before. I can teach him how to do it properly, just the way I
like, and I won't have to worry about him jackhammering away at the roof
of my mouth. I run my thumb along his lower lip, and when his lips part
slightly for me, I lean in and graze my mouth against his again. We kiss a
few times like that, tentative, exploratory kisses that send pleasant tingles
through my body…and then I dip my tongue into his mouth.
I feel him tense under me, taking in the change in sensation. Then, his
arms tighten around my waist and he groans into my mouth, the sound
hungry and intense. I slick my tongue against his, and he's just as startlingly
warm as before, his mouth sweet. His tongue dips against mine, flirting
lightly, and I'm shocked that when he kisses me back, he's good at it.
There's no awkward stabbing of his tongue, no slobber, just the play of his
tongue against mine. It leaves me breathless, and when I pull back to catch
my breath, I'm the one that's dazed.
One hand skims over my cheek. "It's like licking your cunt," he says,
gaze fixed on my wet, swollen mouth. "Now I understand why humans do
it." He touches my mouth with his thumb, utterly fixed on my lips, and then
dips in again for another taste.
I've created a monster, I decide, as he hungrily ravages my mouth with
kiss after kiss. A monster who wants nothing more than to kiss me and run
his hands all over me, and eat me out. As he breaks away, panting, to duck
under my skirts and press his face against my inner thighs, I'm lost in a
swirl of emotion.
If he'd led with this, would I have fought so hard against being his
mate? The thought occurs to me moments before his tongue is slicking
through my folds, and then he groans low, pushing my thighs apart…
And then I'm not thinking anything at all.

T hat night , instead of sleeping at the edge of the bed, I creep a little closer
to him.
It's like the dam has broken. Now that I've gotten a few kisses and
cuddles from him (and of course, being licked from the front of my crease
to back), I'm craving a bit more intimacy. More touching. When he pulls me
against him, a strong arm locking around me, I don't mind that he's hot like
a furnace. I just pull the covers off and move a little closer.
Perhaps it's because I'm tucked against him that I wake up in the middle
of the night with the knowledge that something's wrong. I drift awake,
confused when I notice it's still dark. Normally I sleep soundly, so I lie in
bed, eyes open in the shadows, and stretch my senses.
Do I smell…smoke?
Behind me, Azar tenses. His breathing becomes rapid and his body
jerks. To my surprise, he makes an animalistic snarl, one I've never heard
from him before. I slip out of his grip and move out of bed, looking over at
him. When he doesn't move, I realize he's still asleep. He remains where he
was on the bed, but in the moonlight, his fingers twitch and I can see
movement underneath his eyelids.
Smoke erupts from his nostrils, and he thrashes on the bed.
Sucking in a breath, I wait for him to wake up, but he doesn't. He's
caught in the throes of a nightmare, growling and making sounds that I've
only heard from Claudia's dragon. It's like something in him is…reverting.
"Azar?" I say softly. "Can you hear me?"
No response.
I move to his side of the bed, less frightened of him and more concerned
that something is terribly, awfully wrong.
"Azar," I try again, sitting down next to him on the edge of the bed.
"Wake up."
He jerks, his eyes flying open, and for a moment, they're pitch black. A
curl of steam escapes one nostril before his eyes focus and turn gold once
more, his gaze fixing on me.
"Are you all right?" I ask, brushing my fingers over his forehead. To my
surprise, his skin is damp. On even the hottest days of the summer, Azar has
never cracked a sweat. "You're having a nightmare."
He grabs my hand, and to my shock, his nails have turned into claws.
Again, I'm reminded of Claudia's dragon-man. For all that Azar claims to be
nothing like him, I can't help but think that they're far more similar than he
suspects. "Something…" he manages to croak out. "Something was in my
dreams."
"What?"
He swallows hard, then shakes his head. "I thought…something from
the Rift." He lets out a ragged breath. "I'm sure it's nothing."
"Just a nightmare?" I soothe, squeezing his hand.
"Just a nightmare," he agrees. "Go back to sleep."
I nod and let go of his hand, returning to the far side of the bed. Maybe I
caused this by cuddling with him in bed. Maybe he's not used to having
someone touch him in his sleep and it triggered some sort of nightmare.
How many times has he said that Salorians don't take mates, Salorians don't
have feelings, Salorians don't show fear? Yet the longer we're together, the
more that seems like crap. Perhaps this is his subconscious lashing out. So
when I get back into bed, I carefully arrange the sheets over my legs and
turn my back to him, making sure to keep a good deal of space between us.
No sooner do I close my eyes than Azar is there on my side of the bed,
sliding his arms around me. "Why are you retreating again?" He presses a
kiss to my shoulder. "I want you in my arms."
"I was giving you space," I say softly. "Just in case I was the cause of
your nightmares."
"You are not." He pulls me back against him, tucking my body against
his. "Having you in my arms calms me. Go back to sleep."
I'm not sure if that's the case, but I brush my hand over his, trying not to
think about the claws that now tip his fingers. It was just a nightmare, I tell
myself. A freak occurrence. Nothing more.

T he claws are gone again the next morning, and I suspect Azar has filed
them down once more. He's as composed and remote as ever, but the
moment we're alone, his hands are all over me. We kiss for what feels like
hours, until I'm panting and straddling him in his chair and his hand is
between my thighs.
"Lessons?" I manage to ask.
"First you come for me," Azar tells me in that no-nonsense tone. "Then
lessons."
And…I do. I come hard and fast, and when I'm dazed with endorphins, I
sit on his lap and go over the reading primer we've unearthed, discussing
the alphabet and the shapes of letters.
Our days fall into a pattern. We have breakfast together (in which Azar
devours me with his eyes the entire time) and then I head off to my clinic
while Azar runs the fort. There's always a new crisis coming up. Either
refugees are showing up on our doorstep, or someone's stealing, or another
person is trying to blackmail people that use the common well established
for everyone. There's always something, and it's because people have lived
without rules for so long. We've become accustomed to thinking of
ourselves first, and so Azar is constantly laying down the law. A few people
have been exiled, and one man was executed for killing his neighbors for
their supplies. For that one, Azar refused to be lenient and choose exile. It
would encourage others to murder indiscriminately, he said, and then told
me later he'd tried to be kind and exile him, only for the man to return to the
fort. There was no choice but to execute.
For every change that Azar makes for the better, it's like people are
fighting against it. The well I'd insisted be made for common use has been a
source of constant issues. If someone's not trying to charge others to use it,
someone else is dropping things down it. Fights break out near it constantly,
and the militia is forced to constantly patrol the area and regulate who gets
water so everyone gets a fair share. There's the usual food shortages, of
course, because there always are, and as fast as the streets are cleaned up
again, they're made filthy once more.
Basically life in the fort is as it always is. Some things change, some
things stay the same no matter who is in charge.
Best of it all, there has not been a single dragon attack since Azar took
over.
As weeks turn into months, people seem to flock to the outdoors.
There's laughter in the streets, and scuffles too, but I sense that people feel
as if a weight has been lifted. Hell, I feel that way, too. I've been so used to
hiding and making do, scheduling my life around the relentless attacks that
now that they're gone, I feel free.
I'm…happy.
I smile at the dragons up on the wall as I see them every day. I know
they can't see me, as Azar is safeguarding their minds, but I like to think
that they're pleased that they're doing their part to protect people. Maybe
they're aware they're making a difference. Whatever it is, my initial
skepticism of them has been replaced with quiet fondness. They're changing
our lives back to normal, and I'm so very grateful.
Time ticks on, and my initial happiness gives way to unease, though.
Things might be going swimmingly in the fort, but Azar's dreams have
continued. More than that, they grow worse and worse. It's always the same
sort of dream. Something—or someone—is trying to reach through the Rift.
The dreams are so vivid that at first I think they're his subconscious reacting
to something. That perhaps he's holding guilt over his rule, or that he's too
worried over the safety of the people here, even though he reassures me that
isn't the case.
But then the dreams keep changing. Azar tosses in his sleep, speaking a
strange, guttural language, and his scent changes. It's not that strange whiff
of ash, or the burning scent I've come to associate with dragons. It's
something sour and foul…and it dissipates the moment he wakes up. He
becomes hollow-eyed, exhausted.
"Someone is trying to tell me something," he insists. "Whoever is in the
Rift is trying to speak to me, they're trying to come through."
"From your world?" I ask. When he shakes his head, I feel a prickle of
fear. "Then who?"
"I don't know." And he seems just as worried as me.

A fter that , I suggest to him that we talk with the other dragons that have
regained their sanity. The dragons like Claudia's mate, who have become
themselves again. Maybe they'll have answers that we don't. Azar likes the
idea and sends out his mental “feelers,” reaching far and wide. Claudia and
her dragon don't respond, which surprises me, but Azar has hinted that his
people don't get along with the drakoni. It seems selfish to refuse to help,
but perhaps she has more going on in her life.
We do get a response from a dragon named Vaan and his mate, a woman
about my age from Louisiana named Gwen.
They're not fond of Azar. In fact, they're downright unpleasant to him,
and he's equally unpleasant back. I try to smooth things out but it's like
being in a room with spitting cats. I'm not certain why they don't get along,
but I take Azar's side. I'm his consort, after all. Just because he's unpleasant
or some of his methods unorthodox doesn't mean that he's a bad person.
Gwen’s black like me, and when she arrived, I was delighted to see
another black woman involved with dragon-Salorian politics like I am. But
Gwen has made it clear to me that she’s here for Vaan and I’m on Azar’s
side, so we’re not friends.
I’m not surprised. A little sad, maybe, but not surprised.
After the initial meeting, Gwen and Vaan decide to stay in Fort Dallas to
“help” out, to be a liaison between the fort and the scattered women who
have mated dragons and that won't answer Azar's call.
Something will break through the Rift, eventually. Gwen and Vaan are
worried that we’ll need all the help we can get when that time comes, so
they’re part of Fort Dallas now. A reluctant part, but still a part.
Me, I can’t help but wonder when Earth is going to catch a break. First
the Rift, and now a new menace. Will we ever get to relax?

OceanofPDF.com
Part Two

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Seventeen

OceanofPDF.com
MELINA

I 'm bathing an elderly man's trembling limbs when Alma comes to my

side, her expression weary. "I lost another," she says simply. "Can we
call the soldiers?"
Oh no.
I tuck the sheets over the elderly man's body, smiling down at him with
my best physician look. "I'll be back soon." If he hears me, he doesn't reply.
He just lies in the cot, weak, his skin a pasty gray as the sickness roars
through him. I get to my feet, trying not to feel despair as I look around my
normally empty clinic. I have seven cots set up for patients in the clinic, and
on a bad day, I might have two that are occupied.
Today, all of them are occupied. Have been for a week now. There are
pallets on the floor, and the sick are crowded in everywhere possible. I step
over a few sleeping bodies and follow Alma to the back, where she's been
working with the sickest patients. The smell of vomit and urine is
everywhere, and as I move past, another woman pukes into a bucket at her
bedside. We both pause, and I move to the woman's side, rubbing her
shoulders as the worst of it moves through her.
"Try to eat," I tell her as I give her a bit of cornbread and make sure her
water glass is full.
"I'm dying," she cries, clutching the bucket to her chest. "I'm dying."
"You've got food poisoning," I tell her gently, and hate that I have to lie.
"It's a sour stomach. It'll pass."
"Can you give me something for it?" Her eyes are full of tears, and
there's a burst blood vessel next to her iris from the force of her vomiting.
I should tell her no. I should tell her there's nothing left, because wave
after wave of sickness has been hitting Fort Dallas, and my supplies were
wiped out days ago. Even so, I have to offer hope. "I'll look for something,
but drink some water and eat your cornbread. Small bites. If you can keep
that down, I can give you something to help with the nausea."
She gives me a grateful look and collapses back onto her cot.
Alma waits patiently nearby. Her clothes are sweaty and covered with
stains, and her bronze face is sallow, deep circles under her dark eyes. Her
normally neat hair is frizzy and escaping her ponytail, but I think she's too
tired to notice. We both are. She leads me to the back of the room and to the
man she's covered with a sheet, like they did back in the old movies. I don't
tell her that we're just going to have to sterilize that sheet and re-use it,
because I get it. No one wants to look at a dead man in the cot next to them.
It makes the patients think they're next.
And…they're right.
Ever since this sickness cropped up, it comes in waves. Entire
households will be affected and show up on my doorstep with the same
symptoms—vomiting, fever, nausea, and diarrhea. I originally thought it
was poisoning, but when it continued to spread, I knew it was something
else. People keep dying, and I've run out of the medicine to treat them.
"This one has the worms, too," Alma tells me in a whispered voice. "I
checked."
I swallow hard, nodding. This isn't a true plague, not really. It's not an
airborne sickness and no one can catch it from being coughed on. All of the
patients are ingesting something that's making them sick, and when they
die, we find strange, horrible worms in their stool. The fact that it comes in
waves tells me that it's something that people are eating, and I suspect it's
the bugs.
No matter how many times we warn people off the enormous, strange
bugs, they keep eating them.
I get it. I do. There are pockets of those in Fort Dallas that refuse to join
the militia or take part in the work programs we have set up. Now that the
majority of the fort is “employed” by Azar and the militia, the black market
is struggling. There are fewer buyers for goods and so no one's trading for
food. The poor are struggling and the huge, cat-sized bugs that have been
showing up in town are slow and easy to catch.
Lots of protein on those bugs, I imagine. Easy to fill the bellies of
hungry families.
But those bugs make almost everyone sick. People keep eating them
anyhow.
I pull back the sheets and look at the dead man's face. It's sunken, and I
recognize him vaguely—he's one of the men we'd been treating for a few
days now, who had vomited constantly despite our best efforts. He had a
wife and a son, too. The wife died yesterday, and the son is hanging on by a
thread. Frustrated, I cover him up again and turn to Alma. "Call in the
soldiers, yeah. Let's empty this bed and get someone that's been on the floor
into it." When she nods and swipes at her forehead, I add, "And wash your
hands."
"Always," she tells me, and then pauses. "You staying tonight?"
I bite my lip. I need to. I need to be here constantly to help out. Alma
does an evening shift, but there's more going on than one person can
possibly handle. I have militia soldiers assisting (thanks to Azar), but most
of them don't know how to do more than change out barf buckets or carry
out the dead. I should stay…but I won't, because Azar insists I come home.
He thinks my place is at his side, no matter how much I protest that I won't
be long, or that people need me. He says he needs me, too.
It's one of those things that reminds me that Azar can be a stubborn,
intractable ass when he wants to be.
Even so, I shake my head. "I can't. I need to talk to him. I'm sorry."
Alma nods, unsurprised. I can't tell her that I need to talk to Azar about
a food program for the poor. He's a firm believer that if people want to eat,
they have to obey his rules. They have to contribute to the well-being of the
fort. And while it's easy to say that, it's less easy to look into the starving
eyes of children who have rebellious parents. They're the ones that suffer,
and because of the food shortages, I can't persuade Azar to feed those that
won't contribute. I'm working on it, though. It's a process, just like
everything else with Azar. His way of thinking is different than mine.
It's probably good I return home anyhow. We can argue about food
(again) and I can get a good night's sleep so I can be fresh for the
morning…and hopefully I can help Azar sleep. His nightmares have been
increasing.
Tired, I rub my eyes and go over the list of patients with Alma, which
ones need more water, which ones have eaten, which ones probably won't
make it through the night. The need to stay and help is pulling at me, but I
know Azar. It's already late in the evening and he's going to be looking for
me.
"Ask about medicine," Alma whispers as I get ready to leave.
I nod. She knows as well as I do that if there's medicine in the area,
we've already acquired it. Old Dallas and its surroundings are completely
picked over. We'd need to range farther out. Get on bicycles and ride out for
a few days and follow the highways. See what we can find. I'd ask Gwen
and her dragon, Vaan, but Gwen is heavily pregnant. One of the local girls,
Rachel, is newly mated to a dragon of her own, but Rachel is unfriendly and
acts like we're her enemies. No one seems to trust Azar. I suppose I get it.
He's prickly and hard to get along with even on good days. He has a definite
vision of what he wants Fort Dallas to be like, and little tolerance for those
that veer from his vision. They see the dragons on the wall and think he's
abusing them.
They don't know him like I do.
They don't know the man that agonizes over childhood learning books,
because he wants to arm himself with information. They don't know that
he's tender and kind to me. That he now greets the servants with polite
words and encouraging comments because he wants them to realize how
appreciated they are. That he's a man that kisses and cuddles me, that takes
care of me as if I'm gold, that ensures that I want for nothing. He comes
from a culture where they care for no one but themselves, from what I've
gathered, but he's changing. He's learning. How many nights have we
stayed up late, talking about plans for Fort Dallas? Talking about how we
can make things better for everyone without upsetting the delicate
ecosystem that's built up since the Rift? Maybe he initially wanted to be in
charge for selfish reasons, but I'm around him every day. I know he's
changing. I know he listens to reason.
It's another reason I have to go home tonight. He listens to me. I can go
home and if nothing else, maybe I can persuade him to let me work through
the night, and to give me more help.
The short walk across the compound has never seemed so damned long.
Two militia soldiers—my guards—fall in behind me as I head back toward
the barracks and the quarters I share with Azar. I try not to pay attention to
the fact that the streets are filthy again, or that I see a grown adult chasing
down one of the large bugs in the street. Getting angry at how little people
want to help themselves won't help me motivate Azar. People are people,
despite their flaws. If the streets are filthy again, it's because it's easier to
continue to throw trash out a window instead of taking it to the collection
carts. If people are eating the bugs, it's because…well, I don't know. It's
because they think they won't get sick, I suppose.
Serenity, I remind myself. Be calm. You're doing everything you can.
But when the man chases the bug in front of me, I stop and put a hand
on his shoulder. "Sir," I say softly. "Don't eat that."
He looks at my fancy dress, at my clean hair and my clean skin and his
lip curls. I know what he's thinking. It's what I've heard a dozen times
before when people think I'm not paying attention. Azar's whore. That I set
myself above everyone else. That I think I'm too good for the rest of the
fort.
I put a hand up before he can spit something ugly at me. "They'll give
you a meal at the barracks," I continue. "Just tell them Melina sent you
over. I swear they'll feed you. One of my guards can take you."
The skinny, dirty man holds the revolting bug in his hands, its many
legs squirming. "And my family?"
"We'll get you enough for them, too," I soothe.
"And tomorrow? And the day after?" He spits at my feet. "Bug stew'll
feed us for a week. Ain't nobody in my house that's been sick."
"Yet," I say. "My clinic is full of dying people…" He eyes my dress
again and I trail off, because it's useless. If he wants to believe the worst of
me, let him. And he's right. I can feed him and his family tonight, but more
than that and Azar will insist that they pay for the food by either helping in
the gardens or cleaning the streets. Working for the fort.
Something tells me this man won't do that. It's the way he looks at me,
as if I'm trash. As if I'm fucking my way to safety. As if my stupid,
princessy dress means anything other than it's been scavenged, just like the
dirty shirt he's wearing. But it doesn't matter, because part of me thinks he's
right. That I do get special treatment because of Azar.
So I keep a smile pasted on my face. "Just tell them Melina sent you," I
say again, and continue down the road.
"Dragon whore," the man mutters.
I pretend to ignore that too. It's not even factually correct and I'm too
tired to argue.
Once inside the barracks, I realize how late it is. The place is thick with
the scent of candles—something that Azar tells me he dislikes but tolerates
for my sake—and shadows coat every room. The sun is going down quicker
now, and it's a bit cooler as we head toward the end of the year. I
contemplate dinner—do I head straight for the table or do I go wash first? I
feel grimy and tired, but I know Azar's waiting for me, so I head for the
dining room.
Ever since Gwen and Vaan elected to move to Fort Dallas, they have
dinner with us. Rachel and her dragon, Jurik, always have a place set as
well, but they're harder to pin down. They don't like Azar and don't trust me
because I'm with him, and so they avoid us more often than not. I'm not
entirely surprised that when I go into the dining hall, it's just Azar sitting
there, a book in hand as he nibbles on a slice of fruit. He looks up the
moment I arrive, his eyes flashing dark for a moment. "You're late."
"My day was fine, dear," I joke. "Just flipping great. Thanks for asking."
I flop into the chair next to his and put my head down. "Can we skip
dinner? I'm not hungry."
"You smell like vomit," Azar tells me, closing his book and pushing his
plate of fruit away.
I give him a tired look. "That's probably because someone vomited on
me."
He gets to his feet. "You are going to have a bath," he announces. "And
I will feed you as you bathe, because someone clearly needs to take care of
you."
I bite back a smile at his blustering. He gets so prickly when he worries
about me. "A bath sounds lovely. Good idea."
Azar guides me toward the room that's been set up as a bathing
chamber. It's separate from the bathrooms, close to the kitchens so the
bathtub can be drained easily and heated water carried in quickly. The
moment we enter the room, a bell clangs and a servant pops in, nodding at
us to let us know she's working on the water. I give her a tired smile and
kick off my boots. The moment I do, Azar is at my back, undoing the
buttons on my soiled dress. "Tell me who vomited on you," he says. "Do I
need to punish them?"
I roll my eyes, chuckling. "It was a sick person. That's what they do. It's
not like they could help it."
"And are there many sick today?"
"Too many." I sigh heavily. "We need to talk about food."
"I withhold nothing from anyone," Azar says, sliding my dress off once
it's unfastened. "They know how to get food. All they have to do is ask and
we will make room for them in one of the fort's improvement programs."
"Some people are too proud to ask." I shiver, crossing my arms over my
breasts as one of the servants comes in with a bucket of steaming water.
"And some don't like you," I point out to my lover as the servant turns to
leave. "Not everyone wants to wait on you hand and foot."
"Then they do not want to eat that badly," he says in a firm voice. "They
accept my shelter but will do nothing to help make this place better for all?
Let them starve, then."
 I shoot him a look. "Azar, we've talked about this."
He's silent as the servant returns with cool water, and once it's poured
into the tub, I dip a toe in. Perfect—not too hot, not too cold. I slip into the
old-fashioned, claw-footed tub and Azar moves to the stool at my side. He
takes a clip and pins my hair up for me, since it’s not wash day. I cast him a
grateful look and lean back in the tub as he picks up the soap. He knows I'm
tired when I get back late, and fusses over me as if I'm a precious thing, and
I eat it up. It's nice to have someone take care of me, and I know I'm
privileged. We have servants here, a roof over our heads, and food to eat.
Maybe it's guilt that makes me push to feed those in the fort that won't
comply with Azar's demands.
As I settle in and Azar washes my limbs with scented soap, he finally
speaks again. "I don't like the thought of them taking advantage of your
kindness."
"You think everyone takes advantage of my kindness."
"Because they do."
"They do not." I lift a hand from the water to mock-swat at him. He
ignores my irritation and grabs my hand, washing it with intense
concentration. "You're just mad because not everyone thinks you're a genius
just yet. Give them time to get used to how things are now. You can't
overturn years and years of hand-to-mouth living overnight."
Azar grunts, sliding the cloth up my arm and then massaging my
shoulder. It feels so good that I close my eyes, drifting away as he cares for
me. "We do not ask for unreasonable things, my consort. We simply ask for
them to participate in taking care of the fort that they live in. I do not think
that is too much." He sounds grouchy. "They eat my food, use up my
medical supplies, and keep my generous, beautiful mate away from me. I
don't like it."
I smile as I lean back in the water and he runs the washcloth over my
front. "And here we come to the heart of the matter. You were lonely today,
weren't you?"
"I am busy," he grumps. "I had interruptions all day long, people asking
about the most foolish things. Does no one think for themselves in this
place? Next I will have to tell them how to wipe their asses."
Yeah. He missed me. I don't point out that the ones that are thinking for
themselves are part of the problem, that they're the ones not falling in line
with his grand vision. Instead, I let him wash the leg I lift out of the water,
and open an eye to gaze at him. He's concentrating so fully on cleaning me
that his eyes aren't even swirling the darker amber hue that means he's
turned on. I'm tempted to change that, to slide a hand between my thighs
and idly touch myself, but I'm so damned tired that even that small motion
seems like effort. "Tomorrow, when I have two brain cells to rub together,
can we talk about food stores? I think we should cut back on supplies, or
find a way to stretch them to get through the winter. Maybe send more
teams out hunting."
"We will discuss it tomorrow," he agrees. "You are too tired to argue
tonight, and I like looking at you when you argue. Your eyes grow fierce
and your breasts heave. It's quite impressive, even when you're wrong."
"I am never wrong," I say, chuckling. "So what did you read today?"
My “husband” has picked up reading with shocking speed. He's smart
and able to piece together words quickly, and he sped through the early
reader books I found for him, and was now devouring everything in sight.
For a few weeks, he mouthed the words as he read, until one of the guards
caught him. I was surprised at how embarrassed he was. Azar's proud, and
doesn't like for anyone to think he's not capable. Now he reads a little
slower, but quietly, and every time I find him, he's got a book in his hand.
We talk about them at night, and it's like reliving part of my childhood
through his reading. I've found him chuckling over Ramona Quimby, Age 8,
and he liked Amelia Bedelia and Where the Wild Things Are. The Giving
Tree made him angry, as did Charlotte's Web, as he's not a big fan of self-
sacrifice type stories. He doesn't grasp the reasoning behind them, and I
think that has to do with his Salorian upbringing.
I don't think I'd like many Salorians if I met them. I like him, but he's
enough.
"A terrible story," Azar says as he lifts my foot and washes my toes. "It
was about a boy and a girl. The girl died and the boy was very upset. I did
not like it."
I pause, trying to think of what’s in his library. "Bridge to Terabithia? I
cried like a baby when I read that one. More than when I read Old Yeller."
He straightens, his shoulders stiffening. "I did not cry." He pauses.
"Though I did feel sadness for the youth at losing such a devoted friend.
What is Old Yeller?”
“It’s a book about a boy and his dog. Same vibe.”
“The dog is his friend, then? Are dogs truly that clever?"
 "Some are? I think you're more of a cat person, though," I tease. "Cats
think they're the shit, and they don't listen to anyone. They expect you to do
what they want, whereas a dog is all about pleasing their master."
My lover looks down his long, aquiline nose at me, his expression
haughty. "A cat sounds like a terrible creature. Why would I want one over
something obedient?"
"Because obedience is highly overrated. You like me precisely because I
don't take your shit."
The way his mouth tightens tells me I'm right. He's trying to hide his
amusement. Maybe I'll keep an eye out for someone in the fort that has
kittens and barter for one. Dogs are less common now since a lot of people
don't have the food supplies to keep one, but cats are still welcome in the
fort because they're excellent at keeping the rat population at bay. I think
Azar would like a kitten, too. I imagine him trying to get it to do as he
wants and the cat ignoring him, and I get far too much glee out of the
thought. Definitely need to get the man a kitten.
My stomach growls, and Azar makes an unhappy sound. "You're
hungry. I insist that you eat."
"If I do, can we talk about food distribution in the morning? To the
poor?"
He scowls. "And I have told you, they know what they have to do in
order to be fed. Do you truly think asking someone to pick up a bag of litter
is too much in exchange for a belly full of food? Am I supposed to reward
their stubbornness?"
I bite back a sigh, because I know he's right. He's not asking for
anything crazy, and we are getting toward the cold winter, where everyone
tightens their belts and endures eating just a little less to make the supplies
we have go around. It's an argument we've had before. What if we give
away all of our food and then there's none to feed those that actually abide
by the rules? Then no one is happy and the fort falls into chaos. "It's just…it
adds more to my workload," I say, trying to spin it in a way he will respond
positively to. "And I don't like that."
Azar holds a towel out for me as I stand to get out of the tub. "Then we
will close your clinic entirely—"
I grab him by the back of the neck and pull him close, his face inches
from mine. "You will not close my clinic, you bastard. That's mine."
 His nostrils flare, and his gaze goes to my mouth. Heat flares between
us, and before I know what I'm doing, I slide both of my arms around him
and then we're kissing like demons. My mouth is on his, frantic and
frustrated and pushing. His mouth slants over mine, trying to take control of
the kiss, even as he grabs my hair and tugs on it. We're in a war for
dominance with this kiss, and as his hands slide over my slippery flesh and
he pulls me into his arms, I moan.
"Your clinic," he breathes, then bites down on my lower lip. "It's yours,
isn't it? I promised it to you." His tongue is hot and seeking in my mouth,
and I'm dimly aware of him lowering me to the floor in the bathroom. A
quiver erupts in my belly, because I love moments like this, moments in
which we want to both shake each other with frustration—and then attack
one another out of pure hunger.
I meet his hungry kiss with one of my own, my hand moving to the
front of his heavy robes and feeling out the hard length underneath. I drag
my hand along the outline of his dick, rubbing with the heel of my palm as
he devours my mouth.
"Just like this cunt is mine," he says between hot kisses, his hand
moving between my thighs. He finds my clit unerringly and begins to rub in
the way that makes me crazy. "Tell me that it's mine, Melina. Tell me that
this cunt is wet and juicy for its mate."
"It's wet because I just got out of the tub, fool," I pant, rubbing my hand
against his shaft even as I spread my thighs wider for his questing fingers.
"Oh fuck, just like that."
"Who is the fool now?" he taunts, sinking a finger deep as I squeeze his
dick. I love the way his breath hisses from between his teeth, love the way
he buries his face against my neck and thrusts, even as his hand rocks
against my pussy. When moments like this happen between us, it's a
competition to make the other come first, and I'm determined to win this
time.
I squeeze tight around his fingers, trying to trap them even as he pushes
me toward the edge. "You're going to fuck my pussy hard with those
fingers, aren't you? You're going to claim me for yourself? Ruin me for
other men?"
Azar groans, and his teeth skim over my throat, sending a tendril of new
lust through me. He's never bit me, but I find the idea utterly thrilling.
 "You," I say, and then choke as he curls a finger inside me, stroking a
spot he's never hit before. I've never mentioned the G-spot to him, but I
know he reads romance books on the sly, so he must have picked it up
somewhere. Now I'm the one that's losing control, and I barely manage to
give him a quick pump with my hand before I'm coming, grinding against
his hand as I arch off the floor. Wave after wave of pleasure hits me, when I
finally slump onto the tile, dazed, Azar moves off of me.
I watch through sated eyes as he opens his robes and runs a hand over
his cock, stroking himself as he gazes down at me, his eyes deep gold with
need. He gives himself a few tugs and then angles, turning so his release
hits the water in the tub instead. Steam hisses and rises as it makes contact,
and his head falls back. I get to my feet and wrap my arms around him as he
strokes himself through his orgasm, feeling pleased and boneless.
I never win this damn game.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Eighteen

OceanofPDF.com
AZAR

M y mate doesn't ask why I keep a candle lit or that I read until late
into the night. She knows the reason why. I stare at the pages of the
book, my mind too tired to focus on the words that crawl across the
page. It's useless. I should try and sleep, but I know what is waiting for me
if I do.
The thing in the Rift. Even now, I feel it lurking in the back of my mind,
like a vulture, waiting for me to relax and let my guard down.
I hate it. For the first time in the years that I have lived in this world, I
feel trapped. When I was first stranded here, I was dismayed, but that
dismay gave way to determination. I was determined to succeed, to carve
out a small kingdom of my own. I have done that, and now I have a mate at
my side. And I am…happy. Content. I look at Melina and I am filled with
such pleasure at the sight of her, and pride, too. This beautiful creature
bows to no one but me. No one tastes the sweetness of her cunt but me. No
one hears her cry out for my greedy tongue, or is rewarded with her clever
advice. She is mine, completely and utterly.
I do not even care that I am a bad Salorian. Not any longer. I do not
dream of returning home. I have this fort in my grasp, its dull, uninspired
humans content to live by my rules. I have my mate at my side. I would
stay forever.
And now that I have decided this, there is a new menace that threatens
to take all away from me.
I know that the thing that peers down from through the Rift means us
harm. I can feel the evil in its thoughts, the hunger it feels. It wants this
world. Wherever it peers down from, it has decided to claim this place as its
own.
And it is mine now.
I can protect you, pipes up a small voice. It is nearly lost in the mental
noise. I am strong.
I fight back a surge of amusement. It is Kael's child, Sallavatri.
Arrogant, but curious. You are a newborn child. You are not as strong as
me.
 We are all strong, chimes in another. Luminoura. We can help. Do you
want us to chase your bad dreams away?
Of course not, I send back. It is typical of most nights for the children of
the drakoni-human matings to chime in and reach across to my mind. In the
daytime, when I am focused on a thousand different things, they are easier
to blot out. At night, though, they speak in my head, and loudly. It is
another reason I sleep little these days. The drakoni children have loud,
bright minds and communicate frequently with each other and with me.
But you are tired. It is obvious, replies Sallavatri, and then switches
topics. My father tries to shield my thoughts from yours. Why? Are you
bad?
I send a gentle wave of thought toward the children, soothing them. I
need them on my side, and the last thing I need to point out is that their
families do not trust me. It is nothing for you to worry over. Your fathers are
protective. They do not know how to handle power such as yours.
And you do? Sallavatri asks, all innocence.
I want to lie. I want to lie and say absolutely, yes, I know exactly what
to do with minds that are so clear they are like beacons across the darkness.
But that is not true. This world puts a damper on our mental speech. I think
it is what causes the drakoni to become crazed and mad, attacking
everything in sight. It causes the females to be constantly in estrus, sending
signals to the males to fight and to mate, and it only makes things worse.
The minds that I have trapped are confused and murky, and even the mental
speech of the drakoni that have mates is erratic. None of them are what they
once were. But the children…the children are something different entirely.
You are something new, I tell Sallavatri. I do not have all the answers,
but I am better equipped to help you than most.
My thoughts sink in, and I wait for the children to digest them.
You are not bad then.
No, I am not bad. I catch myself smiling. Bad is a simple word that does
not adequately describe anything.
Are you good? Luminoura asks, her mind flaring into the conversation.
I fight back a wince, because when both the children start talking, it
becomes near overwhelming. Not good, either. I am just me.
If you are not bad, then you are good, Luminoura declares.
I leave it at that, because I suspect I cannot teach the nuance of “good”
and “bad” to infant minds easily. I am tired, I tell them. I want to sleep.
 Do you want us to protect you?
Your mind is messy, Sallavatri says. How come it is messy?
Because I am holding the others, I point out. No doubt they can “feel”
the tendrils I have that dominate the captive drakoni. I have ensnared them
in a mental web, so that is the “mess” that Sallavatri speaks of. I am busy
helping others.
If you stop helping them your mind will be nice—
I cut off the children's thoughts, silencing them. The last thing I want is
for one of them to “help” me with the minds I have snared. I depend on
those captive drakoni to not only keep the fort safe, but to keep me safe
from other drakoni. I cannot free them. Not now, not ever.
The moment I blot the minds of the children out, the thing from the Rift
sends its dark tendrils into my mind. I strain, pushing back against it,
forcing it into retreat. It is a temporary measure. It always is, but I hope it
will buy me a little time. Something must change soon. I cannot go on like
this for much longer, and if that thing in the Rift that eyes this world with
such interest decides to come through, we are all in grave danger.
Something must give before then. I must find a solution. I know the
children are part of it, but I need to harness their minds somehow, direct
them. They are easily distracted. Powerful, but easily distracted and the
thing in the Rift will swat them aside as if they are nothing without some
sort of guidance. But…I don't have enough power to guide them. Not yet.
Not with my own thoughts stretched as thin as they are.
Melina turns over in bed, pressing her cheek to my shoulder. "Are they
talking to you again?" she mumbles, sleepy.
"Always. They have not yet learned volume control," I admit in a soft
voice, and stroke her shoulder. "Go to sleep."
"Tell them you need to sleep, too," Melina lifts her head, gazing up at
me. "I worry about you. You're being pulled every which way. I don't like
it."
As if I do? But we need them. We need them open and willing to work
with us, because their parents are another matter entirely. "It's fine," I tell
her. "They are children. I will manage it."
I would rather have the children braying in my ear all night than that
thing in the darkness.
I wake up irritated and fatigued the next day. I feel frayed, my mind tired,
and the drakoni under my control push and strain against the bonds I have
on their minds. They want to be free to run wild like the other maddened
dragons, and it takes more and more effort every day to hold them in place.
If I let them go, everything crumbles. So I must continue to hold on,
somehow. I must find the strength to carry on as I always do. Melina is
gone when I wake up, though. She has left a note in bed, carefully blocked
out in clear lettering because I have not yet learned the thing she calls
“cursive.”

Gone in early to work. Let you sleep late. Tonight we talk about food
solutions.
XOXO Mel

I touch the paper, breathing in her scent that lingers on the page. My
mate let me sleep in. She thought I would rather miss my moments with her
and get a bit more sleep. Instead of making me happy, I am irritated.
I breathe in her scent one more time and then crumple the paper.
My mate.
My mate but not.
It is another thing I find increasingly unsatisfying—my relationship
with my mate. I no longer shy away from referring to her as my mate.
Melina is mine. There is no greater pleasure than touching her. I love
breathing in her scent as she sleeps next to me. I love listening to her clever
mind as she works through a problem. I love our moments when we read
together. She is the first thing I look for when I awaken and the last thing I
see when I sleep. This world might not be mine, but it has brought me joy
because of her. There is nothing I like better than the moments we have
together, hungrily touching one another.
And yet…it is not enough.
I know she wonders why we do not truly mate. Why I do not push my
cock inside her and claim her. I cannot. Not as we are.
My seed is too hot for her body. If I tried to claim her in a normal
fashion, a human fashion, I would burn her. Each time we touch and I
come, I have to make certain that my seed is angled away from her soft
skin, otherwise I will burn her. The drakoni have taken mates, but I know
the truth behind it—they have given their fires to their females, shared their
spirit. It creates a bond between the male and the female, allowing them to
speak through minds and feel the other's presence. I have never done so,
have never spoken to another Salorian that has done so, and yet this must be
how the breeders are able to perform.
If I claim my mate like that, I worry what I will become. Will I become
as savage as one of the drakoni? Will I lose my ability to hold those that I
keep captive and thus keep my fort safe?
I cannot risk it, and so I remain stuck. I cannot claim my mate. I cannot
hear her thoughts drift through the lonely darkness of mine. I cannot feel
her body clasp mine, and I cannot give her my child. Children have been on
my mind increasingly as of late, as they seem to be the key to the Rift and
the monster that threatens to come through it. I imagine Melina with my
child inside her, and my jaw clenches with yearning even as I push the
thought away.
No sense in pining over what I cannot have. We satisfy one another with
our hands and mouths, and that will have to do.
I am dirty. A flash of light pierces through my thoughts. My bottom is
wet!
I get to my feet, pulling on my robes. Luminoura. What do you expect
me to do about it?
I don't like it!
Then scream at your mother. I do not change diapers. I adjust my
clothing and brush my mane, then slip on my shoes.
I am hungry, another says sleepily, thoughts hazy with dreams.
Sallavatri. And the thing I am sucking on has no milk.
Is it your hand? I offer as I head down the hall. I send a mental image of
Luminoura sucking on her fist. Because that will have no milk. It just feels
good.
It is my hand, the child sends back, full of wonder. How did you know?
Lucky guess. I send my thoughts out, brushing against the child that is in
Gwen's womb. Its thoughts grow brighter by the day, and soon it will be
ready to be born. Even though I tell myself to leave it alone, I cannot help
but reach out and greet it, waiting. The child will be part of the shield we
need to create to prevent the thing in the Rift from coming through.
Just thinking about the creature—or god—lurking above, waiting to
come through, is enough to sour my mood. I storm down the hall, thinking
of Melina. My dreams were of her last night, and they were not good
dreams. I dreamed that long, slithering gray tentacles reached through the
Rift down to Earth. I dreamed that my fort was overrun by bugs, some as
big as people, feasting on those that trusted me to keep them safe. The skies
were gray and the streets covered in blood, and Melina turned to look at me
with such accusing, sad eyes, as if I was somehow responsible.
It felt too real. And so when I enter the dining room and see Gwen and
her mate eating my food, along with Rachel and Jurik, my mood sours even
more. Their plates are brimming with food, and Rachel shoots me a dirty
look as she eats, deliberately chewing with her mouth open and smacking in
the way I hate. I take a deep breath, because I need this female's help. She is
pregnant, I remind myself. I must remain calm.
It takes everything I have to keep my voice calm and relaxed. "I see you
are helping yourselves to my fort's bounty. Did you see Melina this
morning?"
Gwen toys with a bite of food on her plate, her belly enormous with the
child that is nearly ready to be born. "The servants said she didn't stop to eat
this morning. Just headed on toward the clinic."
And these cows will eat her food in her stead. Gritting my teeth, I bite
back a snarl. "Enjoy this easy meal, then, because we are rationing soon."
"Dick," Rachel says, the word succinct. And then she takes another
deliberate, large bite out of a pancake.
I hate that female. I glare at her, and at the brooding, barely restrained
drakoni who looks ready to leap across the table at me in order to protect
his mate. I need them, I remind myself, and think of that tentacle and the
malevolent creature it was attached to. I need them, and the child that horrid
female is growing in her belly, so I turn on my heel and storm away, into the
kitchens. "I need a meal for my mate," I snarl at the first person I see.
"Since no one here is competent enough to feed her before she has to spend
the day wiping away vomit from the selfish people of this fort."
A man flinches and scurries away, hastily loading a basket for me to
take to her. I could send a soldier with it. There are a hundred things to do
this morning, and I have people to meet with. We need to discuss how to
winterize our plants. How to deploy our scavenging teams. The ongoing
problems with the panty program (as they call it) I've created for the
females to try and lure more drakoni toward the fort. It is effective enough,
but Melina doesn't like it. She feels the females are trapped into their
choices, so I need to discuss ways we can ensure my mate's happiness and
still achieve our goals. I cannot control more dragons, so I must rely on the
females enticing them and then becoming impregnated.
It is not ideal, because I do not like to depend upon others, but I am left
with little choice.
Once the basket is filled, I snatch it from the servant's hands and then
pause as the man cowers. Melina would not approve. "My thanks," I grit
out. "I am in a foul mood but know that it is not your fault."
The man's eyes widen in surprise and he nods. "Of course, my lord. I
am just glad to help."
"You are an excellent servant," I tell him, remembering my mate's
advice to praise. Basket in hand, I decide I will deliver it myself. My work
can wait. I need to look at Melina, to gaze upon my mate's beautiful face
and ensure that she is content. That her eyes are not filled with reproach like
they were in my dreams.
I storm out of the barracks, not pausing when one of the men falls into
step behind me. Guards are a necessity. I am too important to this fort to be
accosted by someone who thinks they can rule better. I stride across the
compound, eyeing the dirty streets with distaste. No matter how often we
clean, they muck it up again. There is a muddy trail from the well all down
the streets, as if no one can be bothered to make sure their buckets do not
slop water as they walk. Chickens wander about, and the smell of
excrement is, as usual, everywhere. To think that this is still better than it
was. They would be lost without me, these filthy idiots. They should be
glad I am bothering with them.
I remind myself that it is a process. That Melina believes we are helping
them, and I must believe her. She is the only one I trust. Thinking about my
mate makes me speed up, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief at the sight of
her clinic. The windows are open, the front doors pulled back, and there are
people standing at the front, as if waiting to go inside. They reek of sickness
and vomit, and my nose twitches in distaste. Melina's scent comes from one
of the windows, and so I approach it.
Melina stands near the window, crying.
My heart feels as if it shatters in that moment. I freeze in place,
watching as my mate waters the plant in the window and shakes her head.
"I can't get it to live," she weeps to another person. Probably her assistant,
Alma. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but it's dying." She touches a
yellowed leaf and a dozen fall like rain, fluttering to the windowsill. Her
face crumples and she sobs again. "Everything's dying around me.
Everything. And I can't do anything about it."
She swipes at her eyes and gives a little grimace. Melina takes a deep
breath, manages a smile, and then moves away from the window.
I'm gutted at the sight of her tears. It destroys me to know that she's so
unhappy. I know some of it is stress. She hates that people are sick and
dying at her clinic. She hates that she works so hard and many times, it is
for nothing because she does not have the proper medicines or treatments
for those that are ill. She has confessed all of this to me a dozen times, but I
thought it was just complaining about a bad day. The sight of her weeping
over the plant I gifted her tells me that it goes deeper.
Am I making my mate miserable? Is being my mate bringing her more
grief than happiness? Melina cares so much for everyone…and I find that
her caring is rubbing off on me. I should not care that Melina weeps over a
plant, or that scarred, unpleasant Rachel and her equally unpleasant drakoni
mate hate me. I should not care that the people would rather have filthy
streets than help out the fort. I should not care about any of it.
I should let them all suffer under the weight of their own weaknesses. I
should leave here with my captive dragons and start over somewhere new,
somewhere where I will be appreciated fully…and yet I cannot. Because
Melina is here, and because she cares.
I stare at that dying plant thoughtfully.
I cannot fix everything, but I can fix that.
Turning, I shove the basket of food into the nearest guard's hands. "I
want you to give this to no one but my consort, Melina. Do you understand
me?" When he nods, I storm away, heading back to the barracks and back to
where Daniels is working. That male knows how to take care of a plant, and
his first priority is going to be that it grows healthy and strong so my mate
smiles again.
Or I will gut him.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Nineteen

OceanofPDF.com
MELINA

I 'm a little puzzled at the basket of food that shows up with the guard,
who says it's from Azar. When my husband doesn't stop into the clinic,
I figure he must be busy, and I don't think much more of it. I eat one
small pancake and then give the rest to those that are able to keep some
food down. There're a few empty beds at the clinic today, and I'm trying not
to think about the fact that they're empty because someone probably died
overnight instead of recovering. We can only do so much with our limited
supplies.
I work until it's late, switching out bedding and comforting the sick.
One of the guards has brought a thin bone broth from the kitchens as I
asked, and cups of it are passed out to the sick. It seems to perk people up,
and I see some eyeing the soldiers with a little less distaste. I know that
they're not always viewed positively—lord knows they're certainly not my
favorite sometimes—but if soldiers passing out broth convinces them to
stop eating those strange, horrific bugs, I'm all for it. I'm exhausted by the
time I return to the barracks, readying my excuses as to why I stayed so late
and am still so hungry. When I arrive, though, Azar isn't in the dining room.
He's not in his study, either. Worried, I head to our bedroom only to see that
the servants are in there, removing Azar's clothing.
"What's going on?" I ask, worried. "What's happened?"
They look at me, uneasy, but continue their work. "Lord Azar is in his
new study," one of the staff comments. "He said he wished to speak to you
when you returned."
Wait, new study? What's wrong with his old one? I mask my frown and
head away, back down the hall. There are only so many places someone can
hide in the fort, and it doesn't take me long to find Azar's “new” quarters.
They're on the opposite side of the building from me, as if he's trying to get
away from my scent. Hmm. Knowing him as well as I do, I'm suspicious of
all of this. I knock on the door and then open it without waiting for him to
answer. The room is dark, a moonlit window the only thing providing light.
A bookshelf has been moved in here, along with a comfy reading chair.
Azar sits near the window, a book in his hands, and across the room is a
narrow single bed.
 Well now, what the fuck is this, exactly?
I cross my arms over my chest and give him a look. "Is there a
problem?"
He closes his book and regards me. "I've decided I will no longer hold
you to our bargain. You're free to go at any time."
Frowning, I step inside the room and since there's nowhere else to sit, I
move to the edge of his bed. "What's bothering you? Spit it out."
"I do not spit. That vulgar Rachel may spit, but I do not." He gives me a
cool look.
Mmmhmm. "I seem to recall you spitting on my pussy the first time we
got together. Tell me that wasn't spit."
His eyes flare in the darkness, a sure sign that he hears my words and is
listening intently for all that he's feigning boredom. "It was because you spit
upon my cock. I know better now. I am more practiced with sexual…things.
I know how to comport myself now."
Comport? I arch a brow in his direction, leaning back on the bed. "Are
we fighting? Is that what this is? Did I piss you off somehow?" I know him
better than this. Something is eating at him. Even in the dark, his eyes look
hollow and strained. He pretends to be calm, but something tells me he's on
the verge of breaking, and I don't like it.
Azar sighs. "No. No, that is not it at all. You are perfect. As always." He
raises a hand to his brow, and I notice it's trembling with fatigue.
I get to my feet and cross the room, moving toward him.
"Leave me alone," he snarls, his tone menacing. I reach for his hand and
he jerks back, like some sort of wounded animal. He's not going to get away
from me this easily. He wanted a consort? He gets a consort—for good or
for bad. So I put a hand on his shoulder and crawl into his lap, straddling
and facing him. The moment I do, defeat crosses his face. "Melina…"
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong," I say softly. I
brush my knuckles along his pale, perfect jaw. "I thought we were a team."
His haughty mouth flexes and he tries to look everywhere but me. "I'm
freeing you from our bargain—"
"Too late for that shit," I point out. "You wanted a consort. I wanted
things for the fort. You can't put that horse back in the barn now. Or are you
planning on packing up and leaving? Just saying fuck it to everything here
and abandoning the fort? Abandoning me? What about the thing in the Rift?
Are you saying fuck it to that, too?"
 I slide my arms around his neck and wait for an answer. I don't really
believe he's going anywhere. I don't think he's “done” with me either. I
know this man. I know him as well as I know anyone else. In the months
that I've been “his,” we've bonded. He's not the easiest person to get along
with sometimes, but now that I understand a lot more about the way he
thinks, I can re-frame a lot of the things that upset me in order to make him
see my perspective as well. It's not that we argue too much—he loves it
when I argue with him. He loves having someone “on his level” to talk to.
So that's not it. Someone must have said something to him that hurt his
feelings, or made him feel like he hurt me, and that's why he's lashing out
like this.
Oddly enough, I feel protective of him. I want to find out who was cruel
or who made him doubt himself and go smack them across the mouth.
Azar's gaze goes unfocused and his hands move to my hips. For a
moment, I wonder if he's going to try to push me off his lap and double
down on this whole “no more us” thing, but he drags me forward, rocking
me against his suddenly hard cock instead. So much for that. "You have
ruined me, you know."
"Have I, now?"
"You have." He sighs heavily, his head going back as I rock my hips
against him. "I am a worthless Salorian. This world—and you—have
corrupted me completely. I cannot return home. If I did, I would be cast out,
as exiled there as I am here."
I run my hand down his chest, rocking my hips against his dick again.
"And that's what's set you off, today, baby?"
Azar groans, his eyes closing. He drags me against his shaft slowly,
taking his time. I lean in and rub my breasts against his chest, reminding
him how good we feel together. That it doesn't matter that we can't have sex
like normal people because of his body heat. What we have is enough for
me. I slide a hand down his chest again, then flick my nail over his nipple
as I wait for his response. He sucks in another deep breath and then
continues. "I am splintering apart, Melina. This world is breaking me into a
thousand pieces, and I cannot keep myself together if this continues."
"Tell me," I say softly, rubbing my thumb over the bead of his nipple.
"Maybe I can help."
"I do not like that you work hard for people that are not grateful," he
rasps. "I do not like it when you struggle. I do not like that I am tired, or
that those that are our allies look down upon us. I do not like that I am no
longer a good Salorian. All your caring is rubbing off on me and I do not
like it. It is breaking me apart by small fragments. I should like to go back
to caring about nothing at all. My head was much quieter then."
"Mmmhmm." I continue to rock atop his lap, and his shaft seems larger
by the moment. I want to grab his robes and push them aside, so I can feel
him directly between my thighs, but I don't dare in case he's close to
erupting. I lean in and press my mouth to the hot skin of his throat, and he
groans like a man dying. "No one said it was easy being in charge, love."
"You don't understand."
This is unlike him. Azar always takes everything in stride, and my heart
aches. "Then help me understand?"
"I'm stretched too thin." For a moment, all the arousal leaves his eyes
and he looks so very forlorn. "Sometimes it all feels like too much. I just
want to release all the dragons and let everyone take care of themselves.
Sometimes I'm so tired of doing it all."
"Then let them go." I shrug. "We've survived dragon attacks before. We
will again." I'd be sad if it happened, but I'd rather deal with dragon attacks
than have Azar crumble. "It's not all on your shoulders."
"It is," he insists. "If I don't keep the drakoni in line, then the fort isn't
safe. If I don't keep the fort safe, the others will take their children and
leave, and then we can't shield from the Rift." His expression is pained.
"And all I want to do is grab you and sink my cock deep into you and give
you my child, and I can't even do that."
I go still. It's the first time he's mentioned anything like this. Normally
we don't discuss children or even sex. We just go with what feels good. "I
don't mind what we have," I tell him, keeping my voice gentle. I nuzzle at
his neck, brushing my lips over his skin and the pulse that beats underneath.
"If it's all we get to have, I'm fine with it, because I have you."
"You don't want me," he grits out. "I forced you to be mine."
"No, we agreed on it," I point out. "Like you said, everyone has a price.
You paid mine, and now I'm yours." When he's silent, I lift my head and
look him in the eye. "You're seriously upset about this right now?"
His mouth presses into an unhappy line as he regards me. He reaches up
and pulls my hair out of the clip that keeps it off my neck, letting the
straightened length of it fall around my shoulders. Hair that he
painstakingly helped me straighten, wielding a fire-heated hot comb, all
because I wanted to try a Before hairstyle. This is a man that paints my
toenails for me and rubs my back when I'm tired. This is a man that
dutifully reads whatever I hand him next, because he trusts that I will pick
something he'll like. This is a man who says he needs no one and nothing,
but holds me so close when we sleep that I know those words are lies.
Azar might have grown up amongst a people that think he should be a
cold pillar of strength, but I like the man that's been “flawed” by this world.
I don't care what anyone else thinks.
"Maybe I didn't want to be with you at first," I say. "Maybe you had to
force me to be at your side. But that changed. It changed when I realized
you weren't going to force me to service you all the time. It changed when
we started spending time together, and I realized you really do want to do
good things for Fort Dallas. Now when I come home to you, it's not because
I feel like I have to. It's because I want to. It's because I want to tell you
about my day. I want to hear your thoughts. I want to hold your hand. I
want to hear your laughter. I want to curl up with you. If I didn't want to be
with you, I'd be looking for any excuse not to be in your vicinity, but that
simply isn't the case." When he avoids meeting my gaze, I duck my head,
trying to get him to meet my eyes. "Why is that so hard to believe?"
Azar finally looks at me. He seems…tired. Defeated. "We cannot be
mates the way we're supposed to, though."
"Who cares what we're supposed to be like? As long as you're happy
and I'm happy, that's all that matters. As far as I'm concerned, it's just you
and me." I snuggle up against him, trying to ease him with my presence.
"You're happy, right?"
He pauses for a long moment. Then, his hand creeps up my back. "With
you, I am happy. You bring me such joy I never thought I would have. But I
am just…exhausted, sometimes."
"Because of running the fort?" I pat his chest comfortingly. "Tell me
what I can do to help, then."
"Not just the fort. It is the dragons I hold, and the dragons that sit at my
table and glare at me, and…" he sighs. "It is all on my shoulders, Melina."
My heart aches for him. He's only vulnerable to me. To everyone else,
he presents the rigid, borderline cruel persona of a ruthless lord. I know he
can be cutting and short with the others. He's told me before that if he's too
friendly, people push to take advantage, and I believe it. He can't be
everyone's friend when he's trying to run the fort. Not when there're food
shortages and people rebelling against common sense. I know the dragons
he holds to keep the fort safe drain on his mind, and I know the half-dragon
children keep him up at night.
And that's on top of the problem in the Rift.
So yeah, there's a lot on his shoulders. My poor love.
I go still, realizing what thought has just gone through my head. My…
love? Am I in love with Azar? I don't know what to make of that. Nothing
in our relationship has been orthodox. Sometimes he makes me so angry I
want to spit, but we always seem to end up on the same page. He has a hard
time trusting, and an even harder time letting other people shoulder some of
the work. He doesn't know how to be generous, struggles with being
respectful, and tends to call everyone in the fort “sheep.” Even so…he's
different around me. He might not be the nicest guy to everyone else, but to
me, he's a prince. He cares for me like no one ever has. He thinks of me
constantly, acquiring jewels and gowns he thinks I might like. He waits on
me hand and foot simply because he likes touching me, and he's an
enthusiastic and generous lover. In bed, he's creative and devoted, and out
of it, he's protective and doting.
So yeah, I might be in love with him. I have no idea what to think of
that. I'm not supposed to fall for the guy that forced me into his bed, no
matter how much I might want to be there now. I glance up at him, and our
eyes meet. He does look incredibly tired, my poor Azar. Tired, and
somewhat defeated, as if everything is too much. "If it's all on your
shoulders, it's because they're strong, capable shoulders," I tell him softly.
"And I'm happy to take on what I can. Just let me know."
"You already do too much," he grumbles, but one corner of his hard
mouth lifts in an almost-smile.
I'll take it. I tuck myself under his chin again. "I wouldn't offer for
anyone else," I point out, and I mean it. "So don't you go running yourself
into the ground, sir, or you'll make me angry."
He chuckles and rubs my back, just holding me against him for a while.
Azar's hand glides slowly up and down my spine, a sure sign he's pondering
something. I'm not surprised when he eventually pauses and asks, "Was it
like this before?"
"Was what like this?"
"When you were with the male that hurt you? Did you ever have
moments like this? Because I have hurt you, too, and I am wondering if I
am the same as him." His hand presses against the base of my spine, broad
and flat and possessive.
I'm surprised at his question. He never asks me about who I was with
before. I thought he was like most men and just didn't want to hear about
dicks that came before him. "You're the only one I've been with where I
consider myself here because I want to be here, not because I have no other
choices." I feel myself bristling as I think about those old memories, of the
time when everything was in chaos and it was a struggle to survive. "But
no, you weren't like the others."
"Others?" he asks, voice sharp. "There was more than one?"
"Does it fucking matter?" I sit up, glaring at him. "I could tell you there
were twenty men since the Rift fell, and would it matter? When the world
ended, everyone did what they had to do to survive. I don't know a single
woman that wasn't underage when the Rift fell that didn't have to take
shelter with some man in exchange for protection. We can say men and
women are equal all day long, but the moment society's rules go out the
window, we're back to scrounging for the strongest man to protect us from
everyone else. Would I rather have to suck one cock instead of seven at
once? Yes, I would. Did I like it? No. Fuck no. I did it because I had to
survive. You think I sat around baking cookies in a fucking apocalypse? Let
me tell you something. I went to college. Graduated with honors. Got a
nursing degree. I had a savings account and a car and an apartment, and a
good job. You know what that counted for when dragons started pouring
from the skies? Absolutely fucking nothing. So when the only way you can
get a meal is on your back? The only way you can be protected from a
bunch of murdering assholes is to get on your back? You get on your back,
because you'll do anything to survive." I shove at his chest, indignant. "And
I'm sorry if you don't approve."
Azar's eyes are hard and glittering as he touches my chin, clamping it in
his grasp. "I wish to know if there is one or there are twenty," he says in an
even tone. "So I know how many I have to destroy."
His answer mollifies me. A little. "If you really want to know, there
were two. A father and son. The father died, and about a year later, I killed
the son. Satisfied?"
"No," Azar admits. "But pleased all the same. I hope you made it hurt."
"I poisoned him," I confess, and when he tugs me forward again, I go
back to his arms. "I poisoned him because I wasn't strong enough to kill
him with a knife."
I know I'm prickly about some of the things I had to do to survive, but
men don't get it. Men never get it. They think if they can get by with bluster
and hard work, so can a woman. They don't realize there are some places
out there that won't take any sort of payment from a woman unless it's a
physical one. For all that Fort Dallas is fucked up, there are much, much
worse places out there to be a woman. I settle against Azar.
His ways might be unorthodox, but no, Azar is nothing like the father
and son I had to deal with right after the Rift, when I had to trade my body
just for survival as armed gangs roamed the streets of the city, robbing
anyone that had a scrap of food. Those were dark times, made worse by the
constant threat of dragons. The Melina of that time wouldn't recognize
today's Melina, and I don't know if it's wise of me to get so damned soft.
Not with another threat from the Rift on the horizon.
But I know a little something about surviving, even when you're so tired
of everything the world keeps throwing at you.
"If you were like him, I wouldn't be with you," I tell Azar. "And you'd
have eaten a lot of poison by now."
He laughs, and I feel a little better. If nothing else, even when he's
stressed, I can make him laugh.

S omething in A zar snaps that night.

I'm woken up in the middle of the night by a servant shaking my
shoulder. "Lady Melina?" Her face is hollow and worried. "Are you
awake?"
I sit up, confused and tired. "Just Melina," I correct. Azar might want to
be called “lord” but I don't want any kind of title. "What's wrong? Is
someone having a baby?"
She shakes her head, worried. "It's Lord Azar. He's in the dining hall
and he's throwing things. Something's wrong."
Shit. I nod, sliding out of bed. "Give me two moments and I'll get
dressed." I race to the closet and put on the very first thing I grab—a flimsy
pink princess dress with an empire waist. Fine. Whatever. I shove it over
my head and pull my sleeping wrap off my hair as I head across the
compound for the dining hall. I'm aware of the stares of servants rushing
away, of the crash of precious dishes on the floor, and it takes everything I
have to calm my features. If there's one thing being with Azar has taught
me, it's that appearances matter, and if I look distressed and upset, it's going
to upset others. I make sure I'm radiating serenity as I sweep inside, just in
time to see my lover throwing another ceramic plate against the wall as
lines of women stand miserably off to one side.
There must be a problem with Azar's “program” for unmated women. I
won't call it the panty program like the soldiers do. I'm not a fan of it, but
Azar swears we need more dragons to keep the fort safe—and to have
children so we can block whatever thing is reaching down through the Rift.
To that end, we have young women housed in the fort and protected. This,
however, doesn't look like protection to me, I think critically. It looks like a
tantrum, and it doesn't suit my husband very well.
"I should throw all of you out of the fort," Azar snarls at the group as he
picks up another plate. "Ungrateful, useless, tiresome—"
I cut through the women. "Excuse me," I say, projecting my voice. I
move toward Azar with a smile on my face. Serenity, I chant inwardly.
Serenity. Serenity. I ignore the cowering of the women, and the wary looks
of the soldiers. My gaze is on Azar and Azar alone, and when I move to his
side, he puts the plate in his hands down, his mouth flattening. He won't
apologize. That's not who Azar is.
I put my hand out.
He hesitates only a moment before putting his hand into mine.
I squeeze his fingers and move closer, smiling at him like a mannequin.
"Do you want to tell me what's going on, love? You're scaring everyone."
Azar's nostrils flare and his mouth works in frustration. "Everyone
works against me," he mutters in a low voice. "What is the point of me
straining myself to the edge of madness if no one else will help?"
"I'm here," I say softly. "And I'll help. Tell me what's going on."
"One of them is stealing my drakoni," he mutters, casting suspicious
looks at the women nearby. "Here I am, being a good leader and feeding
them and making sure they are safe, and they are going behind my back and
trying to steal my drakoni." He's agitated, his hand raking through his hair,
and I can see hints of claws on the tips of his fingers, a sure sign that he's
struggling to control himself. That's only happened a few times before, each
time when Azar woke up from a nightmare. I clasp his hand in mine and
press on one of the claws to give him a quiet signal, and he grimaces.
"One of the ones on the wall?" I ask gently, trying to grasp why he's so
upset about someone possibly mating to another dragon.
"Yes! I need them to bring in new drakoni, not pick apart the ones I
already have." He pulls in a deep, shuddering breath. "It tears at my
concentration. I worry if I lose one, I will lose all."
"It's all right," I soothe. "Maybe they didn't know. And is it such a bad
thing if one of them takes a mate? You're just holding them in limbo until
they can handle themselves, right?"
"Right," Azar says, but he doesn't sound convinced. He tucks my hand
into his arm and turns to glare at the women across the room. "I'm not
mad," he practically bellows at them. "I simply wish to know which one of
you is seducing my dragon out from under my nose."
I elbow him. If he wants to win them over, that ain't the way to do it.
"You're supposed to recruit other dragons, not the ones I already have."
Azar scowls at the women, and when a long, uncomfortable moment
passes, he turns his frown on me. "No one is coming forward!"
Oh boy. I know he's beyond stressed, but this isn't the way to handle it. I
put a hand on his arm, soothingly. "There's an easy way to do this. There's
no need to terrify everyone."
"They deserve it. Fear is the best tool of the ruler."
I just give him A Look. "We can just take the girls outside and see
which one the dragons react to. There's no need to bully."
Azar doesn't like the word “bully.” It's clear from the way his nostrils
flare and his hand tightens in mine. But when I keep on giving him calm,
encouraging looks, he caves. Azar nods and waves the women out.
The militia step in, herding the women outside.
"Calm," I remind him as we follow behind. "Everyone's on your side,
Azar. I promise they are. I know you're stressed, baby, but I'm here with
you. We'll get this figured out, all right?"
He gives me another unhappy look, but he nods. "If I'm losing control
of them…"
"You're not," I promise. "I'm sure it was just a fluke occurrence."
"I need to be able to keep you safe. To keep everyone here safe." He's
threatening to spiral again, his angst growing by the second. "What if I'm
losing my grip? What if I lose the drakoni entirely? How can I keep the fort
safe if I do not have the dragons?" Azar shakes his head. "What if whatever
is threatening us from the Rift interrupts my connection with them?" The
look on his face is tortured. "I could be inviting death right to your
doorstep, my Melina."
He's worried about me? My heart aches for him all over again. Even in
the midst of breaking down, his biggest fear is still my safety. How can I be
mad? "We'll figure this out, baby. I swear. We'll take the girls outside and
you can let the dragons go for a moment, just to see how they react to the
women. If they've recovered enough that you don't need to keep them in
stasis, that's a good thing, right? They'll be on our side and one less thing
for you to worry about."
Azar is silent. Finally, he nods.
"Right. Great." I squeeze his hand, encouraging. "I'm here with you.
Deep breaths, all right?"
Azar's eyes flutter closed and he takes a deep breath, even as we step
outside. I suck in at the cold air that rips through my flimsy dress, and then
my mate is right there immediately, taking off his shirt—he's wearing a
militia uniform tonight, no doubt in an attempt to win the men over—and
tucking it around me. He frowns at the world around us, at the nighttime air
as if it's to blame for all the chaos, and then his gaze settles on the Rift,
pulsing and ugly even at night.
I touch his hand, reminding him that I'm at his side.
He seems to shake himself awake again, adjusting his shirt around my
shoulders protectively. His long hair whips about in the brisk night air, and
he looks beautiful in the moonlight, pale and unworldly. He takes a few
steps forward, glaring at the women as they line up obediently in the street.
Then, Azar turns back to me. "I do not like letting them go."
The dragons.
I step forward, both sympathetic and determined. If these dragons and
the girls are going to be a problem, we have to fix it. I'm not going to let
them tear Azar apart from within. I care for him too much to watch it just
happen. "I know. It's just for a moment. You do want to see if someone's
interfering with your dragons, do you not?"
Azar grimaces.
"You can trap them again," I point out, "If you must."
"You know I must. They are the only things that keep this fort safe. I
will keep everyone here safe. I will keep you safe." He gives me a betrayed
look.
So dramatic, this man. "Then go on."
"Why do I always feel as if I've lost against you even when I've won?"
Azar asks, and for a moment his expression is so bleak that I'm startled.
What brought that on? What is he talking about? Before I can ask, he turns
his back to me, facing away, and there's a low roar in the distance, from the
direction of the fort's barricade.
The gathered women panic. Someone cries out, and another tries to bolt.
The air whips around us, spraying dirt in my face, like a sudden storm.
"Remain where you are!" one of the guards cries. "If you run, you will
be shot!"
What the fuck? Alarm flares through me, as this is quickly getting out
of hand. I surge forward, the wind tearing at my hair and clothes. "No they
won't! Don't you dare fucking threaten that! Azar, tell them!"
My lover is silent. Surely he can't want the women shot if they run?
Frantic, I race to his side, only to skid to a halt. Azar isn't “with” me right
now. He's physically present, but his spine is arched, his shoulders back, as
if he's being bent with the force of his thoughts. His eyes are closed, his
face taut—
And then I see them.
A massive, gray-eyed dragon lands in front of him. Then another. And
another. They're off the barricade, and they no longer look so friendly or
helpless. They look terrifying. Behind me, the girls scream, and I remain
where I am. I'm afraid to move, because what if a dragon sees that
movement and attacks me? I don't know how they think—only Azar does.
One lands and steps forward, pushing toward Azar. As I watch in
horror, it lowers its muzzle toward his face, and they're inches apart. Azar is
lost to it, trapped in the depths of his mind. Just let them go for a minute, I'd
told him. I'm an idiot. How can I casually suggest such things? These
dragons are man-eaters. They're monsters that hunt and kill, and they're the
size of a city bus or an airplane. They can swallow me and Azar whole in a
single gulp, and right now, I don't feel safe or protected.
But I can't leave Azar. I move a step closer to him, my hand on his
shoulder, as another dragon settles in next to the first.
Azar's muscles leap at my touch, a sign that he's not as “lost” as I
thought he was. So I squeeze his arm, trying to keep it together. "Well?"
"I am trying," he snarls at me. "It is not easy."
 "Try harder or let everyone go inside," I snap back. I'm tired of this, and
I'm scared. He can be in a pissy mood, but he needs to direct that pissiness
away from me, because I'm on his side.
Azar scowls at me and then stalks away. He heads right for the women,
pauses in front of one of them, and backhands her across the face.
What the hell?! Has this man lost his damn mind? The stress has
fractured his brain if he thinks I'm okay with this. Shocked, I stare at the
man I love as he points a finger at another woman. "Do not!"
This is not the way to lead…and this isn't the man I love. What is going
on?
Azar turns and stares coldly at the dragons gathered nearby. "Nothing,"
he says after a bitter moment and gestures at the slapped woman, who has
somehow managed to pick herself up off the ground. "It's not her. Take her
back to her rooms." He points at another. "You. Come forward."
I have to stop this. I move forward, heading for my lover. "Azar. You
can't do this—"
"Can't I? They are willing participants in my program. They eat my
food and sleep under my roof. They belong to me." He shrugs my touch off
as if I'm nothing. "Just as you belong to me."
I bite back a hurt gasp. How can he say that to me? How can he be so
brutally cruel when I'm just trying to help him before he destroys
everything he's worked for? Frustrated, I shove him. "Fuck you. And fuck
all of this. You're being ridiculous."
Azar glares at me, then turns away.
He's dismissed me. As if I'm nothing. I stare at him, waiting for him to
remember himself. Waiting for him to give me a flicker of apology,
something. But he ignores me, his back to me as if I don't matter. As if I'm
not his equal at all, but just another subordinate. The hurt flares and grows
inside me, and I lift my chin. I'm not going to let this man see how much
he's hurt me. I'm not going to show how betrayed I feel. I know he's been
under a lot of stress, but there's no reason to act like I'm in his way when I'm
trying to help him.
Maybe he doesn't want a consort after all. Maybe I'm kidding myself.
Head held high, I turn and head back into the barracks, holding myself
proudly even as I hear Azar snarling at one of the women. "Well, girl? I'm
waiting."
I won't stand at his side and pretend this is okay when it's not.
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Twenty

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AZAR

I am fraying apart.
I keep it together for the rest of the night, instructing my men to
take the girl—the one that has somehow captured one of my dragons
with her mind—and place her in a warehouse alone with the drakoni male. I
feel defeated. Somehow this human female has managed to wriggle through
the shields I have carefully placed around the minds of the captive drakoni
and stolen him away. I cannot control him any longer. Not when he senses
his mate is near. I will keep the girl captive, then, and he will stay just to be
with her. He will impregnate her, and then there will be another child to
help with the Rift.
If I live long enough for them to all be born, of course.
Why would you not live? Sallavatri asks. Luminoura prods at me with
her thoughts, too, as if poking a wound.
Because I am tired. I am tired, and I am failing at everything. I have lost
a drakoni from right under my nose, the Rift bleeds more malice out by the
day, and I suspect it is affecting my thoughts. Worse than that, worse than
anything, I was cold to my mate. I can feel her hurt vibrating through the
fort this morning. I spoke to her as if she were one of the fools that bother
me, when that is not the case. I was just so angry and upset last night that I
lost control of myself.
I should have gone straight to her side and apologized, but I worried the
girl would get away. I worried the drakoni would lose himself and attack
the fort. I worried my tenuous control on the others would snap. I did not
return to bed last night. Not only because I was busy, but because I knew I
would not be welcome.
And I am so, so tired.
Do you need to sleep? Luminoura offers. I like to sleep.
You should eat, Sallavatri insists. That one always commands like a
general. I would find it amusing were I not so exhausted. I always feel
better after I eat and then my mother pats me until I burp. Maybe you need
to burp.
I do not need to burp. I need my dragon back. Now there are only five
to guard the city, and I must place yet another into the “unknowns”
grouping, with Vaan and Jurik. They say they will help me with whatever is
coming through the Rift, but I do not trust them to be on my side. I have
lost yet another ally somehow.
You can take me instead, Luminoura offers. I will help with the fort if
you will not be sad.
I'm shocked at the offer, so freely given. No. I would not. The idea is
repulsive. She has no idea what she freely suggests, or what she risks when
she allows her mind to brush against mine so effortlessly. Both of the
children talk to me in the empty void of mind-speech, where there were
once countless minds but now seems to be populated by me and me alone. I
did not realize how lonely it had become until Sallavatri's thoughts blasted
into my own, quickly followed by Luminoura's. Now they touch my mind
constantly. They pepper me with questions. They have been told not to
speak to me, to avoid me, but like all children, they ignore the rules of their
parents.
And I consider them…friends.
The thought of ensnaring one of those bright, fragile minds into my
traps is appalling. It is different with the drakoni. Those are the ones I have
been trained since birth to lure and capture. They are not and will never be
my friends. I am their enemy, so it makes sense that I would capture them
and hold them hostage in their own bodies. But not Sallavatri. Not
Luminoura. I cannot bring up such things again because they will not
understand the nuance. I am just sad that my friend is gone, I tell them. It is
all right.
They give me another curious prod, and then, satisfied with my answer,
their thoughts turn inward once more. I get flashes of nursing and faces of
parents, and I discreetly close my mind to theirs with an affectionate wave
of thought.
The moment I do, I am beset by weariness. My mind feels heavy, and I
touch the five drakoni I have remaining, ensuring that they are all firmly in
my grasp. There are a dozen things I should do at the moment. I should
check in with the militia. Ensure that the other females have not abandoned
the program after last night's display of temper. Send out mental lures for
yet another drakoni to guard the walls. Yet all I want to do is return to my
mate and bury my face against her breasts. I want her to stroke my mane
and reassure me that all is well.
 I know she will not, and it makes my spirit heavier. Sometimes I just
want to walk away from all of this, but I do not, because I think of Melina
with no one to look out for her, Melina who has had to poison a man that
hurt her, Melina who cares too much for others and not enough for herself.
If I do not tend to her every need, who will?
No one.
So I must stay. For her, I will stay and I will keep fighting on.
But first…with a weary sigh, I head for our quarters. It is past dawn,
early in the morning, and I have not slept. I want nothing more than to curl
up in her arms and relax, but I know she will have words for me first.
No one speaks to me as I head for my rooms. I have no doubt missed
breakfast, but I do not pause in the dining room, because talking to Melina
is more important. I head down one hall after another, and the servants duck
their heads, avoiding my gaze. Before now, I was making progress. They
would smile at me, and seem pleased when I returned their greeting. They
are afraid of me once more, and even though I tell myself that it is
necessary, that to rule, one must have no friends. That is how the Salorians
have kept the drakoni people under their control for so long, after all. They
do not befriend. They conquer and control.
I have forgotten how lonely such isolation can be.
Even so, I did not come here to befriend everyone. I came here with the
goal of carving out my own kingdom if I could not go home. And while the
chance of me going home seems slimmer by the day, I have found other
things here that make me happy.
One thing, actually. Melina.
I enter our bedroom, expecting to see her in bed or readying to go to her
clinic. She is not. She is seated in a chair by the window, wearing a
beautiful pale dress covered with shimmers across the breasts. The sleeves
are wisps of material over her shoulders, and her gorgeous cleavage is on
display, plump and brown and resplendent over the low neckline of the
gown. She is wearing her armor today, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail
and the thick curls cascading down the back of her head. Heavy earrings
glitter from her ears, and her lips have a hint of pink to them, the scent of
her makeup in the air. Her posture is calm, but the moment she catches a
glimpse of me, her nostrils flare and her back stiffens.
She has plenty to say to me, my Melina.
I sigh heavily. "You are angry and I am exhausted."
 "Fuck yes, I'm angry." Her jaw clenches and she glares at me from her
seat. "What the hell was that, Azar? Of course I'm mad. You talk a big game
of how these people are sheep and how you can rule with your eyes closed
and the moment there's a snag in your plan, you lose your fucking mind!"
She shakes her head at me in disbelief. "How do you think anyone is going
to want to follow you if you act like that?"
"Act like what, precisely?" I ask, tired and frustrated. "Someone stole
my dragon out from under me and yet I am the enemy here?"
"Azar," Melina says, her voice clipped and as icy as her expression.
"You threw plates in the dining hall for everyone to see. You pitched a
temper tantrum. And you slapped a woman! You fucking backhanded her!"
I'm shocked. My mate is livid that I slapped the other female, not that I
ignored her advice? Not that I told her she was my property? "I was testing
the drakoni. If she was his mate, he'd sense that she was hurt and react—"
Melina gets to her feet, her dress swirling about her. She looks as regal
and beautiful as the drakoni queen…and as remote. "So are you going to
slap me around now? Is this what I have to look forward to?"
"What?" I blink, surprised. "Never. Why would I slap you?"
"You slapped her!"
"But I just told you, the drakoni—"
She advances toward me, a snarl on her face. "You do not hit people
because you're having a bad day, Azar. And you sure as shit don't hit
someone smaller than you." She crosses her arms over her chest. "How can
I trust that you're not going to have a bad day again and start hitting me
instead?"
I'm baffled as to why she could think that. "You are my mate. I would
never—"
"How do I know that?"
"I'm telling you," I bellow. "I'm telling you right now!"
She clenches her fists, shouting back at me. "And I'm telling you, that if
you hit one woman, who's to say you're not going to hit another? How do I
trust that?" The look she gives me is defeated. "How do I trust you?"
I stare at her. Distant memories of the past flick through my head, of my
people, of the way we treated the drakoni. Of the pits they slept in and the
way we used them as hard labor. Of the resentment in their eyes toward
their Salorian masters. I think of that, and then I think of the humans here in
the fort. I have memories of the nomads I have spent time with in the past,
but I know they were lawbreakers and they treated everyone cruelly, male
and female. I think of the fort humans instead. The smelly, filthy humans
who do not listen, who rarely obey, and who drive me to the brink of
madness. I shuffle through my memories and yet I do not recall a single
person at this fort hitting another person like I did.
The look in Melina's eyes is wary and on edge, like the drakoni when
around a Salorian. Like Vaan and Jurik when they spot me.
I have made my mate…afraid. Of me. Self-loathing ripples through me.
"Melina, I would never…"
"No, you wouldn't," she says in a soft voice. She tosses her hair back,
regal, and gives me a hard look. "You wouldn't, because I would never, ever
forgive you. This is your warning. You pull this shit again and I don't care
about our bargain, or how I feel about you. I won't stay with an abuser."
"I understand," I say quietly, hating myself even more. I have become
the male she hates. I am more like the one she poisoned than I'd hoped, and
the thought is devastating.
"You can sleep somewhere else tonight," she says, and turns her back to
me.

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Twenty-One

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MELINA

W ithout Azar in my bed, I don't sleep well.

Not because of nightmares, but because of guilt. Sheer,
unbridled guilt. I know Azar is struggling. I know he didn't come
from a place where they think like we do. And I could tell from the look on
his face that it never occurred to him to strike me like he did that girl. That
makes me feel better…but only marginally.
He's fraying. A good wife would have supported him and guided him
gently, maybe. Pointed out where he went wrong. Instead, I pitched a fit and
kicked him out of our bed. It's just…he can't brutalize people just because
he's in charge. We're living here because it beats living out in the wilds. But
if he pulls shit like this again, he's going to lose people, and I won't blame
them one bit for going. The fort is protected from dragon attacks, but who is
going to protect them from Azar?
So I'm torn. I'm torn because I should hate Azar for what he did and I
don't.
I'm worried I've fallen in love with the villain.
I'm worried I'm going to turn into one of those women that just ignores
when a guy acts like a piece of shit instead of pointing out the error of his
ways. I worry that my affection for Azar and how he treats me is going to
blind me to his flaws.
So I don't sleep. At all. I stare at the ceiling of my lonely, lonely bed,
and hate that no one's here to cuddle with or to lick my pussy until I scream.
I am a sad sack of a woman that those things even cross my mind. To his
credit, Azar doesn't try to come back to bed. It's like he knows I can't look
at him right now because I'll just spit angry words in his direction.
A tiny, ugly part of me is sad he doesn't even try to come and apologize,
but I ignore it.
The next morning, I push aside my beautiful, flowing gowns and pull
something more practical out of my closet. I gaze thoughtfully at the worn
jeans and the logo-covered T-shirt. The fact that I have them at all attests to
how much pull Azar has. They're not my style. I love the elegant dresses
and the jewelry he showers me with. But a protest is a protest, and if I have
to use everything in my power to let Azar know I'm not okay with his
actions, then I will. So I dress in the plain clothing, clip up my hair, and
head out to the clinic. I avoid breakfast, because I don't want to see Azar
there, gazing at me with sad eyes full of remorse. Or worse, no remorse at
all. I'll deal with that situation soon, but not this morning. I can skip a meal.
I head into the clinic and throw myself into the chaos. There's no time to
take a break as I wash sick bodies, take temperatures, change sheets, and
dole out precious medication to those that are the worst off. I grab a couple
of the guards from the front door and make them switch their guns for wet
wash-towels and get them to work on cooling down the fevered. It's never
enough, but that doesn't mean I'll give up. As I nurse them, I'm struck with
sadness. Azar could prevent this. He could feed them, but he won't, and so
they eat things that they know might kill them, all because it's better than an
empty belly.
Maybe I've been all wrong about him all this time. Maybe I keep seeing
good in him when there's none to be found. I imagine him to be a better
man simply because I can't fathom having feelings for someone terrible.
I drown in my thoughts all day long as I tend to the sick. It seems like
for every bed we clear, another person is brought in. I work faster, because I
need to make sure that all the sick are taken care of, and race from one cot
to another, handing out nausea medication and swapping used bowls for
fresh ones. At one point, someone taps me on the shoulder.
"What?" I bite out, not pausing as I wipe clean the face of a woman who
just vomited blood.
"Are you staying all night?"
I pause, because the voice that spoke up isn't a guard, but Alma. She's
back already? I look up at her, and to my surprise, the sun has set. Darkness
has fallen on the fort and I hadn't even noticed. The entire day has passed
and I haven't even paused to eat or drink anything. "Oh. I…don't know."
Alma looks around the clinic. "I brought my boyfriend in to help out.
He got permission to stay here tonight and assist. He's not familiar with
nursing, but he can do the basics. And we've got a few helpers, right? So
why don't you go home and sleep for a few hours? Get some rest." She
touches my shoulder. "I'm sure Lord Azar is looking for you."
I look around the clinic in a daze. She's right. There are three of the
militia helping now, two of them new and one the sweet-faced Latin man
that's Alma's boyfriend. Everything's covered for now, and at the moment,
no one's sleeping on the floor. I take a deep breath…and weariness crashes
through me. It's like now that I've had time to think about being tired, I'm
exhausted. I contemplate staying here overnight and avoiding Azar for
another day, but that seems petty and childish. "Right. Yes. Of course. I'll be
back first thing in the morning."
My assistant Alma just nods at me and takes the towel from my hand,
moving to swap places with me at my patient's side. I watch her for a
moment, numb, and then head to the doors of the clinic. As I step outside,
one of the guards smashes a bat down on one of the giant bugs in the street
and then kicks the corpse aside. They seem to be everywhere these days,
those stupid, horrible bugs. Rubbing my arms, I shudder.
And then I notice something smells delicious. Oh god, I hope that's not
bugs. The thought makes me a little queasy. I stagger forward, exhausted,
and follow the scents. As I do, I see a folding table set up down the street,
and people lined up in front of them. Two militia guards are at the table,
ladling soup out to people in whatever they can bring to use as a bowl—old
cans, soda bottles, whatever. Another guard stands nearby with his weapon
at hand, eyeing the crowd that's gathered. "Two lines," he calls out in a
bored voice. "We'll feed everyone. Please form two lines. No pushing."
People step up to the table, have their bowls filled, and are handed a
flyer. Someone glances at their flyer and then tosses it aside. I hurry over to
grab it, reading the page. It's hand-written in block lettering.
Lord Azar is buying your black-market goods in exchange for food.
Contact the militia for more details. Enjoy the soup!
I read it twice, then a third time to make sure I'm not imagining things.
Azar's feeding people…like I asked. Not just that, but he's presenting
people a way to acquire more food for their families. Hopefully this will go
a long way towards stopping people from eating the bugs and building trust.
If he can prove to people that they can buy food with their goods…hope
bubbles up in my chest. I clutch the flyer like it's a love note, tears stinging
my eyes.
He's trying. I know he's trying. It's not instinct for him, to be kind or to
do good things. He doesn't consciously think about it. Right and wrong
haven't been hammered into him from birth. But…he's trying. I can't ask for
more. Emotional, I turn towards the barracks.
"Lady Melina?" One of the guards normally outside of the clinic comes
up to my side and gives me a worried look. "Shall I escort you home? It's
dark out."
I manage a nod. "Yes, thank you."

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Twenty-Two

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AZAR

I try to read The Witch of Blackbird Pond, but the words blur in front of
my eyes. I cannot concentrate, not when it is dark and Melina is not yet
home. I want to hunt her down, but I know my efforts would not be
appreciated. I miss her and I'm worried about her, and the combination of
these two things bothers me. I don't want to care. Caring means that I lose
my focus, that her mood affects mine. Caring means that I have a dull ache
in my chest when my mate looks at me with distress. She avoided me today,
and I should not care. I should not.
But I have been inconsolable at the thought that Melina might hate me.
All because I struck a human girl that means nothing. It was a foolish
action, and one I did not realize was a bad call. I did not realize that Melina
would think that I could raise a hand to her at any time. I would never. Just
the thought makes me sick. I wish I knew how to be the male she needs.
Instead, I am a fool of a Salorian who cannot obey the rules of his
people, and yet cannot seem to please the human I love.
This is love. I am positive of it. In Bridge to Terabithia, the human boy
was filled with aching sorrow at the loss of his beloved friend. I think about
Melina, and I ache. I ache and I hurt inside my spirit, because I want her to
obsess over me as much as I obsess over her. What will I do if she leaves
me? What will I do if she never wants to look at me again?
Melina is everything I never knew I needed. She makes me want things
I should not want. She makes me yearn for her smile, for her sweet scent,
for the sound of her laughter. For the look of approval in her eyes. No other
female could compare to her—Salorian, drakoni, or human.
I would rather be alone forever.
The thought guts me, though. I drop my book and curl my hands on the
wooden arms of the chair, digging my claws in. I cannot seem to stop them
from growing out today, no matter how many times I cut them short. My
mind is not settled. My focus is destroyed. This ache inside me is never-
ending, and all I want is…my mate. I want her so badly I want to scream
with the pain of it. And as the hours drift past and day becomes night, I
know she is avoiding me again. Despair fills me.
 How can I make it better if she will not talk to me? How do I fix it? Will
she even let me try?
Even as I wallow in thoughts a Salorian should never, ever have, her
scent drifts in through the window. Like a madman, I leap to my feet and
race toward it, scanning the grounds. Melina trudges toward the entrance of
the building, weariness written all over her face.
Immediately, I stop thinking of myself. My poor mate needs me. She is
exhausted. No doubt she will be hungry, too. I have to take care of her. I
must. Racing out of the room, I sprint for the kitchens. "A plate for your
mistress," I bark the moment I burst through the doors, causing the servants
to jump in fear. Wincing at their reaction and the way they scramble to
obey, I try again. "Please. Thank you. I'm sorry to frighten you. I should
like a few things for Melina to eat. She has been at the clinic all day and she
is tired."
I sound like a simpering fool to my ears, and I can just imagine the
mockery that would ring through the heads of the other Salorians back
home. Weak, they would chide me. Weak fool. Look at you, dancing like a
puppet, all to please a human. Worthless waste.
But they are not here, and my head does not ring with their reproach.
Instead, the servants flash me a few understanding looks, and a tray of food
and drink is readied quickly. The woman hands it to me and gives me a
knowing look. "I saved a piece of dessert for her and you both," she
confesses shyly. "I know you like your sweets, my lord."
Startled, I gaze down at the tray. Sure enough, two wedges of peach pie
are tucked neatly on the side. It might be the nicest thing anyone has ever
done for me. Someone thought of me, of my likes, just because. Not
because they hate me or are terrified of me, just because they wanted to be
kind. "I…thank you," I manage to choke out. "Very appreciated."
I flee before I can make a bigger fool of myself.
When I head into the apartment I share with Melina, she's seated on the
edge of the bed, her shoulders slumped. She looks so tired and defeated that
it gives me physical pain. My defiant, gorgeous human cannot be defeated.
She's too proud, too clever, too resilient. Have I done this to her? My gut
clenches.
"Melina," I breathe, and the tray rattles with dishes as I surge toward
her.
 She looks up in surprise. "Oh." Her hand is trembling as she rubs her
brow. "I…Azar…I know we need to talk, but I'm so tired—"
"Not right now," I say swiftly, stepping in before she can finish that
statement. "You need to relax. You should eat some food and drink some
water, and I will help you with a quick bath to refresh you. Then we will
tuck you into bed and you will sleep. We will discuss how wrong I have
been later."
She just stares.
I set the tray down next to the bed, flicking the legs out like I see the
staff do. It makes a neat little table, and I hold a cold biscuit stuffed with
meat out to my mate. "Eat this." When she takes the food from my hand, I
drop to my knees and start unlacing her boots. She always says her feet hurt
at the end of a day because the clinic is so busy that she doesn't have time to
sit. I can help with her feet.
"Azar—"
"No," I say sharply. "Just eat. I might not be able to rule the city in the
way you think is acceptable. I might not win anyone over as a friend. But I
know how to tend to my mate, and I know your feet hurt. Let me take care
of you."
Wordless, she takes a bite out of the food and begins to chew.
I pull her boots off and then rub her feet, soothing the delicate muscle
and bone. I can tell she's exhausted. Every muscle in her body seems limp
with fatigue, and it makes my heart ache. I hope these people appreciate
what my mate does for them. "Do you want a bath?" I ask. "I can get some
warm water and wash you with a towel. You won't have to do anything. You
can just relax and let me handle everything."
She's silent as I rub her feet, eating her food. When she's done, I pick up
the glass of water from the tray and hand it to her, then go back to
massaging her calves. She doesn't say if she wants to bathe, so I remain
where I am, running my hands up and down her legs and feet, working the
muscles and trying to make her feel better. Foolishly, part of me thinks that
if I can get her to realize she needs me, even for this small thing, she'll stay.
That I won't lose her. That things between us are not so broken that they
cannot be fixed—
"Azar," Melina says softly again.
"Don't say it," I growl, my heart hurting. This world is unfair. I cannot
be given Melina only to lose her. "Don't make me leave your side."
 "I'm still mad at you," she continues, ignoring everything I've said. Her
toes wiggle in my grasp. "But I'm not as mad."
I look up at her, my heart skipping a beat. "You don't hate me?"
Melina shakes her head. "I probably should, but I don't."
I stroke my hand up the delicate arch of her foot. "I can tolerate
everyone else in this world hating me…just not you. If I don't have you,
Melina, I am going to lose my mind." By all the fires, I sound as vulnerable
and needy as one of those drakoni fools. To think that I am reduced to this.
And yet, Melina's foot is in my grasp, my hand on her soft skin, and she
says she does not hate me. It does not feel wrong to simper at her feet. She
is mine, after all. If I cannot be vulnerable with her, I will be utterly alone.
And Melina seems to need vulnerability from me. So I must continue,
even though it goes against everything I have ever learned.
"I know I am not a good man," I say as I lift her foot toward me and kiss
the arch.
"That's just it, Azar. You're not a man. You're a Salorian. And I keep
forgetting that. You don't think like the rest of us." She tilts her head,
regarding me as I press kisses to her skin, making my way up the front of
her foot to her leg. She points her toes and lifts her leg onto my shoulder,
encouraging my affection.
A ravenous yearning fills me. "Melina—"
"I know," she says softly. "I know what you're going to say. That you're
trying. And I know you are. I saw that you were feeding people near the
clinic. I saw the flyers. I think that's such a good idea to build their trust.
But baby, you can't offer the world with one hand and slap them down with
the other. You won't win anyone like that."
I continue to kiss fervently up her leg. "I know. I know, my heart. That's
why I need you. I need you to tell me when I step wrong. I need you at my
side to guide me."
Her foot lifts from my grasp and in the next moment, she plants it on
my face. "Then you have to listen when I talk, damn it. If I tell you to calm
down, you have to calm the fuck down, understand?"
Is she trying to intimidate me? Her anger just fuels my lust for her. No
one else would dare talk to me like this. Even though I am a lesser Salorian
general, I am still a general. My presence strikes fear into the hearts of all
drakoni, and to raise a voice to me is to court death.
 Maybe that's why Melina has my heart so fully. She is so very…human.
She has never been afraid of me. She tells me when I am wrong with strong
words, and she has very clear concepts of what is okay to her and what is
not. My worry that she is abandoning me is changing to pure, unadulterated
lust. "You are saying I do not listen?" I pull her foot from my cheek and nip
at her ankle. "That I do not pay attention?"
She huffs a laugh, shivering. I can see her nipples beading underneath
the shirt she wears. "You only pay attention to my pussy."
"Perhaps that is the only thing worth paying attention to," I reply, my
voice heated with need. I nip at her ankle again, and when her toes curl, I
mouth the soft skin closest to me, moving up her calf once more.
"I need you to think about your actions. You can't fly off the handle like
that." Her breathing speeds up, her gaze growing hazy and unfocused. I kiss
her lower leg reverently, wanting to strip her pants off of her and kiss her as
she should be kissed—thoroughly, with great amounts of tongue, and
between her thighs. "You're in charge, Azar. You have to be better. You can't
hit people because it serves your purpose."
"But it was effective, was it not?" I ask, wondering if it's too soon for
me to go for the waist of the jeans she wears, or if I need to keep coaxing
her into letting me tongue her sweet cunt. "I know you don't like my
methods—"
"I don't," she says sharply, and jerks her leg out of my grasp. The
softness disappears from her eyes and she leans down and grabs my chin
between her thumb and forefinger. "You still don't get it. Okay then, how
would you like it if, say, one of the servants came up and slapped me across
the face?"
I scowl. "They would never."
"But if they did?" She arches a brow at me.
"Then they would die for daring to touch my mate."
"Ah," she says in a light voice. "But it's all right, because it motivated
the cook to make breakfast on time. Therefore it shouldn't be a problem by
your thinking, right? As long as the results were good?"
I jerk away from her grip, frowning deeply as I gaze at my mate. It is a
running joke amongst the militia that the barracks kitchens are never on
time with their food. As Melina watches me with those patient, accusing
eyes, I play out the scenario in my head. Of Daniels, approaching my mate
and striking her. Of Melina falling to the ground at my feet like the female
had. Of the terror on her face, the imprint of my hand on her cheek…
I am shocked at how angry just envisioning the scenario makes me. I
would…I would…I would hate it. I would murder anyone that dared touch
her. I don't care who it motivates. "Ah."
"You see?" She reaches down and grasps my hand, taking it in hers. She
presses my palm to her cheek, and I flinch, imagining striking her like I did
the female. "I don't know what the Salorians were like, but every woman
out there is someone's sister, or someone's daughter. They have families.
They have people that care for them, people that don't want to see them
slapped or abused, just because they're unimportant. Everyone is important
to someone." Melina presses a kiss to the palm of my hand. "Which is why
you can't fly off the handle. You have to control your temper, and you have
to pause and consider things when you're upset. Especially when you're
upset."
"So what would you have me do?" I ask.
"Wake me up," Melina counters immediately, her tone angry. "If you're
distressed about something, wake me up and talk to me about it. I don't care
what time it is. I don't care if it's the middle of the day—come to the clinic
and talk to me. And listen to me when I say you need to calm down. I can't
help you choose the right path if you choose it without consulting me.
Understand?"
I feel like a failure. It is a strange, hateful sensation, because I can tell
I've disappointed my mate. There is doubt in her eyes when she looks at me,
as if I might not be the man she wants in her bed. It makes me desperate.
Worried. I cup her face in my hands and press my chest against her legs.
"Melina…do you hate me?"
Her expression softens. "I should, shouldn't I?" She turns her cheek and
presses a kiss to my palm again. "But I don't. Even though you don't have
the same toolkit we do, you're trying. I love that you keep trying. That's
why I'm back. You're acknowledging that you fucked up, and I need you to
promise me you'll never do it again."
"Never," I say violently. "Never." The thought of someone touching
Melina, of striking her the way I struck the female (whose face I cannot
even recall) makes my gut go ice-cold. In her eyes, we are all equal.
That is the part I keep struggling with. In my world, in my home, we are
not born equal. Not in the slightest. We are judged by our magic, by our
bloodlines, by whether or not we are Salorian or drakoni. One human
should not view themselves as better than another. They still do, but those
that do are wrong.
Those that do earn Melina's hatred and distaste.
When she says I need to try harder, it is because I am thinking like a
Salorian, not like a human. When my temper takes over, I lash out like a
Salorian. I need to let that corrupted, human-thinking side of me take over. I
need to embrace it. And I know where to start.
"I love you," I tell her, searching her face. "I love you, Melina. I am not
supposed to, but I feel like my world is ending if you are mad at me. I am
not supposed to love a human…or anyone. But without you, this world is a
blighted place. You are the light. You are the reason I want to wake up each
morning and keep on going in this world."
Her gaze grows soft as she looks at me. "Oh, Azar."
"I am not a good man," I rasp, feeling as if I must get all of this emotion
out of my chest before I burst with it. "I am not even a man, like you said. I
do not know how to think like a human, but I know that I love you, and I
want nothing more than to make you happy. If I must think of people
differently, then I must. If I must stop and think before doing, then I will
stop and think. Just…do not give up on me."
"Never," Melina breathes, and leans forward to brush her lips against
mine. "Never. I love you, too."
I groan. Hearing it somehow does not feel real. She…loves me? Me,
who causes her endless problems? Who forced her into my bed and made
her my consort when she wanted nothing to do with me? She loves me? I
capture her mouth against mine, trying to transfer all the emotion I feel for
her into our kiss, as if I can somehow convince her that what she says is the
truth.
She touches her tongue to mine, all sweetness to my darkness. It seems
incredible that this elegant, gentle female wants anything to do with me, but
as I kiss her, Melina makes a soft sound in her throat, encouraging me. Hot
lust burns inside me. I want nothing more than to hitch up her skirts, to push
into her and give her my bite. To claim her as my mate, truly.
But then she will be forced to be mine. She will no longer have the
option of leaving me. I will be in her head, in her mind, and she will know
the truth of who I am and what I have done. So I cannot do that. She must
not know all the bad things I have done to get where I am. She must think
of me as she does right now, as wrong but willing to do better. Those that
know my past would never give me that chance, and so I must keep her in
the dark for a little longer.
Plus…I like that she is with me because she chooses to be with me, not
because I am in her head. I like that it is her decision, and not one that has
been forced upon her. I can wait a little longer.
There is such joy for me that she chooses me, despite my flaws.
I press hungry kisses to her face. "Let me touch you, my beautiful one.
Let me make it up to you. Let me show you my devotion."
"Azar," she whispers, her fingers gliding through my mane.
I want to give her everything…but for now, I will settle for giving her
pleasure. Hungrily, I kiss her plush mouth, her cheek, her chin, her neck.
She arches with pleasure when my tongue brushes over her throat, and I
drag my teeth over her soft skin, yearning to claim her and yet knowing I
cannot. "May I undress you?" I ask. "Pleasure you?"
I do not realize I am holding my breath until she nods. Then, I exhale,
all relief. This thing between us feels fragile. Delicate. As if the wrong
move could somehow destroy everything…so I must take exquisite care
with my mate. I must not give her any reason to stop loving me. I think it
will destroy me if she does.
Melina gets to her feet and I rise, my hands moving over her clothing. I
peel the fabric off of her, hating it. She did not wear a dress today, but a
rougher, coarse fabric that does not suit her beauty. It stinks of her clinic
and the sick people there, and I have made more work for her by being
stubborn and not sharing food, not like she wants. I just know that those
that get too complacent, those that expect handouts will not work to be part
of the whole, and right now we need everyone doing their share. But it is
easy to say that when I sit in my rooms and do not have to clean the puke
from the mouths of the sick. I kiss her forehead, and her eyes flutter closed.
"I will be a better mate," I promise her. "Just give me another chance."
"I'm here, aren't I?"
She is, and I will take advantage of it. Reverently, I peel the clothing
from her form and press more kisses to her brown skin as I do. I kiss her
shoulder, her slender arm. I kiss her belly as I undo the belt that holds her
pants to her waist. I kiss down her legs as I move the pants to her ankles,
and when she kicks out of them, she is left in nothing but the garments she
calls panties and a bra. I know these are increasingly hard to find, and so I
am careful with them, because she values them, and I value her.
When she is naked in front of me, she is beyond gorgeous.
Melina smiles up at me, and she raises a hand. To my surprise, she
begins to undo the fasteners at the neck of my flowing robes. "I want you
naked, too," she tells me. "I want to touch you all over."
Usually our pleasuring involves me remaining clothed so my seed
doesn't brush against her skin and give her discomfort. The fact that she
wants me naked adds another layer of intimacy to this moment, and I crave
it almost as much as I crave her. I remain still as she undresses me, and
when my robes slide to the ground, she runs her hands delicately over my
chest, tracing muscle. Her touch glides down to my waist, to the pants I
wear, and she tugs them down, as well.
Naked, I stand in front of her, and Melina tilts her head up, giving me a
soft, dreamy smile. Then she turns, pressing her back to my chest and
rubbing against me. She takes my arm and pulls it over her shoulder, caging
herself in my grip. "I love how warm you are. How good it feels to press
myself against you."
"Does it?" I lean in, sliding one hand over her soft breasts, seeking out a
nipple. I find the tight peak and give it a pinch, loving the sharp inhale of
breath she takes. Her breast fits my hand perfectly, and I squeeze the mound
of it, entranced by the softness of her body. I slide my other hand down her
front, towards the vee between her thighs. Her scent drenches the room,
calling me with its siren song.
I brush a finger over her folds and Melina moans, pressing back against
me. She shifts her weight, spreading her legs a little more so I can touch
her.
"Soaked already, my love?" I murmur into her hair. "Is this sopping cunt
for me?"
She whimpers.
"I do believe it is." I rub my face against her hair as I stroke a finger
over her clit. "So beautiful and responsive, my pretty, pretty mate. Every
other male in Fort Dallas must be furious with jealousy at the thought of me
getting to finger this loveliness every day. Do you think they resent me for
that? Because I know how this luscious pussy tastes and they don't?"
Melina rocks against my hand, her plump backside pressing my cock. I
want to rock between the cleft of her bottom, but I'm afraid to drip pre-cum
on her sensitive skin. Already, I'm so very hard that I know I won't last.
As much as I want to make her come like this, it's better if I keep her far
away from my cock. So I pinch her nipple again. "Get on the bed. All fours.
Put your cunt in the air for me."
"So bossy," she huffs, but she does as I command. She moves to the bed
and crawls forward a little, then raises her ass into the air, displaying her
wet folds for me.
With a groan, I grab her hips and pull her back toward me, lowering my
mouth onto her flesh. She lets out a little squeal when I make contact, and I
can feel her clench the moment my tongue strokes through her slickness.
Her taste is sublime. I barely manage to hold back a groan of my own,
lapping at her sweet core. I indulge myself a little, teasing with the tip of
my tongue and making her wriggle, drinking in her taste. After months of
being together, I know how to make my mate come, and I know what she
likes. So I nose at the entrance to her core before finding her clit with my
tongue and rolling it.
She moans, pressing back against me. "Oh, Azar. That's so good."
I grip one thigh as I nuzzle at her clit, teasing it with little circles before
flicking it with my tongue. With my other hand, I press two fingers into her
core, pumping them. I work her cunt with my fingers and lick her clit, using
the rhythm I know she likes best. She shudders, rocking her hips in time to
my movements as she chases her release, and I add another finger, thrusting
harder as her cunt begins to squeeze. Lapping at her clit, I grind my cock
against the mattress edge, desperate to press into her with my shaft instead
of my fingers, but this is how it must be.
Melina breathes my name, faster and faster as she approaches her
climax. I crook my fingers inside her and rub against the front wall of her
cunt, hitting the spot that I know will send her over the edge. With a low
cry, she comes, quaking, her body tightening against me, her toes curling
and her wet cunt making obscene sounds as I work her through the orgasm,
not stopping until she cries out and pushes my hands away.
I press one last kiss to her folds, then lick my lips. My face is soaked
with her juices, but I love this part. I love the taste of her. I suck my fingers
clean of her taste, my other hand going down to my cock and stroking.
She wriggles on the bed, dazed, but her glorious ass is still in the air, her
thighs spread. "You going to come too, baby?"
 Groaning, I run one hand over her flank, squeezing her buttock as I
work my shaft. "Look at how pretty you are. How wet this cunt is for me." I
slide a finger through her soaked core, wishing it was my cock pressing into
her instead. I grip myself tighter, grinding my fist up and down my length.
"You'd take this cock if I'd let you, wouldn't you?"
"I would," she breathes. "You could give me all of it. Sink in so deep
that your balls hit my thighs. It'd feel so good, wouldn't it?"
My breath comes out in a harsh grunt, my hand shuttling over my shaft.
I'm leaking heavily now, seed slipping down my length and coating my
hand. "Incredible," I grit out. "You'd feel incredible."
"Mmm." She slips a hand between her thighs and touches her wet pussy,
teasing it. "You'd push into me right here, wouldn't you?" And when she
fingers the entrance to her body, I lose it. With a snarl, I come. Hot ropes of
seed spurt out, and I aim my cock at the bed, away from Melina's soft skin.
I milk myself, watching as she fingers her cunt, and nothing has ever felt so
good.
Spent, I suck in deep breaths of air as she climbs off the bed. I stroke
my cock once, twice, milking the last of my seed from my shaft, and she
leans in to kiss me. "I'll get a towel."
Melina disappears into the bathroom and when she returns, her scent is
muted, a silent sign that she has cleaned herself. She moves to my side,
wiping my cock and hands clean, a little smile on her face. "I'm glad you're
back," she tells me. "I have a hard time sleeping without you in the bed."
I glance over at the bed we just made a mess of. "Not this bed, I hope."
"We can strip it. I don't mind changing the sheets out." She gives me a
wink. "And you can help me."
I do, because I am helpless to refuse this female anything. After she
cleans me up, we strip the bed and put new linens on it. Then, Melina
climbs into the bed, fluffing the pillows, and then pats the spot next to her,
inviting me. I join her, and she immediately plasters herself to my front,
snuggling against my bare chest and twining her bare legs with mine. My
cock twitches in response to all this skin, but I force myself to ignore it. My
mate wishes to cuddle, and thus we will cuddle.
I run my hand idly down her side, fascinated at how this small, soft
human can wrap me around her finger so easily. How quickly I want to
change, simply at the thought of her being upset at me. She has wormed her
way into my heart—but no, that is not correct. Melina would sweep in,
glittering in skirts and jewels, her head held high as she demanded the heart
I didn't realize I had. And now that she has it, I find the thing I care about
most is not power, or control, but making sure that she remains at my side,
forever.
Her fingers brush over my chest. "Tell me about your life back on your
world."
My heart thuds, and I try not to panic at the question. It is an innocent
one, but I worry that the more she knows about me, the less she will like. "I
have told you before. I am Salorian. What do you wish to know?"
She hmms, thinking for a moment. "I guess what makes a Salorian
different from a drakoni. You said you're not the same, right? But to my
eyes, you kinda look the same." She pats my chest quickly. "I'm not trying
to insult, I'm just asking because I don't know."
I don't get offended like I used to. It's difficult to be angry when you
have a sated, warm mate pressed to your chest. I trace circles on her skin,
thinking. "I suppose if I am being honest with myself, the difference is in
how we are raised. The drakoni are wild, desert people. Mine—the
Salorians—live in the cities. The drakoni live as they like, and take mates as
they please, and Salorians take no mates. Our lives are dedicated to the
Salorian empire."
"Stupid question time." Melina lifts her head, gazing at me. "If you
don't take mates, how are little Salorians made?"
I chuckle. "The same way little ones are made anywhere. But most
Salorians never appreciate the pleasures of flesh. We are taught that unless
you are chosen to be a breeder, you must devote your life and energy to the
empire. I was never chosen because my bloodlines were not pure enough.
There are high-caste breeders and lower-caste breeders, to ensure that the
Salorian people continue. If we relied solely on high-caste breeders, there
would not be enough to rule the empire. I was born to a lower-caste breeder
and thus my abilities are limited."
"Abilities?"
"Mmm. Mind-speech and command." I leave it at that. I don't want her
to ask too many questions. "I was a general in the Salorian army. That was
my duty. To rule over the drakoni troops and keep them in control. I was
doing that when the Rift opened and swallowed us through."
She gives me a thoughtful look. "I guess I don't have to ask if you left
anyone behind."
 I snort. "No. No one. I do remember I was enamored with the drakoni
queen when I was a stripling male. She was a very beautiful female, with a
lovely smile. I don't think she was very drakoni, though. She did not live in
the wild as they did. She lived amongst my people, and they trotted her out
in front of the drakoni to…" I stop myself, because I cannot tell her the
truth. That she lived amongst us as a hostage, a figurehead to keep the
enslaved drakoni troops in line. The carrot dangling before the stick, as the
humans say.
"To?" she asks.
"To lead celebrations," I finally say. "She was mostly ceremonial. Very
lovely, though." I cup Melina's backside. "Not nearly as lovely as you."
My mate chuckles. "Good save." She smiles up at me, her expression
dreamy. "You miss it? Your home?"
I consider. "Sometimes I miss it. I miss the beauty of the land. The red
and gold deserts, the cliffs and mesas, and the brilliant sunsets. The warmth
of it all. Your world is actually cold to me." I feel her chuckle, and it makes
my mouth curve up in a reluctant smile of my own. "I think of the graceful,
elegant buildings and how clean the streets were and how good everything
smelled there. The gardens full of flowers. The politeness of the people. It's
nothing like here."
"This world used to be better," Melina says in a soft voice. "I hope we
can get back there someday."
"As far as I'm concerned, this world is already better because you are in
it."
She sits up, frowning at me.
I blink. "What?"
"For a man that grew up in a sterile culture, that was a shockingly
romantic thing to say." Melina's frown changes to a smile and she settles
back down against me. "I'd say you're wanting to get laid, but you just did."
My hand squeezes her buttock. I could squeeze her here all day and all
night. Just lie here, squeezing her backside over and over again, until they
pry her from my corpse. "You have so little faith in my stamina."
"Then prove me wrong," she purrs, and her hand slides to my cock.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Twenty-Three

OceanofPDF.com
MELINA

I 'm still in a great mood weeks later. The sun is shining, this morning's
breakfast was delicious and less extravagant, and Azar kissed me
senseless before letting me head out for the clinic. The bugs are still
everywhere, the cases of sickness less frequent now that Azar is trading
food for goods. Not everyone trusts him, but we're making progress.
I'm…happy.
Mostly happy, anyhow. Azar's nightmares wake him up every night. He
jerks from sleep, bellowing in terror every time.
It's trying to talk to me, he tells me. It's trying to get into my mind. We
have to find an answer soon.
He hasn't slept much lately, but by morning, he's back to his normal self,
reassuring me that all is well and there's nothing to worry about this day.
That as long as we can see nothing coming through the Rift, we're safe a
little longer. And then he kisses the heck out of me until I forget to ask more
questions. That's Azar's way of dealing with difficult things—distraction. I
get it, but at the same time, I worry. But Azar reassures me that Rachel and
Gwen will both have their children reasonably soon, and another drakoni
took a female—a woman named Jenny—from the barracks and claimed her
as his. If Jenny gets pregnant, the swift gestation of drakoni babies will
mean another child born by the end of the year.
Maybe that will be enough. I don't know, but Azar seems hopeful, and
so I cling to his hope. I can't live in terror, so I choose to be happy this
morning. I'm smiling as I head toward my clinic, wearing one of my typical
gowns because they please Azar (and me too, if I'm being honest).
As I leave the compound and cross the dirty streets of the fort, heading
for my clinic, someone jogs up behind me.
"Hey, got a second?" The speaker is Rachel, the scarred woman who is
newly mated to a dragon, and one of Azar's “guests.” She's pregnant and he
wants her to stay until the baby is born so we can add to our arsenal of
weapons against the creature in the Rift. Rachel's clearly not a fan of the
idea, or of Azar, or of much of anything. She's made that very clear.
So it's surprising to me that she flags me down on the street. I pause,
trying to keep a frown off my mouth. I'm suspicious of her timing, but
maybe it's nothing at all. "Is it the baby?"
"Hm?" The stump of Rachel's arm touches her belly. "Oh, no. Nothing
like that. I just wanted to bring something to your attention." At my curious
look, she continues. "Jurik and I were scouting yesterday, and we found
some stuff that might be medication in a warehouse, but we weren't sure.
We were wondering if you could come with us and help decipher some of
the labels."
Medication? She wants me to go? I never leave the fort, mostly because
there's always more to do here. I have a clinic full of sick people, but if it is
medication, I desperately want it added to my supplies. "You should
probably talk to Azar—"
Rachel shakes her head, straightening her shoulders in an almost defiant
tilt. "Azar wasn't available. Something about meetings. I can't get in to see
him. And I tried talking to the person in charge of scavenging schedules,
but he can't send anyone out for at least two days because it's a location
farther out than we normally go. So if I leave it in someone else's hands, it's
going to take almost a week, and it could be gone by then." She gives me a
challenging look. "I thought you'd want to get the medication—if it is
medication—back here as quickly as possible, since you've got so many
sick people."
I purse my lips, thinking. I can talk to Alma, see if she wants to go, but
she's going to be coming off of an overnight shift and I know she's terrified
of dragons. Plus, she doesn't know anything about medication other than
what I've taught her. She doesn't know the names of the less common types,
or what will still be usable after all this time. "Was it a pharmacy?" I ask
absently, turning the idea over in my head.
"A shipping station," Rachel says. "Lots of packages."
A shipping station could have pharmaceuticals. I know there were some
mail order places in business in the Before. This could be good…and if we
find a cache of medication there, it might lead to us uncovering more, if this
shipping station is one of many. I swallow hard, studying Rachel. "You'd
take me? Today?"
She nods, smiling. The scarred side of her face healed badly and it
contorts her mouth, a little too tight to look pleasant. "It's a few hours there
and a few more back. We could be back by dinner."
That decides me. "Give me five minutes to make sure the clinic is
covered."
I t takes more than five minutes, of course. Alma is exhausted, but knows
how important it is to get medication, so she agrees to stay on. We have two
militia guards that have first aid experience, so I make an executive
decision and insist that they serve in the clinic today. I tell them it's Azar's
order, and since he's my husband, they wouldn't dare contradict me.
Not that they would, anyhow. They instantly nod and say “Yes, Lady
Melina” as if I wasn't just another fort person a few months ago. I'm the
wife of the man in charge, and I could tell them to stand on their heads and
they would.
Rachel waits for me on the edge of the city, and she brazenly pushes her
way through the guards when they try to stop her. "Unless you want to get
eaten by a dragon," she tells them, "You're not going to lay a finger on me."
I purse my lips at this, because I'm not thrilled at the message it's
sending, but it's effective. They leave her alone, and we head out of the
gate, past the barricade for the first time in years, and a massive golden
dragon is waiting there for us. Jurik. The only reason I don't panic is that his
eyes are whirling a calm shade of gold, one that I recognize from my nights
with Azar. Rachel lights up at the sight of him, beaming a smile in his
direction and moving fearlessly to his side. "Ready, Melina?"
She hands me a bike helmet to put over my hair, and I watch as she
grabs the series of straps she has set up along Jurik's enormous golden side.
The dragon dips low and maneuvers his body, trying to help her up, and
when she's settled in the saddle, she wraps a set of reins around her stump
and reaches down with her good hand.
I take it, and I manage to get up on the dragon behind her after a few
messy tries. Once I'm settled in, Rachel helps me strap in to the saddle
through a weird system of seatbelts ("So you don't fall off," she tells me,
which doesn't ease my fears) and then Jurik is in the air. I hold my breath,
terrified. I've never even ridden a horse before and this is ten times worse. I
have no control, and one wrong move from Jurik and I'm going to fall right
off his back, belts or no belts. I bite back a terrified moan and cling to
Rachel. If nothing else, he won't let her fall.
It's for the medicine, I tell myself. If there's medicine to be found, it's
my duty to bring it back to the fort. I tell myself that, but I know the truth of
it. I wanted to get away for the day. I wanted to not have to worry about
Azar or plague for a day, even if it's selfish. As Jurik takes another dip in
the air, though, I have second thoughts.
"How long did you say this would take?" I ask again, trembling.
"Couple of hours," she calls back, the wind ripping at our voices. "Just
relax and enjoy the ride."
Relax. Sure. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut again and hold on.

W e seem to be in the air forever, the wind tearing at my skin and hair, the
occasional oversized bug smacking at my shoulder and making me shriek in
alarm. Rachel handles it all better than me. She snarls something about
“disgusting bugs” and flicks them off of us, then leans forward to pat Jurik's
neck. Every once in a while, I glance down at the ground, but it all looks the
same to me. We're following a highway, the road lined with broken-down
cars. Trees and greenery line the exits, along with broken remains of fast
food restaurants and gas stations.
It takes me a while, but as I watch the road under us, it occurs to me that
we're heading east. I remember the old highways, and as we pass another
weathered green exit sign, it says Canton, and then Tyler. Worried, I tap
Rachel on the arm. "I thought you said we were heading west?"
"Did I say west? I meant east." She gives me a reassuring smile over her
shoulder. "We're almost there anyhow."
My skin prickles with uneasiness, but I fight it back. Rachel might not
like Azar, but she's got no quarrel with me…does she? There's no reason to
kidnap me. Even so, I wish I'd brought a weapon, or told Azar where I was
headed for the day. Stupid, I tell myself. Stupid stupid. If you're in danger,
you've walked right into this. You just hear the word “medication” and you
go into savior mode.
The dragon flies lower, gliding close to an overpass, and I contemplate
my options. I don't have many. I need to go back to the fort. I can't stay out
here. We're so far out from the fort that I'd be vulnerable against any dragon
that passes by. If they drop me here, it's a long way back to the fort, and it'll
take me days…if I make it. If I don't get attacked or killed first.
I tighten my arms around Rachel, but if she's got a sinister plan, she's
hiding it well. Is there a plan, I wonder. Are they taking me away from the
fort for a reason? I'm needed at the clinic, but more than that, Azar needs
me.
What will he think if he finds out I'm gone? Will he think I ran away?
Left him? The thought hurts me. I imagine the betrayal in his eyes. I'm the
only one he trusts. The only one he feels he can be vulnerable around.
Without me…
Without me, he really will become that asshole dictator over the fort.
There'll be no one to keep him in check, to remind him how people act
towards one another. So is that the plan? Pull me away from Azar and let
him destroy himself? I can't let that happen. He's not a bad person. He
might have been raised by bad people, but he's got a heart under all his
bluster. He just doesn't know how to access it sometimes. He needs me.
Just as much as I need him.
"Here we go," Rachel calls out cheerfully as Jurik circles around a
building. It looks like an old post office, with an old postal truck that's
crashed through a window and weeds have grown up around the wreckage.
The roof is collapsed and a tree has fallen across the building, which doesn't
give me much hope for the contents. This is definitely a trap.
When Jurik lands gently in the small, overgrown parking lot of the post
office and ruffles his wings, I grab at the belts that hold me in place. "I want
down," I demand, trying to keep my voice from wavering. "Right now."
"Calm your tits," Rachel says casually. "I'll let you down, but be careful
and stay close. As long as Jurik's in battle-form, he keeps all the snakes
away."
Snakes? Great, another thing to worry about. I clench my jaw and let
her help me with the belts, and then I slide off the side of the dragon and
collapse onto the asphalt below. My knees smack onto the ground and my
palms smack hard on the parking lot surface and I wince, knowing those
scrapes are going to bother me later. But right now, all I care about is
getting away. I jerk to my feet, looking around wild-eyed to run away…
And that's when I see the other dragon.
He's a rich gold, but that's not what catches my attention. What catches
my attention is that he slinks through the buildings instead of flying, like a
gigantic cat. He moves along the ground, lethal, the large head lowered and
his tail thrashing behind him. High up on his back, between the wings, sits a
woman on a saddle. She's wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, and an old
fluorescent windbreaker. The saddle she sits upon has clearly been used
repeatedly, as it's decorated with a bunch of scarves and has multiple
pouches hanging from it, along with a slew of straps. She unbuckles these
and slides off the side of the dragon, putting a hand to the front of her
windbreaker as she does.
I expect her dragon to shift, but he remains in his dragon form, watching
his female carefully.
This is…weird, I have to admit to myself. I wasn't expecting a
rendezvous, and I'm not sure what to think. Clearly this woman and her
dragon want to talk to me, but…away from Fort Dallas, which means away
from Azar.
I'm immediately suspicious, and the fact that Rachel is in on it doesn't
make me feel better. She's been clear in her disdain for my husband. More
and more, this feels like a trap.
The woman strides up toward us, pulling off her sunglasses and hat. She
unzips the front of her windbreaker, and to my surprise, it looks like there's
a baby's head under there. My suspicions are confirmed as she gets closer
and I can see she has a baby carrier of some kind strapped to the front of her
chest. A smile curves my mouth. That must be a half-drakoni baby, and
Azar will be thrilled to hear of it. We need every single one we can to help
—
"You did it," the woman announces, looking at Rachel and not at me.
She's Latina, and beautiful, but unfamiliar to me.
I rack my brain, trying to think of someone that's mated to a drakoni and
doesn't live in the city ruins. Claudia has a sister, but I know Amy, and this
isn't her. "Hi," I say brightly. "I'm Melina."
The woman's expression isn't friendly. "I know who you are, traitor."
My brows go up. That’s a kinda harsh introduction to a stranger.
“Excuse me?”
"This is Emma," Rachel butts in. She sounds nervous. "Emma, be nice. I
thought this was a parley. Remember our goals here."
I glance back at Rachel, then at the woman in front of me—Emma. If
this is a parley, calling me a traitor isn't the way to start. "There something I
can help you with?"
Her hand goes protectively in front of her child, and Emma gives me a
hard look. "I'm just trying to understand how you'd condone what he does.
How you'd fuck someone as evil as him. How you're okay with his actions.
Rachel says you're working hard to save the people of Fort Dallas, but I
guess I'm just kinda curious if you're only interested in saving the humans
of Fort Dallas. Are those the only ones that count?"
It takes everything I have not to cross my arms over my chest and glare
at her. Clearly she has a chip on her damn shoulder. I want to make my tone
as abrasive as hers, but I won't get answers. Biting my tongue, I keep my
voice even. "You're throwing around a lot of accusations and I honestly
have no idea what you're talking about. You say Azar's doing evil things.
You're not in our fort. You don't know him like I do. He's working hard to
make life better for everyone."
Emma's lip curls. "Everyone, huh? Everyone but the drakoni."
"What are you talking about? He helps them, too."
Her laugh is bitter and takes me by surprise. "You mean he helps
himself to their bodies. He takes over their minds." She points at her
temple, her expression so full of anger that she looks unhinged. "He slinks
in there and uses them like fucking puppets, and you're okay with it?"
He…what? I shake my head. "No, you have it all wrong. That's not
what he's doing."
"And what is it you think he's doing, Melina?" She tilts her head,
watching me. "You think he's become their best friends and rocks them to
sleep at night? That he's singing songs to them and keeping them
entertained and that's why they stay with him?"
"I…" I struggle to find the words, because Emma's outrage is so
overwhelming it's throwing me for a loop. I look over at Rachel, but she
seems uncomfortable as well. Her drakoni mate, Jurik, hasn't shifted out of
his dragon-form either. He just hovers protectively nearby, his eyes whirling
a troubled gold and black. “This is a conversation you should have with
Azar.”
“I can’t talk to Azar,” Emma says flatly. “If I get anywhere close to him,
I’ll try to kill him.” She shakes her head. Some of the defensiveness leaves
her tone. “That’s why I’m asking you what he told you. What do you
honestly think he’s doing with the drakoni?”
"He's helping them," I say calmly, trying to settle myself. This woman
doesn't know Azar like I do. "I know it looks like he's using them, but
they're not in their minds, so he's protecting them until they can get back to
themselves."
"Oh, Melina. You're too nice. You don't really believe that, do you?"
Rachel winces. "That's why I brought you here. You seem like you
genuinely want to help the fort, and I want you to know the truth."
"What truth?" I ask, getting more frustrated by the moment.
"The truth of who you're sleeping with."
My fear has disappeared into anger. "He's not the most warm-fuzzies of
leaders, but just because you don't like him doesn't mean that he's doing a
bad job with the fort. I don't know who you think you are, stealing me out
here to try and spread a bunch of lies about my husband—"
"Melina," Rachel says, calm. "We didn’t bring you out here to lie to
you. Please, just listen. Please.” She turns to the other woman. "Emma.
This isn't a time to throw out accusations, all right? Just tell Melina your
story. She's smart. She'll figure out the rest."
Emma lets out a deep breath and rubs the fat cheek of her baby. She
glances back at the drakoni behind her and then at me. "Fine. My name is
Emma Arroyo and my brother and I were nomads. We haven't really called
a fort home in a long time, and I went off on my own after my brother
hooked up with some shady characters. I ran into my brother again, and he
says he's working for this new guy named Azar. That he's kinda a weirdo
but he's got plans, right? Plans to take over a fort and make himself an
emperor of his own little world."
I say nothing. Azar has confessed that in the past he worked with
whoever would listen to him, and that he'd done some terrible things and
worked with terrible people just to get a toehold in this world. I didn't judge
it—I don't think anyone alive has spent the last seven years since the Rift
opened being truly proud of all their actions. We just do what it takes to
survive. So Emma's words don't surprise me. I would rather know Azar has
stepped on people in the past and regrets it, than be with a man who refuses
to acknowledge his flaws.
"You know why they needed me?" Emma's practically bristling.
"Because he wanted my dirty panties to lure a dragon."
That startles me. I guess part of me was expecting to dismiss everything
Emma said as the rantings of a jealous or angry woman. But the panties…
I've talked with Azar about that and I don't like that he uses them to try and
lure more dragons to the fort for mates.
Emma practically pounces when she notices my attitude change. Her
words get faster, her expression more determined. "He used my scent to
capture Zohr." She gestures at the dragon behind her. "He pinned him down
while he was in human form and caged him so that if he tried to shift to get
away, he'd destroy his wings. Show her, baby."
Behind Emma, the dragon lifts one wing and holds it out, and it takes
everything I have not to gasp. Zohr's wings are not the delicate golden
membrane like other drakoni wings. They're tattered with scars, some
puckered heavily. The scars slice through his wings, terrible and old, and it's
clear to me that's why he's walking. If he can fly, it can't be for long
distances.
"He wanted to use him to fly up to the Rift and see if anyone could go
home. But Zohr wouldn't do what he wanted, so Azar decided he needed to
take over his mind." Emma's jaw clenches and her eyes shine with emotion.
"I freed him, and his wings got shredded. He wanted to be free, because
even injured and near death, it was better than being under Azar's control."
I'm stunned.
"The drakoni hate the Salorians," Emma continues. "They're enslaved
by them. They're forced to be their grunts, their fighters, and the Salorians
sit in their pretty cities and guide them from afar. Azar must be pretty low
ranked if he was actually with his troops when he went out to fight, but it
doesn't matter. What matters is that you know what he's doing."
I say nothing. Emma’s working herself up again, her frustration evident.
Emma taps on her temple. "Do you know how the Salorians trap the
drakoni? They send out mental lures and then take over their minds. They
use them like puppets. When their eyes are gray, it's because a Salorian is
nesting in their heads. They're not there. They could be fighting against the
Salorian with everything they have, and they can't win because the
Salorians are masters of mind control. Zohr will never come close to your
city because I don't want him or my son anywhere near Azar." Her hand
moves protectively over the baby. "That's why we're meeting out here. This
is as close as I dare to get."
I'm silent. I don't know what to say. Everything Emma says is truth
laced with lies. Or are they lies? I don't know. Azar told me that he's
helping the drakoni that sit on the walls, but what if he's not telling the truth
about that? He wouldn't lie to me, would he? Not over something like that?
"How do you know they're enslaved?"
"He did it to Vaan," Rachel says, chiming in. "You can ask him and
Gwen if you don't believe us. He took over Vaan and tried to force him to
come to the fort. He and Gwen are staying just because they're acting as go-
betweens for those that won't come near Fort Dallas…and because they
agree we need to work together to take care of whatever's threatening from
that Rift. The moment it's gone, though? You won't see any of us near the
fort ever again. We're only working with Azar because the alternative is
worse. No one's working with him because they think he's doing good."
Then why aren’t Gwen and Vaan out here trying to explain this to me?
But I know the answer to that. Gwen’s so pregnant she can’t ride right now.
I guess Rachel and this Emma took it upon themselves to have a talk with
me. I lick dry lips, not sure what to believe. "He—he said he's helping them.
That they asked him to help—"
They exchange a look, and that look worries me. I don't know what to
think anymore.
"They're enslaved," Emma says. "You can't think it's all right to enslave
dragons to protect people. Destroying one person against their will doesn't
make it all right, even if you're protecting twenty, or a hundred. You're still
destroying someone. Surely you can see that, Melina."
“Don’t talk down to me,” I say, losing my temper. “You know the
answer to that already. I would never, ever agree to let Azar enslave anyone,
but you're wrong about him. I promise you, you're wrong."
Rachel grimaces, her expression apologetic. Emma averts her gaze,
hugging her baby close. Her non-answer bothers me. Do they seriously
think I'm okay with this? If what they’re telling me is the truth?
“Maybe we’re wrong,” Rachel says lamely. Emma shoots her an angry
look, but Rachel shakes her head. “Look. This isn’t going how I thought it
would. Maybe we should just call it a day.” She sounds defeated. “I’m sorry
to drag you out here, Melina.”
For some reason, it’s that defeat in her tone that worries me. What do
they know that I don't? Would Azar really, truly lie about something like
this to me? They have to be wrong…but something tells me that Emma
with all her anger believes what she's saying. That she's been told that Azar
enslaves the minds of others. And if that's the case…
No. I'm not going to turn on Azar the moment someone throws a few
accusations around. Squaring my shoulders, I gaze at Rachel and Emma
calmly. "I appreciate your concerns. If what you say is true…"
I trail off. Because if what they say is true…what? Do I tell Azar not to
guard the city with the drakoni any longer? The idea of them being slaves
fills me with loathing, but would the rest of Fort Dallas feel the same or
would they only care that they're safe? Would they turn on me if I suggested
freeing the dragons? That dealing with their madness is better than
enslaving them?
To me, it's clear.
And if this is the truth…Azar is never touching me again.

I' m silent on the ride back to Fort Dallas. Emma's baby gets fussy, and she
and her dragon leave after filling my head with rumors and accusations.
Rachel admits that the mention of the medication was a ploy to get me out
of the fort, but they do have a stash that Emma brought as part of the cover
story. It's mostly ibuprofen and some expired antibiotics, but I'll take
whatever I can get. With the medication in my bag, I hug Rachel's waist and
try not to think about Azar and his potential betrayal.
How can he ever think a black woman would be content to watch him
enslave people?
It can't be true. It can't. He deserves a chance to explain, to tell me why
it looks like it does. I can't lose my faith in him just yet…but I keep
thinking about Emma's pain-filled eyes, the way they shone with tears when
she looked at her mate's wings. The way she refuses to let her baby
anywhere near the fort, even if it means saving the world.
She'd rather let the world burn than help my husband…which means
she's either unhinged, or what she's saying is the truth.
I don't know which version it is and that terrifies me.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel says for the dozenth time. “That didn’t go how I’d
planned it. I thought showing you Emma and Zohr would make a big
difference, but Emma’s pretty bitter. It felt like an ambush, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. My fear is gone, and it’s been replaced by a pit of
anger in my belly. I don’t know who I’m angrier at – Emma for this, Rachel
for her misguided efforts, or Azar, because he might not be who he says he
is.
Or myself, for thinking the best of him. I’m silent for the rest of the ride
home.
"Is it bad?" Rachel asks as we approach Fort Dallas, the slim tendrils of
smoke from cookfires easy to make out in the sky. The barricade looks kind
of pathetic from up here, something I'm noticing and makes me a little
anxious.
It takes me a moment to realize Rachel's talking to me. "Is what bad?"
"The thing in the Rift. He's not playing it up?" She looks over her
shoulder at me, her words muffled by the wind. "You believe him?"
I bite my lip. "Whatever is there, he's not faking it. He's terrified. It
wakes him out of his sleep every night." I think for a moment, and then add,
"When he does sleep. He's avoiding it now."
"Shit." Rachel is quiet for a moment and then turns her head again,
addressing me. "I have dreams, too. Ever since I got pregnant."
Ugh. "Does the thing in the Rift talk to you?"
She shudders. "No. But I can feel him reaching for something. Like he's
testing things. Seeing how far he can push. It scares me."
I swallow hard, because I don't know what to say. It scares me too, and
makes me feel helpless. This entire situation makes me feel helpless. And
what if Azar has been lying this entire time and suddenly I can't even
depend on him? My stomach churns with misery. I don't know that he's
lying, but something tells me that both Rachel and Emma believe that they
have the truth. "I wish I had answers. I wish that dragons invading our
world had been enough, but I guess not."
Rachel laughs, the sound mirthless and hard. "No, I guess not. Not for
us lucky souls." She sighs heavily, the sound almost torn away by the wind.
"Just for the record, I don't think Emma is right. I get why she won't help—I
get it, I do. She's protecting her mate and her kid the best way she knows
how. But that doesn't mean it's right. If we really, really need everyone, it's
selfish of her."
I can't condemn Emma, though. I don't like her, but if she believes what
she's told me, then I get it. If she'd rather watch the world burn than help her
enemy even in the slightest…I don't like it, but I understand it.
"Anyhow," Rachel says, her voice harsh. "I just wanted you to know
that's why me and Jurik are still here. It's not for you or Azar. It's because
we want to have a future for our children. To me, that's important enough to
put aside any other feelings until the situation's been dealt with. I've been
through one apocalypse. I don't want to go through another."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just get your husband in line," Rachel says. "Get him
to release the drakoni. Get him to stop enslaving people. Not everyone hates
him so much that they're willing to watch the world end again."
I think of Emma, and the agony in her eyes. I think of her cradling that
baby so reverently to her chest, and the pain in her voice as Zohr extended
his scar-covered wings.
If what she says is truth…I don't know that I'd choose any differently
than her. Sometimes you have to protect those you love at all costs, even if
it's the wrong choice.

I' m still thinking about everything as Rachel and Jurik land atop one of
the buildings in Fort Dallas. She immediately slides off her dragon's back
and holds her hand out to me, but I manage to tumble free of my own
accord. "Back in time for dinner," she says confidently. "You're welcome."
I clutch the bags of medication to my chest, not saying anything.
Instead, I watch Rachel's expression as she waits, gazing up at her dragon
with an intense, almost eager look on her face. She's not pretty—the scars
have destroyed any normalcy to her face—but her smile is fierce and
genuine when the dragon shudders and blinks away, and in his place, a
golden man crouches. He shakes the saddle off and moves to Rachel's side,
pulling her into his arms and pressing kiss after kiss to her scarred cheeks
and grinning at her.
It's so surprisingly sweet and normal that it makes me ache. Their
genuine love for each other is palpable, and Jurik touches her stomach
gently, then leans in and rubs his nose against hers.
And my heart aches at the sight. Because normally I'd be thinking of
Azar and how sweet he is with me, but…I don't know what to think
anymore.
I take the stairs down from the roof and then pause. Normally I'd head
over to the barracks. It's about time for the evening meal to be prepared, and
I'm exhausted. The flying—and Emma's accusations—have drained the
energy out of me. But I'm not ready to see Azar yet. My head is still full of
Emma and Rachel's words, and I can't think straight. I need some time
alone to figure myself out. So I head for the clinic, clutching the bag of
practically useless, expired medicine to my chest as if it's a lifeline.
I need to escape for a bit.
 Crossing through the settlement, I move so fast that my wrinkled skirts
slap against my legs. My hair feels like a tangled, windblown disaster and
my face feels chapped, so I probably look more than a little unhinged. I
don't care, though. My clinic is my safe place. I make a beeline for it and
kick aside one of the massive bugs crawling through the streets as I do. The
sight of it makes me strangely furious, and when another lands in my hair, I
have to bite back a scream of frustration.
When the clinic comes in sight, I approach one of the guards. "Can you
check me for bugs? I don't want to carry any inside." They dust me down,
pulling two smaller ones off the back of my dress and freeing the leggy
thing that's tangled in my hair. I bite back a shudder, thank them, and head
on in.
Alma is still working hard, changing the blankets on another empty cot.
She looks utterly wrecked, but manages to smile when I come in. "You're
back. Any luck?"
"Some," I admit, holding up the bags. "Not as much as I'd like. Another
death?" I gesture at the cot she's changing out.
"Luckily, no. This one recovered enough to go home, but he didn't
promise he wouldn't eat any more bugs." She rolls her eyes. "It's been fairly
quiet today, actually. No new patients, no new deaths."
I manage a smile at that. We've seen fewer patients since Azar started
handing out food supplies more freely. "Excellent. I'll take over for tonight.
You go on home."
She hesitates. "Are you sure? Will…will Lord Azar be upset?"
"I don't care if he is," I say, voice sharp. "He can deal with it."
Her eyes widen at my tone, but she nods, straightening her shoulders.
"All right. Thank you. I'll be back at noon tomorrow. If you need help
sooner, just send a runner over and I'll come back."
I nod and head for the room in the back I've carved out as my office.
"I'll just put these away."
When I open the door to my office, though, I don't find it empty. To my
surprise, a soldier is standing by the window, a guilty look on his face as he
holds a bottle over my nearly dead plant. I recognize him as Daniels, one of
Azar's particularly trusted men.
"What are you doing?" I ask sharply. "Why are you in here? This is off
limits."
 The look Daniels gives me is sheepish. "Um, I'm tending your
rosebush."
Of all the things I expected to hear, that…wasn't it. "You're what?" I
move forward and snatch the bottle out of his hands. Rose food. "You're…
tending my rosebush?"
"Yeah. I was the one that found it, and Azar said you were struggling
with it. That it made you cry to see it dying, so he gave me orders to come
in here regularly and take care of it. That no matter what, it needs to live
and bloom." He hesitates, and then continues. "He really doesn't like it
when you cry."
I feel like crying right now. "He…told you to do that?"
"He did." He pauses and then continues on. "He loves you, you know.
You're the most important thing to him. I think he'd probably send me out to
find you another rosebush if this one died, just so you wouldn't cry over it.
Or maybe he'd have me dig up a dozen." He shrugs. "Really, you just need
to quit watering it so much. See these yellow leaves that keep falling off?
You're giving it too much water and it can't absorb all of it. The stem is a
little soft, too. Just water it less and it should perk up."
I stare at the rosebush, uncomprehending. I'm watering it too much. I'm
the problem. Why does that hit me so hard today? "Thank you," I manage to
say to Daniels and hand back the bottle of rose food. "Sorry to panic."
"It's all right." He gives me another tentative look. "If it's all right with
you, I'd like to keep coming by and tending it. It'll make Azar happiest to
know that he's taking care of you."
He is, isn't he? In his weird, controlling way, Azar's taking care of me
the best way he knows how. Blinking back tears, I move to the cabinet and
unlock it, then start putting the medicine away. "You're free to tend to it,
yes. Thank you so much. I didn't realize I was over-caring for it."
"A lot of people don't." The smile he gives me is wary. "Sometimes the
best thing you can do for a plant is leave it alone for a few days."
Not just plants, I imagine. People, too. I know I could use a few days to
clear my head. But my clinic is still full of the sick, and as long as they're
here, I'll take care of them. So I just give him a faint smile of agreement,
shove the medicine in the cabinet, and head out to the main sickroom to
work.
It isn't until later that I realize I'm crying. That hot tears drip down my
face all night while I tend to the sick.
 I'm crying because Azar loves me, and I love him…but that doesn't
make him any less of a monster.

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Twenty-Four

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AZAR

W hen I head to the library that afternoon, I find a stack of books on

my table, left in a spot where I'm sure to see them. Someone's
been in here.
I pick one up and I can make out Gwen's faint scent is on it. Rachel’s
scent is here, too. Meddling females. My lip curls with distaste and I make a
mental note to have stern words with them. This is my private library, and
the only scent I want in here is Melina's. Even so, I'm not familiar with the
books that are out, and I silently mouth the words as I read down the spines.
Harriet Tubman
A Picture Book of The Civil War
Twelve Years a Slave
The Handmaid’s Tale
I pick the thinnest one up, flicking through the pages. And then pause.
I start from the beginning, reading. I pick up the next one and read
through it, and start on the next before I'm vibrating with unease. I read all
the shortest ones first, designed for children, and then start in on the longer
books. Gwen and Rachel are clearly telling me something. They know the
drakoni are not my servants by choice. And they are telling me—in a quiet,
subtle way—that Melina will think it is wrong. That humans have enslaved
humans in the past based on the colors of their skin. I think of my Melina,
and I think of her as blank and empty as the drakoni I control, and I
shudder.
I have to fix this. But how? How to protect the fort—and myself—
without leaving me open to assassins? It is not just my own safety I must
worry about, but Melina's, too. The wisest thing would be for me to keep on
as I have been…but if Melina finds out I am deceiving her about the truth
of them, she will despise me.
Clearly I have to change how I operate, and soon.
Pondering this, I close the books and set the pile aside so I can read
more later, and head to dinner. It is something I must resolve without
Melina ever knowing the truth. I would do anything to prevent her from
feeling pain over my actions, and I am learning with every day I spend here
on this world that the ways of the Salorians are not the ways of humans.
If I am to stay here, to stay with her, I must be human. Once, I loathed
the idea. Now, it entices me. I want to be the mate she can rely on, the one
she can depend on. I want her to smile at me always…and I want no secrets
between us. I am sick to death of secrets and schemes.
I am the only one at the dinner table this evening, but I am not surprised
by the absence of both Rachel and Gwen and their mates. They prefer to
take their food in their rooms if my mate is not around, and I do not see
Melina. I wait for her to come to dinner, but by the time the food gets cold
and she still hasn't arrived, I realize Melina must be working late once
more, toiling over the ungrateful wretches who continue to disobey orders
and eat the foul Rift-pests. I hate that she exerts herself over such useless
people, but I cannot blame her for her soft heart. It is that soft heart that
allows her to love me, after all.
But my mate will be hungry and tired. I have the food given to the staff
and ask them to pack up a few things for me to bring Melina to eat instead.
With a wrapped sandwich, a piece of fruit and a carafe of cool, fresh water
tucked away, I head toward the clinic, nodding at the soldiers who flank me
automatically. Sure enough, the lights at the clinic are still on, and when I
head inside, I find my mate giving dribbles of water to a sick man with a
greenish pallor to his skin.
She looks up at me and then flicks her gaze away, concentrating on her
patient.
"Come, my wife," I say, stepping forward. As I do, I pick up a strange
scent on my mate, that of another female. It feels vaguely familiar, but I
can't place it. Not that it matters. All that matters is Melina getting some
rest. "You look exhausted. Call your assistant to come and take over for
you."
"Alma's busy," Melina snaps out. She won't look at me, just keeps
giving sips of water to the sickly man in the cot. "I'll be staying here
tonight. You go back home."
Go home? Without her? Nonsense. "You've done enough for these
people for one day. I'll call in a few soldiers and—"
She turns to look at me, her gaze so accusing that I'm taken aback. "And
you'll what? What if someone dies because your soldiers don't know how to
take care of them? Am I supposed to be okay with that? As long as you get
laid it's all right, is it?"
I frown at her. It isn't like Melina to attack me like this. Question me,
yes. Attack me, no. Something's bothering her. "Tell me what's troubling
you, my mate. Let me know so I can fix it. I don't like seeing you unhappy."
Melina ignores me for a long moment, continuing to give the man sips
of water. When he stops drinking, she tucks the blankets close to his frail
body and then gets to her feet. Her gaze lingers on me, then on the soldiers
behind me. Her mouth purses and then she nods at the door at the back of
the clinic. "Let's talk in my office, please."
I'd much rather she come home with me, so I can bathe her and rub her
feet. I don't like how frazzled she looks today. How utterly defeated she
seems. Melina is strong and capable. I don't like seeing her with a miserable
expression on her face. It worries me. It makes me wonder how I can help.
How I can make it better. Does she need more medication? I ponder this as
I follow her into the back, waving my guards off. We've already scavenged
all the nearest parts of the abandoned city. Perhaps it's time to send some of
the men out farther, on a journey of several days. See what they can find
and bring back. Melina needs so much and she asks for so little that surely I
can manage this. I begin to make plans in my head, wondering how many
men I should send out, and for how long. Do they go on foot? Do we send
them out on the wheeled contraptions—bicycles—or will that just slow
them down if one breaks? What—
The moment I step into her office, Melina shuts the door behind me,
jarring me out of my distracted thoughts. "You and I need to have a heart to
heart," she says, voice dangerously soft. "And I need there to be truth
between us."
"Of course," I say automatically, frowning. Why would she think I
wouldn't be truthful with her? "What's troubling you?"
She moves over to her desk, leans against it, and crosses her arms over
her chest. It plumps her breasts magnificently against the neckline of her
gown, and I'm drawn to that delicious expanse of glorious skin. "Anything
you want to tell me?"
"You're magnificent."
That doesn't make her smile. "Anything else?"
My skin prickles with awareness. Has Gwen said something to her?
Were the books not a warning but a way of her getting some sort of subtle
revenge? Showing me how to act and then not giving me the time to do so?
I keep my expression vague, in case I am wrong. "We're increasing the
number of guards at the well to three at all times. We're not rationing it, but
some of the people have proven to be unwilling to listen to authority, and I
don't want anyone sabotaging it. Not after all the work we did to put it in. Is
that what you're upset over, love? If you have ideas, I'm open to changing.
Right now that just seems like the best solution—"
"Azar," she bites out. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"
I stare at her, because she keeps asking that. The look in her eyes is both
wild and sad, desperate and unhappy. Something's troubling her. Something
big. An uneasy feeling flares in my gut. "My love," I say gently. "If
someone has told you something awful about me, enlighten me. I've never
hidden my past, not from you. I've done bad things to get where I am, but I
have told you that before—"
"Do you know the name Zohr?" she asks.
I think for a moment, then shake my head. "No. Why?"
Her lower lip quivers, and it sends a knife through my guts. She's
distressed and I hate that. "Are the drakoni slaves?" she asks, her voice
wavering. "Are you enslaving them? The ones on the wall?"
I go still. Hot prickles of alarm move up my arms and over my scalp.
Breath leaves me and I feel as if I might choke. The secret, the very thing
I've been trying to protect her from…someone's told her. Even so, I try to
remain calm. Whoever has destroyed the faith she has in me—however
misplaced—is going to die. Painfully. "We've talked about this, my mate.
I'm helping them."
Melina's nostrils flare and she glares at me. "You're lying to me, aren't
you? When Emma said that you hurt Zohr—that you trapped him and tried
to use him to fly up to the Rift, I didn't believe her. I thought she was just
angry and using you as a target for her rage. But the more you speak, the
more I worry that it's the truth. You see, she knew a whole hell of a lot
about how you capture dragons, and that's the part I keep coming back to."
Emma. Emma. It gives me no…
Wait. The unruly female who ran away with my captured drakoni before
I came to Fort Dallas? Who destroyed my building with me inside and
nearly killed me as well? My memories of that time are hazy, but…I
remember her. I remember her, and I remember her vague scent…a scent
that lingers on my mate's clothes even now. "Who have you been talking
to?"
"You know," she hisses. "You know! Tell me the fucking truth, Azar.
Tell me the truth so I can decide if you ever, ever get to touch me again."
Hot tears pour down her cheeks, and she looks so beautiful in her fury. But
those tears…I hate her tears. I hate her sadness. I can't tell her the truth,
though. She would never love me after that.
I can lose everything but Melina. This fort, my powers, anything…
just…not her.
Please.
I don't know who I'm pleading with. "Melina," I say gently. "Just…
listen…"
"What kind of monster are you?" she whispers.
She knows. "Your monster," I say in a ragged voice. "Yours. Please,
Melina, let me explain—"
"My lord!" One of the militia knocks frantically at the office door. "A
drakoni with a rider has been spotted and they're heading for the barracks.
Your presence is needed!"
"Leave me be," I snap. I turn to my mate, desperate to touch her, to
caress her, to make her realize this isn't what I wanted. I need to fix this.
Somehow I have to fix this.
"But sir—"
Melina clears her throat. "He'll be right out." She turns toward me, "You
should go."
Go? Right now? It feels as if the world is ending around me. The light
in Melina's eyes, the joy when she looked at me—all of that has
disappeared and I'm helpless to somehow fix it. "I'm not leaving you. Not
until we resolve this."
Melina wipes her cheeks, composing herself. "There's nothing to say. I
have nothing to say to a slavemaster. You've betrayed me so incredibly
deeply that I can't breathe." A fist clenches between her breasts. "I've
defended you," she says, voice choked. "I've told so many people that
they're wrong about you. That you can be hard, but you're still fair. That
you've got the best interests of everyone here in the fort. I've had your
back." She shakes her head. "And you've never, ever had mine."
"That's not true," I begin, but my mate sweeps past me, her hand
fluttering over her tangled hair. She opens the door, smiles at the guard
waiting there, all composure, and heads out into the main room of the
clinic. She speaks to one of the men working beside one of the cots, her
voice gentle and even, as if she wasn't crying just a few moments ago.
I stare at her, my heart pounding in my throat. It feels as if everything is
tumbling away from me, and I'm helpless to change it.
I've been a Salorian all my life. That's what I know how to be. How do I
become the male that Melina needs?

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Twenty-Five

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AZAR

I storm out to the courtyard just in front of the barracks. My mood is shit
and growing shittier by the moment. I want to turn and look for my
mate, to seek out Melina's presence, but I don't want to see hatred in
her eyes when I look for her. I don't want to see the judgment in her gaze. I
don't have answers that she will like, and that's worse than no answers at all.
So I move forward, glaring at everyone that comes close.
"We think the dragon is going to land, sir," one of the men tells me
unnecessarily as I move forward.
Idiot. Of course the dragon is going to land. I can smell now that it's the
one from the walls, the one I lost control of, the one that the female said she
met in her dreams. He has returned with his female on his back, and when I
prod at his mind, I'm shut out quickly and firmly. Unsurprising, but
irritating.
I compose myself, keeping my face bland as the dragon makes lazy
circles overhead, teasing a landing. Behind me, I can scent Melina's
approach, and my blackened heart thuds heavily. Even now, she pretends to
be my supportive mate. I am utterly unworthy of her.
Silent, I watch as the dragon finally descends. He lands easily on the
ground, and I take another stab at his mind, but it is sealed off firmly. I can
feel a flare of annoyance that the drakoni sends back. He's aware of what
I'm doing and he doesn't like it. Judging by the glare on his mate's face, she
doesn't like it, either. As she descends off her dragon's back, the look she
gives me is both scathing and superior.
Something tells me this is going to go badly.
She takes a few steps forward, her chin held high. "First, let me say—"
"Inside," I snap. If she means to make obnoxious demands—and
judging from the look on her face, she does—she'd best do it in private. I
hate that I must humor all these pregnant females and their mates. They
have me trapped, all because I happen to want to defeat the evil one in the
Rift. I know if she asks for things, I must give in, because I need the child
she will produce on our side. I hate how helpless it makes me feel, though. I
hate all of it. I turn and see Rachel and Gwen and their mates standing next
to Melina, and it is as if the entire fort has suddenly turned out to see my
humiliation. "All of you, inside," I bellow. I turn and glare at the guards
waiting nearby. "You—back to your posts."
Melina picks up her skirts and heads for our home, and I ache,
wondering if it will be our home after tonight. I can feel the hurt vibrating
off of her, the betrayal she feels.
I am losing her. I am losing everything.
The new female—Janie? Jenny?—stands next to her dragon and gives
me a smug look. If this is a test of wills, now is not the time to be fucking
with me. I snarl at the drakoni male, still in battle-form. "When I say we are
doing this inside, I mean all of us. Your dragon will need to shift as a show
of trust."
The female crosses her arms, a stubborn look on her face. "But we don't
trust you."
"Well, then, we're not going to get very far with these negotiations, are
we?" I say, and storm away to end the conversation. If she wishes to speak
to me, she can come and join me in the dining hall. I gesture for the
gawking servants to follow along, since I seem to be feeding all my
enemies and keeping them close to me lately. Melina sits at her normal spot
at my side, her expression carefully blank. I dare not look over at her.
I'm not surprised that the female follows us in a short moment later, her
male at her side. They sit at the opposite end of the table, and the look on
the female's face is downright cocky. "We're going to need dinner," she
demands. "A good one. Not that shit you serve the soldiers and the girls in
the program. Real food. The stuff you eat. And fresh water that's been
filtered, preferably cold."
So it's going to be like that, eh? "It's always the quiet ones," I say aloud
for her benefit, and ring a small metal bell to let the waiting servants know
we wish to be served. "Dinner for my guests and a pitcher of cool water."
When the servant turns and leaves, I eye the female at the end of the table.
Jenny, I think. Her name was Jenny. "Name your demands."
"I'd like dinner first," she says, her tone fake. "You wouldn't want to
keep pregnant ladies waiting, would you?"
"Then you are pregnant?"
"I didn't say that." She gestures at Rachel and Gwen. "They're pregnant.
They probably want to eat."
"All the time," Gwen admits. "All the damn time."
 I drum my fingers on the table and dare a glance over at my mate as the
servants come in. Her gaze is distant, as if she's here physically but not here
with me. Desperate, I tap at her mind, but there is no response. Humans
don't have mental speech.
And I haven't given her my fires, because I didn't want her to know my
secrets…and now I've lost her forever.
I'm barely aware of my surroundings as the servants bring in soup and
fresh cornbread. Everything smells excellent, but I find I am not hungry in
the slightest. I try to focus on plans. The female is pregnant—or is hinting
that she is. Will one more child be enough to close the Rift? How will I
know when enough is enough? Or am I too late already?
As if sensing my despair, the thing in the Rift sends out a tendril of…
mental filth. Swallowing hard, I push it back and force myself to
concentrate. I cannot let that thing know my plans. I cannot let it inside my
head. Clenching my jaw, I glare at the new female as she shoves food into
her mouth.
"Well, for starters," the female prattles, "if Mhal and I come back, we're
going to need a nice room to stay in, and privacy. We also want food from
your cook, not from the barracks. I imagine we'll need supplies of all kinds,
too. I'm thinking clothing, saddles, shoes, home goods…"
"You will be a guest in my house," I say, annoyed. "That will be a given,
of course. You will have access to all the fort has to offer. Ask your friends
if you do not believe me."
I can feel the thick current of mental conversation between the drakoni.
I, of course, am excluded.
The female continues. "We're also going to require medical care when
pregnant."
"Also a given." I look over at my mate. "Isn't that right, my dear?"
Melina remains carefully remote. "I would never withhold care from
someone."
"Are those all your demands?" I ask, turning my gaze back to the girl
and her drakoni mate. Fools. They think they demand so much. They have
no idea how much I'd give. As if soup and a clean bed is a hardship they
must fight for. Am I truly that stingy-seeming to those that work for me? It's
another unpleasant realization.
Maybe everyone here loathes me. I didn't think it would bother me that
much, but I also didn't think Melina was included in those numbers. Melina
changes everything.
The female prattles on. "We're only going to be here until the Rift is
closed, or neutralized, or whatever it is we can do to take care of the threat
above. If that means two months, we'll be here two months. If it means two
years, we'll be here two years. If it means two decades…"
"God, I hope not," Rachel adds.
If it takes two decades, I will not last. Something in me will snap long
before that. Already I feel frayed at all sides.
"And," the female continues, "Manda and Daniels should be allowed to
marry."
I blink. "Who?"
"A few weeks ago, one of your militia soldiers asked permission to
marry Manda, who's in the panty program. You said no. You said if she left
the program, she'd be thrown out of the fort. They have nowhere to go, so
they've stayed on but they're both unhappy. Their lives shouldn't be fucked
over just because they fell in love."
Oh. I remember now. Daniels is the soldier that brought Melina the
withered plant she adores. At this moment, I care nothing for Daniels and
his female. All I can think about is my female, and the betrayal in her eyes.
But they look at me, expecting an answer. So I force myself to be as callous
as possible, because that is what they will expect. "I do not care about them.
I would rather not lose one of the females I've been feeding all this time.
But if it must be done, so be it."
Jenny wears a triumphant look on her face. "And we want you to free
the dragons that you're holding hostage."
At my side, I can feel Melina stiffen imperceptibly. I tense. Are they all
in this together? Has my mate been scheming with the others behind my
back? Angry, betrayed, I slap a glass of water off the table and jump to my
feet. "You go too far—"
"Stop it," Melina says, finally speaking. She puts a hand on my arm and
squeezes, then turns to Jenny. "I don't like it either, but he's doing this to
protect everyone."
My heart…feels as if it is cracking.
My Melina…even now, she remains solidly on my side. She will not
betray me in front of the others and side with them. I am utterly unworthy
of such a gift as her. Heart aching, I stare down at her. I don't know how to
handle this. So many emotions are tearing through me right now that I
cannot process them. I want to rage at this upstart Jenny who thinks she can
come in and demand things. I want to grab Melina and kiss her fiercely. I
want to press my face to her feet and beg for her forgiveness and for her to
love me.
Instead, I remain frozen where I am, paralyzed by emotion.
"No," Jenny continues. "He's doing it to protect himself."
"He needs all of them to protect us against the thing in the Rift," Melina
says.
Jenny's tone sharpens. "The babies protect everyone. The dragons he
has are zombies. They can't do anything. Their minds are gone. He's using
them to protect the fort, sure, but you've got three able-bodied drakoni
males right here at this table. They can protect the fort from anyone that
comes into this territory. If you free the ones you have captive right now,
more will probably match up with some of the women you have in the
program. They've been smelling their scents repeatedly for weeks now. You
might get a few more pairings and children if you just let them go. The fort
is protected."
The fort might be protected…but Melina will not be. I will not be. And
who will protect my mate if I am not at her side, flexing my power to keep
all in line? I recover, pushing back the surging emotions I feel. "I will not."
Melina is silent.
Jenny glares up at me. "You won't do it because you're afraid you won't
be able to keep control of the fort. Here's the thing—you've been a good
leader to the people here. The single girls are safe and protected. The streets
are cleaner than they were, and the militia listens to you instead of running
rampant. Fort Dallas isn't great, but you have things under control and we
don't want to take that from you. No one wants to run the damn place. You
do whatever you like, but you can't enslave drakoni just because it gives
you an edge. If you want drakoni to help you, you've got to give that up.
You're the enemy as far as we're concerned. You've always been the enemy.
You need to compromise."
I am…surprised by her praise. Perhaps I am not as reviled as I thought.
Even so, I don't want to discuss this in front of Melina. Melina, who I've
been so careful to shield from everything. I glance over at her, but her gaze
is fixed straight ahead. Bracing myself, I continue. "I will lose all control of
the fort if I free the captives. It is a necessary evil."
 "Is it?" Melina asks, finally speaking up. "Because they sound like they
can protect the fort. Is it true that you're just protecting yourself?"
I am protecting you, I want to shout. I am a Salorian. This is how we
wield our authority. This is how I keep you safe. But I see now that she is
no longer with me. Not as Jenny spills more of my secrets and makes it
seem worse and worse. I feel defeated, but I will not allow it to show. So I
do my best to bluff. "Not even you are with me, my mate?"
Melina flinches. Subtly, but I sense it. She remains quiet, though.
"I see." I bite back the betrayal I feel. That she is not on my side after
all. "Then hear this. The moment I release those drakoni, these will murder
me." He gestures at our end of the table. "I am, as they say, their enemy. I
am a Salorian. To them, I am better dead than alive. If I give up my control,
I have nothing left."
"I'm sure you'll find some way to be useful," Jenny adds in a snotty
voice.
I ignore her. Instead, I watch Melina. If I release the drakoni now, will
she forgive me? Will she understand that I did it to protect her? To protect
us?
My mate looks up at me, her dark eyes unreadable. "You're good at
amplifying the children's voices. Perhaps that can be your focus instead of
enslavement."
Now it is my turn to flinch. With those cold, cutting words, she has told
me where I stand with her. Conqueror. Despised.
All hope is gone.
Melina continues. "You will keep control of the fort because everyone
has seen you with the dragons in the past. They will think that you can call
them back at any moment. You don't need to keep them if we have
volunteers to keep the fort safe."
I am silent. I gaze at Melina, silently begging her to give me a sign that
she cares for me, but she looks away.
So be it, then. "You'll have my answer in the morning."
I storm out.

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Twenty-Six

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MELINA

I shouldn't follow Azar. I should just let him go. Let him retreat to lick
his wounds and call it a day. But no. I need to twist the knife, to let him
know just how much he's hurt me with his horrible, horrible actions.
I'm just so fucking mad at him. Betrayed. How could he do this to me?
How could he do this to them? I'm willing to forgive a lot, but I don't think I
can forgive this. Ever.
And that hurts just as much as his betrayal.
I stalk down the hall after him as he heads for our quarters. Part of me
wants to race ahead and grab him before he can even step foot inside. If he
thinks he's sleeping with me tonight, he's delusional. But I know that we
shouldn't argue in public. Even if I hate the way Azar is running things, he
still needs to be the ruthless leader. I know that appearances mean a lot, and
he's just now starting to win over the hold-outs. Plus…this feels private. I
don't want anyone else knowing our business.
I said I would be his mate in public, and I am his mate as far as anyone
else is concerned. How I feel about him in private is my business.
Instead of heading into our private quarters, though, he heads for the
library. I follow after him, resolute. When I open the door to step inside,
Azar is near the window, his head cradled in his hands, an expression of
pain on his face.
My heart thumps with misery at the sight. Even though he's awful, I still
care about him. He's betrayed me completely, but it's going to take time for
my love to fade, and right now seeing him hurting is painful to me. I shut
the door behind me and lean against it. "Headache?"
Azar shakes his head, and when he lifts his gaze, his eyes are glassy and
distant. "It…it's speaking to me."
"The Rift?" Goosebumps prickle over my skin. "What's it saying?"
"I don't know. I don't speak pure evil." He shudders, pressing the base of
one hand to his temples. "It's so full of filth and malice…it feels like it's
polluting my head."
"Tell it you've already got enough pollution in there," I snap, feeling
helpless. I'm torn between being angry at Azar and being worried about
him.
 "It's trying to worm its way in," he grits out.
Which reminds me of why I'm so angry. Jenny's ultimatums that she
gave below just reinforced that Azar has been lying to me this whole time,
and apparently everyone knows but me. I'm angry they kept it a secret from
me, but I'm angrier at Azar for being the instigator. I cross my arms under
my breasts and glare. "Doesn't feel good when someone tries to take over
your mind, does it?"
He shoots me a look. "Did you come here to gloat?"
"How dare you?" I lose my cool, storming over toward the window.
"How dare you enslave people and make me complicit?"
Azar's jaw clenches. He lowers his hand from his brow and gives me an
unyielding look. "You have known I was a Salorian all this time. You knew
I was Salorian when you agreed to be my mate. How did you think we
conquered the drakoni? Through polite words and empty promises?"
I glare at him. "It was different when you were being the bad guy. When
you were nice to me, I hoped…I thought…"
"That I wasn't Salorian?" His tone is cutting. "Or did you simply see me
in a better light because you chose to? Because it soothed your spirit to let
me touch you if you thought I was less evil? That I was not a cruel man?"
"You're not a man, remember?" I say softly. "And don't give me this
Salorian bullshit. Salorians aren't supposed to take mates, remember? And
you've been more than willing to fool around with me. Or are we only
applying the rules when they suit you?"
He gives me a furious look. That comment clearly hit a mark. His jaw
flexes, as if he's biting back angry words, but he's silent as he just glares at
me. And glares. I don't give an inch. I keep my arms crossed and my defiant
look on my face. I don't know what hurts me the most—that he's enslaving
people and doesn't see a problem with it, or that he has lied to me and
somehow made everyone think I'm fine with all of it. That he's been
blatantly betraying me with a smile this whole time.
That he let me fall in love with him.
"I was going to free them," Azar mutters after a moment. He rubs his
temples, his face strained. "I didn't tell you the truth because I knew your
heart was soft and you wouldn't like it. I didn't know about humans and
their pasts. That enslaving another people is bad here, in this world. In
mine, it is just something you do." He shrugs. "It is part of life."
 "It doesn't matter if it's part of life," I exclaim. "That doesn't make it
right."
"I was going to free them," he snaps irritably.
"But you didn't!"
Azar's throat works. After a long moment, he admits, "I did not, no. I
did not yet come to a decision that would allow me to keep everything
under control."
"Control?!" Is he serious? "You're not controlling anything, Azar. You're
enslaving people! You're destroying them just because it's easier for you
than having to take command on your own."
"I'm keeping you safe," he snarls.
"Do not put this on me," I warn him. "I would have never, ever
suggested that you fucking enslave someone. I would never have supported
you if I knew that was what you were doing. I asked you and you lied to
me. You said you were helping them."
"Are they in pain?" he counters. "Are they lost to the madness? In a
sense, I am helping—"
"No," I say flatly, raising a hand. "Do not justify this. It's wrong and you
know it is. If you didn't think it was wrong, you wouldn't have hidden it
from me."
He snaps his mouth shut, with no answer for that. He knows I'm right. "I
didn't tell you," Azar says in a low voice, "because I didn't want to lose you.
You're the only good thing in this world."
"You have to decide if you're going to be a Salorian or my husband," I
tell him. "You can't be both."
It's the wrong thing to say. Immediately, his face brightens. "There is
still a chance for me, then? You would stay at my side if I let them go?"
"I didn't say that." When Azar gives me another hurt look, I continue.
"You do not understand just how deeply you betrayed me. I'm not sure
you'll ever understand." I shake my head. "So right now, no, you're not my
husband. In public, I'll be your loving, supportive wife. I'll agree with
everything you want to do and we'll be a united front—provided you free
those enslaved drakoni. But as for you and me in private?" I swallow hard,
and the knot in my throat feels enormous. "I can't be with someone I don't
trust. Someone I don't respect."
Azar gives me a wounded look. "Then how do I win you back into my
arms?"
 That's a great question, and I'm not sure I have answers. Not yet, not
while this is so fresh and painful. I might never be able to forgive him, if
I'm being honest with myself. This isn't something I can bat away as “we've
all done horrible things in the past.” This is Azar continuing to do horrible
things. This is Azar not caring about other people's lives as long as his is
safe and secure. How do you force someone to care about other people?
How do you make them have compassion?
Or is he right and I've been imagining him to be a different sort of
person all this time, just because it was easier for me?
"Show me action," I tell him softly. "Prove to me that you're better than
this. Maybe then, we'll talk."
And I turn and leave the room.

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 Chapter

Twenty-Seven

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AZAR

M elina leaves me that night. She doesn't come out and say it directly,
but she tells the staff that the clinic needs her and she'll be staying
there overnight. She packs up a bag and heads there, and I know
she won't come back tonight.
I don't know if she'll ever come back.
My chest feels hollow and raw. Numb. I still have to figure out what to
do with the human and her demand that I free my captive drakoni. Melina
has made it clear she sides with the human female, so I must free them, of
course. I just need to figure out how to present it. How to manage to push
the drakoni away from the city while they're in their bloodlust without them
hurting any of my people. It will require a delicate hand…and to have it
happen when no one else is around and paying attention, perhaps.
I sigh, gazing out the window again at the ugly, pulsing Rift.
Something dark slithers through my thoughts. It speaks that wordless
language, the stream of gibberish I can't comprehend, the sounds that make
me feel as if I'm going mad when they croon through my mind. The voice is
stronger every day, the pull of it more powerful every time it reaches out.
One day I'm not going to be able to brush it off any longer. I won't be able
to resist its lure of death.
Because I know if I give in to it, it'll destroy me. It'll chew my mind up
and spit it out, and use me to push its way through to this side of the Rift. I
can't let that happen, so I have to be strong.
We are here, Sallavatri says. We can be strong with you. The child's
mind rings out like a bell, clear and true.
Do you feel it? I ask. Does it hound you like it does me?
It avoids us, Sallavatri says. Her thoughts grow clearer by the moment.
Good. Don't let it touch you. I scrub a hand down my face. Am I
kidding myself thinking that we can make a difference? That we can
somehow seal the Rift? The thing in there feels so damned strong. So
overwhelming. I can't do it alone. I'm not even sure I can do it at all. I might
just be delaying the inevitable.
I can feel the Rift, Sallavatri says. Just like I feel you. But it's hurt.
I sit upright, fascinated. What do you mean, it's hurt?
 It has pain, she tells me. It wants to sing with the rest of this world but it
has pain and its song won't come out right. I bet we can help it sing right.
How? I ask. I'm aware of how foolish I am, asking an infant how to
close the Rift. But Sallavatri and Luminoura are so in tune with this world
that perhaps they know something I don't. Perhaps their instincts have given
them a hint. How do I fix it?
You guide us, and we will make the Rift better, she says simply, as if that
somehow explains it all.
Guide you how?
There's a sudden tug at my thoughts, as if my mind has become slippery
and is skidding inside my body. I feel loose and unmoored, surrounded by a
sensation of strength and purity. It's Sallavatri, I realize, and she's trying to
pull me physically from my mortal form. The sensation is terrifying, and I
push back as gently as I can. No, Sallavatri. Not right now.
Immediately, the tugging stops. I feel another mind touch mine—
Luminoura—as if she is curious about the other child's actions. Can I help?
No, I tell them both sharply. No tugging.
It doesn't work, Sallavatri says, sounding disappointed. Your mind-voice
needs to be louder.
Louder?
Loud like when Papa is in his battle-form, she says. You need to be in
battle-form so your mind-voice is strong, like his.
I'm briefly insulted that she thinks my mind-voice isn't as loud as a mere
drakoni's. Of course, he is her father, so naturally she would think he is
strong. It takes me a moment to digest this, and then I realize what she is
truly saying. You want me to switch to battle-form? I…cannot. Battle-form
is corrupted in this world. I will lose control of myself entirely.
Most Salorians would deny they have a battle-form at all, but I know
the truth of it. We do, every bit as strong as any drakoni. I know, because
when I was laying in the rubble of a collapsed building, covered in burns
and dying, I gave one last surge of my strength to try and lift a piece of
concrete off of my chest. Instead of doing that, though, I shifted into battle-
form.
And I lost myself.
I have no memories of what happened after that. Just fire, and madness,
and the wind ripping against my wings…and then waking up here at the
edge of Fort Dallas, energy spent and in utter agony. I think I was in battle-
form for some time, as some of the worst of the burns had healed up, but I
don't know more than that.
I'm terrified of it happening again. I have no mate to bring me back. I
have not shared fires with anyone, so there is no mind to anchor to me and
keep me safe, no one to call me back to myself like Gwen does with Vaan,
or Rachel does with Jurik. If I shifted into battle-form, there's a chance I
would never return to myself again.
That's the way you can be strong enough, Sallavatri says again. That's
the only way.
What if there are more of you? I counter. More minds like yours and
Luminoura? There are more children coming soon.
I don't know, Sallavatri tells me. All I know is what I feel.
Then let's wait, I soothe. We will wait and see what it feels like when the
others are born. Maybe you won't need me in battle-form after all.
I hope she doesn't. If she does, I'm not sure I'm the one that can sacrifice
himself for the good of everyone here. If this world depends on me…
Well…it shouldn't.

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 Chapter

Twenty-Eight

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MELINA

A zar frees the captive drakoni. Of course he does. He's been backed
into a corner by me. He knows that if he doesn't do this, there's no
chance at all for us. So he releases them and makes it all sound like it
was his idea in the first place, that he's come to some big realization that
they aren't needed moving forward.
Bullshit. It's all bullshit.
I'm a little disgusted at how everyone buys it. Jenny's pleased because
she thinks she won some big battle. Azar's pleased because now he's got
Jenny and her dragon and the baby they're going to have. In addition, two of
the captive dragons flew off with local girls, so that means more mated
couples and possibly more babies, all of which plays into Azar's plan.
Why does it feel like I'm the only one getting fucked over in all this?
Doesn't matter. I won't let Azar walk all over me. That night, I stay in
my clinic again. I put a cot in my office and lock the door, and try to go to
sleep without Azar's warm, reassuring presence by my side. Even though
I'm exhausted, I still find it hard to drift off. I won't back down, though. I
know what's right and what's wrong, even if Azar doesn't, and I refuse to
support his actions even one iota.
I'm a little surprised he hasn't shown up to gloat. To say, see, I released
the drakoni and it was no big deal, I don't understand why you're so upset.
But he doesn't show up. It's almost like he's giving me space.
I punch my pillow, hating it—and Azar—and everything about all of
this. Flinging myself back down on the cot, I glare up at the moonlight. I'd
better get used to sleeping here, I warn my body, because I'm not going
back anytime soon.
If ever.

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Part Three

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 Chapter

Twenty-Nine

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MELINA

Months Later

I tuck a warm sweater around myself, skipping the flowing dress in

favor of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. We don't get many cold
days in Texas, but today is just brisk enough that I feel it inside the
clinic, and I'm glad I shut all the windows last night. With a yawn, I touch
the soil of my rosebush. It hasn't grown much, but the leaves no longer fall
off at the slightest breeze, so I take that as a win. Daniels has wrapped the
entire pot, covering the roots so my fragile plant won't be disturbed by the
cold.
It still hasn't given me a single rose, but that's all right. I've come to love
the darn thing anyhow. I love it for all its stinginess, and for how difficult it
is to love. It reminds me of the person that gave it to me.
Ah, Azar. My ruthless, monstrous husband. The guy I keep waiting to
fall out of love with, and instead, I just…keep waiting.
It's been months since Azar freed the drakoni. Months since I moved
back into my clinic to stay. Things have remained strained between us. A
lot of that is my doing. I told him to leave me alone and to give me space.
He's done so, to the point that now I feel neglected. Which is stupid. I
should be furious that he lied to me (and part of me still is) but for some
reason, I still worry about him. I still hope that he's safe and the stress of
ruling the city isn't too much for him. I worry that the thing in the Rift is
still talking to him, that he's going to snap under all the pressure of trying to
save the world.
Hell, I'm not even sure Azar wants to save the world anymore. Maybe
he doesn't. Maybe now that we've more or less broken up, he's decided to
change the plan. A smarter, less emotional woman would probably remain
in his bed, ensuring the fate of humanity. But I'm tired of being the martyr.
I want a real apology from him. A genuine, heartfelt realization that
what he's done is morally wrong. I haven't seen that, though. So far, Azar
has only released the captive drakoni because I told him to. That's not a
good enough reason for me…and so I stay on at the clinic.
 I suppose it's for the best. I peek out the door at the full sickroom and
sigh. It's like we recover from one thing and another hits us. This time it's
not the sickness from ingesting the bugs but a more common winter
problem—the flu. In the Before, the flu was a pain in the ass but rarely ever
deadly. Here, though, we've very little medication and no hospitals. I don't
have anything to combat the flu except a bit of chicken soup. So they show
up in my clinic, coughing and congested, and they stay until they slowly
recover or they die.
Far, far too many people have died.
I press my head to the door, fighting back fatigue. Lately, I've wanted to
just run away from everything. Fort Dallas has been getting busier and
busier. News of it being a “safe” zone has spread, and refugees from
outlying settlements show up regularly, squeezing in behind the fort's car
barricade. That puts a strain on everything—food resources, housing,
medical attention—and we're all feeling the strain. Azar continues to feed
everyone as I'd requested, but the meals have been getting slimmer as we
head into the winter, since the gardens won't be producing much. I've seen
the militia hard at work at the edge of town, building a new patch of garden
just outside the gates and erecting a fence around it for the spring. If we can
keep the wild drakoni from burning everything, we can grow more fruit and
vegetables. We won't be reliant on canned foods or expired goods from the
Before. I'm glad to see it, even if my clinic is bursting at the seams with
sickness.
At least I have a few regular assistants now. I take a deep breath and
step out, ready to face the day. I smile at Gary, a nerdy man with heavily
duct-taped glasses. Gary flunked out of medical school back in the day and
recently arrived in Fort Dallas. He seems content to let me run the show,
though he probably has more textbook medical knowledge than I do. I
wasn’t sure how he would handle taking orders from a black woman, but so
far, so good. "Morning, Gary."
"Morning," he says cheerfully, holding a mercury thermometer to a
child's mouth. "Phyllis and John aren't coming in today."
"They're not?"
"Flu," he says, grimacing as he takes the thermometer out and gives it a
hard shake. "And Alma's feeling under the weather, too."
Well, shit. "Looks like it's you and me today, then." I move to the
nearest cot, pressing my fingers to a woman's forehead. She's cool, which is
a good sign, and I check her over quickly before moving on to the next
person. We have a night-shift now, with Alma spearheading it, but they've
been hit pretty hard. I suspect we're all going to get the flu before it finishes
its run through Fort Dallas. "I'll tell the soldiers we'll need a grunt to fetch
water for us this afternoon, and we need some laundry changes."
"Sounds good," Gary says cheerfully. I wish I could be as chipper as he
is. I feel the weight of it all in my bones today. I'm tired of taking care of
everyone. I'm tired of runny noses and sickness. I'm tired of being the one
responsible for the well-being of Fort Dallas. I never set out to run a clinic.
I just did it because no one else was stepping up when anyone was ill, and it
was a way to get away from the man I was with at the time. I've just
continued doing it. And continued. And continued.
And today I just want to crawl back into bed and rest.
But I don't. I press my fingers to another person's brow—cool, too—and
continue moving toward the door. I open it and a blast of chilly air hits me
in the face. I shiver, displeased. I used to love the winter—a Texas winter,
anyhow—because it was a welcome, brief respite to the unrelenting heat.
Now, though, it just means more flu cases and I'm tired enough as it is. I
offer a small smile to the soldiers guarding the doors, because they're there,
day in and day out per Azar's orders. It doesn't matter if the two of us are no
longer together. He's still protecting me.
It…muddies how I feel about him sometimes, when I'm feeling weak.
"Good morning," I say. "When you bring lunch around, can you make
sure the cook has a big pot of chicken soup for our patients? And I'd love
some hot tea, as well. And we're going to need someone to help out today
with changing laundry and hauling water, since we're short staffed."
One of the soldiers has a red nose and sniffs loudly. "Of course, my
lady. We're on it."
Uh oh. "Are you sick?" I ask, worried. "Do you need to come in?"
"I'm fine, Lady Melina," he reassures me. "It's just a sniffle."
Yeah. Everyone here in the clinic said the same thing to me. But he
looks pretty strong and healthy. "When you come back, come see me
specifically," I say. "I have one last round of meds and some vitamin C I've
been saving. I want you to take them both."
He shakes his head. "You save those for the kids that come in," he tells
me. "They might need it more than I do."
 He's not wrong, but it's kind of him to offer. I smile, thank him, and step
back inside to tend to my patients.

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 Chapter

Thirty

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AZAR

T he fort is blossoming under my leadership. Is it arrogant to

congratulate myself? Perhaps. But I'm still pleased at how far it's
come along in the last few months. More people are coming to reside
here, the militia is growing, and my control extends by the day. We've been
able to organize groups for long-range scavenging, and we're expanding the
gardens in anticipation for spring. Food stores are stocked fully despite the
fact that we have more mouths to feed, and I'm confident our settlement can
continue to grow and prosper under my command.
It's the only thing that seems to be going right lately.
Well, that's not entirely true. Gwen's son Tunjozefren has the loudest
mental voice I have heard yet. Rachel has given birth to a daughter,
Malliope, and even the distasteful Jenny has birthed a strong son,
Arthromathan. Two other females are pregnant, and I have felt the flick of
minds from far away, suggesting that others are bearing drakoni children.
The mind-silence that has been present since I arrived in this world is now
filled with young voices. Young voices that declare their hunger, declare
that they are tired, or thirsty, or want a blanket. They speak all the time,
keeping me up at night and making it impossible to doze for more than an
hour at a time. In a way it is good. They are my army against the darkness,
and they grow stronger by the day.
But they are wearing me down. Their minds are linked so brightly and
sear through mine with such abandon that I cannot have a moment to
myself. I cannot lock them out, because I want them to be open and eager to
communicate with me. So, I listen as one babbles nonsensically while three
others cry about being dirty or hungry. This goes on all hours of the day and
night.
If the constant chatter kept the dark thing from my thoughts, I might be
more appreciative…but it doesn't. The thing in the Rift slithers through my
mind every time I relax, prying, seeking ways to worm inside my head. I
remain vigilant, but I am fraying upon all sides.
Even all that is not as bad as being alone.
I miss Melina. I miss my mate. I long for her touch, for her soft body
pressed up against mine, her smooth, silky voice calling my name. I miss
our conversations over books, and the way she laughed when I would eat
the sweet parts of my meal first. I miss everything about her, and the loss of
her has left me hollow in ways that the Rift evil's lurking presence never
could.
For the first time since I arrived here, I have felt lonely. I never thought
I would need anyone. Salorians do not, after all. They need nothing. But
Melina taught me that I could soften. That I could welcome her into my life
and it would be better. And now that she is gone, there is a hole inside me
that no amount of work can fill.
Melina left me behind the night I freed the drakoni prisoners, and has
never returned to my side.
It wounds me that she could abandon me so quickly. That she can
simply leave me and never feel remorse. Meanwhile, I have been lost
without her. I make my guards report back on her actions at all times. I
ensure she is given good food, the proper clothing, and that her clinic is
staffed with as many people as she can handle. Even if she does not want
me, I will take care of her. I will let her know I am waiting nearby, should
she wish to return.
She never returns, though.
I start to worry that I've gone too far. That I've hit—and passed—the
boundary of what my mate would find acceptable, and I've lost her forever.
The idea of staying here in this world without her at my side feels like
burning agony in my chest…but I can't leave.
Someone has to take care of her. Someone has to ensure that she's safe
and fed and she's not working herself too hard. Even if I cannot touch her, it
is my duty to look after her because she owns my heart and soul.
Because I have fallen in love with her, I will remain here always. This is
now my world, because she is in it.
So I do what I can to make it a better place. I work hard for the fort. I
cut back on my lavish meals and speak to the staff to find out their thoughts.
I learn that my voluminous, sweeping robes are troublesome for the laundry
servants to keep clean, so I switch to a darker robe that hides the dirt and
has less fabric. If I must be human, I must learn to be an excellent human.
I may no longer act like a Salorian, but Salorian ambitions will always
stay with me.
Laying in bed, I listen to the children speak to each other. It is early, the
dawn not yet turning the skies from twilight's purple to orange. I stare up at
the ceiling of my room, and my quarters feel cold and empty. I think of
Melina, how lucky I was to wake up and roll over and touch her glorious,
satiny skin. How I could just bury my face between her thighs at any time
and revel in her taste and scent. I was a fool to let all of that slip away.
What is a fool? Tunjozefren bellows into my head. His thoughts are like
lightning, bright and streaking across the calm with such intensity that I
flinch.
I am, I reply back, feeling bitterly full of self-loathing. I sit up in bed,
rubbing my face. You can tell your father I said that. He will get a good
laugh at my expense.
Papa is sleeping, Tunjozefren replies. Why are you not sleeping?
Because you are bellowing in my ear.
What's an ear?
I bite back a sigh, sending a mental image of an ear to him. He won't
remember. The children sound smart, their mental voices strong, but their
minds are still developing. They do not retain what I tell them, and their
thoughts drift all over the place. It is like trying to hold onto the mist,
controlling them. From a distance it is thick and hefty, but try to grasp a
handful and you come away with nothing. I shake out my dark robe and put
it on, sliding on my shoes. It is too early for a large breakfast, and I do not
like eating at my table by myself, anyhow. Since their children were born,
the females and their drakoni partners do not have regular mealtimes. It is
just as well. I hate being polite to them when my mate is not here.
If I were honest, I would get rid of everyone if I did not need them. I
need no one but Melina.
So I head down to the kitchens and offer a nod of greeting to the cook.
She beams at me as if we are friends and wraps a fruit-filled pastry in a
napkin for me, holding it out with a smile. I mumble my thanks, my head
full of other voices as the children rouse and someone starts nursing. Food,
Arthromathan mumbles in my mind. I like food.
And because I cannot think, I gently nudge for silence. The children
respond well to subtle commands—too well. It worries me that someone
else will take advantage of their innocence. I will have to teach them how to
shield themselves when they are old enough to retain what I teach them.
Biting into my pastry, I close my weary eyes and enjoy the silence.
darkness
 Something pries at my mind, squeezing painfully. I ignore it, trying to
see how far this dark one will push today.
destruction
The squeezing intensifies, as if my mind is some sort of boil he wishes
to lance. I keep eating, well-aware of what he's doing.
decay
I bite back a snort at that. As if I do not live in a world of decay and
destruction already. Is that supposed to entice me to lower my mental
shields and invite him in?
oblivion. I can promise you oblivion.
The pastry sticks to my mouth like glue. Abruptly, I push him out. It is
like wrestling with a coiling vine, and the more I pry him out of my
thoughts, the more he struggles to slide another tendril in. He's stronger
today, I realize with a hint of alarm. I've shown interest in what he offers—
oblivion—and suddenly he's that much harder to get rid of.
I can make the pain go away
you will feel nothing
Out, I command, and for a moment, the filth and darkness feels as if it
covers me. I am drowning in it—
Papa says you are right, Tunjozefren blasts into my head, searing away
the darkness. He thought that was funny. A fool is funny?
I cling to the child's bright, focused mind. Stay, I pant, unnerved. Stay
here for a moment with me, Tunjozefren.
Is the bad thing talking to you? Sallavatri asks. Is it time for us to help?
Not quite yet, I send back.
Are you afraid? Don't be. We will be with you, Luminoura sends. We
won't let you stay in battle-form forever. We promise.
You can hold onto our minds so you don't lose yourself, Sallavatri
offers.
No, I say quickly. No. You do not offer me that. You do not offer anyone
that, understand? Your mind is yours. When I say we will defeat the thing in
the Rift, it is because we are working together as friends. I do not want your
minds. I do not want to own you or control you. Understand?
You can, Luminoura offers innocently. We are friends. We trust you.
That makes me feel worse. To think I could snatch the children's minds
without the slightest bit of effort. Do not offer that. Never offer that.
But—
 I am your friend and I would not ask. Keep that in mind, I remind them.
A friend will not ask you to turn over your very being. The words are bitter
in my head, because I am a hypocrite, am I not? I thoughtlessly enslaved
their parents because it was something I have always done, yet when it
comes to these innocent, fragile minds, I am filled with loathing at the
thought of anyone tampering with them. If someone presses you and asks
you to give control to them, you ask me first, all right? I will tell you if it is
a good idea or not. I will tell you if they are a friend.
Warm affection buffets my thoughts and makes me feel even worse.
They should not trust me like they do. I imagine the power of the children
in the hands of a more ruthless Salorian and shudder to think. They are
strong in thought, as strong as any Salorian, but their fathers are drakoni.
They would be enslaved without hesitation.
As long as there is breath in me, I will never let that happen. So I give
them a new task to focus on, because their young minds get idle and bored
quickly. Do you see something shiny nearby? Can you reach it?
I have a fist, Tunjozefren announces. It tastes good.
I see a shiny, Luminoura tells me. It hangs above my bed! There is
music!
Excellent, I soothe. Tell the others all about your shiny. They will like to
hear about it.
And I will be soothed by the sweet prattle of their innocent minds,
touching one another while guarded by the safety of my thoughts.

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 Chapter

Thirty-One

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MELINA

I 'm exhausted by the time the sun goes down. My bones ache, and we've
had two more people come in with the flu, sneezing and shivering. I've
doled out a few acetaminophen, but I'm low on everything, as usual. I
have to be stingy with the supplies I have, saving them for those that seem
the worst off, whose fever doesn't break no matter how many times I cool
them down with gentle, wet cloths. It's far too many for my tastes, and I
want to smack Gary when he starts prattling on about the Spanish Flu of
1918 and how many people it killed. Apparently, Gary is a big fan of
disease history.
Gary also is bad at realizing that no one wants to hear about pandemics
when there are too many beds filled with sick people, so I do my best to
tune him out. I work at the far end of the clinic, so he can't talk to me unless
he shouts across the room, and I stay busy even though I'm so tired I feel as
if I'm dragging myself around the room.
One of the soldiers opens the door and ushers an elderly man inside.
Immediately, I put on my game face, giving the man a bright, welcoming
smile. "Hello, sir. How can we help you?"
The man has a sickly pallor to his tanned skin, his hair white and
sticking up around his head. "Don't feel so good," he mumbles, and I can
see he doesn't have many teeth left. "M'daughter said to come here."
"No problem. We'll get you fixed up." I move to one of the few empty
cots we have and pat it encouragingly. Once he sits, I pull the privacy
curtain around him, the hiss of the curtain moving through the runners
making me oddly happy. I'd complained to Azar about them months ago,
wishing I had some, and he'd insisted that his men go to one of the old
hospitals, figure out how they were installed, and then do the same for me.
It's just another small, thoughtful thing he'd done—
I push thoughts of Azar out of my head as the man begins to speak,
telling me his symptoms. No fever, no chills, but lots of vomiting and
stomach pain. I nod absently, putting a thermometer in his mouth anyhow.
"Have you eaten any of the large insects, sir? I know they get into
everything and sometimes they're impossible to avoid, but they make
people very sick."
 He shakes his head and his temperature looks fine. I continue examining
him, studying his mouth and throat. It's reddened from his vomiting, and his
stomach is a little distended, which is worrying, but other than that, he
seems better off than my flu patients.
I quiz him on his food and drink. The bugs coming through from the
Rift have been a relentless nuisance in the last few months, and sometimes
people get sick even without eating one simply because their food supplies
get infested, or trace elements end up on someone's hands, and then they
cook dinner, or change the baby. After talking with my new patient—
Donald Gutierrez, he tells me—I learn he hasn't been boiling his water
before drinking it, and make a mental note to have the soldiers check the
well again. Someone left it uncovered for a day last month and several bugs
got in and we had a rash of sickness for weeks.
"Just relax and sip some water, all right? I'm going to take care of you.
Do we need to send someone to your house to let your daughter know?" I
ask, helping him take his shoes off and get into bed. He shakes his head and
mumbles something about his daughter coming by later, and then the person
in the cot next to his starts sneezing wildly. I frown over at them, then back
at Donald. He needs another bed, one preferably away from the flu patients,
but I don't have the room. "You keep this curtain shut at all times, okay? I'll
be back to check on you and if you need anything, you stay here and wait.
Don't come out because I don't want you to get sicker."
I show him the bedpan and give him a glass of water, and then a couple
of the hard, dry honey-and-corn cakes that most patients seem to be able to
keep down, and then slide out from behind the curtain. I need to tell Gary to
keep Donald behind the curtain, and when we get a bed open away from the
flu patients, we need to move him. I should probably do my rounds again,
but I really just want to sit down first—
"Melina?"
A voice calls, and I lift my weary head to look toward the door.
Rachel stands there, her baby daughter in her arms. She gives me a
tentative smile. "Is this a bad time?"
My surprise turns to horror, and I touch her shoulder, trying to pull her
toward the door. "You shouldn't be here. The flu—"
"It's okay," she says brightly. "The drakoni don't get sick, so Malliope is
fine, and Jurik told me that since I have his fires, it's that much harder for
me to get sick as well. We won't be affected." She peers at me. "Are you all
right? You look…drained."
Am I all right? I want to laugh, because no one's asked me that in
forever. "It's just always busy. I'm hanging in there." I gesture at my office.
She says they won't get sick but I'll still feel better if that fat-cheeked baby
isn't near the sickroom. "Did you want to come to the back?"
Rachel nods brightly, following me when I head behind her. She's been
a different person since her daughter was born. Since Malliope's
appearance, Rachel has mellowed a lot, no longer carrying her bitterness
with her like a cloak. She smiles a lot more, and I've even caught her
laughing at something Jurik has told her. She seems…happy. I'm glad for
her.
If she notices my messy cot in the back of my office, Rachel doesn't say
anything. She sits across from my desk and settles her daughter in her lap.
She's a huge baby, with lovely golden skin and whirling eyes like the other
drakoni. She watches me with a fascinated gaze as I move to the far side of
my desk and sit in my chair. "What can I help you with?"
Rachel hesitates for a moment, and then tilts her head, studying me.
"Have you…talked to Azar lately?"
I give her a look. "We're separated," I say, as if that isn't completely,
utterly obvious. I try to support him in public, putting on my fancy dresses
and smiling blankly at his side when he wants to put on a show, but the rest
of the time, I hide out here in my clinic. Rachel lives in the compound with
the other drakoni and Azar, though. She would know that I'm not there. For
her to ask something as strange as that feels…disingenuous. "Is there a
problem?"
"No, actually…" She thinks for a moment, chewing on her scarred lip,
and then adds, "I wanted to come and say thank you."
Now I'm confused. "Thank you?"
"Whatever you said to him really worked. He's had a change of heart."
She hugs her squirmy infant closer to her chest. "I just wanted you to know
that you have made a difference with him."
I stare at her blankly. Either I'm too tired for this to make sense, or I've
missed part of the story. "Rachel, I can honestly say I have no idea what you
are talking about."
"Oh." She considers this for a moment, and then when Malliope reaches
for her long hair, she shifts her in her lap. "You know that Jurik can hear the
babies, right? That all the drakoni can?" When I nod, she continues. "I
really wish I could hear it, because I'd love to know what Malliope is
thinking at all times. It's strange being a mom. All of a sudden there's this
weird, little vulnerable person who needs you for everything, and you
suddenly feel so responsible to make sure that they're happy and healthy."
She touches one of her kicking feet, sheathed by a crocheted pink bootie. "It
really makes you re-evaluate everything."
"I'm glad for you." I'm not sure what this has to do with me or Azar, but
Rachel is clearly a devoted mother.
She clears her throat. "Anyhow. Jurik can hear the babies talk, but
Malliope is…different. She's not booming like Tunjozefren, but she's got a
different sort of strength, Jurik says." Rachel straightens, practically
preening with pride. "Her mind is really strong for all that she's young. And
lately, Malliope has been…broadcasting a bit."
"Broadcasting?" I ask.
"Yup. So Jurik has Azar mentally 'blocked' at all times. It's a defense
mechanism against Salorians, so he can't sneak in and start messing around
in Jurik's head. I think most of the drakoni automatically shield themselves
to minds like Azar's. But Azar talks to the babies. You knew that, right?"
I nod. The biggest part of Azar's plan is that he hopes to guide the
children into being able to somehow close the Rift. He's in communication
with all of them, even the ones that don't live in the fort, like Claudia and
Sasha's babies. His mind is so powerful he even mentally “taps” at the ones
that aren't born yet, though I don't say any of this to Rachel. She's not an
Azar fan.
"Well, Malliope is really good at broadcasting conversations with Azar
back to Jurik. I don't know if she realizes she's doing it, or if Azar knows
about it. That's why I wanted to come to you and talk to you about it. At
first I was worried, because I was wondering what the hell he could
possibly say to my kid. I've always been a little worried that Azar would
talk badly about Jurik or myself and we wouldn't know about it. That he'd
somehow turn Malliope against us." She bites her lip again. "The only
reason we haven't left the fort is because I know that evil is out there,
waiting, and we have to do something about it. But it's a concern I've had."
I purse my lips. I can't say, “No, Azar wouldn't do that” because I
thought I knew the man but it turned out I didn't know him as well as I'd
hoped. I know he envisions himself as a ruthless leader, but once upon a
time, I would have said that he wasn't. That he's got a soft heart despite his
prickly exterior. Now, I just question everything.
"Once Jurik told me that he could 'hear' the conversations, I told him to
keep listening in quietly. To find out what was going on. Basically, to spy."
Rachel toys with her daughter's feet, as if she feels the need to constantly
touch and fuss over her. "And he's been listening for days now and…it's all
good things."
"Good things?" I echo.
Rachel nods. "He entertains them. He talks to them. He encourages
them to reach out to us when they're upset or tired, not to use the mind-
speech but to actually physically reach out to us, especially the moms. We
can't hear them, and sometimes it feels like we're left out." Her expression
grows wistful. "And Azar tells them how smart they are. How clever and
strong. He's never impatient with them or ugly. No matter what time of day
or night they wake him up, he's patient with them and talks to them. I think
he doesn't know how to deal with infants, so sometimes his answers are a
little puzzled, but he always keeps his mental voice happy and positive and
encouraging. And do you know what's completely and utterly terrifying
about all of this?"
It doesn't sound terrifying at all to me, actually. It sounds really sweet. It
sounds like the Azar I thought I loved.
"They love him," she says. "And they trust him. They trust him so much
they're constantly volunteering that he push into their minds. That he take
over so they can 'fix' the Rift."
I go still. It feels as if I've been dipped in ice. I can't breathe. "They
what?"
"Right? That was my reaction. I freaked out. Jurik had to calm me
down. Apparently they volunteer this all the time because they're babies and
they don't know any better. I thought this was some shitty plan of his to get
them to trust him, and then he'd just waltz into their innocent minds and
take over." She shakes her head. "Instead, he's encouraging them to build
mental shields. He tells them NOT to give their minds up to anyone, not
even him. He's constantly reminding them that they need to be in charge of
themselves, and how to protect their minds, and that if something starts
fishing around in their heads to tell him and he'll take care of it. He's
protecting them, Melina." She seems puzzled. "It's like…he really
understands them. He sees them as more than just tools. I know he's
enslaved drakoni in the past, and I can't forgive that part, but when I hear
how he is with the kids…I feel better. And I just wanted you to know."
I shake my head. "I…don't understand. What does this have to do with
me?"
"You've changed him," Rachel says. When I give her a skeptical look,
she shakes her head and continues. "I know it sounds like crap, but Jurik
and Mhal have both worked with Salorians in the past. They say that they're
hard and awful and without a single shred of compassion. That they don't
think twice about enslaving the drakoni because they don't think of them as
people. Hearing how Azar was with the babies, though…"
I'm not convinced. "He probably knew someone was listening in." It'd
be like Azar to “perform,” to be the man people expect him to be, all so he
can get ahead. He's sly, my husband. He knows how to manipulate.
But Rachel shakes her head again. "That's just it. Jurik's been listening
for a while now and Azar never changes his tune. Not once. He has no idea
that Malliope is broadcasting to Jurik what Azar is saying. He genuinely
looks out for the children. I just…wanted you to know that you did make a
difference. I know the two of you aren't speaking, and I'm not saying you
need to forgive him. That's your thing." She shrugs. "But I wanted to let you
know that he's not completely without hope."
I don't know what to say to that. It's nice that he has boundaries that he
won't cross, but at the same time, I'm not ready to forgive. I'm tired. I'm
tired of being the one that always has to bend, always has to accept that
Azar has lied to me or done something that I can't abide. I'm tired of being
the one that has to give. "I appreciate it," I say to Rachel. "He…didn't send
you here to praise him, did he?"
Rachel laughs, an amused look on her face. "He doesn't even like to
pretend that I exist. Malliope, he likes, Jurik, he tolerates. Me, he can't
stand. He wouldn't ask me to spit on him if he was on fire."
"I just had to check."
"I get it." She gets to her feet, hefting her baby in her arms. "Mostly I
just wanted to come by and talk to you. Are you sure you're all right? You
look…tired."
Of course I look tired. I'm exhausted. Always. But I pin a smile to my
face, because I suspect Rachel doesn't really want to hear about my
troubles. "I'm managing, but thank you for asking."
 She heads out and I see her to the door of the clinic and then head back
to my office to get a second sweater, as I can't seem to get warm. As I pull it
over my head, I think about Azar and what Rachel said.
I hate that I still love him. I hate that I still think about him constantly.
That I miss him. That I'm as hungry for his touch as I am for his sharp
tongue. I've never felt so lonely as I have in the last few months, so utterly
without hope. He hasn't given me any indication that he misses me, either.
He hasn't come after me or checked up on me. It was like the moment I left
his bed, we were in two separate cities.
That hurts me as much as the lying. If he loves me the way he says he
does, how can he just completely walk away from our relationship? If he
knows he's done wrong, why doesn't he fight to prove to me that he's fixing
things? Why doesn't he fight to keep me?
With a sigh, I wrap my new sweater tighter around myself and go back
to work.

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 Chapter

Thirty-Two

OceanofPDF.com
AZAR

A fter another exceedingly long day of fort minutiae, I have a throbbing

headache and bone-deep exhaustion. One can be remedied by a nap,
but the exhaustion will remain at my side until the Rift is closed, I
suspect. There is too much to do, too many things that need my hand in
them, and no one to help me. Not that it matters, since I don't sleep well
without Melina at my side. As I head toward my quarters, I realize I've
forgotten to eat. It's not that I'm hungry. I've lost my appetite for a lot of
human things without Melina at my side.
Not much matters without Melina. I haven't read anything in weeks. I
can't concentrate enough to finish a book, because there's no smiling mate
waiting at the end of the day to ask me what I thought. I have no one I can
share ideas with. No one to talk to, no one to discuss my worries with.
Everything feels empty without her, but if this is what makes her happiest, I
shall strive to make the best of it.
I know I have to keep my strength up, however, so I turn and head for
the kitchens. I'll grab a bite there, enough to tide me over until tomorrow,
and then head to bed. Rubbing my brow, I cross the compound, silently
filtering the babble of infants so I can hear the voices of others around me.
Daniels is somewhere nearby with his female, the thick scent of their recent
mating heavy in the air. I pick up the scents and voices of dozens of females
—my panty program females. We have had no more matings since I
released the drakoni from my hold on them, and I've stopped sending out
the females to try and lure more dragons in. I still feed and house them,
though, because they are dependent on me. They help out, doing laundry for
the militia, assisting with food distribution, and a few are teaching children
at the school I recently set up. There is even a library, which pleases me
greatly. I am fascinated by how much knowledge the books hold, and I want
all of the fort to flourish with this information. The more we all know, the
stronger we will be.
As I turn down the hall toward the kitchens, someone is singing a small
tune.
"Late-night run?" another asks as I put a hand on the door.
 "To the clinic," replies another, and I catch the scent of soup. "More
food for the sick, and a little extra for Melina herself. Poor lamb looks
dreadful. She's running herself ragged—"
I fling the door open, wild eyed. "What about Melina?"
The two cooks stare at me with terror, one clutching the handle of a
rolling wagon filled with containers of soup.
"What. About. Melina?" I ask again, my heart seizing in my chest.
"Why is she a poor lamb?" I'm desperately craving any crumb of
information about her. Does she wear my dresses? Does she ask about me?
Does she sleep well at night without me in her bed, or does she struggle as
much as I do? Has she laughed recently?
Has she laughed since she left me?
The cooks exchange a look. The one with the cart hesitates and then
speaks. "I normally do the deliveries to the clinic and I've noticed she
looks…frail, my lord. Very tired. That's all."
Frail?
Frail? Someone has let my beautiful mate work herself into frailty over
the sick? Indignation and fury blaze inside me. "You," I say, pointing at the
one with the wagon. "Accompany me to the clinic. Right now."
"O-of course, my lord," the cook stammers, confused.
I turn and slam out of the kitchens, practically racing across the
compound with quick, long strides. My thoughts whirl with worry over
Melina. She has plenty of staff—I have seen to it. Why is she allowing them
to work her relentlessly? She should be supervising only. She should be
running things and passing off the work to her subordinates. And now I am
hearing that she's fragile?
I want to scream with rage. Instead, I turn and glare at the cook and his
bouncing cart full of soup containers. "Hurry up."
"Coming, my lord," he calls frantically, and the cart gets noisier as he
drags it down the dirt road.
It's late, the moonlit sky clear overhead and cold. Smoke from the
clustered homes is thick in the air, along with unwashed bodies. The Rift
pulses overhead, a faint, sickly green visible even at night, and the rooftops
crawl with insect life. A bug lands on my sleeve, big as a crow, and I pluck
it off and toss it over my shoulder without breaking stride. Up ahead, I'm
not surprised to see the lights still on in the clinic, the glass doors showing
movement inside. The guards nod at me as I approach.
 I ignore them, heading inside and scanning the occupants for my mate.
Her scent is here, along with the repulsive scents of sickness and death.
There's a male at the back of the room, wearing a red armband over his
militia uniform sleeve, a symbol that he works for the clinic, but I don't see
my mate. The curtains are up in several parts of the room now, and I stride
forward, determined to rip them all from the walls if necessary. "Melina?"
A woman steps out from behind one of the curtains, a bucket of
something foul in her arms. It takes me a moment to realize that this
disheveled, wan creature is my glorious mate.
As the humans say, what the fuck?
Melina has lost weight since she was last at my side. Even with layers
of clothing on, she is far too thin. Her cheekbones are prominent, her face
no longer full and healthy. She looks tired, too, and her beautiful hair that
she is so proud of and takes such loving care of is tied back in a simple,
scraggly tail. Her basic, bland clothes are stained and wrinkled, and her
shoulders are slumped. Most worrying of all, her eyes look dull.
I do not like this.
I straighten to my full height, giving her an imperious look. "What is the
meaning of this?"
Melina looks around, her expression puzzled. "Meaning of…what?"
"I can tell just by looking at you that you're working too hard." I sweep
toward her, my robes dragging around my legs. I get to her side and touch
her chin, her skin warm and dry under my hand. I tilt her face up, studying
it, and she makes a half-hearted attempt to break free from my grasp.
"There are circles under your eyes."
She bats at my hand. "That's probably because I'm tired."
"Where is the staff that I have sent? The ones that are supposed to be
helping you?" I lower my hand and smoothly rest one on her back instead,
gently nudging her toward her office.
"They are helping me," Melina says, her voice weary. "It's just that half
of them are sick and so everyone's having to pick up the slack."
"Sick? Sick with what?"
"The flu. It's a seasonal thing. This year seems to be worse than most."
She shakes her head. "It'll die down. We just have to make it through the
busy time. Give it a few more weeks."
In a few more weeks, she'll be so frail that she would lose a fight with a
child. I let her make her excuses, though, guiding her toward her office. The
beds in the clinic are full, and Daniels has mentioned that to me, but I
thought it was simply from the locals continuing to eat the bugs despite the
constant warnings we give them. Another type of sickness? I don't like this.
It seems like this world was made to take advantage of my poor mate's
generosity.
Well, no longer. I mean to put a stop to it.
The moment we're inside her office, I steer her toward the pathetic cot
that is supposed to be her bed. There is a pillow, but the only blanket is the
one she's wearing, and it is frigid inside. "Where is your bedding?"
"We needed more for the patients," she says, sitting down on the edge of
the cot bonelessly, as if she doesn't have the strength to function. "So I gave
them mine."
"Foolishness," I snap. "I will have more brought." I kneel at her feet and
take one of her shoes off. It's a grubby sneaker, with the laces that always
confound me. I'd rather rip them away, but I know Melina doesn't like that,
so I carefully pick at the knot tying it. "Are you hungry? My servant
brought food. Hot food."
Her heavy, tired eyes flicker with interest. "That's great. The sick could
use a warm meal—"
"I brought it for you," I bite out, irritated that once again, she's not
thinking of herself. "They can eat when you've had your fill."
"The sick need it more than me—"
I shake my head. "When will you understand that I care nothing for
anyone here but you? If I say you need to eat every bite, you need to eat
every bite and they can have your scraps."
"Azar," she protests softly.
I know she doesn't like that answer. Her too-soft heart wants to feed
everyone and heal them all herself, even if it runs her into the ground.
"Lucky for you I brought extra," I grumble. "So don't complain at me.
There's enough to go around."
She's silent as I pull her shoes off, and then I rub her feet. One of her
socks has a hole in the toe, so I carefully work her toe back into the sock
itself, noticing that there's no pink polish on her toenails now. She loves
pretty nails and pretty hair. The fact that she hasn't had a chance to take care
of herself tells me plenty about the situation, and I'm angry. I'm angry that
all these peons think they can take advantage of my mate's soft, generous
heart, and I'm angrier at myself because I've been giving her space.
 No longer. Melina clearly will not use the space to take care of herself
so I will have to step in.
I rub her feet, working the arches with my fingers as I study her face.
Her eyes have drifted closed, and she makes not a single sound of protest to
my bullying ways. It's not like her, and that must mean she truly is tired.
The sight of her, worn down like this, makes me ache. Even if we are not
bonded with fires, it's my responsibility to watch out for her. I have my men
report back to me regularly, telling me of her movements, but they have not
told me that she is weary. That she is tired and not sleeping.
I have not been asking the right questions, so now I will not rely on
second-hand reports. I will see to her comfort myself. As I rub her feet, I
glance up. "Are you thirsty? Shall I get you some water?"
She shakes her head. "I'm all right. I should probably get back out there
and help Gary. He's been here since dawn." But she doesn't get up, her
expression peaceful as I massage one foot and then the other.
"You will stay right here and let me tend to you," I reply. "And that's an
order from the lord of the fort."
Melina lets out a tiny snort, as if amused, but doesn't get up.
When I've rubbed her feet and calves, I stand. "I want you to stay right
here and relax. I'm going to get your dinner and more blankets, and then
you and I are going to talk."
She makes a face at me, pulling the thin blanket tighter around her
shoulders.
I'll take the fact that she's not protesting as a good sign. I head back
through the clinic and see the food supply is being distributed by my
soldier. Marching over to the cart, I snag one of the canisters before he can
grab it and glare at him. "I want more blankets brought here as quickly as
possible. Let one of the others pass out the food."
"Of course, sir." He scrambles to respond, quickly emptying the cart of
its contents. "The blankets are for the patients? How many do you want?"
I stare at him. "I want blankets for my mate." Then, because my temper
is threatening to get away from me, I scrub a hand down my face and take a
deep breath. "Bring blankets for the patients, too. But I want soft, clean
blankets for Lady Melina. Bring those to me before anything. Understand?"
"Right away," he says, racing out the door and forgetting his supply
wagon entirely.
 Sometimes I swear I'm surrounded by fools. With a sigh I take the warm
container of soup, grab a spoon and a recently filled bottle of water and
head back toward Melina's office. When I return, she's still huddled in the
same spot, clutching the blanket to her and looking so pitiful it makes my
heart hurt. She shivers, trying to tuck the blanket tighter around her.
That does it. I set down the container of soup nearby and start
unbuttoning the high collar of my robe.
Melina looks up at me, frowning. "I don't know why you're getting
undressed. I'm not going to have sex with you just because you brought me
soup."
I shrug off my robe and tuck it around her shoulders. "Wear this. It's
warm."
She stares at my bare chest, then at the light trousers I wear underneath.
"You're not cold? I thought you hated this weather."
I do. It's absolutely miserable and I can't imagine how these people can
function during the cold months. From what I've been told, it's far, far
colder to the north of here, but the drakoni can have those lands as far as I'm
concerned. This is as icy as I want to get. "I'm fine. You're not. Put it on."
Melina drops her blanket and clumsily pushes one arm through one of
my sleeves. I help her with the other, worried at how weak she seems. Her
skin seems warm enough when my fingers brush over her, but her lack of
energy concerns me.
Once she has the robe on, I drop to my knees in front of her and button
it up, then layer the blankets on top of her again. "One of the men will be
bringing more blankets soon. Until then, I'm going to get some soup inside
you. Are you still cold?"
"I'm okay," she whispers.
"That remains to be seen," I retort. "You don't look okay to me. You
look as if you're falling apart. Are you pining away because you're missing
me? I read in a book recently that a princess did that because her father
wouldn't let her marry the fool prince she wanted. Here I thought you were
stronger than that, but perhaps not." I watch her to see if my barbs make her
perk up and fight, but she just huddles on the bed, as if it takes all her
energy to sit there and do nothing.
Hmm.
I grab the container of soup and peel the lid off, then spoon a bit of it
and hold it out to her. "Eat."
 "I can feed myself," Melina protests weakly.
"Yes, you're clearly doing a spectacular job with it. Just eat, all right?" I
hold the spoon to her lips. For a moment her eyes flash with a bit of her old
fire, but then she obediently opens her mouth and allows me to feed her.
Melina manages a few bites before she shakes her head. "No more."
"You've barely eaten enough to keep a child alive," I protest. My worry
continues to rise. This isn't the fierce, independent creature that holds my
heart. The woman in front of me is fragile and struggling. "Are you…would
you tell me if something was bothering you, Melina? Something else that
perhaps I've done?"
Have I somehow done something else that would upset her and cause
her to not eat or drink? I've heard of dishonored generals taking their own
lives with poison, but surely Melina wouldn't do such a thing. She would
poison me before she would ever poison herself. Even so, something seems
amiss.
"I'm just really tired," she whispers. "And cold."
Still?
I reach out and stroke her cheek and she immediately grabs my hand,
clinging to it. "You're so warm, Azar." She presses my hand to her cheek
and to my surprise, her fingers are ice cold even if her face is not. "Can you
help me warm up? Just for a little?"
Something is wrong. She has barely wanted to look at me since the truth
came out and I set the drakoni free. I nod, stroking her face and she closes
her eyes, leaning into my touch. I think of her clinic, full of sick people and
a new, chokingly terrifying thought hits me. What if these people have
gotten my mate sick? Salorians do not get sickness, nor do drakoni, but I've
heard the militia talk about how people are “down with a bug.” It took me
days to realize it was not sickness due to insects, or food, but an illness of
some kind.
Does Melina have an illness?
I have to know. I take her hand in mine, pressing a kiss to her icy
fingers. "I'll be right back, my heart. There is something I must do. Can you
lie down for a bit?"
She nods, curling up on the cot, her eyes closed. She looks so small and
helpless that it fills me with panic. I want to grab her and carry her back to
my bed in the compound, where she belongs, but I know it would just make
her angry. If she's going to stay here, I want some answers, though. Heading
out of her office, I peer around the clinic, searching for the male assistant.
What was his name again? I don't recall, and it doesn't matter. I find him
wearing one of the red armbands and helping someone with their blankets.
"You. Come with me."
The male pushes his glasses up his nose and gives me a curious look,
staring at my bare chest. "Is everything all right?"
"If it was, would I need you? Now follow," I snap. "Something is wrong
with Melina."
He trails after me as I rush back to my mate's side. Melina is where I left
her, a slight form on the cot huddled in clothing and blankets. I kneel at her
side, taking her hand and frowning at how cold it is. Why are her fingers
like ice when her face is so warm? I stroke her cheek, cradling her cold
hand against my heart. I'm here, I say silently. I will take care of you.
"Step aside, please," the male says and practically shoves his way next
to me. "I need to examine her."
Furious, I glare in his direction, my claws elongating as he pushes on
my control. I want to reach over and snap the presumptuous fool's neck. But
when he presses a hand to Melina's brow and then places a finger at the side
of her neck, he looks as if he knows what he's doing. Reluctantly, I move
back and let him have access to her, hovering nearby. I watch as he pushes a
small stick into her mouth and Melina moans a protest, but nothing more.
He pulls out the stick and studies it, then looks up at me. "Fever. She's
probably got the flu, just like everyone else here." He shakes the stick with
his hand as he gets to his feet. "Bound to happen, I suppose. She's been
working non-stop, but of course, we all have—"
"What is flu?" I ask. "How do you fix it?"
"It's influenza," the man says, as if that answers everything. He gestures
at the clinic. "The same sickness everyone else here has. It's one that
spreads in the colder months and there's not much to be done for it other
than wait for the person to get better." He pauses. "Or not."
Or not? He says it so casually, as if my heart is not threatening to leave
my chest entirely. "What do you need? More medicine? More soup? More
what? Tell me and it shall be done."
The hateful male gives me a pitying look. "If something could be done,
don't you think we'd have a lot less people in the clinic right now? The only
thing we can do with our limited resources is to try and make them
comfortable and provide medicine if temperatures spike too high. Let her
rest, keep her hydrated, and if you can find some anti-inflammatory pain
meds, that might help with the muscle aches. We ran out of everything
yesterday."
"What?" My voice cracks in a sharp, high, panicked note. "How could
you run out? Why didn't you save some for yourselves?"
"Because we're trying to save lives?" He gives me a patient look. "My
lord, most people come through the flu just fine. It might take a week, but
without anti-virals, all we can do is treat the symptoms and make sure that
she's tended the best we can. All right?"
I stare at him. "You've used all your medication?"
"It's been a pretty nasty flu season and we didn't have much left."
And yet the clinic is still full and half the staff is out with the same
sickness. "How many have you treated for this 'flu' business?"
"We don't keep count. Maybe a hundred have stopped by for advice or
medication, maybe more. We've had a few dozen stay overnight or longer."
"How many have died?"
That makes him pause. "Six. But two were weakened because of the
insect-related food poisoning, and one was old, and…well, sometimes your
body just can't fight things off."
Six. Six?! Six is far too many. I stare down at my poor Melina, so
fragile and frail and shivering despite the layers piled atop her. She cannot
die.
I won't allow it.
I move to her side, kneeling next to the cot. "Send one of my men in." I
take her hand in mine once more, pressing it to my lips.
"She's probably just going to be sleeping—"
I turn on him, snarling. "And what of it? I'm not going to leave her side
while she's ill." I bare my teeth at him, wishing I hadn't filed down my
fangs. If my claws get any longer, though, I'm going to have issues. "Unless
you want me to fling you out of this settlement with my own bare hands,
you'll find my soldiers and tell them to come in. We need supplies and
they're going to get them."
Melina needs blankets. She needs more soup, as much as she can hold
down. She needs pillows and thick, soft clothing. A more comfortable bed.
She needs medicine, too. These anti-viral things that her assistant
mentioned. I don't care how far out my men have to range, but they're going
to go out and find some of these medicines or they shouldn't bother coming
back.
I stroke Melina's brow, concerned.
Most humans come through the flu fine, he'd said. Why is it that
Melina's sickness cuts me like a knife?

I remain at Melina's side all night and into the next day. I don't sleep
because I worry she'll need me, and when the children press on my
thoughts, bored and wanting attention, I gently push them back out. I don't
have time for them right now. The only thing I have time for is my mate and
her needs.
She dozes, waking up long enough to drink a little water and manage a
few bites of soup, only to drift off to sleep again. I try to get her to eat more,
and help her to the bathroom when she needs to go. She's as weak as a
newborn, though, and her shivering seems never-ending. Even with a pile of
blankets atop her, she's cold, so I carefully slide onto the cot next to her and
pull her against my chest. That helps, but not enough.
Gary—I've learned his name now—sometimes comes in and checks
Melina's temperature, and he frowns every time. "It's bound to break soon,"
he tells me. "We just have to wait."
I want to snap at him for saying something as foolish and unhelpful as
that, but Gary has barely left the clinic since I arrived. He is as tired as my
Melina, yet he continues to help the sick, his demeanor as cheerful as ever,
and earns my grudging admiration.
I've sent six scavenging teams out, along with Vaan and Gwen, who
volunteered to travel “west” and see what they could find. They took their
son with them, and every now and then, Tunjozefren reaches out and pricks
at my mind from a great distance. It's impressive, the range he has, and if I
weren't so focused on Melina, I might be excited about what that could
mean for my plans for the Rift.
As it is, all I care about right now is that Melina gets better.
Instead, she sweats and shivers and eats less than a bird.
A day passes. Then, another. Melina's lips are cracked and dry, and
when I try to encourage spoonfuls of broth or water into her, she's not
interested. She sleeps for longer and longer, and Gary continues to take her
temperature, his expression worried. He rummages through the medicine
cabinet that Melina keeps in her office, as if searching for something that
was overlooked. I hold my mate and press her against my chest, terrified.
It feels as if she's slipping away from me and I'm helpless to do
anything about it. Is this why Salorians don't take a mate? Right now I
would pluck my heart out of my chest if it would stop the pain of watching
her wither away in front of me. I hate the feeling of helplessness. I hate that
I cannot help her or save her. What good is my strength of mind, or my rule
over the humans, if I cannot save one fragile female?
Occasionally, Melina will wake up and talk to me for a few minutes, but
it's never for very long. I keep expecting her to get angry at me, to demand
that I leave. I won't, of course, but I expect her to ask it all the same. She
never does, though. She presses herself against me, burrowing against my
warm skin. "I'm sorry to be such trouble," she whispers on the second day I
remain at her side. "I know you hate it when people are weak."
"You are no trouble at all," I promise my beloved mate, stroking her
sweat-damp hair back from her face. "And you are not weak. You are just
sick. Can you eat?"
She shakes her head and just moves closer to me. "Later."
"A few bites," I protest. "Just a little. For me."
But she simply tucks her face against my neck and goes back to sleep,
leaving me with increasingly worried thoughts. She can't keep going like
this. Her strength will disappear entirely.
I don't know what I will do if I lose her. Somehow all my plans of
sealing the Rift, of ruling Fort Dallas, of creating my own empire here in
this world, mean nothing if she is not here. I would give it all up and live
under the yoke of the monster if it would spare my mate. I would return to
my world a reviled outcast, if it meant that Melina would be safe on this
side. How do I save her? How do I prevent her from slipping away?
The scents in the sickroom change as some patients leave, their fevers
broken even as Melina's rages on. My scouts return with bad news—there is
no medication to be found without venturing even farther out. Vaan and
Gwen find nothing as well.
I stroke Melina's arm and watch her as she sleeps, trying not to despair.

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 Chapter

Thirty-Three

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AZAR

"H ow isI open

she?" a voice asks, rousing me from a fitful slumber.
my eyes, protectively curling around my mate even as my
gaze focuses on a scarred human face. Rachel. Her mate is with her,
standing guard behind his female, their child nestled against his chest in a
sling. He wears a pair of pants and a long-sleeved shirt, and the female has
her hands shoved into a thick jacket to insulate against the cold weather.
Rachel sits in a chair near the cot, peering down at Melina, who
continues to slumber in my arms, too tired to even rouse. "I heard she
wasn't doing great. And the staff back home said you were still here.
Everyone's worried about her." She pauses and then adds, "And you too,
honestly."
I run my fingers over Melina's cheek. Still warm, which feels normal for
me but is too warm for a healthy human. "She is…not well."
"Shit," Rachel breathes, worry on her face. "She didn't look so good
when I was here a few days ago and I didn't know what to think. Will she
pull through?"
I clench my jaw, not answering. She has to pull through. She has to. Yet
every time Gary comes in to check on her, his expression is more
concerned. I look over at the table nearby, the pitcher of water full, the soup
uneaten. Her breathing sounds thick and ragged, and I worry something is
happening to her lungs. I just hold her closer to me and close my eyes,
because I will not entertain the thought of her leaving me.
I did not mind being a “broken” Salorian with emotions and attachments
when she was at my side. But the thought of losing her is destroying me
from within. I think of the boy in Old Yeller, whose heart was shattered by
the loss of his animal. I did not understand when I read it why he was so
upset.
I wish I still did not understand. I wish that desperately. I will be a
thousand times more shattered if Melina leaves me here alone. She does not
have to be my mate anymore if she does not want to. I just need her well. I
bury my face against her neck, breathing in her scent, the pleasant scent of
it off due to the sickness. "She is…struggling."
 Rachel makes an understanding noise in her throat. When I look up,
there is pure sympathy in her eyes. "Jurik and I sent a message to Fort
Shreveport, asking if they had meds to spare. No one wants to come to Fort
Dallas to bring them directly, but they agreed to leave them in a drop-off
spot midway between here and Fort Shreveport if they do have some. We'll
fly out to check again in the morning."
"My thanks."
"It's for Melina, of course," Rachel blusters. "Everyone loves her. She's
needed." The unspoken words hang in the air. No one knows what you will
do if she leaves us.
She doesn't need to say it. I don't know what I will do if my mate leaves,
either. I will follow behind her, and in the process, I might take this whole
shit-filled world with me if they let her die. But…perhaps not. Rachel and
her mate have cared enough to reach out to another fort. Even if no one in
that fort will approach Fort Dallas because I am here, it is appreciated. If
they have nothing for us…
Rachel gets quiet, and Jurik grunts. I glance up and see that they're
communicating privately, Rachel's expression vague and Jurik's eyes
whirling as he hovers protectively near his mate. I can feel the stream of
their thoughts flicking just out of reach, but I don't push or try to eavesdrop.
I don't care enough. Instead, I stroke Melina's back, holding her tight
against my bare chest because that seems to be the only time she doesn't
shiver.
"I heard something else from Fort Shreveport," Rachel volunteers after
a moment. "I don't know if it'd work, but it's a thought."
"What?" I look up. At this point, I'm willing to try anything if it will
help Melina fight off this unseen menace that is pulling her from me. "What
is it?"
She clears her throat. "Fort Shreveport had a few people that ran into the
Black Plague earlier this year. It was in an outlying settlement, and they
thought that two of their people were going to die. Both of them were given
drakoni blood and both of them lived."
I sit up. "Drakoni…blood? How?"
"An infusion," Rachel says, pointing at the inside of her damaged arm.
"You put a needle here and a tube, and feed the other person your blood. It
might work, but it might not." She grimaces. "I was warned it might change
other fundamental things about them, too. Scent, ability to hear drakoni, or
it might not work at all. I do know one of the drakoni used it to save his
mate in their fort. I'm just throwing it out there."
I gaze down at my mate. I think of her smelling like Jurik, or Vaan,
because their blood is inside her, and I want to crush something out of pure
jealousy. "Will my blood work?"
"Seeing as how you're practically the same as the drakoni? I can't
imagine why not." Her tone is sarcastic. "You view yourself as different but
you're really not, you know. Anyhow, I thought I should say something.
Jurik didn't want me to, because he thinks you'll blame me if you lose her."
She gets to her feet, casting a worried look at Melina. "But I have a feeling
if you don't do anything, you might lose her that way, too. So fuck it."
I say nothing as she leaves, her mate a step behind her. Give Melina my
blood. Give her my immunity. Will that work? It sounds too easy. But what
if my blood isn't as strong as drakoni blood and she has to take someone
else's blood on? Will that mean she's no longer mine? The thought terrifies
me, but the thought of losing her frightens me even more.
I stroke Melina's cheek. "Wake up, love. I have to ask you something." I
need her consent before I change who—and what—she is. "Wake up,
please."
She moans, shivering.
Soothing her, I brush my fingers over her soft skin. "I'm here, love. I
have you. Wake up for me."
As if lost in her fever, Melina turns her head, her movements heavy, and
her lashes flutter open, just a hint. It's enough to please me, though, and my
heart feels as if it could burst when she focuses on me. "I'm so tired, Azar."
"I know, my heart. You're sick. We're looking for medicine, but I wanted
to give you a different treatment." I take her limp hand in mine and press
kisses to her clammy palm. "Will you let me share my blood with you?"
"Blood?" She gazes at me, uncomprehending. "Why blood?"
"Dragon blood might help you get better." I press kisses to each delicate
fingertip next. "It might not work, but will you let me try?"
Her lips curve in the faintest of smiles. "Sure."
"It will be my blood," I warn her. "You might end up smelling like you
belong to me." And my traitorous, not-very-Salorian cock stiffens at the
thought. "I wanted you to know before we moved forward, to make sure it
was all right with you." I search her face. "I will do nothing without your
consent."
 "Oh, there's a change," she murmurs, and her voice is so drowsy with
fatigue I can't tell if she's joking or trying to wound me. Her eyes drift shut
again.
"Melina?" I gently pull her upright, cradling her neck. I search her face,
but it's like responding to me has taken all her energy. Still, I must know. "Is
that a yes?"
Her eyes flutter open again and she manages a nod.
Encouraged, I tug her against my chest, sitting her upright. "Can you
manage some food? Some water? You have to eat, love."
"I'm tired," she protests, but she manages to eat a few bites, and takes a
few sips of water. A moment later, a deep, racking cough shakes her, the
sound of it wet and unpleasant. Her sickness sounds as if it is moving to her
lungs, and the thought fills me with terror. She coughs and coughs until I
think she can't stand it any longer, and then collapses against my chest, her
breathing shallow.
"Don't worry, love," I whisper to her. "I'm going to save you. No matter
what it takes."

G ary sets up the thing he calls an “IV.” He pierces my arm with a thick
needle, a slender tube attached to Melina's arm on the other side. I remain
still as I can, watching Melina for any signs of trouble. I want every drop of
blood in my veins given to Melina if it will help her, but Gary insists that
only a little at a time is best, since we might not be compatible blood types.
I don't even know what that means. All I know is that it's another
frustration.
I watch Melina all night, waiting for her to show a change. Some sort of
subtle difference that will tell me if my blood is helping her or not. By
morning, Melina seems weaker than ever before. She doesn't rouse when I
try to wake her to eat. She's given more of my blood, but I cannot tell if it's
having an effect or not. Frantic, I sniff her skin, but she doesn't even smell
like me.
Are we poisoning her trying to save her? Does she need a drakoni
instead of me?
 I push outward with my thoughts, searching for Jurik or his daughter to
contact him. Medicine? I send out desperately. Did you find anything?
Nothing, Jurik sends back. There was nothing.
My shock that he would touch my mind voluntarily is quickly
swallowed by desperation. There's nothing to help my Melina. My mate is
dying before my eyes, and there is nothing I can do about it. Anger and
helplessness war within me.
I can't let her slip away. Not like this. I caress Melina's face,
memorizing her features. Then, I turn to her assistant.
"I need more blood," I snarl at the hovering Gary. "Drakoni blood. Mine
isn't good enough for her." Perhaps Salorians have weaker blood than
drakoni do. Perhaps that's the problem. "Find Gwen. Find Jenny. Anyone
with a drakoni mate. Tell them I have urgent need of their partners. They
must save Melina."
Gary hesitates. "I'm not sure it's a good idea—"
"Do it!" I bellow. "Come back with solutions or do not come back at
all!"
He skitters backward, knocking over a tray in his haste. A moment later,
he rushes out the door, and I can hear his heart pounding with fear. Good.
He realizes I am desperate. I cradle Melina against me, gazing down at her
lovely face. She's fading before my eyes. "We're going to give you the
blood of others," I whisper to her. "I don't care if it changes your scent. I
don't care if you reek of Jurik and Mhal and Vaan. I just want you to live."
Even as I say the words, though, they're lies. I want her to live. I want
her to live more than anything. But the feral, possessive part of me that has
been growing by the day hates the thought of her smelling like another
male. She'll smell like him and not like me…
Unless I give her my fires. Unless I pour my essence into her and take
her as my mate, joining our minds together for all time.
The moment the idea crosses my mind, my fangs descend, shockingly
long. Lust boils through my system, and I growl, hunching over my sick
mate as I clutch her against me. The dragon part of me wants this, painfully
so. It's practically unhinged at the thought.
If she must have someone else's blood, let her also have my fires.
I do not hesitate. Even if I lose myself in the process, I must claim
Melina. I must brand her as mine. That feral, untamed part of myself
demands it.
 Tilting my mate's head, I expose her throat and sink my fangs deep into
her. Venom floods out of my fangs, pouring into her punctured skin. She
shudders under me, moaning, and a hot rush of bliss races through me as I
claim her. My cock jerks, and then I come, my seed thick and hot, sticking
my pants to my skin. I've never felt such ecstasy. Such unhinged wildness.
My thoughts are of Melina, and Melina alone. Her scent is everywhere, and
I prod at her mind with my own. You're mine, I call to her. My mate. Take
all of me! Join with me. Let me love you.
Please.
Another shudder of pleasure ripples through me, and Melina's blood
touches my tongue. The taste of it is pure wildness—and it makes the
drakoni side of me go mad. My thoughts bubble, fierce and intense, and as I
release my mate, other thoughts rush in to take the place of her.
Scents—too many. The stink of hundreds of humans. The smell of
decay. Of water. Insects. Mud. Dragons. Everything.
Sounds—everywhere. People talking. laughing. A child crying.
Thoughts—the children. The wishing touch of other drakoni…and the
thing in the Rift.
All of it crashes over me and I lose myself to the madness.

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 Chapter

Thirty-Four

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MELINA

E verything aches.
Literally everything. I lie in bed, the scent of stale sweat—my
own?—perfuming the air around me. I can smell my hair and my
blankets, and from a distance, I can smell hot soup. For the first time in
what feels like forever, it doesn't make me want to vomit. That's a good
sign.
Too bad everything hurts. My eyelashes hurt. My pores hurt. My scalp
hurts. My neck feels especially tender on one side. Even my fingertips ache,
as if I've somehow been poking things endlessly in my sleep. Amazing how
even an eyebrow can hurt. I mean, that's a pretty impressive feat.
I lie in silence, too pleasantly tired to open my eyes. It's a slightly
different tired than before, when it felt like there were weights attached to
my limbs. Even so, I'm in no hurry. I enjoy the quiet, feeling a cool breeze
on my face, and a strange sort of peace flooding through my body.
A door opens somewhere.
"How's she doing?" whispers a woman.
"Better, I think," whispers another. "Any sign of him?"
"Nope. Hopefully he'll come to himself soon."
I frown at that. Who are they talking about? I open an eye and turn my
head, and I'm shocked at how much effort that simple motion takes. Rachel
stands in the doorway, and Jenny sits next to me, a book in her hands.
There's a bowl of soup nearby and some water, and my throat suddenly
feels like the desert. I'm so thirsty. I open my mouth to speak…and croak
instead.
That gets their attention. Both Jenny and Rachel turn to me, bright
smiles on their faces. "Oh my god," Jenny says, excited. "You're awake!"
"Water," I manage. "Can I have some water?"
"Of course!" Jenny grabs the cup and Rachel moves to my side, fluffing
pillows and helping me sit up. Again, I'm shocked at how weak I am and
how much effort it takes simply to sit upright. But Jenny holds the
lukewarm water to my lips and helps me drink small sips, and it's the best
thing I've ever tasted.
 When my thirst is satisfied, I lie back on the pillows, closing my eyes
again. "Thank you."
"Don't thank us. We're just glad to see that you're on the mend," Jenny
says, her voice sweet. "You really had us worried for a while there."
I manage a smile at that. My memories are hazy, but something tells me
I've been sick for more than a few days. I've had the flu in the past, but
never after the Rift, and never without medication. It's been worse than I
ever imagined, and I have a newfound sympathy for my patients. I have
vague recollections of people pushing broth on me, waking me up to ensure
that I take mouthfuls of soup. Lately, the hazy thoughts have been of
women, or Gary, but before…it was all Azar. Azar with worried looks on
his face, Azar holding me tight while I shivered, Azar murmuring in my ear
and telling me how much I mean to him and how I wasn't allowed to die.
I'm not entirely sure I didn't dream him, except I can smell his faint scent on
my blankets. "How long have I been sick?"
Jenny pauses for a moment, considering. "A week, I think. It's been a
long road."
Holy shit. I've lost an entire week? That explains why I'm so exhausted.
"Thank you for nursing me. Did Gary bring you in?"
Jenny's smile remains bright. She picks up the bowl of soup and stirs it.
"Actually, no, Rachel and I started helping after Azar left. Gary's been busy
so we're pitching in to help between feedings. Gwen's been coming by, too."
She glances over at me. "You want some soup? Or is that too much too
soon?"
"Soup sounds okay," I say, and I'm relieved when she moves to the edge
of the cot to spoon some into my mouth. I don't think I have the energy to
do it myself. After a few bites, I manage to ask, "Azar…left?"
She bites her lip and looks over at Rachel.
"Might as well tell her," Rachel says in that blunt fashion of hers.
"Tell me what?" I ask, worried. Azar drifts into my thoughts again, of
him pulling his clothes off and wrapping them around me. Of him burying
his face against my neck. You'll be fine. You'll pull through this. You're
strong. Of him holding my hand and helping me to the bathroom when I
was too weak to get up on my own. I have so many vague memories of
Azar from my sickness, drifting glimpses and snatches of conversation, but
they're all pleasant. The angry torch I've carried against him is gone. Maybe
I just needed an excuse to let go of my anger, and knowing he took care of
me helped me realize that even if he's not a good man, he can still be good
to me.
"Azar was with you day and night," Jenny says, clearly soft-pedaling
the news. "He was such a devoted caretaker—"
"She knows that, Jenny," Rachel cuts in. "Just spit it out."
Jenny's smile gets a little over-bright. "When you weren't getting better,
we had the idea to give you a blood transfusion from a drakoni. It helped
some people that were sick in Fort Shreveport. Azar gave you blood several
times. It didn't look like it was working right away, so he sent out a distress
call to the other drakoni, begging someone else to come and give you blood.
When we got here, though, he was gone. Gary said he staggered out of here
and shifted into a dragon the moment he stepped outside."
Azar…shifted into a dragon? Like the drakoni? "Holy shit. Is he okay?"
"Great question," Rachel says. "No clue. We've seen him a few times in
the sky with that pale gold coloring of his, but he's completely lost to the
madness. He won't respond to anyone that tries to talk to him." Her gaze
grows pointed. "You might be able to do something about that, but you need
to get better first."
Oh.
My poor Azar. He was so worried he'd lose control if he shifted forms,
and now the worst has happened after all. And it happened because he was
so upset over my healing—or lack thereof. I study my hands, unable to tell
if drakoni blood is coursing through my veins or not. My fingers look thin,
but they look like mine. "Did someone else give me blood too, then?"
Jenny shakes her head, offering me another spoonful of soup. "That's
the ironic thing. No one needed to. It was like Azar snapped and you got
better that night. He went crazy and didn't even have to."

I rest in the clinic , tucked into my cot. It takes a while for my strength to
return, but not as long as I'd thought. I feel surprisingly good, for all that
Gary is convinced I was near death. I don't feel like I have dragon blood in
my veins, though I still have a fever. Gary can't figure it out.
Me, I have my suspicions.
 It started with the sensitive spot on my neck, and when I could finally
get up to look in a mirror, I saw just a hint of a bite mark, hidden by my
collar. Whenever I brush my hand over the bite, it sends hot shivers of
pleasure through my body. Was it Azar trying to give me blood or was it
from something else? Another time, I'm lying down in bed, drifting into a
nap, when I hear Azar's voice. At least, I think it's his voice. The thoughts
in my head are full of nonsense, fire and blue sky flickering through my
mind before disappearing again. It happens again later that day, but he's
gone just as quickly.
Something happened while I was asleep. I know it. I just don't know
what it was. It's something that's linked me to Azar, though. Something
that's allowed me to hear him. Something that's made me burn hotter even
though I feel fine, making Gary worried that all of our thermometers aren't
working properly.
I need answers. The next time one of the women mated to the drakoni
visit me, I'll ask them what they know. Until then, I rest, conserving my
strength, and listening intently for another brief touch of Azar's mind
against mine.
Gwen arrives the next day, Tunjozefren in her arms. "Sorry," she tells
me breathlessly, sliding into the chair across from me. "It was Jenny's turn
to come by and check on you but Michaelandrew was up all night with
nightmares and the baby was crying. She asked me to come by instead."
She drops into the chair with a frazzled sigh, and then beams a smile at me
as she settles her son in her lap. "You're looking good, though."
"I feel a lot better," I admit, sitting up and crossing my legs on the cot.
"Still a little tired but I think that'll go away soon enough."
"It will," Gwen says confidently. "You just need to eat and get your
strength back. There's food in the other room. Want me to grab you some?"
It's on the tip of my tongue to say no, because that food is for the sick
people, but…I'm a patient, too. I nod, and she immediately hands
Tunjozefren to me, settling him in my lap. I stare down at the large, golden
infant as he gazes up at me. He looks like Vaan more than Gwen, I decide.
He's got his father's golden skin and most of his features, right down to the
swirling drakoni eyes. Of Gwen, he's got her full mouth and the texture of
her hair. He gives me a gummy smile, waving his fists, and I chuckle at the
sight. He's warm and heavy and sweet in my lap, and I think about when he
was born, how tiny he was then. He's healthy and fat now, growing by the
day.
Gwen returns a moment later with cornbread and a glass of water. She
offers me a slice of it and pulls her son back out of my lap so I can eat. I
nibble on the food and watch as she settles him against her once more, her
expression happy and serene. It's hard to believe that only a few months
ago, Gwen was newly pregnant. Drakoni gestation times are speedier than
human ones, and I don't think she was pregnant for longer than three
months before she gave birth. But then again, a lot of drakoni things are
different. I think about Azar, and how his seed burned me the first time I
touched him…
And pause. Why have I never put this together before? How did Gwen
have Vaan's baby? How did Jenny have Mhal's, and Rachel Jurik's if their
bodies burn so hot? Something must have changed between them. I think
about my fever-high temperature, and the bite on my neck. "Can I ask you
something personal?"
Gwen gives me a surprised look. "Of course."
"How did you have Vaan's baby? Isn't his body too hot for yours?"
Her brows go up, and then she gives me a speculative glance. "Azar
never told you about sharing fires? Did you guys not do that?" When I
shake my head, confused, she nods slowly. "Okay, well. Humans don't run
as hot as drakoni do. In order for us to have sex properly, Vaan had to give
me his fires. It's a bite that he gives to his mate and only his mate. It shares
a bit of his essence, his living magic, and creates a bond between drakoni
and mate. Even though I'm human, I can hear Vaan in my head now." She
shifts her baby in her lap and then brushes a hand at her temple. "He's in my
mind and I'm in his. That's how they anchor to one another, right?"
I knew that. Or parts of it. I knew there was a mental bond. That was
why Azar was so insistent about the human females bonding with drakoni
males. "It warms your body up, too?"
She nods. "Body temperature isn't a problem after the bite. And once
you're mated, you smell like your mate, so other drakoni males ignore you."
I'm quiet as I eat the dry cornbread. It's not my favorite meal, but it's
food and I've learned not to be picky in the After. I chew and I chew, and I
think about my relationship with Azar. He never gave me his bite. He never
shared himself with me. All this time I thought we just couldn't have
penetrative sex and we could have. He just didn't want to give me his bite.
That…hurts.
The longer I sit on that hurt, though, the less it makes sense. Azar
clearly loves me. He held me while I was sick, begging me to get better. I
don't think he didn't give me his bite—his bond—out of spite. There had to
be another factor in things. Then, it hits me.
His secrets. He didn't want me to know about the drakoni being held
against their will.
That's why he didn't give me his fires. It would have meant we were
sharing minds, and he wasn't ready to share that with me, not when he knew
I wouldn't approve. That makes the hurt a little less, but I'm still puzzled as
to why he'd give me his bite now. Did he think he was going to lose me one
way or another? I touch my neck, rubbing the pleasant-feeling spot. Or was
there simply nothing else to hide any longer?
And he was so frantic over me that he shifted forms and lost control of
his mind. Or maybe it was the bite that caused him to go feral, to give in to
his dragon side. Either way, it feels as if the pieces I'm missing are locking
into place. In a way, I knew about the bite. I knew there was some sort of
bond between drakoni and mate, something that calmed them. Something
that allowed the pregnancies to happen. But I've been so wrapped up in my
own world that I never stopped to ask what that thing was…and why Azar
wouldn't give it to me.
But he gave it to me while I was dying. As if he wanted to lay claim to
me before it was too late. I consider the consent side of things, but I did tell
him to do whatever he could to keep me alive. Maybe the bite had
something to do with it. Maybe it kick-started the drakoni blood in my
system. Who knows. We're dealing with a completely different biology and
I barely have the answers for human biology.
I'm better, though. I'm better and Azar isn't. I lick my lips and look up at
Gwen. "I think Azar gave me his fires and that made him turn."
She doesn't seem surprised. She nods slowly. "I honestly thought you'd
had them all this time. But maybe that's why he lost control. Maybe to
claim a mate he has to tap into the side that the Salorians try so hard to
ignore." She gives me a thoughtful look. "I guess the question is, what are
you going to do now?"
I rub that spot on my neck, considering. If we have a mental connection,
I can reach him. Talk to him, despite the fact that he's turned dragon.
There's no question in my mind. "I'm going to bring him back."
And then I'm going to insist he show me his thoughts so I can make sure
there's nothing else he hasn't told me.

I t takes another day or two before I feel up to going anywhere. I relax in

bed, eat all the food put in front of me, and discuss patients and clinic
business with Gary. My sickness forced him and Alma to step up, and
they've been doing a great job running things. We're getting more patients
than ever before, but things are going smoothly enough. I'm encouraged. It
means I can leave for a week or two—however long it takes to find Azar—
and not worry that I'm somehow harming Fort Dallas's people.
Once I feel strong enough to return to normal, I head to the compound
and to Azar's quarters. I haven't been here in months, but it looks the same
as when I left it, right down to the bed, with two pillows on my side just
how I like it. My dresses are in the closet, my jewelry on the dressing table,
as if he's just waiting for me to return. My heart squeezes at the thought.
I'll get him home and back to himself first, I tell myself, then we can
figure out what's going on between us.
I pack my favorite yellow dress along with more sensible clothing,
some sturdy shoes, and then head to the kitchens. I spend several minutes
hugging the staff, all of whom are excited to see me again and also worried
about Azar. One of the militia men named Daniels has been handling the
biggest problems while Azar has been gone, but the staff is worried he
won't come back.
"He's prickly some days," the cook says, packing me a bag of food. "But
he's good to us and we're never hungry. He makes sure we all have jobs and
a way to earn food and shelter. Can't ask for more than that in the After."
She hands me the bag, now stuffed full. "Go and bring him home before
this fort falls apart again."
I thank her and head over to the barracks, spending several minutes
looking for Daniels before I find him. He's handling a flurry of tasks,
directing people and going over inventory with another. I interrupt long
enough to tell him that I need a bicycle and a handgun. He doesn't ask
questions, just takes me to the quartermaster, and a short time later, I'm at
the gates of Fort Dallas with a ten-speed bicycle and a gun holstered at my
hip.
One of the gate attendants stops me. "Ma'am, it's not safe to leave the
gates without an escort."
"I'll be fine," I tell him. "Let me pass. That's an order."
He exchanges a look with the other attendant, but then pulls the gate
open and lets me through, and I'm outside of the fort for the second time in
years, this time on the ground.
Everything looks so different from how I remember it. In the Before,
this was nothing but buildings squeezed together, lining the streets. There'd
be the occasional decorative tree in a median somewhere, or on a curb, but
it was all asphalt and metal. Now when I look out, most of the buildings
have crumbled except for the tallest ones, and trees and grasses are growing
everywhere. I tuck my skirts between my legs and bike down the street,
watching as squirrels race past and in the distance, I see a herd of deer. For
some reason, it makes my throat tighten.
The world has a chance to be a beautiful home again. We just have to
get there.
I take off, cycling away from Fort Dallas on the broken streets. There
are massive cracks in the concrete but most of the highways don't seem to
be too bad, so I get onto one and dodge broken-down cars as I head out. I'm
not entirely sure that I know how to find Azar, but Gwen assured me that
once he picks up my scent, he'll follow it.
So I'm determined to leave as big of a scent trail as I can.
I follow the highway for a while, enjoying the sunlight. I took a bath
last night and washed my hair, and it's tied up in a tight braid right now. I
feel good. Occasionally I'll see a dragon in the distance, but they never
come closer, and I'm not afraid. It's like Gwen said—my smell isn't
intriguing to them as a mated female, so they ignore me. Once I've biked a
few hours north, I exit the highway and head east. Toward nightfall, when
my legs are burning, I head south. If I have to do a gigantic loop around the
city to get Azar's attention, I will. I know he's close to the fort. I've picked
up stray thoughts from him here and there, just enough to let me know that
he's alive.
Now he just needs to find my scent and remember me.
That night, I park my bike against a broken-down van and climb atop
the roof. That'll keep me safe from snakes and wild dogs. I curl up in Azar's
robes—I packed a change of clothes for him just in case—and gaze up at
the stars. They're brilliant without the lights of the city to dim them.
Unfortunately, the Rift is also too bright and unnerving, the edges pulsing
green and sickly. Is it my imagination, or does it look bigger than before?
Pulsing slightly brighter than it used to?
God, I hope not.
Azar, I mentally call out. Azar, if you're out there, come back to me. We
need to talk.
There's nothing but silence.

T he next morning , I ache all over. Sleeping atop a hard van will do that to
you. It was terrible sleep, too, because bugs kept landing on me and biting
me. I am absolutely not a camper, I decide. My legs ache, as well, from all
the pedaling, and it takes everything I have to climb atop that bike again
and keep going. Ugh. I didn't think this through very well. I start pedaling
slowly, stretching my legs out. I bike for maybe an hour when I get the first
wave of distracting thoughts.
MINE.
I skid to a halt, my foot on the concrete, and look up at the air. That
thought was melded with a variety of images flashing through my head, of
burnt buildings and flames and madness. Blood and scents and fresh air
mingle with the faint, enticing scent of mate.
"Azar?" I call out hopefully. "Are you near?"
When that doesn't get an answer, I try thinking the words and projecting
them outward, but there's no response. Maybe I'm doing the mind-speaking
thing wrong. Frustrated, I pedal a bit farther and then stop when I get to a
broken overpass. It's blocking the road, completely crumbled thanks to the
elements, and up above, bits of rebar stick out of the concrete. Down below,
at my level, there's nothing but massive chunks of debris. Okay, not going
that way.
I get back on my bike, determined to backtrack, when another blast of
wild thought hits me.
Mate.
Scent.
 MINE.
I swallow hard, struggling to focus. Azar's thoughts are so chaotic—and
so close—that when he blasts through to me, he nearly knocks me off my
bike. I carefully dismount and move the bike to a safe location, my skin
prickling with awareness. I grab my pack and sling it over my shoulder, my
skirts rustling in the breeze. I deliberately wore one of the dresses Azar
loves, not because they're easy to bike in, but because I'm hoping it jogs his
memory. But the flashes I've been getting are not Azar. I'm not sure they're
anyone.
It's his voice, but…it's not him, and that's worrying.
I take a few steps down the highway, glancing around. I feel as if I'm
being watched, but no one lives in this part of the ruins. It's an industrial
area, not even good for regular scavenging. Trying to stay calm, I think of
Azar and fill my thoughts with him as I head down the road.
Another blast of chaotic thoughts surges through my head, staggering
me. I catch myself and look up, scanning the skies. In the distance, there's a
pale, white-gold blob that's moving closer. Azar. It has to be. Excitement
flutters in my chest, and I take a few steps in his direction, shocked at how
happy I feel. Just the sight of him returning makes me feel such…joy. Such
hope. I think about how tenderly he held me while I was sick, and I know
I've tried not to love him, but I'm failing. He's had my heart firmly in his
grasping claws for a while now. I just need to make sure I can trust him
again.
I watch, my face tilted up, as the dragon moves nearer and nearer. He's
alarmingly big, and flying so fast that I start to grow a little worried.
He's not slowing down.
I put a hand to my eyes, gazing up at the dragon in the early morning
sunshine. He looks like almost every other drakoni out there from this
distance, but the steady stream of nonsense and wild, ragged thoughts that
invade my mind tell me that it's him. If anything, he's speeding up, and
when he lowers his big draconic head as if he's about to pounce on his prey,
my skin shivers with awareness, and the urge to run flares through me.
"Azar," I call out as the dragon descends at breakneck speed. Don't run,
I tell myself. Don't run. I don't want to activate his prey drive. I close my
eyes and remain utterly still, clutching my bag as the dragon dive-bombs
toward me, surging through the air.
MINE.
 A blast of air and dust hits me in the face, whipping my hair and dress
wildly. I remain perfectly still as his thoughts—all disordered nonsense—
pour into my head. Isn't my presence supposed to calm him? Bring him
back to reality? "I'm here," I say calmly. "I'm here, Azar."
I open my eyes, and the dragon's enormous head is inches away from
my own, his eyes completely black.
Oh. I fight back a startled yelp, but I can tell that Azar caught my
surprise—his eyes flare with momentary color and his thoughts race with
excitement. Okay, definitely can't activate the prey drive. "I'm here," I say,
carefully holding an arm out to him. "I'm here. Smell me. Smell your mate.
It's me, Melina."
The big dragon's wings shiver and he settles them against his back, his
tail thrashing with agitation. He leans in and runs his nose along my arm,
his muzzle so big he could swallow my entire body in a single gulp. Even
though I probably shouldn't, I squeeze my eyes closed again because he's so
enormous it's alarming.
"It's me," I say again, determined to hold still. "Melina. You know my
scent, don't you?"
There's no response, and I no longer feel the dragon's breath on my arm.
Carefully, I open one eye and I'm staring straight at the beloved, familiar
face of my Azar. His hair is wild and tangled like I've never seen before, his
body naked, and his teeth are bared, fangs distended. But he's in his human
form, and he's my Azar, and I let out a choked little sob of relief before
closing the distance between us and rushing into his arms.
"I was so worried," I breathe, flinging my arms around his waist and
pressing my cheek to his chest. "They said they couldn't get into contact
with you. That you weren't responding."
Azar doesn't move in my arms. His thoughts continue to do that
whirling, chaotic thing, and when I pull back to look up at him, his eyes are
still completely black.
"Azar?" I ask.
A big, clawed hand sinks into my hair, and Azar twists his grip on my
braid, his eyes wild as he stares down at me. He leans in, breathing deeply
and taking in my scent.
Mine.
The word flares in my head again, and with it, my body responds. Heat
pulses between my thighs, and it occurs to me that Azar might not come
back to himself unless I take more drastic measures with this mating bond.
As in—actually mating him. Becoming his in all ways.
"I'm here," I whisper, reaching up to tug at one of the thin spaghetti
straps of my dress and easing it down my shoulder. "Your mate is here."
He rumbles deep in his chest, the sound feral and distinctly drakoni.
Azar leans in again, his nose rubbing against my throat as he inhales deeply
at the bite mark, and curls of pleasure race through me. I take his other hand
—carefully, carefully—and place it on my breast.
My mate immediately grabs a handful of the gauzy material of my dress
and rips it away from my body.
"All right, then," I whisper. "You want to be rough? I like rough, too."
I lift a hand and grab a handful of his streaming, tangled hair, and yank.
Not hard, just enough to get his attention. His eyes flare, and heat surges
through his thoughts. He liked that. Leaning in, he forces my head back
again, then rubs his face along my throat. His fangs scrape at my skin,
teasing, and I bite back a moan. There's an edge of danger, but at the same
time, I feel like Azar won't hurt me. I'm his mate. He's just playing rough.
A moment later, he rips another handful of my dress, and then the straps
snap and the entire thing flutters to my feet. I stand in the street in nothing
but a pair of panties and my boots, and his nostrils flare as he looks me up
and down. I tug on his hair as his teeth scrape over my throat again. "You
remember who I am?" I pant. "You remember me?"
Mine, he purrs through my head, dark and dangerous.
That's right. Yours.
Azar growls, and I realize he heard that. He heard my thoughts. He
hauls me against him, his claws digging into my skin, and looks me up and
down with new, fresh interest, as if he's seeing me for the first time. He
focuses on my panties, and one claw teases at the waistband.
"That's right, you’re kind is obsessed with panties, aren't you?" I pant.
"You want to rip mine off? Go ahead." I fill my head with a mental image
of just that, and he growls again, his eyes meeting mine.
Instead of tearing my panties free, though, he slides one wicked claw
down the gusset of my panties and presses down, rubbing against the seam
of my pussy. I gasp, startled at the intense sensation, and rock against his
hand.
Azar growls again, his thoughts growing possessive and steadily more
focused on me. "It's been a while since you've eaten some good pussy,
huh?" I whisper, rubbing against his hand. "You hungry, love? You want a
taste?"
And because I don't want him flinging me down on the road, I send him
a mental image of me on the hood of one of the nearby cars, his head
between my thighs.
Yessss.
His mental voice is like a streak of light. He scoops me up into his arms
and hauls me across the desolate highway, looking for a car to place me
upon. I cling to his shoulders, holding tight, and when I see an older-make
car with a longer hood, I point at it. "That one."
No sooner do I point it out than Azar gently places me atop it, his eyes
wild and swirling dark as he watches me. He moves to the front of the car's
hood and stands in front of it as I prop up on my elbows and try to ignore
the grime against my back. I'd forgotten that this car has been out in the
elements for years now, and it's dirty.
Azar pushes my thighs apart a moment later, and then I'm not thinking
about the car at all. He runs his sharp claws over the thin cotton material,
and then hooks his claws underneath. The material shreds as if it's nothing,
exposing me. Hungry, Azar gazes down at my pussy folds, eyeing me with
such intensity that it steals my breath. He doesn't move, though, so I slip a
hand between my thighs and decide to help myself.
He pushes my hand away, and that mine echoes in my head again.
"Then touch me," I tell him, panting. "Claim me if you want me."
His eyes flick up towards mine, and I feel like I'm getting through to
him again. Like my thoughts—my demands—are piercing that bubble of
madness that's been blurring everything in his mind. Claim you? Do you
want that? He drags one claw up the wet slit of my sex, and I moan, parting
my thighs even wider for him. You want to be taken by your mate? There's a
fiery edge to his thoughts that tells me he's not quite himself yet, but he's
getting back to who he was before, and I love it.
"Are you my mate?" I taunt, defiant. I toss my braid back and give him
a challenging look, pressing a boot to his shoulder when he leans forward.
"Because you haven't been in this pussy yet, have you?"
Azar growls at that, no longer amused. His hands lock on my hips, and
he drags me down the hood of the car, toward the edge. Instead of fingering
me or putting his mouth on me, he takes his dick—his big, gorgeous dick—
and rubs it through my folds, dragging the slick head back and forth. Is this
what you want?
I moan, my hands squeezing into fists. Oh fuck. That's exactly what I
want. In the past, I'd have skittered away from such an intimate touch,
because even the slightest drip of pre-cum can feel too hot against my skin.
But it doesn't feel too hot now. It feels good. Right. Perfect. And he feels so
hard and hot and unyielding that a whimper escapes me.
He works the head of his dick back and forth through my folds, until it's
slicking through my arousal and making wet sounds. I pant, trying to arch
up and sink him into me each time the crown tantalizingly drifts over my
core and then keeps on going. I want him to stop there and push into me. I
want him to sink deep and fill this hollowness aching inside me. "Azar," I
whimper. "Azar, please."
Azar reaches up and caresses my cheek, his claws skimming over my
face. His expression is reverent, the look on his face downright staggered.
Melina. My name echoes between us. My mate.
All yours, I agree.
His claws skim down to my neck and then he encircles my throat, even
as he presses his dick to the entrance of my body.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Yes.
With another low growl, Azar sinks to the hilt inside me.
I cry out. It's impossible not to. It's been a long time since I've had
anything that big inside of me, and the sudden push of Azar's length filling
me up is beyond words. My body shivers with sensation and I take deep,
gasping gulps of air as I adjust to the feel of him. He's bigger and thicker
than I've ever had before, and his skin feels deliciously hot but not enough
to burn. I let out another choked sound as he grunts and pushes a little
deeper, his sac pressing up against my skin.
Did I…hurt…you? His thoughts seem to war within themselves, as if
he's struggling to compose a sentence and can't remember what words are.
The feeling behind his mind is clear, though, and the concern.
"I'm fine," I breathe, and every pore, every nerve in my body feels as if
it's alive. Sensations ripple through me, and I could swear I feel every inch
of Azar pressing inside me. I feel his pleasure, too, the faint hum of wonder
coursing through his mind as he realizes he's claiming me. "I feel
wonderful."
 He groans, the sound as delicious as the sensations moving through me.
Your body. Your cunt…so tight. You feel so good, Melina.
I give a little twitch of my hips, encouraging him to move. Azar's breath
hitches, and he pumps into me, then pauses, as if waiting for permission.
Ironic, considering he still has a hand on my throat.
Should I remove it? His claws brush my neck, his thoughts reverent. I
would never hurt you.
No, it's good. I like it. But I like it better when you move. And I lift my
hips—or try to. The angle isn't working well for me.
He gets the hint, though. Azar's focus slides away from my face and
down to where our bodies are joined. He pulls out almost to the tip and then
sinks back in, his movements languid and unhurried. The next thrust is a bit
sharper, a bit harder. After that, he moves slow again. It's as if he's figuring
out which movements make my body spark. He shifts his weight, and then
the angle changes ever so slightly, and when he moves this time, it's bliss. I
gasp, nodding encouragement as he focuses in on my sensations and repeats
that movement. He rocks into me, his thrusts picking up speed as he realizes
that it feels good. I try to meet his movements, but he's so fierce and
determined that all I can do is throw my head back and ride the wave of
pleasure as he hammers into me.
His thoughts drift through mine as he fucks me—how beautiful my
body is, the way my breasts bounce when he pumps deep, how good my
cunt feels, squeezing around him. It adds another layer of sensation, and
when I feel his climax tightening through him, my body responds as well.
The hot, curling pleasure deep inside me keeps increasing, and I'm
whimpering as I move toward the edge. "I'm close," I tell him. "So close.
Keep going." He thrusts deep, rubbing up against that perfect spot, and I
choke on pleasure. "Don't stop."
Azar growls, his hand tightening on my throat. I can feel his claws
pricking my neck, and though I can still breathe fine, his hand feels tight
and possessive. You have to come first, he demands. Give me your release.
That's no way to ask!
I'm not asking. I'm telling.
I gasp again, and the authority in his head—echoing into mine—sends a
shudder of pleasure through me. My toes curl and my legs tighten, and all
the while, Azar hammers into me with fierce, single-minded intensity. He's
not letting up until I come, and that's the fucking sexiest thing I've ever
seen. My pleasure is more important than his.
Your pleasure is everything, he agrees, his mental voice dark and rich in
my head. And he thrusts hard to punctuate his words.
I shatter. My release quakes through me, hard enough for my legs to
jerk, and then I'm pressing my heels into his ass with everything I have,
riding wave after wave of sheer bliss. Through our joined minds, I can feel
his excitement at the intensity of my release, and he fucks me harder and
harder, claiming me as his own.
Then he comes, too, and I can feel each pulse of his release inside me. I
lock my legs around him, quaking with my release, as if I can somehow
hold him to me and never let him go. Azar leans forward, pressing his
weight over me, and I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him tight.
Now we really belong to each other. I hold him close and feel the dark
fire of his thoughts burning through mine.

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 Chapter

Thirty-Five

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AZAR

T he feel of Melina's body wrapped around mine…it moves me beyond

words. Her cunt is a warm, wet sheath around my cock, her legs and
arms holding me against her. I am enveloped in her scent, her
softness, her love—because her thoughts lazily drift through mine. She
feels good. Content. She's pleased that I've returned to myself. She's aching
inside, but it's a good ache, a stretched feeling she'll probably carry all day.
She's got a strand of hair caught in the windshield wipers behind her—
Oh.
I sit up, blinking down at her. I let Melina's leisurely train of thoughts
sweep me away, but I should have been taking care of her. I gaze down at
her, at her beautiful body. She's still too thin, a sign that she's yet recovering
from her sickness. I scent the air, and I realize she's alone. Prodding into her
mind, I confirm that yes, she came out here alone, on a bicycle, determined
to lure me back to her.
Melina frowns up at me. "Are you digging around in my head?"
"Yes," I admit bluntly, and help her off the hood of the car. Dirt is on her
back, and we've left a smeared pattern in the dust. "I've gotten you dirty."
"Yes you have," she says confidently, and her thoughts are full of the
seed that even now wets the insides of her thighs.
I groan, fascinated at being inside her mind on this. At feeling her
pleasure and how wonderfully filthy she finds the sensation. "Melina."
"Why were you poking around in my head?" she asks, twisting her
shoulders and brushing some of the dirt from her skin. I obediently move to
her side and do the same, getting the remnants of her dress from the ground
and using it to wipe away the worst of the debris.
"I wanted to see if you were here alone—"
"I am," she replies confidently. "You could have asked."
"—and now I'm angry you're here alone," I continue, irritated. "I don't
like that you risked your life. You could have been attacked!"
"By dragons?" She shakes her head. "Not with me wearing your bite.
And there aren't any nomads in the area. I'm pretty sure anyone this close to
Fort Dallas would just come in to Fort Dallas directly instead of lurking on
the fringes. Or haven't you noticed how many people we've been getting
lately? You've made it safer for people to live in the fort instead of outside
it."
I can tell just by the clarity of her thoughts that she felt there was zero
danger, and it eases some of my distress. Melina knows how to take care of
herself. She wouldn't pretend there was no danger if there truly was. She'd
acknowledge it. "Very well, then."
She turns around and studies me, then moves and pulls me in for a kiss.
"I'm glad you're back to you. What happened?"
Are we back to casually kissing each other once more? I'm guarded but
hopeful. It feels like I have my mate back, and I realize how much I've
wanted that. How much I've needed her at my side. How I've just been
going through the motions the past few months without her. And here she
is, healthy and whole. I grab her and impulsively haul her against me,
squeezing her tight.
"I'm all right," she whispers, rubbing a hand over my back. "It's okay."
"You almost died," I grit out.
"Is that why you went feral?" Her hand smooths down my spine,
soothing. "Because you thought you were losing me?"
It was partially that, I realize. That, and the thought of another male
having to give her blood. That she might smell like he's claimed her instead
of me. That, and all the other stresses weighing upon me. I open my mind
and share all the worries I'd had, the culmination of several days of
frustration in which nothing worked, the fear that I'd lose her forever.
Melina stiffens in my arms at the onslaught of emotion-laden memories,
but then she strokes my back again. "I'm here. I'm healthy. Whatever you
gave me worked. I don't have anyone else's blood but yours."
I'm glad. I shouldn't be, but I am. If it had taken the blood of ten
thousand drakoni, I would scent each one on her skin and be grateful, but
her scent is purely her own, with mine flavoring it.
"How do you feel?" she asks, pulling back to study me. "No one's been
able to get through to you for days."
I shrug, looking around for something for her to wear. I've shredded her
clothing like the monster I was—am—and I have zero regrets. She will
want something to cover herself with, though. "How should I feel?" I
deflect. "My mate is back in my arms and I just claimed her fully for the
first time. I feel incredible."
 Melina touches my arm, getting my attention, and she frowns at me.
"Before you go calling me your mate again, we need to talk."
Panic flares inside me. "You don't want to be with me?"
She studies my expression, her own somber. "I love you, Azar. But
sometimes love isn't enough. I need to know I can trust you. Not just with
my well-being, but that of other people. I want you to prove to me that
you're never going to enslave anyone ever again. Show me that you mean it.
That it's not just words…because I can't be with a slavemaster."
It goes back to this again? I want to laugh, but Melina is deadly serious.
"Is that your biggest fear? Not that I will break your heart, or be unkind, or
be a bad partner, but you worry about others?"
"No," she says, voice calm. "I need to make sure that I can look myself
in the mirror when I say that I love you. It's for me as much as anyone else."
In a strange way, I get that. And yet, I'm oddly afraid. I've been
carefully shielding my thoughts from her, worried she might pluck out
something that she doesn't like and discard me entirely. But if I keep
holding things back, she will never trust me. So I move to the car and seat
her atop it once more, because I can feel the fatigue aching through her
thoughts. "Do you have water? Are you hungry?"
"Are you changing the subject?"
"No." The time for running has past. "I want to make sure you're
comfortable, and then I'll open my mind to you. You can pick through
whatever you want, for as long as you want."
Melina studies me, as if seeking the truth of this, and then nods. "All
right."
She gestures at her pack, and I get out some of her food and drink,
holding it out to her. While she nibbles on a hard chunk of nut-filled bread
and sips water, I dig through her bag, looking for a change of clothes for
her. Melina likes to look nice and I want her to be comfortable. Instead, I
pull out one of my robes and glance over at her in surprise. "You brought
this for me?"
"Of course. Coming back without you wasn't an option."
Because I'm hers? Or because the fort needs me? I'm not sure I want to
prod her mind and find out the answer. I shake out my robe and instead of
putting it on, I move to drape it around her shoulders. She needs it more
than I do.
 Melina offers me the bottle of water, and I drink, then hand it back to
her. She looks as if she's done eating, so I speak. "I'm going to open my
mind to you. Everything will be there. Simply think your question and I'll
let you access that part of my mind." It's something I've never done for
anyone, and I feel intensely vulnerable knowing she will see all the ugly
parts of my past, but if it shows her the truth of my thoughts, it's necessary.
"I have not always been a kind man."
She snorts. "Honey, you have never been a kind man. I'm not expecting
miracles. I just need understanding. Reassurance."
I nod, and then close my eyes, pulling down my mental shields and
leaving myself utterly exposed to her.
It takes a moment, but Melina prods at my mind. Her mental touch is
gentle, as if she's aware of what this is costing me. I don't want to push her
toward anything in particular, so I try to relax and let her choose what she
wants answers to. She immediately pokes at how I feel about her, wanting
to know my thoughts on her as my mate, and it fills me with a warm rush
that she's choosing herself before anything else. I know what she'll see there
—nothing but love and utter devotion on my part. Intense fascination giving
way to obsession. Adoration. I love everything about her, and how vibrant
she is, how determined. When I first came to Fort Dallas, my initial thought
was simply to find a way back to my world. Now, everything has changed.
This is Melina's home, and I am hers. Going back would mean returning to
my Salorian ways, and I can't.
Immediately, she follows that chain of thoughts. Salorians. I leave it all
open to her, knowing she will hate it. I show her both the good and the bad.
I show her the beautiful stone cities we have built, the elegant people that
dwell in them, and how I have risen in the ranks to make something of
myself despite my low birth. And because I am hiding nothing from her, I
show her the drakoni slaves as well, the people who have chosen to serve,
but more than that, those who serve without a choice. How they are treated.
How even a general such as myself did not treat them as people, but as
troops to be expended.
She pulls back, and I sense her hesitation. Her searching changes, and
she moves forward in my memories, digging for when I freed the drakoni
recently. Of my feelings toward it. If she expected to see resentment, it is
not there. I felt shame that she had discovered she was lied to. Shame that I
am not the male she needs me to be. Shame that I was not able to free them
before she found out the truth and thus earn her love. She seizes on a stray
thought about the children of the drakoni, of Tunjozefren and Sallavatri,
and rummages around, checking to see if I plan on enslaving them.
Never. I'm unable to keep silent, even as she digs through my deepest
thoughts and memories. I never would, Melina.
What changed you? she asks.
Nothing changed me. I am the same.
You're not the same, she insists. I see your earlier memories and your
thoughts, and they are not the same as they are now.
Interesting. She seeks an answer I'm not sure I have. I consider this.
They…are my friends. They trust me to help them and guide them. I do not
know that anyone has ever trusted me like that. It felt important not to break
that trust. It felt…wrong. I think of now, with my too-drakoni fangs cutting
into my lip, and my drakoni-like claws that have re-grown. I have spent the
last week in battle-form, something no Salorian would willingly admit they
can even do. I gave Melina my fires, just as a drakoni would. I have taken
her as my mate.
I am…no different than them. The drakoni are the same as me. I might
set myself above them because I live in a city and have refined manners, but
the drakoni are the same people I am. It took nearly losing Melina to realize
that.
Hmm, my mate says in my head, but her thoughts are warm. A moment
later, I feel her smaller hand creep into mine, and she squeezes my fingers.
It's a good answer.
I hold her hand as she continues to pry through my memories, sharing
everything. The terror of my first days when I arrived on this side of the
Rift, fearing I was to be hunted by both humans and drakoni. Learning to
hide myself by pretending to be human. Ingratiating myself with nomads
and then ruling them. Terrible, brutal actions I took in the past. I remain still
for all of them, worried that she will find something, uncover some dirty
secret that will be the tipping point and she will be done with me. I scarcely
breathe the entire time, waiting.
Waiting for her to hate me. I know I have not been kind. I know I have
done bad things.
No one is perfect, she tells me. You are a lot less perfect than most. Her
mental voice is gently teasing. I'm not seeking to judge your past, but to
understand. You can go through my memories too, if you like.
 You'd trust me with that? I'm humbled.
Of course. I love you.
Even now?
Even now. Her reassurance is like a balm on my spirit. You've done
terrible things in the past, that's true. But I think you're changing. We can
move forward together, you and me—
Something unpleasant and wrong slithers into my open mind.
Groaning at the revolting feeling of it, I hastily erect mental barriers
again, as quick as I can. It's like a tentacle of pure evil and destruction is
pushing its way into my vulnerable thoughts, snaking in in the hopes that it
can take over and anchor itself here. It looks for a spot to latch on, and I
press back on it, determined not to give it anything. I grit my teeth as it
worms through my mind, seeking fragility, a way to get to the children—
The children. It's the first time the thing has realized they exist, and I
feel sick, as if I've somehow exposed them to it. Has he plucked their
existence from my mind? From a memory I left exposed?
The tunneling, writhing darkness moves through my thoughts,
burrowing like a worm—and then it spots Melina's mind, open and
intelligent…and connected to me.
NO.
Like slamming a door, I force the thing back out of my head. At my
side, Melina gasps and sways, and I can feel her thoughts reeling as my
mental shove affects her, too.
"What the fuck was that?" Melina asks, and when I open my eyes, she
has a hand pressed to her breastbone, sucking down great mouthfuls of air
as if she can somehow purge the unclean sensation that wafted through my
thoughts.
My head pounds. I rub my temples, afraid to let my mental shields
down for even a second in case the thing is still trying to claw its way into
my head. "That was the Rift."
"Oh my god," Melina breathes, a look of sheer horror on her face.
"That's what it feels like?"
I nod, the pressure in my head straining. "I'm sorry. I have to block you
out for a bit, just in case he tries to come back." I close my eyes, determined
to make my mental shields as strong as possible. If I break, he gets Melina
and the children both. I have to be both enticing lure and impenetrable
stronghold, so I take a moment and concentrate. I can't stop thinking that it
somehow recognized the children and me as their conduit. It knows they
exist, knows my mate exists.
I have to act soon, or I risk all of them.
She leans in and presses her hands to my face, cupping it gently. Her
expression is stricken. "You're dealing with that daily?" At my nod, she
shakes her head. "We can't let that go on, Azar. We have to stop it."
"I know," I say, sick. "But the children, I'm not sure they're strong
enough—"
Melina shakes her head. "I'm worried you won't last long enough, Azar.
How many children will it take? Two more? Ten more? A hundred? Every
day the bugs get worse. Every day, the Rift looks more dangerous. Tell me
what I can do to help, but we need to take action before it's too late." She
searches my face. "Please."
I nod. She's right. Of course she's right. I'm hesitating because I've just
gotten her back. I don't want to lose her—and everything—the moment I've
gained it all. But if it knows the children are strong, it's going to seek to use
them for itself. I think of how often Sallavatri offers the use of her mind to
me and I shudder. "We'll go back. Right away. And we'll take care of things
tonight."
Melina licks her lips and gets to her feet. "You know the fastest way to
travel, right?"
I groan. "Am I your packhorse now, then?"
"No, you jackass. You're my dragon. And you know I'm right."
She is. And I hate it as much as I love the kiss of apology she plants on
my face.

T he moment I shift to battle-form, my thoughts go haywire once more.

Melina's right there with me, though, her mind soothing mine, reminding
me that she's at my side. She's with me. That I should talk to her. So I do,
and it becomes easier. Not easy, but easier. The madness that comes with
battle-form presses at my mind, like a tidal wave being held back by sheer
force of will. Is this what the drakoni experience every day here in this
world? No wonder they lose themselves to madness. How can they not?
 I have a new respect for their mental strength. All this time I thought
they were weaker than me because they did not have the Salorian ability to
capture and trap minds. Instead, I think they might be stronger than I am, if
they can withstand this torrent of mental chaos to regularly transform into
dragon form.
But I have Melina to focus on, and she keeps me centered. I hold her in
my claws and fly back toward Fort Dallas, toward the stink of unwashed
bodies and piles of trash, of humans and mud and excrement and metal.
Ironically, it smells like home, and I don't know what that says about me,
other than I am truly Salorian no longer.
As I approach the fort, other minds touch mine, light presses of
acknowledgment that tap at my thoughts and then politely retreat again.
Vaan. Jurik. Even Mhal. It's as if they're ensuring that I bring Melina home
safely.
I land in the courtyard, settling Melina carefully to the ground. She
wears my robes over one of her dresses, her hair tangled and whipping in
the breeze. Her smell is mine, though, my fires mingling pleasantly with her
delicate scent. It pleases me to know that all will know she is completely,
wholly mine with a mere whiff of her scent.
That's barbaric of you, Melina teases as she takes a step back, regarding
me with a smile. And here you thought you were so civilized.
She is right. I am not nearly as civilized as I'd thought. I shift forms,
pushing my way back towards my normal, two-legged body with a surge of
mental strength. Again, I'm surprised at how easy it is to switch back and
forth. Something like that feels as if it should be more difficult. The
moment I'm in human form again, though, the silence of it all makes my
ears ring. I stagger—and then drop to my knees, depleted.
"I've got you," Melina murmurs, moving to my side and grabbing my
arm. "You're exhausted. You need to rest."
The Rift—
"It can wait a few hours," Melina insists. She looks around and waves
one of the soldiers forward. "Help me get him to his quarters."
Fatigue overtakes me and I collapse before I can ask if they are her
quarters, too, or if we are still two separated halves of a whole.
I wake up to the gentle sensation of Melina's thoughts swirling through my
mind. It's an intense feeling, to realize that she's connected to me so deeply,
and it fills the hungry void inside me, that possessiveness that can't get
enough of her. She's straightening up in our quarters, touching things and
admiring the stack of books I have waiting to be read.
I haven't remembered a single word of it since you left me, I admit. I
open my eyes and look over at my mate. Melina really is the most beautiful
thing I've ever seen. She's wearing a pale blue dress with long, tight sleeves
and an equally tight bodice. Her skirts swirl down to the floor and make a
gentle rustling sound, and she's piled her glorious hair up into a knot atop
her head, showing off a pair of glittering earrings.
"You're awake," she says, affection in her voice as she moves to the side
of the bed. She sits down next to me and brushes a finger over my brow,
smoothing a hair into place. "How do you feel?"
"Foolish," I admit. "I didn't realize flying would take so much out of
me."
Her responding smile makes my chest ache. That she has forgiven me
for all my past transgressions still amazes me. I am not worthy of her love,
but I plan on spending the rest of my days trying to be the male she needs
me to be. "How long was I asleep?"
"Long enough," she teases, but I can hear the answer in her thoughts.
Twelve hours.
Twelve hours. Long enough for me to recover my strength, then. I take
her hand in mine and press a kiss to the back of it. "I love you."
"I love you, too," she says, her expression slightly puzzled. Then, it
clarifies. A hint of worry edges into her eyes. "You're…you're going to do it
now, aren't you?"
"There's no point in waiting," I say. "If we're strong enough now, I want
to attempt to close the Rift before that creature grows any stronger. If he
gets even a toehold in this world, nothing will be safe any longer. We have
to at least try and see where we stand."
Melina bites her lip and nods, glancing at the window. "I'm told the
bugs are increasing," she says, her voice light. "They're getting into the
water supply and the gardeners say that they're having to post guards to
constantly watch over the plants and keep them off. I suppose we should be
glad that it's winter, right? That there's not a lot growing? But if it continues
like this, we won't have anything to eat or drink in a few months."
 "It must be now," I agree. I press another kiss to the back of her hand.
"If I don't come back—"
"You're not going anywhere," she protests, brows furrowing.
"If I don't come back," I continue, my voice gentle. "Know that I have
loved you with every bit of my shriveled Salorian heart." Because what
comes next might destroy my mind. My body will remain where it is, on
this bed, but I have no idea what this effort will do. Perhaps nothing.
Perhaps it will burn me from the inside out.
But I am the only one that can lead the children, so I must try.
Melina gives me a fierce look. She squeezes my hand tightly. "You'd
better come back. You're not leaving me here alone to run things."
I just press another kiss to her knuckles and drink in the sight of her, so
lovely and graceful, so strong-willed and determined. I want more time with
her. I want the rest of our lives together, working to build this fort into a
civilization to be proud of and not one where everyone struggles to survive.
I want her to have my children. I want us to grow old together. I want every
day with this female at my side and in my arms.
But I have to save the world first.
With a weary, slightly irritated sigh, I tuck her hand against my cheek,
close my eyes, and sink into my mind.

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 Chapter

Thirty-Six

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AZAR

I have no idea how I'm going to do this.

It's the first thought that crops into my head. I know how to be a
Salorian. I know how to entrap minds and direct them. But to close a
Rift? To force a gate between worlds shut? I don't know how to get started.
I only know that I must try. If this doesn’t work, I will try again in battle-
form. But for now, we will do it this way, with my senses intact.
And to do so, I must be that Salorian, the man that is reviled by all. The
one that controls others like puppets. I do not like it, but for the good of
all…I must become that once more.
So I reach out to the children first. Sallavatri, I call. It is time.
She wakes up from her nap, her thoughts bright and alert. Time for
what? I'm hungry.
Time to close the Rift. Will you help me?
I will. What do you need?
And even though I hate myself for it, even though it's momentary and
necessary, I reach out a mental tendril. Let me in and I will do the rest.
She opens her mind to me effortlessly, with complete trust. Then, I am
in her head, roosting as I used to do with the drakoni. It is different now,
though. We are joined, our minds pulsing together like a braid. It feels
powerful, my strength amplified by her natural ability. Unlike the drakoni,
Sallavatri is of this world, and her power is undiluted. I am careful with my
small friend, wanting only to guide and gently steer, not command and
force. No matter what happens, I will protect you, I promise her.
I know. I trust you.
That trust is everything. It humbles me, and it reminds me that I do this
for all of us. I do this for the children, for their parents, and for my mate,
who waits patiently beside my body, hoping for a future together.
We reach out to Luminoura next, and she joins us without hesitation.
Her power twists around us, adding to the flare of energy we are creating. I
imagine us like a comet, streaking across the sky with brilliant light.
Tunjozefren joins us next, a blast of brilliance that takes us to the next level.
Of all the children, his mind shines the brightest, and I wonder what he will
be like as an adult if this continues. Malliope and Arthromathan twine their
minds with ours. As a blazing force of mental energy, we feel powerful.
Strong. Unstoppable. We can reach further than ever before.
So we keep reaching outward, seeking other minds, other drakoni
children that might be willing to extend their thoughts and help us. A few
more lights join our bonfire, and we are a surging blaze in the brilliant quiet
of this world. It feels so good, too. Pure, and strong, and bright.
And then I feel it.
Just a hint of decay, creeping at the edges of my thoughts.
I blast it back, and the thing in the Rift creeps away, retreating. It's not
enough to simply push it away, though. I chase after it, leading my army of
light towards that darkness. We swarm upon the Rift, higher and higher, and
I realize that the Rift is not a place. It is not a location we can reach, but a
tear in the reality of this world. As we move “closer,” I feel the leaking of
other minds flooding in from other worlds. Not just my world, but a dozen
others. They feel wounded and unnatural, the Rift an open wound between
realities.
I reach out and touch the edges of the Rift with my mind. I can feel
Arthromathan and Luminoura and the others, linked to me. Their wants are
my wants, their desires my desires. I can feel this world itself, a pulsing,
breathing thing with a spirit…and it is wounded. It needs healing.
We can help it, Tunjozefren sends to me. We can make it better.
I imagine placing hands on the wound that is the Rift, even though my
hands are miles below the sky's edge, still clasped in Melina's grip. The
moment I touch the Rift, a thousand voices slingshot through my mind, few
of them human. The Rift is pulling them through, spewing them into this
world—or it will, if it's not healed.
Pushing all of my power and strength to the Rift, I press the edges and
will it to close. Hot, white light pours from our joined consciousness into
the Rift itself. It sears the darkness, pushing it back…and the voices
clamoring to be heard grow dim. I keep pressing, determined to close as
much as I can, but I am exhausted and drained when I pull back and survey
our work. We've patched a small corner of the Rift, squeezing a portion of
that enormous, city-wide tear. It's not enough. It's like the Rift itself is
fighting me, which doesn't make sense. I can feel that it wants to be closed.
I can feel that the wound wants to vanish…but something isn't right, and I
don't have the strength to determine what it is.
We can keep going, Tunjozefren reassures me. We are not afraid.
 I pause, because he sounds…muted. As if his voice is no longer as
strong as it was before. That worries me. I want to close the Rift, but not at
the cost of one of the lives entrusted to me. Are you hurt?
We are just quieter, Sallavatri says. We all are. You are, too.
Mentally, I tap at the Rift, wondering what caused that. I need the
children at their full strength. I need to give every bit of my power in order
to fix this wound before it tears open and sends all kinds of horrors through
to this world. But there is something I'm missing.
I concentrate, focusing on the voices that bleed through, the cacophony
of nonsense that overwhelms my senses, looking for guidance. Perhaps the
answer is here. But they are quieter, too.
And then it hits me.
I know what we must do to close the Rift completely.
The children realize it the moment I do. We are not afraid, Luminoura
tells me.
We will make everyone safe, Sallavatri agrees. Take what you need.
I do. I pour everything into the Rift, mourning the sacrifice we must
make.
The world explodes in blinding light.

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 Chapter

Thirty-Seven

OceanofPDF.com
MELINA

T he air feels heavy in the room. I hold Azar's hand, worried, because
I've been touching his mind ever since I found him, but right now,
he's completely quiet, his focus gone somewhere I can't follow. I
want to press back and make sure that he's all right, but I also don't want to
bother him if he's concentrating. So I chew on my lip, trying not to panic,
and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Exactly how long will this take, I wonder. Will he be “gone” all day?
Will it take more than a day? An hour? Should I interrupt him to make sure
he eats or drinks?
A choked gasp gets my attention. I glance at Azar, and his eyes have
flicked open. They're gray for a moment, and then solid, unrelenting white.
Oh my god. "Azar?" I whisper. "Are you all right?"
No response. Somewhere in the distance, I hear a woman screaming.
"Azar?" I ask again, worried something has gone wrong. I give his hand
a little shake, even though I'm not sure if I should. "Please, talk to me." I
close my eyes and reach out with my mind. Azar?
There's no response. My head hurts as I strain to contact him. Someone
pounds on the door behind me. I don't answer, hoping they'll go away. I
don't want to look away from Azar for a second, worried that he might
somehow need me.
A moment later Gwen storms in, her son in her arms, tears on her face.
"What the fuck is going on?" she demands as I turn toward her. "What is he
doing to my son?" Her gaze moves to Azar, her eyes widening. "It's
happening to him, too?"
Before I can ask, Gwen lowers Tunjozefren so I can see him. His eyes
are wide open, that same alarming bright white that covers Azar's normally
whirling eyes. "They're trying to close the Rift," I tell her. "I don't know if
it's working. I can't get ahold of him."
She clutches her son to her chest. "Tell them to come back! This isn't
worth it if it hurts them!"
 Azar makes another one of those terrifying, gasping noises and as I turn
to look at him, his back arches off the bed, his muscles straining and tight. I
clutch his hand, terrified, and brush my fingers over his cheek. "Azar?
Honey?"
His lips part, and I can hear something. Is he trying to talk to me? I lean
in, moving close—and what I hear sends chills up my spine. Azar's mouth
is open, but the voices coming from him aren't his. It sounds like a thousand
radio stations all speaking over each other, voices piled atop one another
like a car crash of minds. The sound grows, and as it does, the pressure in
my head grows worse. Gwen whimpers, leaning over her son, and I press
my hand to my head.
The pressure increases, and the volume coming through Azar gets
louder and louder, the voices screaming through him. He arches higher, his
hand twisting out of mine, and the pressure in my head feels like a vise. I
press both hands to my temples, even as I scream his name. "Azar!"
A pulse of pure energy flares through the room.
It feels incredibly loud and silent all at once, and flattens both me and
Gwen to the ground with the force of it. My head feels as if it's collapsing,
and I scream—but nothing is coming out. Everything is silent, heavy due to
the pulsing energy in the air. Light fills the room—
—and then explodes.
At least…it feels like it explodes. The tension disappears as quickly as it
appeared, and I haul myself off the floor, weary, aching and confused.
Gwen is curled around her son, tears leaking down her face. I stagger to my
feet, moving immediately to the bed. Azar is collapsed, his eyes closed, and
I reach over and pry an eyelid up. Warm, milky gold—a normal shade—
lurks underneath. Thank god. "What happened?"
Gwen slowly sits up. Her gaze is locked on her infant son, and when he
lets out a little whimper and nuzzles at her chest, she chokes on a sob of
relief. Cradling him to her, she shakes her head at me. "I don't know."
There's a faint shout outside, and dismay hits me. I want to scream what
now? Instead, I force myself to remain calm. I go to the window and look
outside. One of the soldiers points at the sky. Flakes of dust and ash are
falling to the ground like snowflakes, even though there's not a cloud in the
sky. Another person points at the sky, and I look up.
The Rift is gone.
 The ugly, pulsing wound that was constantly visible no matter where
you stood or what time of day it was, has vanished. In its place, there's a
pale streak in the sky, as if it's been seared shut. "Holy shit," I breathe.
"They did it." I turn to give Gwen an incredulous look. "They sealed the
Rift!"
"What?" She scrambles to her feet, racing to the window to check for
herself.
Just then, Azar groans. "Ow."
I race to his side, grabbing his hand and pressing a dozen kisses on his
knuckles. "You did it, Azar. You sealed the Rift!"
He gazes up at me, his eyes full of aching emotion, and nods. "I did
what had to be done."
Confused, I give him a curious stare. That's not the excited, relieved
voice I was hoping to hear. "Are you all right?" I prod at his mind again,
wanting to feel his thoughts through my own. To caress him with my
affectionate feelings. But…all I encounter is silence. This time, I frown.
"Azar…I can't feel you."
He nods, his expression melancholy. "I had to close it all off. For us to
close the Rift, we had to give it up." The look he gives me is utterly wistful
as he reaches up to touch my face. "I only got to feel you for a short time."
An incoherent roar shakes the building. I hear the slam of feet crashing
down the hall, and a moment later, the door to our bedroom bursts in once
more. Vaan charges forward, a frantic look in his eyes. He moves
immediately to Gwen, running his hands all over her, and then touches his
son. Confusion and fear are written all over his face.
"I can't hear him," Gwen cries, looking over at me. "I can't hear my
mate. What happened?"
Oh god. I understand now. The mind-speech is a thing in their world,
but not in ours. For him to close the Rift, he had to make the choice to give
it up for everyone. That means Vaan can't hear Gwen, and Gwen can't hear
Vaan, and no one will be able to hear the babies until they learn how to
speak.
In other words, they've become normal children.
I swallow hard and press another kiss to Azar's knuckles. "But you're
safe? No one's hurt?"
He shakes his head. "Safe. No one's hurt. Just…quiet. Very quiet." He
raises a hand to his brow and grimaces as if the quiet physically pains him.
"I hope I made the right choice. The creature in the Rift is gone, but so is
any chance of going home."
"You made the only one you could," I tell him. "You gave everyone here
a future." I can't be upset. Even when Gwen and Vaan hold each other and
weep, their son cradled in their arms.
Even when the other drakoni emerge from their quarters, confused at the
sudden silence in both their heads and their mates’. They understand once
they see the Rift, and a curious sort of calm overtakes them. It's like
everyone expected it. It's like the Rift's healing explains everything.
It's a future for all of us. It's a fresh start.
And since I can't tell my husband with my thoughts, I just hold Azar's
hand to my chest. "I love you, always."

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Epilogue

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MELINA

Months Later

I t's a beautiful, sunny spring morning, the perfect sort of day for
gardening.
I wear a large floppy hat over my head to keep cool. My sundress is
pale white with big yellow sunflowers and looks as cheerful as I feel as I
consult the Big Book of Gardening Skills. At my side, the main gardener,
Sheree, shakes her head and points at Texas Fruit and Vegetable Gardening.
"This says for our zone, okra gets planted two weeks after the final frost."
"Are you sure that's our zone?" I ask again, because it doesn't sound
right to me. "We can't mess this up. We need every seed to count. I'm just
nervous we're going to mess it up."
"We're not going to mess it up," she reassures me, and points at the
prepared beds. "Okra there. Lettuce there. Peppers, cucumbers there.
Carrots, potatoes, and turnips in the shade at the edge of the gardens, by the
fruit trees." She points at the huge tract in direct sunlight. "Tomatoes there,
because those damn things grow everywhere."
I laugh at that. She's not wrong. Tomatoes grow great here, but boy, by
the end of summer, we'll sure be sick of them. "All right. I trust you. Let's
rock and roll."
Sheree looks up at the waiting gardening crew, beaming. "You heard the
lady. Let's get to work!"
The crowd, armed with spades and hoes and buckets, hats on their
heads, scatter. Everyone in the fort takes gardening very seriously, to the
point that anyone that arrives with a lick of gardening skill is immediately
coveted. We've had a nearby fort—Fort Waco—try to steal away some of
our gardeners over Christmas, but it ended up friendly all around, and in the
end, we walked away with shared knowledge and promises to swap seeds.
Pleased, I watch as the huge expanse of garden is worked on. I'd help out,
but Gary would have my head if I tried, so I'm content to hug a book to my
chest and just admire the efficiency of others as they plant, fertilize, and
water.
 Behind me, a man grunts, the tone questioning. I turn, smiling, and see a
drakoni man there. Ah, one of the newcomers. He wears a kilt around his
hips and someone has thoughtfully given him a lariat with a name badge on
it that proclaims HELLO, I'M YAZEN.
"Hi, Yazen," I say brightly. A few of the women that used to be in the
panty program have made themselves ambassadors to the drakoni that have
been coming through. Not all stay, but enough are curious about the
settlement and the people that it's not uncommon to see golden-scaled and
red-scaled people walking amongst the humans of the fort. "I'm Melina."
He grunts again, and then moves his mouth in an exaggerated fashion.
"Hey-lo."
I beam approval at him. It's been an uphill climb for the drakoni since
the Rift closed for good. They're no longer crazed, the madness having
disappeared as quickly as it came, but without mental speech, they're having
to learn how to speak aloud for the first time. It's difficult for them but I
never mock their attempts, because they're trying.
Yazen holds a plant out to me, a frown on his face. He makes a gesture
like he wants to hand the plant to me, but when I reach for it, he pulls back
and bares his teeth. Okay, he's not wanting to give me the plant. "Yes?" he
asks and then nods at Sheree. "Yes?"
I try to decipher what he's asking, studying the plant in his hands. It's
not one of the ones from the garden, I realize. He's got roots hanging out
from between thick golden fingers, and it looks as if it's in danger of wilting
if it doesn't get planted soon. I stare at it and then glance up at Yazen. He's
watching Sheree with a look of pure longing.
Aaaah. "You want to give the plant to Sheree?"
"Shar-ee," he agrees with a nod, and gestures at the plant cradled in his
claws. "Yes." Then he gives me another questioning look, as if he's asking
for permission. I know some people are still afraid of the drakoni—they
might always be—but Sheree isn't one of them. If this is his awkward way
of courting our gardener, he's welcome to. Sheree's a widow, so I don't think
she's involved with anyone.
I smile at him and give an encouraging nod. "I think she'd like it."
For a moment, poor Yazen looks nervous. He swallows hard, his throat
bobbing, and then takes a few steps forward. "Shar-ee?" he calls out, and
when she turns, he practically thrusts the plant under her chin, a mute look
of hope on his face.
 "Oh," Sheree says, blinking with surprise. "Oh my goodness. Thank
you, Yazen." She blushes, and for a moment she looks like a schoolgirl
instead of a mature woman with gray streaks at her temples. "Do you want
to help me plant it?"
"Yes," Yazen replies, grinning at her.
Aw. That makes me happy. I think of my own dragon-man, who's
probably being chased down by a million assistants. There's never a
moment to rest for poor Azar. If it's not figuring out how to widen the
streets or create sturdier houses, it's a well going dry or planning to expand
gardens. It's militia drills and scavenging runs and chore rosters and a dozen
other small tasks that eat up his day.
He loves it, of course. He loves that people listen to and respect him for
his intelligence and not his brute muscle, and lately his reading has been
about homesteading and woodworking, just because he wants to have the
knowledge that people need. He's firmly thrown himself into running the
fort, and not because he wants to impress me or to have power. I think at
this point he genuinely wants to see it turn into a flourishing city, one that
everyone can be proud of.
Well…he probably likes the power a little bit. I won't hold that against
him.
Thinking of my husband reminds me that I need to pick up a package
from the clinic. I head in that direction, waving at people that are out
enjoying the early morning sunlight like I am. Porches have been springing
up in front of the Fort Dallas houses, chairs parked outside instead of
indoors. It's nice to be able to go out and not worry about dog-sized bugs or
if a dragon's flying overhead. After years of cowering, it feels like we've
been given freedom. The drakoni are no longer insane. While we see them
in the sky regularly, they don't attack. Most are simply confused and
looking for answers—or looking for a place to call home. As for the bugs,
most of them have disappeared now that the Rift is permanently closed.
Good riddance.
I make it to the clinic and peek in. Gary's with a patient, his hand on a
pregnant woman's rounded belly, stethoscope pressed to her stomach.
Alma's in my old office, though, and I knock on the door. "Morning," I call
out as I step inside. "Is this a bad time?"
"Never!" She jumps to her feet and hugs me, patting my back. "Did you
take that test I sent you?"
 I nod, beaming at her.
She gasps and her eyes light up. She grabs my hands. "Are we…
happy?"
"Very," I reassure her.
She squeals, the sound girlish, and we do a little dance together. “This
calls for a celebration!” Her dark eyes are shiny with tears. “Oh, I’m going
to have to make so many baby clothes.”
“Alma,” I warn, grinning as I hold her hands. “Really, you don’t have to
—”
“And clothes for you!” She clucks her tongue, studying my dress. “It’s
all good to be a princess but some of these gowns won’t work for a
pregnant belly. I’m coming over later.” She nods at me as if it’s been
decided. “We’ll go through your clothes and see which ones need seams let
out. Are you having cravings? Do I need to talk to the cook there?”
I laugh, unable to help myself, and pull Alma into a hug. “Stop it! I
think you’re more excited than I am.”
“Of course I’m excited! This is something to look forward to!” She
squeezes me tight, her arms around me. “I’d say we need to get drinks to
celebrate but that’s off the table. Pastries? You think that cook will make us
some cake to celebrate?”
I giggle at the thought, feeling girlish and silly and lighthearted.
Somewhere in the last few months, Alma and I have gone from co-workers
with a common goal to friends. It’s been a slow transformation. I think I’ve
been so guarded and alone for years that it’s hard for me to trust and let
anyone in. But Alma’s good at crashing through boundaries, and she’s
someone that works as hard as I do. We share beauty products and swap
books, and Alma has all the gossip in the fort, which is always entertaining.
We have breakfast ‘dates’ together on weekends, not to talk about work, but
just to hang out. She complains about her boyfriend, I try not to gush too
much about Azar, and…that’s it.
I have a friend. It feels like a weird, fragile thing, but it makes me
happy. In time, maybe I’ll have more if I keep letting people in. I’ll have a
community again. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until Alma
showed up at my house one morning with scented soaps, hot tea, and an
earful of gossip.
She’s the first person I’ve told about my pregnancy suspicions, and she
found a test from a batch that were still in decent working order. I’m glad
I’m sharing this moment with her, but I need to share it with someone else,
too. So I give her one last squeezing hug and then pull back. "I'm going to
tell Azar today. Do you have my gift?"
Alma chuckles. "I'll have you know I traded two packets of soup mix
for the little bugger." She heads to the back of the office and picks up a box
with holes in the lid, and then opens it to show me the tiny kitten inside. It's
the cutest little ball of calico fluff, and gives me a plaintive mew.
"She's perfect," I coo, picking up the kitten and holding her to my
breast. "I'll pay you back for the soup, I promise."
"Pfft. Don't worry about it." Alma waves a hand. “We’re friends.”
I beam at her. “I still don’t like owing people.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Ay yi, amiga. Let it go. You just tell Azar keep
sending out people to look for meds and keep the clinic stocked. That’s
payment enough."
"You know he will," I say, stroking the kitten's tiny head with a
fingertip. Ever since the Rift closed, I haven't worked in the clinic. Azar's
been fussing over my health, worried that I've made myself sick caring for
everyone. He's staffed the clinic with more people and Gary is the head
physician and Alma runs the office. Between the two of them, they have a
great system and I…don't miss it. I thought I would. I thought I wouldn't
know what to do with myself without people to attend to, but helping Azar
run the city and brainstorming ways to improve our living situation takes up
all my free time. And then, of course, there'll be a slight expansion to our
family in a few months…
I give the kitten a kiss and put her back in the box, making sure she's
comfortable before I tuck it against my chest. "I can't stay," I tell Alma.
"But we're sending a scavenging team out tomorrow for a long-distance run.
They're heading west, towards Abilene. It'll take them a few weeks to come
back, but we're hopeful for good news. They've got a list of everything the
clinic needs."
Alma claps her hands. "Perfection!"
"Oh, and we're planting a big herb garden for the spring," I tell her.
"We're going to have to start coming up with more herbal remedies, and I
just found a big book on natural medicines. I'm making some notes and then
I'll bring it by." I don't tell her that Azar wants to read it first. He wants to
read everything. He devours every bit of information he can, because he
sees all of it as useful to our situation. If it's written down, Azar will read it
and try to learn from it.
I say my goodbyes to Alma, promising to meet for lunch so I can give
her all the gossip on how Azar handled the baby news, and then head
toward the edge of the compound, towards one of the buildings that's been
established as a workshop.
Azar's been working with a few of the men lately, as they try to figure
out how to weld a pump mechanism for inside the kitchens to bring in fresh
water. He saw a drawing of an old-fashioned hand pump in a book a few
days ago and has been obsessed with figuring out how to get one to work.
You'd think it'd be an easy thing to figure out, but we've lost so much
information and knowledge from what our ancestors had just a hundred
years ago that it feels like we're starting from scratch.
But if anyone can figure it out, it'll be Azar.
In the workshop, I see Jurik working with one of the welders. He grins
at me, winking, and then blows fire on the metal when the welder gestures.
I give him a quick wave, heading for the back of the noisy workshop.
There's another man, hammering out metal, and another drakoni helping
with another welding project. I skirt through their work tables, doing my
best to stay out of the way. Jurik and Rachel have stayed on in the fort for a
while longer. Rachel says she has no interest in leaving “just when shit is
getting good” and helps manage the lending library we have set up when
she's not tending to her daughter. Jurik helps out with a lot of Azar's
projects, and I'm pretty sure I saw Azar passing him one of the children's
workbooks he'd used to learn how to read. I'm glad they stayed. Rachel is
quick to speak her mind, and I appreciate her perspective even if I don't
agree with it. Gwen and Vaan returned to Fort Shreveport, and Jenny and
Mhal headed off to “homestead” somewhere. I got the impression they
didn't want to tell us where, and I didn't ask.
No one's being forced to stay, after all. I want people to live in Fort
Dallas that want to be here and want to make it a better place.
I find Azar hunched over a massive set of blueprints spread out on a
table. He squints at them, running his finger along the drawings, his lips
moving. He looks different than he did when he first arrived. He still prefers
his robes, but they're formfitting and dark now, and belted at the waist. His
hair is pulled back into a braid similar to my own, and he wears a thick pair
of work-boots on his feet. His claws have been trimmed down once more
but he's kept the fangs, as if he's decided to somehow embrace his drakoni
side instead of hiding it.
I sidle up to the table and lean against it. "Hey stranger."
My husband jerks upright, startled by my approach. "Melina! I didn't
hear you coming, love." He moves to my side and pulls my straw hat off,
giving my forehead a kiss. "Should I tell everyone to stop working?"
"Of course not." I hop up on the table, sitting directly on the blueprints,
box cradled in my arms. "What are we looking at?"
"The city's water systems. If we can't figure out how to pump from a
well, I'm wondering if we can figure out how to get things running again."
His eyes gleam with excitement. Azar loves a tricky problem to solve. "Did
you know water once ran all under these streets? It's amazing. The system
was so complex."
"I'm well aware of it," I tell him dryly. "I miss hot showers like there's
no tomorrow."
He moves to my side, slipping off one of my shoes and rubbing my foot
while he studies the blueprints with fascination. "But you have me instead."
Mmm, I do. No one else will give me a foot rub as enthusiastically as he
will. "I do. And I brought you a present."
That makes Azar pause. "A present?"
I hold the box out to him. It, of course, lets out a plaintive mew.
He takes the box from me, a vaguely alarmed look on his face.
Removing the lid, he stares down at the tiny fluff ball inside, confused.
"What is it?"
I laugh, picking it up and placing it in his arms. "It's a kitten, silly."
Azar frowns down at it. "Why?"
"Why is it a kitten, or why did I get you one?" I grin.
He leans against the table, cradling the thing in his arms, a baffled
expression on his face. It meows again and starts climbing his robe, then
settles against his neck, tucking itself against him. "Why did you get me a
kitten?" he clarifies.
"Wellll," I drawl. "They're good mousers."
"We have mice?"
"No. But just in case we do. And they're good company." I reach out
and pet the tiny thing, and hesitantly, Azar lifts his hand and pets it as well,
following my lead. It's kind of hilarious, watching him with it. He clearly
has no idea what to do with a baby animal.
 "You have me for company," he says, but he keeps petting it.
"I do. But pets are wonderful to have around. They make your day
brighter just by being there. They love you unconditionally."
"This one loves my neck," he points out as it tries to scratch at his
collar, his expression as bewildered as before.
I decide to spill my secret, then. "A pet is also good practice for the
future."
If he got my subtle hint, he doesn't show it. Azar tilts his head, trying to
see the tiny creature pressed against his throat. "Because you want more
cats in the future?"
"Because we're going to have a baby."
Azar pauses. His already pale face turns bone-white. He swallows hard,
staring at me. "You…a baby?"
"You too," I retort, amused. "It wasn't all me." I touch my stomach. "But
unless the test I took is wrong, yeah, we're going to have a baby in a few
months, assuming that Salorians have the same gestation times that drakoni
do." I'm not sure how I feel about a drastically shortened pregnancy, but it
just means I'll meet my child that much sooner.
"A baby," Azar says reverently. His eyes are wide and he clutches the
kitten against his neck, his gaze flicking over me back and forth. "I…
Melina…really?"
"Really," I reassure him. His reaction isn't exactly what I thought it
would be. Joy, maybe. Excitement. Azar looks terrified. "Is that bad? Do
you not want a baby?" I thought we were happy together. Shit, I know we're
happy together. We make love every night and no one's ever treated me as
good as Azar does. He takes care of me. He listens to everything I have to
say. He fusses over me as if I'm made of precious gold. Everything is so
good between us that I never stopped to wonder if he wanted a child. "Is
this bad…?"
"No," he blurts, hastily tugging the kitten from its spot on his neck and
handing it over to me. The kitten cries again and sinks its claws in to my
hand, looking for safety, and I press it against my chest. Azar leans forward,
a reverent hand extending toward my stomach. A shaking hand, I notice.
"You…we're going to have a child."
"We are," I say softly.
"I wish I could hear it." Sadness crosses his face. "He – or she – won’t
be able to tell us their name.”
 “I know.” It makes me ache, but there’s nothing to be done for it. “Our
baby can tell us their name when they’re ready. Until then, we’ll call him or
her something else. I’d rather our child have a future than a specific name.”
He nods, gaze fixed on my waist. “I know. It’s just…a large change. I
think that's why it's so difficult to adjust. It's so quiet sometimes."
I understand. Azar—and all of the drakoni—have been used to mental
speech. To reaching out and touching a mind to ask a question, to having a
constant link with another person. Azar also had the links with the babies,
and those are gone, too. I imagine it's lonely sometimes. "You'll just have to
wait to talk to him or her when they're born. Just like I have to wait."
He brushes his fingertips over my stomach. "Our child," he breathes
again. "This…this is incredible." He looks up at me, an expression of pure
delight on his face. He notices the kitten and gets to his feet once more,
taking it from me. "I must start practicing right away." He holds the calico
up to his nose, giving it a stern look. "You must help me learn to be the best
father ever."
It reaches out and bats at his nose with one tiny paw, and I swear, Azar
melts. His expression is one of bliss. "Did you see that?"
"I saw," I agree, amused.
I'm doubly amused when Azar leans over and kisses the hell out of me,
then presses his forehead to my own. "Thank you, my love. For the kitten…
and the child." He touches my stomach again and then announces to the
kitten, "Tell me what you would like. Are you hungry? Thirsty?" When it's
silent, he gives me a worried look. "What do I do? Should I feed it? Pet it?
What would a father do in this instance?"
He's so frantic. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Something tells me
that it's not going to be much of a mouser. I think Azar's going to make it
the most spoiled cat ever.
And I can't wait to see him as a dad. "You're doing just fine, honey. Just
fine."

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 Afterword

Hello there!
Aaaaah!! It has been such a journey to get here to ‘the end’ of the series.
I'm so, so stoked at how this book turned out.
When I first created Azar, it was to have an ongoing 'Big Bad' in the
series. Someone you could point to and say HE'S EVIL, WE MUST
DEFEAT HIM. Romance readers being who they are, the moment Azar
showed up on the page, people started asking for his book. At first, I said
no. He's an asshole! He's no good! He's evil! But as the series went on,
more and more people kept asking for Azar's book and it made me think
about how it'd be possible. I had paired him with Melina, after all, someone
who has selflessly devoted herself to the fort and it's people. How the hell
does THAT work out?
Somewhere along the way, I decided that I'd write Azar's book. I had no
idea how I'd make him heroic, but I was determined to try! I'm kinda
fascinated by the morally gray hero. The one who thinks he's doing the right
thing even when he's not, and has to be convinced that his strongly-held
beliefs are actually the wrong ones.
PULL UP A CHAIR, MY FRIENDS, WE ARE ABOUT TO DIVE
INTO REYLO TERRITORY.
(Some of you are groaning, but those of you who have read my books
for a while know that it always, always, comes back to Reylo.)
So let's talk about Kylo Ren/Ben Solo and the Sequel Trilogy. The first
movie sets up Kylo Ren to be the bad guy. Oh, he blew up the Hosnian
system and has a red lightsaber and a mask. He's bad! Except that you find
out through the course of the story that Starkiller Base was Hux's idea and
not Kylo's, and that Kylo turned to the dark side after everyone he trusted
betrayed him, and that he'd been groomed/mentally abused all his life by the
dark side voices in his head. He 'turns' to the light for Rey at the end, only
to fucking die at the end of The Rise of Skywalker (cue me hissing angrily).
This is theoretically a villain's redemption.
I hated it.
Wouldn't it be a more interesting story if Ben Solo had to spend his life
atoning for his sins and making up for them? Wouldn't that be a better
'redemption' for someone? To say 'yeah, I did some pretty crap stuff when I
was being gaslighted, but now I'm making up for it'. To me, that was a far
more interesting story and one that was completely overlooked.
So that's how we get to Azar. In a way, he's a lot like Kylo Ren. He's
proud to be on the 'dark side'. He's been raised that his people are the right
ones, that everyone else is just trash, and that there's nothing wrong with
being awful and enslaving 'those' people for the good of 'these' people. It'd
be EASY to kill him off in a dramatic moment for the love of the
heroine...but that's the coward's way out. I wanted to show Azar slowly
realizing that hey, all this shit I've been told all my life isn't right. I wanted
him to find enjoyment in working to make the fort better, not just because
Melina wanted it, but because he wanted it, too. In my head, Azar still has a
rough road in the future. He's going to have drakoni that will hate his guts
simply because of who he is and his past. (And for the record? Emma is not
wrong in hating him. From her perspective, he’s still the biggest monster
around.) He's going to have to prove himself to everyone over and over
again. He's going to struggle with empathy from time to time, because it's
hard to unlearn a lifetime of bullshit. But the key thing is that he's going
to try.
In a way, that makes him perfect for Melina. She has a strong moral
compass. She does things for the good of the fort, even if she doesn't want
to, because someone has to do them. She's not going to let him stray. She
knows the way and she’s going to lead him through it.
I wanted Melina to be more than just a do-gooder, though. I imagined
what it'd be like to be her in the After, and the thing I kept coming back to
was...tired. Melina would be TIRED. As a black woman alone in a shitty
world, she would be constantly in defense mode. As a fairly young,
attractive woman alone, she would have had to do bad stuff in the past to
save herself, like all women in the After. And on top of that, she's looking
after people who aren't all that grateful, who expect someone to look after
them because a clinic is where you go when you're sick, right? Never mind
that no one gives the person running the clinic a day off. So I imagined
Melina as tired and world-weary. It's one reason why she's comforted by
being able to take care of her hair and doll herself up. It's one reason why
she loves painting her toes and wearing pretty dresses. She's tired of the
daily struggle, and life with Azar takes some of that weight off. Of course
it'd be appealing on some level, and the more he takes care of her, the more
she comes to appreciate just how devoted he is to her.
Let’s talk about that first sexual encounter between them. It’s a
goddamn mess. I know it is. I wanted Azar to get what he wanted, and for it
to be the worst thing in the world. I wanted it to make him feel like absolute
shit so he could learn from it and realize that he couldn’t just shove his way
into her heart. So I felt it was necessary even if it was a really strong,
polarizing sort of scene.
Now let's talk about the Rift and closing it and why did I take the
telepathic bonds away from everyone? It's bittersweet, as some of my
readers commented, but it was something that I felt had to happen. It's a
leftover power from the other world, and it's the root of the drakoni
madness. I couldn't envision a future for my characters ten or twenty years
down the line still trying to eke out an existence between dragon attacks, so
I wanted to change that particular aspect. It opens up new avenues for the
setting and maybe I'll come back to it someday! But for now, I like where
we're at. I like that everything's tied up and I can close this chapter and be
pleased with how it ended.
I'm truly sorry this one took so long to come out! I had a few things
going on in my schedule that had to get squeezed in. Add to the fact that I
had to give up daily caffeine for medical reasons AND I was on a new
medication that had a side-effect of sleepiness, and let's just say that
December was a fairly useless month for me. I actually worried I was
getting burned out - nope! I was just really dang tired and unable to write
more than a few hundred words a day. That put me behind schedule, and I
suspect I'll be playing catch up for a while now.
A huge, huge shout out to my sensitivity readers who made this book
better than it was. You all had such wonderful suggestions, and when they
conflicted with one another, I went for the one that I felt suited the story
best. I appreciate you all so very much for your time and patience, and this
book wouldn't have been possible without your thoughtful input. So thank
you again to Tye C., Chi O., Kanika H., Sheena B., Kim M., Grace Q.,
Stephanie D., Jane M., Zintle M., and Kim A. Thank you for putting up
with my shifting schedule and reading so quickly when I finally sent the
book off. Thank you, thank you. :)
I'm immensely proud of the final product and I hope you love it as much
as I do! <3
Ruby

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 Want More?

You can’t get enough, right? Perhaps you want to read the Fireblood Dragons series all over again.
Or maybe you want to glom my backlist…or maybe you’re in the mood for a sexy, romantic stand-
alone. I’ve got you covered!
All of my books are in Kindle Unlimited, so borrow away!

Stand-alone, short and sexy

Shift
(Five were-bear romance novellas)
The King’s Spinster Bride
(A fantasy arranged marriage romance)
Prison Planet Barbarian
(Kinda…what it says on the package. There’s a prison planet. There’s a big blue alien. They bone.)

Glom My Backlist!
The Ice Planet Barbarians Series
(Paleolithic-ish Space Romance)
The Icehome Series
(A spinoff of IPB)
The Fireblood Dragons Series
(Post-Apocalyptic Dragon Shifter Romance)
The Anchor and Aspect Series
(Epic Fantasy Romance)
The Corsairs Series
(Adventurous Space Romance)
Corsair Brothers
(Bigger Adventures in Space with Blue Balls)

Whatever your tastes…enjoy!

OceanofPDF.com