Page 14 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

Taevas barely recalled doing that, but he inclined his head anyway. He’d take all the goodwill he could get.

That she might not know was a ridiculous thought, of course. She must know. Surely she must.

It wasn’t always easy for other beings to tell dragons apart from one another in their shifted forms, but he was famous. More than famous. He was Isand. His picture, in both his forms, had been plastered across the news since the news began. Surely…

Brushing a curl behind her ear, Alashiya stepped over his foreleg to move into the short hallway beyond the kitchen. He watched her go with increasing agitation.

Stop leaving me, he ordered. If you keep working like this, I’ll be forced to do what’s necessary, Alashiya. Do as I say and sit.

She returned with a handful of medical supplies and said nothing more as she knelt to fix his bandages.

Adjusting his position to allow her to tend to the wound at his throat, Taevas took a furtive sniff of her hair. Cypress.

Fresh and botanical with just a little bite, it was one of his favorite smells in all the world.

Compelled by the scent of comfort and soft things he loved — and seeing the perfect opportunity to get her to stop moving — he laid his head on the plush cushion of her thighs.

He expected her to push him away, but she only hesitated for a long, taut moment before she hesitantly continued with her soft touches.

A barely audible sigh reached his ears. “Well, you don’t make it easy to stay mad at you, do you? You’re like a great big tomcat. One minute you’re swiping at me, the next you want to lay in my lap and purr.”

Tomcat? I’ll take it. Taevas savored the warmth of her under his chin. You’ll come to like me just like everyone else. They all come around eventually.

Gentle fingers skimmed his throat. It was an exploratory touch — and one that set his blood on fire. A shudder of need rippled through his aching body when she whispered, “I’ve never even seen a dragon before. Are you all like this?”

Taevas wanted to flash her a smile and answer, “No, I’m one of a kind.” But he couldn’t do that, so instead he turned his snout just a little toward her soft stomach, until he was breathing in nothing but the heady scent of her.

Home.

He was unclear how long they sat like that, but it was far longer than necessary for her to check his bandages. She didn’t continue with her touches, but she didn’t pull away from him, either, until a shrill birdsong pierced the air, startling her.

Clearing her throat, Alashiya made to stand up. Taevas opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them. No, don’t go. Come back.

The sight of her turning her back on him made his tail rattle against the tile.

When she stepped away from him, it was like she took something essential with her.

Something he needed but couldn’t even remember.

An uneasy feeling washed over him, that cavernous sensation of forgetfulness that came with untrustworthy memories.

Cypress. Home. Alashiya. What am I missing?

Taevas watched her set the medical supplies on the counter before she washed her hands again, her gaze averted from him.

“I’ve got to get to work now.” She examined her short nails with a grimace. Reaching for the soap one more time, she muttered, “I can’t get your blood on the fabric.”

From deep within a distorted memory, he heard her joke, “You’re lucky I embroider for a living.”

Alashiya. Cypress. Home.

She said something to him then, but he couldn’t hear her over the rush of blood in his ears. Taevas could only watch her as she dried her hands and turned to leave the kitchen. The electric buzzing, that feeling of more than lust, more than need, returned with a vengeance.

His gaze followed her path across the hall and into another room. Her scent was strongest there. He chased it mindlessly, until he’d stretched his neck far enough to place his head in the hall.

The tip of his snout just barely reached the doorway into a baffling room.

It was one part bedroom, one part living room, and one part workspace.

Bolts of fabric and headless dress forms lined the walls.

In a corner sat two old arm chairs framed by what looked like a loom and spinning wheel — both a century old at least. A surprisingly fine-looking nest of blankets and pillows lay on the floor near an ancient iron hearth.

A work table covered in thread, pincushions, wooden hoops, and a large, frame-like contraption took up most of one wall. It was there that Alashiya settled.

Her wooden chair creaked as she scooted to the edge of the seat and bent over the frame. She reached for a needle with her right hand while her left skimmed the wine-red velvet stretched within the confines of the frame, the tips of her fingers dancing over gold stitches and glittering bullion.

If she noticed him watching her, she didn’t show it. Alashiya appeared completely absorbed in her work as she pushed a waxed thread through the eye of her needle. Her lips moved, but she didn’t make a sound. Her mouth was very faintly curved in a secret smile.

A great many improbable things had happened to Taevas.

He’d survived a century of war and famine.

He’d united the dragon clans at the tender age of seventeen.

He’d avenged his family and killed a foolish, cowardly tyrant.

He signed the Peace Charter and he forged alliances and he built skyscrapers and he fought off assassins.

He’d even once flown into the heart of an m-storm and came out no worse for wear, a new member of his clan in tow.

And yet it was this moment that became the single most improbable event of his life.

Because he recognized the robe stretched in the frame. He’d picked it out from the half dozen the stylist, who specialized in couture garments infused with magic, sent him. He’d even filled out the customization order himself, his only request being that it be done in real gold.

She’ll do something incredible, no matter what. It’ll be a birthday present for myself, he’d thought at the time. A new formal robe, and a fresh hit of that scent. Maybe this will be the one that does it. That makes her look. That makes her answer. Maybe, maybe—

It appeared, through some tectonic movement of chance, that he’d fallen from the sky and directly into the lap of the woman he’d been hunting for a decade.