Dragons of Preor: Taulan Read online

  She gathered each snippet, her mind scrounging for every hint of information. She’d pushed it aside before, but now… now she knew where—with whom—she belonged.

  Preor and Taulan. Her new home, her new mate. It didn’t mean she accepted him without reservation, but there was no disputing the draw of her heart. Every part of her body wanted to mate Taulan. To spend her life with him and give birth to his dragonlets.

  But didn’t dragonlets come out of a shell? They were lizard-ish, right? If they came out of a shell and she was a human, how did…

  “Come, Lana. I have others I would wish you to meet.”

  She swallowed hard, suddenly wary and worried. He hadn’t said anything about friends. “Taulan, I don’t think…”

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Come.”

  Come. That word was more fun when he whispered it against her pussy and not when they were about to meet his friends.

  He drew her along a pebbled pathway, the rocks crunching beneath her shoes. Her new shoes. Everything she wore was new, skin tight, and didn’t leave much to the imagination. The soles of her shoes were tough, yet flexible, giving her great movement while protecting her feet. The better to climb aeries apparently. She hadn’t quite understood him at the time, but staring at towering walls of man-made, craggy rock, she got it.

  “This way.” He drew her around a row of tall hedges and came face to wings with a handful of other males. Taulan placed his hand on the first male they came to—his wing base, the Knowing informed her—and shoved. “Move, old dry scales.”

  The male stumbled forward, his laugh splitting through the air and some of Lana’s tension eased. She recognized that voice, the deep timbre along with the dark green wings. War Master Jarek. The tinkling laugh that came soon after told her the male had brought his human mate along.

  So she knew-ish a couple of people—of a sort.

  A flutter of Jarek’s wings had the Preor’s feet lifting from the ground and then a quick contraction let him fall to the grass beside his mate. With Jarek out of the way, Lana got a look at the others in the area.

  Yeah, she got a look at them and took one giant step back. “Uh…” She wanted to not be there now. “Taulan,” she whispered.

  She wasn’t sure if he heard her wariness or read her mind as the Knowing assured her he could someday, but his reaction to her unease was instantaneous. He pulled them to a quick halt and stepped in front of her, blocking her view.

  Her view of several males, but that wasn’t the most worrying part.

  Nope, it was the two Ujal standing alongside the four Preors. The Ujal incarcerated her, scorned and looked down on her. Why were they on the ship and laughing at Taulan and Jarek.

  Taulan placed a finger beneath her chin and encouraged her to lift her gaze. “Shaa kouva?” he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Do not let worry plague you.” He spoke against her flesh. “You are my very world, Lana joi Taulan Coburn. I will allow nothing to happen to you as long as there is breath in my body.”

  That didn’t change the fact that she was uneasy around strangers.

  Her mate continued. “You did not meet Erun and Nessa. They have a youngling—Tabby—but she remained at home for this visit.”

  Despite their welcoming smiles, Lana’s throat tightened and threatened to close. “Because of…”

  Because she wasn’t who she claimed to be? Because the Ujal didn’t like that she’d lied?

  Erun didn’t move, but Nessa came forward. “Because Tabby has a cold and we weren’t sure what it’d do to a Preor’s system.” The woman pulled Lana away from Taulan and the absence immediately struck her with a sense of loss. “Neither of us will judge you based on your past, Lana.” Nessa gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “I’m human—was human. There are many reasons a person changes their name.” Many reasons women changed their names and Nessa seemed to sense Lana’s reasoning. “Rina knows that and Tave will too. The Ujal are just very on edge. My ex-husband helped sell Ujal children as slaves. He’s the reason the Preor will be helping the Ujal search for lost younglings. As for Erun…” She shook her head, her gaze on Erun. “It is his story to tell, but know that not all Ujals will look at you like Tave. He…” The woman’s hand trembled. “We’ve all lost someone to the extremists. Either close to us or an acquaintance, but even one is too much. It makes him very, very cautious. Fanatically so.”

  Lana nodded. “I understand,” she whispered. And she did. “Thank you for the warm welcome.”

  When Nessa stepped back, Taulan moved to her side once more and continued the introductions. Jarek and his mate Melissa—sister to Nessa’s ex-husband. Then Kozav, the ship’s new Primary Warrior. From there, it was Rendan, the Offense Master. Evuklar and Nalan, the Defense Master and his mate. She also met Vende, the Engineer Master, and Choler, the ship’s primary Negotiate Master now that Zurer and Sobol returned to Preor. The males were mostly single, traveling with the Third Fleet in hopes that they would find their mates amongst Earth’s female population.

  And… speaking with them, laughing and smiling with them, she realized she wanted that for these males. Sure, they had wings and turned into dragons, but that didn’t make them any less deserving than any other man on the planet. They were strong, worthy, self-sufficient, and dependable. No Preor became a master in his craft without a lot of study and training. These were males who’d battled for their position and won.

  Like, literally battled and fought for their places on the ship.

  Even then, Choler retold his fight with Yuass—the way the elder stumbled when struck in the chest yet rallied and nearly broke Choler’s arm. In the end, Yuass relinquished his station and Choler joined the fleet for their mission.

  “So, every time someone is promoted or takes a position, others can fight to displace them?”

  “Yes, War Mistress,” Vende, a deep blue Preor, answered her. “The council appoints the masters yet the males beneath him can either accept the new male or battle for his position if they believe they are better suited.”

  War Mistress. That title again. Each of the males had used it when speaking with her and she still didn’t understand why. Now was the time to find out. “Why do you keep doing that?”

  “Doing what?” Kozav spoke up.

  “Calling me War Mistress.” She raised her eyebrows in question.

  “Because you are.” His expression matched hers.

  “That would…” she slowly turned to Taulan. “That would mean you’re War Master. But Jarek is,” she looked to Jarek. “You’re War Master of the fleet. Aren’t you?”

  Jarek didn’t respond to her question and, instead, looked to Taulan. “I believe it is time for our party to depart. Enjoy your afternoon and we expect you both for the evening meal in the dining hall.”

  Taulan’s gaze remained on her while the others fled. Hell, they practically ran from the aerie. “Taulan?”

  Her mate winced. “I planned on speaking of this when we were alone.”

  Lana waved her hand and gestured at the empty space. “We are alone. Are you the War Master now?”

  Another wince. “Jarek chose to relinquish his position so he could remain on Earth with Melissa.”

  “And the council confirmed you.” It was a question and statement in one.

  “Yes.”

  “So other Preor can challenge you—possibly kill you—for the right to be War Master of the fleet?”

  “Shaa kouva—“

  “Answer the question,” she snapped, concern overriding every other emotion, the feeling quickly transforming to anger.

  “If your wingless mate will not answer you, then I will.” The gravelly voice scraped her flesh, pulling her from panic-tinged anger and back to the present. The present where fear crawled into her heart.

  She spun in place, swinging around to find the largest Preor she’d ever seen. Granted, she hadn’t met many, but this guy was ginormous. He easily neared seven feet of heavily muscled, wide and
strong Preor.

  “Droze…” Taulan’s voice held a clear warning.

  The stranger—Droze—stalked forward and she slowly took a step back, fighting to keep space between them.

  “Yes, War Master Taulan?” Her mate’s title and name were no more than a sneer.

  “Enough,” Taulan snarled.

  But Droze wasn’t done. He spoke to her once more. “Any challenger may come for the new War Master. Any challenger can kill this wingless garbage for accepting the position.”

  “You can try.” Taulan’s words were ice cold.

  “Oh, I shall, Taulan. I shall be the first to face you and the one to take your life’s blood.”

  13

  Taulan clenched his fists, dragon’s nails attempting to burst free so he could destroy the gloating male before him. Droze, he mentally sneered. A hardly adequate warrior and only with the fleet because his sire had oiled many claws. The Preor’s sire wanted him to have a mate—a human female to continue the line. Too bad the elder never asked Droze. Taulan had his suspicions about the explosions that’d rocked the ship that resulted in heavy damage to Jarek and the loss of Taulan’s wings. They began—and ended—with Droze sen Vender. He had not seen the male in the midst of battle, but that did not soothe his suspicions.

  He glared at the large male—hating him for his attitude, behavior and mere presence. “Again, you may try to best me in battle, but you know victory will slip through your grasp as it always has.”

  Droze’s attention flashed to a spot just to Taulan’s right and he prepared himself for the coming attack. He had no doubt that Droze and his friends would attempt to eliminate him prior to the matches. Cowards. He had not anticipated his kouva’s presence. He would not make the fight easy for them but he would also end it quickly.

  The ruffle of air was the only hint that all was not as it should be. Taulan ducked and the swinging fist aimed at his temple merely breezed over his head. In that same fluid move, he stayed low and spun, landing a blow to his attacker’s midsection. A gasping wheeze escaped the male, and Taulan did not spare a moment’s thought about identifying him. This male initiated an unprovoked attack. Any Preor worth his scales would retaliate.

  One strike was followed by another. He hit the midsection twice before straightening and aiming at the male’s face. Surprised eyes met his, and he recognized Droze’s cousin Luuvak. This male was even more useless than Droze.

  He punched twice, a jab then cross, and kicked out with his leg. One swift thud to the side of Luuvak’s knee sent the male cascading to the ground. Taulan had barely broken a sweat and did not suffer a single hint of pain.

  He came out of the battle unscathed, but Lana…did not.

  No, her shout and subsequent cry of pain had him abandoning his moaning prey. The dragon roared, determination in its every breath while fire beat in its heart. When he turned, he nearly stumbled in his haste to destroy Droze. The initial glance gave him a snap shot of the situation. It showed him the grinning Droze and the bleeding Lana. It showed him Droze’s joy in pain and Lana’s fear.

  Fear that gradually transformed to anger. Her shout was immediately followed by a deep growl and fierce shove. Her movements were sloppy and untutored, smacks and slaps peppered with the occasional punch and raised knee. She screamed with each strike, her voice filling the air.

  The backhand spurred him into motion. The slap Droze performed on his mate. Her head whipped to the side, spit flying from her lips with the rapid movement.

  When Droze attempted to repeat the move, Taulan was there. The male raised his arm, fist clenched, and brought it down toward his mate’s head. Not acceptable. He dug deep for his dragon’s speed—cursing his wingless handicap once more—and stepped between his mate and the furious male. He caught Droze’s hand in a clenched fist, grasping his arm before he could make contact.

  “That,” he kept his voice low and calm, “would be a mistake.”

  Droze sneered at him. “You can do nothing. You are nothing more than a crippled dragonlet that should have been left to die.”

  With his free hand, he carefully reached for Lana and drew her toward him, not stopping until she stood at his back. His dragon cooled some, breathing easily now that she was outside the range of danger. She leaned against his back, her weight a comfort against his body. Her presence soothed some of the dragon’s fire building inside him. Soothed, but did not banish.

  “The fact that I live should prove my strength.” Taulan stepped closer, still clutching Droze’s upraised fist. “Tell me, Droze, would you have survived? Or would you have cried to the stars for your dam like the dragonlet you are?”

  The insult had the effect he’d hoped for. Droze ripped free and then came at him once more. The battle resumed in earnest, claws exposed and fangs descended so they would truly do each other harm. Taulan wanted blood to flow—all of Droze’s.

  He hissed when he scraped his claws along Droze’s stomach and grunted when the other male caught his bicep with a left claw. The right claw attempted to follow its partner and Taulan bent his knees, leaning back so the strike merely brushed over where he’d stood. They continued that painful battle. Punches and kicks exchanged, Taulan grasping the back of Droze’s neck and pulling the male down while he raised his knee. He fisted the other male’s hair and jerked his head aside, mouth opened wide to sink his fangs into the other male’s throat. He would bite and rip and—

  Droze jerked his head from Taulan’s grasp and head-butted the new War Master. Taulan took a stumbling step back before rushing forward once more, claws extended and dragon aching for this male’s death. Taulan’s skin burned, each new slice sending riotous pain along his nerves. But that didn’t stop him. No, he continued, defending and attacking as often as not. He would win against the cowardly Droze.

  Blood coated the grasslands, the green now red and slick with the liquid. He parried Droze’s attacks, fighting the spreading lethargy that plagued him. Skin flayed open, flapping and soaking his clothing. His skin—normally tanned—now glowed burgundy, his life’s blood warring with the sun-kissed color.

  Taulan’s lust for death rode him hard. He may not have wings, but he was still a Preor dragon, still a carnivore who craved blood and flesh.

  Droze’s blood.

  His mouth watered, imagining a deep bite to his opponent’s neck. He’d bite and tear, ending the male’s life.

  But one thing stopped him from finishing it through death—a glance at his mate.

  Her rapidly swelling cheek. Her cut lip. The blood marring her forehead. Droze had managed to damage his mate despite his quick intervention.

  His mate required medical care. He did not have time to toy with Droze when she was in need.

  Taulan gathered his strength, made a fist, and plowed it into Droze’s face. He hit the male hard enough to make his opponent’s head whip back and then Droze went down hard, body falling into unconsciousness with that single blow.

  He had no doubt he would battle Droze later. But for now, he must care for Lana.

  Taulan quickly bent and lifted her into his arms, pushing past the pain to hold her close as he strode to the aerie’s entry.

  “Taulan,” Lana whispered, her trembling fingers ghosting over his skin. “I’m fine. Just take me back to our rooms.”

  “I will take you to medical.” There was no other destination.

  “Taulan.” The word held a soft plea.

  He tightened his grip when he reached the airlock, the main transition from aerie to ship. The shift in gravity had him gritting his teeth, but the movement ended and settled as quickly as it’d begun. “Medical.”

  No arguments.

  Taulan met two Second Warriors in the corridor, both males stuttering to a stop to salute him. Then they gave him open-mouthed stares. He did not have time to explain himself nor did he wish to. Instead, he issued orders.

  “Luuvak and Droze are to the left of the entry in the first clearing. Secure them in a holding cell until I see fi
t to speak with them.” Lana moaned and leaned her head against his chest, but otherwise remained silent. “They do not receive medical attention before Lana joi Taulan Coburn is fully healed.”

  Fear and anger warred across both men’s features and Taulan understood those emotions. To have a female so abused when they were to be treasured above all else… “Understood, War Master.”

  The grim-faced warriors immediately altered their course and strode into the aerie.

  Knowing the males would not deny him—it was only those closer to Taulan’s age who seemed intent on removing him from his position—he returned to his path.

  Taulan turned left and jolted to a stop once more. With the recent shift change, the corridor to the mess hall remained filled with warriors.

  “Make a hole,” he bellowed. Lana jolted in the cradle of his arms but held her tongue.

  The few nearest to him stepped aside, immediately giving him space, and as more males moved, more realized the identity of his burden.

  “War Master,” an older First Warrior whispered and tears glistened in the old dry scale’s eyes. Like Jarek, the male planned for this mission to be his last. If he did not find a mate among the females of Earth, he planned to take his final flight into the skies.

  “Those at fault are being taken into custody now. This will not go unpunished.”

  “No,” eyes that had seen so much were now focused on him. “No it will not.”

  He might have to guard the attackers against the rest of the males on the ship if they all reacted to the news in the same way.

  Whispers followed him, the men quicker to move aside as small snippets of the story moved down the length of the walkway. Half way to medical, salutes soon accompanied each clearing of the pathway. Some remaining silent while others wished his mate quick healing and a lessening of her pain.