Chapter 9

They stood in the deserted area of the great warehouse of the station. On one side., huge rows of containers and boxes were filled with various suppliers.

He started taking off his clothes and stood a certain distance from her.

“What are you doing?” Arana blushed and was suddenly self-conscious.

“I want to show you my dragon. Do not freak out, okay?” he said.

“Unhuh...” she said, biting her lower lip.

It happened quite fast, but she saw his hands lit up with fire as they turned into talons, and his eyes became burning embers, and his pupils turned to black slits. Leathery wings came out his back as horns grew on his head. The magical fire leaped up his arms and legs and almost engulfed him The man disappeared, and in his stead stood a large dragon towering over her as he spread his leathery bat-like wings wide.

He lowered his long neck, taking a closer look at her. His head had two big horns curling upward from his temples and a row of small horns rising from the brow line all the way up to his temples. His tail was strong and pointed, and his eyes were deep golden amber. His nostrils, mere slits, breathed smoke. A few pointy teeth showed through his open mouth and she saw he was actually smiling. His talons were big and intimidating, giving the dragon a potent presence. Arana sensed an aura of dignity and royal grace that surrounded the beast.

“Arana...” His deep, low rumbling voice wasn’t intimidating, but she got startled by it. She staggered backward and almost fell.

“I’m alright... I’m ok...” she quickly recovered. She found it rather sexy, the way he called out her name.

“Arana, I don’t want you to fear me...” he said gently as he came closer, gazing at her, and held out a talon.

“I... I don’t,” she said, gazing at him in awe, admiring his grace. She touched his talon and found it sharp and hard.

“Can I turn into a dragon too?” she wondered aloud.

“No, Arana, you can’t, but your magic holds more power than I could ever have,” he explained as the flames engulfed him once more and he shifted back.

Still naked, he took her in his arms and kissed her hard. “Thank you, for setting me free,” he said, pulling away, and she saw the darkening storm in his eyes. “It truly means a lot. I’m gonna take you home.” His mouth claimed hers once again as he untied the knots on her robe and it slipped to the floor.

After a while, he pulled her into the corner, up against the towers of large boxes and crates. And then, gazing deep into her blue depths, he slid inside her, filling her... She moaned, loving the feel of him inside her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He took her breasts in his mouth and sucked, licked, and bit her nipples till she moaned louder. He started moving then. Her fingers kneading his silky hair, she moved her hips, matching his rhythm as he thrust into her faster and faster. She was on the brink and screaming. She fell again and again. And he came loudly with a force that warmed her insides with his seed. And as he held her in his arms, listening to her heartbeat until it calmed, she wondered what she had gotten herself into, falling for this handsome alien – a Slayzaryn, to be exact. She didn’t know what their future was or even if they had a future together. Being with him was healing for her battered soul – the scars that had been left there for years. And she just wanted to live in the moment for now.

And Arathor didn’t want to face the reality. He was the last of his kind and she could be the only one to save his bloodline... if that was possible. He knew they did not have a future together on Trorth, as his kind would be hostile toward her and punish him by cutting off his wings. And he knew if he claimed her as his mate, he would be putting her in great danger. For centuries, both the races had kept at a distance. If she, a Magi, mated with a fire-breathing Slayzaryn, she would risk losing all her magic. And since she was born with magic, losing the magic meant she would lose her identity. Arathor couldn’t imagine doing this to the only woman he had ever loved. His dragon screamed at him to tell her the truth, but every time he thought about it, he faltered. She would hate him, leave him. And the thought of her leaving him was more painful than any torture wound he had ever endured in the arena.

He called out to the gods that if he could claim her as his own, he would give up his wings for her. Anything for her, for she was the one good thing in his dark life. And part of him even nagged at him he didn’t deserve her. She deserved a better man. Someone with a pure soul. But his dragon would get extremely possessive and the man in him would give in.

***

One month later...

Arana was working the night shift that day at the sickbay. It had been quite a busy day and she felt unusually tired. They had been living together, as Arathor moved in with her. He was still being stubborn and didn’t want to talk about leaving for Tirron yet. He said he had time, and he wanted to spend it here, with her, before he went back to deal with the king. Arana tried to reason with him, but he had made up his mind. He just wouldn’t listen. She didn’t bring up the subject again and let him be.

And it was on this very day when she forgot to wear the chain of Huzosh.

Arana walked toward the enclosure where a sick old man had been brought in. She checked his vitals and took notes for the doctor. The old man’s eyes snapped open and he suddenly grabbed her hand by the wrist.

Arana felt a tightening in her chest and at the same time, an enormous amount of pressure began to press inside her head. The old man’s grip was strong, his hand like a claw. She looked at him, and saw his face morphed to a very familiar one. She was staring at Lorcan’s man. Fear gripped her as she tried to pull her hand from his death grasp, but he was too strong. He was not human... He was something else altogether. She tried using her magic... willed herself free. He loosened his grip a little. But again, he tightened it.

She screamed. The pressure in her head was building, and she felt it might explode. And then her hand started burning and turned black.

She didn’t know any spells. And all she could do was will herself free. She tried again. With her other hand, she held the man’s wrist and was about to pry it off when a force surged through her and pulled them apart with a jolt. She fell back on the floor as an inhuman scream ripped through the air. The man burned in a strange green colored fire that engulfed him. And she saw him morph into something dark and evil as his arms and legs lengthened and twisted, his face becoming dark and his eyes turning red. And then he turned to dust, a dark cloud of smoke, and disappeared.

Staggering, she gripped her injured wrist and ran out of the enclosure.

The pressure she felt inside her head was gone. She collapsed on the floor, unconscious, just as she reached her desk.

***

He saw her... Those blue eyes, empty and lifeless, stared at nothing as her naked body stained with red lay on the ground. He stood over her body and glanced at the sword in his hand, dripping with her blood...

He had killed her...

Nooooooooo...

Arathor woke up and found he was alone in bed. His breath came in gasps as sweat beaded his brow. The dream was a foreboding of evil. Something was very wrong.

Arana...

He got out of bed and quickly put on his pants and shirt. Then he headed straight for the sickbay.

Someone else was at the reception desk. A man of some race he didn’t know.

“Where is Arana?” he asked him.

“Oh, she is in the enclosure 346. She got sick herself this morning,” he said. “Hey, I need your ID,” he called out after him. Arathor ignored the man and ran down the broad corridor, looking for the enclosure number.

He found her unconscious there. She seemed unusually pale. And when he held her hand, he saw it was blue-black – as if singed. His chest constricted terribly as his jaw clenched. He could see the darkness surround her. He had a hunch Lorcan was behind this.

“Oh, good. You are here,” Dr. Qizet said as she entered. “Arathor, right? Arana told me about you. I’m Dr. Qizet, Arana’s boss. We need to talk,” she said.

“What happened?” he demanded with an edge to his voice.

“She has a strange illness. Her vitals are fine, but they won’t be for long. The infection in her hand is spreading. It’s as if she has been poisoned,” she explained.

“What kind of poison?” he asked her with concern in his gray eyes.

“It’s complicated. I...” she hesitated.

“Doctor, please... Tell me what’s going on here.”

“She has been marked by a demon,” she said anxiously. “Look at her hand. It’s a death mark. I know because I have seen this kind of thing before. It’s amazing that she is still alive. Nobody survives the death mark. Do you know what’s going on here?”

“Her magic saved her again,” he whispered.

“What?” Qizet said confused.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, lost in thought. The thought of losing her made him sick. With her magic awakened, she should heal on her own. “You said the infection is spreading?”

“Yes, it is. We have given her drugs, so let’s see. But this is more than just a poisonous infection. I have seen it. Drugs only slow down the spread.”

“How long does she have?” Arathor felt a lump in his throat.

“A month or two, maybe, if she responds to medication. Arathor... please be honest. What magic are you talking about?”

Qizet asked him narrowing her eyes at him.

He took a deep shuddering breath. “She’s a Magi... a Drakonaar.”

“A Drakonaar, you say,” Qizet said, as she paced the room. “I know a Drakonaar witch who might be able to help her. I’ll send her a message right away.”

Arathor nodded and sat on the bed beside Arana.

“A demon’s death mark is irreversible. If she is a Magi, then she should heal on her own. The infection should stop spreading... I don’t understand,” Qizet wondered aloud. “This must be a very powerful demon.”

“Where is the demon now?” Arathor asked.

“He’s dead. She somehow killed him, but not before the damage was done,” she said quietly.

“She is new at this, and she doesn’t know any spells to protect herself. She must be working with pure instinct. Dr. Qizet, please tell your friend this is urgent. I don’t want to lose her.”

Qizet nodded and left the room. He wished he could have claimed her... Then again, that wouldn’t have made much difference or her fate would have been much worse. And now he wished he could heal her...

The next couple of days and nights slipped by in a swirl of haze. Arathor would not leave her alone. The doctors stopped all treatment as she wasn’t responding to medication. And he saw her grow weaker every day and he blamed himself for not going back earlier and killing Lorcan. He even put the stone of Huzosh around her neck, wishing it would somehow give her the strength she needed.

It was ironic that after her magic had been awakened, she couldn’t use it to heal herself. And it killed him to see her wither away with every passing day while he couldn’t do anything about it.

And every night he would punish himself for his past sins by standing in the cold shower till it hurt.