Dragons of Preor: Taulan (7 page)

T
aulan 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 fit 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.

His injuries throbbed in time with his heart, each step jarring him and sending new bolts of pain down his spine. Exhaustion teased him, tempting him to succumb, but he would not fail his Lana. So he continued. He pushed. He moved from one hallway to the next, whispers in his wake.

Then… Then they were finally at their destination, the double doors of medical standing wide and welcoming. The two healers on shift along with several healer assistants stood near the opening. Thankfully, they did not dare approach. Taulan’s dragon shouted for blood, demanded they bathe in the red liquid of their enemies. At the moment, it would even accept a friend to devour.

The second he drew close enough, the Healing Master spun on his heel and led Taulan to a nearby platform. Yes, the Healing Master moved quickly but it was Taulan who spoke first. “Do you have human repair programming?”

If they did not, he would go to the surface, the Ujal and humans be damned.

“It was the first item negotiated by Zurer joi Sobol.” The healer rushed to a datapad while the other acquired one nearby. “Diagnose or repair?”

Diagnose? He could tell them what was wrong. As for repairing her, she was bleeding and—

“I shall repair,” the other healer replied.

He was not talking to Taulan.

Lana opened her eyes and slowly turned her head to meet Taulan’s gaze. “
Shaa kouvi
.” She stretched out her arm, searching for his touch, and he stepped forward, anxious to feel her skin against his. “
Shaa kouvi
.”

She called to him and he went, easily reaching her side in two strides. But when he went to grasp her hand, the healers stopped him. “The diagnosis cannot be completed while she touches another.”

Taulan curled his fingers, forming a tight fist while he battled the urge to kill the healer for keeping them separated. Lana gave him a pain-tinged smile and then slowly closed her eyes. At first he believed her to be asleep, but he soon recognized the signs of loss of consciousness and he shot a glare at the Healing Master.

The Healing Master did not appear to care. “Her pain does no one good. She will sleep until she is adequately repaired. The damage looks superficial but there are traces of other injuries deeper within.”

Lights encompassed Lana, the white shifting from red to blue and yellow. The rainbow of hues skated over her skin in an invisible caress. He did not know much about healing—only about warring—but he recognized the colors of serious injuries.

His gut clenched, a tremor sinking deep into him and he gasped for breath. He stumbled and caught himself on another platform, using it to stay upright. “Healers?”

They did not give him their attention. Their focus was on their machines and his mate’s body.

“
Healers
?” Smoke escaped his nose, the dragon’s fire lurking at the edge of his control. It would not take him much to release the banked heat.

The Healing Master glared at him and then nodded at the secondary healer before approaching Taulan, his expression grim. “War Master Taulan—“ At least not everyone disagreed with his new position. “Lana Coburn—“

“Lana joi Taulan Coburn,” his correction was immediate even if he shouldn’t worry about such things at the moment.

“Your mate will require extensive healing. Previous injuries have complicated…”

“She only had a small bit of blood…” He waved his hand at his lip.

“As I said, it is hidden beneath her flesh. We are repairing those areas now, but it will take time. She is human. Our technology will work, but at a slower pace than if she were Preor.”

Taulan stared at his mate, remembering her wide smile and the vivaciousness she showed. “But she
will
heal?”

The Healing Master drew up to his full height. “I have not lost a single soul to the stars on this platform and I shall not begin with the War Master’s own mate.”

That was the truth. Taulan had lived, the worst of the injured from the multiple explosions, while in the healer’s care. “See that she does.” He jerked his head in a quick nod. “Keep me informed.”

“We will keep her sedated for many hours so she will not experience the pain of healing.”

He hated that he wouldn’t be able to hear her voice until she was well once more, but he was more dismayed at the idea of her feeling pain if she was conscious.

“Understood.” With that, he turned toward the entry to medical, intent on reaching the two captive males.

“War Master? You would leave her?” Disapproval lingered in the healer’s voice.

Taulan’s bloodlust rode him too hard, pushed and prodded him to take additional steps to protect his mate. Including eliminating threats.

He stopped at the entryway and leaned against the wall, his injuries drawing strength from him but not doing anything to diminish his resolve. “I leave to kill those who touched her.”