Dragons of Preor: Taulan Page 12

  A crowd that gradually parted for them, creating a path to the center of the large, grass-lined space.

  That was when she saw him, saw her mate with a blackened eye and swollen lip. A hiss crawled up her throat and escaped her mouth, anger overriding sense. She should have stayed behind Jarek. Should have remained in place instead of racing forward to face the gloating males that bracketed her mate.

  “You fucking assholes.” She ducked Jarek’s reach and ran to her mate. “I’m going to—“

  A thick arm caught her around the middle just as a half-dozen warriors stepped into her path, blades bared.

  Jarek’s voice filled her ear. “Hold, Lana joi Taulan. Bottle your rage. Now is not the time.”

  She jerked against his grip, unwilling to be restrained. She glared at the men in her path, meeting their stares with the fury burning in her blood. She fought her instincts, the need to cower beneath such anger. Days ago, she would have shrunk back and hidden behind Jarek, but today… Today she was Taulan’s mate and War Mistress of the Third Fleet. She wouldn’t shame him by cowering and hiding. She’d kick their asses as hard as she could, dammit.

  “I’m going to—“

  Jarek tightened his hold. “After the challenge.”

  “Do you see him, Jarek?” She snarled and raised her voice. “Do you all see him? See what these honorable males did to the fleet’s War Master?”

  “He is no War Master of mine!” The bellow cut through the crowd, so loud it almost seemed as if the male had shouted directly into her ear. Once more, the gathered males parted, granting a newcomer entrance. She had only a moment to wonder at this male’s identity before Jarek supplied the answer. “Nathor sen Pavon.”

  “Taulan’s…?”

  “Distant cousin.”

  Nathor strode forward, soon coming to stand in the middle of the rough circle. “He is no War Master of mine.”

  “State your challenge,” the Councilman stepped forward, a smirk on his lips.

  “Nathor sen Pavon, Primary Communications Warrior, challenges Taulan sen Pavon—“

  Lana couldn’t help but break into the declaration. “When are you assholes going to get it through your heads?” Frustration, anger and fear had her shouting. “He is my mate. Mine. If you won’t use his new name, I’ll damn well beat it into you!”

  Surprise suffused her, but she wouldn’t back down. Not when she felt something else consume her blood. Dragon’s fire. Nalan and Melissa had whispered about it—about the hints of dragon characteristics that she’d pick up once she mated Taulan. Apparently a temper was one of those things.

  Nathor spoke as if she hadn’t said a word. “—for the position of War Master of the Third Fleet.”

  “Acknowledged,” the Councilman spoke first and his statement was immediately followed by Droze’s father.

  “Acknowledged.”

  Both men nodded at each other and then their lips parted into wide smiles before the Councilman said the few words she’d hate for the rest of her life. “Let the challenge begin.”

  Lana could do nothing while she was dragged away by Jarek. When the guards surrounding Taulan released her mate, he wiped away the droplet of blood sneaking from his split lip and a grin teased the corners until he nearly smiled. The rest of the crowd eased away as well, widening the circle until Nathor and Taulan were left at its center.

  “You should back down, Nathor.” Taulan looked fierce despite the bruises marring his face.

  Nathor shook his head and bared his lengthening fangs. “Never.”

  “So be it.”

  19

  Taulan did not wait for Nathor to reply. Betrayal dogged his heels but more importantly, rage filled his veins. A member of his own family, his blood kin, challenged him and it was a true statement of doubt.

  Not even his family supported him.

  He leapt at the male, claws and fangs bared as he began the battle. He would not wait for his opponent to prepare himself.

  Taulan tackled Nathor, taking him to the ground in a tangle of limbs and echoing snarls. The crowd moved and flowed as they rolled across the grass, keeping out of their way. Nathor immediately struggled against Taulan’s fierce hold, his grip unwavering until he ended up straddling Nathor.

  That was when he delivered his first blow, and then his second. Fury thrummed inside him, growing and spreading with every beat of his heart. Pain beat at him; remnants of the battering he’d suffered while under the council’s “care” but it was nothing compared to the emotions consuming him from inside.

  Nathor swung his arm, claws bared, and they sank into the flesh of Taulan’s shoulder before he could stop his cousin. No matter. He did not feel the pain, not beyond the anger that suffused him. It lent him strength and resolve, determination to win and then destroy the dishonorable males who laid hands on him while he remained in custody.

  He would take them all on.

  They changed positions, Nathor gaining the upper hand, but only for a moment. Only long enough to inflict another deep gash.

  Taulan planted his feet on the ground and lifted his hips as he gripped his opponent’s shoulders. The sudden move had Nathor flipping up and over Taulan, giving Taulan the chance to regain his feet. He did not wait for Nathor to do the same. A swift kick to his challenger’s jaw sent Nathor’s head snapping to the left and the male listed to the side.

  Not enough to dissuade him. Not nearly.

  Nathor quickly recovered, rising to his full height opposite Taulan. They exchanged blows, fists and feet, claws and fangs. Blood flowed and muscles burned, but they didn’t stop. Their battle took them on a winding route through the crowd, but he never lost sight of his mate, his Lana watching the battle with fear and worry in her eyes.

  He would kill Nathor for causing his mate unease.

  “Stop this, Nathor.” He would try once more before taking the final step.

  Nathor merely sneered. “Never. I will never follow such a male. One that allowed his female to come to harm. One that has no wings.”

  Taulan heard the words, but the tone snatched his attention. Along with the fact that Lana’s injuries came before his lack of wings. He swiped at Nathor, sinking his claws deeply into the male’s chest beneath his ribcage. He lifted the moment his fingers struck bone, causing even more damage. “Cease.”

  His opponent flicked his wings, using them to lift his body off of Taulan’s hand and a wet squelch reached his ears as his fingers were freed. “No.” Another contraction of wings had Nathor rising higher until he hovered just out of reach. “Come follow me, War Master. Come defeat me in the skies like a true Preor.”

  “He’s not supposed to—“ His Lana’s shout was silenced by Jarek, the male covering her lips with his palm.

  The only thing that saved the male was the fact that he had his own mate.

  “Is that what you wish, Nathor? To take your final flight?”

  Nathor curled his lip. “As if you could follow. I will take you into the air and drop you to the ground like a sniveling human.”

  A rumble surrounded them, the sound growing with each beat of Nathor’s wings. Not all liked hearing the male speak of humans in such a way. They were the hope for the future and he dishonored them with his words.

  “Let us leave the Earth, Nathor.” He had no choice, but that did not mean he had to follow the Preor as a dragon.

  While Nathor gained height, so did Taulan… on the jagged rock walls of the towering reminders of Preor aeries. Claws scraped against stone and he crawled up the craggy stone. He went higher and higher, kicking Nathor when he drew too close and swinging aside when the male attempted to pull him from the wall.

  The whole time, Taulan waited. Waited and watched as Nathor became more and more frustrated with his failings.

  “You cannot beat me, Nathor.” His breathing remained steady while Nathor panted from his exertions.

  “I can! I will! I destroyed Droze and Luuvak and I shall—“

  Taulan narrowed his ey
es. “It was you. You without honor.”

  “You have a mate and you did not avenge her.” The look in the male’s eyes was telling, the crazed edge revealing more than words.

  Yes, Nathor’s words said he didn’t care for humans, but the envy was in his gaze. Taulan had a mate and did not protect her, so Nathor took it upon himself to avenge Lana. And now challenge him.

  “A mate who will die if you do not cease.” Taulan released his hold and allowed himself to drop several feet, avoiding Nathor’s next attempt. “Is that what you wish? To kill her with my death?”

  For if he died, she would.

  “An honorable male will not allow her to perish. The Medical Master will heal her.”

  The loss of blood—injuries—pushed Nathor closer to the edge of transition and it would not be much longer before the male succumbed.

  “And that male will not be you.” Taulan would see to it. “You without honor, without strength. You who will take his final flight. Today.”

  “You will die.”

  Blue encompassed Nathor, his body shimmering as he transformed mid-air from his humanoid shape to a fully grown Preor dragon. The transition was quick. A ripple that overtook a male as he shifted. And it was in that moment, in that breadth of time between forms, that Taulan struck.

  He leapt away from the wall, turning and twisting his body so that by the time Nathor settled into his new shape, Taulan sat astride his opponent. Shouts and yells followed the transition, jeers and cheers fighting for supremacy, but he only had time for one thing now.

  Destroying Nathor—the male intent on taking all that Taulan had earned.

  They twirled through the air, spinning and diving as Nathor attempted to dislodge him. Attempted. Taulan would not be thrown away so easily. He clung to the male’s back, one hand encircling a single spine while the other…

  The other grew claws, larger and longer than before so that he could end the battle quickly and easily. It was not an easy thing he offered. Not an easy choice to grant the male intent on destroying his life.

  Yet he gave it just the same. “Cease, Nathor.”

  Taulan took the male’s next action as a denial. Nathor tilted his body and scraped his massive back against the rock walls of the aerie, attempting to rid himself of Taulan’s weight.

  It was the end, then. The final rejection that sealed his fate.

  When Nathor righted himself, Taulan went into action. He leapt from his opponent’s back, sailing through the air and twisting around so he clutched the male’s chest. Vulnerable scales were revealed to him, one of the few tender spots on a Preor. He steeled himself for what was to come, the feelings about to bombard him as he took the next action.

  The ground neared, Nathor’s steep dive yet another move meant to rid him of Taulan’s weight. When they reached the grass, one of them would not rise again.

  Sharp nails on his left hand gleaming, he performed his task with quick efficiency.

  He slit Nathor’s throat. He dug his claws into his cousin, his blood kin, and ended his life with a single swipe. The bellow that filled the air was cut short, his opponent having difficulty holding breath as blood flowed from the wound to coat Taulan’s skin.

  The ground neared, their bodies no longer descending in a controlled dive but an uncontrollable plummet. He kicked away from Nathor, battling to put space between them before they collided with the grass. He could survive the fall… as long as he was not crushed beneath the weight of a shifted Preor.

  Nathor’s landing shook the ship, the resounding thud vibrating through Taulan’s bones, while his own suddenly halted. Not because he met the grass, but because more than one Preor rose into the air to snatch him from death’s impending grip.

  Skala grasped his left arm while Evuklar snatched at his right. The males worked together to lower him and the moment his feet met the solid floor, he had his arms filled by Lana. His mate’s tears soaked his skin, but at least he still had skin for her to dampen.

  “Who is the next challenger!” The Councilman’s shout rose above the crowd’s cheers and his yell silenced them quicker than any War Master could.

  As one, the group retreated, leaving Taulan alone to face the two males. He released his mate and urged her to return to Jarek. This was not the place for her. Not when he was unsure how the two older Preors would take his words.

  Taulan let his gaze touch on the crowd, his eyes landing on warrior after warrior and each one of them had a single expression their faces—pride. “You will not find another challenger here.”

  There was not a doubt in his mind.

  “Then you shall be taken into custody for the murders of—“

  Now the crowd surged.

  “He will not!”

  “No!”

  “Over my dead scales!”

  Taulan raised his hands, asking for silence, and he did not speak again until they all fell quiet. “You may have not heard, but Nathor admitted to murdering your sons. It was not me. It was not under my order or by my hand, but at the claw of a male with more prejudices than beliefs.” He pointed at the massive dragon lying dead nearby. “You search for your sons’ murderer? He lies there. Do as you wish, but get off my ship.” He let his hatred and fury through, allowing it to overtake his features until they could not doubt his feelings. Until they couldn’t help but see the barely leashed violence within him. “Now.”

  20

  Lana was nervous and it wasn’t only because Taulan wasn’t fully healed from his fight with Nathor. The gashes and cuts were nothing but pink lines, but her mate moved with a stiff slowness that had her hovering around him.

  Which, of course, earned her more than one glare. She decided not to take it personally. It seemed that Preor males were like humans in at least one regard—they didn’t like revealing weakness. Especially in front of his guard.

  The guard filled the small transport ship they’d all piled into for their trip to Earth’s surface. Specifically, the landing pad near UST and Preor Tower.

  Getting an apology from the prince and believing he meant it were two very different things. Her mate had faith in the Ujal, but Lana still remembered being “escorted” to UST surrounded by a half-dozen trident toting males with scales and tails.

  Her mate sat at her side within the small vessel, but his attention was on his warriors, not her. Which was fine. Fine. But it wasn’t. Not when her stomach churned and she felt as if she’d turn inside out at any moment. Her breakfast threatened to make a reappearance and she really didn’t feel like puking in front of these Preor. They were the baddest of the bad—big burly males who were deadly and fierce. She rubbed her abdomen and prayed she’d keep it down. At least until the night was over.

  She could vomit when they got back to their room.

  Trying to keep her food in place, she tried to distract herself with the passing views. Stars filled the vidscreen, the twinkling lights zooming past as they headed toward Earth’s atmosphere. The closer they drew to the pale blue of the Gulf of Mexico, the more she grew confused.

  Lana elbowed Taulan, wanting his attention, but he just kept on talking. Another elbow didn’t get her anything either. When she went in for a third, she froze in place and her breath froze in her lungs.

  She was elbowing her mate, interrupting him, in an effort to get his attention. Not a big deal for a female like Nalan or Melissa—they stood up to their dominant mates—but for Lana…

  She stared at her arm as if it was the first time she’d ever seen it—as if it were a new part of her body. She’d made the move without thought. More importantly… without fear of retribution. Not because Taulan wasn’t strong enough to beat her if he chose, but because he wouldn’t beat her no matter what.

  The Knowing didn’t tell her this. It was simply a soul-deep certainty.

  Taulan would never hurt her on purpose.

  “Shaa kouva? You required my attention?”

  She shook her head, pulling herself from the shock of this new realizatio
n. “You’d never hurt me.” Awe filled her tone. Wings ruffled, shaking with agitation, but she didn’t care. Not only would Taulan never hurt her, he wouldn’t allow harm to come to her. “You’d never hurt me.”

  Her mate frowned, brow furrowed and lips turned down. “Of course I would not—“

  She didn’t need his affirmation. She need his touch, his mouth, to feel his arms wrapped around her because she thought the joy would shatter her into a million pieces.

  And Lana proceeded to take what she desired. She leaned into him, her hands on his shoulders as she tugged him closer. The kiss wasn’t sensual or slow, not meant to arouse but merely express her happiness at the discovery.

  For the first time since she’d met Steven, she could exchange a kiss without expecting a fist to follow. She captured his lips, sliding her tongue between his, and tasted him.

  She tasted her mate, her one, her only. And Taulan growled in response. He didn’t allow her to keep it quick, but instead grasped her around the waist and lifted her onto his lap. He embraced her tightly, holding her close with his arms around her waist. His cock hardened against her ass, and she wiggled. Her pussy ached with the sudden need to be filled by him, to be taken and claimed once more.

  But a low cough sliced through their burgeoning need quicker than anything else ever could.

  Because it was a reminder that they weren’t alone. Face burning, she buried her face against his neck while he… chuckled. Hell, it was close to an outright belly laugh that shook her with its strength.

  “Ah, shaa kouva. You always surprise me.” He nuzzled her in return and murmured. “You show your passion before the warriors and yet you hide like a dragonlet caught stealing treats.”

  She huffed but didn’t say another word. What could she say? Sorry for mauling you in front of the guys.

  The ship shuddered and shook and it was enough to have her snapping her attention to the vidscreen that mirrored their surroundings. She saw bright flames from passing through the atmosphere filled the screen but they disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared.