Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Why does she go to them for safety?
The thought rages through me, and with an angry bugle, I take to the air and race back to the spot where I held her, the spot where her strange metal device still lies on the ground. I grab it and raise it to my nose, trying to breathe in her scent, but it is faint here, and tinged with the scent of other things. Furious, I cast it aside…and my gaze falls upon the dead human.
The one that hurt her.
I snatch him up in my claws and fly back toward the human hive, purpose flooding my mind with as much chaos as the colors do. Does she not remember that I protected her? That I saved her?
I will remind her. I will show all of them.
The Salorian-controlled dragons trumpet a warning when I approach, but they do not rise to meet me. Down below, humans scurry into their hiding spots, and I fling the dead carcass of the human male down below for them to see, then bugle my anger.
See? I tell the female. See what I have done for you? Only I can protect you. Only….
Only…
I hesitate. Who am I?
JURIK, Luminoura supplies after a moment. YOUR NAME IS JURIK.
I remember now. I am…Jur.
NO, YOU ARE JURIK.
I only remember part of my name. Curious. The touch of her infant mind calms me, and the flooding colors recede back, like the tide. I send her a gentle thought even as I fly higher and farther away from the hive. I cannot go too close. Not without my female’s scent to keep me calm.
Luminoura keeps her thoughts touching mine, as if she senses I need the stability. I remain connected to her and I think about my female.
I do not want her to run back here. I want her to feel safe with me. I need to show her that I am her mate, her protector, her other half. I feel her absence at my side like a yawning pain, and I want to breathe in her scent again, but I cannot remember it, or the way she sounded when she made soft vocal noises.
I remember her fear scent all too clearly, though, and that saddens me.
HUNGRY, blasts Sallavatri, impetuous and demanding.
Tell your father, I send automatically.
HUNGRY, Luminoura adds to the chorus, and their insistent thoughts make my own stomach growl.
Aha.
Feeding is the answer.
My female tried to feed me when she spotted me in my den. Here I was with her all afternoon, touching her and stroking her, and did not try to feed her once. Amusement rumbles through my chest as I soar away from the hive, in search of the light scent of game trails.
Of course.
I need to show my mate I can provide for her. That I can do more than just protect. A good male must be many things to his fierce female, and I have not yet shown mine that I am worthy.
Once I feed her, perhaps she will look at me differently. I imagine her small, human mouth wet with fresh blood as she tears into a kill I have provided for her, and it fills me with joy. Yes. This is what I need to do.
My purpose clear, I set off from the hive and into the wilds. I do not even mind that both young ease their minds away from touching mine. I have my purpose now. The madness will remain at bay as long as I focus on what is important.
My mate.
10
RACHEL
I’m sobbing and breathless by the time I make it to the gates of Fort Dallas, so relieved that I collapse in front of the two soldiers that stand there with rifles.
“What the fuck?” one asks, surging forward to offer me a hand. “Are you okay?”
“Wait,” says another. “She’s one of Azar’s girls. You’re not supposed to touch them—”
The soldier hesitates for a moment, and then helps me to my feet anyhow, tugging on my arm. “He can punish me later. I’m not going to let her just sit out here and die.”
Oh god, am I dying? I try to stand up but my legs feel weak and wobbly. Now that all the adrenaline’s left my system, I’m boneless and exhausted. I lean on the soldier gratefully and want to say thank you, but all that comes out is a dried croak.
“Jesus, her face,” says the other, and he looks grim.
“You’re Rachel, right?” the one holding me asks as he moves me toward the folding chair he was sitting in. “Are you all right? Where’s your guard?”
I sag into the chair, and it doesn’t matter that it’s faded and worn and slightly itchy from plastic straps that have been out in the elements for far too long. It feels like the best thing ever. My face throbs with pain and my shoes are falling apart around my feet, and my dress is soaked with sweat. Not just sweat, I remind myself dizzily. Sweat and Brady’s blood.