Chapter Four

Aryana sat on Fafnir’s tail and prayed she wouldn’t faint. When was the last time her energy had ebbed this low? During her testing for High Priestess? No, not even then. This tiredness went far beyond the exhaustion that drained her after the testing of her powers.

At the sensation of liquid dripping down her skin, she looked at the tear in her gown, at the blood draining from a gash the length of her forearm.

No wonder she felt weak. And fighting against Fafnir hadn’t helped any.

None of which explained how he managed to transport her against her will. She was the High Priestess, for Goddess’ sake. A tremendous amount of power resided in the position, not to mention her own innate magical abilities.

Very few Draconi possessed powers stronger than hers and most of them were confined to one family, those members who carried the blood of Alviss and his long dead mate Eir. Perhaps Eir had distant relatives, of whom Fafnir was one, since to her knowledge, only Annaliese and Keara remained of Alviss’s line.

So who was Fafnir to possess magic enough to overpower her will?

A mystery to answer once she could sit upright without the room spinning like a ball rolling down a slope.

“What happened?” Annaliese stormed into the room, her anger visible in tendrils wrapped around her head, her mouth flattened into a thin line.

Aryana shivered as a wave of exhaustion attempted to shove her over. Remaining upright took more energy than she expected, energy she needed to heal. But with Annaliese exhibiting uncharacteristic anger, and anger directed her way, blood loss was the least of her problems.

Her friend’s eyes snapped worry, relief, and anger in varying amounts, and Aryana felt like a child scolded for inappropriate behavior.

Not that she had behaved inappropriately.

Maybe she should have stayed at the Temple.

And miss out on the fighting? No, I’d do it again.

Did she just answer herself? Yes, yes, she did. Clearly she needed healing and fast.

She’s lost a lot of blood.

Aryana glanced at Fafnir and attempted to turn it into a glare. If only to prove that as a grown female, she could answer questions herself. Not that she seemed to be answering questions, but still. She could.

She hoped.

Maybe she needed his overprotective arrogance as the ability to open her mouth and speak seemed beyond her capabilities. Why was he being so protective? Because she was hurt? No, he had been protective of her all night, even before her injury. He acted like a mated male. Acted like she belonged to him, like she was his mate.

The thought was preposterous. He couldn’t be her mate. First off, she spent her life rejecting the prediction she possessed a mate. And even if she was wrong, only one mate existed per Draconi and hers died years ago.

Didn’t he?

“What!” Annaliese stared at Aryana, her anger morphing into worry.

Aryana shrugged the shoulder of her injured arm. “It’s bleeding.” Did that small voice really belong to her?

Annaliese’s brows raised, then dipped as she hurried over, her anger forgotten in her obvious concern. “Let me see.”

She grasped Aryana’s wrist, her other hand held above the skin ran along the length of the gash, absorbing the pain. Her lips moved as she turned her hand palm up. A roll of bandages appeared in her palm, which she used to bind the gash. Aryana watched as blood continued to seep through the pristine white cloth, soiling it.

Still holding Aryana’s wrist in her hand, Annaliese turned to Fafnir. “She needs to be moved to a bed in one of the healing rooms.”

This is one of the healing rooms.

“This is one of the healing rooms for the cloistered males. As you can see there is no bed. She needs a bed. Now release her so I can transport her.”

No. Transport a bed here so I can remain by her side.

Annaliese snarled at the dragon, steam seeping from her ears, circling her face.

Aryana placed a hand on her friend’s arm. “S’all right. He can stay with me.”

Annaliese’s eyes narrowed, the steam still drifting from her ears. “Fine.” With a wave of her hand, a bed appeared on the other side of the room. “Release her, so I can transport—”

Before she made it to the end of the sentence, Aryana felt her body split apart, its particles coalescing on the bed. Annaliese still stood by Fafnir’s tail, her mouth open in an expression of surprise.

Aryana stifled a smile. “He’s good about that. Transporting.”

“I see.” Annaliese hurried to a cabinet in the room where she removed a bowl and bandages along with a jar of ointment. She turned toward the bed, muttered a curse, and with another wave of her hand transported a nightstand beside the bed.

Aryana alternated between watching her friend gather supplies and staring at the fresco on the ceiling. This room featured clouds and mountains floating across the ceiling in broad strokes. No frolicking dragons in here. Which stood to reason seeing as cloistered males no longer frolicked. At least not with female dragons. She glanced at Fafnir as the thought went through her mind.

I do not frolic with males.

Good. I find I don’t like that thought.

He chuckled. So, you’d rather I frolic with females?

I’d rather you frolic with me. Oh great, did she just say that? Judging by how his eye-ridges popped halfway up his forehead, the answer was yes. Clearly Annaliese needed to work her healing magic and fast before she spewed any other best-left-unsaid thoughts.

Would you now? The words whispered across her mind, low and seductive. If she hadn’t been suffering from blood loss, she would have appreciated its timbre.

Well, not right now.

Obviously not.

Don’t go anywhere.

Don’t worry.

“Here we go.” Annaliese hurried to the bed carrying the bowl filled with water, which she placed on the nightstand along with the other supplies. “I’m going to remove your sleeve, clean your wound, then repair it. All right?”

“Thank you.”

As Annaliese cut off the now-soaked-through bandage along with her sleeve and cleaned her wound, Aryana watched Fafnir lay down, curling his tail around his body, his gaze never leaving her face.

Why is he here? Her friend’s mind-spoken words cut across her thoughts, jarring her back to reality.

Long story.

I think we have time.

I’m sorry. You were right. I should have stayed here.

That doesn’t answer the question.

No, it doesn’t.

Why did you leave?

They are my people. I couldn’t see them hurt.

Were they hurt?

I don’t know. I was attacked as soon as I arrived.

You were what!

Ouch! Aryana jumped as the cloth used to clean her wound pressed hard against the gash.

Sorry. What happened?

Masked humans with swords spotted me and attacked.

Annaliese raised a brow. You must have fought well to only have this one gash.

You could say that. I turned into a dragon.

You what?

Turned. That’s why there is only one gash. Then Fafnir arrived. I’m not sure how he knew to come there, but he took my place and together we incapacitated the invaders. Then the Council showed up, Fafnir grabbed me, and you know the rest of the story.

Annaliese glanced over her shoulder at Fafnir for a moment before focusing again on her work. Will he tell what he saw?

I don’t think so. He seems rather protective of me. But I’d like to keep him close in case. Feel out the situation.

As you wish. Just promise me you won’t go running off to attacked villages in the middle of the night again.

Worried about me?

The corner of Annaliese’s mouth stretched into a grin. “I think it’s clean so I’ll say a spell to heal the skin and to replenish your blood supply. After which you will sleep, understand?”

Aryana nodded. Sleep sounded like a wonderful idea. Best idea ever. Tomorrow would be the day for discovering why Fafnir insisted upon protecting her. Why he followed her to Goleb. Why his magic was as powerful as hers. Then she could work on finding a spell to turn him human, to force him from his dragon state.

Although that might be more for her benefit than his. In his human state, she could bed him.

But first she needed Annaliese’s healing spell to work its magic, to invigorate her body, to restore her drained energy.

The healing spell weaved its way through her veins, closing her wounded skin, restoring her lost blood. Despite the healing, exhaustion flooded her body, and it took her a moment to realize the healing spell also carried a spell for sleep. Annaliese’s warm hands touched her forehead, stroking as one would a child. Or a beloved friend.

“Sleep, Ari. Sleep and heal. Peace to you.”

Aryana’s lids grew heavy as the spell coated them closed. Giving herself to the welcome sleep, she drifted away on a wave of peace.

****

Fafnir stretched, his claws raking against stone. Stone? He tensed as fear stabbed a hole in his gut. Was he back in his cell deep underground? His lids flipped open, heart racing a wild gallop, his breath uneven.

Not a cell. A healing room in the Temple.

The tension bled out of his muscles and a couple of deep breaths later, his heart rate calmed. He shook his head.

Would he ever stop having flashbacks to his time in captivity? At least he recovered quicker now than he had when first freed.

The soft sounds of snoring brought his head around. Aryana lay in a bed, covers pulled to her chest, her lashes dark against her cheeks. Morning light streamed from the windows, bathing the room in washes of pale pink and orange.

His mate.

What a fool he had been. Who was he kidding? It appeared his foolish behavior started as a hatchling and only worsened over the years. One would think as he aged he would grow out of such behavior, and yet here he sat, refusing to admit his true identity.

A fool and a coward. What a combination.

With the wisdom of ten-year-olds, he and Aryana had made a pact to ignore the prophecy of the old Seer. After all, the Seer’s usual predictions consisted of telling the parents of a baby whether that baby possessed a mate, not who that mate was. To his knowledge, they were the only couple predicted to be mates. And the prediction was a bit loose, no names attached.

Not that it kept their parents from deciding their fates lay together.

As a young hatchling, the last thing on his mind was taking a mate. And Aryana had a strong desire to be a priestess. Who was he to get in the way of her dreams?

So he ran. Had affairs with non-Draconi females. Fell in love with one. Deeply in love. Which only strengthened his belief the Seer erred in her prediction. How could he be so in love with another if the fates decreed he and Aryana belonged together?

But the love he’d felt for Mabbina held a dull gleam to how he now felt about Aryana.

The door creaked open, startling him from his thoughts. Annaliese walked into the room and Fafnir dropped his head, closing his eyes to slits, pretending to be asleep. She glanced at him, but her attention focused on the High Priestess as she walked to the bed.

One more person he didn’t want to see. What a yellow-bellied rabbit. He should pop his head up, refresh her memory as to his true name and allow her to wallow in excitement over seeing him again.

Who was he fooling? She probably would just as soon banish him as welcome him.

It had been a month since he’d returned to Draconia. Plenty of time to greet his family members. Instead, he hid.

He didn’t deserve Aryana. How could he be the mate she deserved if he couldn’t even work up the nerve to speak to his estranged family? Did they even think of themselves as estranged? Maybe they would greet him with pleasure. Maybe they would be overjoyed to see him. Maybe they would welcome him home.

Or maybe they would see what he did, how he left his daughter to rot in a village in Cautasia, to be raised by non-magical humans and think what an irresponsible muddle he made of his life.

Why would his family want him?

“You seem troubled.” Annaliese’s whisper caused him to jump, his lids snapping open, a snarl crossing his lip before he wiped it away.

Don’t you know better than to disturb a sleeping dragon?

“My apologies. You seemed troubled.”

You don’t say? He kept the thought to himself. She couldn’t help her curiosity.

Healers wanted to help others, felt driven to ferret out the cause of pain and unhappiness, even when they should leave well enough alone. As part of their nature, they could no more stop caring than they could stop breathing and expect to live.

Therein lay their problem. Especially for one such as he, who wanted to keep his secrets nice and tight inside. Bottled up, locked down and allowed to fester like dead flesh left in the sun.

No wonder Annaliese wanted him to play the sharing game. He probably smelled like rancid meat.

Bad dreams.

“Hmm. While I have a tonic for that, in your case it seems like something internal eating away at your heart.”

Was he that obvious? After years spent in a cell, he forgot how to hide his emotions from others. What had his jailers cared about his thoughts, his emotions? Not one thing.

But Annaliese did.

Healers.

He would not transport away from her and admit to being guilty as charged. He would not. He was a grown dragon. Grown dragons did not run from their problems, they faced them head-on.

Fafnir swallowed, as if that would help loosen up his dry throat. No such luck.

Perhaps you are right.

She blinked at him, a silent entreaty to continue. The almost-unnoticeable spell caressed his scales, his head, whispered for him to find relief by sharing his problems.

His eyes closed. He wanted to tell her, to speak with her as he had all those years ago, to wallow in her comfort.

But what if she didn’t offer comfort? What if, instead, she rebuked? What if she threw him out of the Temple?

He shook his head.

“You are the first Draconi I know of who was held captive for so long behind titanium bars. It is only natural you would feel like you didn’t fit in here anymore.”

It is more than that. Did those thoughts actually slip out?

Judging by the way her head cocked to the side and her eyes widened in encouragement, the answer was a yes. He shut his eyes, trying to work up the courage to say what he needed to, what he didn’t want to admit.

She placed her hand on his side. “When you are ready, I am here. I am always here, Fafnir. You do realize that, right?”

He drew in a deep breath, overwhelmed by the emotions her words provoked, the way they transported him back to when he was a hatchling seeking comfort. Without thinking, he answered the way he always answered her question.

Yes, Leesie, I know.

Her eyes flew wide, her lips parting, her whole body freezing as she clearly contemplated his words.

Son of a goat. Was he an idiot or what? If you wanted to hide in a crowd, it helped not to say words that singled you out.

Stop putting it off and tell her who you are. Before he could act on his own words, Aryana moaned. Annaliese’s gaze flitted to her patient before returning to his. “Ragnor?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

Ragnor no longer exists. Because his embarrassment and cravenness obliterated his ability to call himself by his given name. Better he choose another than admit his failures.

“Annaliese?”

Both he and Annaliese turned to look at Aryana, who had rolled on her side to face them.

“Ah. You are awake.” Annaliese glanced at Fafnir as she placed a hand on his snout. Please don’t leave until you’ve talked to me.

He closed his eyes, unable to look her in the eyes, unable to see either acceptance or rejection written in their depths. He gave a quick jerk of his head.

“How do you feel?” Apparently satisfied with his answer, Annaliese walked to Aryana, leaving Fafnir to his thoughts.

What had he done? What you should have done a month ago, fool. Was he really going to tell Annaliese who he was? Yes, you blithering ninny. Was it a sign of insanity if he answered himself? Probably. But what did he expect after all those years in a cell with no one to talk to? Perhaps Annaliese would understand. She did, after all, ask him not to leave until she had spoken to him.

That had to be a good sign. Her concern slid across his scales, burrowing deep into his soul, comforting him as it had so many times when he was young. He wanted to talk to her, needed to express his guilt, his shame. He wanted forgiveness from the one person who always gave it to him growing up.

His sister.