ZOHR

Agony.

My back feels white hot with pain. I cannot breathe without it slicing through me. There is no comfort. Through my muddied thoughts, I realize there is a weight on my chest, but it is a slight annoyance in comparison to the torment that is my shoulders. I groan, stretching against the chains that tie me down, hating them…

Only to realize that they are not there. 

I can move my hands. 

The realization is slow to dawn on me. I am not captive any longer. The slight weight I feel pressing on my chest? It is not the vest of metal thorns, but the small, soft body of my human mate, her head pressed against my shoulder, her arm flung around my waist. She clings to me in her sleep, her skin sweaty against my own.

Vague memories start to flood back. They are mere pieces, wisps of thoughts darting through the foggy cloud that is my mind. There are memories of Emma, trying to free me. Emma, standing small and alone as two humans point their fire-spitters at her. The face of the hated Salorian, his eyes alight as he presses his mind against my own, demanding that I give in to him.

There is rage in my memories. So much rage, then nothing but madness. Pain. Through it all, there is a need to protect Emma, to keep her safe.

I have vague recollections of pushing through the shackles that held me captive and transforming to battle-form. Of knowing I must do so because my mate needs me, and of the agony the transformation brought as my wings were destroyed. I think of the endless, blurred hours of racing through the dark, filthy human hive to find a place where my mate can be safe. It rambles together, into a pile of thoughts I can make little sense of. I have visuals and feelings, nothing more. When I try to focus on them, to clarify them, they disappear on me.

But one thing I do remember is Emma’s big, dark eyes staring up at me with so much fear. The scent of her terror filling my nostrils and how angry it made me. Her gentle words. You have to change, Zohr.

I did it, for her. I remember that. I remember that even lost in my own mind, my greatest desire was to please her. I changed to my two-legged form, but after that, things are blurry. After that…my memories are of nothing but Emma, and the memories take a very different turn than the ones of fear and anger and frustration.

This time, I remember the feel of her body under mine. The taste of her sweet cunt under my tongue and how soft she is. The little cries she made as I touched her breasts. The clench of her body around my cock as I filled her with my seed and truly claimed her.

I claimed my mate fully, and I do not remember it. The agony of such a thing eats at me, and I close my eyes, frustrated at my mindlessness. How could I let myself sink back into the fog so easily? I told myself after Emma connected her mind with my own and freed me from the clouds of rage that I would never lose myself again. That I would work to regain what I had lost, and instead, I fell back into their grip once more. I hold Emma tightly against me, breathing in her scent in the still air.

I struggle to remember more of our time together, but all I have are vague impressions, and it angers me. I let the madness control me and it has taken something valuable from me. Something priceless. There will be another time, I vow. One in which I will scrutinize every detail and commit them to memory. I will fill my thoughts with her and how good she feels. I will take my time pleasuring her so I can memorize her sounds, her scent, her taste. 

I stroke her arm and she sighs, snuggling closer against me. It does not matter that I lie on my back and with every moment, the pressure on my wounds shoots pain through my body. She is comfortable, and that is enough for me. I gaze down at my mate, my heart full at the thought of finally having her in my arms.

She—

My joy crashes in on itself as her arm moves and I catch sight of dark, purplish bruises on the warm tones of her skin.

She is…hurt?

Anger fills my mind. Furious, I think back to the humans who tried to harm her, but even in my fractured memories, I do not remember them getting close enough to touch her. I broke free before they did, because the thought of them putting a hand on her made me crazed.

How did they harm her?

I sniff the air. Her scent is clear and sweet and unsullied. She smells of sweat and my seed. I do not scent another on her, and the only smells in our dwelling are hers and mine. 

I am the one that hurt her.

A new, fresh agony rips through me. I have harmed my mate? How lost was I? How can she ever forgive me? 

It is unthinkable. 

Unbearable. 

No drakoni warrior would ever harm a female, even in mating battle. That is one of the challenges of subduing a female and defeating her—to do so without harm, without those tools that make it easy to defeat a true enemy. A female is to be cherished and loved. Even a challenge comes from a place of affection rather than true anger or the need to harm. I have wanted her since the moment I saw her, but I have never thought to attack and subdue my Emma. I have always known that she is fierce in her own way, and strong, but she is not drakoni. She cannot be courted in the same way a drakoni female is courted, with claw and gnashing teeth and battle games that lead to a fierce mating. She is small and must be protected. Her skin tears easily and she must be handled carefully. I knew this, even chained down.

But…she smells of my seed and her arms are covered in bruises. I cannot deny these things. Did I truly lose myself so completely that I would hurt the one I cherish the most? The thought makes me ill.

My distressed thoughts must be spilling over to her. Emma makes a soft noise and lifts her head, blinking wearily at me. “Zohr?”

Just the sound of my name on her lips brings me pleasure. I am not worthy of her. Shame rushes through me. My mate. I am truly, deeply apologetic. I do not deserve you.

She rubs her face and sits up. “What are you talking about?” Her eyes widen. “Oh, you shouldn’t be lying on your back. You’ll harm your stitches.”

Stitches? I do not understand what she means.

She sits up and pats the blankets. “I stitched your wounds so they’ll heal properly. Roll over onto your stomach and let me look at them.”

I do as she commands, because I am fascinated by her firm, decisive manner. Even now she does not act afraid of me. I harmed her. I remember her fear. Why is she so calm now? Is my Emma used to males harming her? I think of the others in her strange family group and I want to rip out their throats all over again. How can humans be so cruel to their females?

But then she gets up and walks away, and her rounded bottom flashes at me. There is still wetness between her thighs from our recent mating, and I am still possessive drakoni enough to see it and want to hold her down and push my seed back into her with my claws, to make her take all of me. To claim her in every way.

But I have harmed her. I do not deserve her.

Emma returns from an adjacent area of the nest—the kitchen, according to her thoughts—and brings with her a bowl of water and towels. She seems happy, as if my presence alone brings her joy. 

You are pleased, I venture, gauging her reaction. Why?

“Why am I pleased? Seriously?” Emma’s chuckle is hauntingly beautiful. She is so full of joy, my mate. I love that about her. “Because you’re awake for the first time in days and you’re not burning up with fever? That means I didn’t kill you with my terrible nursing, after all.” She dunks a cloth into the water and then wrings it out. “To say I’m relieved would be a gross understatement.”

She is relieved that I am alive…even after I harmed her. Strange. I wish for the death of those that tried to harm her. How can she so easily forgive? I remain still as she places the wet cloth on my back. The coolness of the water feels good against the rawness of my skin. My thoughts…they are confused. I do not remember much.

“It’s okay,” she says, gently swiping at my back with the wet cloth. “I’ve had things under control.”

Have you truly? Her easy words about control just increase my guilt. You are bruised. I hurt you. I cannot stop the thoughts from pouring forth, nor the shame I feel at admitting such a thing. I am not worthy of being your mate.

“Hurt me?” Her brow wrinkles as she gazes down on me. “You mean the stitches?” She touches her hairline. “Those have been there for days. It was Sasha that beaned me, not you.”

Not that. Your arms. Your legs. You are covered in marks.

She looks down, surprised, and then gives a little laugh. “Oh. Those. I fell. Actually, I fell quite a bit while you were unconscious. One of these apartments has soggy stairs and I crashed through. Plus, you’re not exactly the easiest man to wheelbarrow across the city.” Her smile is bright and friendly, open.

I search her thoughts, looking for blame or anger. There is none. I did not harm you, then?

Her eyes widen in surprise, as if such a thing didn’t occur to her. “Never! I admit I was a little freaked out when you snapped and dragged me through the city, bleeding everywhere and refusing to talk to me. If we could skip a replay of that, that’d be great.” She reaches over and pats my forearm. “But don’t worry. You didn’t hurt me. If you did, I would have abandoned your ass,” she says tartly. There is amusement in her tone. “Nor would I have spent hours on end stitching you up in the hopes that it’d make a difference.” Her expression grows soft and worry flows through her thoughts. “Your wings…”

They are gone. I know this. It was a necessary sacrifice to keep you safe. I am pained at their loss, but I have my mate at my side and she is whole. I cannot dwell on what I have lost. Emma is teaching me every day that I must look to what I do have and not dwell on what I do not. It does not matter.

She looks upset at my words. “It matters to me. You hurt yourself trying to save me. And now I worry you won’t be able to fly again.” Her mouth firms, and she gives me a determined look. “Maybe they’ll heal up enough that you can still fly. We just have to give it time.”

I do not know if I believe her. Right now, my back feels like a mass of fire. We shall see.

“Do you remember anything about that? If wings have been damaged in the past, if they can be repaired enough to let you fly again?” Her gaze is entreating as she stares at me. “It’s possible, right?”

I hate to disappoint her. I do not remember. Right now my thoughts are only of you.

Her face flushes and I feel the embarrassment radiating from her. “You need to take it easy. I don’t want you pulling at those stitches.”

Did I pull at the stitches when I mounted you?

She gasps. “Zohr!”

I am surprised—and pleased—at the reaction I get. I can feel her thoughts and she is both shocked at my words and feels a bolt of lust. I immediately see a flash of memories from her, of my mouth on her cunt and my hand pinning hers down. Of turning her over and then lifting her hips and the tight surge she felt when I pushed into her—

I groan. Her memories are raw and strong and I want all of them. Or…we could make new ones. I think of how she came to me in the pit and straddled me, claiming me for her own. I never thought such a thing possible, and I am fascinated by it—and by her. She is like no other female and I am glad she is mine. Shall we mate? 

Her thoughts immediately turn disapproving. “Your back is raw and red. You need to lie on your stomach and stay there for a while. I don’t want you hurting yourself more.” 

My back does ache, but I am more displeased that she does not like the thought of more mating. I want to touch you, I tell her with a growl. Even now, need for her is a slow-building, hungry ache. I want to claim you and remember it.

“I want that, too,” she tells me tartly. “But I also want you to stop bleeding and ruining my hard work.”

So fierce. I am amused. I will do what she wants…for now.

* * *

I am weaker and more tired than I realize. I fall asleep again as she bathes my wounds, and doze throughout the day. I wake up a few times and she pushes water into my hands, insisting I drink. I do, and listen to her thoughts for a few minutes. It is comforting to hear the sound of another mind connected to my own, especially one as practical as hers. She sits, sewing a torn shirt together and hums to herself. Her thoughts are busy and full of things that need to be done. There are traps to set to catch food, more supplies she needs to get, and more medicine for my back. She waits—impatiently—for the red dragons to stop flying overhead so she can get to work, and her thoughts drift between her tasks and back to me. She frets over my wounds, I can tell. It is both an odd sensation and a pleasant one. I should be protecting her, taking care of her, and yet she is the one that has control.

I like that she worries over me, though.

I drift into sleep again, and when I wake up, it is dark. The air drifting through the broken windows in the strange human nest no longer carries the scent of distant female dragons. Once, I might have been fascinated at their mating rage, but now I think only of my Emma and the way her face colors when I suggest mating to her. She is fascinating. I want to learn all of her responses. My Emma works nearby, setting up strings of empty cans across doorways and tripwires. Booby traps, she calls them. They are for our protection. 

Who taught you to make these things? I ask her.

Jack. I’ll tell you about him sometime. Her thoughts grow more distant and I realize she is outside the building, digging in the dirt. Do you like vegetables?

The mental image she sends me is not a pleasant one. Do you mean…plants?

Yup. Someone’s got an old garden here and there are a few carrots and a rubbery little zucchini or two, but I can make them into something tasty. If you’re not a veggie-saur I’ll eat them. Her thoughts fill with pleasure at the thought.

You may have all of them, I tell her. And what is a veggie-saur? Her thoughts seem strange, and when they flash through my mind, I am confused. Is that…a dragon with no arms and no wings? Your people have dragons?

Actually I was thinking of a T-Rex, but he’s a carnosaur. A veggie-saur is more like a brontosaurus, and our planet doesn’t have dragons, no. Those are dinosaurs and they died out millions of years ago. But they were big reptiles.

Did they have two-legged forms, as well?

No. Hm. Are you guys dinosaurs? I mean, back on your planet, what was the wildlife like? Do you remember?

I think for a moment. It was very tasty.

She is startled and then amused. Yeah, I guess it would be. You’re hungry, aren’t you? I’m bringing back dinner. Just be patient. I don’t know if it’s going to be enough to fill that dragon belly of yours, but we’ll see.

What are we eating? I am curious. She is providing for me?

Roadrunner soup. Yum yum. They’re kind of like skinny chickens. You’ll like it. She sounds pleased. 

I will like anything you provide for me, I assure her sleepily.

She sends me a wave of affection. You rest up. I’ll be a bit longer and I’ll wake you when it’s time to eat. You need to regain your strength, Zohr. You lost a lot of blood.

I want to protest to her that I am strong. That I do not need to rest. But her thoughts are sweet and calm and I find myself relaxing into them.

Perhaps just a small rest.