VAAN

Nothing makes me feel more helpless than seeing my mate in pain. She is doing her best to hide it from me, but I can tell. It is evident in the lines on her face, the strange water that leaks from her eyes, and the soft whimpers she makes when she moves. Something is wrong with her arms, and when she cradles them against her chest, I see they are swollen at the wrist.

I do not like this. She has hurt herself and it is my responsibility to care for her. The pungent scent of the other human drifts on the wind, reminding me that I have let her escape, but she does not matter. All that matters is Gwen.

I touch her carefully, scanning her appearance for other wounds. I do not like the fact that her face is wet and her eyes seem to be sweating with pain. This disturbs me greatly, even moreso than her swollen wrists. Those can be healed with rest and time, but her eyes? I do not know.

She pulls away and scans the room we are in, looking for something.

The other female has left, I tell her, but there is no response. Her mind is blank as always, and I make a growl of frustration. How can I speak with her if she will not open her thoughts to me? The garbled human sounds come out of her mouth and she nods, indicating that she is heading in a different direction. I have no choice but to follow, curious what she plans.

Maybe she looks for something to stop her eyes from sweating. Water, perhaps? I lift my head and inhale, but I smell no fresh water, only the pungent human smells that saturate their old hives. But she searches through the things, staring at the scatter of them intently, and then stops in front of one shelf, pointing at something. I look, but I see only colorful boxes, nothing important. I look back at her again, waiting. "Gwen."

My mate makes a frustrated sound and lifts one swollen hand to gesture at one box in particular. She says a soft human word and her eyes grow sweaty again, her mouth pulled down in a frown. Very well. I grab one of the boxes and offer it to her, but she babbles something at me again and indicates that I should examine it. I would rather look at her eyes to see what troubles them, but I humor her. I lift the box to my nose and sniff it, wondering what exactly I am supposed to discover.

It…smells like human things. They all do. I frown at her and place it under her nose so she can smell it, too, just in case that is what she wants.

Her mouth twitches as if she finds this funny, and she shakes her head. No sniffing, then. Something else. To humor her, I look more closely at the human box. There's a picture on the front, which surprises me, of a man showing an arm covered in a brown wrap of some kind. I gaze at it curiously and then hold it out to her. Do you know this male? Is he trapped inside this with bad magic?

She gestures at the thing in my hand again and then makes a noise of frustration and tries to bite it out of my hands.

I am baffled. You cannot eat this! It does not smell like food.

Gwen makes a noise of frustration.

Yes, well, you may be mad at me, but even I am not crazy enough to eat a box. I shake it, hearing a soft thump inside. My wits have been scrambled for many a year, but a vague memory flashes through my mind. A gift. My father, presenting my mother with a small, colorful box. Her delight.

Ah.

I offer it to her, smugly pleased and waiting for Gwen to shower me in affection.

She makes an exasperated face at me instead.

No? Perhaps it is the madness that offers such things to my mind. Irritated, I toss the man box to the ground, angry at myself and my addled wits. Why can I not think clearly? Why? I try to focus, to remember my father’s face…but in my mind, he looks like the male on the front of the box, right down to the smug grin and the strange arm wrapping.

The human stink is warping my mind.

Gwen makes one of her angry words, more sweat coming from her eyes. She looks so sad, her shoulders slumped with dejection.

I hate this. I hate that I cannot please her. I rack my brain, trying to think. What is it she wants? What? I press a fist to my brow, wanting the knowledge to return to me, but there is nothing but blankness. Blankness and a rolling storm waiting at the edges of my thoughts. The clouds are waiting to take me away from her, I know. If they move in, I will forget her name—Gwen, it is Gwen—and her pretty brown face, her pretty brown eyes that do not change color but are lovely regardless, and her soft hands. I want to remember all these things.

I must try again, if only so whatever this box holds will stop her eyes from sweating. Watching her, I pick up the box again.

She makes the happy noise, the sound of agreement. “Ys!”

Pleased, I offer it to her and she shakes her head, not trying to eat it. Is she…trying to feed me? Is that what this is?

What an aggressive trait in a female. I am astonished…and pleased. Is part of her nesting plan to tend to me like she is the dominant hunter in our pairing?

Arousing. I give her a lusty growl and take a bite out of the box.

Her look of utter astonishment is almost as surprising as the bland taste of…wood? That fills my mouth. No, not wood. Something mushier and less pleasant, far more soft and tasteless. I spit it to the ground and swipe at my tongue as if my hand can somehow remove the awful taste of it.

Gwen gives me another exasperated look and gestures weakly with her bad arms at the thing inside.

It is a small tan roll that smells equally inedible. I sniff it, and when she gestures at the picture of the human male on the cover, I study it again.

Ahh. Now I understand. It is a covering for an arm. Why humans would hide it in such a foolish-looking container is beyond me, but humans do a great many things beyond a drakoni’s perception.

I unroll the wrap and peer at the picture of the male once more. He has this ugly thing twisted around his wrist and there are red markings that look as if they indicate pain. Strange humans. I hold out the wrap to my mate and then realize she cannot take it. Of course. This is why she needs me. I rumble with pleasure at the thought—and then feel abashed. She wants my help because she is hurt and it is wrong to take pleasure in such a thing, however broken my mind is.

I would rather that I hurt than you, I tell her a hundred times silently. I would never want your pain. Not for anything.

Gwen holds very still as I carefully wrap the brown thing around her swollen wrist. I look at her from time to time for guidance, and she is quick to indicate if I should do it tighter or looser with a few strange gestures that are easy enough to understand despite our language barrier. Eventually, it is on and she insists on one for her other wrist, and I tend to her once more.

When she is tied in the brown coverings, her eyes do not stop sweating, though. She studies her arms and shakes her head, so I decide I shall examine her eyes for her. I take her by the shoulders and hold her still, then peer into them. They are red at the edges and swollen.

I do not like this at all. Are you overheated? Unwell?

She dismisses my concerns with a murmured word and then just gazes at her arms helplessly. I know how she feels—I would give anything to fix this for her. So I stroke and pet her hair and caress her shoulder, trying to let her know that I am here for her, that her mate will protect her and tend to her. It wins me a weak smile, but her eyes stop sweating.

Progress.

Perhaps…perhaps humans need their hair stroked or their eyes sweat. Perhaps the water must be expelled daily. I try to think back to other times that Gwen sweated from the eyes. She did the day before, too, I think.

I have failed you, I tell her, stroking her hair back from her face. I will not fail you again, I promise. And I keep petting her, soothing her with a growl.

Her brows furrow and she says a soft word and then squirms out of my grasp. Enough petting, I think. Her eyes are dry now, which is a good sign. Pleased, I follow her as she moves around the human dwelling, gazing at the things that are now spilled all over the floor. She gestures weakly at something until I pick it up, and then nods happily. Then she indicates another, and another, and before long, my arms are filled with things I am carrying for her. When I see a satchel on the floor, I grab it and stuff her items in there, and she makes the happy “Ys” sound again and says my name.

My sac tightens when she does. I like it when she says my name like that.

She notices my pleasure, I think. Her eyes flick away from me and her cheeks darken with color, and she immediately indicates another item.

I pick it up, but I make sure to drag it near my groin before dropping it in the red human basket, just in case she is looking in this direction. Just in case.

The bag is full when she pauses at the back of the room and stares at a door. I stare at the door, too, wondering what I am supposed to see. Is this another test for her mate? I smell wood even though it is an odd white shade that is not found in the small, stunted trees of my home. The door has a small blue symbol on the center that means nothing to me. I can smell human droppings on the other side, though, and when Gwen studies her arms desolately, I realize what it is wrong.

She needs to relieve herself.

I set down the bag and open the door, then wait for her to enter. She says my name and a lot of rushed, unhappy words that sound ashamed, and I am confused. I am her mate. She is injured. Why is she upset? I guide her inside and it is obvious what the humans use to gather their waste—a bowl of some kind. Well. They are not the cleanest people, but I suppose there is nothing else to be done.

Gwen makes another horrified sound, giving me a sad look. I pet her hair before her eyes can make sweat, rumbling at her to comfort her. Ignoring her embarrassment, I tug her fabric leggings off of her lower body. She continues to make unhappy sounds as she does her business, and then I help her put her coverings back on and stroke her hair once more to let her know that I am here for her. She is my mate. Such things are not beneath me.

As we walk into the main part of the human hive again, her stomach growls. She shoots me another apologetic look, and I caress her cheek. If you are hungry, I can find prey.

Instead, she gestures at the dead human who lies on the floor nearby.

She…wants to eat that? I am surprised, because she is very picky about the food I bring her, yet she wants to eat this? I make an eating gesture, curious. I have eaten humans before, but there are things that taste much better. And…even drakoni do not eat other drakoni.

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade and she shakes her head violently. He is not food, then. It takes a few more moments of gesturing and more hastily babbled words before I realize she wants him out of the hive.

Ah. She means to nest here, however temporarily. I suspect it is because of her injuries, because this place does not seem like a fine nest to me, but I will do as she asks. I touch her chin to let her know I understand and dispose of the two halves of the creature outside. It leaks out organs and dark red blood as I do, and I pick those up as I go because I suspect she will not want those here either. Sure enough, her face pales and she turns away.

Such a soft one, my mate.

When I return, she is dropping lengths of fabric over the bloodstains. Definitely nesting. This pleases me, because I want her to make a home at my side. I like that she is planning to stay with me. This is good.

This is very good.

A nesting female means she will want to mate soon.